#(brayden003)

For once, their dorm room is empty when Grayson comes home from classes. Of course, he’s timed it this way on purpose, cutting his last class so that he’d be home in the middle of the day. There’s nothing he needs to get done, frankly. He’s just flopped on the couch, phone on silent, thoughts too loud. 

He’s already gone for a walk, and he’s smoked until his entire being reeks of it. There’s nothing obviously broken in their apartment that he can fix, and he knows, because he’s already checked—looked for wobbly desks, stuck drawers, even considered buffing out spots on the table before he thought too hard about what Brayden or Sterling would say if they walked in on that.

He likes fixing things though. Grayson knows what they say about idle hands, and he knows what they say about his hands. In both instances, it’s better to keep them occupied. Besides, it’s useful on the ranch if you rebuild or remodel something beyond its years, and Grayson likes to be useful back home. It’s also an excellent distraction from his thoughts, which might be the other reason he’d gotten into the habit young. 

Grayson hears the door open behind him, and he can’t suppress a groan. As restless as he feels, he also doesn’t want to socialize right now—but thankfully, it’s Brayden, the least social of his three roommates. “Don’t you have class?” Grayson says, without getting up from his spot on the couch.