#I remember with so much hatred this one science teacher I had that scolded me FOR WRITING A LITTLE OFF OF THE SQUARES

[dragoninahumancostume]

I have no idea what the adults in my life have done to me that made me hate them so badly but I literally can't trust them. Over 18? Yeah fuck off and don't talk to me. You're a danger to me having a good day. GET OUT.

[dreamerstreamer]

A Terrible Tutor

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: [High School!AU] He’s cocky, annoying, a total tease, has a laugh loud enough to shake the stars, and you hate him. But as luck would have it, he’s also your tutor.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: minor cursing

A/N: this is based on a classmate i had way back! (we did not fall in love. he was awful.) i’ve also never taken physics, but i tried something a bit new for the reader’s personality. i hope you enjoy :) <3

You glared down at your physics textbook, the open pages staring back up at you with beady eyes made of diagrams and labels. Off to the side, your notebook was strewn across your desk, a list of questions scribbled across the top line in a hurried rush. The handwriting was messier than you would have liked, but the thought didn’t irritate you.

What did irritate you was that it was nearly half past four, and your so-called tutor still hadn’t shown up.

You could still envision the concerned look on Mr. Craftson’s face as he held you back a moment after class, watching as the rest of your classmates poured out of the door with an anxious look. He had offered you a kind smile before pulling out your test from the week before, and you winced at the numerous red marks scattered across the front page alone.

“I know you’ve been struggling in this class,” he said, gazing at you almost pitifully.

You tried not to glower at the sight of his apologetic eyes trained on you, instead nodding your head slowly. “It’s been… hard,” you said slowly.

He leaned an arm on his chair, pushing your test toward you. “You ask questions in class,” he hummed, “and from what I’ve seen, you complete your homework diligently.” His smile fell. “Yet here you are me, with the lowest mark in my class.”

You wanted to shrivel up into a ball. Maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but he wasn’t wrong, either.

At your silence, he prodded at you. “Is there anything going on at home that might be hindering you, or…?”

You whipped your head up, your eyes wide. “No! Things are—things are great. It’s just…”

You swallowed, then sighed, fidgeting your fingers on your lap. “I guess,” you murmured, trying to quell the shame flaring up inside you, “I’ve just been really struggling with the material, and none of it’s really been clicking.”

Mr. Craftson’s face softened in an instant. “That’s alright. Thank you for being honest with me. If my teaching hasn’t been working out with you…”

He paused, rubbing at the blond stubble on his chin for a moment. Then, his face lit up and he leaned forward. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’ve got a great student who I think might be able to explain things to you in a way you might be able to grasp a little better. He’s got the best marks in this class.”

Your eyes widened. The best in the class? He had to be a genius.

“I have a good feeling he can meet you tomorrow at four after school to help you out,” he continued, leaning against the arm rest of his office chair. “What do you say?”

You blinked, a thoughtful look passing over your face. Lord knew you needed the help—you were practically failing the class—but an uneasy stone settled into the pit of your stomach. You’ve never needed tis much help to pass a class before. The thought made you want to gag. Slowly, you opened your mouth.

“Do I have to…” You gestured vaguely. “Pay him or something?”

His cerulean eyes blinked at you for a second, then he laughed—the kind of deep-belly laugh only teachers seemed to be able to have. “No, no,” he said, waving his hand at you, “not at all. He’s a good kid. He wouldn’t do something like that.”

You bobbed your head, your insides crumbling. You didn’t want to accept, you really didn’t. Part of you guys wanted to believe that you could just work harder, study by yourself even more. You were a dedicated student, and you were doing just fine in all your other classes. Surely the content couldn’t get that much harder, right?

But as your gaze lowered to the red ink staining your test once more, you felt yourself swallowing the lump in your throat. Straightening your back, you let your stubborn pride seep out of your shoulders and onto the floor.

It looked like this was a sacrifice you were simply going to have to make.

“Thank you so much for the offer,” you said, letting your lips curl up into a genuine, grateful smile. “It—it really means a lot.”

Mr. Craftson grinned at you, an easygoing flint shining in his eyes. “Of course. You’re a bright student. Sometimes we all just need a little push.”

You could still remember shaking his hand in thanks before bundling your stuff in your arms and shuffling into the hall, tucking your feet between the pages of your textbook. That had been yesterday, and now, the same one was sitting on your desk, open to a new page full of jumbled words you could hardly decipher.

The chair across from you was distinctly empty.

He—whoever he was—was late.

