NJAC

The one thing Karl hates the most, is a stupid cliche.

It’s evident actually, looking around his campus he can spot a couple of common cliques that fit the mold of the typical teen dramedy movie: the art kids, the nerds, the party animals, the usual. These groups tend to stick together, and they don’t inherently piss Karl off. While Karl knows he’ll never be the type to join a group of people like that, as it seems a little too cultish for his liking, he doesn’t really care what they do as long as they leave him the hell alone and mind their own business. Except for one group that Karl avoids like the plague, the one clique that Karl makes sure he’ll never at all interact with no matter how alluring they may seem.

The athletes.

Now Karl doesn’t love to stereotype, but these guys are walking stereotypes. There’s just something about them that ticks Karl off, rubs him the wrong way, “grinds his gears” as his father would say, begrudgingly.

With loud booming voices that shatter anyone with an eardrum’s mood, they are found on fields screaming their heads off and sweating like pigs in the blistering heat or brutal winter air. They fuck with people’s hearts, find any opportunity to make fun of anyone who seem physically weaker, and don’t stop talking. Especially when they are talking about themselves, as they are probably the most self-centered people you’ll ever encounter.

Karl tries really hard not to have a bias, but god did they annoy the hell out of him.

He doesn’t like to throw around the word hate when it comes to people or groups as generalizing is just plain insensitive, but god he can’t help but hate them with a burning passion. With their stupid haircuts, and their stupid constant energy. And again, Karl really doesn’t want to generalize, but most of them have the I.Q of a goldfish. How can they not? With all the injuries they get themselves into, falling on their heads after being maliciously tackled to the ground with no mercy or regret. Yeah, that’s how football works. But Karl was never one for sports. Playing them, watching them, talking about them. He never got the appeal.

For the most part, his hatred for these types of people is unwarranted, as life isn’t like the movies and people aren’t always black and white and as simple as to being defined by what they do or like. People are more complex than that, Karl realizes and accepts. But it’s really hard not to think that 99% of guys who say they play sports are the literal worst, because back in highschool, the jocks were the ones that ruined his experience for the most part.

Perhaps, maybe, that’s how Karl turned out so cynical and cold, turning a head to anyone who tries to engage with him that isn’t George or Quackity. Others find it rude, Karl calls it surviving. Quackity calls it “toxic douche syndrome”, George chuckles, and Karl sends them both deadpanning eyes devoid of any sense of humor.

But Karl is determined to let people know he doesn’t want to fit into any mold, he doesn’t want to be sucked into any cult that will make him sacrifice his blood or whatever the little cliques do when they are in private. So he could avoid people, presents off a frigid exterior, and keeps his head low to the ground to deter eye contact with any that might wander and bounce around freely. He never found pleasure in talking to people he wasn’t already comfortable with, he sticks with two people, and glues himself to his studies. In the least pretentious and disgustingly cringey way possible, Karl labels himself as a loner. (If he had to label himself that is)

Karl majors in filmmaking, which is something he was always fascinated in, but never something he shared his love for. He always keeps to himself with interests, thinking it’s useless to ramble on and on to people who couldn’t give less of a shit about his opinions. Or at least that’s how he sees it. George would call it pessimistic and unfaithful to presume people don’t care, Karl calls it being realistic.

Karl was never a people person, the only real person he goes out of his way to interact with is his little brother. But now that he’s miles away, focused on his own schoolwork and busy with his own stuff, Karl finds no real reason to reach out to others. He lets them come to him, and if they don’t, he doesn’t mind. He’s has, and presumably will always be, a loner.

George is his roommate, so it’s sort of inevitable that they talk a lot and become relatively close. Maybe a little too close for comfort, Karl has always wanted to room alone, but something deep inside him told him that would just force him to isolate himself and end up tearing his own hair out. But he doesn’t mind a roommate, especially one like George, who doesn’t often get in his way or annoy him. Except when he constantly asks Karl to go to parties with him even though George knows the answer every single time.

