corbyn. aka, your impossibly stupid roommate.*

he was fun to be around and could be kind when it mattered, but nine times out of ten, he was annoying, nosy twerp who did nothing but hole up in his room and play video games.

you getting ready to go to a party, getting all dolled up with your most tiniest dress and most expensive makeup. why you were doing that for a cheap frat party was beyond him, but he couldn’t control you.

“be careful…you know how those guys are.”

“i’ll be fine.”

“alright, but don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

you dismissed his worries, leaving the small apartment with a wave. he hoped you’d listened.

what started as a few shots and a bit of flirting to get someone in your bed turned into you hazily roaming the streets, your clothes and hair disheveled, makeup smeared, and stumbling around in disarray. it was cold; turns out wearing a mini dress in 42 degree weather wasn’t that good of an idea.

he only happened to find you because he went on a quick trip down the street to the convenience store. there you sat on the side of the road, your cheeks mascara-streaked with nasty purple bruises around your thighs and wrists.

he forgot all about his trek, immediately helping you up. he had a feeling, he told you, but now wasn’t a good time to bring that up.

“c’mon…up you go…”