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Moving into his own place certainly had Gordon out of his depth. Well, sort of his own place; it was a cramped on-campus dorm so of course he had people living all around him, but the room at least was his own. Not that it was supposed to be, though. For whatever reason, he was informed two days before he moved that he wouldn’t actually have a roommate for the semester due to “unforeseen circumstances”. He was fine with both that, and the vagueness of the e-mail informing him as such. It just meant he had a little more space to spread out.
And spread out he does. Two weeks in and there are papers and books everywhere . Some of it is his own personal work, most of it is assignments he already has to work on as well as the various textbooks that go with them. It’s organized chaos, he claims to… Well, no one, he doesn’t exactly have friends yet, let alone house guests (except that drunk junior that wandered in Friday night, but that didn’t count even in the slightest). Well, he could claim it to his rats, but… they don’t know sign, as much as he likes to pretend they do sometimes.
The rats are currently where his focus is. His pencil is stuck between the bars of their cage, his little albino chasing it almost like a cat would as he moves it. Gordon’s chin rests in this hand, watching her lazily. He sighs slightly, then feels his stomach growl. He cringes, glancing to the clock above his desk. It’s past one and he hasn’t eaten yet, no wonder he’s hungry, but… at least the cafeteria is still open for lunch.
He sighs, taking his pencil back and stands. The MIT-brand lanyard he was given at orientation is slipped around his neck, his dorm key, house key from New Mexico and student ID hanging from the end of it. He’s about to walk out when he pauses, glancing back at his desk. He snatches up a notebook quickly, pocketing a pen to go with it. If he’s going to be down there for long enough to eat, he may as well bring something to work on while he does.
The walk from his dorm to the mess hall is a relatively short one, the cold autumn air still managing to bite through his sweater vest and the button-up under it. Gordon shivers, holding the notebook closer to his chest as if it would help anything at all as he shuffles into the building. He lets out a soft sigh, glancing around. There’s quite a few people packed in, having obviously waited like him to get their food. There’s still a good amount of open space to sit, though.
Gordon gets himself something decent to eat, making his way to a table near the back of the room where he hopes no one will notice him sort-of eating, sort-of mouthing words to himself as he works out formulas for a personal project he isn’t even sure will work. His back is to the main entrance and as a result, most of the people in the room.
The hopefully-soon-to-be physicist is so focused on his work that when something small and wet hits the side of his neck, he jumps hard, instantly looking around. He sets his pen down to rub the spot, finding exactly what he expected; a spitball. It’s 9th grade all over again. He glances around, then ducks his head and starts to go back to work. There’s a pause of around ten minutes when he feels it happen again, this time flinching and looking around him a little more. He doesn’t see anyone immediately that’s laughing at his reaction, so instead he opts to pull up the collar of his shirt and keep his head down further, hunching over his work. His handwriting becomes more frantic instantly, and when he feels another spitball hit the back of his head, he starts to gather his papers together again. He doesn’t bother tucking them into the notebook like before, he just rushes to throw out his trash and holds his notes close.
Gordon is quickly making his way past tables, toward the exit, when something suddenly catches his ankles. He’s sent to the ground, notebook flying out from his hands when he puts an arm out to catch himself. His notes go everywhere, a harsh, borderline evil laugh coming from somewhere above him. Oh, if he wasn’t having a flashback to 9th grade before, he absolutely is now. He doesn’t dare look up, he just grabs his notes as fast as possible, scrambling to his feet and darting out of the room with tears in his eyes. He barely catches a girl’s voice behind that laugh, harshly saying “what was that for?!” followed faintly by the cackler laughing harder.
Even though it isn’t far, Gordon stops himself just outside of the cafeteria with a shaking, aching hand pressed to his mouth to try and muffle soft cries. This is college. Things were supposed to be different here, things were supposed to be nicer, but two weeks in and he’s right back in high school. Gordon wonders, briefly, if maybe it had been a guy from his high school that was firing spitballs at him. It would surprise him, honestly. He came out of a small school, and hardly anyone there had been interested in a higher education, let alone one from MIT…
Only when he tastes copper does Gordon realize he’s crouched down on the ground, biting his nails down to the skin. He presses the small injury into his pants, which he hopes are a dark enough gray to hide the blood. He pushes to his feet, rushing back to his dorm room as fast as possible.
It’s been two days since the cafeteria incident (“the cafeteria incident”? Really Gordon? It has a name now?) and Gordon is finally starting to relax from it. It was a one-time thing, on a huge campus with a ton of other students everywhere all the time. He reminds himself of this as he passes said building, making his way back to his dorm after a particularly long weekly lecture. He sighs softly, shaking his head as if to shake the formulas he was just bombarded with away.
“Hey!” Someone behind him yells, and Gordon ignores it, assuming that whoever it is isn’t talking to him. “Hey, notebook boy!” The voice shouts again.
Gordon looks over his shoulder, if cautiously. He’s just barely in time to spot a guy with short-cropped hair and a black eyepatch that looks more like a Halloween prop than something functional. The guy throws an arm around his shoulders, making Gordon flinch hard and try to shrink away.
“Heyyyy, just the guy I was looking for! You’re some kinda uhhh… Science nerd, right?” The guy’s opposite hand pokes him in the chest, harder than Gordon expected. He tries to shrink further.
His fight-or-flight is in charge now, and he shakes his head, trying to pull away from the stranger.
