[Private] Oil and Water

It looked like an octopus had died on a canvas.

At least, that was what Sima had told the girl during this class's usual critique period, where they would walk around and talk about the work of classmates. He'd been honest about her ink painting, and it had gotten him nasty looks from the other students. Was it really his fault he thought she was an amateur and that his was better? In addition, no one was giving him credit for his own elegantly crafted ink painting, simply because he was Sima Yan, that "one Asian asshole" no one liked.

He walked towards his next class still feeling the depressing aftereffects of being glared at by fifty cold eyes, but as usual, his façade was cool, numb to all of it. He didn't even feel the crisp breeze against his bronzed cheeks as he passed under shady trees lining the pathways, just looked ahead with a dead stare, slender hands stuffed down the front pockets of his slim-fit jeans.

It was still the beginning of the semester, only a couple of weeks in, so schedules were still shifting and the campus was crowded with confused freshmen who bumped into whatever they could, like charged subatomic particles. A lot of girls were staring at him, the disinterested pretty boy with great hair and dark eyes; it was nothing new to him. He didn't give them a second thought, and in most cases, didn't even notice. Sima merely pushed past the giggling girls—they must've been stuck in a high school mentality—and into the large, open-windowed classroom, sitting at a lonely table in one corner.

This class was a simple drawing course, and most students had already taken one or two like them before. As such, the majority of people in the classroom already had large drawing pads out and a handful of pencils or whatever preferred medium was theirs. Sima, however, sat quietly, nothing in front of him.

He had other things on his mind this week. Money was tight, and he hadn't been able to afford some supplies he desperately needed for a painting class. It was either a roof over his head or oil paints and watercolors; he opted for the former. Even though he'd asked for more hours at work, he didn't have time for them, nor did they give them to him. The beginning of the semester, and already this stressed out? Sure, he could ask his relatively rich parents for financial help, but he doubted they'd give him anything; all the money went to financing their unnecessarily huge houses in both the Philippines and the States, and his older siblings' careers. Sima's educational budget was an afterthought, whatever was left over.

Holding in a sigh, he finally took out a large sketch notebook and a couple of soft-leaded pencils, starting to draw out a rather emaciated figure with hollow eyes.

‘Yeah well, fuck you too, asshole!’

Several pedestrians looked up, startled, as an angry young man aggressively gave his landlord a one finger salute. He was standing beside his motorcycle, a Harley Davidson VRSCD Night Rod—possibly the most expensive thing he owned—and several bags of his belongings. The landlord gave as good as he got with the curse words, also stating quite vehemently that he was glad to be getting rid of his tenant.

Raging, Ethan hauled his bags onto his bike and climbed onto it before he got on it himself and started it up with the kind of obnoxious engine roar that made half the street turn to look. The bike matched its owner; aggressive, intimidating, and mostly black. Spitefully hollering a few more expletives, Ethan turned it down the street and tore off, deciding to cool his rage with a nice, fast, reckless ride.

He had just been evicted. He had no place to live. The only things he owned were the bike and the bags on the back, which mostly contained clothes. He was in a vile mood, and he was supposed to join a new drawing class today, which he really didn’t care for, but his professor had recommended it highly and had told him honestly that if Ethan didn’t start taking such recommendations rather than constantly rebelling and only doing what he felt like, that he would fail. Great. Heads turned as the motorcycle roared by, but Ethan didn’t notice, lost in his thoughts.

He was also late for that class. Fan-fucking-tastic. The snarl of the motorcycle shattered the peace of the university’s courtyard as he drew it to a halt and he dismounted, running a hand back through windblown hair. He was certainly an interesting sight... tall and lanky, with black hair spiked up with gel and spray, dark liner around his eyes and a tight, black sleeveless shirt covered by a heavy black leather jacket over snug-fitting jeans and combat boots. Silver piercings shone in his ears and at the edge of his eyebrows, and combined with that scowl of his he looked positively dangerous.

Growling the number of the room he was supposed to be in, he managed to retrieve rather startled instructions from a fellow student, and after safely securing his bags to his bike he hurried off with only his sketchbooks and drawing tools in hand. Somehow, in the time it took for him to get to where he needed to be, he managed to smoke a cigarette to calm himself down, and by the time he got to the class he felt a little more relaxed.

Entering the room and ignoring more stares, he found a lonely seat in a corner and gratefully collapsed into it, groaning and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’d draw in a moment. He was too damn tired right then.

Sima was met with the unpleasant scent of tobacco smoke, and as he turned around to find out what offensive person had been smoking, a black blur whooshed past and into the chair opposite him on the large art table. He turned back to view him properly, and he merely raised an eyebrow. What, was this guy still stuck in middle school? Did people honestly dress like that when they were past sixteen? Sima couldn't stand the goth type; he found no appeal in it. People thought he was girly, but even he didn't put on ridiculous amounts of eyeliner.

Sima coughed gently, once, then twice. Just to show his displeasure at the man's obnoxious disregard for others around him. So he wasn't smoking inside class—that wasn't allowed anyway—but really, why couldn't he have chosen another corner to sit in. Sima didn't want this guy in his space. Unfortunately, going to school wasn't the most solitary activity, so he was perfectly aware he'd have to deal with this. Just because he didn't want to didn't mean he didn't have to. That was just life.

The class had started over ten minutes before, so everyone was working on a sort of warm-up sketch the instructor had asked them to do. Sima was slogging through the subject, which was to draw whatever irritated you the most. Well, at the moment, he was drawing a cigarette in his father's mouth, even if his father didn't smoke. Finally, he just couldn't hold in his words anymore.

"You're late," Sima said, as if Ethan didn't already realize that fact himself. "And you really should air out a little before you come in next." Like he was just a useless piece of smoke-drenched fabric, worth less than the paper Sima was drawing on.

Perhaps his statement was a bit bold, especially since Ethan's appearance wasn't exactly friendly to behold. That scowl made even Sima shudder a little, and he was usually the prince of glowering. But dressed like that, Sima found it hard to take the late student very seriously.

Ethan’s eyes, which he had closed as he caught his breath, now opened and focused on Sima. Great. Out of all the students in the class, he had to sit down closest to a whiny little goody two-shoes. He briefly took in the other’s appearance with disinterest before leaning across the table, his piercing gaze holding Sima’s.

