Chapter Text
4:35 AM
A loud alarm clock cut through the unadulterated quiet of his shabby studio apartment, prompting him to press his pillow on top of his head in an effort to diffuse the noise. Each second the sound got louder and louder - it was time for school and another day working at the very useless Keating 5 headquarters. He groaned and forced himself to sit up on the edge of his bed, feet planted firmly on the hardwood below. A deep yawn traveled up his lungs as he pressed 'Dismiss' on his phone's screen; Immediately the noise stopped and calm was temporarily restored, but he still sighed.
He was still Wes Gibbins, the loner who stuck out like a sore thumb because of his tall frame; the kid who had gotten into Middleton University through Professor Keating's manipulation of the waiting list, essentially because of her guilt for Wes' poor mother.
And he was still a murderer.
Wes stood up and pulled his sweaty shirt over his head, and walked over to the only window in the room. Judging by the predominant orange glow of the streetlights, it was going to be a while before sunrise. He sighed one more time and grabbed a black button down shirt, a pair of boxers, socks, and jeans, and headed to the small bathroom. If he was going to deal with his classmates and their repetitive bickering then a long, relaxing shower was in store.
By the time he was done showering and brushing his teeth, the sky was a crisp and clear blue, and birds were chirping in the trees nearby. He made a cursory glance at his reflection in the mirror and sprayed on some Axe cologne before grabbing his cellphone from the nightstand and shrugging on a snug black blazer.
Just then his cellphone began to vibrate in his hand; it was a message from his classmate, Michaela Pratt. Instead of tapping the notification to open the message, he rolled his eyes and stuffed the phone into his pants pocket before picking up his bike. He was far from ready for Michaela's know-it-all attitude.
6:20 AM
Just as Wes pulled up to the biking lane across the street from Professor Annalise Keating's house, Laurel Castillo opened the door and stepped out. Even from this distance he could see she was upset.
Today marked the fourth day since Frank disappeared.
He flashed a small smile her way when she looked up to see who was approaching the house, hoping that today Laurel would be his friend instead of Annalise's second assistant. From time to time Annalise would employ Laurel to watch and report on Wes' moods and day to day activities to ease her own mind. He understood Laurel was just trying to be a good friend, but sometimes...
"How are you holding up?" he asked his friend as they embraced. He bent down to tie his bike to a fence post attached to the porch. Instead of answering immediately, Laurel looked away and took a deep breath.
"I'm..I'm managing."
Wes nodded. That was all that needed to be said. He understood what heartache was like.
They both walked slowly up to the front door and stopped, immediately becoming unnerved and tense at the shouting bleeding through the window. It was Connor shouting, and if Connor was shouting Michaela or Annalise wouldn't be too far behind.
Laurel looked up at her friend with a pained smile on her face. "You sure you want to go in there? I can tell them you're not feeling well."
"No," he said, slowly turning the front door's handle. "If you tell them I'm unwell, they'll freak out again and make things worse."
He walked in slowly, Laurel only a second behind her friend, the two of them mentally bracing for the chaos ensuing inside.