Another class finished, several more to go. Though he didn’t show it on the outside, his thoughts were sluggish, and he’d have preferred to listen to the lectures with his eyes closed. He wouldn’t have fallen asleep anyway – he felt tired, but in that way where you knew that no matter what you tried, you wouldn’t get to sleep (and, well, the coffee had certainly also ensured that) – but his eyes were sore and itchy. His note-taking and participation had been done practically on auto-pilot.
Contrary to his expectations, people hadn’t nettled him too badly about his poor appearance. Sure, he had to pretend to care about the few glibly polite remarks, and fielded a handful of questions pertaining to his holiday activities, and the state of his health or well-being, but that’d been it. There might have been a few pointed glances, and perhaps some of the whispers pertained to him, but he knew how to ignore that sort of thing with dignity and grace.
Actually, though he looked like shit, the result was nearly better than that first time he’d tried to use makeup. It’d been the week before holidays, or so, and though he’d wish to claim otherwise, he’d been worse off then than now. (Because the apprehension of what would await him home had been more exhausting than the stress of being confronted by his father – perhaps because the latter also angered and thus energized him, perhaps because the relief of finally being done with the family drama for a while had been overwhelming.)
It’d been more embarrassing than he’d considered to buy what he’d needed, but the pretension of ‘business as usual’ had got him far. That, and the matter-of-fact clerk who frankly hadn’t a shit to give as to whom he’d been helping or why, as long as the person in question was polite and ended up making the purchase (which he’d both done). Learning how to apply those cosmetics via online clips had been nearly more effort than it’d been worth. But it had alleviated the immediate worry of being judged or scorned for such an obvious weakness.
He hadn’t thought that it’d be particularly
noticeable, but Matt, at least, had known immediately.
“Changing up your style, pretty boy?” he’d said in that scoffing, derisive tone he had whenever he wanted to criticize something. Caelum had sniped something back, and departed in a bad temper. He’d been tense at school, wary to receive more of the same. Thankfully, his classmates had, as per the usual, been too self-absorbed to notice or care.
Except for–Charlotte ‘call me Charlie’ Willems. Her comment had been perfectly innocuous, but he’d been too keyed up to respond positively.
“Oh, hey, Harrington, right? Didn’t know you, you know” she’d gestured to his face, then concluded,
“It suits you.” He’d stared at her coldly, making his distaste palpable as he looked her up and down, and replied,
“Yes, I imagine it is preferable to being so easily mistaken for a gutter rat.” She’d been so–confused, then indignant and hurt, he’d had half a mind to apologize. (For the whole
week. Of course, he hadn’t.)
That he was now thinking of such an insignificant past event surely showed better than anything how addle-headed he was being. (Having to suffer
her in his field of vision during the class contributed to his little reminiscence.) Dispensing with the distraction, he left the class, ignoring how he’d scorned a person who might have been a potential ally; just another of his failures, really. And it’s not as if anyone (
father, you mean) would be impressed if he’d made all buddy-buddy with someone so unremarkable.
With a sigh, he unlocked his phone to confirm where he was supposed to go short, and frowned at a message recently left to him by Matt.
‘Need to talk asap’ it said.
‘Can’t it wait till lunch?’ he typed back.
The reply was nearly instant. ‘No c’mon here now man,’ followed by a snapshot of one of the smaller seating areas.
At least it was relatively close to his next classroom. Though he’d likely still be late, which irked him. Nonetheless, he felt it was better to mitigate whatever the issue was now than deal with a pissy flatmate later on.
By the time he made it to the seating area in question, most of the students had dispersed to class. He saw Matt on one of the couches, and even from far away, he noted that he seemed tense, maybe even worried. Caelum greeted him with a nod, and sat withing reaching distance – which turned out to be a mistake when Matt suddenly grabbed his shoulder as he said, “Hey, man.”
He thought it was more of a desperate gesture rather than an aggressive one, but the grip was still unpleasantly firm, and given how easily he tended to bruise, he’d likely have a few marks to show for it later.
“Don’t
drape over me,” he scolded, knocking Matt’s arm off.
“Fuck, fine,” he hissed, then muttered, “not even a greeting.” He braced himself, drawing his shoulders back and straightening up from his slouch. “Whatever, just…listen, did you snitch?” this was said furtively, but with an edge of accusation.
Caelum just blinked, rather confused. “About what, and to whom?”
For the first time since their conversation, Matt truly gazed at him, regarding him with serious scrutiny. Then, as if coming to conclusion, he breathed out long and hard, loosing some of that tension as he leaned comfortable back. “The landlord asked me about,” he mimed a smoking gesture.
“Why’d he care? You’re of age,” he replied evenly, without a hint of emphasis on the
you. They both knew he himself wasn’t, and that it’d be a problem if someone accused him of underage smoking. So, why would– coming to a realization, he narrowed his eyes, and leaned closer to Matt. “Don’t tell me it’s…
something else,” he had a firm suspicion as to what, but didn’t want to say it out loud, where it could be heard – thankfully, no one seemed to be close enough to listen in just then.
“Yeeah…just some pot,” he said this very quietly, and with a quietly resigned air.
Caelum had an urge to growl just then. “You brought that shit into the apartment, you fucking idiot?!” he whispered harshly, stooping to using swears when he was so enraged.
“I aired it out, he’s just a fucking scent hound,
apparently,” he retorted, peeved.
Brushing a hand through his hair with a tsk, he said, “Good, at least he doesn’t have any evidence. Don’t
do that anymore.” He caught Matt’s gaze firmly, holding it until he looked away. “I’d suggest quitting, generally, but I know not to ask too much from
you,” he snarked.
Matt scoffed. “D’you have to be such a
damn bastard about it? No, don’t even try to answer, I know you can’t live not being a little shit. And here I was about to ask for help,” he trailed off, obviously angry both at Caelum for being disagreeable and himself from having had expected otherwise.
“
Help? You have got to be joking,” he sneered. “I am not cleaning up after your messes. Be happy I’m willing to act ignorant about your
confession.”
Matt glared at him heatedly. “Think you’re so much better, do you? You’re lucky I’m not willing to go down to bring down your small-time delinquent ass.”
Caelum quirked the side of his mouth in a smirk (a weak one for him, not that Matt would realize), as he had his last word, “I’d
dearly like to see you try.”
His cohabitant,
the one who’d got you hooked on nicotine and supplied your smokes, you fucking idiot, was shaking his head, then stood up, and stormed off with an uninspired “Whatever.”
Caelum watched him go, then leaned back into the couch, rubbing at his eyes. Class had surely started already, his stomach was twisting unpleasantly, and to reiterate, he’d just
made an enemy out of the one person who actually has goddamn blackmail material on you. “Great…just great.”
He briefly groaned into his palms, then dragged all his fingers through his hair, mussing it up even further. He took a moment to genuinely consider whether he should even bother with his next class or not.
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