#ignore the math on the side we were grading each others work sheets

[arevixie]

drew our favs together on magma 💪 wallace by @bubblepuddles-art & lysandre(s) by @/shnoudles (twt)

edit: fixed that arrow 😭

[cocobeanncteez]

ATEEZ San- Confessions (oneshot)

Genre: Angst, fluff, suggestive, high school au, enemies to lovers au.

Pairing: San x Reader (fem)

Warnings: profanities, alcohol.

On a scale of one to ten, you'd rate your life at your prestigious boarding school a nine.

You loved KQ Academy: a boarding school for the rich, spoiled brats of the country. The teachers were highly experienced and the other staff were really nice. The cafeteria food was great and the vending machines always had your favorite drinks. The bathrooms were clean and the classrooms, laboratories, and other activity rooms were large and spacious. There were three different sports fields, a large swimming pool, and a large athletics field. The dormitories were also really comfortable and overall impressive. Basically, your school was lit.

So why did you rate your great life here a nine? Two words: Choi San.

San was the only person here who got on your nerves. Not only was he a rich, spoiled brat, but he was also the most popular guy at school and the captain of the volleyball team. His pretty face screamed of nothing but trouble... for you.

You don't understand why San doesn't like you; ever since he joined your school in ninth grade, you both never got along despite being in the same friend group. Your friends tried their best to make you both decently talk to each other, but they gave up eventually when it clearly wasn't working; you both always argued about the smallest, stupidest things.

"Should I get another piercing?" Hongjoong asked, opening his strawberry yogurt.

"Where?" Yunho questioned. "Please, not on your ear! Let the poor thing breathe!" You chuckled, glancing at the many piercings on your twin brother's ears.

"I swear Hongjoong hyung is a masochist," Yeosang stated, making Mingi and Wooyoung burst out laughing.

"And he likes exhibitionism," Seonghwa said. Hongjoong rolled his eyes, quietly eating his yogurt; he was used to everyone teasing him.

"Hey guys!" you heard Choi San greet before he took his usual seat beside Wooyoung. You glanced at him, immediately noticing his disheveled hair and swollen lips.

"Oh god, San, who was it now?" Eunhee, Hongjoong's girlfriend, questioned.

"Na Yuri," San said with a smirk. "She took me behind the auditorium. There were no cameras there." You heard Jiwoo mumble a 'not surprise' from beside you, making you chuckle.

"And you managed to get off in less than five minutes?" Wooyoung asked, raising an eyebrow.

San fake gasped in shock. "What! Wooyoung, you know I don't fuck these girls. I've only made out with them."

"What, really?" Jongho asked in surprise.

"Yeah, I haven't slept with anyone other than my ex, Jina," San said, taking a bite of Yeosang's ice cream sandwich, earning a glare from the boy. You were quite surprised at this new information; the entire school thought San fucked a new chick every week. You wondered why he never said anything about it despite all the false claims.

"Y/N," you heard someone call you, catching all your friends' attention. You saw Kim Yonghee approach you with the sweetest smile on his face. He handed you your notebook that you had given him two days ago. "Thank you so much. Your notes really helped."

"You aced your test?"

He smirked. "Of course." He opened his mouth to say something, but one of his friends called him for football practice. "Well, I'll see you in math," he said with a wink before walking away.

"Oh, someone's blushing!" Eunhee teased.

Yunho chuckled. "Wow, Y/N, I wonder what's got you all pink."

"Yonghee is so fucking cute! I kinda want to date him," you squealed, earning a scoff from an unamused San. Yeosang raised an eyebrow at San who only shrugged. "Do you have an issue, San?" you asked, annoyed by his reaction.

"No, why would I?"

"Well, your reaction doesn't seem like it."

"Why would I care about you and that piece of shit?" he spat, looking away.

"You don't even know him!" your voice was raising.

"Here we go again," Yeosang muttered under his breath.

San glared at you. "As if you know about the way he screws around with—"

"So what? I'd rather be with someone like him than with someone like you," you stated in a cold tone. San's face fell, but he immediately put his pokerface on.

Seonghwa sighed. "Can you two stop fighting for once?"

"It's his fault," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"No, it's yours," San retorted. "You could've ignored me."

You were about to say something, but the bell rang. You glared at San before dragging Wooyoung and Mingi with you to your next class.

A month later, you ended up in an FWB relationship with Kim Yonghee. So far, things were going really well.

You were at Seonghwa and Hongjoong's dorm with everyone. You noticed how San has been really quiet and sulky these past few days. Despite always arguing with him, you felt worried for him. You wanted to ask him if he was all right, but you knew he'd just roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.

You nudged Yunho who was sitting beside you. "Is San all right?" you whispered in his ear.

Yunho shook his head. "No, he's not okay. I don't know what happened, and he said he doesn't want to talk about it." You nodded, but you felt like Yunho was lying to you.

"Y/N, how are things going on between you and Yonghee?" Mingi asked.

"Good," you answered with a smile. "He's an absolute gentleman."

"Yeah, I could tell from last night," Eunhee teased, making you choke on nothing in particular, wondering how she found out about you sneaking Yonghee into your suite style dorm. "You're not as sneaky as you think you are, Y/N."

San slammed his can of sprite on the table, startling a few of you. "Sorry, I'm a little tired," he mumbled. "Yunho, I'm going to our room. I'll see you all tomorrow." You noticed Wooyoung and Seonghwa share a glance before Seonghwa nodded.

"I'm heading back as well. Good night guys," Seonghwa said, quickly getting up and following San. There was clearly something up with San and you really wanted to find out.

-

While you were having lunch with your friends, Yonghee came to your table. He kissed you gently, earning an 'aww' from Eunhee and Jiwoo.

"Hey, hey, hey, no kissing in front of her older brother," Hongjoong said sternly. You rolled your eyes; he was only older by eight minutes.

"Sorry, man," Yonghee chuckled. "Here," he handed you a few sheets. "Seunghun told me to give this to you. It's his part of the assignment you both are working on. He said you can arrange it however you'd like."

"Ah, tell him I said thanks," you said.

"Will do, doll." he kissed your head before leaving.

San witnessed the entire scene and he lost his appetite. He pushed his food around with his spoon, feeling heartbroken.

"Step up your game, bro," Mingi said to San in a low tone so that the others couldn't hear.

"What do you mean?" San questioned.

Mingi rolled his eyes. "We all know you like Y/N. Don't give her up easily."

"Well, she likes Yonghee."

"They're only friends with benefits," Hongjoong said, joining the conversation. "They're just fooling around. I know it might seem like she has feelings for him, but trust me, she doesn't."

San bit his lip anxiously. "But she hates me."

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "I know my sister well enough to say that she doesn't hate you, Sannie. In fact, she was really hurt 'cause she thinks you hate her. You both should really stop fighting and assuming shit."

"She doesn't hate me?" San asked in surprise.

"No, she doesn't, you idiot," Mingi muttered with a sigh. "Now step up your game, San, before someone else sweeps her off her feet."

You were watching the volleyball team practice for an upcoming inter-school match. San and Yeosang were on the team, so your entire group was here as well, watching them practice 'cause there was nothing else to do.

You had to admit, San was a great captain. He was so sweet to them and hyped them up every time they did well. It was even more fascinating to watch him play. When the team decided to take a break, he approached you, taking his water bottle from where you were sitting.

You couldn't help but check him out in the team uniform. The blue tank top and shorts exposed the muscles on his arms and thighs. He titled his head back, pouring the water into his mouth. You watched his Adam's apple bob with every gulp, and the way a few drops of water rolled down his lips and chin. His jawline looked sharper, and you saw a bead of sweat travelling down the side of his face. San looked undeniably attractive, especially with his new eyebrow piercing and dyed black hair; he already looked so good with his previous brown hair, and now he looked irresistible.

"Y/N, I asked you something," San said, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh, uh, I'm sorry, what were you saying?" you hoped he didn't notice you checking him out. San and you have surprisingly not had any fights recently, and he wasn't making any comments to piss you off either. You wondered why he suddenly changed his behavior towards you after years of getting on your nerves.

He smirked, pointing to his little red bag. "Could you open my bag and give me the green towel?" You did as he said, unkowingly blushing. San noticed everything, but he didn't say anything about it yet. He wiped the sweat off his face with the towel, suddenly leaning in close to your face. Your eyes darted between his eyes and his lips, and your heartbeat sped up. San reached behind you to take his bag, shoving the towel and his water bottle inside. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding, mentally reminding yourself to get your shit together. You glanced at your friends, relieved that they were too busy talking to notice the little scene between you and San; you knew they would tease the shit out of you if they saw what happened.

"Y/N," Yeosang called out. "You're coming for the party tomorrow night, no?"

"Of course," you said, a little confused as to why he suddenly asked. "Jiwoo would kill me if I missed it."

Jiwoo turned her head at the mention of her name. "Damn right, I would," she said with a nod.

Yeosang smirked. "You're coming in my car."

-

"I have to sit on San's lap?!" you half-yelled at Yeosang.

"Yeah, Yunho is sitting in the front with the Pegasus glass figurine he got for Jiwoo. The painting I got is in the backseat, and our bags are in the trunk. So you don't have a choice."

You bit your lip. "Fine."

You waited outside the car until San and Yunho came from their dorm. You wondered why San wasn't surprised when you told him you had to sit on his lap, but you brushed it off, assuming Yeosang would've told him earlier.

San was dressed in all black: ripped jeans, a leather jacket and a black t-shirt underneath it. You sat on his lap, closing the car door. He looked irresistible and his Chanel perfume made him smell so good, you didn't know how you'd survive the half an hour long car ride to Jiwoo's mansion without him noticing you inhaling his scent like air.

San gently wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him so that you could sit comfortably. Yeosang started driving and you hoped time would go really fast.

Unfortunately, time seemed to be going really slow for you.

San pushed your hair to one side, making you lean back a little so that your back was pressed against his chest. "Sit comfortably, I don't bite," he whispered in your ear.

Yunho was talking about something, but you paid no attention. The only thing you could focus on was San's beautiful voice and laughs while you blankly stared out the window.

San noticed you weren't paying attention. He leaned forward a little, his lips coming in contact with the bare skin of your shoulder, making goosebumps arise on your skin. "Are you cold?" San teased when he saw the goosebumps on your bare thighs; you cursed yourself for wearing a short off-shoulder dress.

"Yeah, I am," you lied. San rubbed his palms together before placing them on your thighs. You gasped softly at his warm touch. He gently rubbed your thighs, trying to warm you up like as if he didn't know why you got goosebumps in the first place.

"We're here, guys," Yeosang announced, pulling up into Jiwoo's mansion that was lit up with a lot of LED lights.

You quickly got out of the car once Yeosang parked, running to hug Jiwoo.

"Happy eighteenth, Jiwoo!"

She chuckled. "Thank you, Y/N!"

"I can't wait to see you drunk!" you said with a giggle, excited that your friend could finally drink. She playfully rolled her eyes, dragging you inside to where half your school was while she told you which room you would be staying in. You were sure there were nearly two hundred people here, but you weren't surprised; Jiwoo's birthday parties were always like this.

"By the way, you're sharing a room with San tonight," Jiwoo said.

Your eyes widened. "What?! Why? Wasn't I supposed to be sleeping in your room?"

"Yeah," she said. "But, um... Yunho might be there and I don't think you'd want to witness us—"

"Okay, okay!" you half-yelled. "Why can't I sleep in Eunhee's room?"

"Ask Hongjoong if he's willing to switch with you," she chuckled and you groaned, knowing very well your twin brother would rather sleep next to his girlfriend than next to his friend.

But maybe he would agree? After all, he's quite protective of you and he wouldn't let you sleep next to a guy.

"Absolutely not," Hongjoong replied when you asked him to switch places with you.

"Joong! How can you let your baby sister sleep with a guy?" you whined.

He shrugged. "I trust San more than any other guy here. Besides, I need some privacy with my girl, you know? The dorms aren't a very great place to—"

You slammed your palm over his mouth, shutting him up. "I get it! I'll just deal with it."

You walked over to the bar, getting a whiskey and coke. You didn't have an issue with sleeping next to San; you just didn't know how you'd control yourself around him, especially after what happened hardly an hour ago.

After Jiwoo cut her huge birthday cake and popped a bottle of Champagne, some people from your grade sat down in one of the rooms to play truth or dare. Wooyoung and Mingi literally begged you to play and of course, you couldn't refuse.

"All right, I'm gonna spin it," Jongho said, spinning an empty beer bottle. It landed on Yeosang. "Truth or dare, hyung?" Jongho asked.

"Truth," he answered.

"I got one!" Seonghwa said, turning to smirk at Yeosang. "Do you like a certain Japanese girl who's in your economics class?" You chuckled, glancing at the Japanese girl who was sitting right across Yeosang.

Yeosang smirked. "Of course I like my girlfriend." Your jaw dropped and so did many other's. You glanced at Mayumi who was clearly blushing; she reminded you so much of Yeosang.

"Kang Yeosang! You sly shit!" Wooyoung yelled, playfully tackling his friend to the ground.

"I knew something was happening between them!" Hongjoong stated with a laugh, making Mayumi turn pinker than she already was.

After a few more rounds, some people left, making the circle of people smaller. Eunhee spun the bottle and it landed on herself.

"Truth or dare?" Mingi asked.

"Truth."

"Is Hongjoong hyung a dom or a sub?" Mingi asked with a smirk.

"Both, but mostly a dom," she answered, unbothered.

"I'm not even surprised," Wooyoung said before spinning the bottle. It landed on you.

"Truth or dare, Y/N?" Wooyoung asked, a smile dancing on his lips.

"I'll go with dare."

Wooyoung grinned mischievously. "I dare you to . . . give San a hickey." You choked on nothing in particular.

"In front of you all?"

"Obviously not!" Hongjoong said in disgust. "I'd rather not witness that."

Your friends cheered for you when you got up and dragged San along with you to the room you both had to share tonight. Your heart raced with every step you took, and when he closed the door, the only sound you could hear was your pounding heartbeat.

San removed his shoes before sitting on the middle of the bed. You took off your heels, getting on the bed as well.

"Where do you want it?" you asked, avoiding eye-contact.

"Below my collarbone or here," he pointed to an area of the left side of his neck. You decided to give it on his neck because you've never given a collarbone hickey, so you didn't want to screw it up and embarrass yourself in front of the man who was currently driving you crazy.

San sat against the headboard of the bed, letting you straddle his lap. You placed a hand at his nape and the other at his shoulder, leaning in to place your lips on his neck. You gently brushed your lips against his skin before kissing around the area for a while. Your hand at his nape moved into his hair, tugging on it. San groaned softly, hands gripping your waist while he tilted his head to give you more access. You started to suck on his skin, making sure you bit him gently and gave him a few little licks. San's hands pushed you down on his growing bulge, making you moan against his skin. You pulled away from his neck, eyes instantly locking with his. You glanced between his eyes and his lips, unknowingly biting your own. San freed your bottom lip with his thumb, running it over your lip.

"I'd like to bite that lip," San said in a low tone. You couldn't control yourself anymore. You crashed your lips onto his and he responded just as eagerly as you. San took your bottom lip in between his teeth, gently pulling and biting on it, making you moan. He smirked, pulling away. "You have no idea how long I've waited for this."

"Don't you hate me?" you asked, shocked by his little confession.

San flipped you onto your back, hovering over you. He pressed his bulge against you. "What do you think?" he whispered, making you blush. "Y/N, you drive me absolutely crazy. I've liked you ever since ninth grade." Your eyes widened; he has liked you ever since he joined your school?!

"But— Then why were you always fighting with me?" you couldn't help but ask, even though right now wasn't a very... appropriate time.

"Remember how I was back then? I was so nerdy and you liked guys who were the complete opposite of that," he said, cupping your cheek. "No matter how hard I tried to get you to like someone like me, it just never worked. You always liked seniors and dated playboys. And then when I started screwing around, you still didn't like me. I guess... I guess that's why I fought with you a lot and it got worse over the years."

"San, you were perfect," you murmured. "I always thought you were way too good for me, that's why I never really bothered." you ran your hand through his hair. "I'm sorry for making you change yourself..."

San shook his head, lying beside you on the bed. "It's not your fault. I was fifteen and stupid, Y/N. Besides, I'm used to being like this now." You bit your lip, not knowing what to say. "Y/N, I hated seeing you with Yonghee. I know you guys aren't dating, but the thought of you with him or with anyone else... I really hate it," he looked like he wanted to say something, but he was hesitating a lot. You cupped his cheek, giving him an encouraging smile.

San took a deep breath. "Um, Y/N, do you... feel the same way about me?" You immediately kissed him as an answer, making him blush and sigh in relief.

"Well, my dare is complete," you murmured, fingers running over the hickey you had given him. You leaned in, placing a soft kiss on it. "How about we continue from where we left off?" you whispered in his ear.

San smirked, pulling you close to his body by your waist. "Mhmm, I'd like that."

[fallingappleshurt]

Project Pink

Sorry Y’all this one got away from me again and I wrote it while tired, again. Anyways here is some badly written shit and have a good period of existence in the universe!

Oh god my brain is going brrrrrrrr

Techno and Wilbur.

It had always been Techno and Wilbur Soode against the world.

Some would make jokes about how it was because they were identical twins, they got ridiculous questions like ‘If I pinch him will you feel it?’ or ‘Can you guys mentally speak- like through your minds?’ They would roll their eyes and say no, sometimes they’d joke around acting like they could read each other's mind or something stupid but it was rare.

They went through multiple foster homes, refusing to be separated from each other, if they ever were they’d find a way back to the other, because it was them against the world.

Then they got placed with Phil Wingraft.

He was different.

They had been through a few foster homes, some were good, some were okay, and one was really bad but Phil was different.

He treated them like they were normal, he was gentle but not patronizing or condescending, he would joke around with them but also became a person they could trust.

He took the time to learn about their interests, he got Wilbur a guitar and took Techno to the library every week. He took the time to recognize the difference between Wilbur’s crazy fluffy hair and Techno more tame but still wavy curls. Wilbur was taller then Techno by half a head but from a distance it was hard to tell. They both had the same shaped face and the same cinnamon colored eyes, the main difference was Techno had glasses.

They stayed with Phil for a year before they were officially adopted and became a family. A two years later he asked them how they would feel if he started fostering another kid, named Tommy.

“I’d be okay with that,” Techno said, shrugging, he hadn’t really processed it but he’d go along with it. Wilbur agreed too, nodding along, it seemed like it would make Phil happy so why not?

“That’s great, it’ll take a few days for the paperwork to go through, then he’ll be with us!” Phil was grinning, this was making Phil happy so this could make Wilbur happy.

Later they were in their room when Techno kicked the top bunk Wilbur was laying on.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, rolling his head halfway off the bed, trying to look at his brother.

“What?” Wilbur asked, looking over the railing.

