Oakleaf Academy For Boys (BxB)

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fifteen

Lucky was pulled out of unconsciousness by the feeling of something cold dabbing his forehead, sending chills over his skin. His eyelids drifted open, snapping wide when he noticed Sebastian Steel hovering over him, “Mm, what the fuck, man?” He grumbled, trying to turn over and fall back into his deep slumber.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and pinned Lucky down, continuing to wipe at the wound, “Just stay still, Blue.”

“It’s cold.” He complained, his eyes falling shut once more.

“You’re such a whiny bitch sometimes.”

“It hurts.” Lucky whispered, his energy drained entirely.

“What hurts?”

“Everything. Make it stop.”

“I can’t.”

“Make it stop, Seb.” He repeated stubbornly.

Sebastian was glad Lucky’s eyes were closed. He didn’t want him to see his amused smile — that would only lead to a chain of teasing about how Sebastian wasn’t as bitter as let on. “It’s pretty bad, Blue. Try not to move too much, you’re covered in bruises.”

“D’you have any painkillers?” He begged.

“Nah, sorry. It’s pretty hard to get your hands on any paracetamol in here.” Sebastian replied, tossing the damp cloth aside and peeling off a plaster, flattening it down across Lucky’s fair skin. “You have to practically be dying for the nurse to give you any.”

“Fuck.” Lucky groaned loudly, cracking his eyes open once again, staring up into Sebastian’s cocoa orbs.

“I mean, there is something you can do to help with the pain.”

“Let me guess; smoke weed?”

“Yep.”

“You got any?”

“Yep.”

“Great. Pass it over.” Lucky ordered, shuffling into a sitting position, only to wince, his face screwed up in discomfort, “Where did this gash even come from? Like a nail or something?”

“A ring. Porter likes to wear them to really rip into people’s flesh.” Sebastian shrugged, repositioning himself on the floor, beginning to roll out a joint.

Lucky glanced down, almost jumping in shock when he realised where he was. Sebastian’s bed. Wearing Sebastian’s hoody. “Uh...mate? Don’t mean to sound like a dildo here, but why am I in your bed?”

Sebastian glanced up, then laughed to himself and returned to what he was doing, “I couldn’t lift you onto the top bunk, plus it’s easier to treat your wounds from this height. Oh, and before you ask, your clothes were covered in blood, so I gave you mine.”

“You know that big wooden thing behind you? Yeah, that’s a cupboard, holding literally all of my clothes. Why didn’t you just get something from there?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t want to go through your stuff while you were passed out. Seemed a bit pervy.”

Lucky was covered from head to toe in bruises, the purple blotches plastered over every inch of his skin. His lip was busted and he wore a swollen black eye, the bruise embedded under his skin as evidence of his pain. Sebastian could hardly bare to look at him without cracking his knuckles in anticipations, fighting the urge to beat Wesley and Porter to a pulp.

With a groan and a wince, Lucky slid out of bed and onto the floor, sitting opposite Sebastian, “So, should we just ditch lessons today or what?” He asked, mesmerised by his roommate’s actions, his eyes glazed over as if he was in some sort of trance.

Sebastian merely shrugged again and placed the spliff between his lips, lighting it effortlessly. He inhaled deeply, his eyes falling shut in bliss, then exhaled. “Yeah, I guess.” He murmured, passing the joint over to Lucky. “So, Felix, huh?”

Lucky rolled his eyes as he blew out a puff of smoke, “Yeah. Felix.”

“Why don’t you go by that anymore?”

“I dunno. I don’t want people knowing the real me, hiding my name seems like the first step in achieving that, right?”

“You’re weird.” Was all Sebastian replied, snatching the blunt back and consuming more of the toxic substance. “So, what’re we gonna do?”

“’Bout what?”

“This morning.” Sebastian rose his brows expectantly. “What’s happening with...with us?”

Lucky took a deep breath and let his body slouch in defeat. He was already beginning to feel fuzzy, like a cloud of nothingness was drifting around his head, “I say we go for it.”

“Go for it?”

“Lets give it a try.”

Sebastian rose his brows, “You want to...give it a try?”

