Broken Boy (Septiplier [Discontinued]) ↫ m.f + s.m ↬

№ 1 • Lightning Sparks

A/N ♥
Okay, you have no idea how many times I've rewritten this chapter ˘□˘||
I've kept thinking of things to add to the plot but then I'm like omg I've added too much description this sounds so boring fml I can't write T^T
I'm still not happy with it tbh >_< But I hope you guys like it anyway ♡

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Sean's POV
Plump droplets of rain hurtled towards the earth in a lunacy, the gusting wind carrying them in crazed vortices one moment and diagonal sheets the next. It hammered in waves into the windows of the building before gliding in retreat down the length of the glass, beading the broken paintwork of asphalt beyond the perimeter of the red-bricked structure. The faint shadows of raindrops cast themselves over my face; inky reflections of the framework of infinitesimal crystals of condensation developing over the window.
It was the first day of the second semester. The hallways seemed busier, the students unamiable (as was typical) and the teachers bustling about the classrooms in a somewhat disorganized fashion. It was a day of the creaking of trees, their tattered branches whipped about unforgivingly by the howling wind. A day of fatuous melancholy for me and the lumped percentile of the student body you'd dare call "normal".
My gaze drifted to my wristwatch for what had to be the four hundredth time, scrutinizing the second hand's every movement as though willing time to hurl itself into a futuristic period through some impossible practice. Alas, the hands of the small clock face continued their established rhythm of motion and the lesson dragged on.
The gentle hum of the classroom heater lulled me into a daze. I absentmindedly twirled a pencil between my fingers, tuning out the unenthusiastic monotone of the teacher's voice.
'Honestly,' I thought to myself, 'they can create policies and rules a thousand miles long and alphabetize their stupid filing cabinets, but are somehow incapable of utilizing their degrees to engrossingly educate.'
Forked lightning flickered between the onyx mist of the remaining lower clouds, white-hot threads dancing through the black. The window beside me was ever so slightly ajar, allowing a sudden gust of raindrops to alight on my arm. They possessed marginal iciness, but it was enough to command my mind back to the present.
It was then I realized someone was trying to attain my attention.
With somewhat reluctance, I righted myself from my slouched position, rolling my shoulders back as I glanced upward. Felix stood over me, an expression of mild amusement across his face.
"What up, space cadet?" he teased, pulling out a chair and seating himself beside me. I offered an eye roll in response, hiding my smile. Felix produced two bags of chips from his lunchbox and tossed one in my general direction. Nodding in thanks, I proceeded to lacerate the foil packaging and munch hungrily on the snack. Felix chuckled.
"It's lunch."
I shot him a wow-no-kidding look, stuffing a handful of chips messily into my mouth.
"Let's get some food. I'm hungry."
"This is food," I whined, gesturing to the bag of chips on the desk before me. I was overcome with laziness and wanted to do nothing more than remain seated.
"Real food, smart ass. C'moooooon."
I groaned dramatically, flopping my head onto the desk. My tuft of lime green hair flipped forward over my forehead, obstructing my line of vision, although I could still make out Felix's eye roll through the bright-coloured tendrils. He grabbed my arm, dragging me to my feet and walking me forcefully out of the classroom.

• • •

Mark's POV
It was the first day of a new semester. The threatening bank of clouds on the horizon seemed almost a visual framework of my vexed attitude. Yesterday had been better, but today the world appeared monotonous and it was as though I could feel the energy leaving me like an ink stain into blotting paper.
It was because of the party. A mesh of hot bodies dancing as one wave of movement; a distant haze of chatter barely audible over the roaring speakers; emptied bottles and the stench of drunkenness, smoke, mistakes. The scent of Giorgio Armani as I pressed my lips to a girl's neck, my tongue swirling over her delicate skin. Her soft moans against my bare chest as I pushed up against her, her fingertips through my hair, my hands gliding over her curvaceous frame.
The lingering bitterness of vodka radiated off my person. I knew it and so did she. She saw me stumble to keep my balance as I guided her into the bedroom, the floor beneath me appearing like the deck of a storm-tossed boat in my plastered state. Any words we exchanged were slurred and senseless and, burning through bottle after bottle of cheap wine, we fell in love in silence.
We fell in love with different things, however.
She, unsurprisingly, fell in love with the idea; the facade everyone likes - the bad boy, the player, the unattainability of his heart.
And I fell in love with the untruth; the fabrication, the result of my coveting the idea of being somebody I wasn't. Because, truthfully, if the majority of the guys in my grade were meadow grass, I was a rouge poppy, although I'd admit it to nobody.

I was gay.

• • •

Sean's POV

'My parents warned me about the drugs and the freaks in the streets, but never the ones with the hazel eyes and heartbeats.'

His hair was a deep whisky; the colour of fallen leaves browned and sleek with the first rain of autumn. Soft, wispy tendrils swept past an ear and caressed the jock's neck, its subdued earthy hue like a song softly played, bringing me to the recollections of the coming season. His eyes were a rich hickory, stained with the colour of hot chocolate on a cold night that wraps about you like a blanket.

Mark's POV
His eyes sparkled like storm clouds directly before lightning hit. They were a perfect spring sky; to every shade there were ten more abaft it, vibrant and striking. Whenever he smiled, it was warmer than an encompassing of gentle sunlight, and I found my lips turning up at the corners just looking at him; his faint dimples creasing into lines of genuine cheerfulness, his supple lips smoothing into a broad grin.
Our eyes had, coincidentally, locked across the cafeteria and it was then I realised I had been holding his gaze significantly longer than what would be considered normal. Slightly embarrassed, I turned away, scratching my neck awkwardly as I rejoined the conversation of my friends seated around me.