‘Why, thank you for noticing.’ He replied, every word dripping patronizing sarcasm. Normally, he would have easily let the comment go, choosing instead to ignore it, but he’d had a terrible morning and wasn’t feeling quite that hospitable. ‘You see, I had a bit of a dilemma; hurry to a class I was running late for already, or stand around and ‘air out’. I decided to choose the one that seemed most important.’ His eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a hiss. ‘If you don’t like it, then piss off.’

That, he decided, was all the attention Sima would get from him. Why didn’t the little upstart just uncomfortably look away when Ethan entered a room, like most of the general population did? There was always one that had to be a smart-ass…

Turning his focus to his sketchbook instead, he noticed the topic of the sketches being drawn and raised his eyebrow. Irritations, huh? He had too many to count. Staring down at the blank piece of paper in front of him, he pondered what got to him most… what really bothered him. People like Sima did… but then again, most people did. People. Yes.

He began to draw, one lone figure in the foreground at first, with others following soon after, working his way up to drawing a crowd. None of the characters really had any defining characteristics, they seemed to be sort of… shapeless. Anonymous. The way Ethan viewed people; all one and the same, all plain enough to be ignored.

Except the one in the foreground… the pout was exaggerated, but it was unmistakably Sima himself, albeit an almost comical caricature of the young man. Ethan almost didn’t seem to notice he was doing it.

"If you don’t like it, then piss off."

Sima's eyes widened for a moment before narrowing. So this guy wasn't just putting up a front, as far as Sima could tell; no, he seemed to be just as much of a hard-ass as his exterior showed. So far, anyway. Sima didn't let it faze him, though it was strange to get such a strong reaction from others, or at least a strong reaction that wasn't a snort of indignant disgust or mumbled insults behind his back. It was almost contradictorily relieving, almost pleasant, to have someone talk back to him like that.

For the moment, he didn't reply, just kept his eye on the other's hand as he drew, paying little attention to his own first sketch, which he'd rapidly grown bored of. He turned to a clean sheet but didn't lay down any strokes just yet, noting how very similar the frowny face Ethan was turning out was to his own face.

Oh, so he wanted to go there? Fine, Sima could play that game.

Quietly picking up his pencil, he started a series of bold strokes, not bothering with gentle, experimental underdrawings or the like. No, in a matter of minutes, an eerily distorted image of Ethan was on his own sketchpad, softly rendered yet entirely audacious mouth open, black and wispy smoke drifting out into a rather strangely alluring pattern. Some things had to be filled in, but for the most part, there was the dark young man sitting on the other side of the table.

Sima's lips were still curled into that mild frown he always wore, but somewhere inside he was smirking. Just then, the instructor walked by and regarded both sketches on the table. Well, this was quite interesting; he wasn't blind of course—he was an art teacher—and noticed the strikingly accurate renderings, despite their vastly different styles. Sima didn't look up at him, just stared down at what he was doing, and then up at Ethan, his dark eyes unwavering in a sort of silent challenge.

"These are really well-done... but you do know the subject is supposed to be something that irritates you, right?" the instructor ventured, a bit baffled. Did these two know each other? Why had they sat at the same table if they disliked each other, in that case? There were other seats open at already occupied tables, after all.

"Perfectly clear, sir," Sima replied evenly. "Secondhand smoke kills." He couldn't hold back the smirk tugging at one corner of his soft lips, not this time. He brushed some brown strands from over one eyebrow and tilted his head a little, regarding Ethan, curious about how this jerk would react. So Sima was aware he was being a rather obnoxious jerk himself, but he couldn't just let this go.

Ethan, who had only been looking at his own work as he added detail to the faces of the crowd of people he had created on the page, looked up when the instructor spoke. It was only then that he realised what Sima was drawing... and heard what the young man said about it. He didn’t say anything at first, staring at Sima as if the young man had gone absolutely bat-shit insane. No one ever called him out like that, it was something Ethan wasn’t used to and something he didn’t exactly enjoy. In fact, it ground heavily on his nerves.

Ethan was, however, very good at hiding such things; after all, show someone that they got to you, and they wouldn’t hesitate to pull the same stunt. He looked down at his own picture; all the gazes of the crowd were directed at the viewer of the image, an eerie way of breaking the fourth wall. He smiled faintly before looking up at the instructor, completely ignoring the other’s scathing comment.

‘Got lost in my thoughts there for a second, I’m afraid.’ He replied coolly. ‘I’m not very social, so the image is of a lot of people, as I feel uncomfortable or yes, in many cases, irritated by them. They’re all looking at you in a way that’s almost judgemental, the way most people seem to be. Judgemental, and hypocritical. I didn’t intend to draw a fellow student, but I guess as the closest example I subconsciously placed him at the centre of the piece.’ The last sentence was very much directed at Sima, as was the smirk and the penetrating stare.

Did this little bitch honestly think he could somehow get one up on him? Did he really want Ethan to react so badly? It was laughable, the petty, childish way the other young man seemed to be trying to get a rise out of him... the Goth would have laughed out loud, if replying with equal—if not more—self-confidence wasn’t a lot more satisfying.

To add the icing on the cake, he sarcastically added; ‘No offense.’

The teacher was more uncomfortable than Sima was, but there was no denying the sudden tenseness in the brown-haired boy. He glared quite openly at Ethan and paid no mind to the teacher, who said something, but he didn't catch it. The instructor merely walked away, putting on a show of interested nodding as he told them to carry on, a bit put off by the harsh atmosphere surrounding that gloomy table.

Sima didn't reply. His look was enough to communicate how Ethan made him feel: grumpy. Well, grumpier than usual. He simply let out a snobbish sigh, exhaling through his nostrils and loudly flipping to a new sheet of paper. He already had to look at one Ethan. Why look at another? Luckily, the instructor was at the front of the large classroom, mentioning something about a model coming in the next session, but again, Sima didn't catch it.