You distantly wondered to yourself who your tutor even was, your gaze drifting down to your textbook. Mr. Craftson had said he was the best student taking the class. Would it be George? He always seemed like he knew what was going on, and he never really asked questions. But sometimes, he looked like he was just zoning out. Maybe it was Technoblade. He was smart. You paused, then shook your head. No, everyone knew he was one of those English kids.

The thought made you furrow your brows, wracking your head even more. The words on the page grew muddled and fuzzy as you thought even more. Just who was it?

Just then, you heard the classroom door swing open with the same loud creak every door in the school seemed to have. The sound of heavy breaths and panting filled the air, then a haggard voice spoke up.

“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late.”

You didn’t look up from your page, letting a sigh escape your lips as you lifted your head. Plastering a polite smile to your face, you let your gaze travel toward your tutor. “Hi, it’s nice to me—”

Suddenly, your voice died in your throat as your eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway. Towering over the desks with a duffel bag resting against his hip, his dirty blond locks were damp and matted against his forehead, his emerald eyes blinking at you. Something bitter and warm twisted in your gut at the sight, and the smile dropped off your face and into a scowl.

“Oh,” you said flatly. “It’s you.”

The smile he offered you was easygoing, but you didn’t miss the strain in his gaze. “It’s me.”

You bit on the inside of your cheek, your heart practically revolting against your rib cage with the way it was hammering. A million questions were darting around the inside of your skull, only making your blood boil even more with each passing second.

Of all the people you had expected to show up, Clay was easily the last.

The two of you had first met back in freshman year in your first science class—he had sat behind you and had the loudest laugh on the planet, or so you were convinced. You were quieter back then, but just as stubborn and snappish as now. Soon enough, one thing led to another, and you swore the two of you were suddenly enemies for life.

Although you couldn’t remember what had caused your little feud, you knew that he was the one who started it. He was loud and kicked your chair, he just loved to borrow your pens and never return them, and you could never figure out just why he loved to tease you so much. You don’t think you learned a single thing in that class, always distracted by the presence staring a hole into your back, and you wanted absolutely nothing to do with him.

Naturally, that meant your teacher assigned him to sit behind you for the rest of the year. To this day, you were convinced she hated you, and you still avoided her in the halls.

To say that science class was your least favourite would be an understatement, and soon enough, everybody was in on your hatred for each other. Clay never seemed to stop pestering you no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, and you would never forget the day you finally snapped at him, whipping around to glare at him with your cheeks on fire.

“Will you please shut up?”

The shocked look on his face was still burned into your memory as it melted into a wide, proud grin.

“Only if you make me.”

Even years later, he always seemed to find a way to worm himself back into your life, and you hated it. You hated him, simple as that.

So, seeing him standing in front of you like this, it took every ounce of your strength to keep your voice as neutral as possible.

“What took you so long?”

He patted his duffel bag before slipping it off his shoulder and setting it on the ground. “I just finished football practice. Coach ran a little long and I figured it would be polite to take a shower before so I didn’t smell all sweaty when I tutored you.”

You blinked, your mouth falling open. That explained his wet hair, you guessed. While you were vaguely flattered, you were distracted by something else. “You knew that you would be tutoring me?”

Clay nodded, pulling back the chair in front of you. “Yeah. Phil asked me.”

You gaped. “You call Mr. Craftson by his first name?”

His smile was a touch too smug for your liking, and you wanted to wipe it off his face. “Maybe. I was surprised when he asked, though.” He wrinkled his nose and shot you a teasing smirk as he sat down. “I didn’t think you would be failing this class.”

You glowered, that same bitter feeling bubbling up in your chest, again. “I’m not failing,” you snapped. “I’m just…” You paused, your cheeks growing hot. “…not passing.”

He gave you a deadpan look, then laughed. “That’s the same thing.”

You sent him a gesture that your teacher most certainly would have scolded you for if he was here, and he laughed even harder. You were suddenly reminded of just how damn loud his laugh was, sounding like fireworks in your ears. Slumping over, you hung your head in your hands.

“Ugh. I can’t believe you knew you were going to be tutoring me of all people.” You paused, then added, “I can’t believe you agreed.”

He tilted his head at you, brushing his damp hair out of his face. “Did you not know I was gonna be your tutor?”

“No.” You frowned. “If I did, I wouldn’t have shown up.”

His eyes flickered with mirth as a smile stretched across his face. “Aw, am I really that disagreeable?”