The stranger’s grip holds fast, though. “Hey, what’s the hurry man, you got a girl to meet up with or something?” He laughs, and something clicks for Gordon. It’s the guy from the cafeteria, the one that tripped him. He’s probably responsible for the spitballs too. “Of course you don’t, you’re a little fuckin’ nerd boy. What’s the matter? Looks like you’re gonna cry. Gonna cry a little maybe?” The guy continues to laugh.
Gordon is about to cry, actually. And he’s starting to have trouble breathing. He’s being cornered by a bully. Again. He thought these days were behind him. He drops out from under the guy’s arm, ducking and moving as fast as he can for the door to his building.
It’s too far away, though. His backpack, still strapped to his back, is yanked hard. He’s pulled back, and feels himself hit a wall. His hands instinctively come up to cover his face, palms out. There’s a hand gripping the collar of his shirt, and suddenly Gordon can’t hear a word the guy is saying over his own heart pounding in his ears. He’s shaking, though. He feels that.
What he does hear is a single sharp whistle, somewhere across the courtyard. It’s followed by a deeper voice shouting at them, and Gordon thinks maybe it’s a member of the faculty coming to save his ass. When he pulls his eyes open to look, the person running toward them both isn’t a professor, or one of the admins, but a younger man who clearly has a bone to pick with one of them. The way he moves tells Gordon that he was probably a football player at some point, he’s got the bulk for it. And he’s pissed.
“You motherfucker, what are ya tryin’ to do here?! Pick on somebody your own size, you fuckin’ egomaniac!” The new guy bellows as he gets closer, clearly talking to eyepatch guy.
Gordon starts to shake harder. His collar is let go of and he sinks to the ground, hands on his head.
“Oh, yeah? Like who? Like your hick ass, maybe?” The bully challenges, shoving into the new guy’s chest. From where he is on the ground, Gordon can see that the guy’s actually wearing cowboy boots under his jeans. Paired with his accent, “hick” isn’t too far off.
The shove doesn’t even move the cowboy. At all. In fact, he just looks and sounds more pissed off. “Sure, you think you could take me? C’mon, I’d like to see it, I’ll even let ya make the first punch, go on. Please, be my guest.” He takes a big step back, holding his arms out. He stares the guy down.
“Oh, that’s rich. You’re gonna regret that!” Eyepatch guy snaps, and swings as hard as he can at Cowboy’s face. His fist connects with the guy’s cheek at full force, but the only reaction that follows is a high-pitched yell. And it’s not Cowboy’s.
“Am I, now?” Cowboy raises a brow after he’s been hit. His weight shifts slightly, his stance changing. “My turn, then!” With that, he hauls off in a much more calculated way than Eyepatch had, hitting him in the temple with the flat of his knuckles. There’s an awful flesh-on-flesh noise, and suddenly Eyepatch is laying in front of Gordon’s feet, unmoving. He’s still breathing, clearly, but otherwise isn’t moving. He slowly looks up at Cowboy, who’s still in the followthrough.
He glares down at the unconscious form. “An’ stay down, you yella-belly bastard.” And then he literally spits. His gaze shifts to Gordon, who feels like he’s about ready to pass out. Cowboy reaches out a hand to help him up, expression softening. “Hey, you aight?”
Gordon hesitates, staring at the offered hand, the same one that had just knocked a guy out cold. He does not want to piss this guy off too, so he takes it. He’s easily hauled to his feet with terrifying ease, being steadied by rough hands when he stumbles. He’s guided to step over Eyepatch, barely keeping his footing.
“Hey, seriously, are you okay?” Cowboy asks again, leaning down slightly to look Gordon in the eyes. Gordon is about to look away out of sheer instinct when he realizes just how unique the eyes he’s looking into are. They’re two different colors, brown at the tops fading into a bright green at the bottom. He blinks, and slowly nods. Cowboy smiles at him. “‘M glad to hear that. Sorry that guy’s been botherin’ ya, I saw him in the mess hall the other day an’...” He sighs, shaking his head. “I mean really… we ain't children!”
Gordon nods in agreement, starting to scratch at the back of one arm. He glances down at Eyepatch.
“Yeah, I… may have gone kinda hard there… Fingers crossed I don’t get in trouble?” He chuckles nervously. “He, uh… deserved that. He lives down the hall from me, he is a grade-A asshole, lemme tell ya…” He shuffles his feet, and then Eyepatch starts to stir. Without thinking, Cowboy moves Gordon behind him and pulls the guy to his feet by the back of his shirt. He gets his feet under him much like a baby deer on ice, Cowboy practically holding him up by his shirt.
“Don- don’t, don’t! Fuuuuck, man, fuck off! I’m leaving, I’m leaving! Christ…” Eyepatch defends, Cowboy letting him go and stumble off, in the opposite direction of the building.
Cowboy sighs. “Seriously, fuck that guy.” Then he sticks out his right hand- the one he hadn’t just used to knock a man out. “I’m Barney, by the way. I’m a couple floors above ya, I think. I see ya down in the lobby workin’ on papers sometimes, good to meet ya.”
Still trembling like a leaf, Gordon shakes his hand, nodding. He lets go, then reaches for his lanyard and shows Barney his ID.
“Gordon? Well howdy, Gordon. You, uh… You’re awful quiet, y’know?” Barney raises a brow to him.
Rubbing the back of his neck, he glances away. His heart is finally starting to slow down a little.
Barney reaches out, patting him on the shoulder. Gordon doesn’t flinch this time. “Hey, that’s aight! Don’t bother me none. Here, I’m headin’ up too, how ‘bout I walk you up?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Gordon nods. Truly, he’s grateful not only for the save, but for the kindness that followed. And, he finds himself thinking, maybe he finally has a friend.