💸🤑 Dimmadome Global!!!🤑💸

The two met in university in 2006.

Dale Dimmadome doesn't believe in love or human connection. He never experienced it for himself, so how could he? It was all just a ploy to make money, that was what Doug always said. And, well, nothing in life is free.

Valentino "Lent" Evangelista Mander was a law student who had moved to the US for his studies. He was quickly burning through his funds and had cut contact with his family in the Philippines. He was getting desperate.

So when he found out the weird, quiet kid that sat in the front of the class and would speak without raising his hand was the heir to one of America's wealthiest families, he saw a way out of his situation. Thus, he began worming his way into Dale's life.

Dale knew he was just in it for the money. Doug had warned him about people like him, but nothing would prepare him for how he would feel.

Never in his life had someone ever listened to him when he rambled, or helped him with difficult assignments, or buy him coffee whenever he didn't have the time to do it himself. Lent brings him food when he's too busy to remember to eat, cooks it just the way he likes it. They sit together in silence when they study.

It was nice. He had never had something like this before. Lent could tell.

Lent, without meaning to, runs his fingers through Dale's unmade hair one morning, a result of another all-nighter. Dale stiffens. Lent thinks he did something wrong.

"Should I stop?"

"... I don't know."

"Then I'll just keep fixing your hair."

So he does. Dale's face go red. When Lent is done, Dale cannot meet his eyes. Something like pity aches in Lent's chest. Er, well, he thinks it's pity.

Dale was timid and apathetic person. He was fond of finances, mathematics, and technology. He would ramble at length about them. He rarely asked about Lent's life, and Lent rarely asked about his. He never sought out Lent's company but always perked up whenever he was around.

Dale was so... Harmless. That's what he was. It should make things easier for Lent. It should. If things do work out, he hopes Dale doesn't hate him for it.

Lent shouldn't care. He really shouldn't.

Dale knows he shouldn't let gold diggers into his life, but he can't bring himself to push away the only person who has ever cared for him.

So he doesn't. He never reciprocates outright, but he always basks in Lent's praise, always leans into his touch, always opens his door for him. It seems genuine when Lent memorizes just how he likes his coffee, or remembers what kind of fabric makes his skin crawl, or when he brings him food when Dale forgets to eat. He seems so gentle when he fusses over him. Keyword: seems.

Whatever. Lent, like everyone else, just wants his money.

Autumn, 2006.

Dale was an off-putting, often rude, person. He was just slightly older than Lent, slightly taller. There was nothing remarkable about him. The only thing Lent could think of that made him worth all this fuss was his wealth.

It wasn't fair to take advantage of a lonely (he thinks he's lonely) person to take their money.

As the son of one of California's richest and most influential people, he is guaranteed to be successful. Lent would argue that he was far more deserving of this wealth then Dale but God was never kind or fair, no matter what the pastors would say.

And, well, who doesn't want to be like God?

Lent lays his head on the desk, cushioned by his crossed arms. Beside him, Dale was looking ahead at the professor as she prattled on about whatever. His shoulders curve forward in a permanent slouch. His fingers, which were resting on the keyboard of his laptop, showed faint silvery scars over the knuckles. Every day, he'd come to class wearing the same thing: a white hoodie with the Dimmadome logo on the chest embroidering in gold.

To Lent, the most striking thing about him was his eyes. Small, round eyes, framed by dark bags. They were sunken into his skull, as if his creator had taken his eyeballs and pushed them too deeply into their sockets.

Is that a razor burn on his chin? 

Dale once again typed something on his keyboard before looking back up at the professor. The muscles of his face were slack, and he was obviously bored. He had this expression that one could mistake for irritable, with how the corners of his lips turn down and how his eyebrows sit heavy over his eyes. It's easy to tell when he's angry by how the muscle of his jaw tense below his ear, almost bulging out of his skin as he grinds his teeth. 

Such strange teeth. Why gold? Are those veneers? Dentures? 

Dale's gaze shifts to him. His eyebrows lower and his lips pull back, and Lent is met with those golden teeth. "Pay attention."

"Your teeth... May I ask why they're gold?" Lent asks, raising a finger. He reaches over to the corner of Dale's mouth.

Before Lent’s finger can touch him, Dale swats it away. "Because it looks good. Now pay attention. This will be on the exam on Friday."

"We have an exam on Friday?"

Dale frowns, his eyes narrowing. "Do you seriously live like this?"