He was seething on the inside, enough that he had sudden tunnel vision. His only focus was this asshole sitting across from him. No one had managed to upset him so much in a long time, but as always, he kept it buried inside, his face relatively calm despite how tense every muscle in his body was, despite how deep-set that scowl was. Finally, he decided he just couldn't bear to stay in the same room with such an obnoxious prick. He closed his notebook, unable to draw anything, scooped up his pencils and bag, and stood up with a loud creak of the chair. He took one long look at Ethan, mouth parting ever so slightly as if to say something, but he couldn't think of a proper retort.

Instead, Sima walked out of the class, eyes following him as he left prematurely, like the eyes in Ethan's drawing. Uncomfortable. Judgmental. He couldn't stand it, and when the fresh air hit him, he stood there gasping it in as if just being in Ethan's presence was being trapped in a perpetual cloud of toxic smoke. But after a few deep breaths, he was composed, and made his way somewhere else. He wasn't sure where yet, but he just had to be away from that classroom.



By the time evening had rolled around, he'd forgotten all about the incident. He was absorbed in some art history project, reading up on the Pre-Raphaelites in his bedroom by the light of his bedside lamp. He was on his stomach atop his bed, comfortable, big textbook open. He was beginning to have trouble focusing, however; reading so long did that to him. Two slim fingers rubbed at the bridge of his nose then slid back past his messy hair and down his nape, and he looked at the time as he went through this relaxed motion. It was only half past five; it felt a lot later than that, like he'd been reading for hours, when in reality it'd only been close to two.

To adjust the focus in his nearsighted eyes, he stared at the door. It was a small room, part of a larger building for the specific purpose of housing students. He paid low rent, but so far the room next to his in their unit was empty; the landlord tended to move others into other units, away from Sima, noting how poorly the boy would get along with others. But it was now the last one open, and Sima was starting to wonder if it would stay that way. He wasn't excited by the fact that perhaps he'd have a roommate—he didn't want one—but he knew it was probably inevitable.

As far as Ethan was concerned, the moment Sima had packed his things and left, the Goth had won the brief stand-off. When the young man had stared long and hard at him, Ethan had expected a final verbal stab before the inevitable flounce out of the classroom, but it never came, and he grinned as he watched the other leave. He spent the rest of the class feeling quite satisfied with himself, and even enjoyed himself, somewhat.

By the end of the class, however, he became once more painfully aware of the fact he was homeless and had nowhere to go. He could stay in a hotel, but honestly he didn’t have a lot of money and doubted he could get more than a night or two out of one. So he did the next best thing, even though he hated the very thought of it; he checked the university’s bulletin board for student accommodation.

Luckily for Ethan, there were a few options. Some were a bit too far for his tastes, others didn’t allow a lot of the things he did, such as smoke. One seemed to fit the bill just fine, and he tore off the number attached to it, before heading back to his bike. As he’d thought, his things remained untouched; the bike was pretty recognizable, most people were aware it was his and wouldn’t have come within a good ten feet of it anyway, but he’d also made sure the bags were firmly secured to the vehicle so no one could make off with them. Fishing around in the front pocket of his tight jeans, he retrieved his phone and dialled the number he’d found.

The conversation with the landlord of the building was a brief one. Ethan was straight and to the point during the conversation, and the man seemed to appreciate the no-nonsense way the Goth explained why he needed a home and how he needed it soon. He hadn’t been evicted from the last place for anything he’d done, but solely because the man had raised the rent without telling him and he really couldn’t afford it anymore. The man said that Ethan could go there tonight if he was so desperate, and gave him instructions and the room number.

Well, that was a load off his back... he had a place to stay. He took a moment to breathe in a lungful of fresh air before he pulled a crumpled pack of Marlboro’s out of his other pocket, placing one between his lips before searching for his lighter. Time to go ‘home’, he supposed...


So as it began to get dark, after he’d gotten something to eat and drink, Ethan headed off to the student housing he’d just signed himself up to. The landlord had said he’d meet Ethan in the morning, that he’d notify one of the young men in the building that Ethan was coming so if anyone questioned him, to just steer them toward that guy. Of course, the one he called wasn’t Sima; hell no, he called someone a bit more responsible, so poor Sima wasn’t made aware of the fact he was about to get an uninvited guest, and although Ethan knew he’d have a roommate, he wasn’t aware who that roommate was.

Which is why, when he knocked and then promptly let himself in without waiting for an answer, and then saw who was already in the little apartment... he was a little startled, to put it mildly.

‘...Fucking hell, that’d be right...’

Sima was cleaning up his textbooks, putting them away, when he heard a knock outside. Strange... probably just one of the other students or even the landlord. Sima closed his bag and reached for his glasses on the bedside table, then walked out of his room into the hallway, only to see the door swinging open. Well, it had to be the landlord, so Sima started forward—

Well, shit.

Not only was this goth guy obnoxious, but he was breaking and entering, too? Some upstanding citizen. Sima halted his progress forward at the end of the short hallway and leaned to one side on the wall, arms crossed. As usual, he didn't look very pleased, but there was something even more grumpy in his look this time.

"Did you take a wrong turn on your way to the cemetery?" Sima asked dryly. "We only have regular beds here, no coffins."

Even with his glasses on, there was something decidedly clear and cruel in his eyes; it was obvious he had more than mild dislike for Ethan now. He'd forgotten about the unpleasant situation earlier in the day, but it all flooded back into him now, even worse now that the offending party was in his living space. Something about that fact put him on edge, made him realize that maybe not everyone was exactly fine with leaving things be. Did Ethan come here to exact some revenge for a bad conversation? It seemed petty, but then again, Sima had heard stories of simple road rage that ended in violent homicide. With that in mind...

"I can call the police," Sima went on, prompting an explanation for Ethan's presence, and quick. "...But I don't know if they'd believe a vampire broke into my apartment."

Regardless of any fear he might've had flowing through him, the faintest trace of a smirk played across his lips. Apparently he hadn't learned his lesson from class earlier.

At first, Ethan was sorely tempted to respond in kind, with the same sort of snide witticisms that Sima seemed to be so proud of… but then he thought to himself how childish it was and how he refused to stoop to that level. Besides, Sima wasn’t worth the breath. Instead, he stared him down for a long, silent moment before he took out the key he’d been given by one of the other occupants of the building, the one the landlord had spoken to regarding Ethan moving in. With the other hand, he raised one of his bags, and raised an eyebrow.

