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Description
It's about 7:00 at night. Dinner has been over for an hour, but you've been wandering the halls of the place, dreading going back to your room. You shuffle as quietly as you can into your shared room, and your douchebag of a roommate is nowhere in sight. This can either be good or bad. You strike a glance at the mirror and notice that your standard everyday slouch is worse than normal because - as per usual - you've probably bruised or broken yet another rib. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Whats the haps man?" you hear your roommate Dave materialize in the doorway. "You look like someone just told you you'll never be pretty." The sound of his voice alone is enough to make you roll your eyes, but the sarcasm makes everything worse. It doesn't even help that your iPod has been taken for the day, so your headphones are around your neck, and you have to hear the full brunt of his voice.

"It's suddenly your business what goes on in my day to day life?" You retort, turning to look at him and - trying not to - wincing slightly from your rib.

"Yup, didn't you hear? I've been voted King Crazy, and it's my duty, nay, honor, to be as nosy as possible. Also you're kind of, you know, blocking the door."

You roll your eyes again and flop down on your bed. It's just a rib you think, just get used to it and forget it. Still, the pain somehow gets better of you and you curl up on your bed holding your arms against your rib-cage. Maybe it's actually broken this time instead of just bruised or whatever. It's only ten minutes later that the dipshit notices that you're apparently in pain. Again; just what you fucking needed. A touchy asshole trying to figure you out.

"Okay, seriously Vantas, I know I'm handsome but I didn't think it was enough to physically blind someone. Do I need to call in backup or can you tell me what the fuck even, preferably before you spew alien children all over the room, that shit's toxic." There he goes again, off on another rant to say a few words. A few incredibly stupid words at that.

"Fuck off, Strider. It's none of your business for the second time within half an hour." You growl at him, shooting him your best 'fuck off' look before putting your head back in your arms. You are really not in the mood - or physical standpoint to deal with him tonight. You do, however, offer him your middle finger - if he can even see it that is.

"That's real original," Dave says, sounding closer. "But real talk here, what the fuck is up?"

"How many times do I have to repeat the same goddamn words before they get through that brick that you call a skull?" You say, reminding him for the third time that it's none of his fucking business. You roll over so you face the wall, and your back is to Dave and - snap.- shit. The safety pin popped. Again.

"That didn't sound good," Dave sounds even closer. "Please tell me that wasn't your spine, I'm too young to be a widow."

"Get away from my bed. And - for the final time, before I say it again with an added fist in those shades of yours - it's none of your fucking business." Not the most mature of answers, maybe. Like you give a shit, you're not in the mood to deal with him at all - let alone have him in your personal space.

"Alright, alright, calm your tits," thankfully, and for once, he backs off. Not enough to cease being annoying, but enough that you remember how to breathe.

"What's got you so hyped up on my problems anyway, dare I ask?" You make yourself ask a few moments later. You're not sure if you genuinely wanted to know, or if the silence was giving you that much of a headache.

"Call me crazy, but it's kind of hard to ignore a dude hyperventilating in the same room."

Goddammit was it really that obvious?

"Actually it's not. I distinctly remember you coming in here for a fucking magnifying glass once and I didn't say jackshit - or really want to know."

"That's the past, just spill before I push the small red button and Doctor sexy and miscolored comes in here to beat your ass. Or shoosh it, or whatever."

Your mind severs into two branches now - one that wanders wherever the fuck it wants to go, particularly the issue under your shirt at the moment, and another that stays here and listens to this one's bullshit. Because of this, you can't really remember what started it, only that you're snapped back to reality by Dave's hand on your rib cage - and your chest. Defense mode activates and you tackle him to the ground, teeth bared like you were a fucking animal. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" You snarl.

"I could ask the same thing," Dave raises both hands and an eyebrow. "You know it's broken, right?"

"I couldn't rightly give a shit as to what it is, I'm not taking it off!" Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit you did not mean to say that out loud! He's going to ask what 'it' is you just know it. What're you going to say? Fuck this isn't good! You've never wished someone would hit you in the mouth more than you have no-
"Please tell me you're not wearing one of Lalonde's bras, I might actually cry."

Thank God - or whatever the hell for sarcasm. "...What the shit kind of reason could I possibly have to wear one of-...you know what? I don't even want to fucking know where you came up with that. It'll more than likely give me more of a headache than I need." You brush him off, silently thanking him for opening this window to let youinch as far away from the topic as you can.

