Chapter Text
It was a genius theory, really.
Kyle, Hayden, Taylor, and Jason were headed out to get some more alcohol after a night of partying. Ry was thoroughly drunk -- they all were -- and working on some theories he'd had to pass the time. He always felt smarter with some kind of tonic in his system. No inhibitions made for some really good ideas. They offered to let him go for the trip, which was two things.
A.) A perfect break from working so damn long on friction calculations and coefficients and all the other bullshit he was too drunk to find the words for.
B.) The perfect excuse to test his hypothesis.
What hypothesis, you might ask? The Denim Hypothesis, it was something he'd been joking about with the group for a while. A stationary human sitting on a painted steel car roof will remain in static equilibrium during smooth acceleration until the applied horizontal force exceeds the maximum static friction force.
In simple terms: how fast can the car go before he falls on his ass?
He'd worked it all out -- he knew what the approximate drag and force of friction would be, the only thing he wasn't sure about was his jeans. Does worn cotton denim exhibit a significantly different coefficient of static friction against automotive paint than published values predict? He'd owned this pair since junior year of high school, they were his favorite. Had his first time in them, spilled too many things on them to count, washed them more than he'd washed his t-shirts. This was the perfect time to test it. Plus, there wasn't any room in the car, and he really wanted some more of that moscow mule he'd made. Nobody else made it like him, he had everything down to the best brand, and he didn't want anybody to fuck it up.
So there he was, riding on top of his friend's 2005 Subaru Outback, desperately fighting against the wind to pin down his calculator and notebook. They were going about 25 mph and so far, so good. Everything was going according to plan, and the data he was getting was pretty damn go--
The car took a sharp turn, then jostled over what he could only assume was that pothole the university refused to fix. Shit, he hadn't thought of that! Ry felt himself slide on the roof, he heard an ugly pop, and when he blinked, he was on the ground and the car was driving away.
What happened?
Huh.
I guess the vertical acceleration temporarily reduced the normal force, and... splat.
He groaned in pain, deciding to lay on the ground for a minute to think about what he'd done. It was a good time out. Humbling. And, you know, he couldn't really feel his leg, but he didn't want to see why. He laid there and stared at the stars instead, not sure if they were actually there or if he'd hit his head too hard, until–
“Oh my God, are you okay!?”
Oh, perfect, of course a chick had to find him like this. Hopefully she wasn't hot. He'd never hear the end of it from the guys. Maybe Taylor knew her? She kind of had a way of.. making friends with women on campus. And by that, I mean bringing them home to their quad and causing the guys to either leave or get cucked by their roommate.
He poked his head up as best as he could, meeting the eyes of the most gorgeous girl he'd ever seen.
Why did it have to be her?? She just transferred here from another school a little bit ago, somewhere in the Netherlands, he heard from Jason. They had the same research class together, so he’d seen her around. He didn’t know her name, but he knew that she was a history major. Smartest in their research class, always took the best notes. Teacher’s pet, he heard some other students call her, which always irritated him. Maybe there was a little crushing involved, sure, and that made this so much worse.
"Uhhh.. great, just-- a miscalculation."
Her face twisted. She probably thought that he was an idiot. She looked scared shitless. Way to make a first impression! Good job, Ryland.
“Heilige stront– okay, miscalculation? What?”
There was no way of saving face now. He pushed himself up, trying to stand but his leg wouldn't cooperate -- kind of gave a scream of pain in protest, actually.
Weird.
He looked down at his lap and–
"Holy shit, I'm gonna be sick." He heaved at the sight of his leg, which was pointing inwards at a nice 30-degree angle-- yeah, definitely not something natural. Why did this have to happen to him?? And why did the guys have to leave? Way to go and help him out!
Ugh!
“Yeah, yeah. You need to go to..” She paused as if to find the word, furrowing her brow and forming a really cute crinkle in the middle of her forehead. “Het ziekenhuis, hospital.”