‘Do I look like I’m breaking in?’ He was tired. He was grumpy. He didn’t need this shit from a self-righteous pretty-boy like Sima. ‘Apparently, I live here. Unfortunately, it looks like you do to, but you know what? I’m willing to deal with you if it means a roof over my head.’

Dragging his bags in through the door, he set them down and looked around the place; smaller than his last apartment and he had to share… but oh well, it was something. Better than sleeping in a doorway. His only concern, really, that it had too much of Sima in it… but his attitude towards the young artist was nowhere near as venomous as Sima’s seemed to be towards him. He found it quite entertaining, really.

‘Feel free to call the man responsible for this unfortunate situation; I even have his number here, in my pocket.’ Ethan suddenly grinned as he remembered Sima’s ire in the drawing class earlier that day. ‘By the way, he said I could smoke, provided I do so by the window. Aren’t I lucky, to have found this place last minute?’ That said, he walked right past Sima to explore the rest of the place.

It didn’t take long… it was a pretty modest little home. Lounge area with a kitchen separated by a counter, two bedrooms and a shared bathroom. He found Sima’s bedroom first, peeked in, smirked, then headed for the only other bedroom, already treating the place as if it belonged to him. The bedrooms weren’t much, but he didn’t have a lot of things so it didn’t really matter, and there was already a bed in there. Perfect.

Once again, Ethan left Sima without any reply; he was moving in, and he had a right to be there. It was obvious, and the goth's unwavering confidence just hit the point home. The Asian just stood there, slowly unfolding his arms and staring dumbly as Ethan walked past him into the hallway and peered into his room. He started forward but faltered. What kind of little girl would he sound like if he protested the invasion of his privacy? But well, his room was kind of...

...embarrassing, to say the least.

Geese of all shapes, sizes, types, and styles made up over half the room, either printed on something or just in figurine form. A Canada goose was prominent on his quilt, and a stuffed animal version sat atop it next to the pillow. Unsurprisingly, more geese plushies sat atop his shelf next to some artbooks and DVDs. Cute geese on boxes. Cute geese on small wall hangings. Cute geese on his alarm clock.

That smirk on Ethan's face made Sima die a little inside. What else could cause that smirk? The waterfowl were everywhere.

After the other had moved on, Sima rushed back into his room, absolutely mortified. It was hard to put up a badass front if your room looked this way. If it had been anyone else, he might not have minded so much, just would've shrugged it off, but this was...

Wait, he didn't even know what his name was. He sat on his bed a little sullenly, refusing to acknowledge his apparent new roommate. Why the hell should he care what the guy's name was, anyway? So he sat there. And then he fidgeted. Well, if they were going to live together, Sima guessed he had to know his name. He could just ask the landlord, but this was perhaps necessary to smooth things out a little, not to mention a lot quicker. He jumped up with a grumpy little sigh and walked out of his room, turning straight towards Ethan's.

"You seem at home," Sima remarked flatly. It was true, the way he just walked in like he'd lived here longer than Sima did. "So, do you have a name... or should I just address you as the Count?"

‘You can call me the Count.’ Ethan replied. He’d opened the window and leaned out of it for a moment to observe the view; they were a few floors up, and he could see the campus not too far off. ‘If that’s not to your liking, then ‘sir’ will do just fine.’ Drawing back from the window, he looked over at Sima, leaving just enough silence for the other to start wondering if Ethan was serious before he spoke again. ‘My name’s Ethan.’

His tone was brisk and businesslike, as was the way he swept past the other student without another word, not asking his name in turn, as he went to get his bags. He didn’t care who Sima was. He didn’t want to be the guy’s friend. As far as Sima were concerned, Ethan figured he would just be a part of the scenery, something to be overlooked, and he was more than happy to start calling him ‘goose boy’ if he had to refer to him, after the stunning and rather hilarious sight of the young man’s bedroom.

He went past Sima again as he went back into his room with his things, dumping his bags in a corner so he could begin to get unpacked... it was already dark, although it wasn’t too late yet, but he wanted to get some work done before retiring to a decent night’s sleep, so the necessities needed to be out of the way. Most of the space in his bags was taken up by clothes, and otherwise he had books and stationery for classes, a few thick novels, a laptop and MP3 player, as well as a stack of music CD’s and a little box he kept mementos in; photos, little accessories... a journal without words, basically, telling stories only he knew.

After rifling through his things for a moment, he looked up, almost surprised to see Sima. ‘Are you still here? Don’t you have homework or something?’

Ethan.

Ethan really seemed too polite a name for a guy like that. Better than his own name, which was just a symbol of his parents' unoriginality and lack of proper planning. His older brother's name was Sam, his sister's Emma. Put them together, and Sima—it flowed better than Samma or something equally ridiculous—made a good name for an accidental baby.

Well, at least Sima's curiosity was sated, but he didn't miss the blatant lack of a return inquiry into his own identity. That was fine with Sima. Names were powerful things in some cultures, and knowing his supposed enemy's name was like holding his soul; conversely, his enemy knowing his name was bad. Okay, so that was sort of silly, but the more he could find out about his new roommate, the better off he felt he'd be. Knowledge is power, after all.

Sima tilted his head slightly at the dismissal of sorts and narrowed his eyes. "Just making sure you're not swiping anything." Not that there was much in the room to take, being unoccupied, but everything else in the small place belonged to either the landlord or Sima.

With that, he moved away, walking back down the hallway. A rapid sigh of disgust slipped from his throat, loud enough that Ethan would probably hear it. But Sima didn't care if he offended him—he'd made that fact abundantly clear by now. So he didn't know him very well, but his first impressions had been horrible ones, everything Sima disliked. There was no changing such a fact now.

He pulled open the freezer door and pulled out a pint of caramel-swirled ice cream, opening it and grumpily sticking a spoon into the soft, half-eaten remnants. He thought about making dinner, but he certainly didn't want to make anything for him. Sima's eyes turned towards the hall as he leaned forward over the counter, idly scooping some ice cream into his mouth as he pondered his unfortunate situation. There had to be a way to kick him out. Sima certainly couldn't afford another place; this had been the cheapest he could find. Perhaps they'd be in the apartment at different times and wouldn't have to encounter each other, though with his luck so far today, that seemed unlikely. He could hope, though.

