"Why are you still studying?" I asked.

Nick scowled at me, "Cause I'm a fucking college student?"

"It's been a month, Nick," I said, "It's too late to do anything about your grades. The hearing is tomorrow, and then Lucy is going to give me my room back, and you can go rot away in Kermit Tsu's dirty little stoner cave."

"First of all, Nick," Nick said, "Even if you do manage to kick me out of my own room, I'm still going to be a student here. And I'm not losing my scholarship, so yeah, I'm studying. And second of all, I'm pretty sure I'm gonna get the room. Because I actually pay attention in class instead of spending all my time judging people. Seriously, dirty stoner cave?"

I shrugged, "He's an artist. My father says they're all hippies."

Nick made a face, "So you just listen to whatever your dad says?"

"Um," I glanced down at my phone, where I had been surreptitiously shopping for women's clothes.

College is the time to make a man of yourself.

"Not everything," I said.

Okay, so I was buying girl clothes. I liked wearing panties, so much so that I almost didn't cringe when I thought about that word. But that didn't necessarily mean anything. It was just that they were more comfortable. I mean, they weren't physically more comfortable, because I had bought them at the local mall, so they were made out of the same type of low-quality materials as my pyjamas. But they were more comfortable in the sense that when I wore them, I felt this kind of... warmth, in my heart, like in some way that I couldn't articulate, things were just a little closer to being right. And, like I said, that didn't mean anything.

So I had to do more testing. Venture a little further towards the gay/trans zone. And buying more girl clothes — clothes that were actually suitable for a human being to wear on their body — seemed like the best way to do it. Nick would be gone by tomorrow afternoon, so my room would be free for me to experiment as much as I wanted.

I felt almost giddy thinking about it. The past month had felt interminably long, almost like it had been stretched out over the course of a full year. And I hadn't been able to relax, or feel like I could truly be myself for that whole time. But soon, Nick would be out of my life, and a new chapter could begin.

I was especially glad to part ways with Nick because he had kept up his porn routine for the entire week. Every night, while we were lying in bed (or on couch), he would pull out his phone and watch the same aggressive straight porn. I truly didn't understand how he could enjoy that stuff. It was so misogynistic, and, even worse, so cliche. I would've been too embarrassed about being a stereotypical porn-watching creep to actually get off to it. But, whatever. We had made a deal not to talk about it, and clearly Nick had a lot of pent up aggression he needed to get out. It wouldn't be my problem for much longer.

Nick's phone buzzed.

"Ah, crap," he muttered. He closed his textbook and got up.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"That was Karl," he said, "One of the guys I run with. He said the laundromat's gonna be closed for the weekend. So I gotta go do laundry."

I tilted my head, "What laundromat?"

"The one attached to our building?" Nick said, "Are you serious? Where have you been doing your laundry?"

"I've been taking it into town," I said, "There's a dry cleaner there."

"Jesus Christ," said Nick, "Are you kidding? How much does that cost?"

"I don't know!" I said, "I just use my credit card."

"You mean your dad's credit card," said Nick.

"Okay!" I said, "Yes, my father's credit card! I don't know! Isn't that what everybody does?"

"Oh my god," Nick groaned, "Did your parents never teach you how to do laundry?"

I crossed my arms, "I mean. Not really. It's more of a—"

"—maid job," Nick finished, "Of course. Well, we don't have a maid."

"I know," I glared at him, "Hence, dry cleaner."

Nick shook his head, "You are so fucking helpless."

I blushed and turned back to my phone. I added a few more things to my cart, out of spite. After a few moments, I realised Nick hadn't moved. I looked up, and he was staring at me with an odd look on his face. Odd, because it wasn't hateful.

"You know what?" he said, "It's our last night together. I'm not letting you move out of this dorm without learning how to take care of yourself."

"Ew," I said, "I know how to take care of myself. And you're the one moving out."

"Nope," said Nick, "And nope."

He grabbed my laundry bag from the dresser and tossed it over to me. I squeaked and raised my arms reflexively, barely catching it. Nick slung his own bag over his shoulder and headed for the door.

"Come on, bitch," he said, "Let me show you how a man does laundry."

I opened my mouth in shock, but no words came out. Nick was already out the door. I glanced down at my phone.

Come to think of it, it might be a little awkward taking a bag of girl clothes to the dry cleaner. If Nick was willing to teach me, at least I would have gotten one benefit out of sharing my room with him.

I hit Checkout and scrambled after him.

