Trainspotters

ii.

"coffee breath"

--//--

Ever since last night, all Gray could remember was that pink-haired girl he saw at that frat party.

That... damned pink-haired girl. Brie.

She was just mesmerizing in a sense that not even all the words combined in the dictionary could ever explain. Not even the stars in the vast night sky, leading to what seems light years away in the grand dark void of many tiny lights and comets passing through. And, to speak of space, he felt like he was floating mid-air every time she was brought up. Like he was on cloud nine. Every time someone talked about her, or brought up her name, he'd think of the way she swayed on the dancefloor. Her just... moving her body to the music like it was a part of her soul. And the scent... the strong smell of punch, trying to cover up the soft hints of cherry and vanilla. Though she looked more like a blood red rose kind of girl, being all dark and brooding, her personality was as sweet as icing on a cake. Her voice was like a song he had never heard of, but listened to for the first time and absolutely adored it. Every moment she opened her mouth, the angels would call. God, she was so admirable.

What Gray didn't know is that him thinking about that same girl got him into trouble.

He hears a muffled, incoherent voice getting clearer. Is that his name the professor's calling...?

"Grayson!"

"Huh--?"

"Are you even listening to me right now?"

He hangs his head low the moment he feels the embarrassment set in. A disappointed sigh can be heard from the older man.

"You're supposed to be a smart kid. If you don't learn any of this, how are you going to make it out there? I should've just quit teaching you the moment I noticed you were trouble, but second chances are a thing, unfortunately."

"Sir, I... I'm not... I don't... mean to... I--"

"You wanna prove it to me? Then do it. Just. Pay. Attention."

He gulps. "Yes, sir."

The professor gives him a glaring look before turning back to the board, and Gray glances around at everyone, their focus drawn back to the board. He tries to do the same. He leans forward. He widens his eyes. Sitting down, cross-legged on the seat of the chair, he stares. Stares. Stares. For as long as he possibly could without trying to even get a little bit distracted, he's trying to decipher the words on the board, but they're all swimming around. It's not his fault his professor has such illegible handwriting. Who the hell thought cursive was necessary?! Gray sometimes wonders how he even gets by.

"This is bullshit," he whispers.

...

"Do you have something you want to share?"Gray lifts his head to see many people staring at him, and the professor had a bit of an enraged look on his face.

He stutters. "N-no, sir."

"Then do as I asked. Stay still, and pay some goddamn attention."

For some reason, it filled him up with rage. He was paying attention. He was trying to focus. Why didn't anyone believe him? After two, almost three hours of a measly, boring, mind-numbing lecture, it seemed as if his efforts were all for naught.

He groans softly, rubbing his temples. Breathing through gritted teeth, he tried to calm down. It was a challenge for him to stay still. His leg kept bouncing. His pencil was in his left hand, he was moving it around. He kept moving his mouth around, tilting his neck, trying to find a comfortable position. Everything was overwhelming and he was attempting to find a distraction.