I see some people have began to read this, which is nice. I'd like feedback or even some comments or a vote if you could. If not, please enjoy reading. I'm also trying to make longer chapters, that's what I prefer when reading at least. —Hawk
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The winter sun was focused through the cracks of beige blinds. It cascaded a cool, white light which ricocheted against the silver frames of the bed. A mean glare of light had made a home within the small, shared space.
The only sound, par from that of birds outside, was a low groan which escaped from Waylon's throat. He noted that when he felt his worst, the world decided to be its brightest and warmest. The headache he had was peaking upon his wake, he was so painfully glad it were a Sunday. The bed creaked as he moved to pull the blanket above his head.
The events of the previous night flashed in Waylon's head and heat rose to his cheeks. For a multitude of reasons. He felt embarrassed about what took place in the bathroom, and how he had nearly vomited all over Harlow. Being basically hosed down like a dog didn't help either. More and more memories came rushing back, he only stirred when hearing the door open and the clatter of something. Peaking from under the covers he noticed a plate had been placed on his nightstand. His stomach growled.
Harlow stood practically towering over him, his eyes shielded by the shadow of his brow. His tattoo was peaking out under his grey tank. With a pain in his head Waylon sat up, grabbing the plate and eating. His eyes downcast to avoid the judgmental gaze of his roommate.
Waylon swallowed, "Thanks, for the food."
Harlow rubbed his head as he sighed, "A lot more to thank me for than that."
The other kept his eyes on the plate, feeling humiliated at the prospect of talking about it, "Thank you, for that as well."
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up, nearly choking on his food as he did so. Harlow's eyes bore into him, his gaze was unfeeling as he looked right through the boy. It was like he was pinned again, he felt the urge to pull back from the hand on him. Harlow leaned down into the boys eyes, "Don't think it was for nothing, see you after lunch."
He went to walk out as Waylon dropped his head, staring at his hands. He couldn't tell what caused the goose bumps on his skin; the cool morning breeze or the over six foot monster in front of him. Once the door was closed, Waylon felt his chest decompress with a deep sigh. Things were calm, if only for a moment.
By midday Markus had dragged Waylon to his room for a game of cards. Jay and Sasha were there to join, he noted the differences in this room. Both sides were equally decorated, if not an eyesore. Posters, drawings and decor hung up haphazardly. There was even a shared whiteboard between the two which had...interesting sketches. Waylon sat himself across from Sasha on the floor, Jay laying behind him on the bed.
Markus sat down next to Waylon, "What happened yesterday, Sasha saw you being dragged through the halls by Harlow."
Bile sat at the back of Waylon's throat, he hastily swallowed it down, "Uhm, ahh I got nearly jumped in the bathroom. Harlow sorted it tho."
Jay sat up at that, cocking a brow, "Why didn't you call me?"
"Couldn't," he explained, chewing on his tongue bar, "they had already grabbed me, and made me smoke a joint."
Waylon could feel himself curling in at that, Markus mimicked his motions. Jay shook his head, "Jumping a high man, what lames."
"Why though?" Markus looked troubled and slumped forward. He was shuffling the cards as he did so.
Waylon tutted, brows creasing in annoyance picturing a particular fucked up face, "Kian's been spreading rumours about me." Markus nodded in understanding.
"Like what?" Sasha said, staring down at his phone. Jay smacked the back of his head again.
Waylon felt his face grow hot again, hoping it wasn't too noticeable. He opened his mouth to speak before closing it again. Finding the words caught in his throat, "Promise not to laugh?" Jay and Markus nodded, the latter putting a comforting hand over his shoulder. Sasha was wholly interested, and seemed to be simultaneously brewing up potential jabs in that confusing head of his.
Waylon rubbed the clammy feeling from his arms, "Kian's been telling people I'm a...girl. Those guys were checking." As soon as the words left his mouth he dropped his head into his hands, shame trickled down his spine. He glanced up to see the reactions around him, Sasha's face was frozen and Jays was twisted in disgust. Waylon panicked, unsure if it were because he thought the action of "checking" was disgusting or if he believed the rumour.
