A/N the point of this fic was more a characterization exercise than anything else. I was working with Piper's background, trying to get a feel for the Rathaway family dynamics, that sort of thing. Then it kept going and the results were postable. So please excuse the slow start.

Prologue

"Huh. Do you ever have class?" Brandon joked as he strode into the dorm room. Hartley ignored him, so he shrugged it off and started rifling through the accumulated filth on his side of the room. "Shit. My Orgo book's gotta be here somewhere."

"I think we've got the same one, so you can have mine if you want." Hartley offered.

"You serious?" Brandon asked. "Don't fuck with me on this. I'm running late, I think I lost it and it's a hundred dollar book."

Hartley was sitting cross legged on his bed with a pad of paper making notes. He leaned over to a small bookshelf he'd put at the foot of his bed, located his organic chemistry book, which was still in its plastic wrapping, and tossed it across the room to Brandon. "Have it. Free of charge."

"Seriously? Aw man do I owe you! Oh wait, rich kid, duh. So what, did your parents like, buy you backups or something?"

"No." Hartley returned to his notebook, uninterested in pursuing further conversation from the looks of it. He picked up a mechanical pencil and drew a staff.

"So…then…don't you need this?" Brandon asked.

Hartley set his pencil down and regarded his roommate with a certain measure of bemusement. "My father picked my school, my major, my minor, my concentration, my classes-even my electives, without asking for my input. I have no interest in organic chemistry, or in any of my other classes for that matter, so I don't need the book."

"Ah huh. So what's your brilliant plan? Tank your grades to teach them a lesson?" Brandon didn't look terribly impressed. He also happened to be the eighth child of a lower middle class family that had worked his way to college and was the first in his family to do so. The teens didn't understand anything of each other's worlds, but Brandon had a chip on his shoulder about it. He'd yet to miss an opportunity to point out how 'privileged' Hartley was.

"If I don't do something then I cede control of my life to my father. I'd rather be homeless and impoverished."

"Says the rich white kid. Dude, have you ever even seen a homeless person?"

"Of course. There are plenty on campus." Hartley bristled inwardly, but remained outwardly dispassionate. And Brandon wondered why he pretended not to hear him so often. The boy was bright enough to realize that Hartley's hearing implants 'malfunctioned' at opportune moments, but dense enough to miss what made those moments so opportune.

"Ah. So you do leave the room sometimes then. Well that ain't the street. Y'know, living off of charitable college kid handouts, so don't go pretending that you-"

"Aren't you going to be late for Orgo?"

"Huh? Oh yeah. Hey man, thanks for the book." Brandon rushed out of the room and Hartley followed him to the door, casually navigating the piles of teenage boy debris on the floor to do so. He shut the door and plopped back onto his bed.

"Because the suburbs are so much more ghetto." He muttered condescendingly before slipping on headphones and going back to his scribbles.

He was still scribbling out melody lines an hour and a half later when Brandon got back from class. Brandon rolled his eyes at seeing his roommate in much the same position as when he'd left, but didn't bother saying anything about it.

The two sat in silence for a bit, doing their own things, until the phone rang. Brandon was studying for his French oral. He fully expected Hartley to get it, as the other teen was being unproductive, but Hartley made no move to respond.

"Fucking asshole." Brandon muttered irritably. He strode to the doorway where their dorm phone was stuck to the wall and picked up the receiver. "Yallo?"

"Oh, er, yes. Hello. This is Mr. Hall, I presume?"

"Ya, Brandon Hall. You must be Hartley's dad, huh?"

"Yes. Is he available to talk?"

Brandon snorted. "One sec Mr. R. Yo, Hartley!" He yelled. He could just see Hartley's dad cringing on the other end of the line. The guy sounded like an aristocratic asshole, like he should only exist as a movie caricature or something.

"Hey Hartley!" The kid still didn't so much as shift position. Brandon threw a crumpled McDonald's bag at him, which did get his attention. Hartley yanked his bulky headphones off and looked up with an indignant glare.

"What?!"

"Your dad's on the phone. Hey, don't you have a cell phone or something anyway?" Brandon said with a sudden realization.

"I turned it off."

"You can do that?"

Hartley grabbed the phone, gearing up for an unpleasant conversation. "Yes?"

"Don't take that tone with me." Mr. Rathaway snapped. "I would like to know how it is, exactly, that you got on academic probation before the first semester of freshmen year is even half finished."

"Probation, huh? Sounds serious." Hartley said dully.

"It is. So help me God Hartley, if you flunk out of this school, you are not going to like coming home to this house-"

"Uh huh."

"I mean it Hartley!"

"Yeah, well, mayhaps you should let me take a music class at my next school."

"What makes you think there's going to be a next school?!" Mr. Rathaway exploded.

"Because you don't want to tell your friends that your only son is a college drop-out?"

"You are not becoming a musician! You have no talent!"

Hartley jerked back from the receiver as though the phone had somehow struck him. Part of the reason he played so poorly was nerves. Every time he sat down with an instrument, no matter the instrument, he waited for a storm of criticism and the anxiety made him fumble.

"Bye sir."

"Don't you dare hang up on-"

Hartley plodded back to his bed and collapsed face first into his pillow. Brandon watched him with a condescending smirk.

"You call your dad sir?"

Brandon's alarm went off at six thirty in the morning, waking both roommates but only one hobbled around the bed, stumbling into furniture and swearing viciously as he gathered clothes and headed towards the bathroom at the end of the hall. Hartley rolled over and pulled his pillow over his head. He'd only gone to sleep a couple hours ago, having spent the night listening to Nina Simone's Wild is the Wind enough times to write down the music to it.

He woke again when Brandon finished his shower and had to gather together books and notebooks for the day. Brandon left the room noisily, slamming the door behind him as a final flourish.

Hartley curled up on his side and hugged his pillow to his chest. He felt like spending the rest of his life in bed, avoiding people. He'd barely left the dorm room since orientation, which was probably at least partly responsible for his lethargic depression.

'I suppose I could go to class today.' He pondered the thought a moment longer, dismissed it as his teachers wouldn't recognize him anyway so it would be completely pointless, and went back to bed.

When he did wake up again sometime in the afternoon he decided on grooming himself properly and venturing outside. After that last fight with his dad, it was probably a good idea to hit up the record store before his funds were cut off again in a pathetic attempt at persuasive discipline. Unfortunately for the Rathaways, their son had long since figured out that they'd get bored with parenting and just throw him money again to shut him up if he waited them out, and he was much more patient than they were.

Hartley showered, dressed in real clothes as opposed to sweats or pajamas, found his sneakers after a few minutes of searching under his bed, pulled his hair into a ponytail and left the dorm building for the outside world.