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Assistant: Title: How To Be Cool At Parties
        Author: Catcherintherye_52 Catcherintherye_52 
        Chapter: 1/9 
        Summary: After being deported to Canada and abandoned by the fragments of a once-close friend group, Hamzah is seventeen, exhausted, and just trying to survive senior year in a country that doesn’t feel like home. He spends his nights wandering campus, hollow and invisible—until one cigarette-lit encounter with Martin, a magnetic twenty-five-year-old with a sharp smile and a dangerous charm, changes everything. naive hamzah and male manipulator martinlets f@ck@ng go
        Contents: Chapter 1: You're going to miss it all
    

    


  

  
  
    
    Hamzah hates it here. The student housing is bleaker than the deportation office was and that says so much. It’s institutional and hospital-esque, the hallways linger with the smell of distant grease and cleaning products. Hamzah’s never really been one for silence but he supposes that was before he didn’t have any. There is nowhere in the g@dd@mn building where you can’t hear a hum of a vending machine or some obscene laughter. Hamzah sleeps every night with his hoodie tightened over his head in a pathetic attempt to dull the noise. The bright fluorescent lights peak through the bottom of his door, it lights up the room way more than it should. Hamzah used to press a rolled up towel against the door till his RA thought he was hotboxing his dorm and banned it. Canadian student housing is the closest he can get to hell. Scratch that, Edmonton, Canada as a whole was hell. Everything is so f@ck@ng washed out, rose colored glasses might actually have to be an option out here. The sky is always this sick gray that makes hamzah nauseous. Snow has turned to poisonous black slush and despite it being march, dead christmas tree’s are still decorating the streets. Hamzah pushes his curtains closed and drops into the chair at his desk. He grimaces at the stacked bowls from his last three dinners (froot loops) but does nothing to clean it up. He slips his phone out of the pockets of his sweats and checks his notifications. Do not disturb is always on but it’s not like anyone’s blowing up his phone anyway. No texts, no class, not even a dm. He stares down the milk in his newest bowl of froot loops, it smells strange like the school stopped caring about expiration dates but he downs the whole bowl anyway. A thick pile of homework sits to his right, it hasn’t been touched and Hamzah has no plans of searching his room for a pen. The school work in Canada is drowning hamzah, actually he’s already at the bottom of the ocean. It’s not that he’s stupid, he always got top grades at his old schools but who knew that the American school system was not as advanced as the rest of the worlds. Actually, everyone knows that. HIs teachers pull him to the side and talk to him about extensions with pity on their faces. Hamzah doesn’t talk here, it’s pretty sh@t actually. It’s not that he doesn’t want to (he doesn’t) he just doesn’t have the energy to open his mouth and push his opinion onto someone. Last time he did that he ended up pushing his three best friends into strangers. So no, his opinion, his words? They don’t matter. Hamzah pulls up the group chat like he does about five times a day and refreshes it. Nothing new, just the last message from chase. ‘DO NOT START STREAM, will be three minute late 🙈🐒’ Hamzah shuts down his phone completely and throws it down onto his unmade bed before standing to grab a coat, the red clock on his night stand flashes with the number three. It’s not like Hamzah was going to sleep anyways. He purposely avoids looking at the mirror nailed to the back of his door before throwing it open and submerging himself into a bright white inferno. He falls into a fit of sneezes as he makes it outside, the air is frigid and cold and the ice beneath his feet crumble nicely. The cold numbs his finger immediately, he considers taking off his coat and letting the chill take him. He nudges the dumb idea away and forces himself to enjoy the stillness, streetlamps behind him flicker. Some drunken idiot stumbles towards him, hamzah goes the opposite direction. A raccoon stops to stare at him, hamzah waves at it. It runs. It’s whatever. He thinks about his mom and how she would skin him alive for walking around campus alone at 3 in the morning, hamzah chuckles. He’s rebelling. In all honesty he sort of wishes that something weird would happen, at least he’d have some g@dd@mn excitement in his 17 years of life has been severely missing. Dogs bark in the distance and suddenly Hamzah is wishing he brought headphones, though carti might not be appropriate for this time of sadness. Hamzah walks till he hits the edge of student housing, there’s an abandoned track, the overgrown grass that surrounds it is yellow and dead. There’s wooden bleachers surrounding it, some caved in on themselves while others stand strong.  Hamzah goes to sit on the nearest one when a lighter click knocks him out of his daze, He whips his head to the right and tries to focus his eyes in the darkness. There’s someone sitting two stands up, tall and lanky with a head of thick hair. The guy’s got a cigarette between his fingers and a lopsided smirk on his face, he’s in two hoodies and baggy pants, his face is sharp and narrow. His eyes are huge and almost doelike.
“Uh, hey.” He waves a little at hamzah and all hamzah can do is stupidly stare back. He’s got this slouchy yet elegant posture hamzah’s never seen before, he can feel the ice starting to dampen his shoe.
“Um, okay. Well either you’re sleepwalking or i'm hallucinating. Are you real?” Hamzah can’t help the huff that escapes his mouth. He won’t ever admit that for some time he actually thought he had lost his ability to laugh.
“I uh, I'm real. Im hamzah?”  Hamzah’s voice is pathetically raspy from mis-use. The guy laughs, loud and bark-like. Hamzah notices that there’s not one ounce of fear running through his body, in fact the guy’s presence is almost comforting. It’s dreamlike, the way this character appeared. It was so quiet and suddenly there was this warm, glowy, sarcastic guy who’s laughing at him like they’ve been friends forever.
“Are you sure you’re hamzah?” Hamzah bites his lip and nods his head.
“I'm sure. It’s hamzah.” The guy smiles, less of a smirk and more like if he went a little wider some teeth would peek through.
“Okay, hamzah. Im martin.” Martin, he says his own name with a stronger enunciation on the ‘T’. hamzah likes it.
“So what’re you doing out here so late?” Hamzah wants to flip the question onto Martin but he’s scared of scaring him away. He’s just happy martins here.
“Uh. Nothing” Martin laughs again and offers the cigarette to Hamzah, he shakes his head.
“Yeah right boy,  You’ve got that ‘main character walking montage’ look. Something’s eating you up.” Hamzah was kind of at a loss at how quick this guy was able to read him. He doesn’t know how to react, he’s surprised and a little intimidated but also whole heartedly relaxed and it feels so good. It’s like his voice cuts through the static that’s been buzzing around Hamzah's head for the past month. A part of him wants to walk away but another part of him wants to sit here with this stranger and talk forever. The guy is weird but cool-weird, interesting-weird, alive-weird.
Martin flicked ash off his cigarette and turned his head sideways, like he knew everything Hamzah wasn’t saying.
“Wanna sit?”
And even though every part of him knows he should just keep walking, he takes those two steps and lets himself drop onto the wood.'
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