No Academy (boyxboy)

Chapt. 3

The halls slowly filled once again as the pair made their journey toward the office. Waylon found it interesting how you could tell so much from an individual by the way in which they walked. Some boys walked with their heads down, others in large groups pushing at one another in jest, some diverted their paths suddenly with a clear intent on skipping their next class, the remainder walking at such a slow pace, it was obvious punctuality was not their priority. Waylon felt he sometimes overthought how he walked, he focussed on matching the stride of Markus, deliberately tucking his hands into his jeans.

He also took notice of the appearance of the students. All though there wasn't a uniform he noted some students wearing jumpers or hats with the school logo depicted on it. Majority wore casual clothes, some dawning dyed hair or facial piercings like himself. He even spotted the occasional tattoo poking out of socks or jacket sleeves.

The congregation of students blurred into a sea. A momentum in the chaos not unlike that of a concert crowd was born.

And a crowd crush was inevitable in this environment.

Waylon knew this environment vividly and intimately, the pushing, the yelling, the bruising and the gasping for pockets of air. His companion led the way weaving between the different boys. And eventually they found their flow.

Yet still the inevitable was well...inevitable. And thus both boys halted at the noise.

"Would you ever move the fuck out of the way!" Spoken with gnarly edge. Between the gaping in shoulders and hair Markus made an avenue for the duo to peer at the conflict.

The sea parted, no Moses to do so. No, nothing holy behind these walls were present. Despite the markings on the walls.

The centre of this parting cradled two students, both tense. The boy who had spoken snarling and wide eyed, his pupils blown out and his fingers dancing-itching for something to grab, or beat.

The other, same age looked annoyed with his thick brows furrowed and his upper lip wrinkled in disgust. "Sorry?" He said more so as a threat than in questioning. His voice had a distinct vocal fry, and the piercing on his nose caught the sun.

The two voices began entangled in insults and jarring as the conflict soon turned physical. At some point a phone was brought out, followed by several more. As the crowd jeered and made chase following the line of conflict.

Markus got caught up in it quickly, Waylon's head hurt. "Holy shit!" The shorter laughed, moving with the crowd to catch every moment of brutal impact and spoken venom. Clearly enjoying the loud crack that was heard, as nose piercing ate a hit to the face.

And that crack was like a calling card to his friends- immediately more students joined in. Some grabbed and tore at clothes from pulling the top apart, others swung. At some point the initiator was floored and had raised his hands over to protect his head. His brown hair darkening red from lord knows which injury. Some took the initiative to attempt at deescalating the situation.

"Chill!" "Bro, enough!" "Stop, his head!"

The volume reached an all high, and before Waylon realised he was at the back of the crowd. His heels turned subconsciously and he was gone. It seemed the attempts to calm the crowd were about as effective as calming a bull by waving a red tarp. All over what was realistically, the unavoidable collision of two in such a packed area. Waylon's subconscious felt it was better to leave, before faculty arrived.

He caught the moment Markus turned to face him and his smile had faltered, staring off at Waylon before his body disappeared around the corner. Whatever that reaction may be, he didn't follow Waylon.

He took a brisk pace, trying to block the imagery from his mind of blood. He didn't want to see much of that these days. Now if he were still fifteen, Waylon then may have stayed to see who would've won. However nowadays, those actions left him with a metallic taste in his mouth and a sweat on his brow.

Lost in thought, or preferably trying to change his thought. Waylon had suddenly arrived back at the office. It was nearly time for him to be back anyway, funny how convenient timing is! Steadying his breathing, the young man walked into the office.

Mr. Secretary was in a world of his own. That was until Waylon let out a cough to announce his presence, startling the office staff into raising his head.

"Oh! Oh yeah you're back..." he trailed on the last word.

"Waylon."

"Yes! Waylon of course," he smiled, "oh I'm so sorry. You know I'm so terrible with names. Oh I have this really funny stor-"

Heading Markus' warning Waylon cut the man off, "Sorry, but I need to set up my room. Markus said he had more to show me but we got side tracked." He lied. Sort of.

"Ahh of course," the man disappeared under the desk, he shuffled before pulling out Waylon's suitcase and hauling it over his desk. With the addition of two papers taped to its face, "On there I just stuck on your class schedule and your room! Ur storage code is also on there, hope you don't mind." He said in jest.

Waylon mumbled a thank you and took the items, popping the suitcases handle and making his way out the office.

The walk back to his dorm was brisk, the urge to simply sleep feeling like hunger. Pulling his lids down.

He didn't notice when the sun had set nor when moon had risen. Placing itself in the sky at the perfect point to cascade it's light through the windows. The world felt blue, as if under its watchful eye. Although lately it was as if Waylon couldn't escape notice, even in the dark.

As if the moon itself would morph and suddenly bat its shadowy eyelashes to judge him.

He stood at the door, a metal plate holding the number which was missing some digits. The impression of their previous position solidifying Waylon's place here.

God this was so real. He was really here now. For the first time today he felt awake, he hated it.

Grabbing the handle with a shaking first he found the door ajar already. A slimmer of orange light peaking through. A single push caused it to creek open, sounding louder in the empty corridor.

There were two beds, the right was empty and the left...

It was the guy from before with the nose piercing, hunched over in his phone. Although now there was some much more noticeable details on him. He had a bleached buzz cut and deep impressions under his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked and he had a cauliflower ear. A tattoo was clear on his collar bone, something written in another language obscured by the chain on his neck.

"Hey? Fuckhead, what are you doing in here?"