Chapter Text
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Iris Black I think you’d get along!!! 😋 |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black I need to make you two meet some time as well honestly |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black LAURENCE LILLIUM IS GOING TO BE IN MY APARTMENT ONE OF THESE DAYS THIS IS INSANE!!!! AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!! |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black When I brought up Penny he seemed interested and I asked if he wanted to come over and meet her sometime HE SAID YES??? |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black BUT!!! |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black And he has them in his dorm so I asked if I could see them sometime, but he said his roommate hates having guests over so probably not |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black THEYRE SO CUTEEEE he has three and he named them after desserts and everything!!!!! 🥹❤️ |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black HE HAS THEM IN HIS DORM |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black AND HE HAS!! HERMIT CRABS!!!! |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black BUT HEHAS A CAT!!! He’s from Georgia so he hasn’t seen her since the semester started but her name is SeeU because his little sister got to name her. Like the Vocaloid! Isn’t that SO EFFING CUTE?!?! 😻 |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black We got dinner together which yessssssss score for me! It’s not exactlyyyyy a date but I’m still superrrr happy we got to have a meal together hehehe. He doesn’t need to know I’m into him I’m mostly just happy to have a new friend rn but hehe… heh… |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black So basically we were just in the library studying for Friday’s quiz since Lillium didn’t understand some of the double integral stuff and after a while he left to take a phone call and I asked him what it was about and he was like oh it was just my sister asking ab… |
2hr ago |
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Iris Black WAIT we’re getting dinner but I will 100% tell you later I promise |
4hr ago |
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Iris Black DUDE SO MUCH HAPPENED TODAY I THINK I GOT UPGRADED FROM CLASS FRIEND TO ACTUAL FRIEND??!?!?! Oh my gosh I need to tell you everything soooo much happened |
4hr ago |
‧₊˚ ⚘ ‧₊˚.
Laurence knew he’d have to get a job once he got settled into college, but he was thinking of something… chill. Like a front desk job at a residence hall or library, or giving guitar lessons, or working some cashier job at the bookstore. So how come he’s using a spray head with a water pressure so high it could probably clean concrete to blast melted cheese off the bottom of a metal tin that’s probably as old as he is? How did he become a student worker for one of his university’s wonderful dining courts, his already-dirty uniform shirt getting further soaked by a healthy serving of cheddar-scented water droplets? Laurence sighs as he watches yellowy lumps splat against the bottom of the sink.
Is it kind of gross? Yeah. Does he have any better options? Not really.
He passed his driver’s test a week before he had to move to college but, even though he got his license, he still had no car to speak of, meaning off-campus jobs were out of the question. And Laurence, being the first in his family to go to college, had no idea that the good campus jobs got snapped up within the first thirty seconds of the academic year. Applying for a residence hall’s front desk job that’s ninety percent homework time is not for those who procrastinate.
He was originally still waiting on a response from the bookstore gig when his roommate mentioned offhandedly that her older brother worked at a dining court while he was a student, and that it wasn't too bad after he got used to it. Laurence was skeptical of how worth it the job was until his roommate added that one free meal was provided with every shift. He went and applied online five minutes later.
Oh, and the bookstore rejected him the same day the dining court accepted him, likely due to his embarrassingly empty resume.
So… that’s how he got here.
Getting put on dishes beats serving people runny macaroni and cheese, though.
“Here’s more stuff that won’t fit in the dishwasher,” says a voice from behind him, followed by loud metal clanging, and Laurence tries his best to play off the way he jolts in surprise.
“Thanks,” he says, glancing over his shoulder to see who he’s talking to.
The pride pins on the hat give it away. It’s one of his supervisors—the one that oriented him, to be specific. The second Laurence figures it out, he whips his head back around and returns to blasting dishes with steaming water, lips pursed tight as the sound of footsteps fades away.
It’s not that Laurence doesn’t like his supervisor. Quite the opposite, actually—they’re one of his favorite people to work with. They answer all his questions, are nice about correcting him, and always seem happy to see him. It’s just… weird. To see someone so comfortable being genderqueer. Using a name and pronouns they obviously weren’t born with, even around adults, even in a professional work environment. And it’s even weirder to watch it all, for the most part, be respected. Part of Laurence sort of believed that things like that never happened in real life.
But it’s not like he can up and ask his supervisor something like, “Hey, man, where did you find the courage to start using your preferred name in front of adults and on official documents?” as easily as he asks, “Hey, where can I find more racks for the clean cups?” Hell no. All he can do is ignore that the name on his name tag is wrong and clench his jaw when professors or coworkers hesitate before referring to him like they would a girl. He’s out to Iris, his college friends, and his roommate, and that’s about it. No relatives, no coworkers, no nothing.
He kicks at the wet tile with the heel of his non-slip shoe and dunks his now-clean tin into soapy water before moving on to rinsing off the next dish. The repetition of the task allows his mind to wander as his body goes on autopilot.
‧₊˚ ⚘ ‧₊˚.