“Don’t be like that, I know that look, you look like you just ate a suspicious lemonhead,”

“I don’t have a look like that!”

“Stop avoiding the question!” His face softened, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried about the new kid, Tommy, I-I don’t know, it just makes me worried, what if it changes things?”

Techno was quiet, he bit his lip.

“I get that, it makes sense but I don’t think anything bad will happen. Phil is great and I don’t think he would push us away, he’s not like that. Who knows, maybe we can have a little brother,”

Wilbur huffed out a small laugh, smiling softly, “Yeah, a little brother, that would be nice.”

Techno sighed contently, shifting back onto his bed. They laid in silence for a moment when Wilbur laughed.

“I mean, it’ll be nice for you, I already have one.”

“Two minutes Wilbur! Two minutes!”

Tommy joined them 4 days later, a little blonde dweeb with baby blue eyes. He was loud, annoying, and hyper. He would talk loudly when Techno was trying to do homework, he untuned Wilbur’s guitar, he said it was an accident but they weren’t really sure, and was overall like a bull in a china shop.

Techno was gonna pull his own hair out, Wilbur had come very close to locking him out of the apartment, they were both going to kill him.

It took them two weeks to fall in change completely.

It started when Tommy asked Techno for some help in his homework, it actually shocked Techno, the kid who was so loud and proud of his accomplishments shyly asking if Techno could help him with his math work was interesting, to say the least.

Techno almost said no, almost teased him, ‘What? The Great TommyInnit needs help? I thought you knew everything!’

Almost.

Tommy looked different, fingers nervously tapping on the packet, trying not to crickle it, eyes darting around, even his voice was shaky.

It reminded Techno when he’d ask an old foster parent for help, only they’d turn him away, telling him to figure it out, that they were too busy.

He didn’t want to be like that.

“Sure, what are you learning?” He pushed some of his papers aside, making room for Tommy’s. Tommy grabbed a chair and sat next to him.

“Algebra,” He said, frowning, “I don’t get it- it’s just so weird,” He put his chin in his hands.

“Don’t worry, Algebra is super confusing-”

“Yeah right, you get everything, you’re really smart!”

“You’re smart too,” Techno offered, not sure what to say.

“Then name a time I’ve been smart!”

Techno short circuited.

“See!” Tommy gestured wildly.

“Tommy I’ve known you for two weeks, I’m sure you’ve done plenty of-”

Tommy groaned, “Nevermind, forget it-” He slid off the chair only for Techno to reach over and grab his arm.

“No, I’m sorry, just let me help,”

Tommy made a face but sat back down, “Fine.”

It had been 2 hours.

“This is useless! I’ll never get it!” Tommy stuck his hands in his hair.

“Just try this last problem, you’re so close!”

“No! I’ll just mess it up again!”

“You don’t know that, just try again!”

Reluctantly, Tommy picked his pencil back up and started on the equation. Techno turned back to his paper, finishing up a definition sheet, Tommy’s mumbles drifting in the background.

“Then add the two to get 16?” He looked up at Techno, who closed his textbook and looked over Tommy’s worksheet, covered in half erased scribbles, doodles, and pencil shavings.

“That’s right,” He grinned, reading over Tommy’s work again, “You did it,”

“Wait seriously? I got it right?”

“Yeah!”

“Yes! I did it!” Tommy pumped a fist in the air, cheering. “Thanks Techno!”

“Anytime nerd,”

Wilbur had been messing around with his guitar, sitting on his bunk, scribbling down music notes on a scrap of paper. He’d write a few phrases down and sing them softly to himself, strumming a few chords.

Scowling, he erased half the page, grumbling to himself; “It doesn’t sound right, why can’t I get it-”

“I thought it sounded nice,” Someone said from the bunk beneath him. Wilbur jumped, yelping, he hit his head on the ceiling. He leaned over the railing to see Tommy sitting on Techno’s bunk, limbs tangled around the latter.

“What are you doing? I thought you were out with Techno and Phil!” Wilbur said, sounding harsher and more shrill then he meant to, Tommy shrugged, “I didn’t want to go to the library today.”

“Wish I knew that beforehand,” He grumbled, going back to his music sheet.

“You seem mad,” Tommy observed, twisting his arm around the metal.

“Yeah I’m mad,”

“Why?”

“‘Cause I can’t get these stupid lyrics to sound right and you just scared the shit- I mean crap- out of me.”

Tommy cackled, “I’m telling Phil you swore!”

“Shut up,” Wilbur grumbled, gripping his pencil tighter. Tommy tipped his head to the side, “I don’t get why you’re angry, those lyrics sounded really nice.”

Wilbur paused, “You think so?”

“Yeah! It was really cool!” Tommy said, starting to come up the latter, he climbed onto the bed with Wilbur, “I liked it a lot!”

Wilbur smiled softly, “Thanks,”

“Can you play it again?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Wilbur sat up straighter, putting the guitar in a better position , “I don’t remember all the lyrics though,”

He started playing, slowly his nerves of playing in front of someone else started to slip away as he fell into the rhythm and flow of the music. He looked up briefly a few times seeing Tommy, smiling widely, eyes filled with admiration. He finished the song and looked at Tommy, who immediately leaned forwards.

“That was so good! Write it down so you don’t forget! Wilbur that was epic!”

“Really?”

“Definitely!” Tommy leaned back, then quietly added, “And I’m sorry I messed up your guitar the other week, it wasn’t on purpose,” He trailed off.

Wilbur shrugged, “It’s fine, you didn’t do any real damage, just messed up the tuning,”

“I was messing with it cause I wanna learn how to play, could you maybe show me sometime?”

“Maybe, I’m still considered an amateur on most standards,”

“Seriously?!”

Tommy went to the same school as them, he was in the sixth grade while Techno and Wilbur were in 8th, so they saw each other in the halls every once and awhile. The one thing Tommy hadn’t been able to learn, despite the fact he had learned algebra, basketball, and some of the guitar, was how to tell Techno and Wilbur apart when they weren’t standing directly next to each other.

They had tried everything, Tommy would try to memorize the different clothes they wore each morning, the small differences in their hair, how they walked or moved around but nothing worked.

One day when they were in the car on the way home from school, Tommy was pouting, or ‘stewing’, as Phil would say. He barely talked the whole ride home.

“Alright I’ll bite,” Wilbur said, turning around in the front seat, “What’s wrong?”

Tommy frowned at him, “You both completely ignored me all day! I tried to get your attention so many times!”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “I never once heard you call my name,”

“Me either,” Wilbur confirmed, Tommy looked skeptical.

“How do I know that you guys aren’t messing with me?”

“He’s got you guys there,” Phil said from the driver's seat.

“We weren’t ignoring him! I swear, you must have gotten us mixed up again!” Wilbur insisted, waving his hand.

Tommy groaned, “Why is it so hard to tell you guys apart! Hey, could you just make it easier and not be identical twins?”

Phil cackled in the front, gripping the steering wheel tighter.

“It-It doesn’t work like that Tommy,” Techno snorted, half covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh come on! Just try it!”

Tommy was trying, he really was, but it was so hard to tell them apart. He knew Wilbur’s hair was crazier and he was Taller then Techno and that Techno had glasses but it didn’t help at all.

He’d go to ask Techno for help with homework only to find Wilbur, who also didn’t know jackshit about algerbra, or if he wanted to do something stupid he’d end up accidentally telling his plan to Techno who would immediately veto the idea.

After awhile he just decided to just try and slow down and see if one of the clones had glasses or not and that worked for him, sort of.

A few months later and they officially adopted Tommy into the family, he was an official Wingraft.

They went out and celebrated, laughing and making stupid jokes, it was nice. Then the next day Techno went to the store by himself, taking some of the money he had saved up from chores and searched a bottle of pink hair dye.

Picking out a color was surprisingly difficult, there were so many choices, taffy, bubblegum, creamy, carnation, but he eventually decided on ‘Rose Pink’. He bought a bottle then hid it under his bed, he needed to wait for the right time to do it because the dye had to sit for at least 30 minutes before he could rinse it out.

Phil was working late on Wednesday and Wilbur was going to see a movie with friends after school so he just had to lock Tommy out of the bathroom for like 45 minutes, which he would have no problem doing, and everything would be set.

The day rolled around and he found out that dying your hair is easier said then done, so much easier.

Techno set down so many paper towels in hopes to catch anything that might drip, then there was the process of making sure he got it all and wearing the plastic gloves made everything much harder to handle but eventually he was able to get the dye in place.

He set a timer on his phone then pulled out a book, hoping Tommy wouldn’t try to bust down the door, it didn’t lock but Techno had taken a rubber band from the door handle and wrapped it around the facut to try and give some semblance of a lock. All he had to do was wait.

Tommy was sitting on the couch watching TV when Phil arrived home, Wilbur in tow.

“Hey Tommy, how was your day?”

“Pretty good, nothing really interesting happened though,” He responded, “But Techno has been in the bathroom for like an hour,”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow and Phil asked, “Is he okay?”

“I guess so, I heard the shower running just a minute ago,”

Phil walked over to the bathroom door and knocked, “Tech? You okay in there?”

Tommy heard the door swing open and Techno say, “Yeah I’m fine,” Phil didn’t say anything but Wilbur started laughing loudly, throwing his head back. Tommy turned around on the couch and saw Techno standing there, towel around his shoulders to stop water from dripping onto his shirt, hair the brightest shade of pink Tommy had ever seen.

He froze, much like Phil did, before he broke out into a grin, then a laugh, “Techno what-”

“Now you should be able to tell us apart,”

[marshmallow-phd]

Nine Little Letters

Genre: College AU, Fake Dating AU, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before AU

Inspired By: This graphic made by @rcse-tvler​

Pairing: EXO x Reader

Summary: Just when you thought life was done shoving you down, it got much, much worse. After finding out that your latest crush was already in a relationship, you did what you always did when emotions ran high: you wrote a letter. Signed and sealed, you put it away with the eight other letters you’d written to past one-sided loves, never to be seen again. That is, until a mix up accidentally sends those letters out to their respective recipients and you find yourself in the middle of one confusing web of love. With fake relationships, insecurities, and revelations swirling around, things are bound to get a little messy.

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11

This was the worst kind of humiliation. Standing there on the sidewalk staring open-mouthed at the one person you were excited to see today, you were crumbling into a million pieces. And no one even noticed. That was what made this humiliation so bad; there was no one to witness it. You were breaking and no one cared.

You should have known better, really. This morning was going too well. You had woken up on time, had a delicious, filling breakfast, and had managed to put an outfit together worthy of any Pinterest board. Your confidence was through the roof and you were going to do the one thing in your life you swore you would never do.

You were going to confess to your crush.

Signing up for math tutoring was the last thing you wanted to do. Who in the world wanted to spend their valuable free time learning more about equations and algorithms? But you needed to pass this class. It was the second time you’d taken college algebra and the thought of taking it a third time made you want to crawl under your bed. So, you buckled down and took the walk of shame into the math lab. (Yes, that was an exaggeration. Everyone knows there is no shame in getting help. Didn’t mean you had to like it.) When you got the call from your assigned tutor, you ignored it. You didn’t like talking on the phone to anyone let alone a number you didn’t recognize. No voicemail was left. Then a text came through.

Hi, (y/n)! This Kim Junmyeon! I’ve been assigned as your math tutor. When you get a chance, let me know when you’re free so we can create a schedule that works for you. Have a great day!

You waited an appropriate amount of time before replying. So, an hour and half later, you texted him your schedule and made a plan to meet up in the library the following Thursday. You marked that day on your calendar with exactly zero enthusiasm. In your head, this Kim Junmyeon was the cliché nerd from movies: dorky glasses, snort-like laugh, and clothes that looked better on a grandfather. Oh, boy were you so happy to be wrong.

Sitting down at one of the tables by the large, ceiling high windows, Junmyeon was nothing like you’d imagined. He had a sophisticated aura about him. He dressed nicely, a thin long-sleeved shirt over a patterned button down, the collar laid nicely over the top of the shirt, and was blessed with sharp, handsome features. You knew you were in trouble. But you didn’t care. You sat down at that table eagerly, ready to… learn.

For the past month and a half, you’d met Junmyeon twice a week to go over the lessons and work on the assignments. By some miracle, your grade was actually going up in the class. Somehow you were able to better comprehend the material and secretly fawn over your tutor simultaneously. At this point, you were sort of feigning how much you weren’t understanding to keep the tutoring sessions going. The nice thing about algebra, once you understood the basics, everything else built on top of it.

But today – today you had decided that you were going to step over the line from tutor and student into the realm of perhaps something more.

You liked Junmyeon. You liked his math puns and the way he scrunched his face when he thought hard about something. His lips would pucker whenever he lifted the sheet of paper to check over your work. Each time you met up with him your heart acted like it was in the middle of a NASCAR race and it was determined to win. You had it bad. This wasn’t the first time you’d had a crush like this, but you had set your mind on making this one different. This time, you wouldn’t hold it inside. You were going to be the brave one, the bold one. The fact that birds were tweeting as you rode your bike onto campus should have been a sign that things would only be downhill from there. Unfortunately, like the optimistic idiot, you took it as a positive instead.

After locking your bike up, you headed straight for the courtyard near the pond. Junmyeon had told you that he often spent his mornings there to finish up homework or to read a book (the fact that he read so much was another factor in your liking of him). In your head, he was all alone, flipping through a novel as he leaned against the trunk of a tree, looking like a prince taking a rest in the shade on a warm summer’s day. The water would be glistening in the background as a lovely, lighthearted melody played softly through the air. He would see you approach and smile that wide, brilliant smile. Your heart would skip as you sat down in the grass next to him and poured out your feelings. The daydream turned into a nightmare the second he came into view.

Junmyeon was not alone nor was he sitting under a tree with a book. He was on one of the benches, splayed out on the wooden beams with his head resting in the lap of a very pretty, more his league type of girl. She laughed as Junmyeon told a story. A delicate hand ran through his soft brown hair. Your heart fell to the ground, forming a crater at your feet.

Shoulders slumped and day ruined, you turned and headed for the student union. If today was going to suck like this, then you were going to sprinkle it with an overly sugary coffee drink. Preferably with extra chocolate drizzle. It helped - a little bit.

Your morning classes went by in a blur. You were certain you took notes, but none of the information sank in. Later you would have to transcribe your quick scribbles to a word document to help you study. You would learn the information then. By lunch, you were starting to peel yourself off the sidewalk of humiliation. Especially when the one person you could always rely on joined you for lunch.

“How did it go?”

You remained silent, continuously munching on the sandwich in your hands as your best friend sat down across from you at the small, two-person table near the middle of the cafeteria.

Baekhyun laughed his signature, SpongeBob-like laugh. “That bad, huh? I told you not to do it.”

“Technically, I didn’t do it,” you corrected. “He already has a girlfriend.”

“Ouch.”

You nodded. How could you not see this before? Did he mention having a girlfriend and you just blocked it out? Junmyeon and you talked casually between math problems, about your friends and fun things you liked to do on the weekends. He’d failed to mention one very important detail.

“Well,” Baekhyun reached over and plucked a potato chip off your plate and plopped it in his mouth, “at least you found out before you said something. I told you he wasn’t worth it.”

“Just because he has a girlfriend doesn’t mean he isn’t worth crushing on.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re so much help.”

Ignoring your quip, Baekhyun snatched another chip. You smacked his hand, but all that managed to do was break off a few pieces, the crumbs falling to the table. Smiling proudly, Baekhyun popped the half-chip into his mouth. “So, are you just going to go home and write a letter?”

“Are you just going to go home and write a letter?” you mocked with a scrunched face.

Byun Baekhyun had been your best friend since the two of you had met in the first grade. He’d stolen your popsicle that your mother had packed as a special treat for your first full day of school. When he saw you start to cry, he broke off the piece he’d been sucking on and handed the rest back to you. There was a bit of a disagreement on the level of nice-ness that act achieved since it was your popsicle to begin with, but somehow it caused the two of you to be inseparable ever since. Being your best friend meant that he was privy to the more private parts of your life.

Like the letters.

Starting as young as ten years old, you’d developed a bit of a tradition when it came to your crushes. Emotions were hard to process, but you found them easier to work through if you thought about them and translated them into words. Those words would fly across the paper, transferring the feelings that made you both laugh and cry into the graphite that formed them. Not to mention, the act made you feel like the heroine in a rom-com. Certainly it was something that Meg Ryan or Rachel McAdams would do once they realized how they felt about the male lead.

The first letter you ever wrote was during your final year of ballet class. Dancing had been a part of your life since you were three, but a new passion had been discovered so you’d decided to quit after this last cluster of classes. A terrible decision, really. Because right after your mind was already made up, a new boy had joined the class.

Kim Jongin.

He had just moved into town after his father was promoted to a new position and had to transfer to headquarters. You’d never seen him at the park or the grocery store before. He was completely new. And beautiful.

He was blessed golden skin that glistened, shining brighter the longer he danced. And, oh, the way he danced. It was well beyond what anyone else could do. His movements were fluid, water-like, as if the very beat of the music were pulling and manipulating his limbs to convey what the notes had to say. Each move was a word and when he formed them together, they could make you smile or cry. And when he smiled… oh, his smile was like starlight. The kind of brightness that stayed in the sky even as the city lights flickered on. To this day, you’d never found one that could rival it. He was a dream that every composer coveted. So, what was your young heart to do?

Well, the movies told you to confess. But there was no way you could find the courage to do so, especially since you only saw him in class and you couldn’t confess in front of everyone. The only other option was to write it out; to write it out like Jane Austen pouring her heart out for Tom Lefroy.

 Dear Jongin,

I’m not sure how to start this. Do I compliment you on your dancing? It’s nothing like I’ve seen before. Prima Donnas in the Russian Ballet would be jealous of you! But you probably hear that all the time. And about how handsome you are, even under all that hair. I can’t help but watch when you pull it back for class so you can see yourself in the mirror. Why can’t I look like that? I somehow ended up looking like a frizzy wet cat that just climbed out of the tub.

I guess what I’m trying to avoid saying is that… I like you. A lot. I like your laugh and your wide smile. I like how much you love music and how you interpret the melody with your moves. No one can freestyle like you! My heart does a dance of its own whenever I see you. I hope you don’t have anyone that you like, just so I can stand a chance. Would you ever think of me like that? If not, it’s okay. I just needed to tell you. Someday, you’ll be on stage dancing to an audience of thousands and I’ll be right there in the front row, cheering you on! Until then, I hope you always find happiness in what you love.

Love,

(y/n).

 That sentence about watching him on stage made you cringe in hindsight. Cute for a ten-year-old, but a bit stalkerish. Luckily, though, you never gave it to him. You chickened out every time up until the last class. The idea of him opening it and reading right there in front of you was mortifying. So, then, you decided to mail it. The teacher gave you his address after you told her you wanted to invite him to your birthday party (it should be a little worrisome that a teacher was willing to pass on private information like that… perhaps it was because you were a kid). Three times you went to the mailbox to send the letter out and three times you ran back inside to hide it under your mattress.

