Chapter Text
Now, Barok didn't think of himself as someone who cared, remotely, about anything that wasn't law. After all, he was pre-law and he had 1000000 hours of homework a week. But when his roommate, Albert, showed up on his doorsteps, drunk and lacking quite a few articles of clothing, Barok knew, something was amiss.
Barok hated his roommate. He hated when he brought up his boyfriend, Herlock Sholmes, to 269 of Bakerson Court. But mainly, he just hated him. Definitely because he was a weird STEM student and Barok was also probably homophobic. Definitely not because of anything else.
Barok hated how his roommate brought his boyfriend up every day of the week. After all, he had essays to write and midterms to study for. How else was he going to study with all the noise? All the disgusting, foul, smacking noises of lips on lips reverberating throughout the room. Barok hated working in the living room. He hated when Albert locked him out of HIS OWN APARTMENT and he had to sprawl on the dirty, cold floor outside just to complete his assignments and get 6 hours of sleep.
"Definitely should have made a small donation of a million dollars to McGilded Properties to get a studio" Barok groaned, as he rubbed his eyes, heavy with lack of sleep.
"Good morning!" Albert chimes. How the man could be so alive at the ripe hour of 7 am astounded him.
"Good morning Albert's grumpy roommate!" a man chimes next to him.
And lo and behold.
It was the man.
The myth.
The legend.
THE Herlock Sholmes
In the flesh
Who had somehow managed to stay the night.
Barok did not want to see his roommate Albert shirtless in bed with his weird shirtless upperclassman boyfriend. Barok totally wasn't jealous or anything...right? He just hated public indecency. After all, what did Herlock have to show? The man was all stick and bones. Barok scoffed. He had always considered himself well-endowed in that aspect.
Barok was totally not thinking about his roommate when he drove to school in his fancy chromium blue Model S Tesla that he named Lucifer Fallen Seraphim Harbinger of Death and Destruction the Second and buffed every week. Totally not about the way Albert had the cutest smile, an illuminating ray on a cloudy day. Totally not about the way Albert would try to slick his hair back every morning to avoid violating lab attire protocols, but to no avail, his fluffy, lemon meringue-colored hair springing back up with a mind of its own.
"God he's so fucking dumb I hate him so much," Barok thinks, as he sees Albert chase the J down the street, French toast in mouth, with his stupid lab coat on. Who does he think he is? "He looks like a cringe ass freshman," Barok thinks, as both he AND Albert were freshmen a mere 3 months ago.
Barok hated the rain. He hated the freshly wet mud, and the way it stained his perfectly pristine black Wellingtons. But what he hated the most was seeing his roommate soaking wet at the bus stop, see-through white button-up, kissing his boyfriend Herlock Sholmes under the soft pitter-patter of rain upon the earth. Barok was pretty sure by now that he was homophobic. And because he was precisely that, he proceeded to make a circle and drive towards his said roommate at the sexy speed of 80 miles per hour, splashing Albert and his boyfriend, and soaking them both to the core.
"GET FUCKED DIPSHIT" Barok yells, throwing up a middle finger that was frankly quite uncivilized for a man of his status.
"THANKS BABYGIRL I NEEDED A SHOWER ANYWAYS!" And Herlock, being a man of many mysteries, takes out a Head and Shoulders 10 in 1 shampoo bottle and proceeds to wash his hair because he was a poor college student and did not want to pay the 25 dollar flat fee for water at the Duke.
Barok smirked. He had defeated the homos once again. But when he arrived back to 269 of Bakerson Court, he knew. He fucked up. Barok always considered himself a man of great meticulousness. But somehow, amidst his 69 midterms and homework assignments, he had forgotten to bring his house keys.
Barok had laughed at his soaked roommate and his equally soaked albeit soapy boyfriend. But he didn't think he was laughing anymore.
Now, Barok could have been a cool roommate and apologized to Albert for his homophobic actions. He could have asked Albert to come over quickly and unlock the front door. But Barok was a man of great pride, and he submitted to no one. So as rich people do, he called up the locksmith, rent contract be damned. Barok probably should have realized the locksmith he called was located an hour away, while Bakerson Court was a mere 15 minute bus ride away from the University of California London campus. But Barok did not realize because he was homophobic. And as we all know, all homophobic brains are saturated of homophobia, specifically thoughts of roommates in see-through shirts and pale, porcelain skin.
Deep in reverie, Barok failed to notice his roommate’s returning presence. “Barok…Barok!” A gentle tug to his sleeve roused Barok from his extremely homophobic thoughts of brushing Albert’s soaked cotton candy hair from his doe-eyed gaze. Because Albert was a chill guy, he figured Barok probably just had a bad day. Probably because the barista at Wright’s didn’t make his black coffee exactly 100 degrees Fahrenheit. And it do be like that sometimes. But “it do be like that sometimes” for Barok usually meant dropping slurs randomly in the comforts of his room while Albert sat, trying to focus on benzene rings and synthesis reactions.
