>It’s kind of strange, now that you think about it
>No matter how much you sleep…
>No matter how much coffee you chug through the day…
>”Don’t fall asleep.”
>It’s always the same come homeroom
>Groaning, you gently shift your head on the ad hoc pillow below, content on ignoring the new voice
>Just as you’re ‘this’ close to entering that sweet twilight between consciousness and the dreamscape, however, you feel something
>Something stiff and annoying
>Very, very annoying
>And it just keeps going on and on, each firm poke to your shoulder fueling the thoughts for violent sodomization with a pineapple
>For a while you just try and ignore it
>You give up on that train of thought, though, well after you’ve counted to fifty
>Slowly pulling your face from the letterman jacket balled up on the desk, you turn to your seatmate
>Through tired eyes do you take in the features at the…
>Wait, you actually don’t know this guy
>Transfer?
>Eh, doesn’t matter
“Fuck off.”
>Not caring for his response, you lower your face back down and give a grumble
>There’s silence for a moment…
>”I just don’t want you to get in trouble.”
>It was almost too quiet to hear, but you somehow manage
>You’re tempted to just let the comment slide, but, after a minute of trying to fall asleep again, you curse silently
>Little shit’s gotten you a little riled up now
>It’s not often that you don’t get your hour of beauty-sleep during homeroom, after all
>Slowly sitting up in your seat, you begin a slow stretch
“You new here, guy?”
>The lad, attempting to feign interest into his homework, thinks for a moment
>”Maybe.”
>You raise a brow
>He still doesn’t meet your eyes
“Well, little word of advice…”
>You swipe one of his many pencils, of which are all in a height line
>His eyes dart up to meet yours, to which you give a small, shit-eating grin
“Nobody gives a fuck here in CHS.”
>That being said, you wind the pencil back and fling it at the back of Bulk Bicep’s head
>You’re already feigning sleep back on the jacket before he turns around
>Several moments later, when you hear the sound of heated argument from Biceps and some random student, you rise as if waking up
>Rubbing your eyes, you ask aloud what’s happening
>Like clockwork, several classmates, knowing full well it was you, give you a smug smile before shaking their heads
>You shrug
>You turn back to your seatmate to see his wide eyes, mouth slightly agape as he looks at Biceps
>Of whom had just thrown Flash’s work to the ground in retaliation
>Oh
>Oh man
“Ain’t nobody give a fuck here,” you say with a chuckle, offering his shoulder a smack, “‘specially Mr Doodle.”
>You both look at the teacher
>He’s completely rapt in whatever his laptop offers him, earphones on and all
>Just as things begin to get good, though, Biceps and Flash are torn apart by members of the student council
>Fucking faggots
>A lingering smile remains on your face as you turn back to the new guy
“I’mma do it again, witness m—”
>”That was my favorite pencil.”
>You blink, raising a brow
>The lad’s voice has gone a funny shade of quiet now…
>You could’ve sworn that you heard some quivering in there too
“Eh, they’re a dime a doz—”
>”That was my favorite pencil.”
>You stare silently, brow cocked and sneer slowly morphing onto your face
>”That. Was. My. Favorite. Pencil!”
>You raise a finger before moving to speak, but the lad moves quicker than you thought possible
>”You just don’t do that, man!”
>His little hands manage to grab around the collar and shake it furiously
>He succeeds in ruining your collar, yes, but you don’t move an inch as he puts all his weight into the action
>Kind of amused, you reach up and grab his wrists
>He stops moving as soon as your touch meets him, his eyes dilating as if he realized what he’s done
“Guy, you are several shades of lucky I’m one step from getting expelled right now.”
>You give a toothy grin to the kid as his arms go limp in your grasp
>Before you can let go, though, you notice a small blush in his cheeks as his mouth scrunches up
>”S-sorry!”
>Just as abruptly as your meeting as started, so has it ended as you let go of him
>The strange lad picks up his textbook and buries his face in it, silently, yet furiously, mumbling to himself all the while
>...You’re not sure how to feel about the still-growing blush on the lad’s cheeks, though
>Eying him warily, you make to stand and begin to make your way over to Biceps
>Hopefully he didn’t break it in a fit of rage
>...
>......
>You…
>Oh God, what’d you just do?!
>That was—you didn’t mean to!
>It just sorta’... happened
>That was a gift from Twiggy, and you got riled up all of a sudden
>That’s not like you
>Taking a moment to compose yourself, you remember what mom always to—
>Mom
>Ugh!
>Your head meets the table with an audible ‘thunk!’
>You told her, you TOLD her people would think you’re a guy!
>Fuck
>Rubbing at your now-throbbing head, you sit there for a moment in brooding
>It takes a few moments of mind-racking thought and zen-like concentration, but you eventually muster the right words
“I want to die.”
>”Get in line, faggot.”
>You jump with a start, your book cratering off the desk as you make to stand from the sudden voice from behind
>You turn on a dime, eyes wide and hands slightly covering your face
>Standing just before you is the green senior, his brow raised and mouth curled in a small, satisfied smile
>”Nice squeal.”
>There’s a blur of movement, and you see your beloved pencil midair for a split moment
>You swipe it from the air and hold it close to your chest, a sense of comfort already making it’s way onto you
>A moment passes before eyes begin to waver from you
>It’s a moment where you sigh and take your seat
“I hate you.”
>You can see him picking up his supplies and donning his letterman in your peripherals
>”Aww, you sound just like my parents.”
>Your mouth moves, but nothing comes out, save for blank air
“Oh, uh…”
>You weren’t expecting that one
>You turn your head to look at him fully and let out a pout when you see the shit-eating smile on his face
>”Gotcha, bitch!”
>He lightly smacks your shoulder
>With a chuckle does he throw his bag over his shoulder and make way for the door
>You’re not sure, but you follow his back all the way
>Ugh
>What an asshole
>All you wanted was to make sure he didn’t get in trouble
>You slink back into your seat as the bell rings to the sound of a great many students packing up
>After ten minutes or so, when the last student has left, you begin to pack up as well
>Just as you push in your seat, however, you see something
>Something round and blue
>Picking up the bottle, you read the little slip of medical tape stuck to the side, the letters clearly drawn in Sharpie
>’Anonymous, #344’
>You blink at that before making your way to the door, eying the trash can all the while
>Anonymous, eh?
>Kind of fits him, you guess
>The bottle dangles over the trash for a long while, your mind doing too much thinking for such a simple action
>Ugh
>Mom sure raised something…
>But she didn’t raise an asshole
>Stuffing the bottle in your backpack, you make your way out the classroom
>A small smile makes its way onto your face as you begin to descend the stairwell, though
>Maybe he’d thank you?
>Maybe you’d have someone to talk to?
>You chuckle, eyes now downcast
>That’d be nice