That was the beginning of your weird little tradition. Though you never sent the letter to Jongin, you felt better having somewhat confessed your feelings and worked through them without the humiliation of actually… doing it. So, the next time you had a crush so overwhelming that you needed to get the feelings out, you wrote a letter. You even went all the way each time to address the envelope, giving the confession a sense of finality. There was no fear in them ever going out. Baekhyun was the only other one in the world who knew of their existence. At the current moment, eight were hidden in a drawer in your vanity. The way your fingers were itching, a ninth one was on the way.

“I might,” you finally replied.

Baekhyun leaned forward eagerly. “Can I read it when you’re done?”

“No!”

He snapped his fingers as he sat back in his chair. “Darn.”

“Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m charming.”

There was no question in his voice. He one-hundred percent believed it. And… to be honest, he did have his moments. But that was all in the past. “Like a plank of wood.”

Shaking his head, Baekhyun rapped his hands on the table before standing up. “Alright, I’m going to class. Have fun with your pencil and imagination.” For emphasis on his stupid remark, he stole one last chip before walking off.

You finished off your sandwich in a bit of a rage. By the time you were finished, your mouth muscles were aching as if you’d spent several hours at the gym and it was jaw day.

You only had one class left for the afternoon. But it was algebra. How were you supposed to concentrate on functions when your sad attempt at getting into a relationship with your tutor failed so epically? Somehow you managed, though, and you packed up at the end of class with a new sort of determination. As you hopped on your bike and rode home, you thought over what you were going to write. You were so lost in your head that you hadn’t notice the car pulling out of your neighbor’s driveway, nearly hitting you before the driver hit their brakes.

“Shoot!”

You back peddled to break. Your heart thumped in your chest. No life memories flashed before your eyes, but you were sure you almost died. Slowly, you moved forward to get out of the way of the car. 

“I’m sorry!” you yelled over your shoulder.

The driver leaned out the window.

Oh, great.

It was your neighbor. Or, at least, your neighbor’s son. Do Kyungsoo. He stared at you with an expression that could be blank but could also be a glare. It was hard to tell with him. Shaking his head, he pulled back inside the car and drove away.

Fighting off embarrassment for the second time this day - albeit this situation was much lower on the scale and it happened a bit more often than you’d like to admit - you put your bike up in the backyard and headed up to your room. Your mother, a literary history professor, and your father, a doctor at the local hospital, were both at work and wouldn’t be home until well after dinner. You were used to it. Besides, you were an adult and you liked being able to decide to have pizza for dinner and not worry about what other people wanted for toppings. Once you put your order in, you sat down at your vanity and got to work.

 Dear Junmyeon,

Has anyone told you how your hair looks in the sunlight? The dark brown hues seem so warm and inviting, like an ebony chair that was warmed by the unfiltered rays. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to run my finger through it. Would the strands be as soft as they look? Would you wear the same smile on your face that you do during our sessions? But I guess I might not be meant to feel them. Today, I intended to tell you how I felt. I woke up with a determination, a goal to say how much I like you to your face. I was so nervous riding my bike to the university, but it was the good kind of nervous; the kind that makes you keep going. It seemed, however, that I was too late. Or maybe I simply never had a chance at all. I’d missed any signs that said you were already someone else’s.

I hope she knows how lucky she is. I hope she makes you laugh and listens to you when you’re having a bad day. Your laugh is like a symphony. Does she tell you how light and lovely it is? Or how infectious it is? When you laugh, I can’t help but laugh along. It’ll be sad not to hear it anymore. Or have our talks filled with random subject changes. But I think I’ll miss your smile most of all. The way it crinkles your eyes yet still lets them shine. The way it spreads across your face and the way your cheeks grow. It is truly a sight to behold. I hope wherever you go, you are always smiling. You always let your light shine even on the cloudiest of days. That’s what’s so special about you and what made me fall for you. Even when I was frustrated or couldn’t understand, you were patient, taking my mind off of the negative and turning me so I could face the positive. That’s a rare kind of person. You are a rare kind of person. Please always be happy, Kim Junmyeon.

Love,

(y/n)

 With a sigh you sat back in your chair. The letter had done its job. Though you were still sad about the way things turned out, you no longer felt defeated. The words you needed to say were now out there without being “out there”. Okay, so he had a girlfriend. Big deal. It wasn’t the end of the world. There were more potential love interests out there that you could find. He was only one and obviously wasn’t the one.

Beginning to smile again, you folded the letter and put it in an envelope. You didn’t have Junmyeon’s address, so you wrote out the address for the math lab. Opening the top drawer of the vanity, you placed the latest addition to your collection under the first envelope. The doorbell rang right as you closed it up again. Oh, thank goodness. Food.

Practically skipping down the steps, you hurried to the front door.

“Hi-” You stopped as soon as you’d opened it. The person waiting on the other side was not the pizza delivery guy - it was Baekhyun. The boxes holding the pizza and cheese sticks you’d order for no one but yourself were in his hands. Over his shoulder, you barely caught sight of the delivery man driving away. “Really?”

“What? I was bored. And hungry.” He flipped open the lid to show you the hot, melted cheese of the appetizer. “Cheese stick?”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped aside so he could come inside.

Baekhyun had been to your home plenty of times in the past so it was easy for him to make himself at home. He didn’t wait for you before pulling plates out of the cabinet and pouring a drink. He even went as far as getting you glass as well. “Thirsty?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

The two of you ate at the kitchen table as your mother had a “no meals in the living room” policy. Small snacks like nuts and popcorn were okay, as long as you didn’t spill any on the couches.

“So… how did the writing go?” Baekhyun asked cheekily between bites.

You shrugged. “Fine. I’m deciding that I’m getting over it.”

Now it was Baekhyun’s turn to roll his eyes. “You always get over them fast.”

“What’s the point of dwelling on the things you can’t change?”

That was always your answer. Yes, the hurt was immediate and painful, but Baekhyun was right, you tended to push it aside rather quickly. That was the whole point of your letters, anyway. Get the feelings out of the way so you could move on. What was the point of clinging on to something like that? You would only end up worse if you stayed in that spot. So, you pushed yourself to move on. And eight times out of nine, it had worked. There was only that one nagging letter that failed to do its job. That particular set of feelings refused to go away even as you looked to other crushes, as you found other boys to like. It was the one you would always wonder about, the one that was completely off limits. The dull ache still crept up every once in a while. If moving on was what you had to do, you would do it. Because you would prefer if you never had to go through something like that ever again.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Any

F/M pairing: Fem!Reader x Felix (SKZ)

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU! Established Relationship

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: mature content, aged-up characters, and alcohol use

Summary: Despite your feelings, you couldn’t help but think that Felix viewed your relationship as nothing but superficial - he wanted a travel companion, and you needed money for your college tuition. But maybe you want more than that, and convincing Felix proves to be harder than you thought...

You were exhausted - an unfortunate result of all those college courses catching up to you at once.

It was difficult for you to open your eyes, groaning because you didn’t feel like dealing with real life. And while you stretched out your limbs across the bed, you wrinkled your nose at the thought of leaving the warm sheets. But a gentle chuckle broke through your reverie, and you followed the sweet sound to an angelic face shadowed by the corner.

“Felix?” you whispered, glancing to the side where the older man was watching you from a comfortable futon. He held a cup of coffee in one hand while his other was preoccupied with a string attached to his pants.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Felix said with a deep morning voice that you could never resist.

“What time is it?” you asked, squinting at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

“8:00 AM,” Felix replied. “Your body isn’t used to this time zone.”

“I guess not,” you said, but it was never easy flying around the world with Felix. There was always the risk of jet-lag, long lay-overs, and the difficult adjustment of jumping between morning and night as you traversed the continents.

“Are you comfortable?” Felix asked. “I can send for whatever you like.”

“I’m okay,” you assured him, and then you eyed the inviting expanse of his lap. “Can I sit with you?” you asked with a smile.

Felix tilted his head to the side as he considered your request. “Of course.”

His easy compliance energized you more than any amount of sleep ever could, and you walked over to where he was waiting. It was the perfect start to your day, and you sat on his lap with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck as you connected your lips for a passionate kiss tinged with the faint taste of the coffee lingering on his tongue.

It had taken a long time for you to convince Felix that it was okay for him to kiss you. During the first few months of your arrangement, you were lucky enough to even hold his hand, but he gradually warmed up the idea. Even if your very first kiss with Felix was nothing but a chaste peck that ended with you chasing after his lips while he resisted.

But it was more comfortable in the present. He even seemed to enjoy kissing you, and that was enough for your fragile heart which beat exclusively for him. Yet, Felix was still an enigma - a Matryoshka doll with layer upon layer of interesting details. And you were determined to understand him while doing your best to convince Felix that you considered your relationship to be much more than its premise. Back when he found your profile on an online Sugar Daddy website (which was totally your friend’s idea), and he sent you a rather complex email listing out everything that he wanted in a potential arrangement:

- Travel companion

- Confidant

- Event partner

You were shocked that he hadn’t included anything about intimacy because every other person on the site had specifically propositioned you with very explicit things. But sure enough, Felix met you the very next day and reiterated his conditions, and you discovered for yourself that he respected the boundaries he had established - barely even touching you unless it was at a dinner party and he politely kept you away from his much less civil co-workers.

But over time, the arrangement had evolved for you into something meaningful, and you found yourself wanting more as you grew increasingly attracted to him. Unfortunately, everything was playing out at a rather slow pace, and it was always you who encouraged Felix along, but maybe you also weren’t the best choice because you certainly lacked patience. But it was hard to hold yourself together around him, especially when he took the initiative to plunge his tongue between your teeth.

In a rush of arousal, you reached down for the noticeable bugle in his suit-pants, pressing down using the heel of your hand - rubbing generous circles against his erection. Felix moaned at the friction, but a warning alarm at the back of your mind told you that you were moving way too fast considering that Felix still blushed whenever you let him touch your breasts.

And it wasn’t entirely surprising when he grabbed your wrist, breaking the kiss with a wet smack while his eyes stared into yours. “Uhhh...”

“Let’s go downstairs for breakfast,” Felix said, shifting you off his lap and ignoring your pout.

You watched Felix leave the room with a sigh. Because despite all this time that you’ve spent together, Felix still refused to sleep with you, and you can’t figure out why he keeps turning down your blatant offers. He was paying you after all, and he was paying you a lot, so why didn’t he ever want anything more than a comfortable conversation or a gentle kiss? 

It seemed that your progress with him was at a standstill because anything past kissing or touching above the waist always ruined the mood. And at one point, you tried to encourage him to tell you about his interests and what he liked, but Felix never talked about himself. For example, whenever you asked him a question about his work or interests, he always offered you a vague answer before redirecting the questions back to you again.

But maybe there something wrong with you? Did he not find you attractive?

“Y/N,” Felix said to break your self-loathing thoughts. “Are you ready?”

“Give me a few minutes,” you said, and Felix nodded with a smile before closing the door and leaving you alone to consider what had just happened.

In between your travels with Felix, you tried to balance an active social life with a productive college course-load. It was really hard sometimes, especially when your instincts always led you to appease Felix above everything else. You had already lost count of the number of weekend parties and friendly get-togethers that you had missed to join him at the office or cancel plans when he mentioned another overseas business conference.

It was a little desperate on your part, but whenever Felix sent you a text message or called you on the phone, you always answered with a chipper smile and warm tone. You could be having the worst day of your life, but you would never let him know that. 

“Can you meet me at the office?” Felix had asked you earlier, and you agreed quietly before dismissing yourself from a lunch date that you were having with some friends who all whined about you leaving them.

But Felix was your priority, and you were genuinely excited when he pulled you into a hug before escorting you inside his office. “There’s some things to discuss,” Felix said, and you groaned because that usually meant sitting in front of his desk while he insisted on a serious demeanor. “Your classes,” Felix said once he sat down, holding out a hand expectantly which meant you were forced to pull up the grade-book for your courses online.

Felix was incredibly adamant about your grades, and he always insisted on checking-in to ensure that you were performing well. “It’s not completely updated,” you said once he took your phone and examined the screen.

“What happened in your math class?” Felix asked with narrowed eyes. “You told me about this one when we traveled to Europe.”

“Right,” you said with an anxious clearing of your throat. Because on that trip, Felix had insisted that you stay in the hotel room to study while he went downstairs to entertain some business partners. But you only got through the second chapter of your notes before throwing on your swimsuit and sneaking out to enjoy the poolside amenities. “My overall grade is still a B,” you said. “And the professor agreed to give me an extra credit assignment.”

Felix grunted at your words before sliding the phone screen back across to you. “When is next month’s tuition due?”

“At the end of November,” you said quietly, watching as Felix opened his laptop to peruse the bright screen. 

“Send me the bill,” he said. “I’ll have the money transferred.”

“Okay,” you said, wincing when he started frowning at something.

“Your checking account is low,” he remarked, and his fingers moved rapidly over the keys. “You’re supposed to tell me when its below $1,000.”

“Oh,” you mumbled. “I guess I forgot.”

 “I’ll fix it,” Felix said, and it always amazed you that he could be so nonchalant with giving you his money. “I see that your rent was payed last week.”

“Everything’s fine,” you said, hoping to cut this part of your conversation short because there was a part of you (growing bigger each day) that regretted the fact that Felix didn’t know your true feelings for him.

He meant a lot more to you than someone who gave you money like it was candy.

“Your meal plan carries over?” Felix asked. “Do you need me to upgrade it? Are you getting enough to eat? Because they have this unlimited plan...”

“Felix,” you interrupted. “It’s just right for me.”

“Well,” Felix said, sitting back further in his chair. “I do have something else to ask you.”

“About?”

“Your birthday,” Felix chuckled, and you were surprised that he remembered. “It’s next week, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you said because you weren’t quite sure what to make of Felix’s impressive attention to detail.

“You’ll be turning 21,” Felix said. “I want to make it special for you.”

“We could just chill at my apartment,” you said, and Felix smiled at such a menial suggestion.

“Of course we’ll do that, but I’m sure there’s something else you want?” Felix asked, silencing an incoming call on his cellphone. “I’ll buy you anything.”

“I don’t know,” you trailed off sheepishly before fixing him with a warm smile. “I wouldn’t mind just spending time with you.”

“You don’t have to flatter me, Y/N,” Felix said. “Please let me buy you something.”

“Oh,” you said, caught off-guard by his insistence. “Maybe something that I need for school?”

“Y/N, that’s no good for a present,” Felix said. “Be honest with me. Do you need another computer? Is your apartment comfortable? What about your car, is it still in good shape?”

You hesitated at each of the ostentatious suggestions. “Uh, my phone is fi-”

“Done!” Felix said, and he immediately returned to his laptop screen. “The newest model has amazing storage space.”

“Does it?” you asked, but it was more rhetorical than anything. Because something was bothering you about the idea of Felix buying you such superficial things.

But it didn’t used to? What had changed?

“I know you have another class in an hour,” Felix said, and he stood from his desk with a smile. “My assistant can give you a ride back to your school.”

His hand was warm against you lower back as he led you closer to the door. “I’ll see you later,” Felix said, and he brushed his lips against yours before the office door was closing between you and the frustrating man who was completely oblivious.

For the most part, whenever Felix asked you to come over to his apartment, you often found yourself sitting on the edge of the counter while you watched him cook for you - a delightful combination of pasta dinners, brownies and cookies, and everything in between.

And even though you hadn’t quite turned 21, Felix never minded giving you some of his impressive collection of wine. He even insisted because certain wines complemented his dishes. “Try this with the chardonnay,” he said while pushing the glass closer to your pasta.

You nodded and brought the glass to your lips, watching as he returned to the oven to check on the brownies that he made for dessert. “Tell me about your music, Y/N,” Felix said while jabbing a toothpick into the gooey cake mixture.

“I have another composition in the works,” you said, and it was always really easy to talk about music with Felix. Because he was one of the only people you’d ever met who was so genuinely interested in hearing you talk about music - it’s what you talked about the most, especially in bed together. 

Apparently, Felix had once wanted to study music when he was younger, but his father pressured him into studying business so that he could takeover their accounting firm in the future. It was one of the very few things you knew about Felix, other than his insane cooking talents and sweet personality. 

But Felix loved to hear you discuss your music, and he adored your compositions when you played them for him over the impressive sound system in the living room. Oftentimes, Felix would make copies of your compositions for himself, despite your insistence that they weren’t very professional. He even had entire recordings on his computer that he listened to while he was working.

“It would sound better if I had a good microphone,” you said with a sigh, not really understanding the implications of your words until Felix spoke up again.

“Send me a description of what you need,” Felix said. “I’ll buy it for you.”

“Oh, Felix, it’s really not a big deal...”

“I insist,” Felix said while finishing off his wine. “I’ll have my assistant go out tomorrow and get it for you.”

You knew that it would be impossible to convince Felix otherwise, and there were more pressing things to worry about. Like when you noticed that he had only taken a few bites of his food before leaning in closer to you - chin propped against his hand as he listened to you speak. “Aren’t you hungry?” you asked, pointing to his discarded plate.

“Why? Would you like some more?” Felix asked, and you didn’t even get a chance to answer before he was pushing his plate in your direction. “Take as much as you want.”

“But it’s yours,” you said, even while Felix was already standing up from his chair to retrieve the brownies from the kitchen counter.

“I made these for you,” Felix said. “I noticed how much you liked them last time.”

“They’re amazing,” you said, and you were pleased when he lowered his head to connect your lips together.

“I also bought you something,” Felix said while pulling away from your kiss. “Check the bed.”

“What?” you laughed, and you accepted Felix’s outstretched hand as he led the two of you into his enormous bedroom. And sure enough there was a delicate package waiting on the center of the bed, wrapped neatly in purple wrapping paper with a cute bow on top. “You didn’t need to do this,” you said while reaching down for the gift.

“I thought of you when I saw it,” Felix said, and he lingered close to your side while you carefully discarded the paper and retrieved whatever was inside the velvety black box.

Unsurprisingly, the gift inside was gorgeous - a tiny set of earrings with a diamond center that probably cost him an atrocious amount of money. “They’re beautiful,” you told him, and you smiled when Felix insisted on putting them in himself.

“They complement your eyes,” he said once the earrings were in place.

“Thank you,” you said while holding back the overwhelming urge to kiss him again.

“I should also mention that I have a conference in Seattle this weekend,” Felix said, and he turned you from side to side with a pleased smile. “Are you available to come with me?”

“Of course,” you said, and you gave no thought to any prior engagements, holding out your hand when Felix dropped a ticket into your open palms.

“Let’s lie down for a little while,” Felix suggested, and you nodded your agreement while watching him drop down onto the edge of the bed to remove his watch. 

