#i overslept today. somehow. though i still managed to make it to the bus on time

[orcelito]

Gearing up for a 7 hour shift like "I'd rather be playing BG3"

[marksleepy]

a lot more

genre: fluff, artstudents!au (is this how you do it) word count: 4,947 a/n: this was one hell of a ride

The lurid light seeps through your eyelids and you rouse yourself from your slumber. It’s unusually bright this morning. It doesn’t occur to you it may have been way past the time you’re supposed to be up. You rub your heavy-lidded eyes, sleep deprivation makes locating your phone an effort. You kick the duvet dangling from your foot off the bed and retrieve your phone from the floor.

Eight unread messages. Four missed calls.

Donghyuck where are you [7:30 AM] we’re still meeting right? [7:35 AM] dude [7:41 AM] class is starting [7:41 AM] and it’s the first day of the start of electives [7:41 AM] ok technically second day since everyone went for one before summer break [7:41 AM] but still [7:41 AM] YOU’RE STILL SLEEPING AREN’T YOU [7:44 AM]

“Shit,” you hiss. It’s 8:12. You were supposed to meet Donghyuck at the school gate 45 minutes ago. It isn’t necessary, but he’d claimed that he feels uncomfortable walking to class alone.

“Ask Jeno or something,” you’d groaned into the phone the night before.

Donghyuck had whined. “He doesn’t want to wake up earlier than he already has to.”

“Neither do I!”

You shake your head and rush to the bathroom to brush your teeth. So much for agreeing with Donghyuck’s plan. You throw on something decent and grab your bag and the sketch you’ve been working on over the summer before heading downstairs. You’ve left it lying on the ground, something which you swear you’d never do but still do it. You haven’t even started painting it yet. Running your fingers through the mess you call your hair, you slip on your shoes and tear out the door and dash to school. Forget about waiting for the bus; it’ll take too long anyway.

You step into the doorway of the class. Everyone looks up from their canvases, paintbrushes poised. The eyes of the lady sitting behind the teacher’s desk go wide behind her bifocals. Her expression softens upon seeing you fighting for breath, your palms resting on both knees, back curved.

“Pretty sure this isn’t how I’d expect my first impression of you to be,” she says, looking down at her clipboard. “Y/N? I believe.”

You nod, too out of breath to say anything. She beckons to you and points to an empty seat in between a girl and a boy with the softest caramel-coloured hair you’ve ever seen. You manage a light “sorry” before scurrying to your seat facing an easel. You sit your bag on your lap and start rummaging through it for the familiar amethyst tube you use to store your paintbrushes. Palette. Your paint set. No purple tube.

Exasperated, you sigh loudly, earning the curious stare of the caramel hair boy to your left.

“What’s wrong?” he mutters, dipping the tip of his paintbrush in a jar of sooty water. You catch a glimpse of his canvas. Cerulean waters and gold-coloured sand. It reminds you of Beach in Pourville, only his provides a more vivid splash of colours.

Cheeks flushed, you stammer, “Uh… I, uh, left my paintbrushes at home.”

He circles his hand around three paintbrushes resting in a silver tin on the wood stool beside him. “You can use mine,” he grins, facing you.

You accept them readily, heat from your cheeks fading and draining into your fingers. “Thank you…” you trail off.

“Renjun.”

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips. “Y/N, but you already know that.”

He turns away and focusses on his painting. You marvel internally at his work. He has clearly not wasted summer surfing the web. Or maybe he had, just that he has better time management. You turn to observe the girl next to you, whose painting of a cherry blossom tree almost looks ready to be displayed. You take a deep breath and pick up one of your (read: Renjun’s) paintbrushes, gently poking the rounded tip to your chin. A sketch of your grandmother’s front porch stares back at you. You stayed at hers for a week in summer, spending most of your time there lounging on the porch, with her yorkie nipping at your legs every few seconds. You love visiting your grandmother, so when your teacher had informed new art students that the assignment for summer was to just put something down on canvas, you immediately knew what that something was going to be.

“Alright, that’ll be all for today,” the teacher speaks. You’ve forgotten her name (surprise, surprise!), and do not have any idea how to casually ask for it.

