Crumbling Under Pressure

Chapter 1

Dull talks.

Johan listens to dull, boring talks. Sessions, lessons, they took little appeal and interest for him. Although, he finds the pictures and videos being shown by the professors interesting it didn't grasp the same when presented in printed media.

He yawns, nodding off the question being asked from his biology professor. He didn't listens, he hears but the words ends up escaping to the other side of his head.

Cartoon-ish, isn't it?

He rested his head on his palm and put more emphasis into his body on his armed chair. His eyelids were heavy and the pressure for more sleep was very desirable. The professor drones more and the majority of his classmates, as he had noticed, have the same feelings as him.

He looks at his room, trying to shove off the drowsiness. White walls and ceiling, the whiteboard too obviously, and the clock have the same color as the others as well as the professor's table from the side of the board.

The windows were transparent.

He snorts from his observation, trying to pass it off as a joke for him laugh. Kinda.

The lifeless lecture proceeded to overpowered his thoughts, occupying his mind with notes to take and memorize. He can't be bothered with procrastination.

Right?

A tap on his shoulder caught his attention, glancing at the side and saw a classmate staring at him. She was beside him for a start, eyes wide and nose flaring at his direction, even pouting at him. Her dark skin contrast her white oversized polo shirt and her round eyeglasses just took up most of her face, even her ponytail was messily made.

Her appearance were childlike and messy.

"Uh, hi?" His voice was hoarse from minimal usage and the lack of water in his system. He was thirsty.

"Greetings to you too, fellow classmate," her voice was loud and closely similar to the dialogues from a medieval movie, and he cringed at the volume, fearing for the professor to notice the two of them. He's scared that the man who puts a neutral, droning tone to his students will change to become a sadistic dick who enjoys inflicting punishment to his students.

One man did, at least he was in a position that placed his needs far from where he wanted just to babysit a bunch of teenagers. One of them was the son of his beloved and his bully in high school.

He died and somehow he was honored for his role. May he rest in peace. That doesn't stop him from being an asshole.

Stop! Now isn't the time to bring up references.

He glances around, wondering if someone did the same but fortunately none. Most of his classmate were already dying from boredom and the professor, as he took a few peek from the corner of his eyes, switched his attention on his PowerPoint presentation. He relieved with a sigh and direct his focus on his classmate that gladly gave out a grin when he turned his eyes on her.

"I'm Mia," she introduced herself, in a non-medieval accent, and placed her hand between them, prompting a handshake. He looks at her then at the hand that seems more welcoming than his.

He raised a brow, questioning her motives for this sudden introduction. It is not like this was first or second week of the first semester either.

He reached out, albeit hesitant. He focuses on both Mia and the professor who seems to continue killing the students with words coming out from his mouth with little to no enthusiasm. He peeks at the crowd one more time, wanting to find people that placed their senses on them.