"That wasn't a no, and I'm scared. Let me tell you, I've seen the kinks come and go, and the beautiful womanly scent of lace will still be there when you're not destroying your rib cage. Is this a self-harm thing, or did you lose a bet? I'm sure Captor or whoever will understand that you're literally dying and had to take a small break."

Freaky scenario aside; the blonde little shit has no idea how close to the point he really is. And you intend to keep it that way. "It's definatley a no. But I don't want to deprive you of your fantasy or whatever, so please, for the love of god, just keep your shit to yourself." You move to get off of him, when another muffled - pop - makes you freeze where you are. The little bastards are unwrapping themselves from your chest. Shit.

"...Okay, that wasn't a rib, what the hell? I'm actually curious now, you don't even have to take me out to dinner first."

"No. Straight up no is the only answer you're getting to that." It's all you can say. Because it's the only thing your brain is screaming. No. This can't be happening. Out of all of the people you're forced to interact with at this damned place, it has to be this one that this has to happen with. You're half way standing when the sharp pain of your rib, and habit, makes your arms wrap around you, hoping to catch the fucking thing before it can unravel further. You really hope now - not just hoping because you hate the guy - that Strider's eyesight is deciding to fuck up even worse than usual today so he won't see the expression your face decided to make.

"Yup, that's fucking broken." He surveys you with complete apathy. "Dude, I've seen broken ribs before and you need to take that whatever off or it's going to get worse faster than herpes in a whore house."

"How about no, and a big 'fuck you' to that." You growl through your teeth. If he wants this shit off of you that badly he'll have to take it off himself, and you'll be damned if he walks away from that with less than a broken pair of shades and a lip to match.

"Do it, or I call in the mountain of sweat and he'll take it off for you, plus you'll get about five billion lectures from every shrink within a five mile radius. Trust me man, better save yourself some dignity."

"Not like you'd know much about that. Besides it'll BE my dignity if I take it off. So, once again, Fuck. No." You sit on your bed, trying to make a point of yourself. But let's face it; it's difficult to look anything less than fake any emotion with a broken rib.

Dave stares at you for a long while, then turns to your pile of things. He fishes around for something, then tosses a hoodie at you.

"I'll turn around, preserve your dignity or whatever, just take it the fuck off."

You don't say anything. You can't. This dipshit is actually giving a shit about someone other than himself, for one thing, and for two; he seems...genuinley concerned. The look you give him, however, is enough to say that turning around won't be enough, so he goes back to his own bed and faces the wall. You throw a pillow at the backside of his head for good measure.

You can't believe you're doing this. You crawl under your covers and shrug out of your jacket. Then your shirt. Then your other shirt. Finally, you shed the first sports bra, and let the ace bandage unwind itself. This does two things to your state of mind. One; it makes you feel physically better because of the pressure on your rib nearly gone. And two; it instantly depresses you because, as the ace bandage unwinds, your breasts reveal themselves.

You can hardly stand it as you pull off the last sports bra. This shit has been going on for ten years. The broken ribs, the depression, the anger. Before you realize it, your eyes are stinging. No. Fuck no. You are NOT going to cry. Especially not in front of this one. You pull the shirts back on, along with the hoodie that Dave threw at you and wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

"...Okay. You can look now. But if you so much as make a comment I'll bust that smart-ass mouth of yours, got it?" You threaten as you uncover yourself, letting the blankets rest around your ankles.

He turns and his face doesn't even twitch. "A'ight, good, keep it off and you might wanna think about telling someone with a doctorate about it, because broken ribs usually require medical attention. Or don't man, just wait for someone else to knock you around a little and bust open your lungs; don't let the man tell you what to do."

"How about I not. Enough of this god-forsaken staff know anyway." you murmur, noting the anger ebb away from your voice. Giving way to...sadness. goddammit stop doing that. "You act like you knew already." You add a moment later, making a harsh tone come back to your voice. Usually letting people - by people you mean staff - know up to this point opened up a world of staring at your chest, and questions you really didn't need, much less want.

"I noticed some shit was off about you but it never really clicked. It doesn't really matter though. Some people are born with extra toes, this ain't that different."

No-one's ever said that to you before. It's always been that different for you, you've always been the freak. It feels good to hear that, even if it's from this guy.

"...Thanks."

"It's nothing to thank me for, man."