She tucks a dark strand of hair which has been bothering her cheek behind her ear. “I want your paintings in by the end of this month. Leave it in the art studio at level two if you’ve completed your piece. There will be easels for everyone.”

The class hums, synchronised, and starts to pack. You bring your canvas to the back and rest it on the voluminous white table, together with several other wet paintings.

“Remember to collect them before going home,” Miss Something calls out, slotting pieces of papers in her sapphire blue file.

You take the paintbrushes and palette to the sink area, somehow not that surprised to see that it is enveloped in layers of dried paint. You fill a container up with water and run the brushes through it, watching it turn ebony. You hate washing paintbrushes, but returning dirty ones to their owner seems pretty insolent. The class starts to empty, leaving only you and this other girl whose fingers are flying over her phone screen. You quickly work some soap into their bristles. After rinsing them, you find some rubber bands on the teacher’s desk and tie them around the brushes.

Renjun’s long gone. You bring his brushes up to eye level and examine them. He has carved what you assume to be his initials on their handles. You run a finger across the engraved ‘H.R.’. The girl drops something on the ground, making you jump. You pick up your bag and leave the room, clutching the trio of brushes.

“You’re alive.” Donghyuck slides into the seat opposite you. “Sigh.”

You scowl at him and unwrap your sandwich. “You can’t sit with me.”

He blithely disregards what you’ve said, picking up some kimchi with his metal chopsticks.

“I overslept this morning,” you start, biting into your snack from the 90-seconds sandwich vending machine. “And I forgot my paintbrushes.”

“I didn’t ask,” Donghyuck says. He chortles when you send him another death glare. “Kidding. So what did you do? Paint with your hands?”

“I always paint with my hands.”

“You know what I mean.”

You take another bite, chewing for a bit before answering, “Someone from class lent me his.”

Donghyuck glances at you. “I’m surprised someone would actually lend stuff to you.”

You reach over and punch his shoulder. At that moment you see the familiar caramel hair boy walk past. You wait till he’s walked further before gesturing to Donghyuck.

“Renjun?” He’s confounded. He shakes his head, shoving rice into his mouth. “He attacked me so many times I’ve lost count.”

“You know him?”

He nods. “Dude, he’s evil.”

“Be nice. He’s nice,” you tut.

“He may look innocent but he’s evil. Trust me. He’s in my vocal class.”

You scrutinise your last bite of sandwich. “So you don’t like him?”

Donghyuck smiles. “He’s a good friend.”

You roll your eyes and pop the small piece in your mouth. He gets up with his tray, and you follow him to the tray return area before ambling to the next class together.

Sharing only one class with Renjun, you’re pleased to see him seated before his unspoken designated easel. You cross the room in a few strides and sit down next to him, fumbling around in your bag for that amethyst tube which you had double checked was in your bag before leaving home. You pull the lid off and draw out the paintbrushes which are engraved with his initials.

His eyebrows shoot up when you tap him on the shoulder. “I wanted to return these to you earlier but I didn’t have the chance to, so… Here you go,” you say, handing the paintbrushes over.

A smile creeps onto his face as he takes them from you. “Don’t worry about it. I have loads.”

You place your canvas on the easel, glad to say that it’s a WIP. You gently squeeze different coloured paint onto your palette. Dipping your brush into a clean jar of water, you then put the tip of your brush in the well containing light pink paint you’ve mixed. You transfer the tip to the canvas, carefully working on the potted flowers hanging from the ceiling of the porch. You move on to working on a cream rocking chair, often dipping the brush in water when the colour isn’t to your satisfaction.

“Wow!” You flinch at the voice and tip the transparent jar holding your paintbrushes over, sending them rolling away from you.

“Oh my God,” the same voice continues. “I’m so sorry.” You see Renjun and two other students getting up to pick up the runaways. You rise from your stool and stoop to get hold of one, but Renjun beats you to it.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats. He places your brushes back into the jar, and you thank the pair who helped before turning to him and say, “It’s okay.”

He looks at you, his face besmirched with a contrite expression.

You wait till heads turn back to their work. “You scared me. Don’t apologise,” you speak silently.

