Waylon was woken up the next couple of days by the same routine of the previous. Harlow sat at his window smoking while talking to someone. He spoke loudly and with a smile, one that seemed almost genuine in its demeanour. By Friday he awoke to the room blue with moonlight, and when Waylon checked his phone he saw it was earlier than the nights before. It was three AM now and he groaned, pulling the pillow over his face and trying to block out the sound of chatter. He listened away and realised he couldn't understand him the nights before, because Harlow wasn't speaking English.
Once the call was done, Harlow was gone. He left the room almost two hours before breakfast would be served. Waylon managed to get some more rest before the day started.
Waylon managed to get his shower in and leave before he saw Harlow again, he would be lying if he said he wasn't trying to avoid him to some extent. Sasha's words played in his mind over and over again. He knew Harlow wouldn't ask him for that, because if he did he would've done so by now. Still it meant Harlow had others plans, something he had no issue with waiting for. It made him play with the piercing in his mouth more often, battering his teeth against it.
The morning and following classes went by surprisingly without a hitch. Waylon did notice some students were staring at him harder that day, for what reason he didn't know. He kept to himself, not wanting to draw more attention than necessary. When he could he walked with his friends, he noticed Jay had a knack for staring down those who tossed nasty looks at the groups way.
"Did I do something?" Waylon asked Jay while they were eating lunch, Markus was held back for throwing something at another student and Sasha was hiding away somewhere.
Jay hummed in question, his mouth full of a turkey sandwich. From the way he ate, you'd assume the boy was starved his whole life.
Waylon looked around before leaning into a whisper, "Like, people keep staring at me?"
Jay's face dropped, his eyes widened making Waylon focus in. He leaned in to match the other gaze, "Maybe they're in love with you?"
"Shut up." Waylon groaned, drawing out the 'up'.
"Don't be so self deprecating, you're so irresistible." Jay kept with the bit, pointing at Waylon's 'admirers'.
Waylon took a bit of his own food, leaning back in his seat, "Ha. Ha." He forced, still not fully fighting the eerie feeling of eyes against himself. Jay seemed to take in that his jokes had done little to reassure his buddy.
"Seriously dude, I don't know. Maybe Kian has been chatting mad about you?" Jay suggested, which made sense to the other. The only notable thing that had happened was that event. Even if that was a reasonable answer it did little to calm his nerves. On one hand, that gave reason to the looks which narrowed down a lot of the possibilities, on the other it brought forth the issue of what Kian could be saying? Was he telling people Waylon was starting issues, maybe spreading rumours he was weird?
Was he telling people Waylon came onto him? That was definitely the worst possibility and he feared how an all boys environment like this would react to that accusation. That not only was the scrawny weird kid attracted to other men, but that he was harassing people. He could picture the beating already, and it far surpassed any injury on Kian's mug.
Suddenly he felt a light kick and snapped out of thought, "Man relax," Jay said, "If anyone messes with you let me know, I'll sort you out."
Waylon nodded at that, "Thanks man, I really do appreciate you sticking up for me and shit."
Jay shrugged, "You're chill, I'd imagine you'd do the same for me."
Waylon huffed, "You got an active one, I know I look super ripped in this jacket but I got noodle arms dude."
"Ha! True..."
"You're not meant to agree!" Jay laughed in his face at that, causing Waylon to scowl and threaten the remainder of his food to be launched in the others direction. At that the mood really lifted and the two continued shooting the shit till the end of lunch.
Waylon made his way back to his dorm room. His efforts in avoiding Harlow for the day also meant he hadn't pissed in the past three hours and at this point his bladder had gotten chronic. With all the eyes staring at him today, he did not need the pissing himself in class allegations as well. He shuddered to think. His hopes dwindled thin when he went to open the bathroom door and found it locked. Shit, Harlow was in there. Waylon muttered profanities under his breath to avoid being heard and quickly left. Getting desperate, he messaged Markus,
'Shitting myself at the idea of confronting Harlow, can I piss in your room please?'
It took no time for the red head to respond, 'Yeah dude don't confront the six foot psycho, just go use the gym ones.'
'What, why?'
'You're not peeing in my room dude...'
'Don't make it weird.'
'Literally only Sasha is allowed in my bathroom, and that's because I can't tell him no. Yknow, cuz it's also his.'
Waylon rolled his eyes, 'Whatever, you suck and I hope you piss yourself in public.' Markus sent him the finger and he hunted down the gym. He was lucky no sport was on so it was free range and he rejoiced to find they weren't wholly disgusting from the mounds of bodies that traveled through them. Waylon practically converted then and there, thanking the lord above for his luck.