"Such a jerk," Sima muttered to himself.

Well, Sima hadn’t tried to forcibly eject him from the little apartment, so far so good. The other students in the shared housing hadn’t seemed to mind that he was moving in, but they’d grinned a little too widely and Ethan understood why now; they had taken one look at him, and had known Sima was going to hate him. Well, the sulking wasn’t about to make him leave the apartment... far from it.

He put a few of his things in drawers and set his laptop up on the low table in one corner; the landlord had told him the building had a wireless network, which the Goth was pleased about; the internet was a good way to waste time. The bed had no linen on it, apparently that was something he’d have to provide himself, but for the moment he wasn’t worried; he could sleep without a blanket the first night if he had to, small price to pay for such convenient new housing.

When he had made himself at home a little, he left his room and wandered off into the kitchen where Sima was consoling himself with ice-cream. That made the Goth smirk again; not only did the guy look like a girl, but he acted like one too. Not to mention the geese. It was almost too easy to poke fun at the other student... so much so that Ethan really couldn’t be bothered with it, but at least he had plenty to work with if Sima decided to take a verbal stab at him again. He sure was gutsy for someone who looked like such a pansy.

‘Do we have any coffee? Tea? Preferably coffee, I could do with a cup.’ Ethan decided to familiarise himself with the locations of everything later, it was just so much easier to ask the reluctant roommate instead. He liked his coffee strong, and without milk or sugar... he also seemed to be immune to caffeine, since he could have it in the evening and still have a restful sleep. It was a bit of a pain when he needed to be awake for studies and projects, though, and he had nothing to help him with that...

Seeing the smirk on Ethan's face, Sima hurriedly finished off the ice cream on his spoon and swept the container into the trash, even though more was still in there. He was perfectly aware of what Ethan was thinking. It didn't change the fact that there were no less than three more pints of similarly decadent ice cream waiting for Sima's apparently estrogen-filled fits. Not that he'd technically had a fit. Yet.

It took a few moments for Ethan's question to register. Despite the two of them being the only ones there, Sima automatically assumed Ethan wasn't talking to him. But when he finally realized, Sima turned around slowly, still leaning back on the counter, his elbows resting behind him on the flat surface. One neatly plucked eyebrow was slightly raised, dark eyes under his thick brown frames staring blankly at Ethan as if the goth had asked an idiotic question.

Yeah, Sima thought. you look like you need a cup or two... or five. He considered piping up again, something about, "Oh, wouldn't you like some blood instead?" but decided against it, opting to be painfully quiet instead.

Idly brushing some hair from his eyes, he stepped away from the counter and to the opposite side of the kitchen, blank gaze only lifting from Ethan when he reached up to open the cupboard door. His movements were rather languid—more than usual, anyway—and he was absolutely silent save for the rustle of his clothing; he was definitely going to take his sweet time. On tiptoes he rummaged through the topmost shelf... he was a little short compared to most men, maybe not back home, but definitely around here.

Inside were quite a few coffee-related items. Of course, Sima opted to pull out more than just his precious premium-grown coffee. No, no, he had to take out two different bags of it, followed by three little containers of sweet-sounding instant coffee. Vanilla almond, caramel nut, Belgian white chocolate. Next came various flavored creamers and Torani flavor syrups: hazelnut, English toffee, raspberry, even more caramel—Sima loved his caramel. Obviously even without caramel, he had a bit of a sweet tooth, if that wasn't the understatement of the year. Not to mention a hell of a lot of coffee products.

But he wasn't even done. Going to the refrigerator, he took out two cans of cold coffee, one vanilla, the other straight black. He set the latter down next to everything on the coffee-covered counter and snapped open the sweet one for himself.

"Go wild," Sima said finally, brushing past Ethan with a rather heated look. He then walked past the counter into the tiny living area, turning on the tv. Certainly the whole show had been a lot of effort for a very simple question, but Sima wasn't doing it out of the goodness of his heart. No, the scowl on his face made his passive-aggressive tendencies very clear. He just casually sipped at his coffee and channel surfed, knees drawn up to his chest in a loungey position, just pretending Ethan wasn't there at all.

Ethan was a bit puzzled as he watched Sima move around, retrieving all the different coffee items… he didn’t understand why the other deemed it necessary to pull out all of the varieties he had, when it would have simply been a hell of a lot easier to ask the Goth what kind of coffee he meant. He noticed to his distaste that most of the coffees were the fancy, flavoured kind, whereas Ethan preferred a dark, bitter coffee. The stronger, the better. He didn’t go in for all those syrups and creams.

When Sima was finally done with… whatever kind of rebellious little show it was that he’d just put on, Ethan watched him as he went by, before turning his attention back to the kitchen counter. He selected the black coffee that Sima had pulled from the fridge and set about making a cup for himself in a mug he’d found in a cupboard as he regarded the other coffees on the counter with disinterest.

‘I don’t know why you went to the trouble of pulling them all out.’ He said with another of his smirks. ‘It just means more for you to put away again. Could’ve just asked me what I wanted, and shown your extreme dislike of me in some other, less time consuming way.’ That said, he raised the coffee to his lips, breathing in the smell of it with a content sigh before he sipped at it. Well, that was one thing that could be said for the pretty-boy; he at least knew to buy good coffee.

Setting it down on the kitchen counter, he leaned on the counter with his elbows as he openly eyed Sima for a moment, taking in his appearance again, and that scowl on his face. Sima was attractive, there was no doubt about that… if the young man’s hate for Ethan hadn’t been coming off him in waves, he might even have been someone Ethan would usually pursue, but as it was Ethan decided not to bother. Not yet, anyway.

The thing with Ethan was… he liked his conquests. He liked to go after a pretty face and a sexy body, to make them want him, to take them home, enjoy them, and then never have to deal with them again. And Ethan wasn’t fussy… he didn’t care about gender, as long as it was nice to look at. He really was very shallow, in some aspects… and had been told so numerous times, usually by those he discarded, but he always simply shrugged it off. He had never cared what others thought of him… he simply did what he enjoyed and told everyone else to fuck off.

