Hurricane Jones [boyxboy]

hurricane jones [4]

[Art; She's 22 by Norah Jones]

This took forever but it's dedicated to SuperheroesAndSprite because she's the reason I was up until 1 am, reading her books and laughing so...

word count: 2025
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I was completely and utterly wrong about my day being uneventful.

It'd been after school when I'd gotten a glimpse of Quinn again. She'd sat beside me on the bus as I busied myself by staring out the window. After bombing my Spanish test and stuttering through an oral presentation on The Cold War, I honestly just wanted to go home and lay down because my head was screaming at me and there was a war going on in my stomach that could rival the hunger games.

I felt like shit as I leaned back and ignored the guilt I felt due to not engaging in a conversation with the girl beside me. Honestly, disliking her presence hadn't become that big of thing for me anymore as I'd realized that she wasn't all that bad but with James Bay blasting through my earbuds, I was enjoying the slight lullaby.

My head was leant up against the window as I attempted to force myself not to fall asleep knowing that it had happened before and my brothers hadn't thought twice about leaving me on the bus. Shifting a bit, I pulled one of my earphones out and attempted conversation in order to keep myself awake. It started with a simple "hi."

Quinn took the bait almost instantly, droning on and on about the fact that she'd loved the jacket nestled in my lap and how much she wanted to do my eyebrows for me. To say I regretted dangling conversation in front of her in the first place was extremely true.

Still, I felt myself listening as we got on the topic of music, her voice light and bright, contrasting her dark brown eyes that had centered on me. I yawned as she spoke, "What's your favorite band?"

"You'd call me a poser if I told you." Everyone did, even my parents had laughed when I'd used my Christmas money a few years back and purchased every song available, every track, every unplugged version, all of it. People didn't understand me, which, coincidentally was so very angsty teenager for a guy who enjoyed angsty music.

"I won't," Quinn smiled, lips stretching in that trustworthy grin and eyes twinkling as if she were an angel sent from the most high, "honest."

I shrugged as if my borderline obsession hadn't meant much to me, leaning further into my seat as I listened to the soft sounds of  Rhett flirting up a storm with the girl who sat beside him. She seemed nice enough, engaging in his babble. "Nirvana," I spoke, eyes landing back on the blue material of the seat in front of me. We were close to my house, I knew that, then I could nap and maybe catch up on the trending movies on Netflix,  "I have a soft spot for their unplugged performances."

Quinn nodded, "I only know two songs but I know Kurt's voice is gravely, quite sexy if you ask me."

I shrugged at that, realizing that I couldn't connect with Quinn on music like I'd hoped but I couldn't deny the fact: some of the bad had attracted me. Maybe it was the rebel in me that just wanted to come out sort of how a teenage boy comes out of the closet but I had to admit that maybe I liked listening to something I hadn't achieved: complete and total not-giving-a-fuckery.

I couldn't be more relieved when the bus had stopped, ending my self-dissection and prompting Quinn to quit her interrogation. I'd waited until the other people getting off the stop had left before I stood, a buzzing sound heard from the girl beside me.