George fit the category of party animal, but he had only had that sort of persona when he was actually at the parties, so Karl never saw that part of him, thankfully. As he stays at home, doing whatever he wants, he wonders how George is doing in some random person’s dorm or frat, chugging a cup full of something to forget his worries. He envies the carefreeness slightly, but that quickly evaporates once he remembers the son-of-a-bitch hangover that he’ll have the day after, as he usually does. Around 6 am, a squeak of door creaks open, and George crashes on their couch with a low, gritty cry of pain. Karl rolls his eyes playfully and hands him a cold glass of water with some advil, George accepts it gratefully, eager to have something other than alcohol in his system for a while.

Karl doesn’t like to show it, or say it, but he really does care for George. They have an unspeakable, sort of brotherly in an odd way, bond. Karl admires it, from afar of course.

Quackity is a long-term friend, he’s known for a while now. They’ve been friends since freshman year of highschool, taking on college together, Karl thinks he’ll never get sick of him or his company. The only problem is, Quackity is always distant. Not because he’s cold or mean, like Karl (though he doesn’t think he is, he sure does hear it a lot from those who aren’t very fond of his bitter aptitude), but because he’s always diving straight into a sea of papers and digging his nose into law textbooks. Karl classifies him as a nerd, though he never acts how a “typical nerd” would, with his sense of humor and lack of maturity. He’s funny, he gets along with people, and has other friends. More than Karl, that’s for sure. But he’s always busy, with him being a law student and all, it’s sort of a given, but it still ticks Karl off a bit that he can’t hang out as much with him.

Maybe that’s why Karl likes them both, they both have their own thing and can attach themselves to those cliched labels, but at the same time, there’s more there. There’s depth, there’s surprises, there’s unexpected traits that Karl uncovers every once in a while that tugs a smile on his face.

Karl’s cynical, logical, passive, all of the above and more. But just like how Karl sees more in George and Quackity than what meets the eye, his friends also see how Karl can be at times. Caring, protective, and on the rarest occurrence, open with sharing his love for something briefly. It’s usually something small, and he doesn’t talk about it for long, like monster energy drinks or the newest tv show from Cartoon Network. But his friends relish in the vulnerability while it lasts, before it’s back to complaining about the weather or how loud the people a dorm over were being. An almost moment of change.

All Karl knows is that he hates cliches for the most part. He hates how sometimes life imitates art, and the art life is imitating is of a shitty rom-com people love to quote for the sake of nostalgia.

Karl is determined for nothing like that to change any time soon.

...

Karl is sitting in a lecture about the history of cameras, with George tugging at his sleeve restlessly.

After a few seconds of debating just closing his eyes and just letting his brain shut off until the end of class, he gives in and turns to face his bright-eyed, buzzing with seemingly endless energy roommate. “Yes?” a tired voice escapes.

They are at the back of class, so if anyone were to get caught not paying attention and chatting during class, it was not going to be them. George smiles wide at the final attention, “Are you free this Friday?”

What kind of question is that? It’s not like I do anything else besides sit at my desk and read about turtles for hours on end until I fall asleep on my textbook.

But Karl won’t say that, George is one of the only people he admires for his loving attitude and cheery demeanor. Maybe in another life, Karl could wish to be more like him, but not in this one.

“Not necessarily,” he replies, he quickly takes a peek at the professor, who is still rattling on without paying the two boys any mind. He gives George a soft nod in reassurance. “Why do you ask?”

And here it is, with the biggest goofiest grin plastered across the brunet’s features, the answer he doesn’t really want to hear building up in his throat like vomit, onto contrasting petunia petal pink lips. “Wanna go to a party with me?”

Karl scoffs, gives him a judgmental once over, and turns his back to a poor sunny yet dejected George. He’d rather learn about the mechanics of a camera than discuss party plans any further.

...

“Come on Karl!” George calls, running after a quick-on-his feet Karl trying to escape the room, and George, in the least mean possible way. After he catches up with Karl, he nudges his shoulder playfully with a light awkward laugh. “You need a party,”

“Nobody needs a party George,” Karl states, he looks down at his hands and picks the black polish off of his nails aimlessly. “Maybe you need to learn I won’t go to one of those until I’m in a body bag and it’s called a funeral,”

George shoots Karl a pointed look and Karl heaves a sigh. “That’s more of your thing! You’re a party animal,”

George raises a brow. “My thing?”

“Yeah, you go to these parties every week man. You and Dream, Dream is probably part of the reason why-”

“-Shut the fuck up-”

“-But yeah. Sorry dude but that’s just what you are. Don’t be too bummed out though, this school is chock-full of cliches,” Karl reassures him with a light pat on his backpack.

