Mercy [boyxboy]

Chapter One

"Mercurius Doyle."

Mercy winces as he squints towards the front of the lecture hall; he's automatically unimpressed with the anxious way his professor scans the mass sea of fresh faces. He sighs, clenches his hands into fists, and clears his throat. "Here," he calls softly. The acoustics carry his answer to the forefront of the room and his professor—Langley, if he recalls correctly—holds his gaze momentarily before looking away, nervous sweat lining his brow.

He frowns. It's not that he expected much else but still, it stings.

Irritation gnaws at the back of Mercy's mind but he studiously ignores it, instead opting to pull out an empty notepad and a mechanical pencil. It's not his fault he was born into a family notorious for their criminal activity. Honestly, all he wants to accomplish for the day is to sit through his first lecture like a normal, confused college freshman without half the lecture hall glaring at him. Even the girl, who had been previously sitting next to him, has scooted away without so much as a hint of subtlety.

Mercy swallows back the lump lodged in his throat and forces all of his attention on the whiteboard, ineffectively tuning out the half-whispered gossip surrounding him. You're above this, he reminds himself, grip on his pencil tightening. You aren't defined by the paths your family has chosen to walk. Mercy lets out a shaky breath, glad that Professor Langley has finished roll call and begun the lecture, causing the rest of the students to dispel their rude blathering.

The lecture passes swiftly, Mercy's deft hand writing quick, concise notes, leaving his mind buzzing with new information. Langley's a good professor, keeps almost all of the students engaged—including Mercy—and doesn't pile on too much for the first day. Something akin to happiness simmers in Mercy's chest as he stands to gather his things. The moment he turns to exit his row, however, that feeling dissipates as he spies who's waiting for him.

The girl looks normal by all accounts; petite, olive skinned with long, spiraling brown hair that tumbles elegantly over her shoulders. It's her eyes that tip him off. They're cold, calculating, and hold such thinly veiled contempt that it makes his skin crawl. The atmosphere she exudes reminds him of his brother and that alone is enough to make him feel physically ill.

Mercy schools his features. "Did you need something?" he asks indifferently, trying to hide the fact that his heart has begun to beat erratically.

She smiles, slow and shrewd. "I didn't know a Doyle would be attending this university. How lucky," she drawls, ending with an overly playful chuckle.

Mercy decides right then and there he doesn't like her. "Okay," he says blandly, relaxing his shoulders as he waves his hand in a bored, go on motion.

She leans in towards him, the movement more predatory than seductive. "My name's Annie," she says. "I think we should be … friends." Annie raises her eyebrows as if to punctuate her crass meaning.

"No, thanks," Mercy replies evenly, pushing past her to exit his row. The last thing he needs is for some groupie to hang around him on the misguided notion that he's an in into the lackluster criminal underground. He has nothing to do with his family's less than honorable misdeeds.

And he never will.

He doesn't spare a look over his shoulder to see if Annie is following him, but he has the sinking feeling this isn't the last he'll see of her. People with that sort of interest aren't known for giving up, after all. Mercy grits his teeth; his head has already started to ache from the thought that there will, no doubt, be more Annie's out there to corner him when he's least expecting it. He had wanted to attend University under an alias, but having to explain his reasons to his family was something he wouldn't have been able to do. Not then. Not now. Not ever.