Which is why now—as he took his time looking Sima over, which was probably more than a bit creepy for the other art student—he actually stopped to appreciate the other. How he looked, anyway. He decided Sima would be so much more attractive if that scowl was gone, and if those eyes weren’t narrowed with the hate Sima so obviously felt for him. Well, he was happy to assure the other the feeling was mutual, if asked.

‘So what’s the story with the geese?’ he suddenly asked, completely out of the blue.

It didn't take long for Sima to realize he was being watched.

He pretended to concentrate on whatever show was on—it showed how distracted he was, since he was giving his rapt attention to an infomercial about a revolutionary pet brush—in the hopes of not letting on how weirded out he really was. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan looking, but maybe he was just seeing things, so he didn't want to bring it up or suddenly shout something embarrassing when Ethan wasn't even looking at him at all.

But oh, he felt it, and instinct, coupled with the fact that he suddenly knew what a gazelle on the savanna felt like, told him his fears weren't unfounded. What the hell was he looking at, anyway? There was nothing to see. One would think he'd be used to it; he wasn't exactly unattractive, and his somewhat exotic features (at least in this country) helped along the stares he got. But this... this was decidedly different, and uncomfortable. Sima sipped at his cold coffee a bit nervously, curling his toes and drawing his knees in closer to his body in some sort of instinctive ball of protection.

Luckily, Ethan broke the silence with a question. Maybe that awkward stare didn't last as long as Sima had imagined.

"There is no story," Sima replied after a few seconds. "I just like them." Honestly, he couldn't remember why. He wasn't even sure if he still liked them or if it was just a habit to buy anything he saw with a goose on it.

He turned a little, shifting position on the plush loveseat to better face Ethan in the kitchen, and rested his arms on the armrest, lowering his chin on top of them like a curious little boy.

"What's the story," Sima imitated, drawing a slim finger through the air, up and down, "with your costume?" No, not outfit, but costume; unfortunately, though not his native language, his English certainly wasn't that bad to mistake the two, and his articulate accent gave that fact away. "Is it close to Halloween or are you just that fanatical?" His face was perfectly still, that scowl Ethan silently protested ever-present, his rigid demeanor mirroring what a stick in the mud he was. Even his slow blinking was condescending.

For a moment, Ethan’s mind digested the question, and he even looked down at himself to see what about his current outfit could possibly have been outrageous enough to prompt such a question. Boots, black jeans, vintage band shirt… a few leather cuffs and bracelets, his rings… hell, there was nothing unusual about his current clothing, in his opinion. He smirked and looked over at Sima again. ‘This? Seriously? You find this weird?’ he didn’t seem at all insulted by the other’s wording; everything Sima did entertained him somehow, the other art student seemed to be trying so hard to show how much he hated Ethan… when almost everything the boy said and did had no effect on Ethan.

‘That’s funny. You must be pretty sheltered if you think this is weird. ‘Fanatical’ is definitely not a word I’d use. If this is weird to you, my clubbing gear will scare the shit out of you.’ He sneered at the other as he moved around the kitchen counter and through the living room area to head to his bedroom. He noticed as he did so that the doors didn’t have locks; obviously it hadn’t been expected there’d ever be such venom between housemates in the little apartment. Oh well, he’d just have to keep an eye out for any trouble Sima might cause.

‘Least I don’t have an unhealthy obsession with waterfowl.’ He added, as he went into his room, shutting the door behind him. He wanted to get some work done before bed… and wanted to blast some music and—although despite the fact Ethan didn’t usually give a shit about what people thought—he decided to use the noise-cancelling headphones he had so he could blast it without Sima interrupting him.

As far as Ethan was concerned, he was lucky to have the place. It was a bit of a pain that Sima had been thrown in with it too, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and even if Sima hated the current situation, Ethan was happy to deal with it if it meant a roof over his head. Besides, it just felt so damn good to get the little pretty-boy riled up…

Sima wasn't sheltered, just uptight. Well, all right, maybe a bit sheltered, considering his parents were highly conservative Asians who had a hard time letting their children do much of anything on their own. Sima's brother and sister had gone to a university close to home because their parents couldn't bear the thought of them being too far. Sima... was another story. They'd always been fairly strict with him too, but they didn't mind letting him run off to another country for college, despite hating his choice in schooling. He was a little freer-minded than his siblings, but by no means was he anything but a prude conservative.

He said nothing in reply, merely waited for Ethan to disappear, the sound of his bedroom door closing Sima's cue to stand up. He peered into the short hallway as he passed, then walked back into the kitchen, sighing tiredly. Seemed just being in the same room with Ethan expended too much mental effort for Sima; what a tiring roommate. He put away all the coffee, silently wondering if anything he did could make Ethan leave, but he knew that cheap student housing was a bitch to find... a guy like Ethan would probably just lock himself in his room whenever Sima was present and bear with it.

When all the coffee was put away, he gave a bit of a start at a strangely kindhearted thought that breezed through his mind. He considered the fact that Ethan might not have everything he needed (there didn't seem to be much in the way of belongings) and thought he might ask if he needed anything, like a blanket or pillows. Sima had extra, but before he got to that point, he'd crushed the thought completely.

There was no way in hell he was going to do anything even mildly polite for such an obnoxious person. If he wanted something, he could get it himself. Besides, Sima had the nagging feeling that even if he tried, he'd be met with some asshole comment from Ethan—not that he didn't deserve that.


Sima showed up at the apartment again after a brief absence. He'd decided to ask the landlord about moving Ethan to some other room, but he'd gotten an unequivocal "No!" multiple times. It just wasn't possible; there was no other free space, unless Ethan or Sima were up for sleeping under the metal shade that covered the trash area out back. They didn't pay a lot, but they certainly paid enough to have a nice place to sleep.

Luckily, Sima didn't see any sign of Ethan. If this was how it would always be, he thought he might actually be able to deal. Sima liked his peace and quiet, and as long as Ethan didn't disrupt that, this might work out okay. He gave a soft breath of relief and walked into his bedroom, flipping on the stereo. The sad, slow plucking of an acoustic guitar started up loud and clear, quickly filling the room with a rather melancholy atmosphere, apparently how Sima liked it, since the corner of his mouth perked a little in some faint sign of contentment.