It was a familiar scene, and you carefully folded your ticket inside your jacket, removing it from your shoulders before crawling onto the bed next to him. “What should we talk about?” you asked around a yawn, snuggling closer to Felix’s side as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Tell me about the internship you’re applying for,” Felix said. “I’m very proud of your ambitions.”

You heart gave a happy flutter at the idea of Felix being proud of you for anything, and there was a deep-rooted desire to move even closer to him despite the fact that it wasn’t possible considering your current position. But you talked about the internship with unrivaled enthusiasm - a spot for a local radio station - and Felix listened as usual while his fingers curled through your own. 

It was incredibly warm and comfortable, and you loved being close enough to him to smell his cologne and connect the freckles beneath his eyes into fascinating constellations. There was nothing but affection in your heart, and maybe your feelings were even deeper than you anticipated, and you longed to go even further - to form a physical connection with him that was just as satisfying as the emotional one that often kept you up at night with dreams of the future.

“Felix,” you whispered, and he hummed in acknowledgement. “Can I kiss you?”

He shifted at your side, finding your gaze with a kind smile. “Of course you can.”

It was the only affirmation that you required to dig your fingers into the well-pressed collar of his shirt, keeping him close as you explored his lips with your tongue, tracing over the seam of his mouth as he opened up for you. And Felix moaned when your tongues met somewhere in the middle, forcing you to wonder if he tasted the chocolate from dinner with his penetrative exploration of your mouth. 

But you were feeling so aroused by his deep moans, and you threw one leg over his hip before grabbing his hand and leading it beneath your skirt. Felix gasped into your kiss when he realized that you weren’t wearing anything underneath, and he quickly snatched his hand away so fast that you almost got whiplash from the jarring movement. 

“Don’t do that,” Felix said, and he intertwined your fingers together before resuming your kiss like there was nothing wrong.

But you didn’t feel the same way, and you broke the kiss because you were suddenly feeling light-headed. Was there something wrong with you? Because his behavior had no other explanation, even as Felix simply continued to leave sweet kisses along your neck - gentle pecks that served more as a reminder of his presence rather than anything sensual.

You could feel your heart twisting inside your chest - a distant feeling of the earlier elation that had sent it palpating against your breastbone. There were also tears in your eyes when your mind instantly thought of a thousand different scenarios that all attempted to explain what had happened. Should you just keeping waiting? Maybe you needed to be more patient?

But you were done with having patience with a man who was almost ten years older than you! He should know how you feel, and he should’ve already recognized the signs you were giving off whenever you lingered in the same room. Instead, it almost felt like he was ignoring you, or choosing to remain in this strange limbo that was starting to become too much for your confused emotions.

“Y/N,” Felix whispered when he realized that you weren’t returning his affection. “Are you okay?”

“No,” you said in return, and it seemed to startle Felix who fumbled upwards into a sitting position. 

“Did I hurt you?” Felix asked, and you could tell that he was worried when he examined you closely.

“I don’t think you’ve realized...” you tried, but the words slipped away because you no longer felt confident enough to say them. “Do you not want me?” you asked him instead, looking at Felix with tears clumping the massacre on your eyelashes. 

“Y/N-”

“No!” You insisted firmly, surprising both Felix and yourself. “I’ve had enough, Felix. I’m going home.”

“Y/N!” Felix said, and his tone was much firmer as he grabbed your wrist and halted your attempts to leave the bed. “This is not how I’ll handle things with you. Tell me what I’ve done to upset you.”

You shook your head, seeing nothing but a hazy image of Felix from behind your tears. “You should already know,” you said while pulling your wrist away from him. “I thought I made my feelings clear, but you keep rejecting me!”

Felix’s eyes widened with the realization of what you meant. “Y/N, that was never apart of our arrangement.”

“Yeah.” You laughed, but it was mirthless. “Our arrangement.”

It was all the confirmation that you needed to understand that Felix would never see your relationship as anything but a man and a woman who met online and decided to try something that was never meant to last.

You had been hurt by men before, but you had also never cared as much about your past boyfriends as you did with Felix.

He had become everything to you, but the realization that your feelings weren’t mutual hurt your heart and spirit more than being left alone by a one-night stand or catching someone cheating on you. “It’s my fault, Y/N,” you friend said from your couch because you had called her on the way over to your apartment in tears. “I should’ve never encouraged you to sign up for that website.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” you said. “I should’ve never involved my feelings.”

“Well,” your friend said. “He’s still an ignorant asshole.”

You smiled at your friend’s defense of you, even if you didn’t agree. Despite everything that had happened that night with Felix, you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him. And maybe that’s because the genuine feelings you had for him simply wouldn’t go away instantly.

It would take time to heal.

Closure.

Which is what you thought you were getting when you received a message from Felix later on:

FROM FELIX:

Y/N, I can’t express my thoughts in one or two sentences. Please pick-up when I call you. I feel it’s necessary to address these slights you’ve experienced, and you don’t even have to say a word to me.

You shivered at his request, clutching your phone tightly between your hands before it started ringing to penetrate the silence of your bedroom. “Hello?” you whispered into the other end, and there was a moment of quiet before Felix began to speak.

“This is not how I expected our night to end,” he said. “I’m deeply sorry for the pain that I caused you. I could see it in your eyes, and it hurt me more than you seem to think.”

You swallowed hard when he took a deep breath. “When I first found your profile, I hesitated to contact someone who, in my eyes, seemed like an untouchable slice of perfection. You loved music and dancing, and you had big dreams that you described with such elegant words. Although I was looking for a companion for my travels, I knew you would be so much more than my expectation, but it was hard to ignore how much I wanted to meet you.”

“I thought it would be best to establish boundaries because I initially imagined our relationship as nothing more than me helping out someone who needed the assistance that I could give. I couldn’t imagine you losing the chance to succeed because you weren’t able to afford tuition. When I was a student, I had the help of my father’s wealth, but he forced me to change my dreams because he wanted to mold me into an image of himself. And he was very successful because I used to be more carefree before I was told that I had to takeover our company. But I promised myself that I would help you because I wanted to be everything for you that my father was not.”

There was a shaky exhale, and you could hear the raw emotion in Felix’s tone. “You deserve better than me,” Felix whispered, and you could barely hold the phone as you felt the first tear fall. “I’m almost thirty-years-old, and I’m paying a student to spend time with me because I’m so bad at meeting people. I organized this whole thing to satisfy my own selfish desires to live vicariously through someone else and experience what my father never allowed me to have.”

You opened your mouth to speak, to reassure him that you had never felt like he was taking advantage of you, but the words were caught between your brain and tongue.

“As for your insinuation that I couldn’t possibly want you...” Felix paused, and you could easily imagine that the conversation had ended abruptly. “I chose not to have a physical relationship with you because I could never imagine in my wildest dreams that someone as young and beautiful as yourself could truly want a sexual relationship with an older man who spends most of his time balancing numbers. If we’re talking our truest desires, then there’s nothing more that I want in this world than your sweet touch, but I won’t allow myself to ruin someone as pure and good as you.”

He cleared his throat at that statement, and you wondered what your relationship might’ve looked like if you had been more honest with him from the beginning. “Perhaps I also grew too complacent with what we had because it was more than any scenario I could’ve came up with inside my head. I love our talks together, Y/N, and you can’t imagine how wonderful it is to travel the world with you - to sleep next to you at night and kiss you because I cherish every moment of your time with me.”

“So please don’t feel hurt by someone like me. Because you’re worth more than all the money I have, and you deserve a wonderful life where you become someone who recognizes the greatness that I see in her. But if this is meant to be goodbye, then know that I love you so much, and I will never forget the artist who changed my world.”

There was a click following his passionate declaration, and then you were greeted by the dial tone.

You thought about Felix for the entire week following his unexpected phone call. His words haunted you during your classes, and you could barely focus when you were working on your schoolwork or hanging out with friends. The confession of his love weighed heavily on your conscious, and you knew that you needed to see him again

It was incredibly risky, but there was an even bigger part of yourself that didn’t care about the consequences. And you found yourself taking a taxi to the airport where Felix was set to depart for Seattle, ticket tucked into the back of your jeans pocket while your suitcase rolled along next to you. Of course, there was a small part of you that worried you might not be able to find Felix, or maybe he wouldn’t want to see you.

But you were tired of being cautious, and Felix was worth the extra effort to hand over your ticket to the flight attendant who encouraged you to wait in the first-class lobby. You thanked her quietly, and your hand was shaking when you reached out for the door handle, pushing it open before scanning your eyes across the customers waiting inside.

It was mostly people in expensive suits, looking through their cellphone or reading the newspaper. But it was impossible to miss a familiar mop of blonde-hair, and your eyes met Felix’s from across the room - a moment in time when it felt like you were the only two people left in the room.

And you could tell that Felix was surprised, but he didn’t protest when you sat next to him. “Hi,” you said in a shy voice, fixing your suitcase against the wall while your hands curled together in your lap.

“Y/N,” Felix said with a gentle tone. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I thought you wanted me to come,” you reminded him, and you held up your ticket with a smile. 

Felix visibly swallowed as he stared at you. “I figured you wouldn’t want to see me anymore.”

“Why?” you asked him. “After those things you said to me...Felix, I only want to see you more.”

He was silent then, contemplative as he took a deep breath. “I hurt you, Y/N. I don’t deserve to be with you.”

“That’s not true,” you said. “Well, maybe I felt hurt, but I think we’re both to blame.”

“You should know that I’ll continue to help you with your schooling,” Felix said. “But the other part of the arrangement...”

“Felix, I insist,” you said while grabbing his hand. “I like spending time with you, Felix,” you said. “You’re a literal angel.”

“I don’t know about that,” Felix said. “There’s a lot about me that you still don’t know.”

“And that’s okay,” you reassured him. “Because I’d really like to find out more about you and everything that you enjoy.”

“I’m still sorry,” Felix insisted. “I’m sorry that I let you get so involved while pushing you away at the same time.”

“I’ll just have to show you that I care more than you think,” you said. “Let me start helping you as well.”

“But you’ve already helped me,” Felix said. “You’ve done so much for me, and you can’t even imagine how grateful I am.”

“Well, I might since the feeling is mutual,” you said. “I don’t want you to question whether or not you deserve me because I love being with you, and this stopped being just a sporadic arrangement for me a long time ago.”

Felix nodded, even if there was still a touch of hesitation. “And how do you feel about...intimacy? I know that’s something you want.”

“I only want it if you’re interested,” I said.

“What if I wasn’t?”

“Then I would respect that,” you said. “It still wouldn’t send me away.”

“That means a lot to me,” Felix said. “I would be interested as long as you’re okay with me touching you,” Felix said, and he was clearly blushing at the idea.

But you found it to be endearing, prodding at the reddening skin of his face with your finger. “Let’s try a normal relationship,” you said. “Like a couple.”

Felix smiled, and he was much more suited for brightness as opposed to the despondency that you discovered when you first arrived. “I like that idea.”

“It seems better for us,” you said before expectantly turning your head in his direction. “Does that mean I can have a kiss?”

Felix laughed at your brazenness, and you were still smiling even while your lips smoothed across his in a passionate display of the secret feelings and affections that had finally been exposed for him to return with equal amounts of love and adoration.

[everlarkficexchange]

I Choose You

Written by: @wendywobbles

Prompt 51: Katniss E, the Valedictorian of Panem High school, is perfect in all fields of life. And that is the crush of awkward, average in studies, not so popular, never had a girlfriend, often bullied Peeta M. Not only does she have a very popular friend circle but also a handsome, popular boyfriend Gale H. Will she even want to be his friend? Is his crush doomed to fail? Eventual Everlark) [submitted by @white-dandelion-seeds]

AN: I hope I did your prompt proud. The title comes from a Sara Bareilles song that I love.

——————————————-

Peeta Mellark walked quietly in the door and leaned against the wall at the school assembly. He hated these things. Being trapped here for an hour while Principal Trinket droned on and on about what was coming up in the next semester was hell.

They had just returned from their autumn break and Peeta was counting the days down until this last year of school was finished. His experience in Panem 12th Region school had been long, dull and miserable.

Not for the first time he wondered if his dad had lived how his life would have turned out. Would he have been a popular jock with lots of friends and confidence instead of a feeling like a ghost in these hallways? He hoped college would be different. As far as he knew none of the dicks from his year would be attending Capitol U.

He had no idea what Trinket was talking about but he became aware the second the speaker changed……Katniss Everdeen was at the podium and saying hello to everyone. Instantly he paid attention.

Katniss Everdeen was in Peeta Mellark’s eyes the most perfect woman to ever walk the earth. She had long dark hair, clear olive skin and grey eyes.

She was a distance runner for the Panem 12th Region Athletics team. She trained hard , Peeta knew this because he had often seen her running in the early hours of the morning when it was his early shift at the Bakery or sometimes he would see her on the trails when he was out running she always had a smile and wave for him as they passed.

Her grades were always high, again Peeta knew this was down to hard work and not just luck.

Sometimes he would see her at the library when he was hiding out avoiding Cato and the other Jays and his maths whizz brother Leon had been tutoring her since last year.

She has a quiet confidence, and strength that just drew people to her and had a wide circle of friends but would make time for everyone whether it was a quick hello or a longer more in-depth chat. It was no wonder when she ran for student council she was elected president.

With a confident smile the object of Peeta’s affection began to speak

“Hi all! Hope everyone had a wonderful break, I know I did. Principal Trinket has given me a few minutes of the assembly today to talk about our Winter Formal. This year we are looking to do something a bit different and we are hoping that you guys will help us come up with a theme. This is the last 12th Region dance some of us will attend and we would love to make this something a bit special, but right now our ideas aren’t hitting the mark and I know that there are so many talented and creative individuals here so we’d love to hear from you.”

She looked behind her and Annie Cresta, her Vice President, handed her a cardboard box covered in silver paper. She held it up for all to see

“Okay, I know this probably looks a bit basic but this box will be left in library until next Friday. If you have an idea put it in. We will then post the suggestions online and then we can vote for our favourite. Easy right? I can’t wait to see what people come up with.”

“Thanks for listening and don’t forget Friday is the big Game against D13’s Coin Cavaliers and once again the 12th Region’s very own Mockingjays are out to destroy them. Show you school spirit by wearing black and orange. Go Jays!”

All around Peeta students began to cheer, he just rolled his eyes and slipped quietly away.

*********

For the rest of the day school was buzzing with excitement for the game and Katniss announcement. Peeta was glad when his final class was over and headed to his locker to collect his bag.

“Hey Bread Boy” called Johanna Mason, a short shaved head girl that somehow had become one of Peeta’s closest and dearest friends

“Yes Jo?”

“So are you making any suggestions for the Winter Formal? I’ve got mine in – Roller Disco with night vision goggles. Great, huh?”

“Seriously Jo? I mean while I can certainly appreciate the theme, how exactly would a person fund all those glasses……” he smiled.

“I’m the ideas woman, the reality is her ladyship and her minions area of work…speaking of which. Anyway I gotta go, see you later handsome “ and with that Jo sprinted away.

Peeta looked up and saw Katniss Everdeen walking down the corridor. She was carrying an armful of books, a bag and a bottle of water, had an apple wedged in her mouth and her shoe lace was beginning to open on her ever present black Cons. Peeta was thinking how this looked like an accident waiting to happen when Katniss reached up to take the apple out of her mouth, stepped on her now undone shoe lace and tripped herself up sending everything flying.

“Katniss! Oh my god are you okay?” Peeta was by her side in a flash and quickly helped her right herself.

Surprisingly she burst out laughing “Oh my god! I can’t believe that just happened. Thanks Peeta, I’m ok.” He started to help her pick up her stuff when Gale Hawthorne appeared.

“Katniss? What happened? You ok?” concern was all over his features.

“Fine, fine I tripped Peeta was just helping me collect my stuff.”

Gale nodded but proceeded to take the books Peeta had in his arms “Well I’m here now. Mellark you can …go do whatever it is you do. I got this.”

Peeta felt his face flame but kept his mouth shut previous experience had thought him that answering back to people like Gale usually ended up badly for people like Peeta.

“Sure. Whatever” he mumbled and moved to step away.

Katniss meanwhile shot Gale a glance that would have felled a lesser man, but Peeta imagined as Katniss’ boyfriend Gale was probably used to her looks so he just ignored her.(Imagine being able to ignore Katniss thought Peeta)

“Thanks again Peeta. Hey before you go, do you have the details of the English assignment? I can’t find where I wrote it down.”

“Sure, hold on” Peeta rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a notebook. He pulled out a sheet and copied the details onto the paper for her.

“Ummm here you go” he said handing it over.

“Katniss? Are you ready I’ll carry this stuff to your car” huffed Gale.

“Go ahead I’ll be right there. I just want to check something with Peeta” She called without looking at Gale.

“I’ll wait.”

“Dunderhead” muttered Katniss under her breath so that only Peeta could hear her, keeping her voice low she began to speak “Um I was wondering if you were going to submit any ideas for the dance. When we were kids I remember you always had a great imagination.”

Peeta blinked and stared and Katniss “Um no. I don’t….I mean I’m not interested in that kinda thing you know. I’ve never even been to a school dance.”

“Oh…right. Sorry I just, I guess I’ll see you in class or something.” Katniss seemed embarrassed and Peeta wanted to die. This was how he spoke to the girl of his dreams….Leon was right he was an idiot.

As she turned to walk away he called after her “Wait! I may not have an idea but um I’m pretty good at art and design maybe,I mean if you needed it, I could help you guys work on pulling it altogether?” he rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

“That would be fantastic! I know you’re headed to Capitol U next year to begin a Fine Art Degree so absolutely we would love your help.” Katniss smile was a mile wide as she said all this.

“Ok. Well keep me posted. Oh and Katniss you should probably tie your shoelace” Peeta smiled and her and began to walk away. It was only as he turned the corner he realised something. He had never mentioned getting into Capitol U …how had Katniss known that?

********

“So what did you need from Mellark?” asked Gale.

“Gale you were standing right there when I was talking to him - English homework and he’s offered to help with the dance.” said Katniss taking her bag from Gale. She reached down to grab the apple that she dropped and popped it in a bin as she walked by.

“Help how? Loser never goes to anything school related.”

“So? What has that got to do with anything? And he’s not a loser. Look Gale we need help with this dance and I’m happy to have someone like Peeta come on board-“

Gale cut her off “ Ooh I get it now, you get the nerdy runt to do all the work and you take the credit.”

“Shut up Gale. When have I EVER treated anyone like that? I can’t believe you would even think I would do that.”

“Oh relax, it’s High School not the real world.”

Sometimes Katniss goody two shoes attitude really annoyed Gale. Kill or be killed that was Gale’s motto(not literally of course) but sometimes you had to be ruthless on and off the field.

“Let me make it up too you… how about a movie?”

“Can’t I have to get home to help dad. I’ll round up the gang maybe we can all go see something on Saturday?”

Frustrated Gale rolled his eyes before responding “Katniss I meant …..”

