Chapter Text
“Harrod, your bongwater is pink.”
Harrod looks at the bong he’s holding, which appears to have been forgotten until just now due to how clearly out of it he is.
“Woah.”
“What on earth are you smoking Harrod.”
“Just… normal. It’s a strain called White Bastard*…”
*Strain was determined via random generator. They really have everything on the internet.
Zoey nods skeptically. “That’s not white though. Why would they call it that if it turns pink? Why does it turn pink?”
“Oh. Well I put Bone dust* in the water.”
*Name courtesy of another random generator found online. They really have everything on the internet.
“What is that.”
“The letter I got it in… it said… um… what was I talking about?”
“What ‘Bone dust’ is.”
“Right. I got it in this letter that said it was like a brand new drug or something. And I get to try it first. Can you imagine?”
“Can you show me the letter?”
Harrod chuckles stupidly. Stupidly-er than usual. “Heh, yeahh. That’s smart.” He grabs a letter that was sitting right next to him and hands it to Zoey.
Zoey reads.
“Dearest Harrod,
You have been selected to receive a free trial of the all-new psychoactive substance ‘Bone dust.’ Your unwavering commitment to not-sobriety has made all of us here at Totally Real Labs feel as though you may be qualified to test out this new substance and send your thoughts to us after. To use, just mix it up in water and drink it. It should have effects.”
Zoey looks up at him. “You’re going to die.”
“Worth… this stuff is great.”
“You weren’t even supposed to… use it as bongwater? Did you mix it with your bongwater? Harrod what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“Haha… I’m still gonna drink it afterwards.”
“Harrod what the fuck is wrong with you.”
“Noooo comment.”
Zoey sighs. “I have work tomorrow. I’m going to be really fucking fucked up emotionally tomorrow if I wake up and you’re dead okay so don’t die.”
“Heh, youuu’re worried about me.”
“Yeah!” Zoey's lips curled into a scowl. Harrod's eyebrows raised and his mouth formed a little 'o.'"
“Oh like not in a funny way. Oh. Well if I think I’m about to die I’ll call poison control.”
“There is no way you know the number for poison control Harrod. If you think you’re about to die, I’ll give you permission to wake me up.”
“That’s better,” Harrod agrees.
Zoey nods and leaves the room without saying another word. She walks through the apartment to her own room and shuts the door behind her. She gets in bed and closes her eyes. And attempts to sleep. And scrunches up her face because she can’t sleep.
My life is miserable and I’m a waste of space. She usually spends a bit more time wallowing in self-pity every night, but she really wants to get some sleep in before Harrod inevitably wakes her up and asks her to call poison control. I’m never going to get anything done. I'm never gonna get that movie out. I’m gonna be stuck living with Harrod forever. Not that he’s awful or anything, but God. Forever is a long time to be trapped with someone who sets the apartment on fire at least once a week. Anyway, I hate myself and I’m ready to go to sleep.
She sleeps.
—
Zoey fumbles for her phone and punches in her sleep data into the sleep-tracking spreadsheet she’s been diligently filling out for 2 days now. She adds the info for every relevant category she could think of when she’d set it up—sleep time, number of disturbances, length of each disturbance, wake time, perceived quality of sleep. It looks good this morning. Suspiciously good.
Oh, right. Harrod is probably passed the fuck out. He’d been taking bone dust last night. Maybe he’s dead. That would suck.
Zoey reluctantly gets out of bed, slips on a bra, t-shirt, and some loose almost pajama-esque pants, and shuffles out of the room like a zombie.
She hesitates a little before entering the main room—if Harrod is dead it would probably mean a very unexpected and significant change in her life, and this would be the last moment of her old life.
She doesn’t get to really explore this possibility though. She tunes into the fact that she can hear voices from outside her door. The TV’s on.
To be fair, Harrod could still be dead even if the TV’s on. But it’s snapped her out of it enough for her to just shrug and head out. Sure enough, Harrod isn’t dead. He’s keenly watching the television. Zoey doesn’t know what the hell Harrod is watching, but the TV keeps repeating Caaaarl, and this seems to be greatly amusing to her roommate.
“Mornin’,” she says, continuing her shuffle in the direction of the fridge. There’s leftover Chinese in there. She’s more enthusiastic about the idea of having this for breakfast than she is cereal or something.
“I already ate the Chinese,” says Harrod. He hasn’t bothered to turn towards her, so it’s a little muffled, but she gets the idea and scowls.
“Damn it Harrod.” She opens the fridge anyways, to see if maybe there’s something else in there. Of course, in an apartment with two 20-somethings, of which only one has a job, there’s basically nothing.
“Also I’m gay.” Harrod’s decided to add this in a full 30 seconds after his previous sentence.
Zoey is stunlocked in front of the fridge for a bit. She narrows her eyes at the cole slaw (one of the only things in the fridge for some reason) as if about to interrogate it.
“Is this another April Fools joke? You’re aware you already did this one right. And that it’s—”
“It’s April 29th. And I’m gay.”