Description
It's about 7:00 at night. Dinner has been over for an hour, but you've been wandering the halls of the place, dreading going back to your room. You shuffle as quietly as you can into your shared room, and your douchebag of a roommate is nowhere in sight. This can either be good or bad. You strike a glance at the mirror and notice that your standard everyday slouch is worse than normal because - as per usual - you've probably bruised or broken yet another rib. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Whats the haps man?" you hear your roommate Dave materialize in the doorway. "You look like someone just told you you'll never be pretty." The sound of his voice alone is enough to make you roll your eyes, but the sarcasm makes everything worse. It doesn't even help that your iPod has been taken for the day, so your headphones are around your neck, and you have to hear the full brunt of his voice.

"It's suddenly your business what goes on in my day to day life?" You retort, turning to look at him and - trying not to - wincing slightly from your rib.

"Yup, didn't you hear? I've been voted King Crazy, and it's my duty, nay, honor, to be as nosy as possible. Also you're kind of, you know, blocking the door."

You roll your eyes again and flop down on your bed. It's just a rib you think, just get used to it and forget it. Still, the pain somehow gets better of you and you curl up on your bed holding your arms against your rib-cage. Maybe it's actually broken this time instead of just bruised or whatever. It's only ten minutes later that the dipshit notices that you're apparently in pain. Again; just what you fucking needed. A touchy asshole trying to figure you out.

"Okay, seriously Vantas, I know I'm handsome but I didn't think it was enough to physically blind someone. Do I need to call in backup or can you tell me what the fuck even, preferably before you spew alien children all over the room, that shit's toxic." There he goes again, off on another rant to say a few words. A few incredibly stupid words at that.

"Fuck off, Strider. It's none of your business for the second time within half an hour." You growl at him, shooting him your best 'fuck off' look before putting your head back in your arms. You are really not in the mood - or physical standpoint to deal with him tonight. You do, however, offer him your middle finger - if he can even see it that is.

"That's real original," Dave says, sounding closer. "But real talk here, what the fuck is up?"

"How many times do I have to repeat the same goddamn words before they get through that brick that you call a skull?" You say, reminding him for the third time that it's none of his fucking business. You roll over so you face the wall, and your back is to Dave and - snap.- shit. The safety pin popped. Again.

"That didn't sound good," Dave sounds even closer. "Please tell me that wasn't your spine, I'm too young to be a widow."

"Get away from my bed. And - for the final time, before I say it again with an added fist in those shades of yours - it's none of your fucking business." Not the most mature of answers, maybe. Like you give a shit, you're not in the mood to deal with him at all - let alone have him in your personal space.

"Alright, alright, calm your tits," thankfully, and for once, he backs off. Not enough to cease being annoying, but enough that you remember how to breathe.

"What's got you so hyped up on my problems anyway, dare I ask?" You make yourself ask a few moments later. You're not sure if you genuinely wanted to know, or if the silence was giving you that much of a headache.

"Call me crazy, but it's kind of hard to ignore a dude hyperventilating in the same room."

Goddammit was it really that obvious?

"Actually it's not. I distinctly remember you coming in here for a fucking magnifying glass once and I didn't say jackshit - or really want to know."

"That's the past, just spill before I push the small red button and Doctor sexy and miscolored comes in here to beat your ass. Or shoosh it, or whatever."

Your mind severs into two branches now - one that wanders wherever the fuck it wants to go, particularly the issue under your shirt at the moment, and another that stays here and listens to this one's bullshit. Because of this, you can't really remember what started it, only that you're snapped back to reality by Dave's hand on your rib cage - and your chest. Defense mode activates and you tackle him to the ground, teeth bared like you were a fucking animal. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" You snarl.

"I could ask the same thing," Dave raises both hands and an eyebrow. "You know it's broken, right?"

"I couldn't rightly give a shit as to what it is, I'm not taking it off!" Oh shit. Shit shit shit shit shit you did not mean to say that out loud! He's going to ask what 'it' is you just know it. What're you going to say? Fuck this isn't good! You've never wished someone would hit you in the mouth more than you have no-
"Please tell me you're not wearing one of Lalonde's bras, I might actually cry."

Thank God - or whatever the hell for sarcasm. "...What the shit kind of reason could I possibly have to wear one of-...you know what? I don't even want to fucking know where you came up with that. It'll more than likely give me more of a headache than I need." You brush him off, silently thanking him for opening this window to let youinch as far away from the topic as you can.