"It's not true!" Waylon spoke fast, eyes darting with panic. He noticed Markus had a dark look in his eyes, he looked ahead at nothing. Waylon let out a nervous laugh, "I thought it was crazy, it felt really crazy." Jays hands came up to rub his face, and he threw Markus a strange look.
Waylon sat up straight, waving his hands as he spoke, "Guys come one! I hate Kian for this, it's not true. I don't know why he would—"
"It's not because of Kian." It was Markus, who had stopped shuffling the cards now. He still looked ahead at nothing, as Waylon's face contorted in confusion.
"What?"
"They think that because we're friends." A feeling of betrayal washed over Waylon. Suddenly he was twelve again, feeling like he was left out of some big inside joke about himself. Had Markus been spreading rumours? Was he about to be propositioned to prove his manhood in this room?
He gagged on his words, "You...why would you?" Markus finally looked at him, Waylon could feel tears welling in his eyes at that point.
He continued, "Why would you say that I'm...?"
"Waylon," Markus' voice was shaky, "I'm trans." There was a heavy pause in the room. For several moments no one spoke nor moved.
"Oh."
"Some people know, they thought that because we hang." He explained. In some way it made sense. It was ludicrous however for them to assume that just because Markus is trans. Did they think trans people walk around in gaggles and flocks? That what, he was trans via air born infection? Assholes, he thought.
"I get if you want to leave, you got every right." Markus spoke defeated. It didn't sounds like he agreed with the words coming out of his mouth.
Immediately Waylon contradicted him, "Are you insane? No way! Markus, dude it's not your fault."
Jay was watching the two intently, leg bobbing up and down. Markus nodded at that, biting into the smile that played on his lips.
He held out a hand and Waylon grabbed it, the two pulled into a side hug, "Glad your chill about it."
"Anyone else want to have a weirdly personal bonding experience?" Sasha spoke up to lighten the mood, or to laugh at his own joke. Who knew.
Jay raised his hand, "One time I had a wet dream about the ugly step sister from Shrek." A unanimous 'ew' bounded through the room.
"Dude, no one is bonding over that." Markus spoke up, much to the rooms agreement.
"Y'all don't understand, she's lowkey got it." His eyes were distant, as if thinking back fondly about the memory. The group moved on with haste, gladly going back to their games for the sake of avoiding learning about Jay's peculiar experiences.
Waylon lost many rounds, the group were playing bullshit. His mind kept wandering to the time. He couldn't focus on the count when he found himself reciting Harlow's words. His face, marred with darkness and swimming with uncertainty was a sight you couldn't forget. Waylon certainly couldn't. In a way he was lucky, he managed to live somewhat peacefully with the man. At least peacefully enough to have not been harmed by him. He wondered why sometimes, often chalking it up to his stature. A bit messed up to beat the little guy. Yet a part of him, deep inside, hoped maybe Harlow enjoyed his company. If only a little. The guy who pummelled Kian's face being on his side would defiantly ease his anxiety.
"Lunch time boys! Let's pack it up." Markus rose from his spot with a huff, gathering the cards.
The lot ate in chatter, besides Waylon. No, instead he chewed slowly and swished his food around. The time to see him was closing in, like he was trapped in a building with shrinking walls. Fear bit at his ankles, causing his legs to jump up and down. Much like Jays earlier.
Time to pay your dues.
Waylon didn't know where Harlow wanted to meet him, and for a moment he hoped the man had forgotten all about their prior agreement. When the group questioned why he was going back to his room so early, he told them he was just tired. As he walked through the halls, he was grabbed by an arm in the crowd.
Despite Harlow's stature, he had the ability to seamlessly blend into the crowd. To move with the sea, unless someone decided to pick him out. He was like Noah in this moment, the way the ocean of bodies parted around him while he stilled. He stared at Waylon for a moment, eyes wide and dragged him out the crowd. Wordlessly the two travelled down a hall, and then another, and then another. To parts where Waylon realised Markus hadn't even shown him.
They arrived at a distant area, almost dystopian in its old catholic school appearance. Waylon realised there was no faculty, almost no one at all around this area. His mind flashed to Kian again, how he was alone then. How he was alone in the bathroom.