“Yes,” you said immediately, your gaze as sharp as a blade. “Without a doubt. A hundred percent. I didn’t even have to think about it.”

He whistled, feigning a wince. “Harsh.”

Wryly, you said, “You deserve it.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “I wasn’t that bad as a freshman, was I?”

You gave him a hard, callous stare. “Do you really think I’m the one you should be asking that question?”

He thought about it for a moment, then sighed. “Okay, point taken.”

You dragged a hand over your face, then pointed at your textbook. “Are you going to teach me now or what? We’re already behind.”

He winced for real this time, and you almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Sorry, again.”

“Seriously,” you muttered under your breath, reaching into your back to grab your pencil case, “and to think that you have the highest grades in this class.”

“Hey,” he shot back, “I’m brains and brawn.”

You shot him a look that was nothing short of disgusted. He cringed a little at the sight.

“Okay, that was cheesy, but I’m not wrong. Besides, coach says I have to keep my grades up or else I’m off the team.” He leaned closer to you, and you tried to ignore the feeling of his hot breath fanning over your skin. “You know I can’t let everyone down like that.”

You looked unconvinced. “Uh huh. Totally.” Whipping out a pencil, you tapped at the bottom of the page you had open. “Can you explain this to me, now? The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave.”

He quietly chuckled, and you hated how soft it sounded. Leaning closer to the textbook to read, his lips mouthed the problem silently. You tried not to stare at his mouth as it moved, your gaze tracing over the soft dip of his lips as his viridian eyes flashed with recognition. A moment later, he sat back and cocked his head at you.

“So, what exactly do you not understand?”

You didn’t miss a beat. “Everything.”

He blinked, disbelief colouring his features. “Everything? Like, the whole thing?”

You scowled. “I thought that was obvious. All that stuff about velocity and the funny diagrams—” You shook your head. “—none of it makes sense.”

He raised a brow at you. “I thought you were paying attention in class. You really don’t understand a single thing?”

You bit back the urge to scream. “It’s not like you’re much smarter.”

Clay snorted derisively. “I am. That’s kind of the whole point.”

You groaned, letting your voice ring out in the quiet of the empty classroom. You caught a glimpse of his amused smile in front of you, and it only made you groan louder.

“You’re the one who ruined science for me, you know? I hated going to that class, and look at me now.” You gestured to yourself, using your finger to draw a ring in the air. “It all comes full circle.”

There was a brief second of silence. “I’m the reason why you hate science?”

You didn’t budge. “I wasn’t exactly jumping for joy knowing I was going to be stuck in a class with someone who never gave me my stuff back and kicked my chair.”

Another wave of silence washed over the two of you, but this one was tense—heavy. He swallowed, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob.

“You…” His eyes swirled with something sad and honest. “You really hate me that much?”

He suddenly looked a lot like a kicked puppy, and a pang of guilt shot through your chest like a bullet. With a panicked gaze, your voice grew shaky as you spoke. “I—I don’t hate you. I just… I had a grudge, I guess.”

Your tone grew soft, and you lowered your gaze to your lap. “I… I really didn’t like you back then, but things have changed.” You offered him a small smile, but it felt shy. “We’re not exactly fourteen, anymore.”

He returned your smile with one of his own. Just like yours, it was small and tender, and it sent something stirring in the depths of your belly. “No,” he murmured, “we’re not.”

“I,” you breathed, gulping down the last dredges of your grudge, “was stubborn back then.” You raised a shoulder. “In a way, I still am. I have too much pride for my own good too, but I don’t hate you.” The look you sent him had a spark of mischief, and his breath hitched. “Strongly dislike, at best.”

Clay blinked at you, looking half-surprised and half-awed at you. You squirmed under his gaze before he snapped out of his stupor, almost bashfully ducking his head. “I’m… It’s definitely too late for me to say this now when I really should have said it all those years ago, but I’m sorry. Really. I was a dick.”

You snorted under your breath, fondly mumbling, “Yeah, you were.”

His face perked up at the sound of your bitten back laugh. “I really shouldn’t have teased you so much. My reasons were… dumb.”

You cocked a brow at him, almost as if to say, Oh? Do elaborate.

But instead, you watched as his ears burned crimson red and he flashed you a pair of bright, pleading eyes. “Forgive me? Please.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, something new and warm bursting along the seams of your lungs. You couldn’t possibly say no to a face like that. Even the toughest person on the planet would crack under a look as sincere as that, you tried to reason, ultimately letting out a sigh with a stammer.