Katniss knew exactly what he meant and after going out a few times two years ago, Katniss wasn’t going down that road again, Gale however still thought they were perfect for each other and was always trying to get her to agree to a date.

Katniss blundered on pretending not to have heard him “It’ll be a fun way for everyone to relax after Friday’s game. I’ll text everyone later unless you want to do it?”

Gale clenched his jaw frustrated at Katniss he wanted to say something more when his phone rang. It was Cato.

“I’m late for practice. Talk to you later” and Gale took off running towards the sports field.

A grateful Katniss watched Gale sprint away, glad of the reprieve from his hints and outright declarations that they would make the perfect couple.

She hopped into her car and got ready to head home, when out of the corner of her eye she saw the hunched figure of Peeta Mellark walking out and heading towards town, she watched him til he was out of sight.

There was something about Peeta that made Katniss want to get to know him better but the blue eyed blond boy kept himself to himself. She had has crush on him since the first day of school when he drew her a picture of her teddy bear.

She smiled recalling how upset she was being separated from her bear and was missing him something terrible on her first day. Seeing her tears Peeta had marched up to her pencil in hand and asked her what he looked like and under her guidance had drawn a pretty good depiction of Snowball Abernathy.

Katniss still had the drawing; her dad had laminated it years go and she used it as book mark. The bear was also still knocking around, slightly bedraggled, more grey then white these day but still loved.

She sighed remembering a time when they were younger and Peeta was much more open. It all changed when his dad died though he seemed to retreat from childhood.

********

Katniss knew from Peeta’s older brother Leon that it hadn’t been easy after Mr M had died.

She had met Leon when her parents hired him to help her with her maths. Leon was like a skinnier less good looking Peeta. He was in college locally hoping to be a teacher and he loved maths and tutored a few kids.

As Katniss and he worked together they became more friendly.He was kind and funny and talkative.

When Katniss got accepted to Capitol U to study Engineering she was overjoyed and then Leon told her Peeta had been accepted to CU too.

“That’s amazing! What program? I wonder if we’ll run into each other. That would be cool.” Katniss gushed. She was practically vibrating at this piece of news.

And had completely forgotten who she was talking too. She couldn’t stop the blush that crept up her face.

Leon felt a grin spreading over his face “Careful Everdeen or I might think you have a crush on my baby brother……oh my god you do!!!”

That was a few weeks ago and Leon kept encouraging her to talk to Peeta and teasing her that if she let the year pass without saying anything he would tell Peeta before graduation.

Katniss knew though her secret was safe. Leon was very protective of Peeta, and from what Leon had told her-and what she knew from the past herself and gossip- the death of Mr Mellark had hit the whole family hard.

The oldest Mellark brother Sean had taken over running the place full time (this had always been the plan but the death of Sean Snr meant things moved a lot quicker). He quit full time college and moved home.

Leon and Peeta helped out but right after her husband died Mrs Mellark seemed to “disappear” leaving Sean 20, Leon 16 and Peeta 13 to carry on.

The older boys tried to stay on top of everything.- the house, the business, school even dealing with their mom- but their home life was chaotic following in the weeks following their fathers death.

It was a lot to cope with, and they tried to do it all without any help - scared that if they let people know what was going on their family would be further torn apart.

Katniss remembered when Peeta came to school in the same hoodie for 5 days –not really a big deal but Cato Snow grabbed this and began to tease Peeta.

“Hey Smellark. Don’t you have any CLEAN clothes?”

His goons soon joined in for weeks whenever they could get Peeta alone they went at him, they pushed him, squirted hand sanitizer on him, threw water on him.

Some of the other kids tried to tell Cato to stop but no one wanted to make themselves a target so most just ignored what was going on. Katniss did too, and the memory still pained her.

It all came to a head one Monday afternoon Peeta finally snapped and swung at Cato. Peeta may have been quiet and smaller then the others but in the past number of weeks a fire had raged in him.

This particular Monday Cato had decided that Peeta needed a hair cut and got Tom Marvel and Derek Blight to hold him down and started to hack at Peeta’s hair.

It was the final straw for Peeta, to this day no one knows exactly how he did it but Peeta got loose and punched Cato busting his nose, the sight of the blood caused Marvel to flee. Blight wasn’t quick enough and Peeta managed to leave him with a black eye. Peeta picked up his bag and left the school vowing to never return.

While this was going on, an anonymous tip off was left with a children’s care charity begging them to check on the Mellark’s. A young case worker Finnick Odair took the call and hearing how distressed the girl in the end of the call was decided to make a house call.

He met a shaken, tattered Peeta at the house on the front step.

“Hey kid? You ok?”

And for the first time since his dad died and the bullying began Peeta cried and his story just tumbled out

Finnick met with the rest of the family. Mrs. Mellark was very obviously depressed, the boys were grieving but had no time to process everything that was happening as they desperately tried to keep things going. A decision was made to contact Mrs Mellark mother, Sae.

She arrived in a day and scolded her grandsons for not calling her sooner and hugged the life out of them.

She sought out her daughter and held her close as she wept and wept.

Then the five of them sat on the sofa together and Sae told Finnick she was sticking around for as long as was needed and he helped her to find the help her family needed.

Peeta however refused to talk about what had happened and wouldn’t confirm the bullying. He hoped by keeping his mouth shut Cato would leave him alone. (It hadn’t. Although Cato no longer actively sought him out he still tormented him)

When Peeta returned to school a few days later people seemed to give him a wide berth the story of his Hulk like anger had scared people. It made him sad.

When he went to his locker he found a bag there and inside was a paper dandelion, a packet of coloring pencils and notebook.

Peeta was confused and wary but the yellow flower was the first thing he remembered seeing in color; since his dad died life had just been grey. He smiled, just a small one but somehow this flower made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time -hope.

********

On Friday the school was buzzing. Peeta had on a black tee shirt and orange cons showing his school spirit.

He had noticed Katniss that morning in her black skinny jeans, a Jays orange jersey, black oversized cardigan, in her braided hair there was an orange ribbon and on her feet a pair of orange cons. He smiled when he saw them.

He was just slipping to class when she called him

“Hey Peeta! Look we’re foot twins.” She bounded over to him and stood toe to toe with him. His heart was pounding.

She pulled out her phone “Can I take a picture?” and she aimed her camera down before clicking a few snaps.

“I think yours look better” she smiled and looked up at him, suddenly aware how close she was to him.

“I’m sorry Peeta I’m such and space invader” she stepped back “like I was saying yours look better, they have that lived in Cons look, mine are brand new they need breaking in. I’m gonna put this on Instagram, want me to tag you?”

“Why? Why would you tag me? I mean we’re not exactly friends, besides I don’t think Gale or his friends would appreciate any part of me appearing on your feed. I have to go Katniss.” Peeta smiled sadly and walked away.

Katniss couldn’t understand what she had said or done but she quickly deleted the post.

********

When the dance committee opened the silver box they found a good deal of papers, half though were filled with utter rubbish- crude drawing, bits of gum wrapped in the paper and some downright dangerous suggestions -roller skating with night vision goggles???

The most surprising thing was that even though the students had been given free reign most were standard dance ideas. According to Delly Cartwright this was because despite claims to want to express themselves and be individuals most teenagers just wanted to blend in and follow the herd, and in the end there were only five familiar themes to choose from.

1. Winter Wonderland/Snow Ball /Yule Ball

2. Once Upon a Time(Fairytales and stories)

3. Enchanted Forest or Magical Garden

4. Candy land

5. Masquerade Ball

Students were just handed a ballot paper and asked to vote for their favourite and with the result revealed at the following weeks assembly.

The winning theme in the end was the Enchanted Forest, and Katniss was secretly thrilled. Now the theme was picked it was time for the hard work to begin, and time to see if Peeta was ready to join the dance committee.

********

Peeta and Jo were sitting on one of the benches outside the school when Katniss walked over.

“Hey” she called

Peeta waved, Jo gave a nod.

“Peeta, if that offer to help out with the dance is still on the table the dance committee is meeting tomorrow after school to get things moving. I was wondering if you’d like to come along and get an idea of budget, how we can pull off the theme and if we can actually make something out of nothing” Katniss joked.

“I don’t know Katniss-“ but before he could finish Jo interrupted

“He’ll be there. What time and can I help too? My dad owns the forest out past Turn 4. He might be able to help with some stuff for decoration.”

“Ok, well we be in Room 17 from about 4 pm and Jo it would be great to have more help. I’ll leave you guys to it then. Bye”

As she walked away she missed the glare Peeta threw at Jo and the grin that spread across her face.

“What? You have been crazy about her for years. Now’s you chance to woo her” grinned Jo

“She has a scary boyfriend or did you forget that? A boyfriend who has no issue with beating a guy like me and might I add he has the connections to dispose of me where no one can find me.” He muttered darkly

“I dunno I know what people say but, I don’t think they are a couple….. anyway never mind that it’ll be at least one fun memory we’ll have of going to this place before we head to Capitol.”

********

Over the next few weeks Peeta’s life and routine took on a different one. The initial meeting of the dance committee had been nerve wracking but the other members, along with Katniss made him and Jo feel very welcome.

Peeta was wary at first but there was no punchline, he wasn’t a joke to anyone and surprisingly he started to enjoy the meetings.

The other members Annie Cresta, Thom Dalton, Brian Turner or Beetee as he was known, Delly Cartwright and Cecelia Hubert were a mixed but fun group.

“Hey Peeta, can you take a look at this?” Katniss called

“What’s up?” he asked.

“This…. I think I did it wrong…..it looks..” they two of them tilted their heads looking at the mess in front of them Katniss was supposed to be making centre pieces from twigs adorned with lights, and flowers.

“I think you’ve glued things on upside down, it’s okay we’ll fix it” he tried not to laugh. Katniss was the least crafty person he had ever met.

“I like the arch way, you’ve made it look really spectacular, it will make the entrance look so special. You have really helped us to set the theme, you and Jo.”

“Well you know us art nerds” Peeta mumbled as he undid some of Katniss handiwork.

“I don’t….but I’d like too” Katniss whispered in a low voice.

Peeta didn’t dare to look at her but kept going with what he was doing. He wasn’t sure what to say. He took a deep breath and prepared to ask her what she meant when suddenly the door burst open and there stood Gale, Cato and the other Jays players.

Gale was wearing what looked like doctors scrubs while the others were dressed in tacky sexy nurse outfits that no nurse in their right mind could wear and work in.

“Hey Katniss”

Peeta would swear he felt Katniss stiffen beside him, then she took a deep breath and turned to look(along with the rest of the room)

Gale unravelled his sign which said “I’m no doctor but it appears you’re suffering from DATELESSNESS. My suggestion is…..” meanwhile the rest held up signs that read “A date with Gale?” And “What more could you want?” And “A dose of Vitamin G!”

“No!” she shouted and the laughter and shouts of the Jays stopped.

“Just no! I told you this last night, the night before. You NEVER listen to me? I don’t want to date you or even go to the dance with you. I’ve tried being polite but it’s gotten me no where, please leave me alone and stop this. I’m not your girlfriend. I don’t want to be. Just stop”

“You selfish b-“ Gale started towards Katniss but Peeta stepped in front of her.

“I wouldn’t take another step or utter another word Hawthorne. Just take your guys and go. Or would you like me to call Miss Trinket?” Peeta’s voice was low and calm. Thom and Beetee had stood up too and walked towards Katniss and Peeta.

“Or what Smellark?” spat Gale.

“Funny, real funny but I think after 4 years you guys could have gotten a bit more creative with your insults. Cato, why don’t you take Gale and the guys and leave. Katniss has refused Gale’s offer, there is nothing else to be said.”

In the crowd of guys a few looked angry but others just looked confused about what had gone on. Had Gale really been hassling Katniss? He made it sound like she had wanted this big fuss but what if she hadn’t? The team started to move away and soon the room was cleared.

“Umm thanks guys…now where were we?”

“Hey Everdeen, I thought that guy was your boyfriend?” asked Jo confused by what had happened.

“Nope. Never was, never will be. He’s never been my type” Katniss smiled

“Interesting…..and would you type maybe be a little less male perhaps?” teased Jo much to the amusement of the others

“Sorry Jo, I’m not into girls, but I do know that Delly happens to think you are real cute.” And with a shocked squeak from Delly the whole committee burst into giggles.

Once everyone had settled down Katniss walked over to Peeta.

“Hey Peeta? Thanks for what you did for me with Gale. I don’t know why he has to act like that you know?”

“Katniss it’s ok really. I’ll walk you to your car after we’re done here if you want? In case he’s still around.”

“Thanks, but I should be ok. Right I better get these to Annie.” She nodded her head at the closed box in her hands that she had picked up from somewhere.

“What’s in it?

“Flowers! I may not be much good at making centerpieces but if you need a paper flower I’m your girl” she grinned as she said this “open the box and have a look.”

Peeta’s stomach dropped when he opened the box there were daisies, roses and right at the top yellow dandelions like the one given to him all those years ago.

“Peeta? Are you ok?” a worried Katniss asked.

“Yeah. Sorry just zoned out. These are really pretty. I better get back to the trees.”

Peeta worked quietly for rest of the hour to trying to figure out why Katniss had given him the flower all those years ago and the pencils and notebook which became his companions. In the notebook he drew his fears, his hopes covering every page and when it was full his mom bought him a new one. Even now he always had a notebook in his bag.

“Peeta? Can I give you a lift home?” asked Katniss Peeta startled at her voice he looked around and was slightly shocked to see they were the last people there. He hadn’t heard the others leave.

“Ok.” He shrugged and gathered up his stuff.

“Katniss? Can I ask you something?” Peeta was nervous but he needed to know why she did what she did.

“Sure.” She nodded

“After…. the Cato incident there was a paper flower and art stuff left in my locker. Did you do that?”

He watched her hands tighten around the steering wheel and she took a deep breath before she answered.

“Yes. I just wanted to give you something nice you know. Those guys were so mean and the rest of us should’ve done more, told the teachers. I watched you almost disappear and I hated that the light in your eyes dimmed so much. Your family was going through so much.”

“You were just a kid Katniss,it’s ok. Really. We got help. As a family we’ve survived. What else could you have done?” He reached over and put his hand on hers, it was awkward in the car but he wanted -no needed- her to know that he was ok.

“Your flower gave me hope, gave my life some color at a time when I had none. Thank you for seeing me, at a time when I felt no one did.”

“I always saw you Peeta.” She was looking at him now Peeta wanted to look away her gaze was almost too intense.

“You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You are the noisiest walker I have ever heard. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

“I know these things because I’ve always watched you and yes I know that’s crazy and I sound like a stalker but I need you to know this because we’re going away to college soon and I would like to at least be your friend but what I really want is to know you better and Leon knows and he told me that if I didn’t tell you I liked you he would.”

“Slow down… what?”

“I like you. A lot. Your stupid brother found out and has been teasing me. He said he would tell you before I could especially since we’re going to be at the same college next year. If you just want a friend that’s fine but I would really like to go on a date so you could get to know me…. and then…..well who knows….”

“Okay.”

“Okay like let’s go on a date or like I’m going to get out of car and run away?”

“The first one.”

**********

And so they had their first date 2 nights later.

And their first kiss that night too.

Peeta asked Katniss to be his girlfriend on their third date.

They went to their dance together and danced under the canopy of trees and flowers they had helped create.

They had their first fight when Peeta struggled to understand what a girl like Katniss saw in him. He questioned why? He kept expecting things to fall apart and doubted what they had was real.

Eventually his mom took him aside and told him that his problems were bigger then him and a professional would be better placed to help him.

“You deserve happiness Peeta,let us help you find it.”

He started seeing Dr Aurelius with Katniss, his family and friends supporting him every step of the way.

He told Katniss he loved her one evening when they were in her parent’s house. They were watching a stupid movie and she was laughing. He watched her eyes crinkle, her chuckles ringing in the air as she sat there in a panda onesie and he blurted it out.

She smiled at him and throwing her arms around his neck she told him the same, placing tiny kisses all over his face.

And then they graduated. The one person who didn’t was Cato Snow who was expelled following a positive drug test and several reports of bullying.

Gale never spoke to Katniss again.

A few of the Mockingjays team had apologized for their part in the dance proposal telling Katniss they had believed Gale when he told them that it was her idea.

Neither wanted to go to the end of year dance, instead they went with some of their friends to a small cabin by a lake and had a quiet celebration.

And later, in the quiet of the night after they had spent time having their own private celebration. Katniss sang to Peeta

Let the bough break, let it come down crashing

Let the sun fade out to a dark sky

I can’t say I’d even notice it was absent

‘Cause I could live by the light in your eyes

I’ll unfold before you

Would have strung together

The very first words of a lifelong love letter

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose you

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose you

I choose you, yeah

There was a time when I would have believed them

If they told me that you could not come true

Just love’s illusion

But then you found me

And everything changed

And I believe in something again

My whole heart

Will be yours forever

This is a beautiful start

To a lifelong love letter

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose You

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose You

I choose You

We are not perfect we’ll learn from our mistakes

And as long as it takes I will prove my love to you

I am not scared of the elements I am underprepared,

But I am willing

And even better

I get to be the other half of you

Tell the world that we finally got it all right

I choose You, yeah

I will become yours and you will become mine

I choose You

I choose You

I choose You

She had just finished and Peeta was about to say something when Johanna shouted.

“Seriously?? It was bad enough listening to you two screwing each other senseless now I have to hear you sing?! Keep this up and you’ll have to find a new roommate!”

After their laughter subsided Peeta turned to Katniss and whispering quietly he said.

“I choose you too. Always.”

[anikkis-fantasirealities]

“The Banquet Rooms of the Grandeur Campus”

③ Human Interest Story ┊ ʸᵒᵘ ʷʰᵒ ʸᵉᵃʳⁿˢ ᵗᵒ ᵍᵘᶦᵈᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʸᵒᵘᵗʰ···ᵗᵒ ᵍᵉⁿᵗˡʸ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵉ ʸᵒᵘⁿᵍ ᵍᵉⁿᵘᶦˢᵉˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵍʳᵃⁿᵗ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵍᵒᵒᵈʷᶦˡˡ·

꒰⁺˚₊·₍₍loading...₎₎ ✎...۪۫❁ཻུ۪۪ -ˏˋ 📨 ˊˎ-

༘✶ ㊉ ㈦〘 ⅯⅯ 〙⋆｡˚𓆟 ༉ ║ Posted : ０６/１５/２１° ｡༄ ‧₊˚ ๑ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤ •ଓ.° ｡❍ ㈩ ㊇

- - ——— ꒰ An article by Nicole “Nikki” Elaine S. Chua ꒱

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ࿐ྂ—͙❬₊° ᶦ ᵃᵐ ᵃ ᵇˡᵒᵍᵍᵉʳ ᵃᶠᵗᵉʳ ᵃˡˡ·“= ‹⸙͎

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On a scorching afternoon where the shouting of children, chasing each other after classes have concluded, and the chattering adults have started to lock up the messy rooms, there was not one place that was quiet. I, on the other hand, had a quest to fulfill under a time limit! The red ballpen flung onto my chair desk when white sheets of paper were clenced by my thin palms. I ran outside past our broken doorstep to our class, over the pastures, and on top of stone-edged floors. Time is ticking... 4, 3, 2, and those squeaky black dull shoes made it! In opening the slim door to the right side of the room, they were like glorifying gates that screeched wide open—awaiting for my arrival. Well, it wasn’t that dramatic, but I was perspired out of sprinting under the gleaming sun. My short legs wobbling for a tiny second. The beads dripping on my worried face were shaken when I entered the room at around the size of a studio-type residence.

