Post by scotsrockgod on Nov 14, 2005 0:50:10 GMT -5
That isn't necessarily the title, but it works for now.
This really isn't so much a chapter fic, but it's better than stringing the whole thing together. Here's the first part, the rest to shortly following. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you all like it, and special thanks to Stormy for the sizing information! Also to Ciaran my ever-helpful beta.
Chapter 1
He had long ago lost contact with his mother and his siblings. He had barely known his older sister; by the time he had begun high school, she was out of college and away. His older brother had been the handsome, athletic one in the family; he had been “tough” where Jonathan was not. To be beaten up by one’s own brother eventually became little different than being assaulted constantly at school.
So there was really no one to tell when he prepared for graduation, magna cum laude, from Gotham University. He had no idea if any of his family was still alive, much less in the city; the last time he had spoken with his mother had been her good luck gift of $50 after he had been accepted to college on a full-ride scholarship.
He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone.
He had made some friends in college, though none of them could be called close. The teasing had merely changed directions. Stung throughout high school by the epithets of Freak and Dirty, it was the adult Crane’s strict professionalism that now earned him jibes—not always unkindly meant, he admitted.
“Lighten up, Jon; you make me positively depressed brooding around this place with that expression.”
Jonathan Crane had specified upon accepting his scholarship that he would have to live on campus in the dormitories, but he had insisted on not sharing a room with another student. Visions too potent to be ignored had run through his brain: being bullied by an oafish jock if not outright beaten. They had matched him up with a roommate anyway.
Hugh Wardley had single-handedly restored Crane’s faith in mankind; as a species, they were redeemed. Hugh was tall and burly, blonde and attractive, and could have beaten Crane to a pulp at any time. Instead, from their first meeting, Hugh had been convivial but neither pitying nor crude. To Crane’s immense relief, he did not pry, he did not force Crane to go to parties and he did not bring girls into their bedroom. He treated Crane with little deference, and Crane basked in the feeling that, to Hugh, he was just like everybody else.
Crane removed his glasses and rubbed the hollows under his eyes. “I can’t lighten up, Hugh. It’s just not in my nature.”
“Oh, that’s right. Mr. Gloom and Doom.”
Crane cracked a smile and then bent over his psychology study notes. “You should be studying, too, you know. If you get anything less than a ninety on your chemistry test—”
“Aww man,” said Hugh, popping some vending machine candies into his open mouth. “That test isn’t until Thursday!” He crumpled the candy wrapper into a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket. “Guess you’re the only one in this school who works harder than me.”
Crane smiled out the corner of his mouth and inclined his head. He heard the left bed creak as Hugh threw himself onto it. “So,” he said brightly. “What are you working on?”
Crane flipped to the next page of his two-pound psychology text, then opened the library-bound thesis titled The Psychological Effects of Positive Reinforcement. “Just a paper. Psychology and thought processes. You wouldn’t be interested.”
Hugh laughed, and Crane turned back to look at him. He was paging through a Popular Science magazine. “Which class is this for? Developmental psych?”
Crane said nothing, turning back to his book stiffly.
“Jon . . .” Hugh’s voice rose with annoyance and curiosity. “This is for a class, isn’t it?” Crane blinked, anger rising almost before he could give it a name. He bit back a snide reply.
“There’s nothing wrong in getting started a little early on papers for scholarly journals,” he said in what he hoped was an even voice. “Do you know they pay your way to conferences? Hotel fees, plane trips, everything?”
Hugh shrugged. “If conferences are your thing. Me, I’d rather play with my chemistry set.” He fired off a wicked look. Crane knew he was only half-joking; he was a Chemistry-Biology major. “Man, what time is it?”
Crane sighed in relief, the awkward situation diffused by Hugh’s calm. He glanced at his wristw*tch. “A few minutes after two.”
Hugh yawned loudly. “Well, I think I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ve got a nine o’clock class.”
Crane smirked; his first class was at eight. Still, Hugh had never kept him up and had always respected his personal space. As Hugh got off the bed and dragged his bag of toiletries from the bedside table, Crane marked his place in the book and stood up to stretch. As he cracked his neck, he felt the scratch of stubble on his cheeks. He shrugged and resumed his seat. He would shave later. He had to get this paper done. He gathered his books and notebooks and rebuttoned the top of his shirt. The third floor lounge would still be open this late. At least there were tables and light. That was all he needed.
Hugh reentered, carrying his t-shirt and jeans over an arm. He was wearing black boxers with red printed chilies on them. “The room is all yours,” Crane said dryly.
Hugh threw his clothes onto the nightstand next to the bed. “What ? You’re not going to bed?”
Crane shook his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Whatever,” said Hugh, shrugging and shaking his head.
Crane turned off the light as he went. The third floor was lit dingily though the walk to the lounge was short. Crane heard some soft giggling from one of the rooms. The lounge door came open with a loud creak. The room smelled strangely, as if something had gotten overcooked in the microwave set along the wall. Despite the pale lighting and bad smell, Crane was grateful for the silence and the calm. Studying with Hugh was not a problem, as he generally kept quiet and focused. But sometimes, even the cheery voice of his roommate grated on Crane.
He set up his books on one of the six low tables in the room, flicking crumbs off as he took a seat on the rickety chair, “Jenny + Todd” carved into its plastic frame. He resumed reading. About two pages into the sixth chapter, he removed his glasses. “Dammit,” he muttered. He didn’t want to admit to anyone that he was exhausted, that he would like to sneak back into the dark room he shared with Hugh and, without undressing, fall asleep in the soft folds of his bed. He checked his watch. 2:40. He would rest his eyes for a minute. Just one . . .
