Chapter Text
By the second semester, it was time to lay down the law. Spock and McCoy liked Jim, they really did, but they had serious majors they were concentrating on. They needed sleep. Jim staggering back to the dorm absolutely shitfaced and pounding on the door to be let in at ungodly hours couldn’t be handled anymore.
“Jim, next time you come back to the room wasted, I am not letting you in.” McCoy said, arms crossed, standing next to Spock and blocking Jim’s exit from the room.
“Aw, c’mon Bones,” McCoy bristled at the nickname Jim had given him. “I don’t do that too often-“
“The statistics show that you come home at three in the morning or later while intoxicated on average twice a week, excluding weekends.” Spock deadpanned. He was majoring in Physics and Calculus. Jim always joked he minored in Sass.
“What he said,” McCoy added. “Listen Jim, I’m in pre-med, and I can’t be getting up to let you in whenever you forget your key.”
“Are you worried about your beauty sleep?” Jim interjected, impish smile starting to spread across his face. “Because I assure you, you are absolutely-“
“Dammit Jim, you’re hopeless.” McCoy groaned, grabbing Jim and pushing him out the door.
“You guys know you love me, you’ll always let me in!” Came Jim’s muffled yell from the hallway.
About an hour later, while McCoy was reading up on immunology and Spock was studying for an exam, McCoy turned around in his chair to face his roommate.
“What do you think the likelihood of that talk penetrating Jim’s thick skull was?”
“Approximately 3.9%.”
And sure enough, late that night, the two heard the unmistakable sound of a very drunk Jim pounding at their door.
“BOOOOOOOOONES. SSSSSSSSPOCK. C’MOOOON GUYS, LET ME IN. PRETTY PLEEEEEASSSSSSE? WITH SUGAR ON TOP?! AND A CHERRY. I WILL THROW IN A CHERRY IF YOU LET ME IN.”
That went on for about ten minutes, and there may or may not have been a rendition of Killer Queen. Spock and McCoy stared at each other and then stared at the door.
“Perhaps we should-“ Spock began, resolve beginning to crumble as they heard the sound of a body sliding down the wall.
“No. No we should not.” McCoy finished. They would not open that door. They had warned him. Let him lay there and be pathetic. “We earned this, Spock. We earned this right to sleep without getting out of our warm, cozy beds to let that shithead in.”
And so they settled back into their beds, McCoy closing his eyes. He briefly wondered if Jim was alright or if he’d finally died of alcohol poisoning, but he shoved the doctor in him down and went to sleep.
Or tried to.
But gradually the sound of panting and scraping reached his ears. He opened one eye and glanced sideways at Spock, who was peacefully sleeping once again. He looked at his phone to make sure no weird music had mysteriously come on. It hadn’t.
He jumped as the window opened loudly. His left eyebrow went sky-high as a hand gripped the ledge, followed by an arm, a shoulder, and finally the head of James T. Kirk appeared. Spock sat up in his bed as Jim hauled the rest of himself in and collapsed on the floor in a heap.
“Jim?” Spock called cautiously.
“You bastards-“ panted Jim. “-wouldn’t let me in. Jokes on-“pant” you, fuckers.”
“Did you climb in here?”
“Yeah,” Jim said, raising his head and grinning. His yellow hoodie was stained with something dubious. It looked suspiciously like blood, but could easily be dirt. McCoy hoped for the latter.
“We live on the third floor, Jim.”