It is, as announced, tiny. The total square footage of the combined two floors is greater than a regular dorm room's would be but the disjointness and the amount of it dedicated to the stairs makes the amount of useful space much smaller. There is no sign of Peter's future roommate yet.

Huh. It's a Sunday and classes start tomorrow, Peter honestly would've expected to be the last one to arrive. Well, whatever, he'll—

Just then he hears the door opening and closing downstairs.

—meet his new roommate!

Said roommate might spark some hope in Peter for his fratboy action dreams: he's handsome and fit, carrying himself with easy cocky confidence, and when he notices Peter's already upstairs he grins a handsome lopsided grin. "Hullo, there."

Oh hell to the yes he's almost certainly not into guys, most guys aren't—

—wait, aren't they? Why'd Peter have this thought? It's like a solid seventy-five percent of people are into guys, isn't it?

Anyway!

"Hi! I assume you're my new roommate? I'm Peter."

"Su Doyoon. The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure." He also has a luggage bag to leave by the bed Peter didn't claim.

Is that the game they're playing. Peter gives him a very obvious once-over. "You're not wrong about that."

"I can see that I'm not." He starts exploring their cubicle. "What's your major?"

"Compsci. Yours?"

"Bio! You also a freshman?" He pops into the bathroom to inspect it, too.

"Yeah. Bio's cool, why bio?"

"Wanna be an athlete. Hey, are you messy? I don't like messes."

"—I'm not, and I'm glad you don't! What's bio got to do with being an athlete?"

"It's the degree you major in to be an athlete," he replies, shrugging as he steps out of the bathroom.

"...it is?"

"Yeah."

Peter supposes he can't really contradict Doyoon, per se, since it's not like he has an alternative suggestion. "Well, uh, what kind of athlete?"

"Dunno yet."

"Yeah, fair enough, I guess."

He smiles at Peter.

...gosh, he's pretty. Peter's going to be tempted. But it's probably a bad idea to hook up with your roommate in practice, right? For some reason?

Who knows. Not Doyoon.

Okay but he's smiling a little bit too long and now Peter is uncomfortable.

"So, uh, are you excited about starting uni?"

"Yeah."

"Anything in particular you're excited for?"

"Yeah."

"Like what?"

"I'm excited for the parties!"

Peter is starting to think this guy might be a little slow. Nothing wrong with that, though.

"Oh yeah, those will be fun. I'm kind of excited for the whole package, honestly, like I'm sure I'm hyping it up too much in my head but the whole being in a frat thing could be really cool."

"Oh I'm in the Chi Beta Gamma fraternity."

"Yes. I know. On account of how we're roommates."

"Oh, you're in it, too? Cool!"

Bruh.

"Yes, yes, I am.

"How about we go meet our other brothers?" he asks, because God he needs to maybe have a conversation with someone less like this.

"Sounds good!"

Downstairswards.

At least he's pretty.

(How'd he even get into Foxbury bio, that's hard—Peter needs to stop being so judgmental in his head.)

Just as they're stepping out of their cubicle building they hear someone calling "Chi Beta Gammaaaaaaa!" before cannonballing into the pool.

"Chi Beta Gammaaaaaa!" echoes Doyoon, running towards the pool and cannonballing, too.

What the, did he jump in clothes and all, no apparently he got rid of them while Peter was looking the other way, that's gotta be some record for how quickly someone can get undressed, the hell. Also, was he wearing a swimsuit under his clothes or is he in his underwear or is he naked, Peter should not lean over to try to figure out the answer to that question because it'll get people to think he's a creep, no, sir, he'll go find someone else to talk to and not think about hot frat men in pools.

Someone walks up to him, holding a red cup with beer. "Hi! You're a new pledge, right?"

"—hello, hi, right, I am, I'm Peter Tarleton."

Wait, "pledge"? He thought he was already in the frat? Except he is, right, except it feels like it was too quick? Isn't there supposed to be a probationary period or some such? Now that he thinks about it it feels really weird that he just joined this quickly without having to, like, do anything? Not that he knows what the alternative would even be, though, honestly.

"I'm Hào Dizon! Welcome to Chi Beta Gamma."

Someone turns some music on and starts playing amateur DJ, and more people stream out of the house into the pool area.

"Thank you!" he replies, increasing the volume of his voice to be heard over the sudden loud music. "What's the occasion!"

