Love Sick [boyxboy] [Watty's2015]

XIV. Uno Chronicles: End

He asked me out to prom five days before the occasion, after I have practiced playing the cello after our classes. He was nervous, I could tell from the way he was standing and the way his eyes were darting from left to right.

Toby and I were practicing a small class project, a piece where we boldly mixed Symphony No. 9 with a pop-influenced music. Very difficult that after several rounds of practicing, we still can't find the right tune.

'This is rubbish!' Toby yelled exasperatedly for the nth time, slamming his palms on the piano keys, creating a comical yet discordant sound. 'We can't possibly finish this.'

I sighed miserably and played a four note composition that I have made in boredom just five seconds ago. 'I'd probably end up with a B+ for this—and that's because Sir Canda likes me.'

Normally, my grades doesn't go any lower than A-, so me having any grade lower than that—especially in Advance Music Composition class—is just fucking depressing. It's the only class, aside from Arts and Photography, that I was consciously making effort. Having a B would mean having a terminal cancer that is totally incurable for me.

'Tris?'

'Huh?'

I looked up at the door with a startle yelp. Normally, this side of the music hall of the school would be completely vacated by this time—with the exception of me, Toby, and the few other students from our class. Uno was there, still completely decked out with his rugby uniform. He was sweaty and grimy, but still hot at the same time.

I suddenly felt super conscious of myself. Here comes my boyfriend, all filthy and sweaty from playing too much sport in the field, but still managed to look like a dashing debonair who is being prepared to be shipped off as a consort of some snobby princess. Then here's me. I looked like an extra from the Walking Dead, although the room's completely air-conditioned.

Heck. Even those old tubas that have been collecting dust in their shelf are in better shape than I am.

'If you don't have a date for the Prom, would you want to go with me?'

Now that's when I blinked in confusion and disbelief. Why would he ask me that, he knows my answer for that question. I looked at my boyfriend, who was looking at the tiled floor, nearly resembling a cute puppy waiting for his master to feed him. I inwardly smiled at that mental description.

'Do you really have to ask that?'

Toby, who was beside me, let out a huff of disgust and rolled his eyes. 'Alright. I get it. You're in love. Go away!'

Toby was like that always. Always bitter, much more bitter than a whole sack of bitter gourd. It may have something to do with his recent break up with his girlfriend—who by the way is a major stuck up, gold-digging bitch. Annika is one of those annoying clingy types. And the bad thing there is that she had the audacity to yell at poor Harley the Pug and did actually kick the poor thing for the most obnoxious reason—Harley pissed at her Gucci satchel.

Well, don't blame the pug! It's not his fault that he had mistaken her bag for a mundane fire hydrant.

Uno glared at him. 'Shut up, Pounds.'

Toby rolled his eyes again with a snort. 'Oh my God. Is your IQ level really that low that you couldn't think of a better pseudonym for my gloriously awesome self? I thought being with my stunning best mate here would help you acquire at least a meagre amount of brain cell.'

Uno was shaking with anger. 'Shut the hell up, Hart, or I'll bash you inside that goddamn piano.'

My best mate made a disapproving sound. 'Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. You sorely disappoint me.'