Chapter Text
Bill has never been one to conform to the norm. When he was a young boy, instead of playing with the other kids at recess, he’d sit next to ant beds and play with the ants, letting them bite and plant little bumps all around his skin. And if they weren’t biting him, he’d place them on other kids, sometimes, even his own teacher. What? It was funny to see her reaction!
Whenever he wasn’t causing chaos or pain, he was stealing his mom’s dresses and makeup, putting it on and ignoring the weird stares he got from his family or family friends. He didn’t care how “shameful” it looked upon his parents or how “improper it was for a boy,” he liked it. He liked being feminine, because it made him stand out. He liked being a freak.
But then, the incident happened. An incident that would change him for life, and would soon destroy his need for ants or frilly dresses because he’d be labeled a freak without them. Along with the term freak came a new one: murderer.
It was a hot 2008 afternoon. He had just gotten his first car after narrowly passing his drivers test, and he decided to take his parents along for a spin. Clad in his normal attire of a tanktop and a ruffle skirt, he glanced at his parents, and sped off in his new ride. The thrill he got from pushing the limits was mind-blowing. The adrenaline pumped through his body, and the only thing he could hear was “Go, go, go.” He ignored the screams and pleads of his parents in the back, begging for him to stop, hit the brakes, slow down, watch out for the car that was in front of them. But before he could even think, it was too late.
They crashed instantly.
The damage done was irreversible.
For Bill, he sustained minor brain damage, minor first degree burns, but he had glass lodged in his left eye, and there was nothing doctors could do to save it leaving him permanently blind in his left eye, permanently labeling him a one-eyed freak.
As for his parents, they died immediately. Their fragile bodies couldn’t withstand their injuries, and they perished.
The news spread within the town, and many demanded that Bill be tried for murder. The people who “knew” him branded him as a destructive teenager who “wouldn’t be satisfied until he got his sadistic kick.”
And while that was true, Bill wouldn’t hurt his parents!
“It was an accident!” He shouted as they detained him.
“Believe me!” He pleaded. But nobody cared to listen.
Once he was tried in court, there was a lack of sound evidence that could label him as a cold hard murderer, but he was charged with reckless endangerment and manslaughter. Ultimately, he was sent to a local juvenile detention center, spending the rest of his teenage years getting a crap education and dealing with annoying teens his age.
With something like that on his record, he could kiss any good college goodbye, which landed him into the shabby walls of BMU: Backupsmore University. Nobody’s first choice. The word “backup” is quite literally in the name. He thinks it’s pretty funny how a school can be so self-deprecating, it might’ve been the only good thing about such a lackluster college.
That was, until the beginning of his sophomore year.
Bill was biting on the strings of his BMU hoodie. He was listening to his friend, Veronica— or Pyronica as he liked to call her— drone on and on about her summer in Mexico, which Bill didn’t care much for. He was just curious to see how this year was going to go, and if there would be any fresh meat for him to sink his teeth in. It’d be a while since he felt any sort of thrill in life. It was almost depressing.
Almost.
The lecture room was close to becoming full, and just as the professor was about to start the lesson, a young man stumbled into the room, sweating as if he had been running a marathon before entering the school. His brown hair was messy and strewn about his face and his black glasses were close to falling off his face if it wasn’t for a six-fingered hand pushing them right back up.
Wait. Six fingers?
Something ignited in Bill, and he found himself eagerly patting his friend's arm as if he was a kid in a candy store.
“And so I told Juan— what, what? I’m in the middle of telling you about the cute guy I saw during the party!”
“Respectfully Nini, I stopped listening after you told me you landed.” Bill replied, causing her to scoff.
“But check out the fresh meat that just entered. He has six fingers.” Bill gestured to the brunette, who was now taking a seat in the front next to Fiddlesticks, no, what was his name again? Bill didn’t care enough to remember. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen someone with a freaky abnormality like that.”
“Are you getting hard off this or something? Get a grip, Bill.” Pyronica slapped his arm lightly, and Bill winced and whined as if she hit him with the force of a thousand men.
“Uh, Ow, and no, I’m not hard. I just think he’s interesting. Maybe a little too interesting…” Bill narrowed his eyes, smirking as he locked in on the brunette, analyzing any feature he could see. He was going to savor this.
The class continued with the professor introducing himself as Professor Jones and going over the curriculum. Bill drowned out the professor’s yapping, eyes glued to his newest fixation. The brunette seemed to be hyper focused on what the professor was soaking up every word like a sponge. It was cute.
