Adoring Lions: Blood-arc Series, #2 - (BoyxBoyxBoy)

Chapter 1 - Journey's Beginning

Too happy, Art thought. Everyone's too damn excited.

It was the second bell this time, but he still walked at the same pace. He hated crowds, hated, hated, hated them with a burning, seering passion. At the chime of the last bell to signal departure, Art breathed and broke out into a run. He swerved around fishermen, women and children-passerbys on the busy port. Art was literally the last person still on port, everyone was already on and ready to leave.

Need to go a ittle faster, he joked in his head as the welcoming guard started moving back up the steps. But he kicked off quicker and acceleratted.

Some of the women on board screamed overhead of him, he could also feel the disapproving looks from the men. If he wasn't in a rush, he would have sent them a glare for making so much noise. But he was too busy at the moment. Above the steps, the last guard seemed to finally notice the noise from the crowd onboard, and he so he scanned the deck trying to eye out what the trouble was. 

There was no trouble, the man realised immendiately off the bat. It was only a boy trying to get on board. And not soon after, a mop of flaming dark hair shoved past him on deck. Panting hard, Art nodded an apology to the stunned guy as he passed and crumbled onto the floor when he reached the deck on time.

"Get on time next time kid." The guard snorted and rolled a irritated scoff at him, "You're lucky the captain isn't rushed for the schedule today, else you would have been left behind."

Art shrugged. It  seemed like it was almost second-nature for him to shrug at everything now.

"Doesn't matter."

The guard glared, shaking his head. "Doesn't matter my ass kid. Next time, just get on board on time and there won't be any trouble. Everyone's fuming now, because we're a few minutes off our departure."

"Yea right," Art snorted and barely held his anger. "Only what - three minutes?"

"Three minutes is more than we'd like... I don't even know why I'm getting angry at you, you're just a little brat - go away, you're pissing me off." The man shot back vehemently. He straightened his jacket and fixed the hat on his head. With another glare, he dug through the filled space, rage in his steps. 

When then ship finally moved, Art stood up from his position and melted around the gleaming passengers. 

"Watch it, man!" Someone yelled and pushed him back. Art mumbled an apology for bumping into them, and walked over to the service desk. 

The hardwood floor below him glistened in the morning light, the white walls shone with money. Chairs were embelished with expensive padding and intricate carvings. Tables well-built and costly. Left and right, everywhere Art looked, he saw the wealthy class. And yet there he was, in his torn jeans, worn-out jean jacket, mud-stained boots and old shirt. It wasn't like Art didn't have things that were costly, he owned a few things of that price. But they were only gifts from his parents that were passed onto him when they had died. Working three, part time jobs at a few restaurants and shops around his uncle's place was barely enough for anything, save for maybe a few books and everyday supplies. His uncle was paying for his school, but compared to Sarah's lavish Ivy-League school, Art just went to an ordinary secondary school. His uncle was rich, and not just rich, but filthy rich. His uncles' house was more like a castle than anything.

Expensive things were never in Art's taste. He cared more about the inside than costs, looks, and reputation. If something was pleasant, he didn't care if they were worth nothing. His father had raised him on that moral, and so it stuck with him wherever he went.

"Hello sir." The woman smiled a fake, toothy smile at him behind the desk. Nothing seemed out of place, but when she zeroed in on his clothes and the little belonging he had with him, she moved back a little in discomfort. 

"Hey." 

She grinned. "Are you here for your room sir? Name please?"

Art nodded, moving forward. "I'm probably booked under Lenderson. My name is Art, Arthur." The father behind him in the queue glanced uneasily at Art, pulling his child away. 

"Ah...I have it right here. One of our men will take you there and help you with your belongings sir." She motioned one of the crew behind the desks. 

"It's alright," Art interrupted, whisking the key card into his palm. "I've got it. I don't need help getting there - I'll find my way. And thanks for the offer with my stuff, but I've only got one bag, so it's fine."

Digging into his pocket Art brought out a couple of small notes, swiping them into the escorting man's hands when he bristled past him. He turned left and ran straight into the first flight of stairs to the first set of cabins. Looking past him, he scanned the rooms and spotted his. Inside the room, the air was damp with the smell of smoke. He paused at the doorway, standing almost awkwardly in the entrance of the space. 

"Who the hell are you?" An older boy - probably nineteen years old - raised an eyebrow at Art. In seconds, he was under the srutiny of the boy's hard gaze. Flicking his wrist, the boy put out his cigerrette in an ashtray next to his bed and pushed off the bed. His tailored black suit shone in the bright setting. The expensive shoes clinked as he stepped.

The smell of smoke wafted through the air still. The guy shuffled to shut the door and fell into a silent walk around Art.

"You're a fucking rat." The guy snarled, chuckling. "How did you get on here? You look like fucking trash."

"It's none of your damn business." 

The boy stopped, rolling his eyes in an arrogant manner. He jutted out a chin, glaring at Art. "Shit - you're a pissed of little kid, aren't you?"

"Whatever man. Get off of me already- just back off!" Art strode forward and dropped down his bag, knocking past the guy. Art sat, then slowly shrugged off his shoulders and tired legs before laying himself down onto the neighbouring bed. "... And you shouldn't be smoking in here. There are rules for a reason."

"Fuck you! You're in no place to say that to me - you're lower than me!" The older boy hissed but dropped down onto his own bed. 

He shuffled around, before withdrawing a key out of his pocket to walk over to the large closet on the other side of the spacious suite. Pulling out a phone and a perfectly ironed coat the older boy smashed the door shut as he walked out.  

Art rolled his eyes, waving his hands to try and clear out the smell from the air. But soon he gave up, and rolled to his side, letting himself fall asleep.

He breathed at the white ceiling. "I really hate this place... I hate people - they're so fucking annoying."