“O-Only if you actually can get me to understand this unit.” Pushing down the heat creeping up your neck, you pointed at him with an accusatory look. “Until then, you’re on thin ice.”

The grin he sent you was beyond dazzling—you couldn’t have brought yourself to look away even if you wanted to.

(And you didn’t.)

“Gotcha.”

Clay finished scribbling a diagram onto the new page of your notebook, flicking his thumb back to reveal the hordes of previous pages you had filled with other practice problems. If you were being honest, you were a little envious of just how neat his drawings were. No one should be able to draw a line as straight as that without a ruler, yet here he was, doing exactly that.

What a show-off.

Feeling your eyes on him, Clay lifted his head to catch your gaze, turning the notebook to face you. You tried to pretend the stumbling of your heart wasn’t because of him—not at all. “Do you get it?” he breathed.

You glanced back and forth between him and your page, your grip on your pencil falling slack. “I think so,” you said slowly. “Mostly, at least.”

He hummed for a moment, then flipped your notebook around until it was facing him again and holding an expectant, open hand toward you. Without even thinking, you dropped your pencil into his palm, a spark running up your fingers at the slight brush of his skin against yours. Carefully, he wrote a string of words on a new line, circling the sentence when he was done.

“Here,” he said gently, pushing the pencil back between your fingers, “try this question. This was one of the harder ones from my test.”

Gingerly, you peered down at the page, and your mouth fell open at the sight. This question was far more complicated than anything you had been solving in the textbook before this. What was he thinking?

“If you get it right,” he said suddenly, casting you out of your thoughts, “you should be all set.” His lips curved up into a taunting, knowing grin. “But it’s okay if you don’t get it—it is difficult, after all.”

You stared for a second longer, then grumbled under your breath. How could he read your mind like that? You were going to prove him wrong, even if only to knock that smug look off his face.

Leaning down, you tackled the problem head on, your pencil flying across the page as you spelled out formulas and equations, doodling a diagram when you had to and pausing to think every other breath. Before you, you didn’t see Clay watching you with a soft, tender gaze, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted against your pencil when you stopped and how you chewed on your mouth when you got nervous.

You really were more endearing than you could ever know.

Suddenly, you let your pencil clatter against the table as you pushed your notebook toward him, eyeing your pencil scratches with a wary look. “Done.”

His viridian eyes gleamed with excitement. “Alright,” he said, plucking the paper from your desk with a practiced ease, “let’s take a look.”

His gaze scanned your work intently, his lips pressed together in focus. You folded your hands onto your lap, trying to focus on his analysis of you work. But the longer you looked, the more you felt your gaze trailing up to graze his cheeks. Did he always have so many freckles? You didn’t remember seeing him with this many as a freshman, but you also spent more time glaring at him than staring at him back then.

In a way, he was kind of... pretty. Handsome, even. Not that you would ever say it out loud.

You suddenly had a strong urge to reach up and trace feather-light lines between each of his freckles, but before you could even take another breath, Clay’s eyes were on yours again. Unlike earlier, the look on his face was grave, and a small grimace overtook his features.

“I have bad news,” he said dryly.

Your heart fell.

Of course you got something wrong. You were a fool to think that things would change just because Clay would be teaching you instead.

But then, his grimace curled up at the corners, and your jaw dropped.

“I have nothing left to teach you in this unit.”

Your eyes widened.

“I got it right?”

He turned the notebook back to face you. A large check mark had been scribbled in pencil along the side of the page, a tiny smiley face decorating the corner next to it.

“Perfectly.”

The gasp you let out sent you barrelling for your feet, and you nearly started jumping for joy in the middle of your seat. “Yes!” you cried, pumping a hand up in the air. Suddenly, you whirled to point at Clay, a pout forming on your lips. “Oh my god, you scared the crap out of me! Don’t do that.”

He chuckled, leaning back with his hands up defensively. “Sorry, sorry. I saw the opportunity and just had to take it.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you stuck your tongue out at him. “You’re terrible.”

His eyes softened—sincere and sweet. “I know.”

Ignoring the sudden burst of warmth rushing through your veins, you huffed at him. “Well, at least I have two pieces of good news for you. First,” you said, sliding your notebook off your desk, “we can both go home, now.”

“And the second?” he prompted, looking at you inquisitively.

You folded your notebook shut, boring a hole into your backpack with the intensity of your stare. You couldn’t look at him right now, you just couldn’t.

“Second,” you nearly whispered, “I accept your apology.”