Barok usually went straight to work when he came home from his classes. But today, he was distracted. Distracted by the way his roommate’s jeans were a size too small and hugged his curves in all of the right places. Distracted by the way his roommate’s petite pink lips would frown slightly when checking login.canvas.ucl.edu. Barok was glad that it wasn’t November yet.
He groaned, fingers combing through his silky, luscious locks that no doubt inspired jealousy in all those who came across him. But he was a pre-law, and pre-laws did not have time to think about roommates and feelings. And so, he suffered, trying desperately not to think about anything other than his essay on politics and the housing crisis in San Francisco. But oh, did his mind diverge from the topic at hand. I mean, who cared about the housing crisis in San Francisco when the literal embodiment of angelic divinity stood 5 feet away, veiled behind a thin wall?
Barok then proceeded to complete his essay, which most certainly would not set a high on canvas because Barok could not physically think about anything other than Albert's melodic voice, muttering thermodynamical principles under his breath. Barok hated feelings. What purpose did they serve other than hindering his success?
Barok hated calling his brother. He was a strong, independent young man who did not need the guidance of others. But Barok did not have friends. So call his brother he did.
Barok regretted calling his brother. All Klint did was laugh at him and call him his cute little brother. "Awwww someone catching feelings? Who's the lucky girl? Need help?" So Barok hung up. Because he did not have feelings and therefore did not need help with them.Yet his musings were interrupted rudely by the sound of giggling across the hall.
"Oh, Herlock! You're soooo funny!"
That was it. Barok was moving out.
He was going to call Chase first thing in the morning and arrange for a security deposit for a studio at another apartment.
Barok lied, and he was not a man who usually lied about anything. He did not call Chase first thing in the morning, or rather, at all. The phone number a mere seconds touch away, Barok experienced his first bout of hesitation since he emerged from his mother's womb.
Why couldn't he do it?
Barok's chest aches as he imagines Herlock Sholmes moving into HIS room, cuddling Albert on THEIR couch, and sharing morning kisses. He wanted to regurgitate his gut contents. Reassuring himself, he nodded. He most definitely was homophobic. He was just bothered by someone else using the furniture HE handpicked with careful detail to the surrounding aesthetics.
"Good morning Barok! Are you heading off to class now? I hope you have a nice day! I packed you lunch, see? It's your favorite and made with love~" Albert caresses his cheek before stealing a kiss. Barok flushes, shade rivaling the fire trucks that surrounded the dorms and the stupid ass freshmen that couldn't stop setting their food on fire. Albert wraps his arms around Barok's waist…
"Barok? Earth to Barok?"
Barok jumps.
What.
Was.
That?
"Are you alright, Barok? Your face is awfully red. Almost as red as the litmus paper in my chemistry labs when something has a pH under 4.5! Are you acidic? Hmmmm.” Albert mumbles something about acids and bases or whatnot under his breath. Barok wasn't sure what he was saying, but it was incredibly hot.
Fingertips dance delicately upon his forehead and come to a stop, signifying the end of their performance. Barok quite literally feels his heart stop.
"Oh my gosh! You're going to fail the daily symptom survey at this point! You should stay home and rest!" Barok never missed a single day of school, and he wasn't about to. But Herlock probably got him sick with some nasty disease affecting only the vulgar classes."I don't have a lab today and my lectures are recorded! Here, take it easy and go lie down. I'll make you some soup." Barok wondered if Albert would be good at cooking. After all, his personality, demeanor, looks...they all screamed malewife.
Barok had never been so wrong in his life, as he sat in front of a steaming hot bowl of...are those shrimp shells? And chicken bones? "Oh this? It's chicken noodle soup! Heard it was great for colds. Felt it lacked some key nutrients though, so I added my own twist! Now you'll get all the vitamins your immune system needs!" But then...where were the noodles? Where was the actual chicken meat? And...what are these mysterious black clumps? Barok knew he would probably expel his intestinal contents for multiple days and end up in the hospital if he drank Albert's mysterious concoction he called "soup." But how could he deny Albert’s enthusiastic and sincere gaze? Health be damned.
Barok definitely had two or more symptoms when he filled out his survey after drinking Albert's "soup."
Fever (>100.4 F)? Check
Diarrhea? Check
Nausea or Vomiting? Check
Now, Barok didn't mind if it was just him and Albert. It was nice being pampered, he admitted.
But then, why was Herlock here...again?
And in his closet, no less.
Did Albert even let him in?
As if by cue, Herlock shrugs. "An elementary deduction, if I do say so myself."
What Barok did not realize quite yet was that Herlock was a man of many mysteries. And not even Albert understood what was going through his head.