“Why not? I like you, and I’m pretty sure you like me. It’d be weird not to, wouldn’t it?”

“Well, I guess...sort of. But—”

"But what, Seb? Stop looking towards the worst case scenario every single time. What if it does work? What if we’re happy? We could have something here, Seb, but only if we try.”

“We live together, Lucky. What if we fuck it up and we’re stuck sharing a room for the rest of the year?”

“Then we deal with it.”

Sebastian handed the joint to Lucky and sat back contemplatively. He thought for a moment, then sighed deeply. “Okay.” He uttered. “Okay. We’ll make it work.”

Lucky’s mouth twisted into a grin as he scurried forward, cupped Sebastian’s face in his hands and planted a short, sweet kiss on his lips. When he pulled back, he recoiled in pain, completely forgetting how injured he was.

But he didn’t care anymore. Because something beautiful was just beginning, he knew it.

Benji rearranged his glasses on his face, sparing cautious looks towards the door. He was worried about Lucky. Benji stormed away in irritation, but it was a fleeting moment of anger, and now, his best friend had failed to show up to class. Oakleaf functioned by forming groups and being a lone wolf was never a good idea, unless you were someone like Diesel or Sebastian Steel. Leaving Lucky alone opened him up to millions of dangerous possibilities, and Benji couldn’t help feeling guiltier by the second.

Benji tried his hardest to focus, but it was proving to be difficult. By looking at him, people always assumed he was a nerd who got through a dozen books a day and read poetry to help him get to sleep — that couldn’t be further from the truth. Even in a school where discipline took precedence over real education, he was struggling to keep up. Nothing was going in, and the stuff he could vaguely understand didn’t make much sense at all.

He cursed his brain and his genes and his inability to focus.

“Are you kidding or are you seriously an idiot?”

Benji gulped, staring up at his father with wide eyes, “I’m sorry, it just...it doesn’t make sense—”

“How hard is it?” He demanded. “It’s simple mathematics!”

“P-Please don’t be angry, Dad!”

“You’re never gonna get into a good school if you don’t pass this exam! You’ll end up at the shitty comprehensive down the road, dealing and screwing your way out of trouble! Is that what you want?”

“N-No—!”

“Then do the question!” He hissed, his hands flying to his trousers. He unbuckled his belt and slid it around his waist, loosening it so he could wrap it around his knuckle.

And every time Benji got a question wrong, he’d whip him with his leather belt.

Benji never passed the Eleven-Plus and he never got into the grammar school his Dad had been been hoping for. And maybe that’s where it all went wrong. It was the first disappointment that led to a million others, pushing Benji over the edge. And before he knew it, his Father’s blood was on his hands, dripping through his fingers and staining his conscious.

Benji felt like Lady Macbeth, washing her hands over and over. ‘Out, damned spot!’ Some nights he’d wake up with blood in his bed, on his clothes, splashed over his brain. It covered his room, it covered the furniture, it covered Kit. He was going insane. ′Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him.′

He relived that horrific night too many times. It was like a broken video, repeating and repeating itself in his brain, forever playing on a loop.

‘What, will these hands never be clean?’

Hours of studying ‘Macbeth’ quotes in his bedroom came flooding back to him, cramming for his English exam. He was better at essay writing than maths problems, but the subject was still painful.

‘Here’s the smell of the blood still.’

He hated studying the play. It was just a lot of people with funny names killing each other. But Shakespeare was an artist, and he couldn’t deny that he had a way of giving simple words real meanings.

‘What’s done cannot be undone.’

He flinched when his body was jogged with a sudden nudge, “Dude.”

He gulped, turning to face Diesel, sitting next to him. “H-Huh?”

Diesel rolled his eyes and grabbed the worksheet Benji had completely neglected; sitting empty, waiting for correct answers to be filled in. Wordlessly, Diesel clicked Benji’s retractable pen and began effortlessly jotting down answers. Within a few short minutes, the sheet was completed and he slid it back over the table after messily writing Benji’s name in the top corner.

Benji stared down at Diesel’s almost illegible scrawl, then glanced up to meet his pretty, discordant eyes. He smiled fractionally, then whispered in a broken voice, “Thank you, Elias.”

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