Chapter Text
“I don’t know, man, there’s a shit ton of work in year two.”
In response, James simply sighed deeply into the phone, and Lars could practically hear his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.
“We’ll be fine,” James reiterated for the fourth time.
“You keep saying that, but remember how it turned out for Jason? Flunked right out,” Lars fired back, recalling their friend of a few years dropping out during his second year.
“Yeah, well, we both know how much Jason cared for studying. Look, just… lighten up, will you? Sure, you’re a dumbass, but you’re not that much of a dumbass,” James said.
Lars mumbled an irritated sound back, before hanging up.
The walk from the parking lot to the dorms was far, but not far enough that he’d rather have James talking bullshit into his ear than just going in silence. Amongst the yellowing leaves above, birds were chirping loudly, announcing the dawn. To Lars, they served as yet another reminder of the ungodly time during which he had woken up that morning to make the drive.
Shoving the phone back into his jean pocket, he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to chase some of the cold that was nipping at his fingertips away. It was only the start of his second year, there wasn’t really a reason for him to be as on edge as he was. Nothing had gone wrong yet, but Lars had always had a notoriously short temper.
Upon finally approaching the dormitory building, he pulled open the glass door, tugging his suitcase along with him. After waiting in line for a few minutes, it was his turn to approach the woman behind the front desk. She peeked at him from over the top of her burgundy, cat–eye glasses, assessing him for a brief moment.
“...Last name?”
“Ulrich,” he replied.
She skimmed a few documents, before—
“Lars?”
He nodded, and the woman soon extended a key and a slip of paper. Thanking her with a brief nod, Lars checked the note. Room 211. Skipping the elevator and instead jumping up the stairs two at a time, Lars quickly navigated to the second floor, dragging his case along with him. Locating 211 didn’t take long, however, upon attempting to use the key, Lars realized that the door had already been unlocked.
Twisting the doorknob, he quietly stepped into the room, taking in the layout.
Two desks, two loft beds, and a small door, presumably leading to an ensuite. The walls were painted sage green, and there was nice natural lighting pouring in from behind the white curtains. The desk to the right had been claimed, Lars assessed upon seeing the clutter atop it, closing the door softly behind him. It was sort of charming, really. A whole array of little figurines, including a miniature Godzilla, Spiderman and more that Lars couldn’t quite place, a stack of brightly colored magazines, a picture frame, and a few expensive looking pens.
Smiling, Lars looked up when the sound of a door opening alerted him of another’s presence. Out of the bathroom stepped a man with long black hair, a powerful jaw and tan skin.
“Hey, dude—” the man began, but stopped abruptly when his eyes met Lars’s. “Oh, hey…. Uh, where’s Kirk gone?”
“Uh, sorry?” Lars asked, thoroughly confused.
“Don't tell me...” the dark haired man said, smiling in something akin to disbelief. “You guys haven’t met yet. Oh, this is hilarious, Kirk’s gonna freak.”
“Sorry?” Lars repeated, blinking.
“I’m being rude,” the man shook his head, holding out a hand. “I’m Rob.”
“Lars,” Lars introduced, and the man —Rob— snorted.
“Nice to meet you, Lars. I’m a friend of your roommate’s.”
“Ah, makes sense,” Lars said, realizing their situation and exhaling a little laugh. Just then, footsteps in the hallway outside seemingly attracted both their attention, and when the door cracked open, followed by a quick stream of words (ow, ow, ouch, hot, ow), Rob laughed. Reaching forward on instinct, Lars relieved the poor guy of the burning mug in his hands.
“Ah jeez, thanks so much, man.”
Lars almost choked.
That voice.
Soft, melodic like none other, bordering on childish, but carrying something distinctly cheeky. Setting the paper mug down on the desk, Lars looked up to assess the stranger. For the second time in under ten seconds, he almost fell over.
He was beautiful.
His hair fell in shiny onyx coils, framing a face that looked as if it had been handcrafted by the ancient world’s foremost sculptors. His skin was slightly tan, less than Rob’s but more so than Lars’s, and his eyes glimmered like the ocean at night. With rosewood lips and long eyelashes, he looked taken straight out of a page of Vogue, or any one of those other fashion magazines James’s sister had lying scattered around the house any time Lars came to visit.
It wasn’t until Lars blinked out of his momentary stun that he noticed the wide–eyed look on the angel’s face.
“...Are you alright?” Lars managed. “You didn’t burn yourself too badly, did you?”
