No Academy (boyxboy)

Chapt. 13

Harlow had made it back to bed before Waylon had woken up. That Sunday was remarkably grim, thick clouds covering the sun. The world appeared as in perpetual darkness, as if it was still midnight the previous day.

A pale faced Waylon groaned as a gust of wind through the halls caused the door to slam behind his roommate. Cracking his dry eyes open, in his state, the darkened sky was a blessing.

"Y'know only a moment ago the sky was orange." Harlow chided, walking over and yanking the sheets off Waylon. He received a faltered, frustrated kick as a result.

"Don't care." He grumbled, voice rough. His words sat at the base of his throat, the only part that didn't seem to hurt.

Harlow grasped the hungover boys ankle, pulling him a few inches down the bed, "C'mon, get up. Kitchen should open soon." Suddenly Harlow scrunched up his nose in disgust, which made Waylon open his eyes in concern. Harlow stood up and disappeared into the bathroom. Waylon sat up, leaning back on his hands in curiosity. Harlow returned moments later with a towel in hand.

He threw it in Waylon's face, "Take a shower too, I don't know if it's possible but you smell like you're sweating alcohol."

Taking offence, Waylon scowled while gripping the towel. He muttered he'd follow Harlow down in a minute and slammed the bathroom door. Waylon heard Harlow leave and experimentally sniffed his own shirt.

Okay maybe Harlow's right.

The alcohol had hit hard the previous night, although it took him awhile to feel the effect of the alcohol—he did feel the full consequences of them. How many had he even drank? Memories felt blurry after awhile. Waylon felt an odd mixture of embarrassment and appreciation for the way Harlow came to his aid the previous night. He had slept well enough. Despite sharing a bed...

Waylon didn't know how to feel about that fact. Certainly seeing the posters throughout the night when he periodically woke up was not so comforting. He grasped the shower knob and allowed the hot stream of water to flow.

Except it was cold. He turned the red coloured knob all the way and still, he was shivering. He muttered curses at Harlow, all feelings of affection now dissipated. He sat under the icy chill and allowed it to patter along the tiles. Swaying slightly as he did so. Washing his face first, feeling a bit swollen around his eyes and cheeks. He noticed that tingling feeling was lingering in the tips of his fingers. His skin felt electric. He stayed in the shower until he felt human again.

Wind battered the corridor walls creating a cacophony of creaks and moans. You could practically feel them reverberating under your feet. Waylon's steps were sluggish and clumsy as he carried his body to the cafeteria. Vaguely, for moments his head would snap up believing he saw the flash of blonde in the crowd. Only to drop when realising it was his still swollen eyes playing tricks on him. The beckoning allure of food wafting through the air kept him consistent. He could sense the depletion of his iron with little issue and knew some sustenance would deliver him. Each step he took brought attention to his sore muscles.

The cafeteria was less animated then usual, the previous nights antics having affected more than himself. Notably, his usual circle had one less attendee than usual. Jay was absent, leaving the odd combination of Sasha and Markus to brew half lidded awkward tension. Planting himself harder than intended on the plastic chairs, Waylon's forehead followed. With his head rested on the cool surface of the table he felt a weight upon his head. Peering through his gaps of sight was the beaming red head. Somehow beaming.

"Feeling low?" His voice was croaky, Waylon could only respond in a wine. "You we're very impressive last night."

"How," Waylon stressed, "do you have the energy to speak." He overheard Sasha snort.