"It's a welcome party!"

"—on a Sunday?" He supposes maybe not everyone has class tomorrow?

"Yeah! I'm gonna go talk to Brant over there!"

He goes talk to Brant over there.

...sure, why doesn't he follow Hào and also talk to Brant over there, he might as well get to know more brothers.

(Which... is weird, right? It's weird that he hasn't met any brothers from the frat before today, right?)

"Hey Brant!" says Hào to a guy shaped like a Dorito wearing swimming trunks.

"Hi Hào!"

"Hi Brant! Nice to meet you! I'm Peter, I'm a new pledge!"

(Good God.)

"You're in Chi Beta Gamma? I'm also in Chi Beta Gamma! Welcome!"

...good God.

"Yes, thank you! I feel very welcomed!" He also feels like every social interaction he has had today has failed and it's probably his fault but he doesn't know exactly what to do instead. Maybe he should try to come up with conversation topics.

How does one strike a conversation with a complete stranger at a house party when one isn't already acquainted with... anyone...

"Do you like swimming?" he asks and now he feels like he's going to be a statistic in this guy's counter of how many awkward interactions he's had today. But whatever, maybe he can get a hook into something.

"Yeah! How about you?"

"I do too! I've been swimming since I was little."

"Why don't you get in the pool?"

Because he doesn't want to get a boner realistically he isn't going to, actually, his brain just autocompleted that. 

"It's less fun in a party, I think. I mostly like swimming as a sport."

"And you don't like it as not-a-sport?"

"...well, it's fine, I suppose."

"Seems a waste to have this huge frat pool go unused."

"I think 'unused' is not the best word to describe that pool right now," he says, lifting his eyebrows and looking over at the (now much more numerous) guys in it.

"What is?"

"...what is what?"

"The best word to describe the pool."

"I think it's 'big'."

He feels like he must be going insane. 

"Are there rules against playing ball games in the pool? If we can get some water polo going that'll persuade me."

"Nah, go crazy."

"Persuade you of what?"

"Persuade me to go swimming." hhhhhhhhhhhhh. "Do you guys have a ball?"

"Yeah somewhere in the back." He looks around then cups his hands around his mouth to call, "HEY RUA!"

"I HEARD MY NAME!" calls back a tall guy who'd been trying to do something akin to having a conversation with the DJ, looking around for the source of the call.

"LOOK HERE YOU DUNDERHEAD!"

"HEY HÀO! WHAT'S UP?"

"SHOW THE NEWBIE WHERE HE CAN GET A BALL TO PLAY WATER POLO!"

"I CAN SHOW HIM TWO BALLS TO PLAY WITH!"

"YOU'RE FILTHY, RUA!" yells someone else.

"BE HELPFUL TO THE PLEDGE, RUA!"

"FINE! BRING HIM HERE!"

Hào points at the guy. "That's Rua. Go talk to him, he can get you a ball."

Peter's ears are ringing. "Yeah, thanks," he says, weakly, before walking over to Rua.

"HI! ARE YOU THE NEW PLEDGE?"

"I AM!" Why are they having this conversation directly adjacent to the sound system.

"NICE TO MEET YOU! I'M RUA! I'LL SHOW YOU WHERE TO GET A BALL!" And to the DJ: "BRB!"

He's starting to get a headache.

Rua will lead Peter to a location where numerous sports paraphernalia are kept in an extremely disorganised shed, and they can find a sea poolworthy ball for Peter to play water polo with!

He's been rethinking that decision but now that he's already here he's not about to back out. Even though doesn't even know if anyone else wants to play water polo.

Whatever. He also forgot to consider the fact that he isn't wearing a swimsuit, so he's going out to check whether this is the kind of frat party where people swim in their underwear or the kind where they get naked (that kind might not be real and might be exclusive to porn).

He probably can't literally figure out what everyone in the pool is wearing but everyone he does see—Su Doyoon included—seems to be wearing regular swimsuits.

Did everyone get told it was going to be a pool party but him, did people just guess in advance that it would be one somehow, what gives. Wait, maybe most people here were already brothers, right, term starts tomorrow and Peter had just been thinking earlier that he'd probably be one of the last people here, they might've been aware that this frat likes pool parties? But then how'd Su Doyoon know? Well, Peter supposes from the five minutes of conversing with him he wouldn't be surprised if Doyoon were the kind of person who'd be wearing a Speedo under his clothes just in case.

