dedication: Celia. one of many, but probably the most ridiculous.
notes: oops, new fandom.
title: universal truths
summary: There was just no escaping Bro Nights. — College AU; Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile.
The dramatically sighed words accompanied the thump of body hitting mattress. Mihawk didn't even deign to look up from the open text in front of him, too busy poring over his Twelfth Century Renaissance thesis paper to glance at his ridiculous roommate while he was working out the final details.
(And really, who could blame him? The paper had been his life for the past three months, and he wasn't just about to drop it to humour the idiot that slept in the next room.)
"Are you deaf? I said—"
"No. I'm ignoring you," Mihawk replied, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. It pretty much was, so that point was sort of moot. Mihawk spent his life ignoring Doflamingo. Once more, he bent over his paper, and tried to re-immerse himself in it.
Doflamingo kicked his chair once.
Mihawk ignored him thoroughly.
Doflamingo kicked his chair a second time, harder.
This was not going to go well.
Mihawk whirled, wielding a pen like a knife. His voice was neutral, utterly mild; there was no hint that he was threatening at all. He merely said "I will stab you."
There was an awkward silence.
And then Doflamingo threw his head back and laughed, perched on the bed as he was, legs crunched out at odd angles. "So scawy, Hawky!"
"I'm trying to study—"
"Yeah, yeah," Doflamingo waved a hand. "Live a little, dude. Croc's gonna be here soon. Midnight booze run to the convenience store."
"It's hell week. Are you stupid?" That sounded a lot less like an insult and a lot more like a legitimate question than Mihawk had intended it to.
Doflamingo grinned widely and raised an eyebrow from behind those hideous tinted sunglasses. "Finals, shminals. You'll survive. C'mon."
"You don't got a choice," Doflamingo grinned snarkily. He looked over his shoulder. "OI, CROC, THAT YOU?"
The reply was faint, from the other room. "Yeah?"
"HELP ME GET THIS ASSHOLE AWAY FROM HIS BOOKS!"
Mihawk glared stubbornly.
Crocodile stuck his head in, assessed the situation, and smirked. Still chomping on a cigar, he slouched in with his hands in his pockets.
The odds did not look good, Mihawk reasoned. He hovered there awkwardly.
But his paper—
There was a kerfuffle of shouting, violence, and the occasional obscenity. There was a sound that felt like pain, a dull crunch that might have been a body against the wall.
The floor had long gotten used to these sort of things.
Mihawk was dragged unceremoniously from his room, head nearly banging against the wall. Crocodile had a black eye. Doflamingo's glasses were cracked, but he was still grinning.
For good measure, they dumped alcohol all over his head and stuffed his face with crackers.
Mihawk choked, and decided he was never going to forgive either of them.