April: Apartments

[A general note: Troubleshooting printers, be it your own or belonging to someone else near you, is distinctly evil.

Also: Thank you, Lucy.]

When it became generally known that Zach's roommate would be gone for the weekend, the partially unlatched door to Zach's room meant that one could wander in at any time at all to visit, provided that one gave the door a tap of courtesy first.

Or at least, that was how Mike saw it.

"Hey Zach!" He called out, entering the door as he gave it a sharp rap. From beneath the desk came a distinct "thump" followed by a muffled "Oh God" and then, fainter still, "Ow."

"You okay?" Mike stared down at his friend. Or at least, the part of his friend that he could still see, stretched out against the threadbare carpet. "And why're you under the desk?"

"That's where my printer is," explained Zach matter-of-factly from the depth of his desk. It was not the most illuminating explanation and, in this case, it also involved a machine's neurotic screeching. Mike winced from the sound.

"Uh-huh. I see," he said, in a tone which indicated that he didn't see at all.

"My printer wouldn't print," clarified Zach. Something else thumped as he made an exasperated noise and scooted out from underneath the desk. "I found an error with the program, because there was a conflict in the ports. Fixed that, still wouldn't print, and found that the USB cable down there was loose. Fixed that and then found that the printer still wouldn't print because the ink cartridge's jammed." He finished the long explanation with a heartfelt sigh of aggravation, hair clinging to his skull in a way that suggested it had enough electrical discharge to temporarily power a small lamp.

"The world's conspiring against you," Mike said, trying to school his face into a proper expression. "First your computer, then your printer—"

Zach huffed and idly rubbed his nose. "Actually, right now it's just the ink cartridge, I think."

"You never know, they might all be in it together. An' you got ink on your nose, by the way."

Zach looked at him, then looked down at his ink-smudged hands. "Noted," he said, and disappeared under the desk again. There came a faint crack and a yelp that indicated a significant decrease in electron potential.

Mike cleared his throat. Several times. It helped. "So what're you doin' after you get your printer fixed?"

"Dunno," came the answer. Mike might be imagining it, but Zach's voice sounded oddly ominous, coming from underneath the desk. "Why? What do you have planned?"

"Me an' Nick an' Gary are thinking of going around and looking at apartments, since it's about that time when we started doing that." He glanced around the room. It was spare, even by a guy's standards—bed with gray-blue covers and a pillow, desk with books and computer against one side, and nothing except two maps (one of the city they were in and one of cellular metabolism) on the wall. By contrast, the other half of the room seemed like an explosion of personality—all reds and oranges and overlapping movie posters, CDs scattered all over the places and a lava lamp lying across the computer keyboard. Mike thought with some disgust of his own roommate and wondered who the hell was put in charge of pairing people up for their room assignments.

Carried along by his own thoughts, it took him a moment to realize that he'd be answered with only silence. That and some screeching protests from the printer.

"Apartments," prompted Mike, "You know, for next year?"

Silence.

"You have thought about it, right?"

"Yes," the answer was accompanied by the sound of a printer's lid being shut and the printer's frantic beeping. Zach reappeared. "I've actually been thinking about going vegan and joining the co-ops." He said gravely.

Mike stared at him. "You're kiddin me."

Zach raised an eyebrow.

"But they're crazy!"

"Considering the people I hang around each day," Zach gave him a pointed look, amused. "I'd think that I've developed a pretty good tolerance for insanity."

"But that's different! They're like, a different kind of crazy!"

"Yes, I think their style is actually healthier," coughed Zach.

Mike rolled his eyes, deciding that Zach's concept of what was healthy could do with a major resorting—later. "Are you comin' or not?"

"Mm," Zach clicked a few things on his laptop. The printer stopped beeping and made a whirling noise instead, soon followed by the sound of paper being printed. "Yes!" Zach grinned, looking rather smug. "And yes, yes I am. Coming, I mean."

Mike suppressed a smile at the sight of his friend's very evident self-satisfaction from winning a war against a printer. " 'Kay." He got up from where he'd seated himself on the chair. "And Zach?"

"Hm?"

"You've still got ink on your nose."

***

Gary whistled, a long, shrill sound over the noise of the traffic on the two way street. At a section of town that might be described as 'quaint,' but was more closely depicted by the word 'tired' with its faded, slight, worn-at-edges look, the contraption in front of them look determinedly out of place. The street was tree-lined and comparatively quiet, for all that it was located so close to campus. Here and there were a few people walking along and there was also the quiet hum of daily lives going on inside the houses on each side. Mostly though, the streets were quiet and empty.

"Hot damn," breathed Mike. "I wanna a motorbike like that."

Suppressing a smile, Nick exchanged a look with Zach. It was a brief and familiar gesture, born out of habit and time. "Right."