He thought about closing the door, but he still considered this purely his place. He wasn't changing his habits... yet. Anyway, the small desk he did his work on faced the opposite way, so he wouldn't have to see Ethan walking by, if he did. Sitting down, he got started on a few sketches, not for school, but for his own work. Besides his job at the school art store, he sold his original wood paintings for good sums of money. If it weren't for the extra cash he made off of them, he wouldn't have been able to make it at all.

Ethan never heard Sima’s music; his own blasted into his ears from his headphones, which had a long cord that plugged into his laptop. He had been drawing since he’d gone into his room, but it was getting very late now, and he’d had a tiring morning... everything seemed a little bit blurred, to his sleepy mind. Blinking, he pushed his sketchbook aside and stood, heading out of his room and into the bathroom, to have a quick shower; going to bed with gel in his hair was never fun. When he stepped out of his room he realised the other had music on, but... he wasn’t about to kick up a stink about it. It wasn’t his style, but unless it was irritating he didn’t care.

He’d taken a softer, more comfortable set of shirt and pants to get changed into when he was done with the shower, and soon set about getting himself cleaned up; he was pleased to discover the shower worked well, so often in cheap places nothing worked, and that usually included the water heater. Murmuring contently as he stood beneath the steaming stream, he ran his hands back through his wet hair and pondered his situation.

He didn’t want this situation to be permanent. As far as he was concerned, he wanted to keep looking for a place—a better place where he could live in peace—and simply stay here until he found one. This place was only good enough for its convenience, but Ethan knew that even with his tolerance there was only so much of Sima he’d be able to take before he snapped. He hoped the other student would wise up and stop prodding him verbally, so that wouldn’t happen.

When he was done he dried off with his towel—luckily he had one—before getting dressed in the clothes he’d be sleeping in. He didn’t wish Sima good night, or anything... he just headed back into his own room and shut the door once more. It was only a few minutes later, however, when he emerged again and went to Sima’s door, shutting it to block out the music, before returning to his own room to collapse on the bare mattress. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t be too cold that night, but he was really going to have to invest in some blankets...

It was the click of his door shutting that broke Sima from a sort of half-trance. On the desk were piles of sketches, some of which would be made into finished pieces, while the rest would just be stored away with other unwanted sketches. Sima stood up slowly, stretching away the stiffness brought on by sitting so long in the same focused position. Though his body suddenly took on a more relaxed form than usual, his glare was still present as he eyed the wall he shared with Ethan.

"Asshole," Sima muttered, throwing his door wide open again. The soft tickle of a piano flooded into the apartment, accompanying the slim Asian as he walked into the hallway.

The air was humid, hot; so Ethan had taken a shower. Sima really hoped he hadn't used his towels, but peering into the bathroom, they were dry and untouched. But the mirror was fogged up, and behind the shower door he could hear the lonely drip of water. Sure, this was normal post-shower, even for Sima, but for some reason it made him feel so... violated. Some person had been in his shower... maybe he'd used his shampoo or something. Probably unlikely, but it was a little pricey, and on his budget he couldn't afford to have it wasted on some goth's gel-crusted hair.

Sima walked back into the hallway and stood before the door he rarely ever went to. Well, seemed he'd have more reason to now, if only to continually protest this man's presence in his apartment. Exactly what he wanted to do now, just chew him out childishly for closing his door when he preferred it open. He hesitated a moment before rapping his knuckles against the door. Too late now, but maybe that was a bad idea. He didn't know the extent of Ethan's patience, and maybe he was one of those grumpy people who hated being interrupted when they were trying to get some sleep. Automatically, he backed away a little, eyes going to one side and meeting the small linen closet at the end of the hall.

Of all the times for his conscience to act up. Well, he figured, it was a good excuse to not get punched in the face if Ethan did come to the door. Hurriedly, he opened the cabinet door and pulled out the first blanket he found, obviously his with the horribly cute and stylized geese printed all over its earthy green surface. Maybe he should've gotten another one instead. Something told him Ethan didn't care much for blankets that had "Honk Honk!" and happy chibi geese dancing on them, but perhaps it was the best thing to get on his nerves.

Then again, he'd pulled the blanket out to not get on Ethan's nerves. All Sima was doing was working up his own nerves thinking about this too much, so he knocked again and then just opened the door a crack, pushed the blanket through, then closed the door again. Well, that wasn't so hard. ...Just like feeding a lion. Sima blew out a breath he'd been holding in and went back into his own room, shutting the door—it was okay, now that he was the one doing it—and finally turned off both his music and his light.

He undressed in the dark, wondering why he'd just done that. It wasn't like him. But the only logical explanation he could come up with was that he didn't want Ethan murdering him in his sleep for being so impudent. Certainly, he pretended to be self-confident and strong no matter what, but honestly, he was a little scared of what people might do to him sometimes, and his imagination tended to overdo it when it came to how awful other people were. He got under the covers and settled into bed, hoping for a good, deep sleep to carry him into the next day.

At the first knock, Ethan sighed and wished he had a pillow to pull over his head. Since he didn’t, he simply rolled over and tried to ignore Sima. It seemed to work for a moment, but then there was another knock, and the Goth sat up with an irate growl, just as the door opened... and then was pulled shut again just as quickly. Wondering what the hell kind of games his housemate was playing now, he got up off the bed and went to the door to go after Sima, but as he reached for the handle in the dark, his foot hit something soft.

Reaching down, his hands found the blanket. Just as he was marvelling over the fact that Sima seemed to have done something that didn’t seem hateful, he heard the music turn off; another pleasant surprise. Standing by the closed door for a moment, the thought of thanking him briefly crossed his mind. Briefly. Then he snorted and simply went back to bed, shaking out the blanket and pulling it over himself. He probably wouldn’t have wanted to admit it aloud, but it did make a wonderful difference.

So the remainder of the night was uneventful; Ethan slept well and—thanks to the unexpected loan of the blanket—comfortably. His cell phone went off nice and early, the way he liked it, and he groaned softly as he rubbed his eyes and rolled out of bed.

Which was of course when he saw the pattern on the blanket for the first time.

