Fixing Nico [boyxboy / yaoi]

Ch 16 - Chemistry

~ NICO ~ 

Chem.

I scribbled the date across the blue lines on the top of my page, before scrawling snippets of important information regarding the theoretical steps of any combustion reaction of methane or magnesium oxide when a fire spark is encountered, my mind completely absorbed by the laws of chemical reactions that I didn't have the chance to stop and wallow in my own self-pity.

This is why I love school.

Miss McCormick paced across the tiles of the Labs in the Science block, her heels click-clacking against the hard floors as her boobs spilled out of her low-cut, V-neck pink shirt and the front part of her lab coat was stretching precariously over her chest and hips. The rest of the boys in the class were too busy ogling at her chest to notice that their sentences had started slanting off the lines of their notebooks. 

'Okay, boys,' Miss McCormick piped up anxiously, 'A-are you all finished writing? Do you… um - c-can I scroll down now?'

'Just a bit more, Miss!' One of the boys up the back called, shooting an alarmed glance at his blank page - he'd been staring at her with him tongue hanging out only a moment before.

Thank God she was only a sub - or else nobody in the class would have any hope for passing Year 11 Chemistry unscathed - and with the above-95 ATAR score that was promised by the school and students alike when you attended an elite Selective School. 

'Oh… Uh - okay? Sure,' she stammered, wringing her hands nervously. She wasn't actually a science teacher, and as such I had no clue what she was doing wearing a lab coat that was three sizes too small… Is she stupid? She does realise she's in a classroom with twenty three 17-year-old boys… right?

I sighed impatiently through my nose, glaring down at my already-completed notes as the boys on either side of me scribbled frantically. I twirled my pen through my fingers, gnawing at my lip as I reflected that at least one pro of being gay was that I didn't get distracted by busty, blonde teachers in small lab coats. 

The con, of course, being that now I had too much time - these few minutes of doing nothing productive - to think.

To think about the things I'd been avoiding since Saturday.

In my mind, I'd been inevitably referring to it as Black Saturday; the day I'd been stabbed, hung, crucified and impaled by the two people I'd ever deigned to love.

It's been four years since I'd seen Jason - he looked so much taller, now, slightly leaner, and his platinum-blond hair still gleamed in the sun like it did before, all those years ago, cropped slightly shorter now. His sea-green eyes hadn't lost that dangerous glint that's attracted me to him in the first place - that look of something so deep, so sad, and so angry, boiling just under the mask of pleasant orbs the colour of celery. 

And then there was Christian - this pain was deeper, fresher, newer that it had been before… those brilliant, attentive, blue eyes were flickering with the kind of emotions he hadn't learnt to suppress yet. Unhidden expressions flickered across his face; his features contorted into the type of beautiful innocence that hadn't learn to stash away its secrets yet - the kind you could read if you knew what the letters meant.

And then there was them.

Together.

Touching, sharing secret glances and those memories I'd never know - the look of two people who'd felt… something… who'd been together… who'd…

A stabbing pain shot across my lip - I gasped, bringing my hand up to my lower lip as I realised I'd unintentionally been biting down on it too hard. Little smudges of blood appeared across my fingertips. 'Ow…' I muttered to myself.