Fast Lane (G/t)

6

Rewind: two nights ago...

"Oh God, where do I go from here?" 

And there Preston was, half off his motorcycle in the middle of one of the main roads of the university, between a rock and a hard place... with a bloody, unconscious tiny person at his feet. 

"I could go see if Student Health is still open, but I highly doubt it. I probably should take her to the E.R., but I swear there's going to be some school spy there that'll make some crazy headline to screw me over... or her. It is a 'her', right?" 

Preston slipped off the bike to kneel onto the hard asphalt and take a quick look at the fallen figure and its scattered belongings around it. While doing so, he could hear people approaching from all sides, so his panics began to inflate. Or, was it because of the sudden vehicle coming from behind him in his lane?

"Kane, is that you?" a new voice spoke over a low rumbling engine. 

Though Preston already recognized the voice, he looked behind himself to confirm its owner, and there he was. Thomas, a frie- fraternity brother of Preston's, sat on his own kickstand balanced motorcycle, seeing his buddy scrunched up on the ground. 

"Oh yeah, that's you. There're only a few guys that can don a beanie as you are and not look like a wannabe. Where the hell have you been!?"

"I... got caught up in something," Preston told him. "Calm down."

"Calm down? Hell, I'm calm as a cucumber, or whatever that expression is. It's the second-years back at the house freaking out about you. Something about impromptu tutoring or something..."

Preston mentally face-palmed at the realization. It was never his intention to be late. He was never late for anything. 

"Yeah, I know the deal. I didn't forget. I was headed there, but I got stopped by something... more urgent."

"What? Did your bike finally break down? Man, I told you that you shouldn't be driving around that piece of junk-"

"I bet you wouldn't be so quick to throw around insults about it if my father were around," Preston then growled, scowling at him. "You know that it was his, first. And, no, the bike isn't broken. It's vintage, and I take care of my ride, unlike someone."

"Bruh, calm your tits. I'm just pulling your chain. You look like you're gonna murder me." However, when Thomas came closer to Preston and allowed some light rays to shine on them, he made an observation that may have verified his previously sarcastic statement: little lines of blood on the fingers of Preston's dirty bike gloves. "Dude... did you... m-murder someone!?" 

With the petrified look, Preston wanted to explain so badly, as best as he could... though he really didn't have any sort of logical explanation for it. However, with the blonde's next statement, he fully retracted the thought. 

"And, you're out in the open!? Don't you know there's a freaking riot headed this way... and the football team!? Are you trying to make us look bad!? Like we frat bros don't have a bad enough rep already."

"You can clearly see me panicking here, and you're worried about the freaking fraternity!?" Preston questioned with anger. "I get you're the president and all, but my god, you're dense!"

"Oh, and you're so high and mighty? You're being rather questionable yourself," Thomas countered. "You think you can just use your political power and popularity to tell me off? Fine then, I'll leave you and your murder spree alone and let the crowd and meat heads get you. Freaking smug hipster-"