He pissed quickly and went to wash his hands before hearing a commotion. Any plans to convert we're squashed, hearing what must've been three or four boys enter the bathroom. He hid in the stall and eavesdropped on their conversation. He quickly realised the boys were smoking, not just cigarettes. They were getting high in the middle of the day, Waylon guessed they didn't get much other opportunities too.
"That dick Lainey upped his prices, I can't even afford the gummies anymore." The one who spoke had a smooth voice, charming even.
"How does he even make gummies in here? Like surly not in the kitchen." He could hear them passing the blunt around, taking drags and occasionally choking on it.
"I heard he gets them from outside."
"You hear a lot of shit."
"People love talking to me." Before the instigator could respond the first guy shushed them. Waylon could suddenly hear his own heart.
"You assholes hear that?"
"I'm not an ass—" the one speaking yelped when another smacked him.
"Shut the fuck up, look." He heard footsteps approaching him, he tried backing up but realised his shoes were clearly visible under the stall door. He considered getting his phone out and calling Markus to get Jay, but the door was pulled open—lock giving way pathetically—before he could do so. Three guys stood in front of him, one appeared younger probably being a year ten, the others were taller. The one holding the blunt had a mullet and snide smile, his buddy next to him had an undercut and a scowl.
"Hey you." Said mullet, Waylon didn't respond, he was sitting on the toilet not able to cast his gaze above the groups chests. "Why you hiding?"
Waylon swallowed thickly and shrugged, wide eyes locking onto the back wall away from the group.
Mullet took a drag from the blunt, "Not a talker?" He held the blunt out, "Take some." It wasn't a suggestion or a generous offer, it was a demand. Despite Harlow's accusation, no, Waylon was not 'straight edge'. He was sure he'd done more questionable substances than majority of the guys here. Yet he knew better than to smoke a mystery blunt in a bathroom before three PM. His mind thought about the potential of lacing, but when he looked up and saw the cage that had formed around him the image of Kian flashed through his mind and he took the bud. Besides, if it were laced they wouldn't be sharing it.
Waylon took a long drag, coughing after—he was out of practice. Mullet smiled, "Good boy, that's that grandaddy purple so you better be thankful." Waylon coughed out a thanks. He stood up and managed to squeeze past, washing his hands at the sink. So far nothing was taking effect, it'd been well over a week since he took any substances beside the nabbed nicotine. His tolerance was surly shot to some extent and wanted to leave quickly.
"Hey I know you, Waylon." It was the undercut now, his accent was thickly Essex. The boy grabbed his arm dragging him back to the circle. The boys passed the blunt again, Waylon took another drag—hoping if he came off all buddy buddy he could ease the tension.
Waylon managed to will his tongue to move, "Really, all good thing I assume?" He chided, starting to feel the effects lower his inhibition.
"Yeah, I've heard interesting things about you." He inched closer. Suddenly grabbing Waylon's arm and lifting it above his head, "heard you're a bitch."
"What?" Waylon whispered, unable to get his voice above that, his eye lids were heavy and he was struggling to find the words to say.
"I've heard you've got a pussy." Under cut said, pushing Waylon against a wall. His head was jumbled, unable to piece together exactly what the guy meant.
"Huh, no?" Waylon sounded unsure of it himself, and he did little to resist the sudden grip on his arms. The youngest of the trio didn't seem to be faring well and went into a stall, his eyes blood shot and he sat on the seat and covered his head with his arms.
Mullet came closer, finishing the blunt and blocking off Waylon's only path of escape.
"Only one way to find out." Hands shot to Waylon's pants and in an instance he sobered up. If only for a moment, he kicked out and started yelling at them to stop. The two worked to sedate him, at one point Waylon collapsed his torso, trying to use his body weight and form to block their hands.
They had managed to pull his pants down on one side before a voice called out, "What the fuck?" The voice was course and familiar but Waylon couldn't place where he recognised it. As quick as the hands were on him they were off and three sets of footsteps ushered out the bathroom, echoing down the halls. Waylon stumbled against the wall, he whined with each breath. He could feel bile in the back of his throat.
Suddenly the cold floor felt really comfortable and he sat down, crossing his legs and staring at the tiles, focussing on the laces of the shoes that were approaching him. He looked up and expected to see Jay, or even Markus. Instead a concerned and slightly disgusted Harlow was looking down at him. The guys hands were resting by his thighs, the same stance Jay had taken in anticipation for a fight.
