Hank decides to acknowledge my existence again when he plops down at my table during a very late lunch in the dining hall. Two of my three Monday classes are with him, but he’s so set on being disgusted about everything today that we haven’t exactly spoken. 

“That looks…” He doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead wrinkles his nose at my dry toast and chicken noodle soup that went cold about half an hour ago. It’s almost 2:30pm at this point, so he’s just made it in time because that’s when they stop serving food until dinner. 

It’s the first I’ve really eaten today, so I’m counting my three bites a victory when I reach for a fourth spoonful. “How was Stats?” I ask before I’ve fully thought it through. 

“Boring,” he grumbles as he bites into a piece of pepperoni pizza. “We had to present the first part of our projects today, so I got to zone out for most of it.” 

“Nice.” I nod at my toast, then decide to peel the last bit of crust away before picking the whole thing up. 

“She didn’t say anything about you.” 

And the toast falls back to my plate.  

“I think she was gonna, but then she chickened out,” he adds when I don’t respond.  

“Okay.” Is all I really manage to mutter before I’m ripping an edge of bread off and shoving it in my mouth. Hank and Leigh are both math minors, so they share some classes as well.

For once, he doesn’t push. I’m in the middle of basking in the peace of a quiet lunch when another pate clanks onto the table. 

“I’ll be back.” Comes muffled from above, and I glance up in time to catch the blond curls of Micah Harris bouncing away while he heads towards the salad bar. 

Hank peps right up as soon as he returns, and they fall into a classic debate about one of the homework problems from their nerdy applied mathematics seminar. Micah’s got his foot in the door of a possible double major, and I definitely think he’s insane. The English Department is typically pretty set in the Humanities, but Micah’s one of those geniuses that makes even my 4.0 ass feel like a moron. My Political Science and Economics track fits right in with my brain waves, and I’ll never understand how he functions across the worlds of our campus. 

I only pipe into the conversation when I catch a glimpse of his neck while he’s adjusting his shirt collar. 

“What in the world mauled you?!” The bite of toast I’ve been working on for about five minutes finally makes the journey down my throat when I gulp at the sight before me. A trail of bright red and purplish hickeys winds across the skin Micah’s now desperately trying to cover back up, and it’s rather startling.

“Oh, shit.” His teeth clench while he attempts to hastily button his collar. “Must’ve come undone-”

“Sheesh!” Hank catches sight of them too, and suddenly I’m seeing Micah blush for probably the first time ever. 

I’ve known he’s a womanizer for awhile now, since a couple of Leigh’s sorority sisters had multiple encounters with him last year and it was a whole thing. But the rumor mill has run pretty dry this semester as far as he’s concerned. 

“It’s nothing-” He starts, then promptly stops speaking when Hank practically lunges around the table. He pulls the dip in Micah’s shirt further down before he’s shoved away. But the much darker bruises scattered across his clavicle are revealed for just long enough to give Hank everything he needs. 

“Holy mother of-!”

“Dude, hands off.” My feeble attempt to help goes completely unnoticed as my best friend nearly tears Micah’s buttons from their stitching. 

He finally gets Hank back in his seat with a palm braced on his face and a victorious smirk while he stands over him for leverage. “Are you done?” Micah keeps his hand planted firmly until the guy giggles and nods. “It’s really no big deal.” He releases a sigh and fixes his shirt up super high.

Hank snorts and plucks a pepperoni free to toss in his mouth. “Are you saying that ‘cause you don’t remember who it was?” 

“You know me so well.” Micah forks his salad and dismisses Hank’s attempts to prod further by turning his attention to me. “How’s Seaver doing?” 

I grumble a bit about my residence hall and the countless noisy inhabitants I’ve got still trying to party every night, even though we’re a few weeks into school. He laughs and nods along. He’s already had to write up a few of the students in Cashton. It’s the biggest freshman dorm over on West End, and I’m not even salty about missing out on an assignment in an apartment building my senior year when he’s got to be the HR of that whole mess. And as a junior, no less. He’ll definitely get priority placement next year.

“They’re mostly quiet still, so it’s not so bad,” Micah adds before remembering he forgot to grab something to drink. 

As soon as he’s gone, Hank pops back into my life with a mouth full of pizza and way too much energy for my forming headache. “Do you think he took on all of Tri Delt last night?”

“Oh my gooooodddddd.” I groan into my soup and drop my spoon into the bowl. 

“But seriously…you saw those hickeys, right?”

“Let it go.” 

“But-”

“Let it gooo-” 

“Q-Ball!!!!” Hank’s screech brings my head right to the table just as old black shoes step beside the chair to my right. 

“That’s not a contender.” Quinn’s hoarse voice shakes with light laughter as he, thankfully, sets his plate down with hardly a noise. 

“But it’s a cute nickname-”

“Sup, Q.” I interrupt Hank being obnoxious and lift my eyes for a brief look of acknowledgement. I can’t hold it for long, so opt to shoot my freshman lifting pal a quick wave from my resting place while he starts peeling a banana. 

“I see you’re still thriving,” Quinn mumbles just before taking a bite.

“You can leave now.”

“Aww, come on.” Hank nudges me under the table, and I nearly throw up from the sudden motion of his foot rocking my leg. 

“Die,” I grunt from between clenched teeth. 

“Psh.” My now ex-best friend pokes the back of my head until I turn and try to kill him with my glare. “You’re a tad scary when you’re like this.”

“You suck.”

“And unimaginative with your insults.” Hank flicks my forehead before grinning up at someone out of my line of vision. “Don’t be alarmed. He’s just milking his hangover.”