Broken Wings (Troyler AU)

2 ~ The Joys of Detention

Troye's Point of View

When the three-o-clock bell rings the next day, I am, for once, not happy that the day is over. What I wanted to do was go home and sulk alone in my bedroom, eating candy and scrolling through Tumblr. Maybe I'd even log onto YouTube to enviously watch Tyler Oakley and mentally list all the reasons I hate him. Anything besides spending three hours in detention.

I trudge reluctantly to my locker and throw my books inside. I have homework in English, but there is no way I'm doing it.

Detention was to be in Mr. Macy's room. I don't have him, but I've heard he's a massive twat. He doesn't really sound like the sort of person I want to spend an afternoon with.

I walk down the hall, my legs feeling like lead. I'd hardly gotten any sleep last night, half because I'd stayed up late reading fan fiction and half because my parents were having a shouting match downstairs.

Which was, as usual, about me.

I blame myself for their marital problems. Before I'd come out, they'd been happy together. Or at least, didn't hate each other's guts.

Just another reason why I hate myself.

I walk into Mr. Macy's room and see that no one else has arrived yet. Mr. Macy, who was sitting at his desk, glances over at me, taking in my thin frame cloaked in an oversized sweater, dark under eye baggage, and messy hair and sniffs distastefully. "Take a seat," he says. "Preferably in the back."

And the rumors prove to be true. He was a massive twat.

I drop into a desk in the back row, putting my book bag on the tiled floor beside me. A few minutes go by, and I start to think I'm going to be the only one there when suddenly someone comes bursting through the door.

I blink, startled, and see a familiar quiff of blonde hair. "Mr. Oakley," Mr. Macy drawls. "Late once again. And to the place where you're being punished for being late, at that. I can't help but savor the irony. Take a seat."

Tyler nods, blushing. He sits a row ahead of me and starts fiddling with his glasses. Mr. Macy stands up and clasps his hands together.

"I guess we're all here," he says. He then points to me. "Mellet?" he asks. I nod. "I went to high school with your father." He tells me. "Quarterback for the football team, wasn't he? And a model student. Too bad he didn't pass it off to you."

I nod again, avoiding his gaze by staring at the chalk board behind him.

"Anyway," he continues. "As I assume the both of you are quite familiar with detention, you know that most teachers just have you sit here for three hours and contemplate your actions. I, however, am not most teachers. I know sitting here will do you no good, and that you probably wouldn't even give your actions a second thought. You see, when I was in school, we did things a little differently..."

Three minutes later, Tyler and I were in the boy's bathroom, scrubbing vandalism and who knows what else off of the stalls. Mr. Macy had gone back to his classroom to grade some paperwork, which was quite a mixed bag. On one hand, I didn't want to hear him go on about what a shame it was that I was so little like my father. On the other hand, I really didn't want to be left alone with Tyler.

The two of us work in silence until he throws down his sponge and lets out a huff of irritation. "This is bullshit." he snaps.

I don't reply, pretending to be very busy with getting a particularly vulgar word off the wall. I don't want to talk to Tyler, and my stupidly awkward brain probably wouldn't let me have a functional conversation with a boy that attractive anyway.