It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon in senior year of high school, and Iris and Laurence are cleaning the old chapel behind their church. Light streams in through the tall stained-glass windows, decorating the old pews with all sorts of colors as Laurence rubs lemon-scented wood polish into the wood with a white rag that’s turned dark grey from all the grime.
“I still can’t believe they’re acting like this over a haircut,” Iris says for the millionth time, his bucket of soapy water sloshing loudly as he pushes it across the aisle with his foot. His sponge leaves a jagged trail of water behind him as it crumples in his clenched fist. “It’s not fair.”
“Well, what are we supposed to do about it?” Laurence snaps. “I should’ve known better than to think no one would freak out when we buzzed my fucking head.”
“But it’s your hair,” Irish argues, “and you should be able to do whatever you want with it.”
They’ve had this conversation at least three other times this afternoon. Laurnece feels his patience wearing thin. “Iris, be for real. My mom is as religious as they come—hell, yours is worse. You know how this goes better than anyone, so are you just not listening to me? Are you being dense on purpose?”
“No! I’m being serious! It’s never been fair, and cutting your hair doesn’t even mean anything! Everyone’s just freaking out over a bunch of assumptions they’ve made!”
Laurence dumps more wood polish onto his rag before continuing to clean the pew, wrist starting to ache from how much force he’s using. “God, I just… whatever. Our punishment could be way worse than just cleaning the chapel, so, uh, honestly? I’ll take it. Better than… well…”
The silence grows impossibly heavy for a second as Laurence’s gaze flits to Iris’s hand, to the two-year-old scar between his thumb and his wrist.
“...Right. Guess so,” Iris says, flat. He returns to cleaning without another word.
Laurence would feel bad—he does, honestly. Just not bad enough. He’s too caught up in his own head for that.
He’d been giddy when he’d first brushed his palms over his newly cut hair last night, shocked laughter breaking out from under his ribs as he checked himself out in the handheld mirror he and Iris had snuck out to Laurence’s garage, right alongside Laurence’s uncle’s clippers. His previously shoulder-length hair laid in dark clumps on the dirty concrete floor, not yet swept up.
Iris had rubbed a hand over Laurence’s scalp and Laurence had leaned into the touch, tilting his head back to grin upside-down at his friend, nearly trembling from the euphoria.
And then the garage door had opened, his mother’s eyes had landed on his head, and Laurence’s unfortunate fate had been sealed.
He’d spent hours trying to calm his mother down, to convince her that no, he was not a lesbian or turning away from God or becoming addicted to drugs or ten million other things that had absolutely fucking nothing to do with cutting his hair. Eventually, he’d been let off the hook after agreeing that buzzing his head was a mistake and swearing up and down that he’d never ever do it again—only to run into his uncle, holding his stolen clippers and looking at Laurence’s head with a carefully blank expression. All he had to say before heading back to his room was to be sure to wear hats once summer came lest Laurence’s scalp get sunburnt.
And then Laurence had been woken up the next morning at six-thirty sharp, his mother telling him that Iris was already waiting outside and going to spend the day cleaning the chapel with him as punishment.
So, here they are. Laurence shakes his head as he comes back to the present, still amazed by the lack of hair brushing against his cheeks and ears. Its absence has already caused so many problems (and will cause more, considering he has school on Monday), but… he doesn’t regret it, not really.
He glances over at Iris, who’s scrubbing the stone floor with stiff, jerky movements, his back to Laurence. He’s right. It is Laurence’s hair. And he likes it better this way.
“Sorry,” he offers quietly, “and, uh… thanks. For making me brave enough to do it.”
Iris’s shoulders round out almost immediately, and he sits back on his heels before looking back at Laurence, a small smile on his face. “Any time. Short hair suits you.”
‧₊˚ ⚘ ‧₊˚.
It’s dark outside when Laurence clocks out of work, queuing up a few songs he’s had stuck in his head all day before checking his messages as he starts the short walk back to his dorm. There’s one from his uncle, a few from Lou, a lot from Iris, and even more in the band group chat.
He goes through them methodically, saving the ones from Iris for last.
He tells his uncle that his job is still going well, tells Lou that he’ll create a graph for their lab report once he gets back to his dorm, tells the band group chat that he’s free Tuesday next week for practice, and… kind of just reads Iris’s texts a few times, keyboard open but untouched, not yet entirely sure of what to say.
Meeting Lillium, the mysterious electrical engineering major from 9:00 A.M. multivariate calculus that Iris has been absolutely mooning over for the past three weeks? It’s probably a good idea. Laurence hasn’t been given any reason to be concerned about Lillium yet, but he knows from experience that Iris tends to see people he likes through rose-colored glasses and that the only judgment Laurence can trust in situations like this is his own.
Plus, meeting Lillium would mean getting to see Iris for more than twenty minutes at a time again. They’ve only gotten to hang out in bits and pieces lately, rushed lunches between classes and choppy conversations during the less busy periods of Laurence’s dinner shifts—if that.
Laurence has his doubts that he and Lillium will get along, but hanging out with both him and Iris kills two birds with one stone, and Laurence is a little too busy to pass that chance up.