(Please don't make this weird, they're meant to be your brothers, you wouldn't be feeling attracted to your little brother, would you?)

(...something about that thought feels weird...)

ANYWAY his cubicle is right next to the pool so he can go to his room real quick to change into a swimsuit and then come back downstairs and jump into the pool.

"Yo! Who wants to play water polo?"

Ooh several people do!

Doyoon gives Peter a a grinning one-armed hug. "I'm on Peter's team!"

(Hot boys wearing nothing but Speedos should not be hugging Peter while he's also wearing nothing but a Speedo.)

(Stop making this weird.)

People quickly organize into teams and set up impromptu goals to start playing.

Okay! Finally a successful social interaction! Playing sports together is a great way to bond with people and he doesn't have to worry about being awkward! He's in his element, here.

If his element is in the middle of a bunch of men (the sorority girls they invited to the party seem to only just be starting to arrive so it's still just men) wearing very little and playing a high-contact sport in a location that is not actually big enough to allow them enough range of movement and distance from each other for comfort, he sure is in it!

Yes, he is, and he doesn't like your implications, this is a sport and he wants to win. He's not gonna waste time or brain power feeling attracted to people when he could instead be winning.

If he says so.

He does! He does say so! Thank you very much!

Young adults being what they are, though, people lose interest in the game after a while and go do other stuff.

Yeah that's fine. Doing physically strenuous activities for a prolonged period means that he can just sit at the edge of the pool on his own, drinking from a beer cup someone gave him, and not having any more social interactions that could be awkward.

Doyoon swims over to him and heaves himself up to sit next to him, too. "Hi."

"Hello," he replies with some amusement, handing Doyoon his beer.

Ooh he'll accept that thanks. "Good game."

"It was! You did good, too." A little bit too good, honestly, Peter's glad they were on the same team, the win would've been much harder without Doyoon's help.

"Thanks! It was my first time." Doyoon takes a sip then Peter can have his beer back.

"Playing water polo?"

"Yeah! It was fun."

"Yeah! You did really well for a first timer, honestly."

"I did really well, full stop."

"Alright, you," he says, bumping shoulders with Doyoon. "Don't get too cocky."

"Why? Whatcha gonna do about it?"

Okay that was like straight-up flirting right? "None of the answers to that I thought of are PG-13."

"...PG-whossit?"

"—I meant they're all adult in nature."

"Oh. Well, that's what I was going for, so I'm glad it landed."

Peter's starting to wonder if maybe the problem he's been having with Doyoon is one of language. He'd feel pretty mean if the judgemental thoughts he's been having were due to Doyoon being SSL.

"Are you going for anything more specific than that or is your goal just to tease your new roommate?"

"Dunno. There's many things I never tried. Like water polo."

"Or kissing boys?" This, too, is Peter's element.

"I've never tried that either."

"Would you like to?"

"I think I would. Got anyone in mind?"

He leans forward until his face is inches from Doyoon's. "I do, actually."

Doyoon closes the distance between them and places his lips on Peter's.

This is a bad ideeeaaaaaaa he shouldn't kiss his rooooommaaaaaaate even though he's really hoooooot and he's the one who staaaaarted iiiiiiiiit~

But are they going to just keep to this chaste little grandma peck on the lips? Surely they can have a real kiss?

Nope! Doyoon is pulling away again. "That was fun! We should do it again sometime." Hyup onto his feet and to do something else.

Bwuh??

Off he goes!

...well he should get back into the pool, he thinks, because it's not heated and his Speedos are so tiny he probably needs a few minutes to cool himself down. 

Hot straight frat boys wanting to experiment with him is like a dream come true and the fact that they're roommates is the cherry on top but said frat boy being a tease on top of that is making him want to DIE.

"Good job."

"Jesus Christ don't sneak up on a brother!"

Rua's crouching next to Peter, hugging his knees and grinning. "I didn't."

"Well I didn't hear you coming."

"The music's really loud."

That it fucking is.

"Good job with what?"

"Good job with what what?"

"You showed up and said 'good job'."

"Oh! Good job on kissing Su Doyoon."