The hallway of our dorm building was bustling. Although all of the rooms in our area were singles, it was apparently very common for the other occupants to invite people over to study, or play games, or do... more adult things. Nick was already pretty far away, thanks to his long legs and poor manners. I passed a dorm room full of beefy guys screaming at a TV, and hurried to catch up with him. He nodded approvingly.

"Come on," he said, "This'll be good for you."

"What's going to be good for me is not having to talk to you anymore," I muttered.

 We walked past our RA, Patrick, who was being loudly harassed by a blonde girl with a clipboard and a T-shirt with ACORN written on the front. She had Patrick backed up against a wall, and seemed to be very worked up about something.

"It's freedom of speech, Patrick!" said the girl, "You have a moral obligation to intercede!"

"Miel, this really feels like a faculty issue—" Patrick said feebly.

"It's a human rights issue!" Miel insisted, "We could take this to the Supreme Court!"

"My job is really just to make sure you guys aren't smoking weed," Patrick protested.

"ACAB, Patrick!" Miel said, "ACAB!"

I could hear her continue to berate him as Nick rounded the corner and lead me into the laundromat. It was a dreary little room, with rows of shabby-looking washers and dryers illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights. A few other students were standing around, checking their phones while their machines rattled away. I sighed and thought again about how much I had sacrificed by coming to Great Oaks.

"Okay," said Nick, "Welcome to your first lesson in being an adult."

I looked at him suspiciously. Despite his griping about me being helpless, he seemed to be in a good mood.

"Why are you so excited to help me, all of a sudden?" I asked.

"Yeah, right," said Nick, "This isn't about helping you. This is about saving the next people who get stuck with you from having to carry your spoiled ass around."

"Ugh," I said, "Fine."

"You're gonna need detergent, and dryer sheets, and quarters," he said, "Which I assume you don't have. Luckily, I—"

"I'll just buy some," I said.

Nick blinked, "Uh. No, you don't need to. I'll let you borrow mine."

"Mm, no," I said, "I don't really want my clothes to smell like you. Not that you smell bad. I just..."

I struggled to find the right words to express what I meant.

"...don't like you," I finished

"Feeling's mutual," Nick said, "But I'm not waiting for you to go buy detergent. So you can use mine. It's not a big deal."

"Alright," I sighed, "How much do you want for it?"

Nick frowned, "How much... Dude, It's just detergent."

"Well, it's your detergent," I said, "And, you know..."

I gestured at the worn-out grey hoodie he was wearing.

"Jesus," Nick said, "Why do you gotta fucking be like that, man?"

"What?" I said, "I'm not trying to be a snob. It's just basic economics. I have more money than you, so I'm less adversely impacted by paying for this kind of thing. So why on earth wouldn't I pay for it?"

Nick scowled, "I don't need your money, Nick."

I rolled my eyes. Fine. If he was going to keep being angry at me just because my family was wealthy, that was his decision. I glanced around the room. One of the other students doing their laundry was nodding his head, humming along to some old funk song.

"Excuse me!" I called out.

The guy stopped humming and looked up from his phone, "Oh, hey Little Dom."

"Just Dom," I said, "Wait. Do I know you?"

The guy gave me a look, "Yeah. Demi. We have econ together."

"Oh, sorry," I said, "I must have missed you."

"We sat next to each other in the lecture this morning," said Demi.

"Oh, huh," I said, "Well—"

"I live in the room next door to you guys," said Demi, "This is kind of hurtful, to be honest."

"I'll pay you fifty dollars for your laundry detergent," I said.

Demi shrugged, "Sure."

I smiled smugly at Nick.

"You're the fucking worst," he said.

After I paid Demi for his stuff, Nick talked me through his process as he did his own laundry. It wasn't as complicated as I thought it would be, although it definitely made me appreciate how much effort Luisa had put in over the years.

"And then, yeah," he said, "Just hit that button to start the cycle."

He nodded to me expectantly, and I reached forward and pressed the button. The machine whirred into motion. I grinned.

"Nice," he said, "It's almost like you actually did something for yourself for once."

"Very funny," I said, "How do you know all of this stuff, anyway?"

Nick looked at me scornfully, "I know it because normal people don't have maids, dumbass."

"Ugh," I said, "Alright."

I put my head down and started sorting through my bag of laundry. Light colors apart from dark colors, delicate stuff by itself... I had a lot of delicate stuff...

"My mom and dad were at work a lot of the time," Nick said, "So I had to do a bunch of stuff for me and my sister."