Only then did the stranger seem to blink out of his daze, grinning bashfully.
“Ah, I’m fine.”
Quickly, he set down the little brown paper bag on the chest of drawers next to the door. Brushing the hair from his eyes, he took Lars’s outstretched hand.
“Uh, Kirk. Kirk Hammett,” the angel introduced, a little smile adorning his lips.
“Lars Ulrich. It’s nice to meet you, Kirk.”
“Sorry,” Kirk excused, looking genuinely pained. “I didn’t know when you’d arrive, so I didn’t get you anything...” he trailed off, gesturing toward the pastry bag and coffee mug. Lars’s heart warmed at the sentiment, and he shook his head.
“Nah man, don’t apologize. You didn’t have to.”
“You can have my tea, if you’d like?” Kirk offered sincerely.
“Your tea?”
Kirk nodded. “It’s peppermint.”
Lars couldn’t help but exhale a laugh.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t. You bought it, enjoy it.”
Before Kirk could protest, Rob interjected.
“Kirk, man, I need to dip,” he said, and Lars barely repressed a flinch. He hadn’t exactly been paying much attention to his surroundings. How could he, with this new presence in the room?
“Awe man,” Kirk said, but at the same time, he nodded. “Call me later, yeah?”
“‘Course. Have fun,” Rob said, and maybe Lars was just reading into it too much, or there truly was something distinctly suggestive in his chosen tone of voice. Kirk practically pushed him out of the doorway.
“He seems like a cool dude,” Lars said, unwilling to let any silence resembling awkward settle. Kirk turned around, smiling despite appearing somewhat stressed out.
“He is. Been a good buddy of mine for years.”
Lars was reminded of him and James then. Laughing, he nodded.
“Uh,” Kirk began, suddenly looking embarrassed when surveilling their soon–to–be shared space. “Sorry, I sort of made myself at home.”
Lars just rolled his eyes.
“How dare you, in your own residence of all places?”
The joke didn’t go unnoticed, and Kirk smiled properly this time, revealing sharp, slightly crooked teeth. On anyone else, it might’ve been considered a flaw, but Kirk made his little vampire teeth look like accessories. They fit his Handsome Devil vibe all too well; Lars might even have been jealous, had he not been too distracted watching Kirk shrug off the leather jacket he’d been wearing when he came in. Underneath, he wore a black T–shirt adorned with the Nosferatu logo. His apparent interest in horror was simultaneously unexpected and wholly predictable.
Not keen on looking like a creep, Lars politely averted his eyes toward his side of the room. Stepping over and placing his suitcase atop the desk, he unzipped it while Kirk kicked off his shoes.
“Hey, uh, d’you mind if I crash for a little while?” Kirk asked after a moment, and Lars blinked.
“Of course not, do as you wish. In case you didn’t get the memo,” Lars joked, “you live here, too.”
Kirk laughed quietly before ascending the ladder up to his bed, pastry and tea cup in hand. Honestly, it was kind of impressive, the skill with which he managed to climb the ladder handsfree.
“That’s not the first time you’ve done that,” Lars stated, repressing a laugh.
Kirk paused.
“I’m going to share with you now a philosophy of mine, very wise,” Kirk prefaced, looking at Lars. “There are few things in life as good as pumpkin scones and peppermint tea before the fattest of naps. The day I let anyone take that away from me is the day I die.”
This time, Lars didn’t succeed in smothering his laughter.
Within a few minutes, gentle snoozing had filled the room. It sounded sort of like a dog snoring. Not loud, but not undetectable either. Little whistling breaths, equal parts amusing and soothing. Glancing over at Kirk’s space, Lars took it in once more. The magazines, he realized this time around, were actually comic books. The framed photograph wasn’t really distinguishable from across the room, and despite his curiosity, it felt intrusive to go over and snoop. Instead, Lars’s mind drifted to Kirk’s potential majors.
Film, maybe? Seemed like the type. Or perhaps it was something completely out there, like physics, or linguistics.
Shaking his head, Lars attempted to focus on the task at hand. He needed to unpack, and for that, it was easier to ignore the fairytale character sleeping just a few meters away. He started by going through his suitcase, neatly folding his clothes and placing them in the drawers. As he arranged his belongings, he took the opportunity to curate a space that reflected himself. Lars hung up the old posters of his favorite bands and musicians, creating a mini gallery of rock icons on the wall. He set up his drum practice pad on the desk, out of a lack of better storage options for the moment.
