The Roommate

By Tzigane

Wufei rubbed one dark eye, continuing to frown studiously down at the chemistry equations which had become a blur to him a good hour and a half before. This class was driving him insane! Well, maybe he wasn't all that sane to begin with, especially since getting his new roommate. What a partier. The boy with the braid could actually be a lot of fun but Wufei wasn't at college for fun. He was going to college to learn, that was the main thing. Duo was great at parties and cool on weekends but Wufei knew that as soon as he went back to his dorm room, he'd hear the sounds of the other boy in his bed across the room -- Duo and whoever was with him. Sometimes it was the blue-eyed jock from down the hall and sometimes it was a girl with funny hair and sometimes... well, sometimes it was people Wufei didn't even know which made him nervous to say the least. His own relationship with one of the professors was kept infinitely quiet. It was against all conceivable rules to have a relationship with one's students, much less a homosexual relationship. That was the sort of thing that could get someone fired. Still, it wasn't so bad. Stolen moments in dark labs with the other man, late nights of studying and candlelit dinners; they were better than furtive gropings in the dark to Wufei's mind. He liked Duo and all, it was just... well... well, the kind of behavior he exhibited made Wufei absolutely crazy with it.

With a sigh, the dark haired man gathered his books and papers and stuffed them into his book bag, pulling out his portable cd player and plopping the headphones on as he walked out of the library and down the sidewalk though the shadows and towards his dorm. /you're made of my rib or baby you're made of my sin and i can't tell where your lust ends and where your love begins.../ Singing softly, he punched in the electronic code to release the lock and slipped in, making sure the door latched behind him so that it wouldn't set off the alarms and wake up the entire dorm. He trudged through well-lit hallways and up two flights of stairs before pulling the key on its thin silken rope loose from beneath his white t-shirt -- rope that felt like the stuff Treize used, which made him flush -- and bending over to unlock the door.

It swung open with its usual ease and Wufei heard the noises even though he couldn't see anything. Loud whimpers and moans filled the air, panting breaths, the sounds of violent sex, the kind the violet-eyed boy with whom he lived seemed to like best. The squeak of the other's mattress gave truth to those words and Wufei kept his face turned away as he walked silently to his own bed, dropping his book bag beside it and crawling beneath the covers. He carefully slid the cd player through the neck of his t-shirt as he stripped it off, never removing the headphones, and laid the little machine on the small nightstand as he pushed off his jeans and kicked them to the floor before turning up the volume. Finally, accompanied by the last whispering sounds of sex and the drowning sensation of a fantasy involving his lover's tender bondage, hot kisses and slivers of ice, he drifted uneasily to sleep.


Dreaming... he was dreaming. He was almost certain he was dreaming, anyway. He hadn't dreamed anything like it in a long time and the psychiatrist had said that maybe he was past all of those problems, the dreams and waking up screaming. It was the only reason his parents had let him come to college an entire hour away from home. He hadn't had the dream in such a long time, his twin lying in a pool of her own blood, body bent and twisted into the position the rapist had left her in when he'd finished with her and slit her wrists. They were small for their age, both of them, and she seemed so tiny and helpless there and the smell of it washed over him, thick and acrid and he knew he was going to be sick, going to be so sick, it was awful, Meiran's black eyes open and glassy and condemning and blank and he was going to throw up and he was going to...

With a loud cry, Wufei jerked up from the mattress. Sun streamed through the open windows and he panted for breath, eyes closed for a moment before he realized that the smell, that smell of pigs at the slaughter, blood, wasn't going away. Terrified, horrified, that smell, God, that smell, he opened his eyes and let out a hoarse scream of complete and utter terror, a scream that utterly annihilated all of his thoughts of manhood and what his psychiatrist had said about learning to accept it because there sprawled across the bed on the other side of the room rested a drooping body, limp braid dangling over the edge as vacant violet eyes stared back at him in seeming accusation, blood trickled down into a palm to pool where those slack fingers laid upon the floor. The worst part, though, the worst part was not that blank and damning stare. The most horrible part was simply this: scrawled across the pastel pink paint of the wall in what had to have been Duo's blood and which looked to have been brushed on with his braid were the words, aren't you glad you didn't turn on the lights?

And the screaming didn't stop.