"Thanks???" Ok he wants to die (negative) this time, he isn't happy with the way he clearly looked like a sad puppy watching Doyoon leave and he had hoped no one'd been paying attention.

"You're welcome!" He pats Peter's head twice then straightens up and leaves.

It's probably just a string of awkward people, Peter decides. He'll go find other people to talk to and oh someone's doing a keg stand alright why doesn't Peter do that, that seems like it'll make him popular.

"One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! T—"

And then he has to stop because ack what the hell that was awful.

People are cheering and clapping, though, so success probably?

Yaaaaaay.

Also his stomach is empty and he was just exercising.

Bad decision.

He will amble towards somewhere there's food, how about.

There's plenty of finger foods and snacks going around.

Cool excellent yes how about some sausage rolls and then sitting down at one of the tables by the pool while he notices the alcohol get to his head really quickly that sounds good right right.

Baaaaad decision.

Time passes, the way it often does. Peter misses some of it, the way drunk people often do. More people chat to him, and it's probably not awkward, not that Peter's paying a lot of attention. He's got a lot of new contacts in his phone by the time people are more out of it than they are with it, between the alcohol and the time of night. There's a couple making out in that corner. Those bushes are moving in a way that makes Peter think there might be a couple doing something or other there, too.

Peter has decided that he does not like being drunk. He feels like this shouldn't be news to him, that surely he must've gotten drunk before, except he supposes it is literally his first day at uni so maybe not? He doesn't remember, and the fact that he doesn't remember makes him more annoyed about being drunk. This is stupid.

He heard there's a hot tub up on the roof somewhere. He pushes himself up, wobbles, determines he can walk actually, then goes looking for the stairs that are meant to lead him there—ah, there, yup, must be those. Hyup.

There is indeed a very large hot tub, in a nice location overlooking the pool while being hard to see from below. There are seven people in it, three of whom are chatting amiably while the other four are split into two couples making out very heavily.

...oh. That's hot.

"Hey! That's Peter! Peter, come in, the water's great," says one of Peter's new brothers, though not one whose name he can recall right this second.

One of the people making out looks up, at that. "Peter! Cm'ere and join us," he says, one hand still under the bikini top of the girl he's been snogging.

Peter is still in a Speedo.

The hot tub is a place where he can hide this fact.

He will do that.

Uh... did Doyoon mean to imply...

Well, he's pushing the girl whose boobs he's holding to the side so that Peter will have space to sit next to him, if that counts as implying?

Sure. That works.

"Cara, this is Peter. Peter, this is Cara."

"Hi, Peter! Nice to meet you," says Cara.

That is really hot!!!

"Nice to meet you too."

"You look happy to see me."

"Who says I'm not happy to see Cara?"

"Are you happy to see me?"

"Yes, I am."

"You two should make out," Doyoon suggests. Here, he will helpfully stop holding Cara's boobs and sit back a bit so that they can do that.

Okay this party had not been going great but if it ends with him making out with Cara and Doyoon he's gotta say he's not complaining.

Well if it's up to her at least one part of that will be true.

Hmmmmm yeah sure why not he'll make out with Peter, too. He's in a mood.

He's sure there'll be some kind of due to pay but for now, Peter is in heaven.

Peter is in hell.

His head is throbbing, his eyes hurt, his skin feels clammy, his muscles are sore, and he thinks he's got tinnitus.

No, that's his alarm.

—crap, he has class, he does not have time to be hungover, shit, what's the time—

9AM.

Okay yeah he needs up, hyup—

He bumps into someone.

—huh??

It seems that he and Doyoon pushed their beds together last night and Doyoon is sleeping soundly next to him.

...did they fuck. Did he and Doyoon have sex and Peter has no recollection of it. He is completely naked, lifting the covers reveals that so is Doyoon—

(God he's hot)

—but he thinks he'd remember if they'd fucked???? At the very least he did not bottom, that he'd still be feeling if he had, but also he was almost certainly not sufficiently sober to be able to do anal—

—he can figure it out later. Maybe Doyoon will remember it. Did he acquire Doyoon's number, yes he did, okay, hyup, he needs to take a shower and get dressed and go his class is at 9:30 and he does not want to be late for his first class.

Well, is he getting a car or walking?

Why would he get a car. Narration, what is wrong with you. He's walking, it's right there, he can just jog and not be late.

Just asking!