He paid attention to the little details as best he could, arranging his collection of drumsticks in a sleek holder and placing his favorite vinyl records on a shelf. He took out his collection of concert tickets and pinned them on the corkboard above the desk, each one representing a different memory.
With each small task completed, Lars felt a sense of satisfaction. His shit was organized now. Sure, within a week it’d probably look like a bomb had detonated in there, but for now, everything was clean.
A couple hours later when Lars was sitting in his desk chair and attempting to organize his schedule, Kirk began to stir awake. A groan emerged somewhere from underneath the heap of blankets and duvet atop his mattress, and Lars smiled to himself.
“Good nap?”
It was silent for a moment, before—
“ Mfffhh ,” Kirk replied from somewhere under the mountain, but it sounded like it was paining him even to vocalize. Maybe not that good a nap, then.
When eventually he sat up on the bed, his shirt had ridden up on his stomach, exposing smooth skin for a brief moment, before he adjusted it back. After rising from his dormant state, Kirk stretched and yawned, apparently feeling the need for a change of clothes.
He rolled out of bed, landing on his feet despite the 1 ½ meter fall to the floor. Lars looked back toward his schedule as the sound of Kirk rummaging through his dresser filled the silence. After a moment, he settled back at his desk, this time wearing a worn Vive le Rock tee, and a pair of black and white pajama pants. Regardless of if he’d been opting for style or comfort, he’d pulled it off.
“...So, uh, when do your classes start?”
It was Kirk that broke the silence, looking slightly unsure whether he should have spoken or not. Lars sighed exaggeratedly, leaning back in his chair.
“Tonight,” he replied, and his roommate grimaced in sympathy. “Yeah… What about yours?”
“That sucks ass. Mine don’t start ‘til tomorrow at ten,” Kirk said, somehow managing to sound genuinely sympathetic despite the crude wording.
“Yeah? What do you have?”
“Chemistry… Need a science credit.”
“There, there,” Lars joked, “It’ll be alright.”
“That’s right,” Kirk said, his voice placating, as if comforting himself. The funny thing, Lars thought, was that Kirk seemed to be wholly genuine.
“You know, I’ve been trying to guess your major for the past hour, but I can’t seem to pin it down,” Lars continued before he could filter himself.
Kirk smiled, perking up, his little vampire teeth out again.
“Oh yeah? Shoot.”
Lars considered his options for a moment, before—
“Film?”
Kirk shook his head. “I wish. Would’ve been cool.”
“Close, huh?” Lars smiled back. “...It’s gonna be something obvious.”
“Hindsight is twenty–twenty.”
“Yeah, yeah… You’re not a music major, are you? How old are you, first year?”
“Third,” Kirk corrected, and Lars had to do a double take.
“Hold on, what? You’re older than me? How come I’ve never seen you around?”
Kirk just shrugged. “Big campus. And, you know, I’m taking that as a compliment. Age doesn’t always define who we are or how we perceive the world. But no, I’m not a music major.”
“What are you, then?”
“Rude,” Kirk joked, and Lars shook his head, chuckling. “...Fine Arts,” he followed up after a moment.
Lars’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “Really?”
Kirk leaned back in his chair, smiling, fiddling with one of the expensive markers in his hand. Ah, right. Sort of stupid of Lars not to guess.
“Yeah. I draw, like, comic stuff. It’s really fun. I’m not very good, though,” Kirk dismissed.
Intrigued, Lars leaned forward, his curiosity piqued.
“That sounds really dope. Don’t sell yourself short, man. You mind if I have a look?”
Kirk hesitated for a moment before nodding, his eyes sparkling with a mix of apprehension, and something else Lars couldn’t place. “Sure, why not?”
Standing up and stretching, Lars moved to Kirk’s side, waiting patiently as the elder pulled out a sketchbook from one of the desk drawers. Together, they flipped through it.
Lars was captivated.
“Holy shit, man… You’re way cooler than me, these belong in, like, proper series…!”
Warhol–esque pop art comprised the pages, with vibrant colors and dynamic poses, it was truly something else.
“C’mon man, you don’t have to say that…” Kirk said, and Lars could hear the embarrassment in his voice. He closed the book prematurely, apparently unwilling to hear more compliments.
