Chapter Text
It is almost 2 a.m., but Abby is still staring at her ceiling, muscular arms crossed behind her head as sleep refuses to come. She sighs and glances over at her chair, where under a hot pink bra that is definitely not hers, her jersey is crumbled. Anderson, number 17. She has a football tournament tomorrow. A big one, and her team is counting on her, the Quarterback. Abby sighs again and closes her eyes. She has to get some sleep, otherwise she is gonna be a walking zombie on the field tomorrow.
Just when she manages to doze off, the scratch of a key against the lock jerks her awake again. A few seconds later, the door creaks open and two girls stumble in, arm in arm, giggling and whispering. They are clearly drunk. Trying to stay quiet tho but Abby has never seen anyone fail so miserably at doing that.
"Are you fucking kidding me" Abby groans into the darkness, reaching towards her nightstand to turn on the little lamp standing there. She has to close her eyes for a moment against the sudden brightness filling the room and the two girls freeze mid-step. Lipstick and gloss are smeared over your lips, clear evidence of what just happened outside the door. You turn around to face Abby.
"You got a problem, Anderson?" you ask, one perfectly trimmed thin eyebrow arched. You release the girl´s waist to cross your arms over your chest. Abby sits up straight in her bed, her eyes quickly scanning your body, taking in the low-waisted jeans, the belly button piercing reflecting the light of her lamp, your crop top showing way too much of your stomach and breasts for Abby´s eyes not to linger. She meets your eyes with an equally judgemental stare.
"Do I have a problem with you sneaking girls into our room when I specifically asked you not to? Yeah, I have a problem with that. I also have a game tomorrow, so go and hook up somewhere else". She doesn't even bother to look at the girl next to you. She figured a long time ago that it is easier like that.
"This is my room too" you shoot back. "Well, sadly you can stay". Abby mutters, laying back down and turning to her side. "But I don´t want to be kept awake by some half-ass moans and sloppy orgasms. So your girl has to leave".
"You are—" you begin, pointing an acrylic nail at Abby, even though she can´t see it anymore as she´s lying on her side. Selena, the girl you brought, stops you.
"Fuck her, let´s just go to my room". You sigh, giving Abby one last glance before you let yourself get dragged out of the room.
"Jealous pussy blocker," you murmur under your breath before you close the door and you´re pretty damn sure Abby hears you.
Abby hears you. She should be used to it by now, your comments, your attitude, the way you always seem to stir things up. But it still bothers her. She´s had several roommates in university before but none of them was like you. No one left their makeup and clothes all over the room, even on Abby's side and Abby was pretty sure that all of her past roommates combined hadn’t packed as many clothes into that tiny dorm closet as you somehow managed to.
She hated it. She hated, that you left your pink bras and tiny underwear everywhere, that she had to move about seven lipsticks to the side just to make space for her toothbrush on the bathroom sink.
She hates it even more that the room always smells like your perfumes, way too sweet for her liking, but somehow still addicting.
She also finds your makeup and accessories way too often on her desk, on her side of the room. And when she points it out, all you do is shrug and tell her, “You don’t use your space anyway, so why can’t I use it?”
Then you’d fix your lipstick in the mirror hanging over your desk like it was the most normal thing in the world.
It´s driving Abby insane. It has since day one. Since you stood in the doorframe, several hours later than you were supposed to, iced coffee in one hand and your, Abby couldn't believe her eyes, hot pink suitcase in the other. You glanced around the room with a look so disapproving, as if the tiny dorm had personally offended you. Then your eyes landed on Abby. "You work here or something?" you had asked. The audacity left Abby speechless for several seconds before she finally managed to answer. "I do not. I live here".
Abby had watched you take in her side of the room, the neatly made bed, pens, papers, and books all organized on her desk. Then you gave her a sarcastic smile.
“Well then, nice to meet you, roomie.”
You had left your suitcase right in the middle of the doorway, then plopped down on your bed, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, your acrylic nails tapping against the screen.
She´d learn your name later, but she didn't dare ask you a single question, not because she was intimidated by you or anything.
It was more that she’d never witnessed two worlds so different from each other forced to crash together in one tiny dorm room.
She´d also learn that you are into girls, maybe a week after you moved in. She had just come back from a very exhausting practice, covered in sweat and frustration because the tactics didn't work the way the Coach wanted them to. All she had craved was a hot shower and an episode from her favorite comfort series but when Abby opened the door to her room she was met with the sight of you against her closet, eyes closed, and the lips of one of Abby's teammates on your neck. Abby had expected you to push the girl away, maybe at least pretend to be embarrassed.
Instead, you opened your eyes, caught Abby staring, and smirked.
That first time, Abby had let you do your thing. She turned around instantly and left the room, killing an hour in the library. She had hoped that by the time she got back, you and her teammate would be done. What Abby hadn´t planned for was that this would become a regular thing and it started to piss her off. She didn´t care about the girls you hooked up with, at least that's what she told herself. What she did care about was not having access to her room, and not having any privacy when she wanted it. She told you exactly that in a very heated argument and you naturally, called her out for being jealous because "no one wants to sleep in her bed".
Ever since then, the tension between you and Abby had only gotten worse. She´d hammer against the bathroom door when you blocked it for over an hour and you would throw a pillow at her when her alarm clock went off at 5 a.m. because she had practice before classes.