George scoffs. “What are you, french?”

“What?”

“So are you going to the party or what?” George stops in his tracks, Karl lingers behind with him. He chews on his lip, he doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s always going to be the same, and if he never agrees to one of these, George will literally kill him. But then again, he’d rather die in a blazing fire than go to a college frat party full of screaming football players and people who’ve had their fair share of booze hitting on him, not knowing who the hell he is and why they shouldn’t.

“Hello? Earth to Jacobs?” George waves his hand in front of his face. “Come on, go with me,” He pushes. Karl throws his head back with a whine. “Because Dream said I can bring a plus one, but if you wanna be a major pain in my arse I’ll take Quackity,”

Karl groans, pinching his forehead together in a tight knot. Sometimes being around people like George indirectly causes a headache. He sighs dramatically before telling the boy, “Fine I’ll go, but only because I know Quackity won’t be going to this thing anyways, when is he ever gonna take a day off?”

“He’s a law student Karl, never,” George states.

He’s not wrong.

“When is this stupid thing?” Karl asks straningly, he already hates that he’s asking for details. It’s like a whole pipeline, a gradual transition. Soon enough he’ll be doing keg stands, and he’ll only have himself to blame. And George. He’d love to pin all of it on him, but freedom of choice proves otherwise, and Karl is smarter than to argue with logic.

George squeals with satisfaction, then quickly coughs to cover up his excitement. It’s almost endearing. “Starts at 8, but we’ll go at 9. And don’t worry about drinks, I got stuff,”

Karl nods. “Can I wear sweatpants?”

“There’s no dress code, it’s not a school dance,” George huffs. “But no,”

Karl narrows his eyes. “You’re going to be the death of me,”

George smiles wide. “You should be grateful for me Karl, see you at 9!”

He starts jogging off in a different direction for his next class, but doesn’t disappear before Karl calls out, “Wait, you’re not coming home?”

“Studying at Dream’s!” He answers with a shout from a good distance away.

“Sure, studying!” The sarcasm in the tone is enough to emit a middle finger from the shorter and zippier boy.

…

Karl is searching profusely, almost vigorously through his closet with no luck.

It’s all neutral-colored sweaters and jeans and sweatpants. What do you wear to a party? The last party he went to was a Christmas party hosted by his great aunt, he wore corduroy slacks and a button up shirt. And it was an ugly sweater party.

It’s stupid, so stupid. He should borrow something from George’s drawer, but he doesn’t want to disturb the surprising cleanliness and organized state of his dresser. And he doesn’t really know if touching his stuff is a personal boundary that he shouldn’t overstep.

Desperate and frustrated, he can only think of one thing to do at the moment, surrounded by his boring clothes messily drawn out across the floor.

It’s only a matter of time before Quackity picks up the phone with a, “Well if it isn’t Karl Jacobs,” that makes Karl a little less stressed.

“Please go places with George, he’s dragging me to some stupid party,” Karl doesn’t take time to say hi, as they are past that by now, and gets straight to the point. Cutting out bullshit is what their friendship is built off of, it’s what the both do best.

Quackity chuckles softly. “Oh my god, that’s why you called me?”

“Help,” Karl croaks. “I just want to nap,”

“Dude I’m swamped with shit today,” Quackity replies. Karl should have expected, but some part of him was holding out hope that today could be different.

“When are you not?” Karl argues. He thinks back to the list of groups that his college is full of and adds, “You’re such a cliche”

“What are you, french?”

“Why do people keep asking that, it’s an expression!”

“Yeah a french one, dick for brains,” Quackity insults, taking a bite out of a muffin. His voice is muffled when he says, “Just go, maybe you’ll learn to loosen up for once,”

“What did you say?”

“I said I love you goodbye,”

“Wait no don’t-”

Aaaand he hung up on me Karl tosses his phone on the floor with an exasperated sigh. So much for that

…

Karl is standing awkwardly in a room with flashing lights and booming music that’s just incoherent nonsense in his ears. George is off...somewhere. If Karl were to guess, he’s probably making out with Dream in a random room about to go to third base while Karl is leaning against the open door frame of the kitchen, which is a mess of beer and open and knocked over chip bags, sipping on something he isn’t sure of. Vodka cranberry? Karl would describe it tasting like Christmas with divorced parents, so it’s probably vodka cranberry.

