Rooks peaceful dream world came crashing down as the shrill beeping of his old digital clock pierced his ears. He rolled over, eyes screwed shut and slammed his hand down on top of the clock, silencing it. He sighed contentedly and started to drift off again, a smile on his lips and his dream reforming in his mind.
Five minutes later and the shrill beeping returned. He growled as he was yet again pulled from his dream world, sitting up in bed, the duvet falling to his thighs. He took a deep breath, the smell of pencil shavings, men's deodorant and the underlay of dirty clothes assaulting his nose, oddly there was also a bitter coffee smell. In his sleep fogged logic he figured that one of the nearby cafe's was brewing early.
His hand found the clock again and he glared at it, the flashing display telling him that it was half past six in the morning. He didn't know why he tortured himself like this on weekends; he didn't need to be up, he had no job and no college on weekends. Seemed it was just a bad habit he should really break.
Nevertheless he rolled out of bed and started searching the floor for a clean pair of socks, his dark green boxers his only clothing so far. His sleep blurred eyes found the cleanest pair of socks he had and he crowed with triumph, sitting down heavily on his bed and yanking them on, he didn't care that they were odd.
He looked up, rubbed his eyes to clear them of the sticky residue of sleep and looked for the jeans he had draped over his desk chair the afternoon before. His eyes travelled up the pair of legs that were sat in his desk chair, running over the toned tummy and chest just visible under a coffee stained white t-shirt, before stopping on the handsome face. Blue eyes gazed right back at him and a grin accompanied them.
Rook then did something he would always regret; he screamed, like a little girl, and jumped up from his bed. He backed away until he found a sturdy wall, pressing his back against it and started to hyperventilate. Something touched his hand and he screamed again, jumping like he'd been shocked and scuttling unconsciously closer to the man sat on his chair.
He stared wide eyed at the two people occupying his bean-bag and garbled in a high pitched tone, his tongue refusing to work properly. He felt a hand rest gently but firmly on his upper arm and someone said, "Hey, calm down, we won't hurt you." This didn't process and the first thing his brain did was tell him to get away.
His fist flew out in a perfectly executed reverse punch, catching the man who had touched him square on the jaw. The man in question reeled back, his hands flying to his jaw and his eyes going wide with shock. Rook smiled smugly; he felt better now, knowing he could defend himself. It was then that he heard smothered chuckles from behind him.
He looked around and caught sight of the two people on the bean-bag collapsing over each other while trying to hide their laughter. The man he had hit grumbled and made his way over to the chair again, collapsing into it and nursing his sore jaw.
Rook scowled at him, "Chuck me the jeans you're sat on. I wanna get dressed." The man scowled and disconsolately threw the jeans at Rook, this only made the other two laugh more, Rook raised an eyebrow as he pulled the jeans on, jumping to pull them over his ass. After a little digging around he found a relatively clean t-shirt and shrugged into it.
Now dressed, he stood with his hands on his hips and turned so that he could see all three strangers in his room, by now the giggles were dying down and he decided to address the important matter staring him right in the face.
"What the Hell are you doing here? Who are you? How did you get in? Why do you reek of coffee? And what is a 'police public call box'?" He growled the questions and focussed his green eyed glare on them, waiting for his answers.