Abby didn’t understand how you could care about nothing but makeup, girls, and parties and you couldn’t understand how anyone could be as boring as Abby Anderson.
Seriously, did this woman do anything besides playing football, going to the gym, or studying?
You had never seen her at any of the dorm parties you went to, or seen her hook up with anyone.
Not that you could believe nobody was interested. She was fairly pretty with her ocean-blue eyes and dirty blonde hair, which she usually wore in a tight braid but, annoyingly, looked even better when she wore them down. She had a lot of freckles, you once noticed when you accidentally ran into her after opening the bathroom door too quickly because she had hammered against it for what must have been the tenth time.
In your eyes, she was this strangely determined girl with the body of a literal ox. As far as you had heard, she was pretty damn good at what she did as the quarterback for the football team and her grades also seemed to be impressive. Something you couldn't really say about your own.
That night, you spend in Selena’s room. Her roommate is gone, so you have your sweet little sleepover, music low, the sheets a mess, legs tangled till the morning. When you leave after saying some sweet nothings, the sun is already high. You return to your room and glance at yourself through the mirror over your desk. Your mascara is smudged under your eyes and overall you look like someone who barely got any sleep the night before. Abby is nowhere to be found. Her jersey is gone, leaving only your bra on the chair.
You kick off your heels, toss your bag into the corner, and collapse face-first onto your pillow. It’s Saturday, and you couldn’t care less about anything except sleep. And sleep hits hard.
You’re out for a couple of hours until the door creaks open, pulling you back just enough to stir. You groan and peek through one eye, still half-asleep, watching as Abby steps into the room.
Her gym bag is slung over one shoulder, her hair is pulled back in that usual braid, a few loose strands sneaking out of it. She’s still in her jersey, dirt smeared across the fabric, her pants, and even her face, which you eye with a mix of judgment and half-asleep disgust.
Abby swears under her breath when she stumbles over your heels that you left quite careless in the middle of the room and then shoots you a sharp look.
You finally crack open your other eye and meet her glare.
“You look like shit,” you mumble, voice rough from sleep and the night before.
“Could say the same about you,” Abby bites back, eyeing the smudged remains of your makeup, your tangled hair, and the fact that you didn’t even bother to change into pajamas. You somehow manage to flip her off, but Abby just rolls her eyes, grabs a towel, and disappears into the bathroom while you bury your face back into the pillow.
The next thing you hear is the soft hum from the running water in the bathroom, and it’s so easy to doze off again. When you open your eyes this time, you're met with the sight of Abby's back, the girl in nothing but her underwear. Nothing special, plain and grey, but so tight on her chest and hips that it almost makes you gulp. You mean to look away, you really do, but then she bends down to put on a pair of jeans, and the way her back muscles flex from the motion makes your gaze linger just a bit longer than intended.
The way those jeans hug her hips and ass makes your stomach twist in a way you can't quite place. She reaches for a black button-down shirt, pulling it on with ease. As she turns around to face the mirror, her attention is fully on the buttons, she doesn’t notice you watching. She leaves the first few buttons undone, giving you a glimpse of her collarbone and the smooth, freckled skin beneath. She rolls the sleeves up to her elbows, the fabric hugging her big arms as she moves.
She reaches for a fragrance, but before she can spray it on her wrists and collarbone, she catches your stare. "What?" she asks, one eyebrow arched in question.
Instead of caving in, you hold her gaze and ignore the feeling in your chest that wants to spread, nagging and throbbing.
“What are you getting ready for?” you ask, voice dismissive, trying to cut through the awkward silence and act like you weren’t just caught staring.
“You never leave the house.”
“To the football team party, half the campus is coming,” Abby replies curtly, spraying the perfume on her wrists and décolleté. The scent automatically spreads through the room, a little woody and tart and definitely not cheap. You barely manage to stop yourself from inhaling deeply in your half-awake state before you lean on your forearms and look at Abby with a now interested expression. “Why is the football team throwing a party?” you continue, just barely catching Abby rolling her eyes as if talking to you for more than a minute would cause her physical pain.
“We won the game. The game that made me want to sleep early last night,” she continued, and the reproachful undertone in her voice was definitely meant for you. You scramble to your feet and swing your legs over the edge of the bed before rising. You take a few steps towards Abby and brace your arms on her desk, watching her with interest as she ties a watch around her wrist. “And where exactly is this party taking place?” you look up at her through your eyelashes. Abby doesn't fall for your feigned friendliness, of course, and turns wordlessly to go back into the bathroom, but you're quicker and block her way. Now you're standing between the closed bathroom door and the blonde girl, who is now looking down at you with a definitive look of annoyance (oh, and how it upset you that she's taller than you).
She crosses her broad arms in front of her chest, and your eyes automatically fall on the spot where her biceps are stretching the black fabric. “Get out of my way,” she grumbles, but you just shake your head. “Tell me where the party is,” you repeat insistently. “Will you finally leave me alone?” she asks, but you only give her an angelic smile. Abby shakes her head devotedly. “Williams cleared the basement for us, I guess it has its advantages when your girlfriend is the head of the student council.”
At the mention of Ellie's girlfriend, your mood automatically lifts. “Is Dina coming too?” you ask enthusiastically. “I assume so,” Abby grumbles. "I have to go to the bathroom," you announce and turn around, and before Abby knows it, you've disappeared behind the door into the room she was about to enter.
“God, I hate everything about her,” Abby mumbles.