Karl retrieves his phone from the back pocket of his jeans (he decided to go with jeans, it’s not like George was any help with telling him what to wear to this thing) and distracts himself with texting.

Me: Quackity I’m gonna cry

Quackity: Okay then do it? Why are you telling me?

Me: Shut up and save me from this hellhole already

Quackity: Sorry Peach, but Mario is studying for his mid-terms

Me: Mario is a loser, a real bummer. Debbie downer, dare I say

Quackity: Don’t you dare.

Quackity: You’re the one who’s a debbie downer, you’re texting at a party. Enjoy yourself dumbass. Kiss a stranger.

Me: Bad idea, that’s how you get mono

Quackity: I don’t think that’s ever happened before ever in the history of forever

Me: It happened to my cousin

Quackity: The same cousin who got arrested for pissing on a church in broad daylight?

Me: ...maybe

Quackity: Yeah no that kid needs severe therapy

Me: And you need to start following your own advice and come out with us

Quackity: And you just need to get laid, so go mingle. Leave me be.

Me: Fuck you

Quackity: <3

Karl sighs as he clicks off his phone, following advice has always been hard for him. But it feels like he’s out of options, and he can’t stand around judging other people forever. Though that’s his speciality. And if he leaves, George will know and hold it against him for the next two weeks. Karl would rather shove himself in a woodchipper than listen to George torment him about needing to “expand his circle” or “put himself out there” everytime he tries to breathe in his own dorm.

He picks his feet off the ground and just sort of, walks around the frat house. It’s pretty big, full of people dancing crudely and yelling the lyrics to the songs he can’t quite make out. They all sound so slurred under the drunk filter of the people screaming them, spilling beer on the carpet that Karl just knows will be stained there until the world caves in. There’s no way the guys who live here clean, ever.

Fuck mingling Karl gives up on the idea of actually having a decent conservation with a single person here, who are all too fucked up to think about anything else other than sex or when to take the next sip of their red solo cup. Karl is stuck in another cliche yet again. I’m going to the bathroom

If he spends 20 minutes just staring at himself in the mirror and cursing himself for not being strong enough to just stay the hell home, maybe that would be enough for George to not annoy him about leaving early. He runs up the stairs, past a girl smoking a blunt draped across the stairs with another girl caressing her inner thigh. He weaves his way throw couples doing body shots off each other, and beer pong tables set up in the middle of the fucking hall. His eyes land on a chipped white door with a golden handle that he could only deduce is a bathroom, as it has a sign on it that says, “Don’t do coke in the bathroom,” though he just knows plenty of people have broken that rule before.

He twists the knob, and it’s unlocked, so he assumes nobody would be in there. But he assumed wrong, as when the door swings open, he finds a guy and girl on top of each other making out sloppily and quickly break away at the sudden interruption.

“Fuck, Nick you forgot to lock the door!” the girl squeals. Karl averts his eyes from the awkward situation and just grabs the door handle.

“Sorry,” Karl hastily spits out, holding out a hand apolgetically before slamming the door behind him.

Could this night get any worse?

…

Turns out, despite all disbelief, it can get worse. And it does.

As Karl goes to refill his drink, and drown his sorrows in the sting of vodka, he ends up bumping into some guy who seems too impatient for his own good.

“Yo can you watch it? I’m just trying to-”

Soft green eyes land on Karl as the boy whips his head around apologetically. “Sorry! I didn’t see you there!”

It’s him. Makeout session in an unlocked bathroom guy. Fantastic.

“Oh, it’s you,” Karl says, no real malice or anger in his words but the bitterness is fresh and brutal enough to evoke a lip curl from the brunet. “Bathroom guy,”

“Yeah, sorry about that too,” he stammers, nervously fiddling with his cup. “I just forgot about locks and stuff. I usually don’t do that type of stuff here with her. I mean we do it in this house because it’s my frat house but like, with no one around so we don’t need a lock usually and I didn’t know it was gonna happen it just did,”

The semi-embarrassed rambling definitely intrigues Karl, he never struck the guy as one to apologize or be so bashful about someone walking in on them getting it on with their girlfriend. He thought he would be angry that he interrupted them, or be bragging about how he was so casually swapping tongues with an attractive girl. Not that Karl would care, but he would be the type of person who would just assume that Karl would automatically be jealous.