Renjun studies your face, fiddling with his paintbrush. He diverts his attention from you and points at your porch painting. “That looks incredible.”

You scratch the back of your neck. Your tongue suddenly feels too dry. “Thank you.”

You gawk at his painting. The colours look as though they’re leaping off the canvas. His artwork is close to being lifelike. You can smell the salty sea, feel the warmth radiating from the sand.

“You’re really good.” You pause. “And fast.”

“I’ve always loved Art,” he gushes. He opens his mouth to say something but stops. You can tell he spends most of his time painting. His hands are invariably splattered with paint.

“I—”

“Less talking, more painting,” Miss Something taps on the surface of her desk with an unused paintbrush, and that sends you and Renjun right back to work.

Unknown Number hey. sorry if this is weird but it’s renjun and i got your number from donghyuck [9:29 PM] i wanted to ask if you’d like to work on the new art assignment together [9:30 PM]

Your heart lifts when you see the messages.

You hi renjun! [9:31 PM] don’t worry it isn’t weird [9:31 PM] and i would love to. i wanted to ask you actually [9:31 PM]

Your phone lights up only a few seconds later.

Renjun great! [9:31 PM] btw [9:32 PM] i never knew you were donghyuck’s friend [9:32 PM]

You yeah. we’re close [9:35 PM]

Renjun i hang out with him often [9:37 PM] maybe we should too [9:37 PM]

You lie back on your bed and close your eyes, unable to rid the smile off your face.

Donghyuck takes you to the newly opened waffle house on a Saturday. Or is taking you. He slips his hands into his shorts pockets. Only Donghyuck wears shorts when everything is numb with cold outside.

“These legs deserve to be admired,” he claims.

You snort. “I hope you freeze to death.”

A cool zephyr ruffles Donghyuck’s hair. He pokes you. “Spill.”

He leads you into the waffle house bustled with habitués and first-timers. Both of you order immediately after being ushered to a vacant table. You study the waitors and waitresses passing your table.

“Spill,” Donghyuck says again.

“Spill what?”

“I know Renjun texted you.”

You fiddle with the tissues in the ivory tissue box. “Who’s that?” You feign confusion.

“Ha ha.”

“Is this a sleepover or something? Let’s giggle about random stuff, why don’t we?”

He throws the paper wrapper of a drinking straw at you. “Just so you know, I invited him too.”

“Mm,” you intone. “Wait, what?”

A waitress walks over to your table and sets two plates of waffles down, with small plastic cups of maple syrup on the side. She flips a strand of hair from her face and tends another table, her kitten heels clicking across the tiled floor.

There are some people near the entrance, some peering in the place but frowning when they realise the interior is teeming with patrons. Nope. No Renjun.

Donghyuck chuckles. “I was joking. Eager much?”

You pick up the plastic cup and pour the syrup over your waffle, disappointed. “No, I’m not.”

He sighs dramatically and dunks his cut waffle into the syrup, tapping it lightly on the edge of the cup before devouring it.

“He said we should hang out, so I thought…” you say between chews. “Can we talk about something else?”

Donghyuck raises a brow when you mention the first part. He doesn’t ask any more, instead starts prating on about how he did a hidden camera prank on a senior Mark.

You spot the familiar red vans resting on the wooden chair stretcher, visible from under the easel. It’s no longer news to you that Renjun is unfailingly early for art class. You only share this class with him, but you suspect it applies to every other class he takes. He offers a small smile when you lower yourself onto the seat next to him.

“New piece?” you gasp. He stops sketching, face cracking into a greater smile, albeit bashful-looking.

He looks at your canvas. “Are you ready to submit that?”

You press your lips together tightly and shrug. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean? It looks amazing.”

You glance at your porch painting. It does look better than your previous works. The deadline for submissions is next week—ample time for you to ponder if you’re going to submit it early. Renjun returns to his sketch. He suddenly remembers something. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?” you reply, pulling pencils out of your paint-splodged pouch.

Miss Something looks up from her drawing, and you and Renjun duck down tout de suite, laughing silently behind the canvasses.

“About the assignment,” he says sotto voce. “My parents are going to town today, so you can come over. If you’d like to.”

