#subtle feels

Another day had dragged along for Eric Montgomery, his photography class now consuming his last class of the evening. Everything had been a blur, going through the motions, conversations meant for his benefit muffled in his inconsistent thoughts. He snuck out a bit early, unable to keep his attention on his professor for long and he ducked into the hallway, his head low. His hands were shaking, lack of food? No he just ate.. Nerves? He couldn’t quite place it. He shook his head a bit as he walked towards the exit, headphones over his head as Kendrick spoke into his ears. Nerves.

Eric set off to return back to the frat house, he had every intention to though his legs had other plans. They led him through campus, making a few deals on the way with the remnants of weed he had in his bag. Fifty bucks . That’d get him dinner. The night air was beginning to drop as he pulled his red hoodie over his body. His hands were shaking, cold? Perhaps. Eric soon found himself scaling an all too familiar building he’d found freshman year, reaching the rooftop through a few side stairs. He set his bag down against the small wall as he peered over the edge, his forearms resting against the brick, eyebrows furrowed.

His hands were shaking, fear of heights? No. 

He stood there for what had seemed to be hours though the New York skyline wouldn’t provide an answer, the lights never dimming. He missed Boston for this reason, homesick? Perhaps. He swallowed hard as he stared off at the cars, attempting to calm himself though he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so out of place. He had everything, friends, his sister, a life built for him at NYU but he couldn’t shake this feeling. 

Dark hands pulled his bag up to the ledge, taking out a small joint he had rolled earlier in the day, taking out his black lighter before sparking it, ducking from the wind momentarily before it caught. Eric pulled the joint from his lips a few times as he took several puffs, the smoke trickling from his lips. His hands weren’t shaking, finally. He kept a steady pace with his joint, the smoke filling his lungs, his thoughts clearing almost instantly. His choice of self medication was unfathomably inappropriate, though he didn’t know what else to do. 

He was lost.