Wei considered himself the master of keeping it together.
With all the responsibilities he had, and all the people he had to please during the culture festival, with everyone pulling him in every direction all at once, all simultaneously, he would die if he couldn't handle it. If he couldn't keep it together.
Being involved in so many clubs was his way of making himself known. Of making himself comfortable. When he was busy he didn't have to think. He could put all his energy on the never-ending stream of tasks that he had to deal with. Instead of thinking about himself he could pour over homework, doing and redoing and re-redoing the same problems time and time again even though he knew he'd gotten the answer right the first time. Instead of wondering about his dad, what he was doing, where he was, he could teach a new dance he'd choreographed, an intense version for DANCE! and another, lighter version for the Idol group, until his muscles burned.
Cheerleading was the same thing, bending and twisting and letting out his feelings in angry shouts that he could temper into sounding peppy and upbeat. He could even spend his days pouring over the meta of his favorite video games, or take on more ours at Everything Nice, or loiter around the Infirmary with Arren when he could pretend that he hadn't been awake for 33 hours, quickly closing in on the 34th.
He ducked away from the festival, with a thin excuse about needed to check on something in another building. No one questioned it. The Secretary, as the one in charge of events and campus relations, smoothing over the communication lines between the sometimes idyllic and obtuse council and the diverse student body, was often the one who got pulled in every direction at the same time. No one questioned that the direction he'd taken didn't lead out of the building. No one noticed the pained expression and shaking limbs, or the way his hands clutched his skull as his mind pounded like it was seconds from cracking open in his hands.
At least, he hoped not.
"Shǐ tāmen tuánjié xiézuò..." he muttered under his breath as he wandered into the derelict part of the school, covered in dust and broken tables. His fur picked up the dust easily, he would need to wash it off before he went back to the festival. He couldn't let them know where he'd been.
The monkey boy ducked into the room at the furthest part of the hall, empty and dark and soothing. When he closed the door behind him he let himself relax for a moment before his head rang like someone was screaming in his ears. He didn't know if someone was actually screaming or if it was in his head. He was unsteady as he walked towards the teacher's desk and ducked under it, pressing his back to the old musty wood, and putting his feet flat against the wood, leaving him in a somewhat improvised vertical fetal position. His breath was shaky, and even the muted patterns of the wood swirled and confused him and made his head pound.
"Shǐ.... tāmen.... tuánjié xiézuò..."
Keep it together.....
With all the responsibilities he had, and all the people he had to please during the culture festival, with everyone pulling him in every direction all at once, all simultaneously, he would die if he couldn't handle it. If he couldn't keep it together.
Being involved in so many clubs was his way of making himself known. Of making himself comfortable. When he was busy he didn't have to think. He could put all his energy on the never-ending stream of tasks that he had to deal with. Instead of thinking about himself he could pour over homework, doing and redoing and re-redoing the same problems time and time again even though he knew he'd gotten the answer right the first time. Instead of wondering about his dad, what he was doing, where he was, he could teach a new dance he'd choreographed, an intense version for DANCE! and another, lighter version for the Idol group, until his muscles burned.
Cheerleading was the same thing, bending and twisting and letting out his feelings in angry shouts that he could temper into sounding peppy and upbeat. He could even spend his days pouring over the meta of his favorite video games, or take on more ours at Everything Nice, or loiter around the Infirmary with Arren when he could pretend that he hadn't been awake for 33 hours, quickly closing in on the 34th.
He ducked away from the festival, with a thin excuse about needed to check on something in another building. No one questioned it. The Secretary, as the one in charge of events and campus relations, smoothing over the communication lines between the sometimes idyllic and obtuse council and the diverse student body, was often the one who got pulled in every direction at the same time. No one questioned that the direction he'd taken didn't lead out of the building. No one noticed the pained expression and shaking limbs, or the way his hands clutched his skull as his mind pounded like it was seconds from cracking open in his hands.
At least, he hoped not.
"Shǐ tāmen tuánjié xiézuò..." he muttered under his breath as he wandered into the derelict part of the school, covered in dust and broken tables. His fur picked up the dust easily, he would need to wash it off before he went back to the festival. He couldn't let them know where he'd been.
The monkey boy ducked into the room at the furthest part of the hall, empty and dark and soothing. When he closed the door behind him he let himself relax for a moment before his head rang like someone was screaming in his ears. He didn't know if someone was actually screaming or if it was in his head. He was unsteady as he walked towards the teacher's desk and ducked under it, pressing his back to the old musty wood, and putting his feet flat against the wood, leaving him in a somewhat improvised vertical fetal position. His breath was shaky, and even the muted patterns of the wood swirled and confused him and made his head pound.
"Shǐ.... tāmen.... tuánjié xiézuò..."
Keep it together.....
