Revolution || Lashton AU - boyxboy

t w o

Whenever I was in a mood even remotely close to happy, I listened to the Buzzcocks. They were more cheery than shit like the Casualties or whatever. You know, their more upbeat shit like Ever Fallen In Love. I don't know. I'm not happy often.

I'm not saying I'm sad. Because I'm not sure sad is the right word for it. I'm just more, I don't know, indifferent. A lot of people like to call me angsty and I'm not saying I'm not, but a lot of the time it's more emptiness than anger inside.

I haven't actually slept since yesterday after the whole argument with that dumb fucking Hemmings kid. But I haven't not slept because of him or our argument, I just haven't slept. I don't get much sleep that often, and most would say it's just part of college life but I'm not so sure that's the case for me. I just don't feel tired often.

Anyways, my studying was going absolutely nowhere. And maybe that was because I was sitting against the wall with a cheap beer in one hand and a cheap joint in the other with my book open across my legs and What Do I Get by the Buzzcocks playing rather loudly, but you know. I could also argue that this shit is just boring as fuck. But we both know which side would win with my professor.

It's not my fault, really. I've never been much of a reader. So being forced to read Beowulf for my English class isn't exactly ideal. I mean, old English is bad enough as it is, but I hated this book all three times I read it. Yeah, three times. Just another reason high school sucks - they can't even be bothered to create a new lesson plan.

I'm not dumb, you know. At least I don't think I am. I've never gotten very great grades but I don't like the idea of basing human intelligence off whether or not I can understand imaginary numbers or what the fuck ever. Plus my bad grades mostly came from my inability to focus or respect my teachers. It's not my fault. I just got in trouble a lot.

Okay, so maybe it is a little bit my fault. Shut up.

I cocked my head in the direction of the door diagonal from my bed, as it swung open. Nate walked in a lightly slammed the door shut before throwing his gray messenger bag onto his bed. He sauntered over to me and took the joint from between my fingers. He took a hit and sat down on the edge of his bed, before letting out a big sigh and running a hand through his short, wavy black hair.

"I paid good money for that, you know." I announced, completely monotone as I sat helpless on my bed.

"Yeah, well. When we became roommates you accepted my whole 'what's yours is mine and what's mine is mine' rule." He mumbled, clearly exhausted as he took off his black Vans and threw his thick-framed glasses on his nightstand.

"I never agreed to anything. I just didn't speak to you."

"Yeah, well then that's your problem, isn't it? You should've spoken to me when we first met." He uttered, throwing himself back onto his mattress, releasing another sigh.

"You were a nosey prick when we first met." I responded with no emotion to my voice - though he knew it was only banter.

He sat up quickly and jumped onto his feet, taking another hit of the joint and passing it back to me. He smacked me lightly on the cheek and smiled, "Then I guess not much has changed, eh?" And I chuckled.

He opened the small fridge under the window supporting our TV and took out another one of these crappy cheap beers and popped it open. He took a swig of it and sat on his bed opposite me. He was quiet for only a minute before he spoke again.

He never shuts up.

"So what was the deal with that Luke kid yesterday?" He questioned.

I furrowed my eyebrows and tilted my head slightly in confusion. "Who the fuck is Luke?"