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It takes about two weeks for Abrahamic Religions to decide that Supernatural is the worst roommate she has ever had.
“Supernatural! Pick up your damn towels!”
For once, she adds in her head, because it would really be a novelty if Supernatural ever picked up after herself. Stepping over the line of towels from the bed to the bathroom, she slings her heavy bag down onto her bed. Behind her, the bathroom door opens, and Abrahamic Religions frowns. If the towels are out here...
“Hey, babe, where did my boxers go? Oh, shit.”
She doesn’t even have to turn around. “Teen Wolf, I have seen your penis more times than I could ever have wished to. Supernatural!”
Without even needing the third call of her name, Supernatural appears from the kitchen, wearing a man’s shirt and with her hair damp and tousled. The unmistakable smell of frying bacon is just starting to fill the room.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Abrahamic Religions mutters.
Supernatural gives her a beaming bright smile. “You’re back early!”
Abrahamic Religions had been planning on having a shower, but somehow she finds herself rethinking that. “You know,” she says aloud, “I think I might go round to Ancient Hellenistic’s for lunch.”
“By the way, Super, that honey-scented shampoo is awesome,” says Teen Wolf, reappearing. He has apparently managed to retrieve his boxers and jeans, which is a relief. His words, on the other hand, are not.
“The honey- oh, for heaven’s sake. Shelves, Supernatural! We have separate shelves for a reason!”
Maybe Good Omens wasn’t such a bad roommate after all.
She has lunch with Ancient Hellenistic and Ancient Roman, who make far better roommates than Abrahamic has ever managed to find. The calm is nice, but the unity can be frustrating. Sometimes she really feels like going round to Norse’s and swapping horror stories. At least Supernatural and Marvel only occasionally get drunk and make out at parties. Not like the ongoing Supernatural-Doctor Who-Sherlock mess that regularly spills out into the general hallways and makes quieter, more reserved students look around in bewilderment.
All that Abrahamic Religions can say, sometimes, is that at least she knows what Supernatural can get up to. Better the devil you know, and all...
By the time that she gets back, there is dirty washing up in the sink, her nice silver top is missing, and there’s no sign of Supernatural. Which almost certainly means that Supernatural, wearing Abrahamic Religions’s clothes, is out partying. At least it should mean a quiet evening up, unless there’s another strange moment like the argument with a new student called My Candy Love who had the misfortune to be wearing the same shirt as Supernatural one day.
That hadn’t ended well.
Abrahamic Religions takes advantage of the quiet evening and a distracted roommate, and gives things a careful tidy and clean before turning in for the night. Supernatural’s a big girl; she can take care of herself.
“A R...”
Someone is in her bed. Abrahamic Religions keeps her eyes closed for a moment, in the hope that she will turn out to actually be asleep. But no, someone is in her bed and, just what she needed, trying to cuddle her.
“IloveyouAR, you know that?”
“Go to bed, Supernatural,” she groans. “You’re drunk.”
“I made out with a pretty pretty girl called Wizard of Oz tonight,” says Supernatural, in a rather confessional tone. She tries to snuggle in closer. “But I came back to you. I love you, A R.”
She pronounces it as two separate letters, Ay Are, which manage to be clearer than the rest of her words.
“I’ll replace your shampoo. Promise. And label things next time.”
“Thank you, Supernatural.”
“Your top isso lovely...”
It takes Abrahamic Religions a moment to figure out that one, then she peers round and down. She can just about make out the glitter of silver in the darkness. At least Supernatural didn’t manage to lose this one, then. “I’m glad that you think so. Now, you really should go to bed.”
“Yer’ so comfy.”
Supernatural snuggles up behind Abrahamic Religions, burying her face in the older girl's darker hair, and smiles the smile of the contented drunk.
“I love you, Abreh... A R.”
Within seconds, she’s asleep; a few more, and she starts snoring.
Abrahamic Religions just shakes her head. “Don’t change, Supernatural. Don’t change.”