You force yourself to look away. “Sure.”

You spend the next hour working on a new sketch, the waft of paint no longer detectable.

The first thing you notice when you step into Renjun’s house is the coppery swinging cradle chair. Or the girl on it, to be exact. She focuses on you and Renjun and waves, the book on her lap temporarily forgotten. She looks like a doll. Renjun runs over and leans into her outstretched arms. They exchange a few words before she jokingly chases him away so that she can resume reading. She smiles at you and looks down at her novel.

You follow Renjun up the stairs and enters the first room on your right. His clothes are folded and neatly stacked in his closet, the sliding door with slats left ajar. There are drawings of a milk-white animal with a big snout on his wall, and below them lies a small single bed with a fair amount of pillows atop. It looks exceptionally comfortable, maybe because of lassitude.

“Who was that?” you ask.

Renjun throws his bag on the bed. “My cousin.”

Oh.

He walks over to his closet and slides the door shut, then saunters to his windows to raise the blinds. You put your bag down at the foot of his bed.

“Do you want anything to eat?” he queries. “I can make hot chocolate too.”

“Sounds good.”

He proceeds to the door. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You flop down on his bed, deciding to just lie down and rest your eyes for a bit. You can hear the clanking of cups downstairs and faint conversations. The whirring of the fan coaxes you into dreamland.

You wake up to the sound of pencil scratching, feeling your heart stop when you’re greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling. You sit up, locking eyes with the caramel head. The room is a lot darker than when you had last seen it.

“Good nap?” Renjun greets you, taking a bite out of his choco pie. You jump out of his bed and smooth down your hair, collapsing onto the seat opposite him, the rectangular table the only object between both of you. He picks up an empty mug and a thermos and pours some hot chocolate in it, stopping at about three quarters full.

“Here.” He places it down in front of you.

You grab it by the handle. “How long was I asleep?”

He looks at the digital clock. “About an hour and a half.”

You let out a puff. “Why didn’t you wake me up? We didn’t get anything done.”

“You looked so peaceful sleeping. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Your face heats up. He watched you sleep. And you don’t even know for how long. Not even Donghyuck has seen you in your most vulnerable state.

“Sorry for sleeping in your bed. I’ve messed it up.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t mind. I’ll be sleeping in it later anyways.”

That comment somehow makes you flush harder. You clear your throat and take a sip of the hot—now lukewarm but still good—chocolate.

Renjun pushes his sketch to the side and leans forward. “So I was thinking we could do juxtaposition art. I googled it while you were asleep and thought it was pretty interesting. It’s all about contrast, usually with two things which wouldn’t normally be seen together, I guess.

“I thought we could do something cool like a balloon with needles, or like a gigantic boat that’s about to sink in an ocean, or an elderly with a small girl, or—Sorry am I talking too much?”

You blink once, twice, at him. That sounds like it would actually work, and though they aren’t related to art, your other projects were disastrous. Not because you were put into a group with a bunch of ne'er-do-wells (right), but because your ideas sucked. You also wonder what goes on inside Renjun’s brain. “How?”

“Is that bad? Maybe I’ll look for—”

“No, Renjun,” you interrupt. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Be a genius.”

He titters, eyes curving upwards. You sip on the drink again, hiding your smile behind the white mug. There is a light tap on the closed door before it’s pushed open. “Renjun,” his cousin starts. She looks at you as well. “Y/N. Dinner’s ready. I ordered pizza. And Renjun, your parents said they’ll be coming home late tonight.” She disappears down the hallway.

You see one regular and three cans on the table. Renjun’s cousin pulls off a slice from the box and grabs a can. “I’d love to stay kiddos, but I’m meeting a friend.” She slips into her shoes and unlocks the front door. “It’s nice meeting you,” she smiles.

“You too,” you say. You watch the door close behind her as Renjun annihilates his pizza slice. You catch him glancing at you a few times, or maybe it’s the other way round. The pair of you munches quietly, taking gulps of the overly gassy soda, the two mugs of hot chocolate neglected upstairs.

“Why don’t you hang out with me anymore?” Donghyuck whines one Thursday afternoon.

