All right, just gunna have so bring this up before going back into the story. That recent upd8 in canon threw a bit of a wrench in what I had planned for this fic, ahah. Don't get me wrong, I thought it was a fantastic upd8. Honestly, Bro being an abusive guardian was something I've been wondering about for quite a while, so that upd8 didn't really come as a surprise to me. And honestly, I'm in love with how Hussie handled the whole thing.

But, re: this fic. For it to work, I'll unfortunately going to have to write this under the operation of adopting Fanon Bro. I love Fanon Bro, and as much as I'm really happy with the direction Hussie took Bro and Dave's relationship in canon, I'm going to miss the fanon version of things (ie, Bro being loving despite not having the best parenting practices). And for this fic to make much sense, it's that version of him that I'll have to stick with for this story.

Which, I guess, I don't have too much a problem with. I think it's fine to have Fanon variations on things. Plus, considering this is a Normal Human AU, I don't think Bro would be quite so messed up, considering he didn't have a possessed puppet fucking with his head lol.

Anyway. I figured it would be something I should mention before continuing in, since I always try to keep things in character, and I know this will be a story that won't fully be doing that anymore. Although, I do think character's personalities are inclined to deviate from canon in fics, since their circumstances are different, and will play a part in how they act. Hell, look at how different the personalities vary between different timeline versions of the same characters within Homestuck canon!

But enough of my rambling.

You call Roxy that night like you promised.

She's ecstatic in a way that makes you feel horrible. Makes you realize how shitty you were being by making her worry. By making everyone worry.

Regardless, you keep the call short. Mention the load of homework you have to catch up on as a reason. Before letting you go, she recommends dropping one of your courses so you'll have a better time catching up. After a short moment of considering, you agree that's probably the best thing to do. You hang and up resolve to drop it first thing before class tomorrow.

You make a few half-hearted attempts at your homework before giving up. You haven't got half a clue what you're doing. Might as well wait until tomorrow to see what the professors say when you give them your absence note. Maybe they'll let you off the hook for some of it anyway.

Instead, you pull out a sketchbook and try to block out some thumbnails for Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff.

Twenty minutes later your capped pen is still tap, tap, tapping the infuriatingly blank page. The unmarred white paper stares up at you, your jaw working from side to side, while your brain stays unhelpfully empty. You can't even work up the desire to doodle Sweet Bro's shitty face.

You keep doing this. Attempting to get something down, get SBHAJ back up and running again. But ever since…ever since you moved away from Texas, you haven't been able to produce anything. It's so fucking ridiculous. You heave a heavy breath through your nose and lean back in your chair, push your sketchbook away. Maybe you should just give it up.

Your phone pings an email alert at you. Glad for a distraction, you open it right away. It's a short message from your Scriptwriting prof. Says he'd like to talk to you in his office tomorrow about catching up in his class. You reply right away saying you'll be there and set your phone back on your desk.

Maybe you should just Pester John for a while? Or Jade. Hell, maybe even Rose. So long as she doesn't try to play therapist on you again.

…Or maybe you'll just go to bed.

You glance at the clock on your laptop. Only 8 o'clock. Still… You consider the Pesterchum icon at the bottom of your desktop.

You close your laptop and head to bed.

The next day is busy as hell between dropping that class and talking to each of your professors about the time you missed. You got anywhere from indifference, to irritation, to sympathy from them. One waved off all the homework you missed and is letting you start fresh, one gave you a half-way compromise, and the last insisted you get all the work you missed turned in, but at least you won't lose points for it being late.

You jokingly complained to a random fellow student about all the reading that you had to catch up on, but he just shrugged and admitted he hadn't even bothered to read any of it. The few students who overheard all agreed. You took this as a sign that it would be perfectly alright if you continue to let you textbooks collect dust. Though you feel a tad miffed you dropped so much money on them.

After your last class you make your way over to your scriptwriting professor's office. You have to wait nearly a half hour dicking around on your phone before he gets there.

When he does show up, he's got that grumpy student from yesterday with him. Karl? Or something. It was weirder than that. But what is he here for? Did you get the meeting time wrong?