I glanced up at him. Nick was leaning against a washing machine with his arms folded, staring out across the laundromat. On the surface, he seemed casual, but I noticed he was oddly rubbing his thumb against his right arm, by the elbow, at the point where his own skin met the lip of his prostheses. I had seen him do it a couple times before, like when we were waiting outside our classroom before a test. He was nervous, I realised. This was the first time he had volunteered information about his family, and it seemed to be a big deal to him.

I could've used that as an opportunity to make fun of him. But... that didn't feel right.

"I get that," I said, "My father spends a lot of time at work, too. And my mother's usually home, but she obviously doesn't want to be bothered, So I spent a lot of time with our staff."

Nick looked at me sharply, and for a second I thought he was going to make another crack about my family having staff. But then his face softened.

"She doesn't want to be bothered?" he repeated quizzically.

I shrugged, "She's a grown woman. And she's very cultured, of course. She has better things to do with her time than deal with some snot-nosed kid running around."

Nick looked aghast, for some reason, "So she just left you with the maid?"

"Well..." I looked back down at my laundry.  This was getting a bit personal, "The staff weren't really supposed to talk to me unless there was some problem I needed help with. But I got lonely a lot, as a kid. So I found a lot of problems."

"Holy shit," said Nick, "Is that why you whine so much?"

"I don't whine!" I complained in a high-pitched tone, "I just... bring attention to problems! Why would I put up with something bad if there's a way to fix it?"

"Hmm," Nick said, "I guess so. That why you bug me all the time, then? Tryna fix me?"

"No," I said primly, returning to my laundry pile, "You're too broken to fix."

"Ha," said Nick, "Well, you can't do laundry."

"I'm doing laundry!" I said. I pointed at my piles, "See!  Not so helpless after all."

Nick smiled, "Yeah. Nice work."

I waited for him to hit me with an insult, but it didn't come. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What?" he said.

"Was that a genuine compliment?" I asked.

Nick blinked, "Uh. I dunno. Yes? So what? You're doing a good job."

"Oh my god," I said, "Are you proud of me?"

"No!" Nick scowled, "I'm just... just do your laundry!"

He reached out and grabbed something off the top of my delicate pile. I realised with horror that it was a pair of my new panties. They were unisex-looking enough that he probably couldn't tell, but if he looked at the label...

I snatched them back from him. Nick jolted.

"What the fuck?" he said.

"Don't touch my clothes!" I said, "You'll... you'll get them dirty!"

Nick stared, "I'm literally putting them into the washing machine."

"Well, you... um, you could..." I floundered, "They're delicate, alright! I don't want you to, like, rip a hole in them or something!"

Nick looked at me, confused. After a moment, his expression darkened. I wasn't sure why, until I saw him glance down, at his right hand. My heart dropped.

"That's not what I meant," I said quickly.

"Nah, it's fine," he shrugged, "I get it. Your shit's expensive. Don't want me slipping up and ruining it."

"No!" I protested, "I mean... alright, yes. But not because of your arm. It's just—"

Nick turned away from me and started putting his laundry things back into his bag.

"Seriously, it's fine," he muttered, "It's better when people just come out and say it."

I winced. Nick was trying to act cool, but by the way his shoulders were hunched I could see that I had hurt his feelings. Just when we were starting to have what could technically be classified as a nice moment.

"That's really not what I meant," I said, "I promise. I would never look down on you because of your arm..."

Nick scoffed. My brain was telling me to shut up, but to my horror, I could already feel the rest of the sentence rolling off my tongue.

"...especially when there are so many other things to look down on you for," I finished.

Nick's head snapped up.

"What?" he said.

"I'm sorry!" I said, hastily trying to course-correct, "It's just that... you're so... uncouth, you know?"

Nick scowled, "Uncouth?"

Uh oh. Something told me I had missed the mark.

"It's just that you're so... so loud!" I said, "And... you stomp around with your shirt off, and you come home from training and just lie on the couch while you're all sweaty, and that's where I have to sleep half the time, and you watch those awful videos with the sound up so high, and, and... you always slam the door, you know!"

"You don't clean up after yourself!" Nick said.

"I don't know how!" I said, "And I appreciate you helping me with laundry, but you don't need to touch my things, okay! It's bad enough that you've been living in my room."

"My room," Nick said, but his scowl had shifted into a smirk.

"Don't start that again," I said warningly.

Nick shook his head, "You are such a weird little dude."

"Excuse me!" said a voice from behind me.

I turned and came face-to-way-too-close-face with the girl who we had seen harassing Patrick in the hallways. She was holding a clipboard, which she thrust towards me.

"Hi!" she said, "Don't you care about dead children?"