You sigh theatrically. “Don’t blame me. You ditched me twice to hang out with Mark and Jeno.”

“Thrice.”

“That’s even worse.”

He exhales deeply and looks at you, eyes serious. “You can always hang out with us, you know? Yeri joins sometimes.”

“Thanks, Donghyuck. But why are you making it sound like I don’t have friends?”

He suppresses a laugh. “Do you?”

You flick his forehead.

“Kidding.”

You find yourself at Renjun’s so often you’ve lost count. He comes over to your occasionally, but you prefer going over to his. You sit on his bed, playing with his Moomin plush—a softer and larger version of the ones on his wall. Renjun holds up the artwork for the nth time, turning it so it faces you.

“One to ten,” he says.

“Easily ten,” you laugh. You and Renjun had decided to go with the balloon and needle, and it turned out better than expected.

“It’s a scale breaker, Y/N. Miss Lee’s going to love it.” At least now you know the art teacher’s name.

You chortle. He sets it back down on the table and climbs onto the bed next to you, legs dangling off the side.

“What should we do now?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you state. “It’s your house. What do you do for fun?”

He begins to mull. “When I’m not drawing, I sing. When I’m not singing, I watch movies.”

You tug Moomin’s tail and look at him. “Can I hear you sing?”

He looks at you, petrified. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on.”

“It’s… awkward.” He steals Moomin from your hands and rubs his ears.

His eyes light up. “I can send you some files. I used to record my singing.”

“You’d do that but not sing for me now?”

“It’s different. You’re not staring at me.”

“I’ll close my eyes and sit facing the window. How about that?”

He pokes his chin with his index finger. “Fine.”

You move yourself to the front of the window. Renjun coughs, and there’s silence before he starts.

You don’t know the song he’s singing, but the voice that flows to your ears isn’t honey-like like Donghyuck’s, isn’t bubbly like the sophomore Chenle’s. It’s scintillating. It’s Renjun’s. You close your eyes even though you don’t have to, smile widening.

He stops too soon for your liking. “Renjun,” you say, opening your eyes and facing him. “Just what can you not do?”

He smiles meekly.

“I know.” You raise your hand. “You can’t resist the temptation to attack.”

At that, he wraps his arms around your neck playfully. You hit his arm, eyes wet from laughing too hard.

That night, your phone notifies you that you have messages.

Renjun downloadfile.mp3 [10:00 PM] bye i’m going to get off my phone forever [10:00 PM]

You download and open the file, and immediately his singing roams your room. You locate your earphones and plug them in your phone. Earbuds in each ear, you rest your head on the pillow, drifting off and dreaming about this particular boy with soft hair and sunshine smile.

Miss Lee indeed loves your and Renjun’s work. So much she hung it up in the art studio next to the door so that everyone can see it. You cross your arms securely across your chest and admire it, grinning. You also see your porch painting on one of the easel—Miss Lee likes it too. You don’t have anymore classes for the rest of day, or for the week (yay Friday!) and Donghyuck has invited you to lunch. You whip out your phone to see three messages.

Donghyuck 1 pm @ usual place [12:43 PM] DON’T be late [12:44 PM] at least try to show up ;) [12:44 PM]

It’s already 12:55. You get out of the art studio and pootle off to meet him.

Donghyuck isn’t alone. Renjun stands beside him, laughing at something the former says.

“We’re going to watch a movie, then crash Renjun’s house for a sleepover,” Donghyuck begins once you join the pair.

“What about lunch?” you ask.

“Popcorn.”

He treads down the path, and you and Renjun follow him.

Yeri and Mark are standing beside the ticket booth. Yeri reaches out and ruffles your hair. You slap her hand away in mock anger as she sniggers. Mark hands you, Renjun and Donghyuck the tickets and together the group walks into the dark cinema.

You’ve been wanting to watch a scary film for a while, and your face sags when that isn’t what’s showing on the screen. It’s no wonder, Mark would rather take five mathematics exams than watch horror films.