"Hey, Dave," your professor says pleasantly. "Sorry I'm a bit late. I had a harder time tracking down Karkat than I anticipated." He gives you an entirely unsubtle wink.

You nod like that is exactly something you expected to hear and glance over at the guy – Karkat. He looks just as confused as you feel. But you can just feel the mounting levels of pissed starting to build up in him. The professor ushers you both into his office.

"Okay, so I was thinking last night, and I believe I came up with a solution that can work for both of you," he says as he drops into his chair. He props his feet up on his desk as the two of you sink into the chairs opposite of him. "I'm going to have the two of you work together on a project separate from the rest of the class."

"What the fuck." Karkat's voice is just as sharp as the previous day's. Clearly, he still hasn't gotten his sleep in yet. "How is that a solution? What can possibly be a project relevant to both of us? Please tell me. My curiosity is bursting to know."

You roll your eyes behind your shades as the professor does the same behind his own glasses. Still, the guy has a point. He's got four years on you.

"You need more collaboration practice," the professor replies simply. "And if you would let me finish, I'll explain how this will work. I promise you there will be more in it for you than repeating a freshmen project. Now. Dave." You remain impassive as he turns towards you. "I'm going to try to keep the course as close to the syllabus for you as I can yet, but I'll have you work more independently on the projects. The idea for this class is to hash out a few solid scripts, get them edited, and get a clip of them recorded as a sample. It'll be a little tougher since you'll be writing drafts mostly on your own, so if we need to, we can always drop a project later if it comes to that."

You nod. Sounds fair enough. "And Smiley over here comes in where?" Your mouth twitches in amusement at the scowl you get from Karkat and the laugh you get out of the professor.

The prof turns his attention back to Karkat. "Alright. Karkat, I'm going to have you help Dave bounce ideas around, like he'd be able to do with another partner, but-"

"So I'm playing babysitter," Karkat growls.

"But," the professor continues, "The main thing I'll have you focus on is editing and critiquing Dave's work. You're right that scriptwriting isn't relevant to you since you're emphasizing in reviews. But, as I'm sure you're more than aware, critiquing is a huge part of review writing and editorial works. I'll be having you submit your edits to me, as well as Dave, and have you work on your own project. You'll be treating this as an extended review. Sound fair?"

Karkat slumps in his chair. "Fine."

"Everything sound good to you, too?" the professor asks you. You nod, lips a little tight. "Good! I'll send you both emails sometime in the next couple days with details on what I'd like to see from you. For now, I suggest you exchange contact info and pick some meeting times. I won't expect you to meet up at regular class times, but I'd like you to meet up at least twice a week instead." He drops his feet back to the floor and motions to the door. "And with that, I wish you both luck."

Karkat leaves first and the professor catches you before you exit.

"Oh, and Dave, feel free to let me know if you need anything. I'm here to help."

You still at the door, pinch your lips, nod. "'Kay. Thanks."

At first, you think that Karkat guy ditched you when you exit the office. You wander down the narrow hallway back out to the open lounge area to discover him plopped in one of the soft chairs with his arms crossed. You can't tell if it's an angry gesture or a defensive one. He certainly looks irritated, but you're beginning to wonder if he doesn't have a mad case of resting bitch face. Or perhaps he really does just have a stick up his ass.

"Yo," you say, walking over to stand over him. He grunts in response. "You, uh, you got Pesterchum, then?"

He nods, pulls out a pen from his bag beside him, and gestures for your arm. "I'll write my handle for you." You let him jot something down on your hand. "Message me later so I can add you. We can figure something out later; I've got to head to work soon."

"Sure," you say. "See ya later, then."

The sun is heavy and the air wet as you walk back to your apartment. You're glad you're done with class for the week. Exhaustion as thick as the air sets in as you reach your place. It's irritating, how thick everything feels here. Like the sky is dirty. At least the summers in Houston were dry.

You strip to your boxers and lie back on your bed. You'll Pester Karkat tomorrow. Probably your friends, too. For now, you'll relax. It was a long week. Pathetic how tired you are from it, though. Bro would kick your ass for being such a wuss.

A cluster of emotions burst deep in your gut. You suck in your breath, squeeze your eyes shut.

You focus your attention back on how much you hate this state and it's stupid weather.