He thinks he's still kind of out of it, though, because he barely sees time pass while jogging. It feels like one minute he's at the house and the next he's on campus.

Anyway, he is in fact not late, so he'll go have his First Class At Uni.

He feels like he's missing something.

He is now out of class.

What the hell just happened.

Is he still drunk? Was that beer spiked with something? What the fuck just happened.

Okay, no, chill for a moment. Let's think about this. This campus is pretty and he doesn't have any more classes today (???) so he can walk to that stone bench over yonder and sit on it and let the spring sun warm him.

Why is it spring. Shouldn't it be summer. Don't terms start in late summer. Thinking about it he knows that terms can start whenever (huh??) but in his bones he's surprised that it's spring.

He's been surprised a lot, hasn't he, since yesterday.

So, he had class. He went to class. Class was supposed to have some content and events, he should've met people, should've at least met his professor. 

Instead, his brain is informing him that he went to class, and he learned some stuff, sort of in the same way he remembers first grade. Like, it must've happened, but it's not like he recalls any specific individual days. Except that makes sense for memories over a decade old and it does not make sense for something that happened just now.

...wait. Decade...?

OK hang on. Pause. Time out. He thinks he might be having a stroke. He needs to Siimgle stroke symptoms.

Numbness, no; confusion, yes, kind of, but very object-level; speech, he seems able to produce it, he can watch a SimTube video and understand it, he can flag a passerby to ask them for where the local cafeteria is and hold a normal conversation; vision is alright; no dizziness to speak of; yes headache but that's just his hangover; no nausea; other than somehow missing the entire memories of class his consciousness seems fine.

Okay. Probably not a stroke? But something is wrong because he seems convinced that his age is young adult and that he will become an adult in approximately four weeks and then become an elder approximately six weeks after that and then die somewhere between one and three weeks after that. He seems to have this confident belief that he has twelve weeks left to live. He seems to believe that he is less than eight weeks old.

What the fuck. What the fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

His mental model of the world seems to include a word for a "year". That word seems to have a double meaning in that it means four weeks or a much larger number of days, like hundreds. His brain is informing him that the latter feels correct and the former is correct.

Siimgle seems to think a year is four weeks.

But that cannot. Actually. Be true.

It cannot, actually, be true that he only has twelve weeks to live. Twelve weeks!!!! A week is seven days!!!!! He just had a day just now!!!!!!!!

He can't die in twelve weeks!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No, pause again. He needs to have a human conversation with a real human.

...a real... Sim...

Why is Siimgle called that. Why is SimTube called that. Why is Simpedia called that. Why are there so many websites and companies named after the word this language has for people. Why does he seem to feel like there should be multiple languages in the world! Why can't he think of any! Why does he even have a concept for what a language is if there is only one!!!!!!

He needs to have a real conversation with a real person whatever they may be called and he lives in a frat house and those have as many as several people in them so he will walk briskly home.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA WHY WAS THERE A FRAME SKIP WHY DID HE NOT EXPERIENCE ANY THINGS WHILE WALKING HOME AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"...dude, you okay?" asks a Doyoon who looks like he was about to leave for class.

He's about to snap that he isn't but actually he should not snap at another person when he might be having a mental breakdown. He has no idea how to explain his mental breakdown, though, and he doesn't want to make Doyoon late, and the confluence of things in his brain culminates in, "Did we have sex last night?"

"Yeah! We did! It was great! We should do it again sometime."

Is that a normal thing for a person to say. Is he having a stroke. It feels like that was not a normal thing for a person to say but what does he know.

"Yeah. Uh. Sorry, I don't want to keep you."

"Okay! Bye!"

Off he goes.

Something is seriously wrong. Seriously, seriously wrong. Also you know what's even more wrong? He does, actually, remember having sex with Doyoon, now. Except apparently the thing they did was get under the covers and spend some unspecified amount of time doing some unspecified number of things that his brain assures him were pleasurable sexual activities followed by falling asleep next to each other.

...okay that's not more seriously wrong than having a life expectancy of twelve weeks but it sure feels really fucky that he doesn't even get to keep the memory of touching Doyoon's dick.

But he really does need to talk to a real person right now, because he's continually having thoughts that are making him question everything and if he doesn't place them somewhere outside his brain he feels like his brain might in fact implode from the pressure. But who could he talk to? It's not like he's super close to anyone at the frat, but—he doesn't seem to remember any friends? From before? Yesterday?

