Chapter Text
The robbers are delirious when the door opens again. One of them is no longer responsive, but the other two are spaced out. The drugs from the proffered cannoli have them hallucinating disproportioned sections of one another’s faces and limbs. Hobbled footsteps trek past them, collecting the bag of cash discarded in the corner. By the time the footfalls make their way back to the door, the men are dead.
"And my professor think I'm not absorbing any arithmetic," Oswald scoffs. "Let me tell you, I had to bake 10 cannoli and each one takes a generous 3 tablespoons of filling, so I needed a total of 30 tablespoons of my poisoned chili cream. My professor should be so proud of my real-world example."
He collects the cannoli box and leaves the door shut in a juxtaposition to a robbery-homicide. This isn’t the life he expected he’d be living. Here he is, twenty-five, a senior at Gotham University. While he’s trading secrets between mob bosses and working duties under a crime lord, he’s got his own dirty laundry. In his car, Oswald silently decides where he’s headed: home, his mother’s, or visiting Jim. His subconscious picks the latter with the rest of him trailing behind.
He arrives just outside Jim’s apartment building a little after four. He looks in his rearview mirror once he parks and reaches into his glove box for a little foundation to touch up his busted lip from an earlier fight. Once he decides he looks presentable, the young man grabs his stylish cane in one hand and a sack of groceries in the other. He only manages to stagger up the first flight of stairs, which is inevitable due to the elevator still being broken after nine months. He rounds up the second flight, only to stop at a teenager’s feet.
“Excuse me,” He tries to be polite, but the teenager is sobbing into his knees and not paying the older man any attention. “Excuse me,” He tries louder. “Can I help you?”
The teen sniffles and barely looks up from beyond his glasses. “I don’t know. Can you?”
Oswald refrains from yelling or swatting at the kid. He breathes deeply. “Let’s try this another way. Why the hell are you crying on the steps?”
His words are hostile, but he’s reeling back. The teenager sighs and stretches out his feet.
“You’d think it’s dumb.”
Probably. “Just… tell me?”
He nods. “Okay. So, Lorie’s mother-in-law committed suicide but staged it to look like a homicide, and now Lorie’s in jail for a crime she didn’t commit.”
Oswald blinks. That’s more than I figured. “Do you live here? Can we go sit inside?”
“Oh! Yes. Your leg. So sorry. My roommate accidentally locked us out, and he’s with the locksmith now. We can walk up there and wait if you’d like.”
“I’d like.”
Whenever this geek’s roommate gets back, I can go see Jim. And make some food. And stay over. I am not feeling up to chatting with Victor tonight. His thoughts are cut short when they come to a stop outside a very familiar door. No way. This is not the roommate…
Flashback to two weeks ago
“How much longer until you graduate, Jim?”
“I’m a criminal justice major, Oz. It generally takes a while.”
“You’re twenty-three years old and still a junior,” Oswald complains, pouring a glass of Chardonnay from an ex-girlfriend’s bottle. Barbara, he thinks. “Maybe someone can move in with you and keep you company?”
“Oh, yeah,” Jim smiles. “I interviewed some people.”
“You didn’t tell me,” Oz snaps and then calms down quickly. “Sorry for that outburst. But, don’t you tell me everything?”
Jim shrugs. “Normally. But you’ve got Victor.”
“What does that mean? ‘I’ve got Victor’?”
“Aren’t you two, together?”
“God, no. We’re roommates.”
“Oh, good. Well, I’m getting a roommate too. He’s just out of high school. His name’s Ed. Come by sometime, and I’ll introduce you.”
“Yes. I’ll do just that, Jim.”
Oswald hasn’t seen or talked to his friend since their awkward conversation. Suddenly, everything clicks. Oswald is slightly dejected but sets down the bag and pulls out his phone.
|To: Jim Dear
|From: Oz
I’m coming over tonight. Going to cook dinner for the 3 of us.
|To: Ozzie
|From: Jim
I’m @ locksmith. 3 of us?
|To: Jim Dear
|From: Oz
I’ll let myself in. You, Me, and your roommate
|To: Ozzie
|From: Jim
Sounds good. I think you’ll hit it off
Oswald pockets his phone and grabs his bag.
“Take this.”
Ed has a second to glance at the other man before the bag of groceries is thrust into his arms. The other man pulls out a tiepin and a heavy-duty paperclip. He jimmies the items into the door lock, and within four seconds, the door is open. Oswald collects his cane and walks into the apartment. Ed, despite living there, awkwardly trails behind.
“C’mon, Ed. We don’t have all day.”
Ed blinks and follows him inside. After he shuts the door and carries the bag into the kitchen, he notices his new friend is missing.
“How did you know my name?” Ed calls out.
Oswald walks out of Jim’s bedroom ten minutes later. Ed has taken the groceries out, figuring that the man must be Jim’s delivery boy and he’s gone off to find the money. When Ed turns around to fold the bag down, he’s shocked to see Oswald wearing a GCPD hoodie and sweatpants.
“Those are my roommate’s.”
“Jim won’t mind.” The other assures him, walking into the kitchen.
Ed watches as Oswald grabs pots and pans out of cupboards with ease. He grabs a few ingredients from the fridge and the cabinets before Ed’s focus snaps back to attention.
“Wait, how do you know his name? How do you know my name?”
“Jim told me,” Oswald answers matter-of-factly. “And I’m going to be cooking dinner tonight.”
Oh! He must be Jim’s boyfriend! Why didn’t he just say that? Cooking dinner? Well, I suppose I could go to the library. Or maybe Kristen will need… His thoughts are put on hold when he realizes Oswald asked him a question.
“What?”
“I asked if that was alright.”
“If what’s alright?”
“I’m going to be cooking dinner tonight. For the three of us. And I’m spending the night. Is that alright?”
“Yeah, yeah!” Does he want to cook dinner for me too? “That’s great. I’ll tell Jim.”
“Jim knows.”
“Does he also know you broke into his apartment to cook this meal?”
“Yes,” Oswald answers absentmindedly. “Ever since our first time.”
Oh great. Now I’ve got that mental image. Jim and… who is this? “Wait. What’s your name?”
“Oswald. Jim calls me Oz.”