Aches

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A/N: Hey guys, can I ask a favour? If you're still reading and enjoying this story, please drop me a comment and/or vote for this chapter. The last one really dropped off in reads and votes, so I'm wondering if it's not living up to expectations...

The morning after the party is murder, partly because of the way my head aches so badly my eyes hurt, but mostly because of the class I have to drag myself to. Latin Literature is brutal, and deathly boring, but it might just come in handy if I do decide to go down the law school path, given how much Latin is still used in legal maxims and terminology. So, I slog my way through it, trying to force my slightly fuzzy brain to make sense of the themes in the text we're studying at the moment. Honestly, I'm not sure how successful I am, because two hours later, I still feel pretty lost.

There's no real time to dwell on that though, because I have to hightail it out of the lecture as soon as it ends to make it across campus in time for my next one. It probably seems odd that I'm almost relieved to get to my next class, given the subject matter. Linear algebra and differential equations wouldn't be most people's comfort zone, I realize, but ironically it's become almost a life raft for me in a sea of endless reading. Math doesn't require me to read a million words a week and reason my way through themes and concepts, churning out yet another essay, where the end result is always subjective, never concrete. Math just needs me to show up and work my way through problems to arrive at a single, defined, correct solution.

In a place where I feel so unsure, being able to actually finish something successfully is a huge relief. And so, yeah, I kind of look forward to my math class. At the moment, it's the only thing that makes me think I might actually deserve to be here after all. My head feels clearer by the time the lecture finishes, and I feel lighter as I head to the dining hall for lunch. Today's a half day for me, class-wise, and I have a few hours before football training, so I head back to my dorm, intent on getting some reading done.

Setting an alarm to make sure I get to training on time, I flick through the book, finding my place again before getting comfortable. I'm not sure how long I stare at the page before my late night catches up with me and my eyes drift closed. But the next thing I know, my alarm is waking me up, the book splayed open across my chest. Shit. I barely got anywhere with it, and now I have to get ready for training. I can't be late again, or Coach will probably threaten to cut me from the team, or at the very least, bench me for the next game.

"Flynn!" Boyle's voice greets me as I make it to training a little early for once. "How you doin' man?"

"Yeah, fine. How 'bout you?"

"Can't complain. Not looking forward to running sprints today, though."

"I know what you mean."

"Hey, um, are you busy Friday night?"

"Nah, man, I'll probably just be studying." Or trying to, anyway.

Boyle looks a little embarrassed. "It's just, there's a girl at La Vie who asked me to a party they're having... and I could use a wingman."

I should say no, I realize. I should tell him I'm too far behind to go out again this week, that I need to study. But besides my roommates, Boyle is the closest thing I have to a friend here, and he's my teammate, after all. He knows I have a girlfriend, which is probably half the reason he's asking me along, since I won't be competition with this girl he seems eager to win over. In the end, it seems like an easy choice.

"Yeah, no worries. I can come. Let me know where to meet you, okay?"

"Sweet. I owe you, man."

"I'm gonna hold you to that," I smirk.

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