"Um," I said, "What's going on?"

"Every day, thousands of children are needlessly killed in foreign wars," she said, "And there's not really anything you can do to stop that. Doesn't that make you feel like life is meaningless?"

I glanced up at Nick to see if he was as confused as I was. He was looking at the girl, but the expression on his face wasn't confusion.

"Totally," he said, "It's like, damn. So meaningless."

"Exactly," said the girl, "So wouldn't it feel good to take a stand on something you can affect?"

"I'm sorry," I held up a hand, "Who are you? What is this about?"

"I'm Miel," said the girl, "And this is about free speech, artistic liberty, resisting oppression, housing rights, fighting back against misogyny... really, a better question would be what isn't this about?"

"Hey, I've heard enough," Nick said, "I'm super passionate about this kind of thing. Housing rights especially."

I stared at him, "Oh, are you?"

"I mean, I sure as fuck care about my right to housing," he said. He turned to Miel, "But for real, if this is to help people in need, you can count me in. That's what matters."

He leaned against the washing machine. To the untrained eye, it might look casual, but I had spent far too much time around Nick, and I had never seen him lean that way before.

"Are you flexing right now?" I asked.

"The first thing you can do is sign this petition," said Miel, thrusting the clipboard at him. Nick took it, and wedged it into the crook of his right arm, so he could write on it with his left hand. Miel continued, "We're actually organising a protest tomorrow, at two. Outside the Dean's office. The LGBT Alliance, the Women's Collective, the Arts Society... we all sort of came together to form this group."

"What group?" I asked.

"ACORN, right?" said Nick. He pointed at Miel's chest, which I realised meant that he had been spending some time looking at her chest. I frowned.

"Yes!" said Miel, "The Alliance Combatting Oppression and Regulatory Negligence."

"Great name," said Nick. He handed the clipboard to me.

"It's a little clunky," I said.

Miel shrugged, "We had to force the name to get the acronym. But that's nothing compared to the kind of restrictions that the Great Oaks Administrative Board are putting on student expression."

"I've always said that," said Nick, "Haven't I always said that?"

"You have literally never said that," I said, "Miel, what is this petition actually about?"

"It's about civil rights, man," said Nick. He shook his head, "Seriously, Miel. Some people just don't have the kind of passion for equality that you and I do, you know?"

"Mhm," said Miel. She nodded at me, "Are you gonna sign it? Or are you going to let the meaningless of life overwhelm you?"

"I feel like that's a false dichotomy," I muttered, but I signed my name below Nick's, and handed it back to her. Her eyes flickered across the page, and she looked up at me, exasperated.

"You could have picked literally any other fake name," she said.

"It's not fake," I groaned, "We have the same name."

"It's a whole thing," said Nick.

"Oh my god," Miel gasped, "That's so cute! Is that how you two met?"

I sighed, "Kind of."

"That's incredible," she gushed, "So, what, are you two dating?"

"Ew!" I said, "No!"

"We are not," Nick said, "We are extremely fucking not dating. I actually happen to be single right now."

"Oh my god," I said, "Hey, Miel, have you gotten Demi's signature? He's a great guy, I feel like he'd be really interested in this."

I pointed her across the laundromat, so that I wouldn't have to put up with her hectoring. Or Nick's desperate flirting, which was really getting on my nerves. Just because he was so bad at it.

"I have not," Miel said, with a predatory gleam in her eye, "Hey! Demi!"

Demi looked up from his phone, and took out one airpod, "Yeah?"

"Don't you care about dead children?" Miel called out.

Demi shot me a look that seemed to say Thanks a lot.

"Hey, this was great," Nick said, "Any chance we could meet up sometime? Talk about student politics?"

"Maybe at the protest tomorrow," Miel winked, then took off towards Demi, clipboard raised to attack, "Nice to meet you, Big Dom! Seeya, Little Dom!"

"Oh, great!" I said, "No-one even taught her that! She just figured it out independently!"

"Yeah," Nick said, "Gross. Still. She seems cool."

"Ugh," I finally started loading my laundry into the washing machine, "I'm sure you have a completely legitimate interest in her cause."

Nick shrugged, "I dunno. I don't really understand it. It's pretty hot that she cares so much about it, though."

"Whatever," I muttered, "You're not gonna make it to that protest tomorrow. We have that meeting with Lucy. And then you get to move out."

"Or you move out," Nick said, "And then maybe Miel comes over."

I kept my head down, so that I wouldn't have to see the smug expression on his face. And so that he couldn't see how much my cheeks were burning.