Slipping your textbook into your bag, you heard him take a sharp intake of breath. “Really?”

You reached for your pencil case, fumbling with the zipper. “Yes.”

There was another breath, but this one was gentler, less harsh. You peeked up at him from your bag, and your heart stuttered at the ecstatic look on his face.

“This,” he said, “is the greatest day of my life.”

You blinked wildly at him, zipping your backpack up all the way before slinging it onto the desk. “That’s a little extreme, isn’t it?”

He shook his head, his smile never once faltering. “Are you kidding? I thought you were going to hate my guts forever!”

You shrugged, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I might have.” You paused. “Actually, I probably would have. But luckily for you—” You shot him a sincere look. “—not anymore.”

His grin grew impossibly wider, yet it somehow still looked natural on him. Deep down, a part of you wanted to bottle up his expression and remember it for as long as you lived.

“Like I said, greatest day of my life.”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Weirdo.”

Pushing in your chair and gesturing for him to stand, you jutted your head toward the door. Clay didn’t need to be queued twice before he was rising to his feet, pushing the chair back to its rightful spot before heaving his duffel bag off the floor and onto his side. As the two of you headed out towards the door, a bought suddenly flickered across your head, and your lips began moving before you could even begin to think.

“One of these days, you need to tell me why you liked to pick on me so much. Like, seriously, why me?” You gestured to yourself as the two of you stepped outside into the school hallway. “I’m not exactly special.”

You hadn’t been looking at him in that moment, focused on closing the door behind you, but when he didn’t respond for a moment, you looked up and felt your lungs tighten. You had never seen Clay look so bashful in his life, with his ears flaring crimson red and a faint rosy tint dusting the panes of his cheeks. His freckles were only more noticeable with the pink background, and you nearly blurted something you knew you would regret.

“Maybe I’ll—” He coughed, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Before you could even ask what he meant by that, he was firing off once more. “In the meantime, if you still need help, I don’t mind coming in again next week or something.”

You nearly took a double take. Next week? He wanted to help you, again?

“Don’t you have more important things to do?” you asked, scanning him with wide, curious eyes. “Like studying your own stuff.”

“You’re important,” he said abruptly.

You choked on your spit, and by the way he went absolutely stock still in front of you, you had a feeling he hadn’t meant to say that.

“Oh,” you whispered.

That warm, fuzzy feeling from earlier was rising between your lungs again, only this time it sent your heart racing around your chest. Sucking in a deep breath, you nodded your head once, twice.

“Sure,” you managed to say as calmly as you could. “The, um, the next unit looks a little confusing, so I might need some help.”

Clay’s face suddenly brightened at your soft request for assistance, and you caught his shoulders slumping with relief as he smiled. “Awesome.” He paused, then waved his hand. “Not the part about you needing help, I mean.”

You laughed a little at that, your nerves calming a bit more. “I would hope not.”

He smiled back at you. “So,” he said, drawing out the syllable, “I’ll be back same time next week?”

You couldn’t help but reach over to elbow him a little playfully. “Try to be on time though, yeah?”

He flushed a bit, but cracked a crooked grin nonetheless. “I’ll try my best.” He glanced over his shoulder down the hall, and you suddenly realized you would be heading in the opposite direction.

“I’ll see you around?” he murmured gently, brushing away his now dry hair from his forehead.

One of your hands tightened around the straps of your bag while the other waved back at him. “See you.”

With one last grin at you, you watched as he turned on his heel, striding down the hall with his duffel bag bouncing against the side of his hip. Just then, your eyes grew wide, and you cupped your hands around your mouth to call after him.

“One last thing, Clay!” you shouted, your voice echoing down the empty corridor.

At the sound of his name, he whipped around again, his brows knitted together. Breathing in deeply, you screwed your eyes shut and called out once more.

“Thank you!”

When you opened your eyes again, his emerald green eyes were blinking at you with wild abandon, his lips parted in what could only be described as a look of pure wonder. Your heart skipped a beat, and you wondered why he was looking at you of all people like that.

Swallowing, he sent you a lopsided, earnest smile and cupped his own hands around his mouth to shout back at you.

“Anytime!”

You kept waving at him even after he let his arms drop back to his sides and he vanished around the corner of the hall. Almost immediately, you bent over to bury your head into your knees, letting out a soft, muffled yell.

Why did your chest feel so warm when he looked at you like that? Why did you want to count his freckles so badly when he smiled? Was he always so nice, so helpful and kind? Why did he look so cute when his face flushed all pink like the way it did before? When did he become so endearing instead of annoying?

