Pretty Boy [bxb] | ✔️

• Chapter one: I'm your chemistry tutor

"To forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness." - Robert Muller.

I'm your chemistry tutor

The sound of birds chirping awakes me. The sunlight trickling into the room through the gap between the curtain is enough to fully wake me up and shed the remaining glimpses of my dream. I catch the scent of brewing coffee.

I wish.

Oh, do I truly wish.

"Psst, Matty? Wake up. Matty, wake up," I hear someone hiss into my ear. I'm too focused on my sleeping to figure who exactly it is.

I clench my eyes tighter, roll over, snuggle deeper into the warm covers encasing me, and let out a groaning sound, muttering something about 'five more minutes'.

"Matthew Roberto Jenkins get your ass up right now!" They then go onto yell into my ear, disrupting me from my peaceful sleep.

The unexpectedness of their yelling causes me to jolt awake. I sit bolt upright, instantly feeling dizzy due to how quickly I sit up. The covers slip down, letting the cold air of my attic room hit my body, so I pull them over my head in attempt to chase the warmth I had gotten used to since I slipped into bed last night. Almost as quickly as I pulled them over my head, they are tugged down again, and I am once again left cold.

Blinking my eyes to adjust to the brightness of the sun streaming through the windows which are attached to the slanted roof above me, I realise my best friend, Camilla Gomez, is standing right next to my bed, her arms crossed across her chest, looking like a displeased mother.

"Do you know what time it is? Eight o'clock! I have been waiting outside for fifteen minutes. If you want to get our daily coffee, I suggest you get your ass out of bed right now, you lazy piece of shit. You've got ten minutes to get ready." She snaps.

I grumble as I lie back down and bury my head into my pillow, ready to fall back asleep, but before I can, she grips my shirt and yanks me back up again.

"Please just let me sleep for a little bit longer," I whine, giving her a pout. She doesn't crack.

"No. You should know how to wake yourself up, you are not five years old anymore. Get out of bed or otherwise we'll both be late. I don't like to be late," She scolds, drawing the covers further down in attempt to get me to jump up and get moving to reacquaint with the warmth.

"OK, OK," I mutter, although not moving.

"Thank God your parents gave me this key or otherwise who knows how late for school we could be?!" She exclaims. Clearly the impatient girl she is, she now uses the key as an excuse to wake me up whenever I sleep in late, which doesn't happen too much, thankfully.