It was normal for me to be an errand girl who assists her class and obey her teachers with respect, no matter what school my identification card is designated to. I grew up with that kind of personality: helpful, caring, kind, diligent, and patient. Hence, these exhausted shoes have travelled to many places across gymnasiums, libraries, storage rooms, and laboratories. Though, sometimes, my mind still can’t get used to such a huge room, like that of the faculty rooms. I still become staggered over the hectic aura of the space, where long tables sat in rows, and people in pink & blue uniforms kindling the noise from the outside within. I would look around to see piles of examination papers, rolls of cartolina squeezed into a box, and scattered gadgets for teaching being charged to full energy. This is an article featuring the 𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙉𝙚𝙬 𝙀𝙧𝙖 𝙐𝙣𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙮: 𝙄𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙎𝙘𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙡.

Throughout the years I’ve walked on those narrow corridors, and climbed up stairs to different floors of the vintage buildings, I also meet ways with many generations. One generation was younger than me—that of clumsy children innocently playing in the fields endlessly. The other was of my age, those who exist with me, as they attempt to finish their studies without tilting their heads to nudges of distraction. Then, there was this generation who were much similar to us—like students in a classroom laughing and sharing stories with each other. They had the knowledge of the world in their hands. In their arms, they carry heavier packages to unbox. Though, unlike the previous generations I meet who simply stepped up and down the stairs, the prudent grown-up smiled back to me, walking slowly pass my agitated shoulder.

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ㅤㅤ ❝ That room that I remember the most, ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ was under construction before the pandemic began. ❞

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I had the desire to help them lift their troubles by standing by their side, but they refuse because it is the role they signed up for, and my position had no power to be elevated to their level. Though, through these words, I know I would be able to do something to display their everyday lives behind teaching the New Era youth, giving the best advice, and serving the school with unconditional love. I was given the chance to be closer to the people who inspired me to present the compassionate self with the direction, ambition, and deduction to offer my best contribution to the world I belong to.

At the back of those generalized comforting grins and caring embraces, come their different fairytales that make the generation a community of teachers—young or old, millennial or Gen X, whatever gender and status they may have. They were a social generation, with hundred of stories to unfold and share to the youth. That was one thing I admired about them the most.

Well, I have encountered many teachers in my life since entering school, but the memory that always stick to my mind is my experiences with the teachers of New Era University: Integrated School. For some, they would cover their face when they recognize their teachers riding on a public vehicle rushing to its detination. Others simply ignore their respected educators when they spot them being at school even if the sun has already tucked in for the day.

However, I was one of those students who waves and greets them with my two-front teeth sticking out in happiness—trekking my way to school, riding shiny metallic jeepneys, and walking through scrapped walls that used to be fully painted. The inspiration flows out when I’m with them—a witness of their trials and ever-changing biographies in their very own home, the school, itself. Yes, the school becomes their shelter, figuratively, because that is how passionate they are in the path they’ve chosen to wander upon.

Then, there’s this vague image that I always remember—a banquet room where teachers eat together side-by-side during lunch breaks. The clanging of plates and utensils compliments the happy vibe of the room. The meals packed in transparent plastic bags from the canteen look fancy because of the optimistic mood all throughout the proximity in between me and the busy adults. Oh, and how could I not forget to mention the signature pancakes by New Era University: Integrated School that some teachers indulge in the most?

The giggles never end when I hear their jokes from afar, while I am walking through their room to return the checked papers I’ve finished to my Filipino teacher in Grade 10. Everyone was like workers in a castle of royalty—busy and preoccupied with their own duties, yet working towards one united purpose, that together creates a vibrant mix of emotions in the great hall. The harmonized melody it produces once the sweat and tears has finally been paid off, truly, the lunch breaks are what makes the banquet more lively. It’s a feast to behold!

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ㅤㅤ❝ Whenever I catch my name, I return it, ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤwith my good-natured, ‘Hi po, Sir and Ma’am!’ ❞

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On one side were the lockers, where old and new student’s projects filled the barren storage with interesting information. There are multiple brown wooden tables overlapped with colorful designs where groups of teachers sit together. The masters of Science sat at the bench to the wall at the right, while the experts in English stay behind a counter adjacent to the door on the right. People who speak of Filipino, Math, Computer, and MAPEH had benches next to each other in the middle of the bustling hall that was their faculty room. They are not divided, literally, for their workplaces are not distanced from one another. Each part of the table has a customized area per teacher, whose pictures of blood-related family and schedules are inserted under transparent cover—giving them motivation to carry on their sworn responsibility. However, just like BFFs who stick together, some teachers transfer to other tables to enjoy the rest of the day with their close co-faculty members.

They would talk about their personal lives, their interests, and at times, the students & problems they encounter in classes. Some gave glee, but of course, there were also those that gave headaches. That’s why whenever I am presented with a new subject teacher per grade level, I can understand if the they know me well from the narrations of the teachers who’ve handled me. They are aware of my struggles, efforts, and kindness as a pupil of New Era. They are familiarized with this face, the expression, and its body language.

Though, I am still proud that they recognize my batchmates dedication, too. Each teacher imparted values to all their children equally. There was no favoritism, and everyone gets a chance to participate. When we make mistakes, we are still accepted and loved. All this, even though they are humans who are aroused by intense feelings? No matter how impressive, or lowly we are, it is that chance to be better that we are most thankful about in this palace of high education.

All the pictures you’ve seen so far contain significant beings in my life as a student-soon-to-be-adult. That’s the magic of being someone not so known in society or history, but will remain a treasured person in your life—a special connection only you and that person understands, and not everyone else does. Even though I tend to stutter and zip my mouth when I am often in the loud banquet when I do not want to disturb the delightful get-alongs by our educators, eventually I am noticed and asked, “What are you doing here, Nicole Chua?” It’s the admiration that regardless if I was hidden or completely revealing of myself, they help me to speak out and be more confident with the adults. That is something that I also want to influence my classmates with, because these teachers outside lessons and activities are not so intimidating & looming at all!

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ㅤㅤ ㅤ❝ I can recall the cooked dishes and the grades for judging, and I cherish them knowing you cannot taste them again. ❞

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They are friendly, approachable, and absolutely considerate of the many kids they manage from Mondays to Fridays. Off campus is a different story that I can’t personally share for the privacy of their lives, though I would say it’s rough. It’s rough to come back home—to take care of your very own children while finishing school records, bringing along the stress from work into their real dwelling. They are not just mothers and fathers of the campus that caters hundreds of beautiful princes and princesses. They are also parents worried of their own children’s future.

The sicknesses, the loans, the quarrels, and the trickling hourglass—all this is what they must face in the cold, dry evenings. They are vulnerable to all these things that makes them a part of reality, and not just some fantasy with no flaws. It didn’t matter if they were in the coordinator’s office, the cookery laboratory, the office in the second floor, or that special place on the fourth floor. I was there to hear their encounters with their rude children, or the sweet marriage they had. If I clean harder, dart quicker, and volunteer even more, I can appreciate them who were not supernatural beings veiled in fiction. They sacrifice for that hope, that they will teach the next generations how to educate those after them, and those before them. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙣 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙤𝙨 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺.

One time, I was holding onto the dream of being a part of the school’s newspaper—it was my “𝗛𝗨𝗗𝗬𝗔𝗧” to fulfill the vision, reflected by that tender link I had with that story. The tension was still on me when I came to the opening. I had no clue why I felt that way, even if I’ve entered too many banquet halls at that point. Though, I was determined to open that door and introduce myself with the passion I had. She was someone I did not know so much back then, but now, I’m writing this article because of her instruction. Her proficient Filipino words, and the lectures she offered to us. There was the excitement, the uplifting compliments, and the will to keep on writing. This may be the last time that we will be coupled for education, but I’m hoping to see our names as staff on the front page. Am I too much, or was that a mysterious ending?

Teachers in general only want the best for their learners, for influencing their lives is the greatest fulfillment. They can be strict or relatable, but together, they spend the rest of the day in the banquet room, merrily toasting for a job well done. In this monumental learning institution, many important people shall rise and do their part in society, away from the fairytales and fictional playtime. Perhaps, next time, if you can also observe your own school’s faculty room, you can hear their stories—the sounds of a feast, and assist them in preparing for the afternoon festivities.

I hope you were able to see the beautiful reality of the teachers of New Era University: Integrated School with my own eyes. Do greet them hello, or help them in your tiny acts the next time you see them, and it will definitely brighten their day. Thank you for reading their ordinary tales! Come back again in another blog where my fantasies become realities! A Nikki reminder: let’s help one another to rise up to success, instead of degrading one another to failure!

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ❝ It’s the ultimate desire, and yet I felt so anxious, ㅤㅤ ㅤbut now we’re so close, yet so far between screens. ❞

┗━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━┛

· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚ . . 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . * · . · · + . ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ· ** ˚ . . + 　　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ. . + 　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧ ⋆ · * . · . · · .. . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ· + ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ· * ✫ * ⊹ * ˚

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ · ** ˚ . . + ㅤㅤ　· ⋆ * . * . . · . · .˚ ⊹ · * ✧

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ⋆ · * . · ㅤㅤ . · · .. . . · + .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ. · + . *

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⋆ * . * . .

ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ . · ·

ㅤㅤ﹙dedication. ﹚ ୨˚୧ ˚ ༘♡.↳ ₊˚‧

This blog is dedicated to “I am a Teacher,” for her patience, remarks, rainbow scarfs, adorable dogs, and wonderful words given to me. You are My Most Precious Treasure in this writing journey, from blandness to vividness.

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ﹋﹋﹌﹌﹌「 🧁 」﹌﹌﹌﹋﹋

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤ ┊彡 Credits

➥ Cover Edit

➫ Ma’am JB

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ First Blog Divider

➫ Sir Leo

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ Second Blog Divider

➫ Ma'am Eva

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ Third Blog Divider

➫ Sir Prince

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ Fourth Blog Divider

➫ Sir Prince

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ Fifth Blog Divider

➫ Teacher Med

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ

➥ Source of Information

➫ The author’s encounters

➫ Briefly shared stories by her teachers

ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ ㅤ ㅤ ㅤㅤ﹋﹋﹌﹌﹌「 end. 」﹌﹌﹌﹋﹋

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[rocksandrobots]

Of Rocks and Robots Ch. 6 - The Beach

Saturday had come and Varian and the rest of his new friends were all crowded in Wasabi's car. Wasabi had precisely enough room to fit six people, though perhaps a bit uncomfortably. He and Varian rode in the front seat, with Varian carrying Ruddiger in his carrying cage, while Hiro, Gogo, Honey Lemon, and Fred were squished together in the back seat. The robot, Baymax, was folded up inside his battery pack and tucked away in the trunk to make room. 

Apparently today was a holiday and they were all heading to the beach. Well in truth the actual holiday was on Monday, but Americans spent the whole weekend in celebration. Said holiday was Memorial Day and was meant to honor warriors who fell in battle. However, despite this somber origin, most considered the weekend to be the official start of summer and would mark the occasion with picnics, parties, and public swimming. 

For Varian and his friends though, this was the end of spring break. Starting on Tuesday, the university they now all attended would open back up and the summer semester would begin. The thought of which sent Varian's stomach churning with butterflies. He'd never been to school before and didn't know what to expect. He was filled with anxious excitement and to calm his nerves he looked out the car window to admire the scenery.

He'd been in this strange new world for a week now but he'd had little chance to admire it. For the past five days he'd been busy studying for his entrance exams for college. Passing the 'graduation' test in particular was important for gaining admittance into the school and Varian had to do some serious cramming to prepare for it. Squeezing twelve years worth of educational knowledge into his brain in less than a week.  

Fortunately Varian was very good at memorizing facts and all his new friends were on hand to help him. On Monday, Hiro had helped him gather up the study materials he'd needed and told him what to expect. Wasabi gave him practice tests throughout the week and helped him pinpoint the areas he was weakest in. He was pretty good with math and grasped most of the science quickly, with Wasabi being on hand to fill in the gaps, but he needed help in other less familiar subjects. 

Gogo had swung by on Tuesday and spent the whole day giving Varian a crash course in Social Studies, which was a combination of history, geography, and civics. 

Varian took a special interest in America's founding and it's chosen form of government, which was unlike anything he had heard of before. They had no king nor royalty of any kind. In fact the country was founded by people who committed treason and fought a war to overthrow their ruler, and who then put into place a democracy made up of elected representatives instead. It most closely resembled the government of ancient Rome, before Julius Caesar had taken over, but was expanded upon to encompass a vast kingdom, larger than even most empires. 

Varian had already thought San Fansokyo was an impressively large city, but was completely flabbergasted to know that not only was it not the largest city in the country, it wasn't even the biggest within its own providence; and there were fifty of these states that stretched across the continent from coast to coast with similarly massive metropolises in each. 

It was mind boggling and it took him sometime to wrap his brain around the concept. And that was just the tip of the iceberg, he also had to catch up with some four hundred odd years worth of world events on top of that. But Gogo was a patient teacher and she carefully broke down everything into manageable chunks, giving him timelines, charts, and maps for him to refer back to. By the end of the day he had perhaps learned more in those eight hours spent with her than he had in his whole sixteen years. 

On Wednesday, Fred had showed up to help Varian practice for the writing portion of the tests. He would have to complete two essays on any given subject for each of the two exams. Fred himself had actually completed one of the same tests, the S.A.T, just a few months ago and knew what the graders were looking for when it came to such essays. 

Mainly, they just wanted to know if Varian could follow the basic guidelines of writing; paragraphs and sentence structure, grammar, spelling, and his overall ability to form an argument on paper. All things Varian felt pretty comfortable with, but it was nevertheless a good refresher of those basics. Essay writing and thesis statements were apparently expected of any student attending higher education and he would have to write many during the course of his studies. 

Thursday, Honey Lemon stopped by to help Varian with Language Arts. Both tests would cover reading comprehension and even more grammar. Once again Varian was pretty comfortable with those two subjects, especially given the writing practice from the day before, and so they finished pretty quickly. Even with Honey Lemon adding in extra information about various important books and plays that had been written in the past four centuries, just in case any of them made it into the reading part of the exam. Though Shakespeare was still deemed the most influential even in this modern age. A fact which disappointed Varian; he personally thought Marlowe to be superior to the bard. 

"You don't even like Romeo and Juliet?" Honey Lemon asked aghast, "But it's sooo romantic." 

"But it's sooo stupid," Varian mockingly admonished with a laugh. Which in turn made Honey Lemon give him a not-so-serious pout. 

"Look, what was stopping them from just leaving together in the first place?" Varian explained his point. 

Honey Lemon opened her mouth to retort back but just as soon closed it again; she had never considered that question before. She screwed up her mouth in thought as she searched for a better answer. 

"Weeelll, sometimes it's hard to leave the only home you've ever known. Isn't that why you want to get back to your world?" She asked him.

Varian just stared at her for a moment, thinking of an answer to give that didn't allow him to explain his past in detail. Finally he said, "I wanna get back because my dad is there. I couldn’t care less about Corona itself." 

"You don't care at all?"

"It's just a bunch of buildings." He mumbled with a shrug, then he added, more assuredly, "What matters is the people in your life." 

"I guess," She replied, "all I know is that I had a hard enough time just leaving Sacramento. Even though it's only an hour and a half away and I can still see my family whenever. I can't imagine what it's like to be lost in a whole other world." 

Varian ignored her attempts to sympathize, not because he didn't appreciate the effort, but because he was ready to move on from the conversation. Instead he shut his eyes tightly and tilted his head back, trying to recall some of the new information he had recently learned. "Sacramento; that's the capital of California, right?" 

"Yeah. But don't worry, no one actually memorizes all fifty states and their capitals. I only know like twenty or so." She admitted.

"Oh, good." Varian breathed in relief. Soon both he and Honey Lemon were just giggling, happy to relieve the tension in the room.

"Oooh, you know what? I brought my make-up bag with me!" Honey Lemon suddenly exclaimed, and just like that all previous talk about literature and writing gave away to other subjects, mostly chemistry.

Honey Lemon made her own cosmetics. It was a passion of hers to find new, safe, and 'biodegradable' chemical compounds to replace some of the more toxic stuff on the market. 

"And absolutely no animal testing." She added in all seriousness. 

She even sold her wares over the internet, shipping them to customers as they ordered them, as a means of making money on the side. 

She poured out the contents of a rather large tote bag onto the floor and walked Varian through each item, what it was for, and how she had made it. Varian listened intently and even tried some of the stuff himself. 

He found he didn’t care much for lipstick nor cakey foundation, the texture was off putting to him. He also didn’t like anything with a heavy perfume. However, he did like the eyeliner and the black fingernail polish he had previously bought. He was still fascinated by the concept of synthesized polymers. 

They were both sitting on the floor, makeup strewn everywhere, laughing over nothing in particular, when Wasabi came home from his part-time job. Honey Lemon was in the middle of applying mascara to Varian’s eyes and he was trying his best not to blink but failing at it, which only sent both of them into more fits of giggles. Meanwhile, unnoticed by them both, Ruddgier had gotten into the powered blush and was making a mess in another corner of the room.

“I thought you two were studying.” Wasabi said with a hint of annoyance to his voice. He was tired from work and none too happy to find makeup scattered about his dorm room. 

“Sorry,” Honey Lemon tried to say through her laughter, “but we finished early and I’d promise to teach Varian how to paint his nails.” Varian held up his hand to show Wasabi his newly painted nails as a way of response. 

“That’s nice.” Wasabi replied back in a sarcastic tone. “Did you also teach the raccoon how to put on foundation?” 

That’s when they both finally noticed Ruddiger. Varian got onto his pet and went to clean up the mess, effectively ending the study/make-up session. 

The next day, Wasabi gave him two final practice tests and then it was time for him to take the real thing. He met Professor Granville at the school and, alongside a few other hopeful students, took the two tests. 

The first test, the S.A.T., went smoothly, but he wouldn’t know his actual scores until his answer sheet and essay were sent off to be graded. The graduation test however was taken over the computer and it took several hours to complete with a few breaks between parts. He felt he could have finished sooner had he had the chance to take the test using a pencil and paper instead, as he found the mouse and keyboard awkward. But the positive thing about using the new technology was that he got his scores back sooner. He managed to pass all the parts, even with him just barely scraping by on the Social Studies section. His official certification would come in the mail, the professor told him, but for all intents and purposes he now had a high school diploma. 