"Don't swing, I can't fight..." Waylon trailed off.
A hand cupped under his shoulder and hauled him up, nausea rocked his body as he found his feet. He was mostly kept up by the solid grip under his arm, his knees threatening to buckle.
"What the fuck happened?" Harlow asked, mouth agape trying to make sense of what he just saw. What he could tell was that Waylon was painfully high, and crying, wether he realised it or not.
Waylon looked around with a blank expression for a moment, and suddenly his lip started to quiver, "I feel sick." He gagged out, tears threatening to break.
Harlow sighed beginning to drag the boy to the door, "Yeah, where going back to our dorm." Harlow's eyes shot open when that sent the boy into hysterics. Suddenly Waylon was inconsolable, refusing to budge to the best of his abilities.
"I can't, I can't!" He repeated between sobs.
Harlow was getting impatient and a little freaked out, "Why the fuck not?" He yelled.
"Kian will see me, I don't have Jays number. I can't, I can't call him." He sobbed louder and began begging to stay in the bathroom.
Harlow ran a hand over his buzz cut, "Kian, fucking Kian? What beef could you possibly have with Kian? Who the fuck is Jay?" The boy didn't respond simply sobbing louder as his face paled with each mention of the guy, "Ok, okay! Relax Kian isn't out there."
Waylon stopped sobbing and wiped his eyes, "No?"
"No! lord knows where the fuck head is, can we leave please?" He stressed, the smell of public bathroom starting to get to him. Waylon nodded and Harlow did a test pull on his arm.
Waylon went green, and before the blonde boy could drag him to a toilet the other was releasing the content of his stomach onto the tile floor. He fought his urge to join him and dragged him to their room.
Luckily the halls were still mostly empty, even if the audible sobbing and 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' being repeated did raise some heads to come peaking out classroom and dorm room doors. When they reached the room Harlow hauled ass and all but threw Waylon in the shower, turning the water on. He shut the door and yelled for him to get cleaned up.
Waylon felt his stomach churn again and sat on the shower floor, he peeled his clothes off his body and turned the water to cold. His temperature kept rising and at some point he shut off the hot water all together. He sat letting his mind go fuzzy, focusing on biting back his nausea and feeling the cool water cascade along his back. He was in foetal position and shivering despite feeling incredibly hot to the touch.
He must of sat there for thirty minutes before being able to stand up, he was shaking badly. Last time he shook this bad was when he got a bad case of gastro and all his muscles felt like they locked up. Waylon's mind felt a bit more stable, although his brain was adamant on blocking out how he got to this point. Instead he splashed some more water on his face, looking in the mirror and seeing his lips were pale and his eyes were bloodshot. His skin still bordered on green and he wrapped a towel around himself. If he were a bit more sober he might've just walked out to grab his own clothes, but his brain remembered the scar above his hip and he became rapidly insecure.
He knocked, "Harlow?" No response, "...Harlow."
"What, what's wrong?" He sounded pissed, his voice strained high as he hissed each word.
"I, uhm, I don't have any clothes?" He said it like a question. Without a word a large shirt and checkered pyjama pants were passed through the door before quickly retreating.
Waylon slipped them on, his hair still dripping and making him continue to shake. He walked slowly coming out the bathroom, he swallowed dryly as he looked through wet strands of hair at Harlow. He was sitting on the end of his bed, leg bouncing up and down and head rested on one hand. His eyes snapped up at Waylon, who had his arms wrapped around his stomach.
Harlow stood up and threw a hoodie at him to warm up, "Go lie down." He snapped, Waylon fought a chuckle. Harlow reminded him of his dad when he got high, snappy and highly strung. He shuffled to his own bed after slipping the hood on and pulling the drawstrings down to cover most of his face. Lying down Harlow rounded the corner with a bottle of water and card of pills.
"Take this and drink this, sleep if you can." He said straight, chucking the pills at Waylon.
He eyes them suspiciously, cracking the bottle of water open.
"Chill, they're just ibuprofen." He reassured and waited for Waylon to pop two before going back to his side of the room. Waylon's cotton mouth made him down the bottle. That's when he went cold, and promptly dragged himself under the covers and pulled the blanket up to his chin. He clocked out.
It was his stomach that woke him next, his eyes cracked open. The sun had set by now and he whined again trying to stretch. He was still woozy and his mental clarity hadn't improved, vaguely he could feel his phone vibrating against himself—whenever that had been passed to him. The commotion of his audible groaning had alerted his dearest roommate, who stood at the end of his bed leaning against the wall.