Or he seems like the type of person. In this case, Karl’s the one assuming.

“It’s fine dude,” Karl heartens, “I don’t really care, i’ve seen plenty of these drunk idiots do way worse,”

He is then gifted with a soft smile placed hesitantly on the shorter yet sturdier boy. Though half of that statement was intended to be a little less kind as he interpreted, Karl finds it sort of sweet how happy it seemed to make him that he wasn’t actually all that mad.

“Well that’s a relief!” he cheers, swiping imaginary sweat off his forehead.

He’s sort of a dork, a lovable one, and for some reason it made Karl irritably mad. He shouldn’t be so charming, or he should be in a more manipulative way. And towards a girl he’s trying to impress and coerce into having sex with him. But something about the way the mysterious guy held himself told Karl he wasn’t like that, and his reactions were genuine. It confuses him, and now he’s speechless like a dumbass.

He quickly speaks up to start awaited conversation, “I’m uh, Karl,”

He finds himself holding out his hand, giving himself up. Like a peace offering, to the frat boy with the dusted freckles and suspiciously friendly smirk. How did he end up here?

“Nick,” he says, taking the hand and shaking it. It’s noticeably bigger than Karl’s, not that he cares about size. “But my friends call me Sapnap,”

“That’s stupid,” he shakes his hand flimsily, a laugh tumbles out of Sapnap.

“Yeah kinda. But I like it, always have. Then it just stuck. So I guess it’s a nickname. Though my real name is actually Nick, funny right?”

His eyes sparkle with validation from Karl, and now that he looks closely how Sapnap seems, it’s puppy dog-ish. Like a golden retriever, full of energy and excited to see people. Karl feels like he just met a dog on the side of the road, and took it home to take care of it. He doesn’t know if he’ll keep the dog, as he doesn’t know what the repercussions of owning one is yet, he’s new to dogs, having been a cat person and only owning cats his whole life. But while he washes him, and patches up his wounds, the dog is barking with joy. Pleading barks that beg him to let him stay with him, and build a bond. Eyes that sparkle with want, they ask for pets, and treats and rewards. Karl feels helpless against the unspoken command.

“Nice pun,” Karl lies, he isn’t one for puns. But the way Sapnap lights up ever-so-slightly as his praise makes him feel fuzzy. “This is your frat, right? Alpha Sigma?” he twirls his finger around.

Sapnap nods. “Yeah yeah I honestly was unsure of joining one at first, you know?” Karl doesn’t know, the last thing on earth he’d join is a frat. “But all my buddies were, so I just uh followed them. Guess I’m a follower,” He shrugs with uncertainty.

If he wanted to, Karl could see how that is, being pulled into something because that’s what other people are doing and you don’t want to feel left out. Karl used to be that way in middle school, but he made a promise to himself he’ll never let other people dictate his decisions or his future. Being independent is the most important thing you can be, having a mind of your own, not feeling trapped or tied down. But some people just aren’t like that, he guesses.

“So did your friends throw this thing?” Karl questions, breaking away from previous conversation. Any topic that takes more than 2 brain cells to withhold is not something he can do at the moment. Anyway, why would he converse about serious stuff with a guy he just met?

“Yeah actually. My best friend, Dream. You know him?”

Ah yes, Dream. Karl thinks he can recall him well. How can he forget the blond that has his roommate wrapped around his finger helplessly?

“Uh yeah, my friend George is uh...involved with him,” Karl hopes Sapnap knows what he means by that, but as he watches a blank expression blink back at him obliviously, he huffs lightheartedly.

“Cool cool,” Sapnap clicks his tongue.

“So what do you do?” Karl thinks he’ll die if silence engulfs them for a little too long.

Sapnap’s eyebrows furrow in slight puzzlement. “I’m a college student, I don’t have a job yet,”

Oh my god “I meant like, outside of school and shit. Like do you have hobbies?”

Sapnap smacks himself. “Oh yeah haha sorry! Well I major in economics but I’m on the football team,”

Karl feels so incredibly dumb.