Which was apparently a big deal in this world. Earning a diploma was considered to be something of a rite of passage. Obtaining one meant you were ready to start entering the adult world and with it you could gain full time employment or seek higher education, like college. According to his friends, he should’ve been extra proud of this accomplishment since gaining a high school diploma at his age, while not unheard of, was unusual, and he had done it in less than a week when most took years to achieve it. 

To signify just how important this was, all his new friends threw him a party at the Lucky Cat. Even Aunt Cass had pitched in and made him a special dinner. It was something called ‘sushi’ and she typically prepared it for celebrations like this one; having cooked similar dinners for both Tadashi and Hiro when they had graduated high school as well.       

Varian was appreciative of her efforts, though he didn’t quite know what to make of the food itself. The ‘sushi’ consisted mostly of rice topped with raw fish wrapped in seaweed. The taste wasn’t bad but the texture of the uncooked seafood was weird to Varian. Fortunately, not everything was raw. There were different kinds to be had and Varian was able to pick out some that he did enjoy; ones stuffed with crab, egg, or just veggies. He especially liked the ‘dessert sushi’ made with tropical fruit.

He’d just finished recalling last night, when Wasabi loudly proclaimed, “We're here!” 

There were whoops and joyous yells in response from the various passengers and Varian looked out the front windshield to see the familiar blue streak that was the ocean just up ahead. Wasabi parked the car in the designated parking lot and then they all piled out of said vehicle and made their way down to the beachfront. 

The sandy beach was tucked in between two rocky cliffs and you had to walk down a wooden stairway to get to it. As he made his way down the stairwell, Varian could look out and see the expanse of dark blue ocean and lighter blue sky go on forever. It didn't look much different from Corona's coast. What did look different were the inhabitants. Corona's coastline was usually deserted save for the ports and the occasional fishing boat off in the distance, but here the beach was a mass of half naked bodies and swarms of vacationers enjoying the summer sun. Spread out along the sandy tolls were towels, blankets, folding chairs, and umbrellas of all sizes with scantily clad people lounging upon or underneath. 

Varian tried to remember Gogo's words from a week ago, about how this was deemed normal and not to bring himself to attention by starring. But everywhere Varian looked he was met with the sight of a lovely lady's long legs or a handsome lad's toned chest. Not looking was very much like asking a small child in a pastry shop to hold their nose and ignore the sweet smells of pies and cakes surrounding them. Fortunately, he was able to keep his composure long enough for them to reach the shore and find a spot to set up camp for the day; managing not to hold his gaze for too long on any one person or thing. 

They had brought a variety of towels and folding chairs of their own, along with a large parasol and ice chest full of food and drink for the day. Varian and Wasabi had spent that morning making sandwiches for everyone; tuna fish salad, sliced cucumbers with butter, jam mixed with a spread made from ground nuts, and some sort of mystery meat called 'baloney' paired with cheese. Varian couldn't figure out if said baloney was made from ham or chicken, as it didn't really taste like either, though it also didn't taste bad per-say. They also stored small bags of crispy fried potatoes, individually wrapped miniature cakes, and bottles of some sort of fizzy drink called 'soda' in the chest as well. Varian found the carbonated sugary drink to be odd but surprisingly tasty. 

While everyone was setting up Hiro unpacked Baymax from his portable charger, the robot inflated to full size again before stepping out, and Varian released Ruddiger from his carrier. The raccoon was grateful to be let out of the small cage at last and promptly snuggled up on one of the folding chairs under the sun to catnap. Varian didn't think the leash necessary as there really wasn't any place for his pet to run off to. 

Once done with setting up, the gang then proceeded to unpack the various toys and games they had brought along as well. There was a game you played with a net, like tennis, only you used your hands to pass a 'volleyball' over said net instead of a racket and you didn't want the larger ball to touch the ground at any point. They also brought a flat discus called a 'frisbee' which you threw from person to person. Gogo had with her a flat wooden board used to ride the waves that broke along the shore. Which she let Varian and her other friends try out for themselves. 

Varian however was not very good at any of these new sports. While he was fairly athletic, capable of running, climbing, and whatnot, he had never been the best at coordination. More often than not he'd simply trip and fall in his efforts to keep up with the ball or maintain his balance on the surfboard. 

Instead Varian found himself wandering off occasionally to try and strike up conversations with new people. He'd hadn't had a lot of social interaction while growing up, especially with others his age, and he wanted some practice before he started school in a few days. Hopefully to ease the awkwardness of being dumped in a world that he knew next to nothing about. 

However every time he'd smile at a pretty girl or make eye contact with a cute boy his age, his efforts to make small talk were sabotaged by some mishap or other. Either his own clumsiness would get in the way or he'd put his foot in mouth, as the saying goes. One particularly unfortunate incident involved him getting beaned in the back of the head from a misthrown volleyball while trying to chat up a couple of vacationing teens. Fortunately, his embarrassing failures at flirting would be followed by one of his new friends trying to engage him with some other activity so he was never left alone with his awkwardness for long. 

Swimming, sand castle building, more games; like 'chicken', where you tried to push one person off another person's shoulders into the water, or 'Marco Polo' where one person had to find the others with their eyes closed, using the ancient explorer's name as a call and response, digging for seashells, and other similar actives were to be had to pass the time away. 

Finally, the sun started to hang low in the sky and they all headed back to the car. They were wet, tired and covered in sand. They tried to knock the irritating substance off their shoes and things before all squeezing back into the ill fitting vehicle in order to head back home. They all sat on towels so as not to get the seats wet and their bathing suits and cover up clothes all clung to them dripping with sea water. 

Varian sat again in the front seat, only this time Honey Lemon had asked to hold Ruddiger on the ride back. She, Gogo, Fred, and Hiro were all fast asleep in the backseat with Baymax once again tucked away in his battery case. Wasabi had the radio on in order to keep himself awake as he drove (and to drown out Honey Lemon's snoring if he was being honest). The music that filtered out of the speakers was called 'classical' music, which just meant it was mostly orchestral music from ages past. To Varian it sounded very modern and sophisticated to his ears, like chamber music played for royal courts, not the more rustic folk music he grew up on. 

Right now a gentle suite with piano and strings was playing and it along with the steady motion of the car moving was beginning to lull Varian to sleep as well. He looked out again at the houses and scenery that passed by and thought of the day's events and the fun he had had as his eyes grew heavy. This world was so much more inviting and nicer than his own, it was a shame he'd have to leave it soon, but his Dad needed him and that was that. And with that final resolve Varian drifted off to dreamland. 

[bubmyg]

love is in the air - jhs

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre: teacher!au, enemies to lovers, humor, fluff, ft distressed principal namjoon, dorky fifth grade teaching pair seokjin and yoongi, second grade teaching duo jeongguk and taehyung, and allusions (like one) to best friend pe teacher jimin

word count: 3,964

summary: you wouldn’t say you hated the teacher of your neighboring classroom but you kind of hate him and now you’re paired up to compete in the school wide door decorating contest or you hate losing to Hoseok but you hate losing to Jeongguk and Taehyung in the second grade wing a thousand times more.

a/n: the first part of my “to lovers” valentine’s/anniversary series!! the series link is in my masterlist if you’re looking for it :’-)

“Last order of business…” Namjoon squinted at the piece of laminated paper. The blue coffee mug in hand was placed aside as the principal instead went to smudging at the slick surface with the curve of his thumb, “...the door decorating contest? Jeongguk, did you hand write this in?”

The young second grade teacher shrugged. “It’s an important manner of business.”

“Right,” Namjoon traded the Monday morning meeting notes for his mug again, taking a long, calming sip from the dark brew, “Why don’t you explain it seeing as you were eager enough to ransack my meeting and my notes for it.”

If Jeongguk were worried about the implications of testing his meticulous boss with red Sharpie, he didn’t show it. He left his chair, instead taking swinging steps until he was perched on the empty table at the front of the teacher’s lounge.

“The annual Valentine’s Day door decorating contest…”

You snorted into your tervis, watching as Namjoon’s features registered that one of his teachers was on the table before his conscious did. Jeongguk was none the wiser, squatting as his arms did a dramatic sweeping motion, “The one thing we look forward to aside from summer vacation. The thing that heals our hearts after seeing our paychecks, after cleaning up vomit for the fourth time on day two of flu season, after having outdoor recess duty for the third week in a row, after—”

“Get on with it,” A low rumble of laughter rippled through everyone at the new voice. Hoseok laughed with the reaction to his interjection, adding with a shrug, eyes sliding in your direction, “We all know I’m going to win again.”

“Who won last year, Hobi?” The words in the forefront of your conscious materialized in the form of Jimin’s voice. The gym teacher beamed at your and his sneakers squeaked as he stepped close enough to bump his hip with yours.

Hoseok’s smirk didn’t falter from the side of your face, ignoring Jimin completely as he hummed, “Error in judging. The wrong will be righted this year seeing as I already have some incredible ideas.”

“Want to share those with the rest of us?” Yoongi looked up from centering his tie adorned in various volume formulas, “What? Last year the kids convinced me to make a giant heart out of prime numbers. Nobody got it.”

“Anyway, your righted win will have to be split two ways this year, hyung,” Jeongguk straightened, arms crossed at his chest, “Why, you ask?”

“The warning bell is going to ring in literally five minutes—”

“Because this year we’re working in teams,” Jeongguk beamed, “you and your neighbor will have to put together something spectacular, together, if you’d like to enter into this years contest. No exceptions aside from Jimin who doesn’t....have a neighbor. Unless you’d like to ask the cafeteria staff for help, but—”

Taehyung, Jeongguk’s neighbor, cheered. You, Hoseok’s neighbor, groaned.

“Great, amazing, wonderful, innovative—” Namjoon waved his mug, “—now can you get off my table?”

“Deadline is the day before the kids have their card exchange and party,” Jeongguk didn’t skip a beat when Namjoon grabbed onto his elbow to speed up his obnoxious clambering off his makeshift podium, “Winner will be decided at the end of the day, like always.”

“There are classes to be taught today—” Namjoon’s smile was tight lipped, chin on his shoulder as he dragged Jeongguk the last few steps to solid ground, “—like always.”

You were mid smiling at one of your former students just outside the third grade wing, throat still tinged with the swig of coffee you’d downed, when Hoseok caught you. You tried to act like he wasn’t there, directing your attention to the red and white paper chains dangling off the ceiling.

“If you want to give me the key to your room, I can have our, winning, doors decorated in one evening.”

You snorted, longer strides trying to evade him, “What, with one of your incredible ideas?”

“Exactly.”

You turned, glaring at the bright yellow squiggles standing at attention against the baby pink of Hoseok’s short sleeved button up. He had two black folders tucked to his chest, watch pressed to the center like a much too expensive logo, sarcastic smile pressed into high apple cheeks, beaded eyes watching you under rich red bangs.

You leaned, enough to brush shoulders again, laugh shoulder shaking and fake as you clipped, “Not a chance.”

“You’ll learn,” Hoseok hummed, pausing so abruptly you nearly tumbled over the top of him. He quirked an eyebrow and obnoxious oranges and yellows that bled from within the classroom you were stopped at certainly weren’t of your own doing, “Trying to follow me into my room now too?”

You’d regret the blister on your heel with how hard you stomped your foot for the rest of the day. “I hate you.”

Hoseok disappeared into his classroom, leaving you to fiddle with your keys on your lanyard, “Noted.”

The force in which a folder materialized out of thin air onto the surface of your keyboard closed out of your email and effectively typed a row of Z’s to the middle of your lesson plan for the following day. Hoseok paid no mind to that, nor to the rest of the contents on your desk as he brushed aside a paperweight with a green worm inside and a manilla folder filled with completed coloring pages to make himself comfortable on the edge of the wood.

“Hello to you, too,” You moved the folder to shut your laptop, smoothing your hands out over the lid, “Please, take a seat.”

Hoseok’s index finger tapped the center of the folder, “I printed out my ideas. Thought you might want to take a look.”

You nudged a stapled packet of google images out from the folder, taking your time to thumb through the contents. “So I don’t get a say in any of it?”

“You do,” He flicked the back of the packet, making you jump, “You can pick from one of those.”

You eyed a giant red tree filled with handmade hearts from students, “These have to stretch to two doors now, you know that right?”

“No shit—” Hoseok glanced over his shoulder, as if one of your students were still hiding in their cubby forty minutes after the final bell, “—no kidding. If we do that one, we can put half the tree on my door and half of it on yours but like, facing each other—” His fingers brushed yours as he flipped to a different page, a giant heart disguised as a clock with the statement it’s TIME to show our love for learning, “—that one half the heart on my door, half of it on yours. If we do the mailbox one, the letters can just flow from yours to mine.”

You toyed the packet between your fingers, bending it in the center as you squinted up at him, “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“Only the best to try to beat you,” He snatched the packet back with a giggle and a grin, “Now only the best to beat the assholes. Sorry. The idiots.”

“Jeongguk and Taehyung?”

Hoseok cocked an eyebrow, “Well I don’t mean Seokjin and Yoongi.”

You giggled, “I heard Seokjin wanted to put do math, not meth on their doors and Namjoon almost fainted.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes, hopping off the side of your desk in a flurry of papers and a rolling worm, “Jeongguk and Taehyung are doing Frozen—” You wrinkled your nose and he nodded, “—I know.”

“Ours will be better.”

“Yeah?”

“The 2017 and 2018 winners on one team? Hell yeah,” He shot you a look and you corrected, “Heck yeah!”

“I still should have won last year,” He picked at a stray piece of notebook paper balled on one of the desks in the front row, grinning when you glared at him. “Oh, come on. You’re one in a minion? Genius.”

“Everyone hates minions.”

“Not first graders.”

“First graders aren’t judging the doors. Namjoon is.”

“Whatever,” Hoseok crossed the room, shooting the piece of trash into the plastic bin in the corner, “Are we starting tomorrow, then?”

“We didn’t pick a design.”

A hunk of rolled up paper bounced across it’s forgotten paper, rolling into your hands that stopped it from plummeting off the edge of your desk. “Pick and let me know at lunch tomorrow so I know what rolls of paper to steal from the idiots in second grade.”

You worked at soothing out the wrinkles with the heel of your palm, “They don’t have names now?”

“Not while they’re our competition. See you tomorrow,” Hoseok caught a hand in the doorframe, red hair popping back around the corner as he hesitated, “Don’t work too late.”

You met his serious expression with the tiniest bit of amusement, even if you would never admit that your heart warmed in the slightest.

“Okay, dad.”

“Talk dirty to me, miss—”

“Okay really, get out before I lock you out.”

The sheet of pink paper in hand crinkled obnoxiously when you shifted your weight on your heels, squinting accusingly at the much too high top of your open classroom door.

“You didn’t steal a step stool too?”

Hoseok grunted from where he’d been bent over cutting a similar pink piece for his door, dropping the scissors to the tile. “Taehyung told me I had to sing Love is an Open Door for it or I didn’t want it that bad,” He stepped around the paper on the floor, careful not to scuff the vibrant color with the soles of his boots, “He was right, I didn’t want it that bad.”

“Want me to go down there and ask for it?”

“No, I want you to stand still,” You were about to squirm around in inquiry when a pair of arms secured around your middle and your feet were no longer touching the floor.

“Hoseok, what are you—”

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” He roughly jostled you in his grasp, as if a punishment for not giving him the strength to lift you and correct his language, “Put the paper on.”

You went rigid in his grasp, shaking the paper sheepishly, “I, uh. Need the tape.”

Hoseok placed the roll of tape in your awaiting palm, squatting next to you once more. “Wait—” He paused, face pressed against your shoulder blades, hands on your hips, “—we need to cut out a space for the door handle.”

“What do you think I am, an animal? I already did it,” His feet took tiny pattering steps behind you, “Are you ready now?”

He staggered a few times and the tape placement wasn’t as even as if you were doing it on your own but it sufficed, both doors now covered in a layer of obnoxious pink. Hoseok had red now, legs spread, body bent at the middle as he worked at tracing a giant mailbox to be pasted on the corner of your door.

“Is that what a mailbox looks like?”

Hoseok tapped his phone across the paper to you as response, screen locked and open to a clip art version of the very thing. You slid the device back as your own retort, crawling and situating yourself until you were bent over the space he was sketching out with a pen adorned at the top with a ball of feathers.

“Yes, but what you’re drawing doesn’t look like the picture.”

His lips quirked into a pant, like he’d just ran up the stairs to the fifth grade wing and back to check Seokjin and Yoongi’s nonexistent progress. The feathers on the end of the pen startled your nose into a quick sneeze. “Think you could do better?”

“That looks the exact same.”

You didn’t pause, tracing over the open lid again, “As the picture? I’m aware.”

“No, as what I drew,” Hoseok’s foot snaked in between your drawing, nudging your pen aside so a haphazard mark appeared across the paper, “Oops, look like we have to use mine, yours is ruined.”

“Hoseok, what the—”

He dropped to his knees, reaching across the drawing to wrestle the pen from your grasp, “You weren’t about to swear, were you?”

“At you? Absolutely I was, now give me the pen back.”

The corner of his lips quirked, holding the pen out of your grasp, “But I have to fix your mistake, sweetheart.”

“It wasn’t a mistake until you made it a mistake, sweetheart—”

You lunged for Hoseok, in retrospect a terrible idea, as your nose rebounded off his chin, leaving you much too close to him and his heart colored hair and heart flushed cheeks and heart shaped mouth.

There was something thick and warm on your upper lip and you briefly thought that was a weird place for your embarrassment to begin flushing, warning it to save it for when you made a fool of yourself and pressed your lips against Hoseok’s but then—

“Uh, you’re bleeding.”

You blinked owlishly at Hoseok, “I’m what?”

“You’re bleeding,” He dropped the pen in favor of curling his fingers around your chin, tilting your head up for inspection, “I think my chin broke your nose.”

Your skin burned for another reason entirely, “Move, we can’t get this on any of the paper.”

Hoseok beamed, uncaring that the side of his index finger was smeared in rich maroon as he stood, offering it to you.

“Exactly.”

You dropped an envelope of tiny, handwritten notes onto the ground next to the cut out mailbox. “The kids asked why my nose was twice the size it should be.”

Hoseok glanced up from evening out the side of the mailbox post, “What’d you tell them?”

“That their favorite recess monitor with the cool hair and the even cooler shirts did it,” You plopped down beside him, tugging out the top letter, one from one of the boys in your class as you pointed to the name, “He asked me if you kissed it better.”

He nudged you as you worked on folding the letter, “Did you want me to?”

“I wanted a little more than a you’re going to get it all over my perfect mailbox.”

Hoseok gasped, “You said that first!”

“Doesn’t mean you had to agree with me.”