This really isn't so much a chapter fic, but it's better than stringing the whole thing together. Here's the first part, the rest to shortly following. Constructive criticism is always welcome. I hope you all like it, and special thanks to Stormy for the sizing information! Also to Ciaran my ever-helpful beta.
Chapter 1
He had long ago lost contact with his mother and his siblings. He had barely known his older sister; by the time he had begun high school, she was out of college and away. His older brother had been the handsome, athletic one in the family; he had been “tough” where Jonathan was not. To be beaten up by one’s own brother eventually became little different than being assaulted constantly at school.
So there was really no one to tell when he prepared for graduation, magna cum laude, from Gotham University. He had no idea if any of his family was still alive, much less in the city; the last time he had spoken with his mother had been her good luck gift of $50 after he had been accepted to college on a full-ride scholarship.
He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anyone.
He had made some friends in college, though none of them could be called close. The teasing had merely changed directions. Stung throughout high school by the epithets of Freak and Dirty, it was the adult Crane’s strict professionalism that now earned him jibes—not always unkindly meant, he admitted.
“Lighten up, Jon; you make me positively depressed brooding around this place with that expression.”
Jonathan Crane had specified upon accepting his scholarship that he would have to live on campus in the dormitories, but he had insisted on not sharing a room with another student. Visions too potent to be ignored had run through his brain: being bullied by an oafish jock if not outright beaten. They had matched him up with a roommate anyway.
Hugh Wardley had single-handedly restored Crane’s faith in mankind; as a species, they were redeemed. Hugh was tall and burly, blonde and attractive, and could have beaten Crane to a pulp at any time. Instead, from their first meeting, Hugh had been convivial but neither pitying nor crude. To Crane’s immense relief, he did not pry, he did not force Crane to go to parties and he did not bring girls into their bedroom. He treated Crane with little deference, and Crane basked in the feeling that, to Hugh, he was just like everybody else.
Crane removed his glasses and rubbed the hollows under his eyes. “I can’t lighten up, Hugh. It’s just not in my nature.”
“Oh, that’s right. Mr. Gloom and Doom.”
Crane cracked a smile and then bent over his psychology study notes. “You should be studying, too, you know. If you get anything less than a ninety on your chemistry test—”
“Aww man,” said Hugh, popping some vending machine candies into his open mouth. “That test isn’t until Thursday!” He crumpled the candy wrapper into a ball and tossed it in the wastebasket. “Guess you’re the only one in this school who works harder than me.”
Crane smiled out the corner of his mouth and inclined his head. He heard the left bed creak as Hugh threw himself onto it. “So,” he said brightly. “What are you working on?”
Crane flipped to the next page of his two-pound psychology text, then opened the library-bound thesis titled The Psychological Effects of Positive Reinforcement. “Just a paper. Psychology and thought processes. You wouldn’t be interested.”
Hugh laughed, and Crane turned back to look at him. He was paging through a Popular Science magazine. “Which class is this for? Developmental psych?”
Crane said nothing, turning back to his book stiffly.
“Jon . . .” Hugh’s voice rose with annoyance and curiosity. “This is for a class, isn’t it?” Crane blinked, anger rising almost before he could give it a name. He bit back a snide reply.
“There’s nothing wrong in getting started a little early on papers for scholarly journals,” he said in what he hoped was an even voice. “Do you know they pay your way to conferences? Hotel fees, plane trips, everything?”
Hugh shrugged. “If conferences are your thing. Me, I’d rather play with my chemistry set.” He fired off a wicked look. Crane knew he was only half-joking; he was a Chemistry-Biology major. “Man, what time is it?”
Crane sighed in relief, the awkward situation diffused by Hugh’s calm. He glanced at his wristw*tch. “A few minutes after two.”
Hugh yawned loudly. “Well, I think I’m going to get ready for bed. I’ve got a nine o’clock class.”
Crane smirked; his first class was at eight. Still, Hugh had never kept him up and had always respected his personal space. As Hugh got off the bed and dragged his bag of toiletries from the bedside table, Crane marked his place in the book and stood up to stretch. As he cracked his neck, he felt the scratch of stubble on his cheeks. He shrugged and resumed his seat. He would shave later. He had to get this paper done. He gathered his books and notebooks and rebuttoned the top of his shirt. The third floor lounge would still be open this late. At least there were tables and light. That was all he needed.
Hugh reentered, carrying his t-shirt and jeans over an arm. He was wearing black boxers with red printed chilies on them. “The room is all yours,” Crane said dryly.
Hugh threw his clothes onto the nightstand next to the bed. “What ? You’re not going to bed?”
Crane shook his head. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Whatever,” said Hugh, shrugging and shaking his head.
Crane turned off the light as he went. The third floor was lit dingily though the walk to the lounge was short. Crane heard some soft giggling from one of the rooms. The lounge door came open with a loud creak. The room smelled strangely, as if something had gotten overcooked in the microwave set along the wall. Despite the pale lighting and bad smell, Crane was grateful for the silence and the calm. Studying with Hugh was not a problem, as he generally kept quiet and focused. But sometimes, even the cheery voice of his roommate grated on Crane.
He set up his books on one of the six low tables in the room, flicking crumbs off as he took a seat on the rickety chair, “Jenny + Todd” carved into its plastic frame. He resumed reading. About two pages into the sixth chapter, he removed his glasses. “Dammit,” he muttered. He didn’t want to admit to anyone that he was exhausted, that he would like to sneak back into the dark room he shared with Hugh and, without undressing, fall asleep in the soft folds of his bed. He checked his watch. 2:40. He would rest his eyes for a minute. Just one . . .