All of this time, he’s been talking to one of his worst enemies, an athlete. Even worse with the specifics, a football player.

The fact that he’s a part of a frat is already enough to drive Karl away, far far away. But he can deal with just that, especially knowing now he was never set in stone about it and he was just following what his friends wanted. But now that he knows he’s a part of that crowd. The one that would bully Karl in highschool for wearing rings and nail polish and the occasional one dangly earring when he’s feeling overly confident. The crowd that would call him himphobic slurs in the locker rooms while he changes for the gym. The type of people that would spread rumors about him relentlessly that would leave judgemental tracing eyes following him for the rest of the month in the hallways. The type of people that made Karl hate himself for the longest time and have him ask himself why do I have to be like this? , while breaking down in the school bathroom.

As you know by now, he isn’t the biggest fan of football players.

Karl’s distaste was evident, as Sapnap had noticed the change in his demeanor. “Karl? Are you okay? What about you? Your major and what you like to do?”

“I gotta go,” Karl suddenly blurts.

Sapnap’s face falls. “Wait Karl, just stay a while, I wanna know about you-”

“-You know my name. That’s surely enough. Just go back to your girlfriend,” Karl steps back, ready to turn around, but Sapnap reaches for his arm.

“Sarah? She’s not really my girlfriend,” he corrects. It’s obvious now he’s just trying his hardest to get Karl to stay. But Karl had made up his mind about Sapnap. “I don’t really care. You have friends, talk to them. You don’t want to talk to someone like me,”

Karl frees his arm from Sapnap’s grip, a little too harsh than he intended as it causes Sapnap to fumble back a bit. He walks away, and speeds up when he hears his voice perk up, “Someone like you? What does that mean? Karl!”

His yells fade out and blend with the music as he steps into the living room, as the rap music grows louder and he gets closer to the door he finally feels grateful for the sheer volume the atmosphere of a frat house can exude.

Karl doesn’t want to say it aloud, or even admit it to himself, but “someone like him”, is exactly why he’s fleeing the scene, leaving the poor boy with just as many questions as Karl has regrets.

The real truth is, the reasons those athletes made fun of him, called him those names, spread those rumors were because they were true. Karl has always been that way, and always will.

His first kiss was Quackity, though he’s never felt anything more than platonic feelings for the boy, he wanted to experiment, to see for sure if it was true. And it was, the kiss was nice. Nicer than any kiss he had with a girl, and Quackity is a nice enough guy to be a test dummy. Quackity never judged Karl, which Karl is extremely thankful for. He was, and still is, a very supportive friend and overall person. He got him through the toughest of times, the worst of nights, the hardships of highschool. So when Karl came out to him (and by came out it was more like: ‘I think I might like dick’), Quackity offered to be the one to help him know for sure.

Karl never caught feelings, but the kiss did help him realize that fuck, he was gay.

And there’s nothing wrong with it, he’s accepted himself by now. He has pride flags riddling his walls and he surrounds himself with people who couldn’t give less of a shit. Or ones that applaud him for it, like George (because of obvious reasons).

But the thing about athletes, is they never were one for pride parades or being who you are no matter what people say. They were the ones that made him feel bad about it, that relentlessly bullied him for something he can’t control, the ones who made him feel impossibly small when he himself wasn’t ready to fully welcome that part of himself yet.

So that’s why Karl had to leave, why he had to turn his back, and walk away. Say no, no matter how strong the pull of the tide is. Those sea green orbs reflecting in the moonlight were electrifying, captivating. But he had to fight the urge to let himself dive in, let the water immerse him and sink to the bottom in an oddly calming way.

Because people like Sapnap wouldn’t want to be seen around a person like Karl, Sapnap just didn’t know it yet. He was doing him a favor really. Athlete vs. loner. Popular extrovert with a hot girlfriend and a boy who’s just getting by, who’ll never fit society’s heteronormative standards. It’s cruel and unfair, but that’s life.

Karl is done with this party and it’s confusing tricks. He’s done with the bright lights and the overbearing sounds. With the guests that seem friendly but are just gateways to making no good, very bad and absolutely unfathomably horrendous decisions.

The front door which is inconsequently an exit in his eyes opens in front of him just as fast as it’s slammed behind him. And the cold takes him hostage before he knows it.