Tristan's clothing is tired of watching their owner waste his life

This chapter is created and written by Jayhawk303; I was permitted to write a new intro so that Tristan could be one of many guys subject to the whims of animated clothing and objects. Thanks!

The alarm had been going off for almost a full minute for the fifth time, and Tristan had yet to rouse from his slumber. The he’d had from the previous night probably wasn’t helping. He’d had some people over in his dorm room and they’d snuck in a couple of 12-packs to which he’d liberally helped himself. The hangover was evident. It had also now been two hours since he needed to have woken up for class, but here he was still, passed out in his dorm bed. But he’d lucked out and received a room all to himself, which allowed him extra space for his two obsessions: Xbox and clothes.

You see, Tristan had to have all the latest styles. From Under Armour, to Nike, to Adidas; his closet and dresser were filled to the brim with the latest in active-wear and he prided himself on always looking good for the ladies when he left his dorm. It didn’t hurt that his parents funded his extravagant college lifestyle, no questions asked.

So it was on this morning, when the alarm subsided for the last time, that a voice echoed out into his dorm while he was sleeping.

“Is he ever going to fucking get up?” It wouldn’t have been unusual had it come from a roommate, but there was no one else present in the room with him. Instead, a pair of black Adidas track pants rose up off the floor from where he had previously tossed them, and stood up on their own, looking towards the sleeping stud. “I’m getting really tired of this crap,” they said as the waist, thighs, and legs of the track pants filled out to Tristan’s invisible shape, raising a hollow leg and sweeping over some left over food items from the top of the microwave where they fell to the floor in a cacophony of sound onto the floor. Several other of Tristan’s clothing items stirred at this sound.

“Dude, cut that out, you’ll wake him up and he’ll see us!” A pair of Tristan’s Under Armour athletic shoes said, stepping over to the sound and stomping onto the items, stopping them from rolling around on the floor to minimize the sound.

“Good! Maybe the lazy fuck will realize what he’s finally been doing for once!” his track pants said, walking over and sitting on his desk chair. They lifted their legs and crossed them at what would have been Tristan’s ankles, resting on his desk.

“You know we can’t reveal ourselves to our wearers, it’s against the rules,” a camo gym tee said as it too rose up into the air, emulating Tristan’s toned physique out of its fabric.

“I gotta say, I’m with the pants,” a pair of white Nike crews said as they too seemingly came to life along with a few other clothing items in Tristan’s dorm room, walking around on their own and surveying the decrepit conditions. “How long do we have to put up with this shit? I guarantee you there are other guys in this dorm that would be grateful to have us, but we have this lazy slob to deal with.” A murmur of agreement sounded throughout the room, and almost every item of clothing in Tristan’s room moved slightly in agreement with the socks and track pants. They too had been fed up for months over their wearer’s behavior.

“That’s it,” the track pants said, “We’re putting a stop to this today!” The pants uncrossed their legs, stepping onto the floor and got up off the chair. They jumped up onto Tristan’s bed and straddled the hungover youth, their legs resting on either side of his upper thighs, moving back and forth trying to wake him up while shaking him in the process.

“Hey! Wake up!" They shouted at him. Tristan tried to swat at some imaginary assailant with his free right arm, but finding nothing, felt it hit the mattress.

“Five more minutes, please,” he said, groggily.

“Five more minutes my ass,” the trackpants said. “Socks, get up here and help me out!”

The dirty Nike crews jumped up onto the bed, and one planted itself on Tristan’s nose. After a sharp inhale, Tristan’s eyes opened, and he looked at what was happening.

“There! He’s finally awake!” the sock said, stepping back to join its mate on the mattress. Tristan took a look around, seeing his track pants straddling him, his Nike socks standing next to his head, and other items of his own clothing moving on their own to observe the proceedings on the bed. His under armour shoes walked themselves over to the head of the bed on the floor while another pair of Nike shoes jumped out of the shoe rack, walking over to join the UA shoes.

“This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever had,” Tristan said, still drunk from his hangover.

“This isn’t a dream, Tristan!” A pair of Calvin Klein underwear said, rising up off the overflowing hamper filled with clothing and filled out as well, emulating Tristan’s shape inside of them. They hovered over to the foot of the bed and stood as if someone was resting their weight on one leg. “We’re tired of you screwing up your life and us being taken along for the ride!”

Tristan reached out a hand and grabbed the leg of one of his Nike crews. He squeezed, feeling the familiar give of a person wearing them, if there had been a person wearing them.

“Huh, this feels so real,” he said, squeezing the leg section of his own sock. He looked over at the track pants, and tried with his other hand to grab at the waistband. “Get off me,” he said, pulling at the fabric. But the legs of the pants moved under his thighs, gripping him tightly so as to not be pulled away.

“No Tristan, we’ve watched you too long for us to let this go on any longer. We’ll be taking over your life from now on,” the track pants said, refusing to budge under his grasp.

“Wha...huh?” Tristan asked, the hangover still evident on his psyche.

“He means you will obey us for a change!” one of the Nike shoes said, as it jumped onto the bed and onto Tristan’s chest pushing him back down for his head to rest on his pillow. “We’re tired of belonging to a washed-up, drunken owner!”

“This shit is crazy,” Tristan said, laughing to himself, still not believing what was happening.

“Well, believe this then!” his track pants said angrily. A towel floated up off the floor, and wrapped itself around Tristan’s wrists. It forcefully pulled him out of bed and made him stand up.

“Let’s clean him up, boys!” the towel yelled to the room, and a few other items sprung to life at the same time. Excited howls filled his dorm room as the towel yanked Tristan forward towards the door, while another sock wrapped itself around the knob, turning it and opening the door, whereupon the boy was dragged out to the hallway towards the bathrooms across the hall. One of the Under Armour shoes grabbed his shower kit with its laces, and followed close behind the towel that was dragging Tristan towards the communal showers.

Thankfully, no one was present in the bathrooms; everyone having gone to class leaving Tristan by himself, and at the mercy of his clothing.