He also took note of the fact that he was constantly doodling in a small notebook. He couldn’t see well from his angle, but he spotted the occasional UFO and alien drawing on the sides of his paper.
“To start us off, and for me to get a gauge of your knowledge, I have created a quick 10 question quiz for you all to do.” Professor Jones said calmly, scooping up a stack of papers as he ignored the groans of students who were obviously not looking forward to a quiz on the first day back.
Bill gingerly accepted the paper and got to work, easily solving the “challenging” calculus problems without much of a struggle. Once he was finished, he arose from his seat, heading towards the desk to turn his paper in. As he did, a certain brunette got up at the same time, and they bumped into each other as they walked towards the professor’s desk.
“Sorry,” He mumbled, almost nervous by Bill’s presence. Bill just smirked, and took a quick glance at his paper. Stanford Pines. That was his name, huh?
“It’s no problem, Stanford. Next time, put those cute eyes to use, okay?” Bill smirked and placed his paper down, heading back to his seat. He didn’t look back as he wanted to maintain his nonchalant demeanor, but he imagined Ford’s pale face flushing a bright red at his tease.
He reclaimed his seat next to Pyronica, brushing off his pants and idly chewing on his hoodie string again until everyone had finished.
It took roughly 20 minutes for everyone to submit their test, and by then Professor Jones had already finished grading the last paper. As his red pen skidded to a stop on the last paper, he stood up, sounding a satisfying crack in his back. He passed the papers back to their respective owners. Bill received his paper and his smile fell.
90%. How could this be? He was confident in his work for all ten questions!
Hastily flipping the paper on its back, he noticed the problem that ruined his perfect score. Number 6. Curse you, you upside down 9!
Bill scanned over his work and reread the question a thousand times. He couldn’t find a single flaw in his reasoning! Just as he was about to get up from his seat and give that senile old man a piece of his mind, a hand rose up in the air. A six-fingered hand.
“Excuse me,” Ford said, catching the professor’s attention.
“Yes?”
“With all due respect sir, I believe you made a mistake on question 6. The answer should be “f’(x) = 18x² - 9, not 18x² - 6. I’ve double checked my work and I see no mistake.”
“And so you’re saying that I’m wrong?”
“…Yes.”
Professor Jones adjusted his glasses and grabbed Ford’s paper, and for one, long, tense minute the room was silent as he observed number 6. One question was collectively being shared in all of the student’s minds. Was Ford right?
Bill watched the interaction with a calculating eye. The fact that Ford was not only a freak, but smart as well only intrigued him further. A deep, insatiable hunger began to grow in his stomach, and now he was seeing red. Not red for anger, no, but red for passion. Hot and deep passion.
He needed more. He craved more.
A long sigh broke the thick silence. Ford’s desk was placed back on his desk. Professor Jones walked back to his desk, grabbed his pen, went back to Ford and crossed out the 90% on his paper. It was quickly replaced by a stunning 100%, and the confident smile that grew on Ford’s face was absolutely gorgeous.
“You’re right, kid.” He said, and the class erupted into a cheer, making Ford’s cheeks go pink.
“Does this mean we can get our assignments regraded now?” A student asked.
“Yeah! I think you made like 5 mistakes on mine as well!” Another yelled, waving her paper that held a 20% on it. Yikes.
Professor Jones sighed and resigned to his fate of checking papers again. “Yes, yes, if you believe that a mistake…or mistakes, has been made on your paper, then please come visit me. I’ll fix them and hand them back to you next class period.”
“Seems like your new boytoy is pretty smart, huh?” Pyronica commented, looking at Bill with a smile.
“Yeah..” Bill agreed, looking away from his paper. Pyronica got up from her seat, moving past Bill.
“Where ya going?”
“To get my grade fixed, duh! I don’t know about you, but I’d rather not have a 50% and the year just started.”
”Aren’t you coming? Knowing you, you probably won’t sleep until that 90 turns into a 100.”
“Mm..” Bill stared at his paper, gazing almost fondly at the red 90% next to his name. At first, yes, this 90 was going to be the bane of his existence, but now it had almost a sweet meaning knowing Ford was the one who indirectly proved him right in front of the whole class.
Instead of responding to his friend, he just started creepily giggling to himself and tracing over the 9 of the 90 with his finger. Pyronica rolled her eyes and walked over to the professor’s desk, leaving her insane best friend to his own musings.
