Chapter Text
Here we go again.
Connor jolts awake to his phone’s alarm, groping around for it and squinting at the screen for a good minute before successfully shutting it off.
He rubs his forehead, groaning. He’s probably going to fall asleep before third period- he got absolutely no sleep.
“Shit, is it 5AM already?” A raspy voice asks from beneath the covers.
That would be why.
“Yeah, dipshit.” Connor yawns, peeling himself away from the warm body next to him and stumbling to his feet, stretching his aching limbs.
“Fuck you.” Miguel yawns out, easily getting to his feet.
It's a little ironic, Connor thinks, that he's so clumsy when he's taken classes upon classes to improve his balance and posture, and Miguel is just so much more graceful without even trying.
Miguel's better than him at most things.
Connor tries to shake away those thoughts as he heads into the bathroom and takes care of his business.
He desperately avoids looking at himself in the full body mirror that was oh-so-helpfully placed in their shared dorm bathroom as he changes into the Hanover uniform.
The uniform is an extremely uncomfortable white button up along with a blazer and black pants. They also have a sweater vest and tie in the Hanover colors- green and purple.
Miguel likes telling him that the vest looks nice on him, but Connor thinks he looks like an absolute fucking nerd with it, and would rather freeze to death than ever wear it.
Miguel says the school colors make him think of Slytherin, which is extremely offensive to him because he's a Ravenclaw.
Connor thinks Miguel’s a 100% Hufflepuff, but he doesn't say that aloud.
Connor's tie is dyed neon blue, for reasons that Will Not Be Disclosed.
Anyway.
He brushes his hair, and allows himself to peek in the mirror. He goes red as hell when he sees a hickey the size of fucking Texas on his neck. He quickly adjusts his collar to cover it, just as Miguel's knocking on the door and bitching at him to hurry the fuck up.
Connor rolls his eyes and hurries the fuck up, brushing his teeth before leaving the bathroom, with Miguel brushing past him to get in.
Connor grimances at the mess of books and papers he has on his side of the room. He grabs his bag and starts cramming his things in, trying to finish quickly and trying not to crumple the Lit essay he worked so hard on this weekend.
M exits the bathroom, uniform on and hair slicked back into his usual style. Connor hates that he gels his hair- he’s tempted to just run his fingers through and ruin it most of the time.
Miguel grabs his own, shabby school bag, which was already packed (fucking responsible asshole) and began to sift through, double checking his items. He curses. “Fuck, Connor, did you see my Lit essay?”
“Yeah, I put it on the table.” Connor replies. He finishes packing his bag and zips it up, then wearing it and approaching the door.
Miguel sighs in relief when he finds the papers, swiftly tucking them into his bag, slinging it over one shoulder. “Thanks, Con.” He meets Connor by the door, and kisses him on the mouth.
Surprised, Connor flushes red, blinking rapidly. He mumbles out, “No problem.” and hurriedly follows M out the door.
They head to the mess hall for breakfast, fingers cautiously intertwined.
“Hey!” A voice exclaims. Jack, sporting a wide grin, waves eagerly at them. Miguel drops Connor's hand to clap Jack on the shoulder.
“Mike, Smurphy.” He gives a nod of acknowledgement to both boys.
Miguel scowls, shoving his hands in his pockets and rolling his eyes. “Aw, fuck you, too, asshole.”
Connor flushes. “Don't call me that.” He grits out half-heartedly. The nickname spread like wildfire after the whole Neon Blue Tie thing, and he guesses it's a lot better than the nicknames he was given at Oaks High last year. (Talk about fucking sophomore slump.)
Jack only smiles wider as they step into the mess hall, finding their way to the breakfast line.
Jack Kinsley, star of the Hanover track team and the bane of Connor's existence, had been at the school since freshman year, and had been friends with Miguel since sophomore year.
Connor always feels out of his depth with Miguel’s friends- hell, Connor feels out of his depth in this school.
Miguel and his friends have history and inside jokes and it makes Connor feel so goddamn…
Miguel can tell. He always can. Connor's too easy to read. And it makes him feel worse. Who is he to complain? He's just some sad white asshole whose rich parents sent him here.
They're all ridiculously talented people. Jack does football and track, Miguel plays three instruments, and Connor's just… there. His GPA is barely high enough for him to stay at Hanover. He's lucky he didn't have to repeat sophomore year. He's lucky he's alive. That's it. That's his big accomplishment. The reason he's here.
Fuck. He can't afford to be thinking about this now.
Connor grounds himself, focusing on Jack fucking Kinsley and his eager rant about a documentary about the Beatles that was coming out soon. Miguel flashes him a smile.
His fingers keep twitching.