"You good?" He looked tired, rubbing his face with his shirt to try and wake up.
Waylon shook his head, "Hungry." He croaked out, he felt hungrier than he had in months. All the times he ate food and didn't appreciate it running through his mind. He wanted so many different things; chips, pesto panini, poached egg, pomegranate, peaches, ice cream.
"Yeah I can imagine, you slept through dinner." Harlow informed him, you'd swear he'd just told the boy his grandma died.
Waylon's hands came up to press the balls of his wrists into his eyes, "No..." he dragged out, devastated.
"Relax." suddenly Harlow dug into his track pants pocket and pulled out two things wrapped in tinfoil. He chucked them onto the others chest, who quickly unwrapped the items. It was a breakfast burrito, and hash browns, Waylon could cry.
He inhaled the food, finishing off the last of his water as he did so. Turning over to his side to curl back up into a ball and sleep away the rest of his aches.
Harlow scratched his brows, "Now you double owe me," He sighed, "you better pay me back well."
But Waylon, clearly too out of normality simply waved him away wanting desperately to sleep.
By the time he finally came to, it was the crack of drawn the next day. Waylon could feel the weight of his face, which was puffy and marked from his sheets. He was shocked at how quite the room was, and expected that Harlow must've already left. Yet he felt a breeze, following the direction of its motion he found the other. Sitting on the window sill smoking some again, his phone was absent.
Harlow, without looking at Waylon could tell he'd woken up, "Sleep well, princess?" He crushed the butt against the frame and let it drop.
Waylon rubbed his head, voice coming out scratchy, "What time is it?"
"Like seven ish." Harlow responded and the boy shot up, before grabbing his head and groaning.
"Ugh," he exclaimed, glancing at his phone to confirm the time, "Shit I have to go to class."
Harlow laughed, "Man you're fucked up, it's Saturday. Go back to sleep."
Waylon cursed himself and flopped back down, bringing his arm to rest over his eyes and sighing deeply. He remained like that for several minutes before feeling the bed dip with another figure. Peeking from under his arm he saw Harlow sitting on the edge of his bed eyes cast down to look at him.
"You wanna tell me what happened?" He started, Waylon pulled his lips into a line.
"Not really, no."
"That's fair," Harlow agreed, "whatever it was, was weird as hell. How much do you remember?"
The other took a moment to think, furrowing his brows.
"I remember smoking the blunt, you coming in and then..." he trailed off remembering his vomiting, "I puked everywhere and then uhh sort of woke up in the shower really. Then got super hungry."
"You don't remember much after vomiting?" Harlow cocked a brow, turning his body to face Waylon more.
"No not really." He assured.
"You burst into tears and I had to basically carry you back here." Harlow spoke, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Waylon covered his face in humiliation, "Oh god please stop," he begged, "I'm so sorry. That's so embarrassing." He wanted to crawl in a hole and die.
Instead Harlow laughed and placed a hand on his knee, rubbing it before retracting. It was then Waylon realised he wasn't wearing his own clothes.
"Where the fuck did I get this?" He pulled the hoodie up to reveal an oversized black shirt that was definitely not his own.
"You're wearing my stuff." Waylon's eyes widened and heat rose to his face.
Harlow laughed, "What?" He shrugged, "Unlike certain people I don't like digging through others things." He laughed.
He stared at Waylon who settled on hiding his face for a moment and decided to question further, dissatisfied with being out of the loop.
"What's you're problem with Kian?" He interrogated.
"Huh, how do you know about that?" Waylon seemed offended at that, wanting to avoid the devil at all.
"Well, when I tried to drag you out the bathroom you broke down in fear he was gunna get you. You wanted some dude name Jay to come to your rescue." Harlow elaborated, the others eyes darkened at that.
"Jays my friend and I don't want to talk about Kian."
"You have a terrible way of showing gratitude."
Guilt ate at Waylon and he bit his lip, despite his dislike for Harlow the man had saved him from getting more or less groped. As well as made sure he was mostly okay while on a come down. Even after nearly getting covered in vomit.
He shrugged, "I don't know, he was just weird to me. He's scary." He pushed himself up on his elbows, "Jay said he'd make him back off if I needed."
Harlow was listening intently, showing genuine interest. He hummer in satisfaction before standing.
"You still owe me, big time." He reminded and left Waylon to sleep off whatever was left of his high.