“Huh. Well.”
Zoey sighs and grabs the peanut butter, fully intending to eat it out of the jar since they don’t have any bread. “So like there’s an explanation for this right.”
“Yeah not really I just kinda woke up and I was flipping through my sketchbook thinking of what to draw and then at one point I was like woah, dude, Dudes. And so I drew a good-looking dude and thought about it and it was like okay I’m gay now???” Harrod honestly doesn’t seem too upset.
“Was it the bone dust?” asks Zoey.
“Huh yeah. It was probably the bone dust.”
“Yeah I bet it was that.” Zoey puts down the peanut butter for now. “Where’s the label thing you had for it? Maybe you missed something.”
“Im–possible. I’ve never missed a detail in my life. But well it’s in the trash I haven’t taken out yet.”
“You were supposed to.”
“You do it, I’m busy.”
Zoey looks over at the video playing on the TV. There’s unicorns now. She’s pretty sure there were llamas earlier, but maybe this is a different video. Harrod has at least turned down the volume now that they’re talking, so Zoey can’t really tell what these unicorns are saying.
“You’re not busy.” Harrod is in fact just lying down wrapped up in one of the two blankets in their apartment and has a cup of coffee next to him. He doesn’t normally drink coffee.
“I’m busy. Figuring out what it means now that I’m gay.”
“You don’t seem particularly confused about anything.”
Harrod shrugs. “Go look at the label.”
Zoey rolls her eyes and heads over to the trash can to fish it out. She is forced to dig through layers of compacted cheeto bags, but she is used to this and has no particular reaction.
“Found it,” she says. She starts reading. The realization is instant.
“What the heck is this.” She pulls on some tape that’s covering something on the label—it uncovers a well hidden letter ‘r.’
“Oh. Oh it all makes sense. Bonerdust. That probably turns you gay.”
“It’s called bonerdust? Damn. I probably still would have done the same thing if I had known it was called that.”
“Yeah no you totally would have.”
“Boys are so cool though Zoey. I didn’t get it until now but like...” Harrod makes a weird gesture with his hands. It’s evident he has perhaps not yet figured out much about boys.
“I’m the worst girl to talk to about boys Harrod,” jokes Zoey. The initial surprise has worn off, largely due to Harrod’s nonchalant attitude. Bonerdust, though. That’s a new one. Someone had to have given it to Harrod intentionally. “Can you get up and walk me through how you found the bonerdust?”
“Yeah I can do that.” He removes his blanket and stands up.
Zoey’s eye twitches a little just looking at him. “You already have a shirt that just says ‘GAY.’ on it.”
“I already had it as sort of a counterpart to the ‘lesbian’ shirt. I was envisioning a fashion line.”
“I—”
Beat.
“No actually that tracks I guess.”
Harrod leads her over to the scene of the crime, which is actually a direction that she was not expecting—Harrod’s bedroom. Zoey intentionally does not go in there often.
“It was on my bed, right next to those roses and the chocolate wrappers.”
“Chocolate wrappers? I don’t see any—”
“Yeah well I ended up eating them cause they tasted like chocolate.”
“Oh I… roses, huh? Well that's… interesting. That is interesting.”
“They’re probably gonna die soon.”
“Yeah probably.”
“Do you think they left them on purpose? Are they gonna want their roses back? Cause I don’t know how to keep the roses from dying until they get here.”
“Are you actually that dumb. You don’t know roses are a romantic offering?”
“No I mean I know that. It’s just that nobody I know would intentionally give me roses I think. Unless it’s someone I don’t know.”
“It is suspicious,” Zoey agrees, “But definitely not unintentional. Some people are crazy about… people like you.”
“Well, I’m a real catch!” Harrod says. “All the guys probably want me.”
“Most of the girls didn’t.”
“Well I don’t want any girls either.”
Zoey feigns shock. “But girls are awesome! What happened, dude...”
“...Did we ever talk about girls much actually?”
“Uh… I mean I guess not. Missed opportunity I guess.”
“Yeah I suppose. Maybe now I can talk to Ferris about boys though.”
Zoey purses her lips to try to stop herself from smiling. “Wellll… speaking of. Any thoughts of Ferris?”
Harrod tilts his head in confusion. “He’s cool.”
“No like, do you think he’s cute or…” This could potentially be Ferris’ lucky break. In fact maybe it was Ferris who…
“Oh like that. Yeah like in a gay way. Um. He’s cute but he’s not really my type?”
Ouch.
“Do you already know your type?” asks Zoey.
“...No.”
“What sort of guy did you draw?”
“Like… tall. Naked.”
“Oh. So like… just some dude?”
“I like dick now that’s kinda like the big thing. Hehehe big thing.”
“I mean yeah I guess that counts…”
Zoey’s back to being lost in thought. If this was Ferris, he was in for a whole heap of disappointment. But who else could it be… Artie? Actually yeah it was probably Artie.
“It was Artie I think,” says Zoey.
“What? No way. Artie wouldn’t do that.”
“Artie would absolutely do that.”
