Boarding School Boyfriends

Chapter Five

The next three days roll past without an issue for Dan- nobody had shouted at him since his run in with Kyle. As a matter of fact, he hasn't even seen the boy so far.

He heads through the corridor and up to the music classroom, which is his first lesson of the subject. He isn't sure if he is excited or not- yes, he is good at playing the keyboard, but that's the only thing he wants to play. He hopes he doesn't have to play anything else.

The teacher explains to Dan that, depending on what instrument you want to play, you have the choice of four rooms that have that sort of instrument in them- all strings are together, all keys, all brass, and all drums. So Dan excuses himself to the keys room.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to be here," he hears the familiar voice of Kyle Simmons as he enters the room. "I didn't think you'd play." 

As much as Dan wants to just drift away from him, to keep his distance and stay away from Kyle, he walks closer to him, a smile on his face.

"I play, yeah. Piano, actually. I'm not too bad at it. I didn't think you would, though- I thought you'd be more of the sporty person you seem to be." Dan shrugs, standing at the keyboard that Kyle also stands behind. There are only two other people in the room with the two boys- one who came in to fetch the other to take him elsewhere- and something about the atmosphere feels intimate. 

Kyle just chuckles at the other boy as he watches the two others leave before he speaks once more. "You know me well, man. Although, don't be deluded- a sports person can also be quite a musical person." He says, shuffling a little bit closer to Dan. Dan pretends not to notice, but his cheeks flush red. "Just ask your friend Woods, the drummer. Anyone, in this wild world of ours, can be anything they would like to be." 

The other, Dan, scoffs as he presses his fingers onto the keys. "You and I both know that is a lie." He says, rolling his eyes. "We're stuck here. We are destined to be forgotten about." 

"Bit early for an existential crisis, don't you think?" Kyle bites his lip, watching Dan. "My name is Kyle, although I'm sure you know that from my dickhead friend the other day." 

"Yeah..." 

"Look, the point I'm getting at is the fact I don't know your name."  

"Oh... Sorry. My name is Dan," Dan's cheeks, if possible, go even redder. "Dan Smith. Boring old name." 

"I like it, Daniel. Well, it's nice to finally meet you properly. Not in some hushed voices in the corner of the diner." Kyle looks so innocent in this moment that Dan feels something inside of him change, something flutter in his stomach. He's not sure how he feels about that. "So, show me what you can play, then. Don't leave a boy hanging." 

A note on Will's door reads fuck off, I'm out, so, taking that as a kind and friendly notice that Will isn't in, Dan lands himself at his own desk, writing an English essay he was set yesterday but couldn't find the effort nor inspiration within him to do it. Anyway, his mind is focused on the brown haired boy he has come to know- and wants to know even more. He can't focus on the essay. There isn't a thing about Kyle that Dan doesn't find intriguing.

But then his mind flicks to what Woody had warned him as they sat by the football pitch- that Kyle only cares about his clique and nothing else. Part of him really wants to believe that this isn't true- he doesn't want to just impress his clique at all. As a matter of fact, he seemed really kind earlier. Dan wouldn't have guessed anywhere close to what Woody had told him.

But when they were in music, Kyle wasn't with his friends.

Dan gives a grunt of annoyance as he scribbles out his last sentence- it doesn't even make sense. How is he supposed to concentrate on his work when all he can think about is Kyle bastard Simmons?

"This is impossible," he grunts to himself, slamming his pencil down on the desk and rising from his chair. A quick look to the clock on the wall tells him that it's almost seven at night, a reasonable time to go to bed.

He strips himself of his clothes and throws them into the corner before putting pyjama bottoms on and an old Eraser head t shirt. He can't be bothered with being awake anymore.

Blue eyes welcome the darkness with anger as their owner blinks into the darkness, a shrill ringing bringing him out of sleep and into the world of the wake. He wonders for a moment what the Hell the fire alarm is going off for (besides from an obvious fire- though, at this point, he thinks he'd rather just cook alive). 

Then he realises it's the seventeenth.