iv. scholars - the college au

Somewhere between the coffee shop in the afternoon and standing at the bus stop in the dark, Xabi Alonso consumed too much alcohol.

 

He sways dangerously, groping for the cool metal, nudging his shoulder off it painfully instead.

 

 

Steven parks himself on the ground under the shelter, neither of them daring to go near that strange beige coloured substance that coats the bench.

 

 Steven giggles quietly as Xabi attempts to sit down beside him, stumbles a little and knocks his head off the plastic pane this time.

 

 

Xabi glares and reaches into his pocket, pulls out his last cigarette and the box of matches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Xabi shrugs, takes another puff of the cigarette before letting the smoke slip from between his lips.

 

 

Xabi just blinks wearily a few times before sighing and staggering to his feet again, squinting as he glanced down the road for any sign of headlights or a glowing bus number in the dark.

 

He felt Steven pressed up against him, shoulder against his and head drifting onto the padding in his jacket.

 

 

 

 

Xabi turns round, eyes wide and tongue between his teeth.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

He gets into the front seat, and coughs quietly as though to excuse himself, glancing over at his friend as his hands twitch nervously in his lap.

 

 

Steven muttered an address to them, eyes shut and head lolling dangerously to the side occasionally as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

 

 

 

 

Xabi grunts and shifts in his seat, can practically feel the headache coming already.

 

 

Frank rolls his eyes and brings the car too a screeching halt outside a dark apartment block. Steven fumbles with his seatbelt before opening the door and climbing out. He salutes Xabi through the window and winks at him before ambling towards the double doors.

 

 

Xabi was leaning to the side again, eyeing Frank’s sorrow filled expression curiously.

 

 

Xabi reaches over and puts his hand carefully on his shoulder, long fingers pressing gently against the fabric before stroking the tense muscle soothingly.

 

 

Frank looks up, small pearls of tears dotting the insides of his eyes, casting an eerie glow over the intense green there.

 

 

He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes furiously. Xabi was sitting up now, genuinely worried.

 

Frank clenches his hands tightly around the steering wheel, breathing deeply over and over.

 

 

Xabi presses cool lips against his cheek, lingering a moment and letting the warm breath sooth the wet tracks the few tears that escaped had left.

 

 

He pulls him into an embrace, stroking his shoulder softly and uttering quiet soothing words into his ear, like an older brother or even a mother would do.

 

 

 

Steven had finally succeeded in getting the door open, he punches the air in victory and jumps once off the ground, grinning a little to himself.

 

He turns round to wave again, still seeing the streams of light from the car headlights along the ground.

 

Raises his hand, but stops midway at the sight before him. He feels a lump in his throat and a bizarre heaviness in his stomach that causes his arm to sink back to his side.

 

He simply shoves his hands back into his pockets and makes his way inside and down the corridor to his room.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Agger and Paletta sit in the exact same spot every morning at ten o’clock before either have any classes.

 

Agger brings cigarettes. Paletta brings coffee from Starbucks down the road. It’s routine, plain and simple. They sit on wall across the road from the park and people walk past and cast awkward glances at them. With their cigarettes letting off thick clouds of grey fog and all dressed in their clothes that just give off ‘punk’ or something similar.

 

Everyone gets a label.

 

Daniel would rather have a label and stand out than, than have none and be another dull face in the crowd. It’s always been his way.

 

This morning though Daniel takes one sip of his coffee (“One sugar yeh? I didn’t get it wrong?” Gabriel frowns) and stabs the cigarette out on the wall before its anywhere near done.

 

 

Daniel grunts and shifts on the wall, his curled fist knocking the coffee on the ground so that is splashes rather artistically over the grey paving stones.

 

Gabriel rolls his eyes and slinks down off the wall, he walks over to stand in front of his friend.

 

Daniel blushes and looks away.

 

 

 

 

Gabriel shakes his head.

 

 

Suddenly Daniel looks like the lost child, confused and hurt who doesn’t know where to turn. He shifts, fist clenching around the edge of the stone he’s seated on.

 

 

He hops off the wall and grabs his back cast wildly all on the ground.

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

Steve leans precariously over the sink in the staff toilets, head spinning and fuck I’m not even meant to be in here.

 

He lifts his fist and clenches it tightly, stares vengefully at the mirror and thinks of the cracking sound it would make, the sheer release from ramming his knuckles into it.

 

But the anger soon abides, and is replaced with sheer horror and disbelief.

He feels his chest tighten and he clutches quickly at the top button on his shirt, pops it before pulling off his tie and flinging it away from him.

 

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

 

He presses his palms into the sockets of his eyes and groans around them.

 

Hears Shevchenko’s words over and over again in his head, like a fucking awful song stuck on repeat.

 

Christ how could he have been so stupid, how could he have let himself get into such a situation? The taste of the tequila refreshes in his mouth and he almost throws up again, memories come flooding back that he couldn’t remember before. Daniel eyes, glowing amidst the crowds of people.

 

Close. So close. Too close.

 

His mouth, on his, gentle and hot. Hands stroking his back, his sides; he reaches down and brushes his fingertips there, can almost feel the tracks, the marks left. He remembers his mouth on his neck, breath on his cheek and god that was nice. 

 

Steve shakes his head and leans into the mirror again, the surface feeling soothing and smooth against his forehead.

 

He did not just think that. No. No fucking way. He’s a professional; he can’t believe he even let anything like this happen.

 

He scrunches his eyes shut, pressed firmly together because this isn’t the right time for showing emotion. He’ll do that later when he’s wallowing in the pits of a collapsed career with his bottle of whiskey in hand.

 

He exits the bathroom and glances around, feels like the eyes of every student and teacher burn through him, judging him from all angles.

 

He can see the front door already and all he wants is to go home, a shower and a sleep because fuck his mind is a mess right now and…

 

 

A hand on his shoulder. He gulps and turns around, greeted with a smile and a flash of dark eyes.