The chick rushed to his side, kneeling on the asphalt beside him. Her hands reached out to softly steady his shoulders and keep him from moving. Probably a good thing. One wrong move could mean further injury.
What happened next, though, he never could’ve expected. She put her arms under his knees – OW – and wrapped one around his back, then attempted to lift him up bridal style.
"What the fuck?!"
This was ridiculous, he’d be hearing about this until graduation. He tried to wrestle himself away from her -- how the hell was she so strong? Every attempt to free himself failed. Maybe chicks from the Netherlands were, like, scary buff for some reason. Or maybe it's cause she's ginger. Gingers were weird.
“Stop moving! I am trying to get you help!”
She scolded him and swatted his head, then hoisted him up into her arms. How the hell did she manage that? I mean, really, lifting up a drunk 6”1 nineteen-year-old was no easy feat. And she was, what, in her twenties? Maybe 5”8? That just didn’t level out. He looked at her in bewilderment. You know what? Maybe it was best to just give in to this kidnapping. At least she was pretty, and he could always text Colt or something if she really did try to take him somewhere. And his friends would eventually look for him. Probably. If they remembered. Maybe.
Aw, fuck. He gasped in remembrance, pushing against her as she’d just gotten her holding right on him.
"Wait-- wait, grab my notebook! I need the data."
Were his priorities wildly disorganized? Sure, but this was groundbreaking stuff. He didn't want to break himself for nothing! He needed to get his variables and notes down before the adrenaline wore off and the alcohol wasn't enough to dizzy him and ignore the pain.
“Your--“ She turned to look back at the road. The godforsaken notebook just lying there tauntingly.
“No. We will come back later.” She said firmly – curse her – and continued her trek towards the on-campus hospital. It wasn’t terribly far, but it was enough distance for him to worry. Plus, what if someone saw him? Pathetically drunk, leg clearly bent out of shape, clinging onto the so-called ‘teachers pet’ transfer student who was carrying him like he was nothing, screaming about his notebook.
Oh, god, he’d end up on the school Snapchat story, he was sure of it.
"Noooooooo!" He wailed, reaching wildly for his notebook as if, somehow, he'd be able to reach it. "Someone could take it!"
“Calm down!”
She groaned at his protest, only pulling him closer as if to restrain him like he was some kind of feral cat. His protest was slurred, of course, by the weight of the alcohol, so it probably wasn’t as demanding as he meant it to be. Easy to ignore, apparently.
Another gag bubbled on the back of his tongue. Okay, he was way too drunk to argue, and the pain wasn’t helping with any of it. I guess he couldn't fight her anymore. He pressed his forehead into her shoulder, groaning in half-pain half-anger. This was not ideal. Definitely an outlier in his data... well, replication was always the key to science. Maybe he could do it again with more control when she finally let him go.
Unfamiliar music grasped his attention by the ears. That was weird, he didn’t remember putting in a headphone. Was this a concussion? Oh geez, Colt would kill him if he got a concussion. As if he wasn’t already in deep shit for this. No.. it didn’t sound like it was in his head, when he looked around, it didn’t follow. It was kind of unsteady, too. Sort of like a voice.
Wait a minute. Was she humming? He’d heard it before, in class. During exams, study sessions, generally high stress moments. Must be a nervous habit, or something. It still irritated him anyway. What if it wasn’t self-soothing? Ry's not a toddler, he’s just a drunk, for crying out loud.
He had half a mind to scold her for it, and he would’ve if it wasn’t for how suddenly his eyes felt heavy. Probably from the pain, he told himself. He leaned a bit into her anyway, gritting his teeth as hot, sharp pain pulsed through his leg. His grip on her tightened.
Man, he felt tired. Lightheaded. Mix of both, maybe from the alcohol?
That's what it was, he decided. Or maybe it was from the pain?
Ugh.. he wasn't sure what it was, but it lulled him into unconsciousness very shortly after.