“No, he and I are like friends now. He’s awesome.” Harrod is smiling.
“I can’t tell if you’re doing a bit or if you genuinely like him. Is it a bit.”
“What?” He looks confused. “No like we’re actually bros now.”
“I…” Zoey sighs. He is dense.
Harrod grabs the roses. “I think my mom used to put flowers in like a pitcher of water. Do we have a pitcher?”
“No we don’t have a pitcher.”
“Damn. I guess we could put them in the bong.”
“You want to put them in the bong.”
“Yeah that feels like a kinda me thing to do.” Harrod shrugs. “Like it’s kind of a Harrod sorta thing.”
“Yeah okay. What if you wanna use it though?”
“Never using that one again, Zoey. It turned me gay.”
“Alright then, remind me to get another one out of the bong supply.”
“Okay. Get another one out of the bong supply.”
“I meant later.”
“Heh, I know. Now okay wait I need to show you something I just remembered like just now.” Harrod abruptly starts walking off in the direction of the living room again.
“Okay?” Zoey says. She follows.
Harrod grabs his sketchbook from the table, and Zoey fully expects him to show her the nude man he drew, but instead he flips to whatever the page after that must be and holds out a hand towards it. “Look.”
It’s like a miniature one of those charts with like the red string and the lines and stuff? Zoey can’t remember what those are called actually. At the center is a singular important question—“Who broke into my bedroom (and turned me gay) (I want to give them their flowers back)” with photos or drawings of various friends of theirs circling around the center. Not a single one of the candidates Harrod has identified looks even remotely likely to her.
“Let’s see… Abbey… you say ‘no motive, but expert alchemical knowledge.’”
“Cause she’s a barista.”
“Uh-huh. And… Zola… who is jealous of your friendship with Artie.”
“Yeah, self-explanatory really if you just think about it.”
“Suuuure. Rocky? Really, you put him here?”
“Yeah, cause like. He probably wants to have kids before I do. It’s a brother thing.”
“...Do either of you want kids?”
“I dunno.” Harrod shrugs. “Next on the list is Pepsi. She has the money to buy this stuff and she’d do it just to fuck with me.”
“I mean, you’re certainly right about the first thing. I don’t think the second part is true though.”
“Doesn’t punk mean like mean though?”
“I guess like sometimes. Kinda. Look, it’s not Pepsi. And it’s not… Amber… either? You didn’t write down a reason.”
“Oh yeah like she was probably jealous of our bond.”
“What?”
“Well like our mutual girl–appreciating bond.”
“It’s not Amber. Hey, did you… Did you write my name really really small?”
Harrod looked away. “Uhmmm…. No?”
“You totally did. Why would I do this.”
“Because you’d find it really funny,” says Harrod. “It’d be like a roommate thing!”
Zoey presses her fingers together and does that thing where you like have them upward and then move them downward really fast. “That does maybe sound like something I would do. But then again, I wouldn’t put in that much effort just for a bit. Do you think I’d know where to get bonerdust?”
“I don’t know who would know. I mean, it sounds like something I would know, but I didn’t. And I’m one-of-a-kind.”
“I mean, Artie’s just like you but more successful and smarter and better looking. Mayyyybe it was him.”
“You seem really convinced it was Artie. Why.”
“Because he hates you!”
“He saved your life! Well I saved your life. Because of him.”
“You put your own brother on there before him?”
“Ya.”
Zoey groans. “You are so stupid.”
“I don’t listen to haters.”
“Evidently!”
Harrod narrows his eyes. “It totally was actually you, wasn’t it…”
“Harrod I swear on my status as best friend and roommate that it was NOT me.”
Harrod narrows his eyes. “But what if?”
“Can you conceive of any reality where I would buy you flowers.”
Harrod thinks for a second. “No okay you're right. Zoey's off the suspects list.”
“Alright. Now, how about we go ask Artie about this?”
Harrod rolls his eyes. “No way. We shouldn't start at the bottom of the suspects list. Any good detective knows that!” He gets up to grab something.
“You think of yourself as a good detective? Where are you going.”
Harrod turns back around towards Zoey. She ain't sure how it got there, but he's now adorned wih a typical detective hat.
“Elementally, my dear Wilson,” he says. “I have been waiting for this very moment a long time.”
“You've been waiting for this moment.”
“Well I didn't think I'd be gay for it but kinda yeah. I thought I'd be Shakespeare, but now instead I'm like gay Shakespeare.”
“You mean Sherlock?”
“Yes, that.”
“Shakespeare's already super gay anyway. So like, you're actually going to do like… a detective movie bit?”
Harrod shrugs. “I've never seen a detective film but it sounds like fun.”
“...Let me go inform Abbey she's covering my shift today.”
“You’re coming with? And aren't you the manager?”
Zoey gestures dismissively. “Duh. And she'll push through. I bet she'll be excited to take charge even.”
“In that case…” Harrod thinks for a second. “We start with Rocky.”
Zoey nods, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “Okay, that's not too inconvenient. We can do that.”