Chapter One

Dean had a problem with his roommate.

He was a jerk.

A real jerk.

He couldn't exactly complain about the personality test that had led to them being put together, because from what he did know about Michael Milton, they were pretty similar in most ways – but that didn't stop him from being a real asshole. He was a member of pretty much every elitist sports club or society on campus, he was on the Christian Union, he was on the Football Team, he had a collection of books that even Dean found impressive, he was smart, a goody-two-shoes, but he was an asshat.

He was the kind of two-faced, dick that had a squeaky-clean record and was always on best behaviour in front of the people that mattered, but when he was alone with the weaker links in the social chain he really tortured them. And no one would believe that he could turn so nasty. Hell, Dean was surprised when he first saw Michael change, and he was a pretty good judge of character. For just a while, he thought he might have had a lucky break and gotten a decent roommate. Of course not.

Worst of all, he was the kind of guy that would expect you to keep your mouth shut about anything he did that was against the rules, but if you did anything like that around him, it became a bargaining chip for him to use to twist your will. And it was horrible, it was torture. Because, despite them being on a dry campus, he had been hoping that he would have a roommate who would be cool enough to keep his mouth shut if Dean managed to sneak a few beers in. Of course not.

"I would say 'hope you liked that', but there's no way someone who listens to this show can't appreciate that song. I know you liked it…"

Dean snuggled the quilt around his head and squeezed his eyes shut, just focusing on Angel's crisp tones, hoping to push the world away. He was trying hard in his classes, keeping up, but keeping his head down. He just found them insufferably lonely sometimes, and it was hard enough having the pressure of constant work on your shoulders, and a jackass of a roommate, but then he had to cope with it all alone. God knows he couldn't tell Mary about it – she would be worried and try to pull him out or encourage him to stay at home, and he couldn't do that now that he'd finally proven he could be independent and not a screw-up. He definitely couldn't tell John, he wouldn't be able to stand the look of disappointment in his father's eyes. The only one he could rely on was Sam, but thinking about it, he didn't want to ruin his baby brother's dreams and expectations of College life. He knew Sammy would thrive here, he always did no matter where he went.

A sharp pain against his forehead stirred him from his thoughts and he slowly surfaced, opening his eyes a little groggily to see Michael standing over him, hand positioned in such a way that let him know he had flicked Dean in the forehead. His lips were moving but all he could hear was Angel. Reluctantly, he slid the headphones off and stared dryly up at the other man, "what?"

Michael stared back with disdain through half-lidded eyes and rubbed a hand through his dark hair, "haven't you got better things to do than lie around listen to that thing?" he repeated, seething that he had been ignored the first time. He hatedrepeating himself.

"Like what?"

Michael shrugged and stepped back towards his side of the room, "I really don't care, but I have someone coming over – so, kindly," he said, pausing with that serene voice he used around people of authority, but it turned nasty quickly as he violently jerked his thumb towards the door, "take a hike."

Dean rolled his eyes, and with a defiant expression removed himself from the bed and shrugged on his jacket. Pressing his earphones back in as he left Michael alone, muttering "it's my room too…."as he went. Unfortunately for him, Angel's show just turned the hour and had ended. Cursing Michael he left the building to enter into the slowly darkening evening. Alone.

His feet were taking him somewhere, he didn't quite try to think about where. The voice occupying his ears now was far less smooth, it was almost irritating, but the music wasn't so bad. He knew where he was when he got there, he somehow always wound up here: a specific little wooded patch in the park. He sighed as he fell back against a tree and slid down to the ground. He could last here for a few hours until Michael had 'entertained' his company.

He'd never met the girl, they'd never crossed paths, and Michael seemed to like to keep it that way. He never talked about her and he never let anything slip about their encounters – in fact, every time he had been thrown out, it could possibly have been a different conquest. How would he know? He was a private guy, and he had his life so clearly sectioned off, keeping every little thing separate – and as much as Dean hated him, he had to admire that. He could never clean cut all of the elements of his life like that.

"Hey there KUdes and KUdettes, it's funky-Tom, blasting your minds with the dopest beats known to man, here for the next two hours-…"

He flicked his arm out in front of him, checking his watch, it was going to be long night.