You shove some popcorn in your mouth. Because you’re sharing with Renjun, you make sure he’s taken some before putting your hand in the tub. Yeri laughs at the screen beside you. You catch a glimpse of Donghyuck throwing popcorn seeds at Mark. Whatever’s on the screen certainly isn’t entertaining you like it is entertaining Yeri. You turn to Renjun, but he’s already looking at you.

He looks as if he’s been caught doing something he isn’t supposed to do.

“Enjoying yourself?” you ask, then splutter because that sounded eminently narcissistic. And no, that isn’t what you mean.

He smirks, then shakes it off by looking at the screen. “Not really.”

“Same.”

You let the background music from the movie fill in the air of silence between you and Renjun. 45 minutes into the movie, you don’t know what made you do it, but you wait for the exact moment for Renjun to dip his hand into the popcorn tub before doing the same.

He freezes. Then he’s holding your hand with fingers intertwined in the confined red tub. You feel Yeri nudge you, and turn your head to see Donghyuck with that vexatious look on his face.

You’re freshly out of the shower, snuggled in Yeri’s sweater you’ve borrowed. Renjun’s now taking a shower—he’s the last person to because he believes in being a good host—and that leaves you in his room with the trio. You’re starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Look at the time.” Donghyuck sneaks a look at his nonexistent wristwatch. “It’s confession time.”

Mark looks up from his phone, but stays in his position on the bed—tummy side down. Yeri stops spinning on the chair. You let out a “pfft”.

“So Y/N,” Donghyuck says. “Do you like someone?”

You sit still, noiseless.

“You want me to be more specific? Sure. Someone who loves drawing, someone who loves painting, someone who loves—”

“Donghyuck, you could’ve just said “someone who loves art”,” Mark cuts in.

Yeri shakes her head. “No. You could’ve just said “Renjun”.“

“I-I don’t like him,” you stammer, suddenly feeling too hot in Yeri’s sweater.

Donghyuck falls onto the bed next to Mark and says, “Would you hold hands with someone you don’t like? Voluntarily?”

You look at Donghyuck from where you’re seated on the carpeted floor. “It wasn’t voluntary.” Liar.

“Oh, so Renjun did it?”

“Can we stop talking about this?” You look at the door then back at them.

“Fine, Y/N. But you’d better do something about it, or I’ll do it for you.”

You start to say something but Renjun enters the room, board games in each hand. You thank your lucky stars, moon, sun, whatever that he didn’t walk in earlier.

It’s two in the morning, and everyone is full and dog-tired, having stuffed Twiggies and juice in their mouths non-stop for the past few hours. Mark and Donghyuck snore quietly on Renjun’s bed, chests lifting and dropping calmly. Yeri cuddles a pillow on the floor next to them, her face obscured by her hair. Renjun tidies up the games and pushes them under his bed. He drags two throws out of his closet and smiles apologetically at you.

“These are all I got, unless you’re up to kicking Mark and Donghyuck off the bed,” he whispers.

You laugh into your palm. “Tempting.”

He settles the throws down on the floor at the end of the bed and turns off the light.

“Is this okay?” He lies down next to you and spread a blanket, throwing it over the two of you.

You hum softly. He faces you. You see the outline of his face, then his eyes, nose, and lips when your eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and also with the help of the white light the moon is casting through the windows.

Renjun raises his right arm, his knuckles gently brushing your cheek. He closes his eyes, and stays that way for a few minutes, hours even. All you can hear is Mark and Donghyuck’s shallow breathings, Yeri's periodic movements.

You can’t sleep, not at all. You study Renjun’s sleeping face. He looks younger, smaller, vulnerable.

“I like you. A lot,” you whisper, heart beat accelerating. You feel foolish. He can’t even hear you.

Except he can. He opens his eyes and runs his fingers through your hair, grinning. “I like you a lot more.”

Looks like you’re not the only one who can’t sleep tonight.

ok clarification time. i know nothing about art. my last art class was two/three years ago. i didn’t learn much. and renjun’s cousin knows your name because he told her when he’s downstairs preparing snacks. i wrote this whenever i take a break from studying. i hate studying asdvpdvskdpwd :( so this has been rotting in my drafts ahahaha. lastly and always, thank you for reading! i really appreciate it

[heartbreakweathervinyl]

This Is The Ghost Of You // Narry - Chapter 2

Summary: Harry Styles just moved to Manchester with his three best friends to study at the University Of Manchester. He bought a small apartment for himself and tries to get comfortable with his new surroundings which actually works pretty well.

