Becca, for all her opposition to being at college and its draconian paternally enforced mandatory attendance policy in particular, does partake enthusiastically in one aspect of the college experience. Partly it's because it's a way to forget she doesn't want to be here, partly because being holed up in her room working on her mixes can only keep her brain from frying for so long, but it's mostly because of the free drinks.

(She gets really, really drunk.)

She wakes up in the wrong bed.

At first, she thinks she's in a different room. It's an easy mistake to make. For one thing, she's not opening her eyes all that much, and she normally wakes up to the underside of her blanket or her posters, not pastels. Her freak out is entirely justified.

Especially when she discovers the rope.

Earlier the same morning ...

Becca is really, well and truly, not-quite-blackout-but-getting-there-quickly drunk. The effects of this can be seen in the way she wakes Kim at an ungodly hour of the morning, by trying to open the door the wrong way. By the time Kim crawls out of bed, she's moved onto trying to lift it. Somehow. By lying on the floor and scrabbling at the crack like a tap-dancing spider.

Kim has to carry her to get her out of the corridor and into their room. The method of transportation ends up as more of a drag than any real support, because try as Kim might, not one of Becca's limbs is in communication with any of the others. She's fairly sure the brain isn't involved either.

The finally make it to the beds, Becca by some miracle somewhat upright, when she flops over again and collapses onto her bed. Can't lift her. Tries repeatedly anyway.

Feels sleep time slipping through her metaphorical fingers as surely as Becca's noodle arms are slipping through her actual ones.

No way in all seven hells is she giving up her bed. There is even less chance of her sleeping in Becca's – she's seen the amount that's been spilled on that mattress, and flipping only works once. It a dilemma that she is nowhere awake enough to grapple with properly.

Shoves her over, makes enough room. Not much, but enough. Tugs Becca's boots off - just as filthy as she thought, there was no way Kim was paying come next laundry day - and tosses them across the room. Gets in.

Is snuggled.

She gets right back out again.

Kim looks around – she is getting more and more awake the longer this goes on, and she does not like it - for something to use as rope, settles on the first thing that'll work, which is the string of the whistle dangling off the bedside table slash desk. She grabs and ties the offending hands to the headboard with a quick loop, no need for anything fancy when she's failing at keeping her eyes open. (And hopefully only that. She has a quiz tomorrow – later today – and if she fails because of her roommate's irresponsibility there is going to be hell to pay.)

Gets back in and goes to straight to sleep.

Leaving the curtains closed in the morning is the only acknowledgment she makes of her bedmate's presence.

Becca decides that, on the balance of things, being tied up is as good an excuse to skip class as any, and better than a good few she's prepared for if her dad decides to barge in again. Her attempt to roll over and get back to sleep, is pulled short halfway through her turn. Huffs, resolves to have words and settles back onto her back. This really is a nice pillow.