SEX AND THE BOY ✓

COLLISION THEORY IN BROTHERHOOD

PROFOUNDLY BROWN AND ALMOST BLACK eyes beneath primly round glasses mirror the laptop's LED screen displaying a mohawk guy puking AP Chemistry like he had a whiskey barrel full of the dreadful subject.

But the boy's mind is kilometers away from his study.

Leroi exaggeratedly sighs, throwing his head back to the back of his chair. He removes his glasses and sits them upon his bed of afro. His iPhone, as he unplugs it from the MacBook, feels too warm to touch and Leroi mentally curses Apple for scamming them with juicy, empty specs.

Blowing a strawberry bubble and rubbing an itch on his nose, he scrolls through Twitter in an attempt to pacify his rabid focus before attacking his books once again. But it takes him barely two minutes of skiing through a slide of retweets, likes, replies and followings before slamming the face of the phone on the table. It doesn't crack of course, the table's woodwork is galvanized with foam.

"Let's take ammonium nitrate crystals for example, and their spontaneous dissolution to explain the second law of thermodynamics, which says. . ."

Leroi's lazy eyes stare at the YouTube guy, finding himself criticizing technology for not finding a way to literally pump knowledge into the heads of students at this point. Life would have been so easy, and effective other than this mental torment. . .

A light bulb comes to life in his head.

Like an evil genius about to weld a doomsday, he pulls his glasses to his nose, a sinister grin lighting up his face. Leroi pulls his pajama pants down to his knees as he twirls his pen between his fingers.

Then he starts to scribble equations and formulae, mentally giggling at the ticklishness of the ballpoint as he scrawls more catchy, recallable abbreviates of definitions and illustrations.

When he's done, he sighs in elation and stares down at his work well-done. Richmond has always told him "shrewdness is business' true art". Since that's where he's obviously going to end up. Might as well start practicing.

The more Leroi eyes his thighs, the more he's considering a tattoo. Damn, his laps will be so much sexy. But God forbid Richmond sees it;

"None of my children will have any ghetto rubbish on their bodies or heavens help me I'll scrape it off..." Leroi spits, mimicking remarkably English-Afro-American accent with a funny look on his face.

His slim figure flops onto the bed. He draws the homey detergent scent of his sheets in his nostrils as he sinks further into tired thoughts, his eyelids threatening to collapse. Whether it's exam fever or Beethoven humming in the hallway, Sandman doesn't look ready to take him out of his misery.

It has been a long day, honestly.

Ben wa balls and a dildo, in Maurice's bag! A laugh reverberates out of his throat. He palms his face, guffawing more to himself like a lunatic. Maurice Greene, wanking and penetrating himself. What has he not witnessed in this crazy world? Who the fuck even spread the rumor about his asexuality?

Leroi is really trying hard not to judge him. Like, a dildo is well, reasonable -- everybody gets horny, we are all hoes -- but fucking poppers?! It is unheard of. Sure, he or, as far as he knows, nobody in that school knows Maurice beyond his name.

Now Leroi really wants to know him more.

Leroi rolls on his back, his fingers crawl to his phone leftwardly near him. He unlocks it to be met with a photo of his friends during his sophomore year.

Seraphina is looking like a rabid kitty and Nixon's grin rivals the sunlight reflected by his braces.

A forlorn smile appears in his face as he subconsciously, lovingly thumbs a brunet's face on the wallpaper. His afro is in two giddy buns and brown freckles fill his symmetrical face.