Expelled and needing to transfer for his final year, Liam had known immediately where to go. It was the place that'd taken everything from him; that'd ruined him so absolutely it'd twisted his personality beyond recognition.
The place where he'd met...
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It wasn't easy to forget about someone so insistent on making their presence known.
ㅤLike a firework in a library, Ben was a disruptive presence that Darren alone seemed annoyed by. Others always gathered around the boisterous upheaval with grinning teeth. Wherever Darren passed him—the quad, the city, the refectory—Ben always led a gaggle of people. And just like in secondary school, Darren stood separately, watching from outside that bubble.
ㅤExactly where he wanted to be.
ㅤ"Fucking hell," Freddy wheezed, his private-school accent pushing through even the most breathless of panting. He fisted the grass, bowing as if submitting to a higher power. "They're trying to kill us... They are trying to kill us, Daz."
ㅤOn his back, blinded by a grey sky, Darren's head swam with his pulse. "They're trying to wear down our egos, and I blame pillocks like you for it."
ㅤ"It's murder."
ㅤDarren snorted. "It's suicide."
ㅤ"Instead of kicking a ball about, why couldn't we see which team can down a pint faster and call it a day? Why go through all this palaver? This wasn't the get-sloshed, get-laid society I was promised!"
ㅤDarren didn't believe Freddy's flippancy for a moment. Being put straight into the thirds team was as good as a fresher could achieve—and one didn't get that kind of skill by accident. "I'd call it 'incitement to suicide' but nothing more. I hope they succeed in your case."
ㅤ"Nope!" Freddy called, curling in on himself like a dying man. "Nope, they got me. They killed me. I'm dead. Fuck!"
ㅤDarren was light-headed when he chuckled, coming down from his adrenaline high. Cars rumbled beyond the high wall, laughter flavouring the air nearby. Lying here on carefully cultivated grass on the other side of the country, untethered to what he'd left behind—it was freeing. His eyes fell shut, breathing it all in, sinking.
ㅤ"Mate, who killed Freddy?"
ㅤUntil that grating, mid-pitched timbre spat rain on his face. Eyes snapping open, the clouds bristled overhead. Ben looked down on them, remarkably unruffled.
ㅤIt was unfortunate that Ben was on this team, too.
ㅤ"Ninety-nine's looking far too peaceful next to the corpse," the second-year, Henry, joked. "He must've finished Freddy off for some peace and quiet. Fucking finally."
ㅤ"Oi, fuck you," Freddy laughed.
ㅤDarren pulled himself up with his fists tight against the cold ground. Despite his aversion, he watched Ben, waiting for that smug gaze to slice his way, for that invisible smirk, for the subtly crafted ridicule.
ㅤBut, as the banter continued, Ben did not look at him once. His crescented eyes avoided him entirely. Even when Darren inserted a joke of his own—nothing.
