Chapter Text
Tucker fucking hated earbud headphones. It didn't matter how many times he shoved the damn things in his pocket perfectly rolled up, knot free – they always found a way to get more tangled than a jump rope in a washing machine. Don't ask him why he knew what that was like. Kindergarten was a wild time.
“I swear to fucking god, I'm asking for real headphones next Christmas,” Tucker said around the donut in his mouth, eyebrows knotted in frustration as his not-so-nimble fingers attempted to get the thin cords out of their jungle vine hell. They had been a present from Church for his birthday and even though he had just opened them that morning, one earphone already went out, they were tangled beyond repair, and Church had even left the fucking price tag on the box under his arm. Five dollars.
Fucking cheap prick. He thought, sucking his teeth as someone shoved past him. His college campus was crowded because of exchange sign-up day and that didn't help his task at hand at all. He'd already bumped into fuck knows how many people in the past ten minutes, and he was quickly losing his patience with the cheap excuse for a listening device in his hands. Why are there even so many people out here with midterms around the corner? He thought before remembering that the only reason he was out there was to get his mind off of the midterm. But instead he'd only managed to frustrate himself more focusing on the damn headphones.
“Man, you know what – fuck this!” He said after bumping into person number ten, tossing the annoying pieces of crap towards the nearest trash can, package, donut and all. He was two steps in front of it until –
“Did you just throw garbage at me?”
Tucker froze. In his mind, images shuffled like a camera roll. What the fuck did he just throw his shit at? It was a trash can right? ... right ?
“Tucker.”
Tucker turned around, nearly biting his tongue to keep himself from laughing. Standing in now a strawberry jelly covered gray hoodie with a pair of very tangled headphones caught in the strings was Wash. His mouth was pulled into a very deep frown and he looked very angry and Tucker was very scared.
Putting his hands up in defense, Tucker opened his mouth to reply, “Sorry dude, I thought you were – ”
“Choose your next words very carefully, Lavernius,” Wash cut off, eyes getting as dark as the bags under them. The dude looked like he hadn't slept in days, and knowing Wash's 'Strive-For-Perfection' family, he probably hadn't. Tucker didn't like that thought. That meant he was open to the idea of murder. Midterms were no joke and Tucker just gave him an excuse to vent. His face must have looked like the epitome of Oh Shit ™ because Wash only looked angrier by the second.
“Did you seriously mistake me for a fucking trash can?!” He snapped, voice rising in pitch.
“I wasn't paying attention, okay?” Tucker said, putting his hands out on either side of him. “Fuck, I'm sorry! You don't need to bitch about it! It's not even that great of a hoodie!”
“This is the only clean hoodie I have! All of the washing machines were taken!” Wash said, pulling out the bottom of hoodie in disgust.
Tucker snorted, shrugging his shoulders. “I don't know what you want me to do about it,” he said, running a hand over his tied back dreads, “because I don't have enough money to buy you a new one.” By now Wash's face was the same color as the red shirt the football coach loved to wear, and Tucker could swear he saw steam coming out of his ears. Rubbing a hand over his face, Wash kept it on his mouth for a long time, his death glare locked onto Tucker like he was the last thing Wash wanted to see that day.
Finally he put his hands together and calmly said, “Are you getting any sleep, Tucker.”
It wasn't a question, but Tucker looked at him like he lost his shit anyway. “The fuck are you talking about?”
Wash's patience broke and he stomped over to him, smacking him upside the head.
Tucker doubled over dramatically, putting a hand over the wounded spot. “Ow! What the fuck man, I just got these dreads done – you know I'm tender headed!”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” Wash said in false sympathy, squeezing Tucker's shoulder till the latter couldn't feel it anymore. Damn nerd had a hell of a grip. (Bowchickawowwow.) “I didn't realize you were soft in the head in more ways than one. How else could you have mistook me for a fucking trash can , Tucker ?”
Tucker fell to his knees, trying to pull Wash's hand off of his shoulder by slapping it repeatedly. “Ow, ow, ow! I get it, I get it – you don't look like shit, can you fucking let go of me now?!”
Wash, completely unfazed by the stares they were receiving now, narrowed his eyes and shoved Tucker's shoulder away.
“Go study, Tucker,” he said in a deadpan.
“ Please go fuck yourself, Wash,” Tucker whined through his teeth, rubbing his sore shoulder.
Wash peeled the donut off of himself and smacked it in Tucker's face, rubbing it in despite the other's muffled protests, and walked away, dusting his hands off as went.
Tucker frantically wiped the sugary menace off of his face and scowled as he looked down.
His headphones were untangled.
And he just managed to piss off someone he really shouldn't have.
Fucking. Incredible.