A/N: I am actually starting a chapter fic. Let's see how far this gets me. This story isn't slash, by the way--I just rated it M because there's some suggestive scenes and cuss words and stuff...Enjoy. :3

College was supposed to be COOL, with its late night parties where people got completely wasted and laid. You were supposed to stay up late, pretending you were studying when you were really masturbating to Playboy. You were supposed to streak down the girl's dorm, barking sexist profanities. You were supposed to have a hell of a time.

Well, at least that's what Roxas thought.

The feminine boy gleefully skipped down the dorm hall, a messenger bag slung over his narrow shoulders. Ah, yes; the beauty of YOUTH. His fifty-mile thick glasses lens magnified his eyes until the poor boy looked like something of a chameleon. Some would call his overbite absolutely adorable (his family, mainly, and even THEY had their doubts), but anyone with eyes could see it was just creepy as hell. His slacks were nearly up to his plank-flat chest, shoes shined with the most gourmet juice box-backwashed spit imaginable.

In short, if you were to look up a cross between the words "dork" and "fag," you'd see that toothy grin of his bearing its way through your soul.

He looked down at the note card in his hand. Room 4C…4C…Hm…Roxas looked from left to right, idly avoiding the cupcake being slung in his direction; he shrugged. Not here.

Roxas, you see, was a STAR STUDENT. Not only was he Student Council President in high school, he was the Chess Club's all-star player, among the least. How more hardcore could you get? He passed his last year in high school with flying colors, colleges practically giving him lap dances to get him to join them. But our dear boy Roxas was picky (hell, he didn't eat his daily helping of steamed broccoli unless it was cooked to perfection); in fact, it took him a good three weeks to decide what university to go with. The school had a melodic name that made Roxas beam upon its utterance: Ohtori Academy.

After a moment's struggle, Roxas reached his destination: Room 4C. He stared at his reflection on the gold-plated doorknob, straightening his red bowtie. He gulped. A roommate…Gee, I hope it's a chick…!

Shaking, Roxas grasped said doorknob, turning it slowly. With another mucus-engulfed heave, he swung the door open, taking a step inside.

Roxas looked around; he wasn't too fond of the interior decoration—everything was the color of shit, or as Roxas called it, "dung." He shut the door behind him, politely slipping his shoes off and placing them next to the doormat.

Something was emitting a loud…screeching sound—loud noises were a bitch to Roxas's sinuses. He followed the shrill buzzing into the living room, where he could see that it was just the TV. Roxas sighed, until noting the mane of red hair sticking out from the couch (which had its back to him) before him.

Roxas beamed; he tiptoed over, scurrying to one of the armrests. He noticed a bare foot lying a few inches away. Such pretty feet…Roxas peaked over the edge of the sofa, his eyes nearly bursting from their sockets.

On the couch was a man—early twenties, maybe—sprawled out, baring all there was to bear. He didn't seem to realize he wasn't alone, and continued gazing lifelessly at his Oprah reruns. Roxas's eyes went from the redhead's diamond tattoos, to his cock, to the diamond tattoo ON his cock, to his exposed ribs and muscular thighs, and back again.

"Geez Louise…!"

The figure looked up, arching an eyebrow. "Huh? Was the door open or somethin'?"

"U-uh…" Roxas blinked, trying his best to stay fixated on the emerald green slits the nudist before him called eyes. "W-w-well…I am Roxas Randal Rudy Regan Roop XII."

"Ur…hello then, Mr. Rudy. What brings you here—" Suddenly, the redhead bolted up, wearing the stupidest grin. "Hey; did Marluxia send ya? Do you have the stash?"

It was Roxas's turn to be confused. "Stash?"

The man sighed, resuming his reclined position. "…Shit; well, then, Mr. Rudy—you must be my roommate. Whoop-dee-fucking-doo…"

"P-p-please," Roxas gulped, "call me Roxas." The blonde assumed it was the drugs talking—or lack of drugs, anyway. Unless, by "STASH," he meant something else…

No. It seemed fitting.

Roxas's roommate held up a hand, staring at the glowing television set. "Axel."

"Well, Axel," Roxas continued, twiddling his thumbs. "Is there a reason that you're…in the…"—he switched to a whisper, as though uttering a naughty word—"…nude?"

"Nah." Axel reached over to the coffee table lazily, snatching up his beer can; he took a swig.

"Let me rephrase that." Roxas cleared his throat, obviously disturbed. "Is there a reason why you're NOT wearing clothes…?"

Axel took another slurp. "Clothes are lame." Snorting, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't like 'em."

Roxas slapped himself. You have GOT to be kidding me…It may have not seemed like it, but even Roxas was interested in clothes; he SQUEALED every time his mother brought him home a fresh, pine-scented plaid button-up, with matching khakis. Roxas, again, assumed Axel was a rebel, deciding not to go any further than that.

"And plus," Axel retorted, "you seem kinda on the fruity side. You should be grateful of all this one-on-one action you're gettin'. I mean, dicks don't grow on trees, man."

Roxas let out a nasally gasp. "Why, I never—!"

A smirk spread across Axel's face. "Oh, my, my…" His attention turned to the hallway apparently leading to the rooms. "Speaking of fruit…" Standing there was a pouting man, perhaps the same age as Axel, with the most disgusting—revolting mop of hair Roxas had ever seen. He released a…purple aura—one very prissy and girly, and impeccably queer.

"Who said 'dick'?" the man chirped.

"Stop being a fag for one second and come over here," Axel muttered.

"But WHO said it?"

"Me! Okay? Get your bruised, STD-dispenser of an ass over here." The man trotted over. "Okay then," Axel went on, "we've got that new roommate you signed us up for."

"This is…him?" His brown eyes were like saucers. "He's…he's…!"

"Yeah, not much; I know you wanted some hot ass, but just suck it up and take it like a man—you know, like you usually do during your sex-sessions with Zexion—"

"ADORABLE!"

"…Oh."

The man leaped over, shaking Roxas's hand vigorously. "I'm Demyx Crawburn—"

"More like ASS-burn…" Axel mumbled.

Demyx ignored him. "Please call me…uh, Demyx! Unless, y'know, if you wanna give me a nickname; 'cause I really, really like Cher, and like, I've been trying to get that nickname for me to catch on, so, uh…" He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. "Yeah—a name like CHER would be absolutely fabulous. "

"I'm Roxas Randal Rudy Re—"

"HELLO THERE, ROXAS."

"Ugh…"

Roxas felt unbelievably smothered; this was the most attention he'd gotten in his life, with Axel glaring at him, and Demyx squealing and saying his name in a singsong voice. Oh, great; his roommates consisted of a lazy, nudist stoner and a flamboyant gay. And he was a dork—so a fag, a druggie, and a dweeb, all together in one musty, shit-colored dorm room.

Fuck—they could start their own sitcom…

A/N: This is gonna be a bumpy ride. :'D