Did you like him?

You let out another muffled cry into your hands, feeling heat flood every part of your body like a tidal wave crashing into your system. You could hear your heart ringing in your ears like a bell that wouldn’t ever stop, and your toes curled into your shoes.

You had so, so many questions, none of which you knew how to solve.

Hopefully Clay could help you figure out the answers.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🎃 Frightful October Act I, #3 ~ Movie Marathon (Nathan Prescott)

📑 Table of Contents

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Halloween

Word Count: 2,876

Pairing: Reader x Nathan

World: Life is Strange

───── ⋆⋅🎃⋅⋆ ─────

The bell rang, signaling the end of class. You stretched your arms above your head, your back cracking. For some reason, the day felt like it had passed by agonizingly slow, and you still had another class before you could go home. Unlike most of the students that attended Blackwell Academy, you didn’t live in the dorms on campus – your apartment was a five-minute walk away. The main reason you chose not to live in the dorms is that you didn’t much care to be brought into all the drama that the students thrived off of.

You gathered your things before stepping out of the classroom. Your best friend was waiting near the door, his fingers flying across the keyboard on his phone. Sean Jamison stood at five-foot-five, his thin frame covered by a pair of jeans and a chocolate brown sweater. His blonde hair looked like it had been cut using a bowl, and his brown eyes shined with mischief. He was a technology geek that planned to major in computer science and game design when he graduated.

He glanced over at you, pushing his square glasses up with his middle finger. “Last period is math, your favorite.”

You scowled at him as you passed. “Don’t remind me. We can’t all be number genius’ like you.”

Sean chuckled, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, the number genius won’t let you fail!”

“You better not. I can’t afford to flunk because of one subject.” You entered the classroom, making a beeline for the table at the back but Sean tightened his grip, pulling you back.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Y/N.” he wagged his finger in your face. “How can you learn properly sitting in the back of the class?”

“I am not sitting in the front,” you deadpanned.

Sean frowned, pushing up his glasses. The fluorescent lights reflected off of the lenses, hiding his eyes. “Then we can compromise by sitting in the middle.”

You didn’t care for that, either, but it was better than sitting up front. There were four rows of three desks, allowing two people per desk. You scanned the room before choosing the third row from the front, sitting under one of the large windows. Sean sat beside you, focusing on his mobile game.

There were still a few minutes before class began, so you turned your attention to the window. It was the beginning of October, the sky overcast as a chilly breeze knocked leaves from the trees, colored in various shades of brown and orange. The school grounds had been covered in leaves. If you didn’t watch your step, it was easy to slide and lose your footing, hitting the ground. Just ask Miss Grant, the science teacher. She had been peddling another petition to passing students and wasn’t paying attention to the ground. Too bad she was wearing a skirt that day – her underwear choice had been the talk of the school for a week.

You felt eyes watching you and you glanced at Sean, but he was still buried in his game, hiding the phone between the desk and his lap so the teacher wouldn’t see it when she entered. You scanned the room, eyes locking with those belonging to the one and only Nathan Prescott. He was sat at the opposite end of the class in the back row. When he realized you caught him staring, he snapped his head in the opposite direction.

You frowned, turning to the teacher as she entered the room.

As expected, class was long and boring, and you found yourself zoning in and out more than a couple of times. Sean was going back and forth between taking notes and elbowing you in the side whenever the teacher sent you a pointed look. By the time class ended, your side was sore – you were sure it would bruise by tomorrow.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” he questioned as he shoved his books into his bag.

You hummed, thoughtfully, doing the same. “I’ll probably just watch a few horror movies and sleep.”

He tsked. “So much youth, wasted.”

“And what are your brilliant plans?” you scoffed, but immediately regretted it as his eyes lit up.

“Isn’t it obvious? Dino Murder Force 2 is finally being released tomorrow and I’m going to camp out in front of the store tonight so I can get my copy, then I’m going to spend the entire weekend beating the game I’m going to be the first to write an in-depth review!”

You stared at him, blankly.

He had said all of that without pausing for air, so he huffed when he finished the run-on sentence. Saying nothing, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left the room, ignoring Sean as he called after you, “You don’t understand the brilliance that is Dino Murder Force, Y/N!”

“Stop yelling, Mr. Jamison!” The teacher scolded him.

You chuckled. He was such a weirdo, but he was your weirdo.

