Human Design | Sirius Black

xii. Why is Society Putting Labels on Us? (But Hating Us For Such Labels?)

REECE COULDN'T HELP it and didn't even know it was happening, but he found his mind wandering. It wasn't his fault and he blamed Orla for it all. It was all his fault for saying that he was gay anyway (something that he wasn't) and ever since she mentioned it, his mind hadn't been able to give him a moment of peace 

"You're gay Reece"  Orla's voice taunted him at every waking moment and seeped into his dreams while he slept, haunting his dreams like a ghost and seemingly picking apart his soul piece by piece and uncovering all of his darkest desires before flashing them up on a neon sign. 

"Could you stop staring at my arse, Reece, you fucking bender." 

He all but jumped, instantly snapping his eyes up to meet Alexander's expression that lay somewhere between smug arrogance and sneering distaste, feeling blood rush up his neck and he quickly picked up the pillow from beside him and hugged it to his chest as if it would somehow make him look less embarrassed.

"I was not looking at your arse," he said.

Alex gave him a look as if to say sure you weren't before picking up his towel from the bed and walking through the room to get to the shower. No matter how much Reece told himself to, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his back. The muscles that encapsulated his skeleton were strong and rippled underneath his pale skin in a movement as enchanting as the instrument of a snake charmer to a serpent. His eyes were almost uncomfortably blue and the straw-blonde hair almost reached his shoulders (he had been talking about cutting it for the last six months but seemed to constantly procrastinate on actually getting it done. Alex was the textbook definition of 'the ideal man', the one always described in all of Yrsa's romance novels, perfect prince charming, perhaps so perfect that it made him a little bland.

The bathroom door shut with a quiet snap and Reece flinched again as he quickly shut the mental door in the house of his head that kept thoughts of men away. "You kind of were, bruv," came Dris's teasing voice from the bed to his left, Benjy's empty bed situated between them.

Reece picked up his pillow again and threw it across the room at him but missed. "Piss off." Dris only threw his head back as a low laughter boomed out of him. He was still in his striped pyjamas but frantically writing something on a piece of parchment, using a book as a makeshift table in his lap and Reece watched him for a moment. "What are you writing this early in the morning?"

"I got a wicked idea for the Prophet's journalism award in my sleep and wanna get down all the important parts before it vanishes. Cause I wanna work there after we graduate so if I win this award, I'll have a great advantage, innit?"

"You sure you can write a proper article?" said Connor, who was sitting on his bed half-dressed so that he was still topless and the door inside Reece's head forced itself open as his eyes scanned the shape of his pecks. Unlike Alexander, Connor cut his hair into a new buzz cut every month, being of the disposition that if he could run his fingers through it, it was too long. 

Thanks to his defined bone structure that made his jaw so sharp that Reece wouldn't be surprised if he'd cut himself by running his fingers along it, the short hair suited him well and made his hazel eyes look greener than they would with the distraction of brown hair. There were so many birthmarks and freckles all over Connor's upper body that it was probably busier than the night sky was with stars above the savannah. 

That was what he was: a savannah. His skin had the same sheer glow as burning hot sand and the colour of drying tufts of grass, his eyes were drying barks of cadaverous trees with a few crocodile green leaves, and his body carried the strength of a rhinoceros.