Over the course of a few weeks weird things happen though. Things Harry knows he didn’t do.

When his older neighbour gets involved, everything seems to start making sense but new questions appear and Harry is sure he’s lost his mind more than once.

Trigger Warnings: None

Words: 860

Read on Wattpad (English)

Read on FanFiktion (German)

Today was Harry's first day at university and he was... excited.

He was a bit nervous of course but it was mostly because of the topics they'd have to go through. Now, Harry was a great learner and studying wasn't a problem but whenever a teacher wrote down the new topic and Harry didn't know anything about it- that's what's making it scary. He was scared of not being able to show his potential and thus disappointing his parents. That's how he grew up. The words he lived by have always been: Make your parents happy, then they'll make you happy.

Sounded like a sad childhood but it really wasn't. Harry loved studying and getting rewards for his work. It made him a bit of an arrogant child but his friends became used to it soon enough.

He set an alarm the night before, so he wouldn't oversleep. Seeing as his first lecture was around 9:30am, he set his alarm for 7am. This way, he'd have enough time to wake up properly, have a nice shower and a great breakfast. He'd be able to style his hair into a man bun and then there should be enough time to find the right bus which should take him to the university. He had memorised the bussystem for the most part by now but he could always take the wrong bus by mistake and he still had to find his way around the university.

One thing he didn't expect was to fall asleep again after his alarm went off the next morning. To be fair, he just wanted to stay in bed for one more minute.

The next time he woke up because his blanket was pulled off of him. Well, it probablay fell off but Harry could swear it felt like someone has grapped it and yanked it off. That couldn't have happened though. Remember? He lived all alone and if somebody were to stand in his bedroom he'd get the third heart attack in like a week.

Anyway. He woke up because the cold air hugged his bare legs and chest instead of his fluffy blanket.

Harry closed his eyes, wrinkled his nose and yawned while stretching out his sleepy limbs. The snapping of his bones wasn't something he was willing to acknowledge. He was way to young to be concerned about getting old.

"I definitely won't miss sleeping in" Harry thought while turning around on his side. This way it'd be easier to turn off the alarm that didn't ring.

Wait-

Harry shot up into a sitting position. He turned his head to the right bedside table where his alarm clock stood. Within a second, his eyes found the red numbers but, to his horror, they didn't show 7 am but 8:42 am.

His heart hammered against his ribcage. He was more than an hour and a half late. How did that happen? He's never overslept before and the first time just had to be the first day of uni? Well, if that's not a great start to the semester.

Jumping out of bed, he made his way over to the bathroom. He was still mostly asleep which resulted in him almost kicking the bed frame but he somehow managed to avoid the wooden frame by a millimeter. After he reached the bathroom, he stood in front of the floor lengtht mirror. Clearly, there was no time for a shower left and he had to use his deodorant instead, spreading it all over his body.

His hair resembled a bird's nest, being all curly, dry and all over the place. Seeing it the way it was right now, made him scared of combing through it.

"The other students will be way to nervous to notice the way I look today" That's what he tried to tell himself while he reached for a hair tie and put his hair up to a man bun. It had to be enough for today. The clothes he wore just yesterday were thrown over the edge of the tub and he decided to put them on. While doing so, he had his toothbrush in his mouth and concentrated on not poking his throat.

As soon as he's finished with body hygiene, he put his watch around his left wrist and noticed the time. 8:49 am, not bad. He should have enough time to eat something small.

Before he went over to the kitchen, he entered the guest bedroom and threw his bag over his shoulder. Then he walked into the kitchen and made himself a sandwich which he stuffed in his mouth while putting on shoes and his jacket.

That didn't take him too long and after putting his mobile and wallet in his pocket, he left the flat.

"Look at me, having my life under control" he thought proudly. He didn't seem to notice that it wasn't like that at all.

The front door's key was placed on the round table, next to the door by the way - inside his flat.