The Metal Boys ➳♡ 5SOS

[5] ➳♡ A THANKS

                        [5] ➳♡ SINCEREST APOLOGIES / [MAY]

        FOLLOWING THE QUOTE “KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE PRIZE,” MICHAEL’S STARE REMAINED ON THE RED-HEAD HE HOPED TO TAKE TO BED. A smirk slowly crafted itself onto his plump lips. It’d been five day since Michael first spoke to Imogen, making today Friday. Bright white falling onto dark red, he bit his lips as he continued to look at her sit, hunched over and writing. He held back the laugh when he noticed that she'd actually bought one of those planners that the school always encouraged students to buy. How she was so into school was almost cute to him and throughout the week he had discovered a lot of things about her that were “almost cute” to him. There was a hope inside him that they could still be friends after they had sex together, but also a strange hope that they would not be.

A grin replaced the smirk on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, propping one foot up into the metal book basket under the chair in front of him. “Hey, ging.”

“You know, we don’t like that term, kid,” she replied, not looking up from her planner. Her hand was still steadily scribbling things inside it and a curiosity regarding what she could be writing began to form inside Michael.

Ignoring that curiosity and focusing on his current feeling of surprise, he let out what sounded like something between a scoff and a laugh. “Did you just call me a kid?”

“Did you just call me a shortened version of the word ‘ginger’?”

“Damn.”

Imogen finally stopped writing, sitting up straight and setting her pen on the free space beside her books on her desk. She exhaled, rubbing her brown eyes—which on some days were hazel, something Michael put at the top of the “almost cute” list—with the back of her hand. Now that she was sitting up and Michael could see her face more clearly, he noticed how tired she looked.

“Didn’t get any sleep last night?” he inquired, a small amount of concern present in his eyes.

She shook her head, covering her mouth as she yawned and then answered, “Yeah, no. I lost my notebook for this class last night ‘cause I was sort of studying around the house. It’s weird, but I like to move around while I’m studying. If I stay in one place too long I get bored or distracted. It was like, ten ‘o clock when I realized I lost it and I was just like “Ahh, shit.” It took me over an hour—well, less, actually, if you don’t count the intervals of time I spent groaning in frustration—to find this stupid note book”—she grabbed a plain black notebook that had English written on it in silver sharpie from under her planner and waved it in the air—“for this class.”

“You’re so, like, hardcore about school,” Michael commented, chuckling. His hand absentmindedly grabbed his chin, feeling the growing scruff on it; he really needed to shave.

Imogen only shrugged, her high pony tail bouncing as she did. “I just like getting good grades—I always have. If I’m going to do something I might as well do it well.”

“That's a good mindset,” Michael agreed, tucking his bottom lip out and nodding.