Work Text:
Skidding on the crisp frozen leaves, my heels scrape over the frosted ground, a sigh puffing from my dry lips, fogging up my cat-eyed glasses.
I finally finished the exhausting final for my creative writing class, 27 pages of pure anguish, fueled by the fire of various energy drinks and tearful nights.
My hands, shaking, but covered in warm, dark brown, knit gloves, fumble around in my endless chasm of a purse, searching in vain for a small bushel of elusive keys. I hear a slight jingle and clasp my frozen digits around the troublesome ring, lifting the cool metal pieces from the mess in my bag. My eyes need not even skim the bunch, as my fatigued fingers know precisely which key will grant me access to the small, brick, ivy-coated building.
It’s really more of an apartment building than a dorm, Tikki, the dorm manager made sure that we got some pretty awesome perks: larger rooms, a commons area in the lounge, stocked vending machines, and fresh baked goods every Monday for breakfast.
I trudge through the stubborn door, peering through my fogged up, snow speckled lenses as a blast warm, heavy air hits my face. Though partially blind, my memory guides me to the elevator. Glancing from the side of my thick, rust-colored frames I notice a paper fluttering in the waves of blissful heat emanating from the vent in the ceiling. I squint for a few seconds, attempting to bring the leaflet into focus. No dice, and I’m too lazy to wipe off my glasses. Probably just out of order, it is a college dorm building after all, even with Tikki’s upkeep.
With a shrug and a less-than-thrilled groan, I set my shoulders and head for the stairs. Each step feels like a mile, exhaustion sapping the strength from my bones and permeating my thoughts, draining my will to continue. I reach the sterile steel door that separates the stairwell from my floor, resting my rosy cheek on it’s cool surface. I’m not out of shape, but I’m no marathoner either.
Pulling on the handle, I fall through the doorway, welcomed by the horrid screech of someone drunk singing to Winter Wonderland. I pick my way down the hall slowly, end goal in sight, the wonderful, cracked, reddish-brown, wooden door inscribed with swirly, girly handwriting: Marinette and Alya. Almost there darling bed, I’m almost there. My glasses, no longer foggy, reflected upon some glow of light coming from our floor mates a door down. It used to just be Adrien, but some other guy moved in with him mid-quarter. I pick myself up a little bit, and peer through the door on my slow trek by. Adrien, bless his big ol' heart, is giggling softly while his roommate parades around the room in green boxers with little golden bells sewn on them, a bejeweled Santa hat on top of his head, and mismatched socks adorning his feet. Neither of them seem to notice me, so I continue the slow trek to my bed.
Cue the singing of holy angels.
The door is unlocked, Mari and I don’t worry too much, we only share the floor with a couple other people, all of whom we trust to not barge in on us unannounced. I enter the dimly lit room to find Mari sprawled out on the beanbag, completely unconscious. Her laptop sits up on her thigh, displaying a black and white photo of the two of us when we visited her folks over spring break last year. I lean over and hover on the mouse pad, waking the computer, but not Mari up. Damn, that girl could sleep. Making sure that her portfolio successfully submitted, I pulled the laptop from her and shut it down, setting it on the desk in the back of the room, placing my glasses on top. I chuckle silently at the (blurred) sight in front of me, my girlfriend’s sleeping form, star-spread on the fluffy pink orb, a curl of her midnight locks dancing atop her soft breath.
Tired as I am, I shouldn’t judge. I won’t look much better in a few short minutes.
Bending slightly, I wrap my arm under her narrow shoulders and hook my other arm under her knees, pulling her dead weight into bed. For a petite girl, she’s really damn heavy.
After successfully depositing her in bed, I pull off my shoes and over shirt, tossing them gently to the ground. With a yawn, I pivot myself into the plushy comforter, bringing the edge to my chin.
This is the best way to end the day.