Sure Harlow had interrupted that, but as far as he could remember, not out of any sense of empathy. From what he recalled, the threatening presence of him alone is what caused the group to dart. It was accidental, really, no night in shining amour situation.
Waylon tried not to look down, forcing his back straight to the point he felt pressure in his lower spine. He didn't want his fear to show on his face. Harlow was looking away from him, staring at a door.
'Suck him if you have to'
Waylon was at a party, he was fifteen at the time. There was house music playing, mixed with techno. The party was at his cousins. He stumbled up the stairs, passing people in fishnets and leather as he did so. He needed to pee, bad. Completely ignorant to the buildings floor plan he grasped any handle he could find. Eventually he found one unlocked. When he pushed it open his eyes met one thing. A girl from his school was kneeling at the foot of a bed, music muffled. His cousin was leant back, clearly enjoying himself, and quite aggressively shoving her head down.
He shut the door, his throat felt dry at that moment and he made his way back downstairs.
Waylon jumped out of his memory, almost falling over as a hand gripped his shoulder. Harlow had a blank expression on, "Listen. Don't zone out."
The boy nodded, swallowing thickly. He won't ask, you can just run if he does anyway. He could, but he didn't know how far he could get. He'd heard of stories like this before, had seen it happen. Yet still he clenched his fist and followed Harlow into the room.
Harlow locked the door once they were inside, and Waylon's breath went heavy. His chest rising and falling visibly as he tried to calm his breathing. If Harlow noticed, he didn't acknowledge and moved to flick on a light.
His breathing came to a halt, the room was lined with shelves. Looking like a gym storage unit, except it was filled with anything but sport equipment. Booze, small weapons and pills(prescription, or otherwise) were scattered around in rough organisation.
"Close your mouth, you'll catch flies." Harlow flicked Waylon's forehead as he walked past.
"What is all this?" He said in astonishment.
"It's the contraband closet, as I call it," Harlow said while inspecting a half empty wine bottle, "probably has a more official name. But this is where they keep the shit they take."
"What?" Waylon couldn't help himself, "Police don't take it?"
The other cocked a brow, before a grin spread across his face, "Sure they do, but some of the teachers are as bad as the students here."
Waylon nodded and began walking around, looking at the stash. He couldn't believe it really, sure he'd heard of teachers keeping alcohol but pills? Weapons? It was wild in his mind.
"Here's what I need from you," Harlow spoke lowly, all humour wiped from his face, "You're going to take as much as you can. Alcohol and pills. Carry them to our room around the side."
"Why do I need to?"
"I've been caught to many times," he leaned over Waylon as he spoke, "might get sent to big boy prison if I'm caught again, or juvie if I'm lucky."
Waylon nodded and Harlow moved to keep watch at the window. Waylon began stuffing his pockets. He focussed on cigarettes and pills first. He managed to find some small cans of beer he could hide under his jumper. Luckily his clothes were bulky in the cold weather, so everything hid well enough.
"Is this enough?"
Harlow looked over him, it felt invasive. He pulled the neck of his jumper to look at the drinks, making Waylon feel exposed. Waylon released the tension in his forehead when he received a nod. His efforts were met with appraisal, which meant he were done.
Harlow unlocked the door, "This is where we split, wait two minutes. Then go around the outside wall and back to our room." With that he was gone.
By the time he made it back to the room, Harlow was sat on his back listening to music through his headphones. He smiled at the boy entering, pleased his precious cargo arrived safely.
The items were dropped onto the bed, Harlow bearing his teeth like an animal in excitement. He clasped both of Waylon's arms and brought the boy close, "Best roommate Waylon, you're built for this." He began sorting through the load of items and hiding them around his side of the room.
Waylon stuffed his hands in his pockets, "I'm just glad we're even now."
He felt Harlow's gaze before he met it, wide smile not meeting his eyes. "Even? No we're not."
Waylon's arms fell, "What? But I just got all this for you!" He yelled, voice straining as he feared the room next to him hearing.
"This," he motioned to the last pill packet in his hands, "was just for my cigarettes. You still owe me for saving your ass."