"We'll keep that in mind," agreed Zach as Mike went on staring at the contraption, wide-eyed. He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. It didn't quite erase the smile. "Com'on, Mike," he added, surreptitiously trying to steer Mike away from the said motorcycle and failing spectacularly. He huffed and looked at Nick, even as a corner of his mouth started to curl up with amusement.

"Apartments," Nick reminded Mike, and attempted to haul him away. Mike was not small, nor was he inclined to move at the present, but Nick was bigger and broader in the shoulder and starting to get nervous about the contemplative expression on his friend's face. Generally that particular look meant that mayhem of the near-future was being contemplated, and this time the mayhem seemed to take the shape and form of a motorcycle. Nick was not really reassured by this, given that now was about the time when most first-years contemplated their modes of transportation for the following years. So while they might be about equal in terms of strength mass ratio, Nick was still bigger, and therefore had the upper hand in the current circumstance.

No longer able to ignore the fact that he was being dragged away against his will, Mike turned and gave Nick a sulky look.

"Aw, com'on," he said, and when Nick just looked at him, changed his expression into one that, to Nick, seemed to be composed of nothing but pleading eyes. Considering the fact that Mike's face included things other than just his eyes, it was something of an accomplishment. "Just a moment longer?"

Nick wavered. He felt himself waver, and couldn't decide whether he should be amused or horrified that he was so easily persuaded. It was very much unfair that his friends should be able to persuade him to do this and that and that he never seemed to manage enough to persuade anyone to do anything at all. Friends should be at the same stand point, influencing each other as much as they were influenced. Nick felt like he was receiving all the influence without actually managing to influence anyone or—he remembered with a twinge the issue with the internet connection the day before—anything in return.

He was hopeless, Nick decided, cas impossible.

"We're going to miss the bus." Zach jumped in, sensing Nick's weakness. Mike scowled at him.

Oh thanks, he mouthed. In response Zach cheekily flipped him a mock salute.

"It is pretty cool, though," said Gary, wistfully.

It was nice looking for a mode of transportation, admitted Nick, if you liked that sort of thing. The bike was dark and shiny and looked like it was capable of exceeding the speed limit—which went a long way to explain why Mike wanted it. Grinning almost in spite of himself, Nick reflected that at times, it was startlingly easy to predict Mike's behaviors. Such as the way his face lit up whenever he saw anything with aerodynamic potential. It had something to do with personal preferences.

"Bus. One block," Zach repeated, pointing, determination distilled in every line of his skinning, freckled arm, "Thattaway."

"You're no fun," grumbled Mike, but eventually managed to tear himself away from the bike and therefore preventing Nick from wondering whether or not he could fulfill his amount of weekly exercise by dragging his friends around.

"Wasn't in the job requirement the last time I checked" said Zach.

"It got updated."

"No one told me."

"Well I'm tellin' you now. So now you know."

A bus—no, Nick squinted—the bus they were suppose to take—passed them. There was no one else waiting at the stop, so it went along its merry way, with only an occasional screeching from its breaks.

"Oh bother," sighed Zach, sounding beleaguered. "Look, you guys—we missed the bus."

"Another one'll come, right?" Asked Nick nervously. In France, the modes of public transportation were always predictable—or at least always predictably unpredictable. From what he knew the buses from across the ocean also followed some sort of a schedule, he just never bothered to figure out what the schedule was.

"Yea, another one'll come, Zach's just bein' weird an' scheduled, that's all," grinned Gary.

"You can't 'be scheduled,'" muttered Zach. "That makes no sense."

"Whatev." Mike glanced down at his watch and brightened. Actually brightened. It was one of those things you always thought only belonged in books until you actually saw someone's face light up and realized that it was quite an accurate description, after all. "The bus's not gonna be around for at least another ten minutes so," he continued, rubbed his hands together gleefully. "Let's go an' look at the bike again!"

"Hm," said Nick.

"Ten minutes?" Gary checked his watch too, and grinned. "Sweet."

"Erk," said Zach. And Nick found it hard not to laugh at the dismayed expression on his face. He'd been worried, come this quarter, about what Mike would be like, after the wedding was over and school had resumed. All in all, it didn't seem as if there was a significant change, or at least, none that Mike was willing to show.

Until he was told then. Nick smiled at the sound of Gary's comments, Mike's excitement and Zach's attempts to convince the other two that motorcycle was a hazard to humanity. Until he was told, whenever that would be, he would wait and treasure times like these, fond memories as they no doubt would be.

Mike smacked him on the back of his head, an unfailingly effective way to get his attention--not to mention to derail his train of thought. "What're you grinnin' at?"

Oh yes, gentillet péjoratif, certainly.