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cw for the first section of this chapter: in-depth description of coughing (it's a lil gross lol)
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Paris Asmoday was known around the school for his ability to sleep in. However, none could fault the man for needing his beauty sleep. He was often awake late into the night socializing and drinking and trying to woo anyone his own age, and so of course he slept in each and every morning to recover some of his lost sleep.
And, of course, anyone watching him sleep would surely be jealous. He was tucked in tight, snugly between his luxury 600 thread count sheets and his 100% ethically sourced goose feather comforter. He had brought his own pair of black-out curtains and strung them over the windows to obtain perfect darkness, and even then, he wore an anti-microbial eye-mask and a set of earplugs.
It seemed like a like of work just to sleep, but if anyone saw the way his skin absolutely glowed when he woke up refreshed and beautiful every morning? They'd do the same.
Unfortunately, no one was ever around when he woke up.
His one and only roommate, Ilyas, was an early riser (which made Paris gag), and was always long gone by the time Paris himself finally woke up.
Paris could hardly blame him, all things considered... Not wanting to be around. Not wanting to spend even a moment of time together...
Nay, it wasn't worth the trouble of thinking about. Paris should simply let bygones be bygones!
He'd been telling himself that for months.
Paris' eyes fluttered open sometime after 11 AM, and he swept the eye-mask away from his face and stretched peacefully to wake himself up. Removing his ear plugs, he treated himself to the pleasant sounds of the school in the late morning.
His ears were met with nothing but silence. Odd.
It suddenly dawned on him why there was no one around. Ah. That's right... The new students were arriving today. They likely already had. The rest of the student body was surely down in the foyer introducing themselves? There was hardly very many of them. Paris hardly had an interest in meeting them for himself--he'd heard a rumor that they were younger. It was hardly appropriate.
Paris seated himself on the edge of his unkempt bed, taking out his hairbrush and beginning to groom himself.
Evidently, Paris had but one thing on his mind, related to the rather uncouth nickname that he had been given. It wasn't an insult, he'd been told, but rather just a description of the nature of his ability. Everyone who'd ever come to the school with his ability had been called that, no, no, really!
Hmph. Well. It hardly mattered. If Madam Quartermane wanted to bestow that name upon him, so what? It was nothing for him to trifle with. Most of the students simply called him by his name, anyway. Or they didn't speak of him at all.
