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Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Gregory flings his blanket to the side, sleep having completely slipped out his grasp for the night. You fucked up your first impression. Again. He hadn't meant to force his anger onto everyone in the room, but he'd been so caught off-guard---and pissed as hell---by Jeong-Soon's appearance that he'd let loose the floodgates of Hell. And the fact that the other guy, the one with the weed-whacker blonde hair, had actually recognised him had only served to boil his blood in his veins.
That was supposed to be a new beginning, you thick fuck.
Gregory digs out his phone, scrolling through his messages until he gets to one from two years ago. Two blue ticks. Missing profile picture. No reply. He supposes he'd been the one to fuck up first by leaving without actually telling Jeong-Soon where he was going, but it's annoying how Jeong-Soon hadn't even bothered to reciprocate his efforts to keep in contact.
Gregory rubs his temples. Two years ago, he couldn't see Jeong-Soon as anything but a rose-tinted angel sent down from heaven to pull his heart into a whirlwind. Now, he just finds the boy he'd once loved irritating. His height is irritating. His girlfriend is irritating. Heck, the fact that he's moved on is irritating. Gregory knows it's selfish---after all, he'd moved on too, even thought it hadn't been for particularly long---but he would never have if Jeong-Soon had just replied to his fucking text.
He has three new messages. Colin again. How many numbers does this asshole even have? Gregory blocks him without reading them. Again. The cycle's almost boring at this point---text, block, repeat. He supposes he should appreciate the monotony, though. After all, Colin's persistency is the only thing in his life not changing right now.
He grits his teeth. Stop it. There's literally nothing positive about Colin D'Armelio.Except his hands and his lips and the way he seemed to care so much---
He needs to stop thinking. He's not good at thinking, anyway. It's all action for him, because Gregory constantly craves the adrenaline rush.
His bedroom suddenly feels way too stuffy. Gregory slips his curtains aside, flinging his window open and letting the biting chill of the night sting his face. The street below is quiet. Empty. He wonders how badly he'd break his bones if he threw himself out of his second-floor window in a futile attempt to get away from his fucked-up life. He probably wouldn't even end up with a scratch.
