"Wake up,"

Pelham grunted in his sleep. Someone was nudging lightly on his shoulder. When he continued to snore, the person shook him.

"Wake up, Pelham, you're going to be late!"

He gave a startled snort and woke with a start, nearly falling off the sofa as he did so. He was momentarily dazed by his whereabouts, when it dawned on him that he was still in Oris' bedroom, and that the person who had roused him happened to be his mother. She was craddling Oris around her waist. Oris, on the other hane, was sucking on her thumb and giggling at her step brother's slumped position on the sofa. The curtains had been drawn apart, where sunlight streamed through the windows and illuminated the room.

"W-what time is it?" He grunted, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

"You have half of an hour," was all she said.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. He shot to his feet and dashed out of the room and into his bedroom, already in a haste and nearly tumbling along the way - being six-feet tall didn't exactly benefit him when it came to straightening up abruptly.

He did not remember falling asleep the previous night.

*

Pelham arrived exactly five minutes before lessons started. That was the fortunate thing; it was just a seven-minute drive from his house to school - ten minutes with traffic. At times, he would simply cycle his way there. He rarely ever was late, however. As a matter of fact, he came as a diligent student; a trait that had been passed down from his father, who used to be the most disciplined student in his school. Not that he was exactly and entirely disciplined, nor was he highly intelligent (except when it came to Mathematics). Pelham was just earnest.

Private schools and their preferences - Pelham wouldn't regard himself as noteworthy. Sometimes, he had no choice but to listen to his parents. Of course, Pelham didn't particularly hold onto the tenet that said "Mothers know best"; he simply hadn't gotten a clue on how he was supposed to picture his future, thereby the reliance on his parents.

He mounted off his bicycle and hurried into the building as fast as his long legs could carry him, all the while searching for either April or Roshon, regardless of already knowing that they were most likely to be in their homeroom already. He heaved the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and extracted his phone out of his pocket to check whether either of them had texted him.

He turned around a corner and barely had the time to slide his thumb over the screen to unlock it when he collided with someone slightly shorter than him, sending files and papers flying everywhere.

"So sorry, I didn't see - I'm in a rush-" he quickly bent down to help the younger boy gather his things, mentally cursing at himself for being gawky at the wrong time.

"It's fine - I'm kind of in a rush myself," the boy replied anxiously, gathering up his things as quickly as he could, the strap of his bag slipping below his shoulder as he bent down.

Pelham sorted the papers and handed them over to the boy, who was fixing his tie and his raven hair. It wasn't the first time that he'd bumped into someone while walking down the hallway with his attention on his phone - he wasn't always on his phone; he just always seemed to be caught in the wrong place and at the wrong time. The last time he did it, his melodramatic Chemistry teacher nearly landed him in a week's worth of detention - it wasn't exactly worthy to him, but that was what she'd said.

Pelham recognised the boy when they both straightened up: Lucio Alves, a foreign student who had moved in just the previous year. He knew him because most of the girls talked about him, because Lucio might as well be the fourth most attractive student in school, apart from the school's Debate Team member called Anwar (whom Pelham couldn't help but stare at the previous year before Anwar moved out) and two football players, who happened to be non-identical twins, called Roger and Ollie. Lucio was only in a year below him, and as far as Pelham was concerned, the boy was only fairly known because of his exquisite features. Pelham wasn't certain whether Lucio was socially popular.

Lucio, retrieving his things, thanked Pelham and rushed off without another word.

Pelham arrived at his first class, Chemistry, just a minute before the bell rang - he had definitely missed homeroom. Fortunately for him, the teacher hadn't arrived yet. It was no surprise; their Chemistry teacher was always late anyway, sometimes even arriving fifteen minutes before the class ended. Near the windows, Roshon waved him over, a grin plastered across his face.

"You look happy," noted Pelham when he sat down beside his best friend. "Thought break-ups are supposed to be all about ... you know, heartbreaks."

"I'm not a wuss, Pel," Roshon explained. "Francia never really is the girl, mate - figured that from the start."

"Good, guess I won't have to hide this anymore; you two didn't look too good anyway and stop saying 'mate', you American,"

"That hurt, dude," Roshon said, feigning hurt. "In the midst of teenage heartbreaks and refrainining myself from playing some video games, I decided to start the first episode of American Horror Story and Supernatural."

Pelham frowned. "First episode as in the very first episode?" He asked. "As in first season? And who told you it was a good idea to watch those on the same night?"

"First season," Roshon nodded, ignoring Pelham's last question. "Everyone always starts at the first season."

"I started The Big Bang Theory at the fifth season," Pelham noted. He shook his head at Roshon, remembering how Roshon once said he would never watch Supernatural because he claimed it to be 'creepy'. "You broke up, huh?" He said, bringing back the subject. "Why did you ask her out in the first place anyway?"

I could ask you the same question, Pelham.

"'Cause I'm a wuss ..."

"Damn right,"

"Unlike your perfect relationship with April," Roshon wiggled his eyebrows, smirking. Pelham felt his smile fade, but he kept it on. "Still a virgin, Pel?"

"Shut up,"

Roshon snorted. "Waiting for the perfect moment? You know, it's like you have an invisible purity ring. Or you wear it somewhere other than your fingers ..."

"The latter,"

"Good gracious,"

"You wanna see?"

"You wish, Nixon," Roshon snorted. "Seriously, dude, tell me you're kidding."

"You just ruined the fun,"

Roshon's smirk grew wider and said, "You'll get there - the impure world, I mean."

That was it with Roshon; he knew Pelham and April had been dating forever. But the thing that never seemed to satisfy him was how his best friend managed to remain unsullied ("Are you that religious?" He'd asked once). Pelham wasn't bothered about that. Besides, he was certain there was a great number of young couples out there who hadn't had any sexual intercourse. There was once where Roshon asked whether Pelham was asexual, and that got him guffawing. I'm straight gay, he told himself, and wished he could say that aloud. Oh, the irony.

A gay teenage boy with a lovely girlfriend. Isn't life wonderful?

April was a very wonderful girl. He did not want to break her heart even in the slightest. He would consider her as laid-back; she wasn't clingy, nor was she bossy around him. A cool girl, he told himself. He could list down everything good about her and it won't be enough. He knew he didn't deserve her. And that was the sad and seemingly most corrupt thing that he always kept from her. April was, after all, too much of a sweetheart and a charmer to not get her heart broken. Of course, she was strong, resilient, even stood up on her own feet. But he knew the "strong" part of her was limited, that she could be very vulnerable at one point in her life. He also knew that she deserved someone better, that their relationship would have to end some time in the future.

She had to know.

Other than that, Pelham was getting really exhausted and grew more anguished each year. Sure, he might look like a happy-go-lucky boy at school, never getting into trouble. But that was all a paint mask that was washed down by his seemingly perpetual night tears, smearing the fabric of his pillow, forming blotches of islands on the calm sea. He was vulnerable on his own.

And that was at least the only thing that made him human.

"Good morning, class," Mrs Thwaites boomed as she practically bust through the door, startling everyone in the lab. "I'm in such a good spirit today, so why don't we start with some experiment? Not the usual qualitative analysis, but if you can just pay attention ..."

Pelham glanced sideways at Roshon, who still had the smirk planted on his face. "I thought teachers give out ghastly surprise tests when they're exuberant?"

"You say that as if she's euphoric from heroin or something,"

"Or something."