If it wasn’t confirmed before, it definitely was now. This was the start of something new, dangerous and dark.
Ford will never know what hit him.
It took almost 3 weeks for Bill to finally master the art of stalking Ford. With a bit of trial and error, he soon got the hang of it, and he has compiled all of his information into a notebook. These are the most important things Bill knows about Ford:
- He lives in dorm 214 with
Fiddlesticks, Fiddlefart, Fiddler,Specs. - During the weekdays he wakes up at 7am and leaves his dorm around 8am, EXCEPT for Tuesdays because he has classes at 11am.
- On the weekends, he prefers to sleep in, typically waking up some time around noon. He spends his free time either studying, or playing DD&MD with Specs.
- His pair of boxers with hearts on them are his most prized pair.
- He uses 3 in 1 bodywash. Yuck!
- His favorite snack is jellybeans.
…And so on and so forth.
Basically, Ford was the normal, socially awkward freshman that crashes in college. Normally Bill would deem him boring by now and move on to the next interesting thing, but there was something tying him to Ford. Something that made him not want to look away.
And that’s why he was currently dressing up to spy on Ford as he went to hangout with Specs.
He had on a tight-fitting black shirt that had the name of a band he didn’t care enough to listen to, a studded belt, a pleated plaid skirt, and his favorite pair of beat up converses that he’s had since he was 16.
His hair was messy, as usual. Blonde hair stood out against his tan skin, and cascaded down his neck, barely touching his shoulders. He had a few streaks of his black hair sticking out and covering his blind eye. He’s a natural blonde, of course, he just dyed a few parts of his hair black for the aesthetic.
His shirt and skirt showed off a bit of his scars, but he’s gone to a point of where he just simply doesn’t care anymore. People can gawk and stare if they want to. He revels in the attention, negative or positive.
He grabbed his phone, a notebook and pen, and headed out the door, ready to stalk them. He waited until they were a few feet ahead of him before following behind. Close enough to hear them talk, but far enough to not be noticeable. He tapped away on his phone, pretending to be busy but really he was doing absolutely nothing. He looked up to see they were entering…an arcade? This should be interesting.
Bill followed them around the arcade, taking note of the games Ford played and how horrendously bad he was at them. Of course, Bill played a few games himself, knocking them out like the pro he is. And when he wasn’t humbling those poor arcade games, he was snapping pictures of Ford in his phone, and taking notes. For example, he learned that Ford really loves the stars! So does Bill! Aren’t they just a perfect match?
After walking around some more, Specs and Ford stopped at a punching game. The game was simple, punch the bag as hard as you can, and your score will tell you if you’re weak or not.
Bill decided to watch them play, eager to see this play out.
Specs went first, stretching out his lanky arms first before punching at the bag with all the might he could muster. In the end, his score landed him with a measly 602. Not bad, but there are stronger men.
Finally it was Ford’s turn. He took a step back and inhaled a deep breath. With a punch that looked unstable yet somehow professional, he sent the bag flying back with a powerful force. His score was 832.
Bill felt something heat in his stomach at knowing how strong Ford was. He listened in closer, hoping to get some intel.
“Wow, Ford! Ya really can pack a punch, huh?” Specs said, amazed by his friend's talent. He slapped Ford’s bicep playfully, and Ford chuckled gleefully, a smile that was too proud to be humble gracing his face.
“Well my Pa forced me and S— me to take boxing lessons when he was younger. Honestly, I’m a bit out of shape.” Specs didn’t notice his slip up, but Bill sure as hell did. Taking out his notebook, he wrote:
- Took boxing lessons when he was younger.
- Possible second person in life that he wants to keep secret. (Will be investigated further.)
Bill followed them around for a few more minutes before resigning for the day. Nothing else piqued his interest enough for him to continue stalking them. Leaving the arcade, his stomach growled. Stalking was such an energy consuming task, he should treat himself to something delicious and go over the new developments he made today.
Grabbing a burger from a nearby fast food place, he headed back to his dorm and reassessed the new information he’s gathered.
Who could be this mysterious second person? And why would Ford hide the fact that he took boxing lessons with them? Potential candidates came up like a girlfriend, boyfriend, or a family member but he couldn’t find out why Ford would want to hide them from Specs, or just hide it in general.
By the time he finished his burger, Bill was left with nothing but greasy hands. No new ideas, no new anything. It seemed the only way he’d be able to find out is if he got close to Ford. But as of now they’re still strangers.
Hmm…
Maybe it was about time that Bill made a move.