Every day, Lofty stood by Iain's locker, waiting. Iain would turn the corner, entering the English block and Lofty would freeze up inside – a little bit of panic, a little bit of love – before turning and leaving through the second exit, presumably on his way to the maths block. Occasionally though, he'd turn back, staring through the glass at the sight before him, in the same way a child would when stood outside a toy shop – marvelling at all the new and intriguing objects inside. Only one object in the English block mattered to Lofty, and sadly for him, it was an object that didn't even know he existed.
Lofty sighed shoving his hair to one side out of his eyes, it was far too long and Dylan had been trying to get him to cut it for ages, but he found it difficult. The feeling of going into the hairdresser's on the corner and listening to what most likely would follow the pattern of Cindy, teasing his hair into painful grips, while talking about Shania's new boyfriend and just what they did on the weekend. Would you believe?
It wasn't just that that Lofty hated, it was the scent of all the shampoos that made him sneeze and the relentless temperature change from it being too warm, to suddenly cold as the air conditioning bumped into life when it finally detected the same rainforest-esque stale humidity that had been hanging in the air for the past few hours. It was the way the incessant chatter scraped and clawed at a part of his brain and the black robe tied around your neck like some kind of reverse gag, tugging at the hairs on the nape of your neck and causing semi-restrictive breathing.
That's what Lofty really hated – the restriction – he shuddered at the thought.
Iain started away from his locker, flipping his fringe back and smirking at the girl tottering next to him, his focus elsewhere. Being top of the food-chain must take some work Lofty thought, a new girl every week and he clearly doesn't love a single one of them. All the play-pretend surely must get tiring. Lofty just wished he didn't feel like the girl, desperately trying to be part of the crowd. Sure, he didn't physically fling himself at Iain, but that was what it felt like in his head at least. Like a drowning dog, his mind was focused on only one thing: the dry land – Iain.
Shaking his attention from daydreams, Lofty pushed away from the glass and span on his heel, making for the maths block.
Iain watched as the condensation Lofty had left behind slowly faded in the cold winter air and sighed; he'd slipped through his fingers once more.