“I wouldn’t say it unless I meant it. Not that kind of guy.” Lars shrugged, retracting himself from Kirk’s space and falling back into his spinning chair. “But shit, I get it. We’re often our own harshest critics. Trust me though, your talent is undeniable. Don’t let self-doubt hold you back. Keep creating, keep, y’know, pushing yourself. Your art speaks volumes, man.”
Kirk’s answering expression was a sight to behold. A soft smile curled his lips, and his gaze, both confident and grateful, seemed to pin Lars into place.
“...Thanks,” he said.
Lars could hear the sincerity behind that one word.
“Of course, man. I’m a Music Performance major, I play the drums. I know how easy it is to start criticizing your work into dust. Always better to have… what do you call it? Double opinions?”
“A second opinion,” Kirk gently supplied, and Lars smiled.
“A second opinion.”
A sense of mutual understanding seemed to wash over them, forging a connection that transcended their individual art forms.
“Well, great,” Lars dismissed, smiling and looking back down at his schedule. Kirk yawned loudly, stretching his arms up into the air at the same time.
“That nap sort of seems to have been counterproductive,” Lars commented, leaning back in his chair once more.
“Think it's to do with the fact that I drove up from Cali,” Kirk bemoaned, and Lars hissed in sympathy.
“Yowch. Makes sense, then.”
After a brief lapse of silence, the stillness in the room was broken by the sound of Lars’s familiar ringtone; some strange, out–there Russian hardbass song that Cliff had chosen a year prior. James’s picture lit up the screen, and Lars reached out to take it.
“Hey,” he spoke into the phone.
“Hey, man,” replied James’s ever–familiar voice. “You settled?”
“Yeah, got a room on the second floor. You here yet?”
“Just got my keys, fourth floor. You down to grab something to eat? I’m fuckin’ starved,” James said, voice slightly echoey in the stairwell. Lars checked the digital alarm clock he’d set up on the desk. 15:34.
“Yeah, sounds good. Have you seen Cliff yet?”
“Yeah, Cliff, say hey.”
There was a faint call of Hey! in the background, and Lars smiled. It’d been a while since they all got together last.
“My room’s number 409. Come up,” James continued.
“In a bit. Just gotta get some things sorted.”
“Yeah, yeah, finish beatin’ your meat, we can wait.”
Lars hung up without replying, shaking his head. Sparing a look at Kirk, he studied the elder sitting at his desk, jotting something down on a piece of paper, his dark curls tied to one side with an elastic band.
“...Hey, I’m going out for a bit,” Lars spoke, to which Kirk glanced up, blinking once, before nodding. Standing up, Lars shoved his phone down into his pocket once more, pulling his aviator jacket on and brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
“See you later,” he managed once satisfied, opening the door and stepping out.
Just before it fell closed behind him, he could’ve sworn there was a silly response of, “Later, alligator.”
Soon, Lars found himself sitting inside the Wendy’s restaurant a few minutes off campus, along with James and Cliff. After ordering and complaining about the drive up, they finally began to eat. Lars had been hungrier than he initially thought, he realized when biting into his burger.
After a few silent moments of everyone digging into their meals, Lars leaned back, looking at his friends. “So, how are you guys finding your roommates so far? Any initial impressions?”
James took a sip of his soda and shrugged. “My guy seems alright. We haven't had much chance to talk yet, but he seems quiet enough. We exchanged a few words when we moved in, and he doesn’t seem like he’ll be much of a nuisance.”
Cliff nodded agreeingly. “Yeah, same here. My roommate seems pretty nice, think he’s one of those major extroverts. He’s been unpacking most of the morning, and we talked for a while. Think we'll get along fine.”
Lars nodded and took a sip of his water.
“What about yours?” James asked, nodding toward Lars.
“Mine? He seems pretty damn cool. Hell of a cartoonist. Horror fan, too. Got this dope, sort of Halloween–y vibe to him, you know? I don’t doubt we’ll get along.”
Cliff chimed in, “Sounds like you guys hit it off pretty well. What’s he like?”
Lars paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “He’s just... easy to talk to. We’ve been chatting about different things all morning. And he has a genuine feel about him that’s really refreshing. The type of guy who puts you at ease.”
“Sounds real cool,” James nodded, taking another sip of Coke.
The three of them continued to eat their meals, occasionally sharing stories and observations about their first day back on campus. As they finished their food, Lars couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation for the days to come. He knew that building a good relationship with his roommate would be important for a smooth living experience throughout the year.
If Kirk just so happened to have the face of a god, that was just a bonus.