You stepped outside, a blast of cold air stinging your skin. Autumn, in your opinion, was the calmest, most peaceful time of year. There seemed to be less drama around this time, and that was something you appreciated. Halloween was pretty cool, too.

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!”

You paused near the gate, looking over your shoulder.

Nathan was jogging toward you, his usual cocky expression switched out for a nervous one.

“What’s up?” you asked, softly.

“Can I… walk you home?” he asked, shifting from foot to foot. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

‘It’s only a five-minute walk, it can’t hurt…’ you contemplated it for a moment before nodding. “Sure,” You walked side by side, his hand occasionally bumping against your own. It brought back a flood of memories.

The first time you had met Nathan, you were in kindergarten. Back then, he was a pretty shy kid, but he was so cute that the girls in class naturally migrated towards him. He had this polarizing aura that pulled people in. You appreciated how he tried to help others the best that he could. Deep down, though, he was already beginning to harbor feelings of self-doubt and loathing.

One day during recess, you chased a rubber ball that had been kicked to the back of the building. That’s where you found him, curled up against the building as his small body shook with silent sobs. Instinctively, you rushed over to him and brought him into your arms, running your hand through his hair as you told him it would be okay. That was the first time you had spoken to him and, from that day onward, Nathan stuck to you like glue. You were his best friend, the rock that kept him grounded.

Having him depend on you so strongly made you feel needed and happy, and you oftentimes dropped whatever you were doing to accommodate him and provide comfort when he was upset, which was slowly becoming more common as you both grew.

As your relationship deepened, his parents started to take notice of you. They didn’t think that you were good enough to be friends with Nathan, and they were sure you were just trying to get to his money. Your family had no social standing, and your single mom worked three jobs just to make ends meet. In their eyes, you were trash, but they always acted pleasant on the rare occasions you met them. You had no idea how they truly viewed you.

Nathan never told you how his parents put you down and insulted your mother, or how they pressured him to stop spending time with you, but you knew him like the back of your hand and you knew he was beginning to change. The shy, kind little boy that you had become so close to was starting to morph before your eyes, but Nathan Prescott did not morph into a beautiful butterfly, he morphed into a monster – arrogant, entitled, and full of hatred.

The time you spent together became less and less frequent until, in the second year of middle school, he completely cut you out of his life. You tried talking to him, to demand an answer, but he was always surrounded by his new friends. Every time you got close, they would make fun of you and Nathan would just stand there, acting like you didn’t exist.

You became invisible to him.

While you were friendly with the other kids in your class, Nathan had been your only friend. Now you were left alone.

Shortly after, your mom began quite ill after pushing herself to keep working. She ended up being hospitalized. It was at this time that you met Sean, who found you in a similar way that you had first met Nathan.

Sean was a loner, preferring to tinker with his games and gadgets over talking to his peers, but he knew that you didn’t have any friends and he recognized that you were very distressed. Rather than bring you into his arms like you had to Nathan all those years ago, his way of comforting you consisted of forcing a handheld game into your lap and making you play with him. It wasn’t conventional, but it helped.

Your mom passed away a month after you started at Blackwell.

Nathan came to the funeral, returning to the empty apartment with you. He held you, allowing you to cry your heart out until you finally fell asleep, clutching his shirt in your fist. When you woke up the next morning, he was gone. There was a thick envelope left on the table – ‘sorry’ was the only thing written on it. Inside was a key to an apartment on the other side of town and fifteen grand in cash.

You remember thinking how typical it was that he thought cash could solve everything.

You didn’t want to accept the money, but he gave you no chance to return it. The apartment had been paid for in advance for the next four years, but you still had bills to pay and needed to buy food, not to mention the tuition for Blackwell. No job given to a high school student would be enough to pay for everything, so you did end up using some of the money, but you used it sparingly, only taking out enough for the bare necessities. In the meantime, you had gotten a part-time job at Two Whales diner.

A couple weeks later and you found another envelope in your mail. It read: ‘Quit your job. I’ll send you a monthly payment – N.’ Enclosed was fifteen hundred dollars.

You didn’t like this at all, but Nathan did what he wanted, and what he wanted he got. He had you fired from your job, knowing you wouldn’t quit on your own. You considered confronting him about everything, but that would require stepping out into the spotlight and you didn’t need that kind of drama in your life.

Even after all that, he still treated you like you didn’t exist, despite the monthly payment that was put in your mailbox every month.

So why the sudden change? Why was he suddenly approaching you after all this time?

Nathan frowned at your thoughtful expression. He knew he had royally screwed up the best thing he ever had but was it too late for him to fix things? “Hey, we’re here.”

