Mondays. Mondays were the most monotonous, pointless, irritating and mundane days of the week as far as Mario was concerned. They revolved around the hellish duty of having to stumble like a half-brained zombie from the comfort and heaven that was his bed, deck himself out into a set of mostly un-ironed clothes, and then grumpily storm to one of his lectures, only to never have the information sink in, and instead spend the entirety of the hour glaring furiously at the inhabitants of the lecture hall. They breathed too loudly; they laughed insanely, and they asked the most idiotic of questions. Mondays. Mondays were definitely the worst days of them all, made worse because he was usually hungover after a drinking session on the lazy Sunday he spent lounging in his and his boyfriend's dorm. The only, only upside to a Monday was the time off he had after his first lecture, in which he usually spent it back in his dorm with a cigarette or a casual drug in hand, and, if his goody-two-shoes boyfriend could stand the scene, he would happily watch some stupidly cheesy movie with him. Anything to avoid doing the work he was supposed to. And that was where he currently was, after the mind-numbing hour spent glaring at the people in the lecture hall. He could have easily just sat there, invisible - still learning, but immune to the whispers about him and the glances he was given for his hungover state. Yet, he tried not to use his powers when he was just a bog-standard human. When he was 'Ghost', however? He used his powers whenever he could - it was a release, if anything. A release from the constrained, suffocating nature of normality. Lounging out tiredly, his long legs finding space to rest after kicking off most the books on his desk, he ran a hand coolly through his hair with his eyes, dull and red, glancing aimlessly through the room, landing inanely on his boyfriend's things. Things that were, unsurprisingly, the direct contrast to his own possessions. While his boyfriend had all the books he needed to pass exams in perfect condition, and had all his notes stacked neatly, Mario, by contrast, had no such organisation - his exam revision was strewn across the room, the desk occupied not just by his feet but by empty cans and unwrapped cigarettes... as well as the obvious appearance of weed. Oh well, was his thought. Knowing his luck, Lucius would enter at any moment, rant at him for the messy state, and clear it all up for him anyway. What was a boyfriend for?