Waylon scoffed, he felt flustered and played. He doesn't know why he deluded himself into thinking Harlow would let him off with that.
"Fuck you." Waylon turned but felt a hand grab his arm. The grip was painful, like a hard pinch and he could see how Harlow's hand engulfed his arm.
Harlow was staring at him, pissed.
"What you say?" He stated it with venom, backing the boy into a corner.
"I said," Waylon's breath caught in his throat, he finally stuttered out, "I said, fuck you."
A fist came up slowly next to his head, as a threat and Waylon closed his eyes. Trying to ground himself he swallowed and breathed slowly. It rested just kissing his ear, so he could feel the flexing of muscle.
Harlow was right in his face, crooking his neck to stare down, "Say that again, I'll kill you." He was calm, and terrifying.
Waylon nodded, "Okay, I'm sorry." He wasted no time, because really he believed it. He knew at the very least that Harlow was capable of it. His eyes were watery and his skin was prickling. He felt funny.
"We're not friends, I let you stay here." Harlow reinforced, dropping his fist. The other nodded in response, licking his dry lips. He held his spot as Harlow pushed away from him.
"Should've beat your ass when you smoked my shit." He muttered and ushered Waylon to his side of the room. Instead, the boy left quickly for dinner.
Markus was the first to notice the paleness in Waylon's skin, the boy had sat down with the group hastily upon arrival. Jay had tossed him a side glance before reverting his attention back to Sasha. At first the boy attempted to divert conversation than to the topic of his stress, but Markus' persistence prevailed.
Waylon bit the bullet and explained his predicament, he could feel the judgment ooze off his warm haired companion. Markus' jaw muscles clenched as he spoke through closed teeth, "What is wrong with you?"
Waylon felt both guilt and appreciation, he never really had a friend be so involved in his well-being before. Although he was being judged, he felt touched in a way.
"I know it's stupid, but in a way I'm trying to get on his good side." Waylon shrugged, his own eye twitching hearing how ridiculous he sounded. Befriending the man who put a fist to his ear, how stupid is that?
Jay chased his silence, "Sorry bredren, but I agree with Markus for once. Pure insanity you're engaging in." Sasha nodded along.
Markus pulled at his hair, "I don't even know how to help you dude."
"I don't need your help, for now at least."
Sasha had begun drawing a page full of stylised Waylon's, all of whom were dying in different ways, "Told you to pay him back sooner rather than later."
"You knew?" Markus wheezed, eyes wild and nostrils flared. Sasha, unfazed flashed him a closed smile.
"I know everything."
"How is a mystery." Jay said, flashing his eyes across the three. His eyes caught something as he did so and his brows shot up. Like an instinct he jabbed Sasha to get him to follow his gaze.
The other two followed, and their eyes met the man of the hour. Harlow was walking in with his hood up, through the crowd of dinner bodies. Most looked away from him, however a back table was quick to beckon him over. It was a crowded table of last years, all equally dodgy in different ways. One pulled Harlow into a hand shake and quick pat on the back. Waylon snapped his eyes away.
"Harlow in the dining room? Unheard of." Jay whispered, eyes still locked over.
"Don't stare too hard, he might try to pick a fight." Markus corrected him, who headed his warning and put his back to the group.
Waylon peaked through his lashes with suspicion, trying to be as discreet as possible. He thought for a moment Harlow met his eyes, but he convinced himself it was imagination. He did notice a quick movement that caught his attention.
From under the black hood Harlow quickly exchanged hands with one of boys, shielded from faculty by the others. He noticed paper being passed back.
Money.
Harlow was selling.
Waylon felt a lot of emotions in that moment. From shock to a bit of admiration. It was impressively ballsy to do out in the open like that. A darker part of his mind even questioned what his rates might be.
It appeared only Sasha took notice among the rest, Jay and Markus stuck into conversation. The sun had started to skew the shadows in the dining room. Shining through the windows in a brutal fashion. The harsh winter sun ever present.
As it crept its way along the shady group in the back, their amalgamated shadow stretched up the wall. It kissed the roof at its peak, appearing monstrous. Like a hydra with all its heads attached to one body.
Waylon noticed, Harlow casted its highest peak.