Or anything, actually? At all??

He doesn't have contacts in his phone, other than the ones he added yesterday. No one. Not a single person. Not his parents, whom he must've at some point had, nor his siblings, of whose existence he was pretty sure last night, nor anyone else.

He will go to his dorm room, dodge people asking him how he's doing, grab his laptop on his way upstairs, and open a text file to start typing up his findings, in an itemized list.

• I have the feeling that the concept of "age" ought to be associated with a number of years, and that the number of years associated with how old I feel is around twenty
• I have the feeling that a year should have hundreds of days in it, rather than 28
• When I walked from here to campus and back, I experienced a frame skip over the majority of my walked distance
• When I went into class, I experienced the feeling of having gone to class being directly injected into my brain without any specific experiences attached
• When I had sex with Doyoon, I experienced the feeling of having done sexual activities without any specific experiences attached
• I do not seem to have any contacts from before yesterday, nor social media 
• I can't remember my family. I seem to believe I should have parents and two younger siblings but I can't remember their names or faces
• I can't remember any friends from before yesterday 
• I can't remember any objective specific facts about my life from before yesterday
• I seem to have summarised memories of a life story without memories of any specific events attached
• I seem to have the concept of a language and the feeling that there should be multiple of those in the world
• I seem to think that joining a fraternity should've involved more time and effort than it actually did
• I can't find any electronic records that I exist

He looks over the list, trying to think if there's anything more to add to it, other than the one last thing that he really, really doesn't want to add. 

But he should.

• I had numerous very strange and awkward social interactions yesterday and today that made me feel a little bit like I'm insane, or like the other person is

Okay. He has his list.

What... what now? What does he do with this list?

Well, the most important thing is the thing where he's going to die in twelve weeks what the fuck.

—wait. No. Right. The reason he wanted to talk to a real person was to validate that he wasn't having a very strange hallucination or, or other mental event. Not that he'd know how to tell, exactly, since if he's having some kind of mental event that's making him perceive the internet as lying to him about whether he is going to die in twelve weeks that mental event might also lie about whether other people are telling him that. But. He needs to talk to someone.

Okay. He'll. Go find someone to talk to. After giving his list a final forlorn look then closing his laptop.

Here's one of his brothers, sitting in a pool chair and reading a book. "Oh, hey, Peter."

Peter... remembers his name, right. "Hey, Tatsuya. What're you reading?" Why are you making small talk.

"Oh, it's a book for class."

Okay. Sure. Uh.

...

"Hey, Tatsuya, uh. Weird question. How old are you?"

"Oh I'm a young adult."

"I... see. How many, uh... weeks... is that?"

"...I don't follow."

"Like—how many weeks ago were you born?"

"Oh! Uh... I don't... know? Seven, I think?"

...guh.

"I see. And, um, do you—what's—I'm sorry, I know this is a really weird question, but what's your best guess for your life expectancy?"

"...I don't know. Normal expectancy? That's a weird question."

"Does, uh, another twelve weeks sound about right? Ish? On average?"

"Yeah, that sounds right."

"And... are you... okay... with that?"

"...I mean, I haven't really thought about it?"

"Haven't thought about your life expectancy?"

"Yeah. Uh... I don't... think I'm healthier than average? Probably? I mean, I hope I get to live a long, full life, you know? Maybe get married someday, have kids."

"Within... the next twelve weeks."

"...yes, Peter, that's what you said."

He's feeling kind of faint. "Oh. Okay. Do you feel like... you'll... get that? A good life?"

"Peter I'll be real with you I'm really not the guy for this kind of morbid talk."

"Right. Um. Sorry."

"Yeah. Sure. I'll, uh, get back to my book."

"Okay."

He is no longer listening.

Yeah. Yeah. Okay. Yeah.

Peter will go back to his cubicle and get back in bed and. Actually. Actually. He'll try to sleep. He'll try to, to take a nap, or something. Sleep off this bad dream. When he wakes up he'll, he'll be a reasonable age that is measured in years, and he won't be expecting to die in twelve weeks, and he will have a family and memories of a real life and friends from before yesterday. This is some kind of hangover insanity. Or maybe just a nightmare. It could just be a nightmare, when you get really drunk that messes with your sleep. That must be what's happening. It must be.

