Killing Time [radiohead fanfiction]

Eleven: Trainspotting

Author's Note: hi uhm so essentially this chapter was supposed to come out a while back... that is not how it ended up working out unfortunately. the first time i published it was an accident (I AM SO SORRY) and i had to take it down because it wasn't finished. when i went back to finish it, i realized how much i disliked what i had written, the pacing was awful, the plot lacked excitement, i hated the way it was worded and it fiddled with relationships that i wasn't ready to mess with. i ended up scrapping the entire chapter and started completely fresh. this new chapter, to me, is far more than just an improvement and is one of the best i've written. (i also changed how i spaced paragraphs due to it feeling too cramped, so hopefully this is easier to read) also tysm to my three very supportive fans, i love reading your comments sm. you know who you are. <3

———

The soft glow of sunlight between my blinds is enough to shake me from a deep sleep. I roll over lazily, using my forearm to block the light which bares an unwanted wake-up call. As I blink a few times, I'm reminded that it's finally the weekend, a nice change in pace from what felt like unending classes.

Carefully, I choose my outfit, desperately wanting to come across as interesting to the other students. I decided on a cool shirt I got from a charity shop, jeans, and my father's old jacket (which I've accommodated into my wardrobe after frequent requests to borrow it). As has been my usual routine for the past few days, I pull my hair into a messy bun, my red hair curling mercilessly at the small pieces that hang low. Finishing the outfit off with a small amount of makeup and my swap from glasses to contacts, I feel content enough to head down to breakfast.

It's no surprise that on arrival, I meet Ed, who seems distracted by hastily filling out homework sheets from the previous day of lessons.
"You're always awake first, why is that?" I ask once I take a seat next to him. He turns to me, bearing a grin that contradicts his messy state of dress.

"You know why."
"I don't think I do, to be entirely honest."
"What do I do every time we try and study?"
"Fall asleep..?"
"Early to bed, early to rise," Ed quotes, hissing through his teeth as he returns to his schoolwork. Distracted, I pull one of his many pages aside and take a look at it myself, recognizing it as our language arts worksheet. I grab Eddie's pen, which previously laid unused and limp in his grip, beginning to fill in the answers as messily as I can to make it look similar to his penmanship.

We continue to work side by side silently, passing the pen when the other needs it. The gentle pattern of our work method is almost therapeutic, akin to one of those cat clocks with a swinging tail. Halfway through a math question, I feel a presence to my right, but I choose to focus on finishing Ed's homework.

"Are you excited that we're going to town?" Jonny's voice echoes from beside me, causing me to perk my head up and take a brief pause from the monotonous problem-solving.
"God, I can't wait. I haven't had much time to explore; since we moved here so recently, and unpacking was incredibly time-consuming." I admit, absently returning the pen to Ed as I speak.

"Why are you working on that history project? It isn't due until next week," Thom points out as he peers over the other's stack of unfinished homework.
"What?! I've been struggling over this for hours!" Ed groans in response, crumpling the paper into a crudely shaped ball and chucking it at the blonde. Thom doesn't flinch, allowing the paper to hit him square in the chest. Without a shift in tone, he picks the crumpled sheet off the table, laying it flat as he attempts to remove the wrinkles.

"This is good, you shouldn't waste all of your hard work." He says, his head tilted downward as he gazes over Ed's paper. Colin, who takes a seat next to Thom also reads the paper, giving Ed kudos for his excellent writing.
"No, yeah, this is great. Teach is going to love it." Colin praises, leaning over to push Ed's shoulder playfully.
"You've got to quit worrying, man. You're doing great." He adds, mouth already full of bagel.
"I'm just trying to impress coach, he's far stricter about grades compared to any of my teachers," Ed explains, leaning back as he runs his fingers through his messy hair. This small gesture does little to tame the knotty mane on his head, though he doesn't seem to mind.