the boy with the white eyes [muke af]

pas de ma faute

pas de ma faute

Luke and his test proctor, Dr. Richard, sat across from each other in a sound proof room in Bobst library.

Dr. Richard has cold hands and Luke didn't like that. He read each question to Luke like he was a child, as if he could barely understand the English language. He was blind, not deaf.

Richard would mumble a response every time Luke said his answer which would make the blonde question if his answer was right or wrong.

He was embarrassed to be taking exams like this. Luke still remembers all the kids back in school thought he was bumfuck stupid because he had to take each small quiz in a separate room with teachers reading every question and every answer.

He hated it.

"Now, these next questions are worth two points, so make sure you're getting both," Dr. Richard's tired, monotone voice filled the small room. "How is pH related to the concentration of hydronium ions in solution?"

Luke tried to image the words of his teacher back in high school when they learned the pH scales. He remembers her voice, it was high pitched and squeaky, such an irritating tone that he'd have a pounding headache after each class. "Solutions with a low pH have a high concentration of hydronium ions in solution and are acidic."

"Is that it, Luke?" The sound of pencil scratching against the metal tables echoed in Luke's head.

"No. Add that solutions with a high pH have a low concentration of hydronium ions in solution and are basic. Will that give me both points?"

"Can't answer that last question, sorry."

Luke's stomach growled from hunger. He prayed that his professor didn't hear it.

The blonde felt although he has been sitting in that uncomfortable chair for hours, but, in reality, it has only been twenty minutes.

The twenty-one-year-old had a little bit of testing anxiety, something that hadn't really started until college.

New York University gave him such a large scholarship and even though it's now his last year, he's afraid of losing it. He doesn't want to be forced to head back to Florida to live with his parents for the rest of his life.

His parents treat him like he's mentally unstable, and he's not. He just sees the world in darkness, true darkness. His dreams are still in color, though, the last time he saw the world was when he was fourteen.

He still remembers what the world looks like, he doesn't think he could ever forget.

He remembers going to Miami and Tampa, seeing the college towns there with tall dorms, large fountains, and beautiful women. He still dreams about sitting in the back of his brothers' truck, cruising down a road on the Fourth of July to see all the fireworks. He remembers booming colors of millions of hues.

Luke can remember staring at himself in the mirror back home, hoping that puberty will hit him like a train and get rid of his chubby cheeks and stomach. He wishes he could still watch his fingers slide on the fret board of his guitar. He had dreams too, but now it's all over.

The exam finished and he rubbed his eyes and cracked his neck and fingers.

"I'll see you in class on Thursday, correct?"

"Yes, sir," Luke responded. He started to get up, feeling for his phone, wallet, and keys in his tight jeans. He'll never understand how they fit in those tight pockets.

Were they even real pockets?

Calum swore Luke looked hot in those jeans, but he was never sure.