When Peter wakes up Doyoon is lying in bed next to him, tapping away at his phone.

...okay so he, like, still doesn't have any concrete objective memories from before yesterday and he still thinks he's going to die very soon but on the bright side he gets to occasionally wake up to a very handsome man next to him.

"'Sthetime?"

"Five."

"...PM?"

"Yeah."

Okay so he slept for more than five hours. And he's hungry. And he needs to use the bathroom.

That last one can get fixed first. He spends two point four seconds thinking about the fact that he's naked under the covers before he remembers they had sex (kind of?????) so Doyoon will probably not mind the sight of cock.

No, he indeed will not.

...ok bathroom first then he'll address that look.

Alright.

"So, uh. Hi."

"Hi."

"I'm feeling sad about death." Okay apparently he isn't addressing that look right now.

"...did someone you know die?"

"No, because I seem to know literally no one other than everyone I met yesterday, I have no memories of my life prior to that, and it seems like my life expectancy is twelve weeks."

Doyoon considers this.

"Sounds rough."

"...am I going insane. Is that what's happening. You did hear what I just said, right? That I have no memory of my life prior to yesterday?"

"Yeah. That sounds unpleasant to go through."

"Is that... normal. Expected. Are there other people who randomly have no memories of their lives. Or phone contacts. Or an electronic record. Or literally any other evidence that they existed before."

"I don't think so? I don't think I've ever heard of that."

"But you also don't think that's worthy of a freakout."

"Hey, man, your feelings are valid, whatever they are. I won't judge."

"And a life expectancy of twelve weeks is normal. And not, instead, absurd?"

"Well it sounds normal. I think that's normal? That's normal, isn't it? That's how long people live?"

"Okay but it's. It may be normal but it's. Just not. Enough time. For anything. What can you do in twelve weeks????"

"Finish university. Get a job. Find the person of your dreams. Marry them. Have kids with them. Get rich. Get famous. Write a book. Write lots of books. Have sex at the beach at midnight. Make lots of friends. Get six pack abs. Design a perfume line. Become a criminal mastermind."

"I."

"Do you want a hug?"

"I think I do want a hug." Here, he'll get back in bed to be more huggable.

Here, they can hug.

Well. Maybe he'll die in twelve weeks but at least hugs feel nice.

They do feel nice, it's true!

"...I should probably eat. I haven't eaten all day." If his life expectancy is twelve weeks then he should not self-sabotage by starving himself to death before that!

"There's food at the house."

"Yeah, I figured." Okay he'll go find his clothes and then go in search of food.

Bye!

...wait, no. "Come with?" Doyoon is the closest thing Peter has to a friend, even though they met just yesterday. Then again, if the timeline of a lifetime is the way it seems to be then maybe making friends over a single day is normal???

"Sure! I'm not hungry, though."

"I just want your company."

"Awww you're sweet."

"I think what I am is sad, I just said."

"You can be sad and sweet at the same time."

"You know, I suppose you're right."

"I'm very often right."

Peter is not going to challenge that assertion. He will instead go in search of food, this time accompanied by his roommate.

Food is available to be consumed! Social interaction mandatory.

Brant is in the kitchen next to the oven, arms wrapped around the waist and staring soulfully into the eyes of a guy a head shorter and fifty percent as wide but approximately just as fit as he is. He looks up when he hears Peter and Doyoon walk in and says, "Hey Peter, hey Doyoon."

"Hi Brant."

Ok he'll die in twelve weeks but at least he managed to end up in a sexy porn frat rather than a real world frat.

"Hey Brant. Who's your, uh, friend?"

"This is my husband Brent. Brent, these are Peter and Doyoon."

"Nice to meet you guys!"

"Nice to meet you too!"

"...Brent and Brant, huh? Was that on purpose?" Wait, is that rude to ask?

"I did marry him on purpose, yes," Brant says, looking confused.

"I meant the names. Sorry, that might've been rude..."

Brent also looks confused. "The names?"

"Brent and Brant? Like, how they're very similar?"

"—huh! You're right, they are! Look, babe, we're meant for each other, even our names are similar."

"It's not news that we're meant for each other, babe."

wwwwhhhhh a a a a aa at is happening in this place

He smiles automatically and decides that actually social interaction is NOT mandatory and he will instead figure out how to acquire food while doing as little of it as he possibly can.