"That wasn't a no, and I'm scared. Let me tell you, I've seen the kinks come and go, and the beautiful womanly scent of lace will still be there when you're not destroying your rib cage. Is this a self-harm thing, or did you lose a bet? I'm sure Captor or whoever will understand that you're literally dying and had to take a small break."

Freaky scenario aside; the blonde little shit has no idea how close to the point he really is. And you intend to keep it that way. "It's definatley a no. But I don't want to deprive you of your fantasy or whatever, so please, for the love of god, just keep your shit to yourself." You move to get off of him, when another muffled - pop - makes you freeze where you are. The little bastards are unwrapping themselves from your chest. Shit.

"...Okay, that wasn't a rib, what the hell? I'm actually curious now, you don't even have to take me out to dinner first."

"No. Straight up no is the only answer you're getting to that." It's all you can say. Because it's the only thing your brain is screaming. No. This can't be happening. Out of all of the people you're forced to interact with at this damned place, it has to be this one that this has to happen with. You're half way standing when the sharp pain of your rib, and habit, makes your arms wrap around you, hoping to catch the fucking thing before it can unravel further. You really hope now - not just hoping because you hate the guy - that Strider's eyesight is deciding to fuck up even worse than usual today so he won't see the expression your face decided to make.

"Yup, that's fucking broken." He surveys you with complete apathy. "Dude, I've seen broken ribs before and you need to take that whatever off or it's going to get worse faster than herpes in a whore house."

"How about no, and a big 'fuck you' to that." You growl through your teeth. If he wants this shit off of you that badly he'll have to take it off himself, and you'll be damned if he walks away from that with less than a broken pair of shades and a lip to match.

"Do it, or I call in the mountain of sweat and he'll take it off for you, plus you'll get about five billion lectures from every shrink within a five mile radius. Trust me man, better save yourself some dignity."

"Not like you'd know much about that. Besides it'll BE my dignity if I take it off. So, once again, Fuck. No." You sit on your bed, trying to make a point of yourself. But let's face it; it's difficult to look anything less than fake any emotion with a broken rib.

Dave stares at you for a long while, then turns to your pile of things. He fishes around for something, then tosses a hoodie at you.

"I'll turn around, preserve your dignity or whatever, just take it the fuck off."

You don't say anything. You can't. This dipshit is actually giving a shit about someone other than himself, for one thing, and for two; he seems...genuinley concerned. The look you give him, however, is enough to say that turning around won't be enough, so he goes back to his own bed and faces the wall. You throw a pillow at the backside of his head for good measure.

You can't believe you're doing this. You crawl under your covers and shrug out of your jacket. Then your shirt. Then your other shirt. Finally, you shed the first sports bra, and let the ace bandage unwind itself. This does two things to your state of mind. One; it makes you feel physically better because of the pressure on your rib nearly gone. And two; it instantly depresses you because, as the ace bandage unwinds, your breasts reveal themselves.

You can hardly stand it as you pull off the last sports bra. This shit has been going on for ten years. The broken ribs, the depression, the anger. Before you realize it, your eyes are stinging. No. Fuck no. You are NOT going to cry. Especially not in front of this one. You pull the shirts back on, along with the hoodie that Dave threw at you and wipe your eyes with your sleeve.

"...Okay. You can look now. But if you so much as make a comment I'll bust that smart-ass mouth of yours, got it?" You threaten as you uncover yourself, letting the blankets rest around your ankles.

He turns and his face doesn't even twitch. "A'ight, good, keep it off and you might wanna think about telling someone with a doctorate about it, because broken ribs usually require medical attention. Or don't man, just wait for someone else to knock you around a little and bust open your lungs; don't let the man tell you what to do."

"How about I not. Enough of this god-forsaken staff know anyway." you murmur, noting the anger ebb away from your voice. Giving way to...sadness. goddammit stop doing that. "You act like you knew already." You add a moment later, making a harsh tone come back to your voice. Usually letting people - by people you mean staff - know up to this point opened up a world of staring at your chest, and questions you really didn't need, much less want.

"I noticed some shit was off about you but it never really clicked. It doesn't really matter though. Some people are born with extra toes, this ain't that different."

No-one's ever said that to you before. It's always been that different for you, you've always been the freak. It feels good to hear that, even if it's from this guy.

"...Thanks."

"It's nothing to thank me for, man."