You snapped out of your thoughts, smiling sheepishly. “Oh, right. Thanks…” you paused at the gate, hesitating. “Do you… want to come in?”

He nodded, not wanting to leave you just yet. Nathan followed you to the third floor, his mind running wild – he couldn’t remember a time that he felt so nervous.

You unlocked the door and stepped aside to let him enter. “Want something to drink?”

“Water,” he added as an afterthought. “Please.”

You stepped into the small kitchen attached to the living area, pouring out a glass of ice water for him and ice tea for yourself. He sat on the couch as you set the drinks on the coffee table, absentmindedly playing with the black rope around his right wrist.

Your eyes widened when you saw it and you reached out, holding his wrist so you could see it better. “You kept this?” It was a simple piece of rope with a yin-yang symbol tied through the front of it. You made it for him in fifth grade as a birthday present.

He quickly pulled his wrist away, his cheeks tinting as he tugged the sleeve of his jacket down. “It was a gift from you, of course I kept it.”

Those words went straight to your heart, making it increase in speed as it grew warm. You looked up at his face, taking in his appearance for the first time in a long time. His brown hair was slicked back but messy, as if he had run his hands through it nervously. His blue eyes, once bright and full of life, were dull and he had deep bags under them from a mixture of stress and lack of sleep. Overall, he looked exhausted and aged.

Seeing him in such a state made you frown.

“Stop staring at me,” he muttered, starting to feel self-conscious. People around him were constantly complimenting him, saying how gorgeous he is and how handsome, but he wasn’t very good at reading people, so he couldn’t tell if they were being genuine. Whenever you used to compliment him, it always felt genuine and made him feel happy, but when everyone else did it, it felt empty.

“Have you been sleeping, Nathan?” It was the first time you had said his name in so long, it made his breath catch in his throat. His body started to shake despite himself. “Nathan, what’s wro – ” you squeaked in surprise when he threw himself at you, sending you both to the ground. His arms were tight around your body as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You gently rubbed his back, free hand running through his soft hair. It had been so long since you last held him, but your body remembered the position perfectly.

“I’ve missed you… so goddamn much…” he sobbed, clutching you tighter. “I didn’t want to, to push you away… I had to do it! I couldn’t… I couldn’t let you sink with me…”

“Oh, Nathan,” you chided, softly. “You’ve always been such an idiot. You’re my best friend, I would have happily sank with you. And you know what? I would have dragged you back to the surface.”

“You’re too good… for me…” he cried.

You hummed, thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”

It took a while for him to calm down and stop shaking, but you didn’t mind. Even after everything that had happened, he was still the most important person in your life. You would always be there to catch him when he fell.

“Can I… spend the night with you?” he asked, softly. He sounded like a child, lost and scared. The shy boy flashed in your mind.

“Of course you can,” you smiled, gently pushing him back. He pulled away from you, sliding back until he was leaning against the couch. His eyes were red and swollen, but they held more life than they had earlier. You pulled yourself to your feet, feeling pinpricks in your back and butt, unhappy about being squished against the wooden floor for so long. You glanced at the clock – it was eleven-ten. “Hey, Nathan?”

He glanced up at you.

“There’s a Halloween marathon starting in twenty minutes. Wanna watch it with me?”

Nathan smiled, remembering all the times you had binge-watched movies as kids. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You returned the smile before heading into the kitchen to make some popcorn. When you returned, Nathan had curled up on the couch with a blanket he had taken from your bedroom. He held one side of the blanket up and you squeezed in beside him, holding the bowl up as he flung it over your body. You turned the TV on and he moved closer, finding comfort in your warmth.

The first movie began, a cheap knock off of A Nightmare on Elm Street. He reached for your hand but hesitated. You smiled, slipping your hand into his and interlocking your fingers with his.

After two movies, Nathan’s eyes started to droop. He fought against the sleep invading his mind, not wanting this moment to end, but his body and mind were exhausted. His head fell onto your shoulder, breath evening out. You smiled, turning down the TV so the screams wouldn’t disturb his rest.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring – if he would go back to ignoring you or if you could be friends again, but that didn’t matter to you at the moment. You had your best friend at your side and that’s all that mattered to you.

You brought his hand to your chest, holding it with both hands. ‘No matter what happens, I will always be here for you, Nathan Prescott,’ You pressed a kiss to his palm and he smiled in his sleep. For the first time since he was a child, he slept peacefully through the night.

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