That's alright, Doyoon can cover for him. Doyoon likes talking a lot, especially about himself.

Brent and Brant think Doyoon is cute and are both subtly (...for them) flirting with him.

Doyoon can tell that they think this! It feeds his ego! He is summarily uninterested, though. Not that he won't play along for a bit.

See, narration, the thing you're doing there is lying to the audience, because you're making it sound like you're eliding over some more contentful interactions by not including the actual speech quotes but Peter, here, who is being forced to actually perceive the interactions in their raw forms, is party to the fact that there was no content. These people are incredibly unsubtle and their ability to string sentences together flies in defiance of their apparent inability to string thoughts together.

"Are you alright, Peter?"

"Oh, yes, I'm fine, I'm just faced with the prospect of dying in twelve weeks and the notion that people around me feel very alien to me and I'm having a little bit of trouble with all of that but, you know, I'm fine."

Brent looks at Doyoon. "Did something happen?"

"I think a friend of his died."

"Oh. I'm so sorry."

"My condolences."

"It must be very hard to be going through a life transition like starting university and feeling like everyone around you is strangers but here at Chi Beta Gamma we want to be as close to your family as we can. We're your brothers. You can count on us."

...okay, that's sweet, Peter's coming back around to feeling like an asshole again. "Thanks. Sorry. Just, a lot on my mind, is all," he says, running his hand through his hair.

(What food is he even making, he was going on autopilot trying to distract himself, oh, he's frying some eggs, okay, how did that... happen...)

"Did your friend already move on?"

"...I don't actually—move on from where?"

"The mortal plane."

What. Is this guy talking about.

The oven dings and he disentangles from his husband to grab oven gloves and retrieve the brownies he's been baking from it.

"Sorry, I don't think I understand."

"Oh, I mean—"

"Brant, you're being insensitive."

"—sorry."

"No, no, please go on."

"I mean, if they didn't leave a ghost then they probably moved on immediately?" he guesses.

A gh—

—wait.

Peter... believes in ghosts? Apparently? Or—he believes in ghosts in the sense that he... knows they exist? Like how he believes in tables? Like they're a normal thing? Like there's nothing particularly remarkable about them other than them being kind of spooky and creepy?

What the FUCK is going on in Peter's BRAIN. He really, really feels like he hasn't ruled out the stroke hypothesis sufficiently.

"Oh. Uh. No, uh, no ghost."

w h a t

"Ah. My condolences."

Doyoon pats Peter's head.

He would love to enjoy the headpats more. Unfortunately he is trying to make his face look NORMAL while he seriously considers the possibility that his BRAIN is BROKEN because GHOSTS SHOULDN'T BE REAL even though THEY ARE and he doesn't know WHY THEY SHOULDN'T BE, and that is taking all of his attention, which means he doesn't have enough attention left to enjoy headpats.

...also his food is done. Apparently. He now seems to have a cheese omelet. That he made. Without paying attention to it. While having the most surreal conversation in his several hours of life and trying not to be a walking freakout simulator.

Well he seems to either be successfully masking or they're politely ignoring his freakout. It could be the latter, they did show some amount of awareness and sensibility for the possibility that Peter would be grieving.

Yeah. 

"...so, uh... how would I learn more about ghosts?"

"...kind of an uncomfortable topic, uh..."

"I think there's a Delta Zeta sister who's into this occult stuff? Could see if someone knows her."

"Oh, Peter and I made out with a Delta Zeta sister last night."

"Cara's in Delta Zeta? I—don't remember much of last night."

"Not even the good parts?"

"I remember some of the good parts."

"Maybe I should remind you, then."

"Maybe you should."

"I think we're third wheeling here, love."

"Well, we were here first."

"I'll let you guys watch."

Porn frat! As he'd been saying! ...thinking! Same difference! 

"Don't say things you don't mean, Doyoon."

"I'm not."

"I'd watch."

Actually Peter doesn't wanna show. Or rather, he does, and he's bulging uncomfortably in his jeans, but if he ends up in a time slide in which his brain is directly injected with Subjective Experience Of Exhibitionism he might unalive himself. He'll experiment with Doyoon later, in private, when he's feeling more stable. 

"Maybe later, I'm not in the mood right now. I still need to eat."