Chapter Text
1. October 14, 2020
Bunny loved college. Well, he loved the college experience. He loved partying, drinking, and hooking up with the Sigma Phi girls who partied and drank with him. His studies were a different story. He never was one for academics, relying on his football skills to push him through to the next grade, but he really did want to apply himself this year (apply himself to another bleach blonde sorority girl). Hell, he didn't really feel bad about it. He had heard from his older brother that your freshman year is the time to slack off and live. Don't get him wrong, he completed his assignments mostly on time, he just had no love for any of the stuffy, tenured Business 101 and Economics professors or what they had to say about his "clear lack of effort or enthusiasm."
Bunny's roommate, Henry Winter, was his exact opposite. Henry loved studying. He loved learning, he loved his major, and above all, Henry loved the acquisition of knowledge. And while Bunny could hardly stand simple lectures from his professors, Henry seemed to hang on every word his said. Henry rarely talked except for when he was reciting something "Julian" had said during a lecture (Bunny still wasn't convinced Julian was real), or when he was droning on and on about whatever subject he was obsessed with that week. Once he got going on one of these monologues, Bunny could do nothing to stop him.
("...This led to the development of new forms of slang, such as "Polari," which was a slang language used by gay men and performers in the 20th century-"
"Hen, please, I'm trying to think of what to say to Emma. She sent me a snap of her tits and I need to thank her properly."
"British slang underwent another significant transformation with the emergence of youth culture and the counterculture movem..."
"Did you hear me? I said-"
"Modern-day language includes a wide range of slang terms, from regional dialects to internet slang..."
Bunny did not respond to Emma.)
This is why Bunny found it strange when he was assigned a paper on the development of any piece of weaponry and how it affected the markets of the time. Bunny was writing about the market value of slamfire shotguns, and Henry didn't jump at the chance to tell Bunny everything he knew regarding historical weaponry. Bunny had practically skipped back to the dorm after his final class of the day, relieved and wired from sitting still for so long. He had developed his essay topic in class with Emma Robertson, who was clearly not hurt by his lack of response a few weeks earlier, and he could not wait to hear Henry's input (and insert that input verbatim into his paper).
He tapped his student ID onto the card reader, unlocking the door and swinging it open.
"I'm ho-ome!" He sung, tossing his backpack onto the floor. All of the lights were off in their room except for one, a lamp that cast a dim, soft glow over Henry's school-issued desk, where he currently sat. He didn't look up to acknowledge Bunny, just continued to write in Greek in his leather-bound notebook.
"Hen," Bunny flicked the overhead light on, "Guess what I chose for my essay topic," He opened their mini-fridge and popped the lid on a small cherry Coke, "It'll blow your mind." He hopped up onto his bed and finally looked over at his roommate. Henry had put his head in his hands, covering his eyes. He still had his fountain pen in between his ink-stained fingers.
"Hen?" Bunny set down his Coke, "You okay?"
"Turn off the light," Henry mumbled, "Too bright."
Bunny had always known that Henry had sensitive eyes. He caught on quite easily, in fact, due to Henry's tendencies to look down while walking, draw the curtains closed during the day, and avoid looking at screens as much as he possibly could. But this was different. He had never had a problem with their room light, since it was installed far too long ago and didn't even illuminate the corners of the small dorm.
"What's your problem?" Bunny flipped off the light anyway, "I can't study with the lights off." Not that he ever studied anyway. He just didn't like to be bossed around in his own room.
Henry was still covering his face.
"It's off, man," Bunny rolled his eyes, "You can't see anything in the Batcave."
Henry swayed in his seat. Bunny rushed over to stabilize him with a hand on each shoulder.
"What's going on," Bunny demanded, "Are you high?" He looked at his roommate's eyes, trying to find proof of a smoked blunt or an edible in his system, but all he got in return were a glassy, unfocused pair of deep blues.
"Need to...lay down," Henry blinked slowly, "My head."
Oh.
Bunny knew enough about migraines to understand. Sensitivity to light, apparent loss of vision, difficulty speaking. All symptoms he had seen in his older brother before he went off to school himself. Bunny helped his roommate up, letting him lean on him until they got to his small bed. Henry curled in on himself, clutching his throbbing head in his hands. Bunny pulled the comforter over him.
"I know," He reassured his friend, "I know."
Bunny poured Henry a glass of water and pulled a pack of ice out of their freezer, which he wrapped in a hand towel and pressed to the back of Henry's neck, right at the base of his skull.
"Where's your medication?" Bunny whispered, beginning to look around, "Is it in your pillbox?"
"No," Henry managed.
"You're out," Bunny concluded, "That's why this one hit?"
"Mhm."
"Do you want me to get you some Excedrin? Or an Advil? I can run to the store, or the student lounge, or maybe Josh across the hall has one, he's always got something in there-"
"Be quiet."