He stopped and stared at it for a moment, then picked it up and stared at it a little more... then he burst out laughing. What kind of self-respecting twenty-something male owned something like this? He didn’t care that he’d just been sleeping under it, but damn it was hilarious. Snickering, he folded the blanket and left it on the end of his bed to give back to Sima later, as he wandered out into the kitchen on bare feet for the things that kick-started his mornings; coffee and a cigarette.

He helped himself to the black coffee in the fridge and went to the window of the living area, collapsing comfortably on the couch beneath it, cracking the window open just a bit, and lighting up one of his Marlboro’s, inhaling deeply. Perfect.

Sima woke up quietly, sitting up... and then sneezing. Ugh, smelled like someone was smoking right outside his window. What was that? Oh... that was right. Unwelcome mages of Ethan flooded into his mind, reminding him of his new roommate. Sima hurried out of bed, a bit of a hard task for his half-asleep body, and with more force than was necessary, slammed his window down shut. Letting it rattle the surrounding walls for a few seconds, he blinked sleep from his eyes and pulled a ratty green tee over his head.

Jerk, he thought. Cigarettes for breakfast... real healthy. Hopefully his petulant slamming of the window would get his point across before he got outside.

Coughing to get the toxins (oh, he could just visualize them floating all around him) out of his lungs, he opened his door quietly and padded out into the living area. Well, there was his problem, sitting there on the couch, cancer stick lit up like he owned the place. Not just that, but god, did he smoke the worst brand of cigarettes, the smoke so purely acrid that Sima's sleepy eyes watered a bit.

He looked a lot less pissy in the morning, it seemed, scowl not quite so strong despite his irritation, and posture much looser. Not that he looked very threatening normally, but now he almost looked like a little boy in his dull green shirt and brown plaid pajama pants. He stood there a moment, staring at Ethan as if his presence were enough to make him stop smoking... and stop drinking all his damned coffee.

"Just because the landlord said you could smoke," Sima started, "doesn't mean it's polite." The window wasn't really helping very much, at least not in Sima's opinion, and his dark eyes flitted between the window and Ethan, then towards the door. "Would it kill you to step outside?"

‘Probably not.’ Ethan drew a long, deliberate drag of the cigarette as he sat back on the couch, watching Sima, before tilting his head back and directing a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. ‘But that would require me getting dressed and actually making the effort, which—at this point in the morning—I’m not willing to do. If you have a problem with it, you go outside.’ He reached back to tap the ash off on the windowsill and raised an eyebrow.

Like Sima, Ethan looked a lot less threatening in the morning; he didn’t have any product in his hair yet and he wasn’t wearing the dark make-up around his eyes. He also hadn’t yet put on the various bits of jewellery and accessories that made up a lot of his appearance a lot of the time. In fact, he almost looked quite ordinary, in his plain black shirt and loose pants, although his pale complexion still stood in stark contrast to his black clothing.

‘Thanks for the blanket, by the way.’ That self-important smirk was back, but at least the thanks wasn’t sarcastic. ‘Real cute. Wouldn’t have slept under something like that normally, but hey, I didn’t have much of a choice.’ He snickered. He wondered if Sima had intentionally given him the cutesy blanket to try and irritate him; it seemed like something the other young man would do, he seemed to be fighting a war against Ethan for whatever reason. Ah well, Ethan would have taken the blanket even if he’d seen the little geese on it beforehand. It was so much nicer sleeping under something.

‘Don’t worry.’ He added solemnly. ‘I’ll clean it so you won’t get my cooties.’ If Sima was going to be childish about everything Ethan did, the Goth would return it in kind. Besides, there was just something about the absolute loathing that appeared in Sima’s gaze whenever he was taunted that Ethan just found unbelievably entertaining.

He didn’t have a class that morning, so he was taking it easy, not having to rush around to get ready, which was why he was lounging so comfortably in the sofa cushions. Thoughtfully regarding Sima for a moment, he took another drag on the cigarette and then gestured at Sima with it as he spoke. ‘So, how’s it going to work with money, and all that? I mean, I was told how much rent would be with bills included… but how much on average are you spending on groceries? Since we’ll have to split costs. Unless you’d like to just each buy our own things… which seems a little redundant considering we might as well share things like bread and stuff.’

What an asshole!

Sima was fuming silently, eyes wide at the suggestion that he leave. Apparently Ethan was just stupid, according to Sima, if he didn't realize which one of them had lived here longer. Sima felt it was absolutely his right to ask Ethan to go outside. After all, he wasn't the one blowing carcinogenic smoke into the small space they shared; it was only courteous. He was so upset at that small statement that he couldn't even speak, just stood there and shook with rage. By the time he was composed enough to share his opinion, Ethan had started talking again.

Oh, a thank you for the blanket. Well, Sima was too upset to even utter a polite reply. He wasn't even sure if Ethan was being polite or just being sarcastic. He suspected the latter merely because he didn't put much trust or faith in anyone. Especially not Ethan. He was sufficiently calmed down enough to mumble a reply when it came to money and splitting costs, however.

"I get by fine buying all the basics," Sima said, leaning back against the counter. "If you want anything extra, then you buy it yourself." Simple. Still, it meant Sima would be the one spending more money on groceries, but he didn't trust Ethan to buy what they both needed. "And if I need any help, then I'll ask for it." The last bit came out with a bit of venom, as if he were pissed at Ethan for asking a perfectly logical, practical, and perhaps even slightly considerate question. Even Sima wasn't sure why it came out as such, and he hurriedly turned around and went into the kitchen, the act of getting eggs and other things out of the fridge a good cover for his confusion at his own actions.

This time, he wasn't going to be nice and offer anything to Ethan. No, he went about making an omelet and toast for himself, glaring every now and then at Ethan. At least the smell of the food cooking was helping to cover up the obnoxious smoke. Finally, he spoke up again, but didn't look at Ethan when he talked to him, just put everything on a plate and plopped down in the armchair across from the other man.

"And just put the blanket back in my room. Unless... you still need it. Or you could just borrow from the homeless guy who sleeps on the corner. Even he has one."

Sima turned the TV on as he said that, a little snobbish air to both his body language and his voice. He was gradually waking up, coming back into his usual self, the scowl almost to one-hundred percent power. Well, at least class was in an hour, which wasn't too long to spend with his new roommate... right?