You’d nearly shoved the letter back in with it’s companions when a thumb and index finger were rounding your chin, grip purposeful as a pair of petaled lips dropped to your swollen nose.

“There,” Hoseok slipped the safety scissors back into his fingers, snipping another shard of red paper into his lap, “Better?”

Hoseok extended the last letter to you, white and reinforced in sparkly pink stationary you’d bought out of your own pocket. “Want to do the honors?”

You wordlessly took the last piece of the puzzle from him, the last R to Love is in the Air, crouching next to the post and fake grass and generic envelopes overflowing with your students “love letters to learning” with purple and pink and red hearts stamped to them that adorned each of your doors. Just because it was the last letter didn’t mean it lacked your careful consideration, rocking back on your heels to check the angle, aligning the straight parts of the letter with the floor. The generic tape rolled to the corners of the letter sanctioned when you placed it, crunching slightly as you ran crooked knuckles across the letter to secure it.

“Are we done?” Hoseok offered you his hand, pulling you to stand next to him in the middle of the hallway.

Your gradual nods got more frantic the more your assessing gaze swept across your handiwork, dropping your hand out, palm up for a high five. “I think so.”

Hoseok slapped your hand but chose to hold it rather than pulling away, clasping his fingers around your knuckles to give your intertwined appendages a good shake. “I think we make better friends than rivals, don’t you?”

You pretended to ponder the thought, as if you weren’t holding hands with your arch nemesis coworker who you wanted to force feed melted crayons up until three weeks ago.

“Yeah,” You said finally, voice soft, a question. More definite, you reiterated, “Yeah. I think so, too.”

You assumed the mad scramble back through the doorway from lunch was due to the pink sprinkled cookies laid out on heart shaped plates on each child’s desk along with their tiny paper bags filled with character shaped Valentine’s. But it’s like they couldn’t hold it in, nor decide who was going to break the news to you first, sliding head first into desks and chairs before at least fifteen hands shot up in the air.

“What’s wrong guys?”

Dozens of tiny pairs of eyes exchanged glances, before one of the little girls in the front row was giggling, placing two chubby hands over her lips as she mumbled something.

“My love, you’re going to have to speak up,” You rounded your desk to crouch next to hers.

Happily, she reached for your shoulders, leaning until she could whisper into your ear, “Mr. Jeon is wearing a dress.”

You thought she was going to tell you the cafeteria staff had given them cookies early. Maybe that they hadn’t lined up in the proper order just to see if you’d notice when they came back. Maybe that they’d all signed a giant Valentine for you (because they had, you saw it sticking out of one of their backpacks).

Not that Jeongguk was wearing a dress.

You made quick work of the Disney special on the projector, telling them to dig into their cookies while you ran a quick errand. Their attentions had quickly forgotten their potential next year teacher in favor of a sweet treat, allowing you to slip quietly out of the classroom. In the same instance was Hoseok leaving his room, pink cupcake in hand as he shut his door.

“What?” He accused, “I’m taking a snack to see Jeongguk in a dress.”

The pair were standing outside their classrooms because of course they were, Namjoon in the middle of their two doors with folded arms and a raised eyebrow. Taehyung was mapping the lines of the giant Olaf on his door while Jeongguk watched on, white wig and blue dress and all.

“See, Love is an Open Door!” Taehyung was explaining proudly, snowflake covered tie scraping the floor as he stood, “Like the song!”

“Shouldn’t the door be open then,” Hoseok mumbled, shoving the last of his cupcake in his cheeks.

Jeongguk looked unamused with the sentiment, turning toward the two of you with a dramatic swish of the train at his ankles.

“I’m literally wearing a dress.”

Hoseok nudged you, “We should have worn postal service costumes.”

“No,” Namjoon pinched the bridge of his nose, “No costumes. I can’t handle Seokjin in a costume.”

“Besides, we don’t need gimmicks to win. Ours is just good.”

“It’s good? Please, take me to the good door,” Namjoon held his arms straight in front of him, eyes closed as he navigated across the hallway and nearly into the wall.

“Woah,” Taehyung exclaimed once you were in front of your shut doors. “This is pretty good.”

“Who did the mailbox?”

You were about to take credit for it when Hoseok’s arm was heavy over your shoulders, squeezing, “We both did it. Teamwork, you know.”

Namjoon already seemed sold, flapping his arms again, “Yes, this is the best one I’ve seen all day. Which isn’t saying much seeing as Yoongi tried to pass two shaped fish kissing and Seokjin’s I’m so sofishsticated off as matching, Jeongguk is in a dress, and Jimin put tape on my gym floor.”

You leaned further into Hoseok’s embrace, nodding, “...so?”

“So, you two win what might be the last competition we ever host. Congrats, or whatever—” Namjoon turned directly into Taehyung’s beaming figure, “—what are you two doing? Don’t you, I don’t know, have classes to be teaching?”

“So I wore a dress for nothing?” Jeongguk pouted.

Taehyung looped a comforting arm around his friend’s neck, leading him off in the direction Namjoon was stalking, “I think you look cool, Guk-ah—”

You turned, happily bouncing until you were fully pressed against Hoseok’s chest. “We did it!” You grinned, hopping against when his arms anchored around your hips. “We won!”

“Mhm, well up against our competition, are you really going to consider this a win?”

“Of course I’m going to consider this a win,” You whacked the back of Hoseok’s neck, “and you know what else?”

“I have a cupcake with my name on it that you’re keeping me from?”

“No,” You leaned, nose brushing his, “This makes me a repeat champion.”

Hoseok’s nose wrinkled, “Bit of a low blow, don’t you think?”

“Just because you helped me in my quest to greatness doesn’t mean I’m going to start being nice to you.”

“Sad,” He squeezed your waist and you were consciously aware that his eyelashes were long enough to brush his cheeks when he blinked, “I was starting to like you just a little bit.”

“You’ve just been demoted from co-champion to reserve champion, how does it feel—”

“Mr. Jung, will you just kiss her already?”

You were sure to have whiplash from how quickly you cracked your neck to the thirty some pair of eyes crowded around each of you and Hoseok’s slightly ajar doors. Colors danced on the whiteboard on the back of your room, suggesting the movie was still playing but they were entirely more entranced with the cheesy love story of their favorite teachers than Mickey and Minnie Mouse.

“Yeah,” The little girl from your class whined, the same one who had happily informed you of Jeongguk’s choice in dress, “It’s Valentine’s Day, you have to kiss.”

Your chin was turned by a firm grip on your jaw, Hoseok’s amused and entirely too fond expression making you want to punch him for an entirely new reason. “They’re kids,” You warned him, as if the red haired man was going to shove his tongue down your throat from the pressure he kept on your neck.

“Got it,” Hoseok dismissed, barely pecking your pursed mouth before letting go of you entirely.

“Okay, okay, who wants to open some Valentine’s?”

“We have one more for you, miss.”

Crumbs of the cookie you’d been nibbling on pooled onto the paper plate you held beneath your chin, eyes wide as you surveyed the tiny army of children that had assembled in front of your desk. You quickly discarded the treat, dusting your palms off on your slacks as you reached for the shiny metallic heart they stretched in your direction.

“You guys know you didn’t have to get me anything,” You scolded gently, placing the heart in the cross of your thighs.

“Oh, it’s not from us,” One of the little boys giggled, his lips still stained red from his own cookie, “It’s from Mr. Jung. He slipped it under the door while you were redoing your lipstick.”

“Oh,” You were careful opening it, making sure to shield the contents within from prying, tiny eyes who could barely read more than their own names anyway.

There’s more where that comes from after hours ;)

“Miss, what’s it say?”

“Yeah, did he tell you he loves you?”

You slammed the card shut with a hard swallow, shoving the card underneath your desk somewhere between your purse and the space heater you kept plugged in year round.

“It...he just said he was sorry for hurting my nose a few weeks ago, that’s all, and uh...who wants more cookies?”

[aralty]

Rivalry || Min Yoongi (Part 1)

SUMMARY: Everyone knew that they were strong.

But from the moment they met each other, their weak selves came out. And everything started collapsing.

PAIRING: Yoongi x Y/N

WARNINGS: Swearing, Suggestive

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Hi beautiful people!

I'm back and this is the first part of a short serie I wrote because of a request from the lovely @ausblack!

I really hope you like it and pleeease don't forget to leave opinions or say whatever you like!

Lots of love

PART 2

Good kids during the day, bad boys and girls in the night.

That's what the city was about.

Like a cancer, or a virus, you can't always see what infects a body.

And you can't always stop it.

The city was split in two sides, each ruled by a group of apparently innocent boys: the Poisoners at West and the Whisperers at East.

The police had tried to track them for years, trying to understand who was causing attacks in different parts of the city, leaving marks all over it. They would never expect that the guilty ones were actually the sons and daughters they fed every day when they came home from work.

The Poisoners were what you would describe as the typical angsty, rebellious teenager: disorganized, they never had plan to attack, but on the field there was no way to beat them.

They were a pack that liked to get in trouble.

The Whisperers, on the other hand, were impossible to catch: quiet, unpredictable, precise, much more malicious and cruel when it came to power.

The gangs fought for the power of the whole city: its traffickings, its deals and of course its dominance.

They were everywhere, in a constant cold war, hiding in the shadows of a mysterious, dark city.

"Y/N, sweetie, breakfast's ready!".

The excessive sweetness in your mother's tone was something you never grew fond of.

Probably because it hadn't a bit of purity in it. Your family always wanted to look like the perfect family in front of the others, but you knew too well it wasn't like that.

You knew because of the slaps, the screams, the harsh words and the violence that happened between those walls. Violence of which you had been a victim too many times for you to count.

But things changed when you joined the Whisperers.

It began just to please your friends, but then it became a way to use your anger, and to take advantage of it, it became a way to have that control and that power you never had the change to taste while you were growing up.

And the more time you spent with the Whisperers, the less you had to taste the violence on your skin at home: you began to learn the rules. You understood that the only way to not get in trouble was by pleasing your parents: good grades, the perfect daughter look, the girl next door, pure and chaste.

All things you weren't. You had to play a role, and it was the only way of getting revenge.

"I'm coming down in a second, mom!". The sheet against your bruised skin felt soft as you got out of bed, and after you cleaned yourself you put on your school uniform that masked every single scar, every bruise, every trace of what you truly were.

As you got out of your room, you found the same view you had everyday: your mom in a pink apron, your dad with the newspaper on the table, one hand on the cup of burnt coffee.

"Good morning dad, mom" you said with what they thought was a genuine smile.

"Good morning Y/N".

The whole house smelled like lies, secrets, and pretending. Everyone was playing their role.

"So, today you have a test right?" he said, looking at you with strong eyes.

"Yes, I have a math test and a couple of projects to work on, but it won't be a problem since I studied hard for all of them" you said. Your fake tone was making you sick to the stomach.

"Good. Your mother and I are happy to see you're behaving lately, so that we don't need to use such harsh remedies as we used to. Remember that behaving is the only way, you understand?" you felt his eyes on your, his challenging tone sending shivers down your spine.

"Yes sir" you said smiling, straightening up your back.

"Good. Now get to school.".

You got up, and after greeting them, you got out of there.

You had to admit it, you liked your role. You tasted already the sweet flavor of revenge on your tongue, and you could picture their expressions when they would find out what you had become because of them.

You loved it. Being a sweet baby by the day and a destructive weapon by night.

"Johnny is sick.".

"What!?" you slammed your locker as those words left Mark's lips. That meant Johnny was attacked.

"Yesterday, he must have catch a cold near the dog shelter.".

Johnny was stabbed by the Poisoners yesterday night.

You sighed, relieved he was alive. But soon the happiness was replaced by anger.

"Call Baekhyun, tell him we need to talk. This is getting too much".

"Y/N, you can't blame them, you know what was Johnny doing there. We would have done the same.".

"What are you trying to say Mark?" you hissed turning back to him.

"What I'm trying to say, Y/N, is that you can't expect people not to react. They're a pack, we're a pack. We are the same. The only think that's different is that we fight for dominance, they fight for survival.". The only thing you heard after those cold words hit you were the footsteps of the boy, a door slamming.

The shed was cold, humid, dirty. Nothing filled it except for a group of boys and girls, sit on old chairs, a table in between them full of maps, sheets, photos. The broken rooftop was letting in a couple of raindrops, the grey clouds were visible from the inside and you could hear the incoming storm.

The loudest sound was the one of your heels on the floor, clicking regularly and accompanied by the sound of the belt against the metal of your gun.

"A blade in the stomach. Nothing too dangerous, he knew what he was going through when he decided to go in there alone."

"You don't get the point, Donghun. Yesterday a stab, tomorrow a shot. Things like that develop, and in a couple of weeks they'll end up attacking and not only defending themselves.".

A scoff came from Mark's lips as you sat down on a free chair.

You hadn't talked to him since you argued, hours before.

Now both of you got rid of the school uniform. Only black, leather clothes were hugging your figures.

And as the others turned their head to him, he shot a smirk and a cold look at you. He was talking to the leader now.

"You truly thought they'd never end up attacking us, Baek? They've been defending themselves from us for years, they bore with all those infiltrations, all those attacks, all those unfair kills. You really thought they'd be the abused ones for eternity? They've had enough. And there are a lot of reasons for that. We started this and now they're getting ready to fight back.".

The room froze. Mark was right: you knew it, Baekhyun knew it, everyone in the gang did.

"We'll crash at their headquarters tonight. All of you. No excuses. If they finally decided to respond, then the next move is ours." Baekhyun said, in a cold tone, staring at Mark in the eyes.

You felt shivers down your spine.

It was starting.

The tight fabric of your top was giving you a hard time breathing, and your chest was hammering against it; you could feel the gun and the blade on your belt against your body, despite the pants between the weapons and the skin of your thigh.

As you walked, the sound of boots against the wet concrete filled your ears.

You were 16 members. Inside of the headquarters of the Poisoners there were normally 2 or 3 people.

You knew it, because the Whisperers knew everything. Every step they took, every shift change, every movement. They knew all they had planned.

Expect the night before. But that's what you were going to get revenge for.

The West side of the city was empty, at night. Only some brave people got out, but they ran away as soon as they saw the symbol on the back of your leather jacket.

As you got closer to their base, you could feel something slightly burning in your skin on your wrist, getting hotter and hotter as you kept on walking. But you ignored it.

Your leader stopped outside of the emergency exit of the building, and all of you took out your weapons. Some had blades, some had guns, some had nunchucks. Nobody had a trace of fear in their eyes. Breaths were even and steady, nothing moved for a second.

It was all interrupted by the loud crash of a metal door against the pavement.

As you entered, you could hear shouts, screams, sounds of pain.

You ran towards them, hands covered in brass knuckles.

As a figure stopped your way, you began aiming at their nose. The boy was tall, not that fast tho, so you could throw him to the ground easily. You began working on a new target and beat that as well, but you were distracted by the loud sound of a gun too close to you, and as you weren't watching, someone threw you to the ground and got on top of you, as you were  trying to set yourself free from his tight grip, the pain on your wrist was getting worse and worse, barely tolerable.

Your skin seemed on fire, and for some strange reason the black haired boy on top of you seemed in pain as well, while trying to not let you go.

His dark eyes widened and immediately grabbed your wrist, which caused you to scream because of the pain.

You forgot about it as soon as you saw it: something that looked like a fire mark in the shape of a triangle was marking both of your wrists.

You knew what it meant. It was a bond.

The boy was lost, and you swore you never had been so scared in your life. You didn't know how, but you collected the strength to escape from his now light grip, and threw him on the ground.

You ran away without looking back, without caring about the ones that were screaming your name for you to come back.

You ran away.

You were sitting in one of the corners of the shed. Your face was scratched, your hands red from the dried blood and you could sense the bruises on your legs.

Your eyes hadn't shot a glance at your wrist from when you were at their HQs.

You just kept on looking at the dirty ground beneath you.

That little figure, that mark, that triangle on your skin. It was meant to bond two people forever.

Everyone was meant to find their soulmate through it. And you had just met yours.

"Care to fucking tell me why you ran away, Y/N?" the loud noise of the metal door slamming and the intimidating voice of your leader made you shiver.

He grabbed you by the collar and slammed you against the wall expecting answers.

"Baek stop!" someone yelled as your head kept on hitting the wall, but then you grabbed your gun and hit him lightly with its end.

Everyone gasped as he yelped in pain, and set you free.

"I'm not one of your fucking puppets, okay? Remember I'm second in command here. And even if you're my leader, I don't think the other would be too impressed if you smashed me on the wall again." you leaned down and whispered in his ears,voice stronger than ever, as he was standing with his hands on his knees.

The only thing that escaped his lips was a low growl.

"Anyone injured?" you asked the other boys that saw the scene.

You could see the scared expressions on their faces as they looked at you, and as no one responded you couldn't help but smirk. You walked through them and got out of there.

The air in the room was chilly, cold wind entering from the opened glass.

You had managed to sneak back home by the window without your parents noticing, and as you took off your clothes you couldn't help but take a look at your body in the mirror near your closet.

You could see the bumps on your legs, the cuts on your face and the mark on your wrist.

But along with that you took a glance for the first time in a while at your silhouette: the curves of your hips, of your breasts, your skin color, your eyes, your hair. The contrast between your feminine figure and the sign of violence on it made you shiver for a second.

What were you doing?

You were hurting people. You were hurting yourself. You were hurting people you could have cared about.

As your thoughts ran, you couldn't help but start to think about him.

The boy you were bonded to.

What was his name?

Where was he from?

Did he know why he had a mark on his skin?

You had so many questions: but yet you were so afraid of the answers.

As your fingers brushed lightly your skin, you smiled at a thought that had never cross your mind: love.

You decided to try and sleep, hoping that the strange sensation would have left you in your sleep.

But surprisingly, your sleep that night had been full of sweet, romantic, happy thoughts.

The days after the "accident" weren't nothing special: just a cycle of covering the wounds, playing your role at home, sneaking around with your gang and avoiding the other side as much as you could.

Baekhyun and you hadn't have others fights, he just let you live: after all without you the whole group would have failed.

A couple of days after, just when all your bruises had disappeared, you finally decided to go again to the other side: a race was taking place in one of the many abandoned open spaces that the Poisoners had decided to take over.

There was only one rule: no fights, no violence, no weapons.

All conflicts didn't count that night: it was only a way for riders to make money and fame.

And one of your men decided to participate: that's why you were there.

Once again you could hear the sound of your heels against the concrete, along with the sound of wheels and loud shouts.

The smoke of cigarettes was filling your lungs when someone shouted your name behind you.

"Johnny! Holy shit, it's been a while. Are you okay?" you smiled as you saw the tall black haired boy hugging you.

You two had been friends since you were a kid: he used to babysit you since you used to live on the same road, but even after he moved you still managed to see each other. And when he took you to the Whisperers, which he had joined at 16, you started realizing how much you liked that circle. So if you were a Whisperers now, it was all thanks to him.

"I'm good, the wound wasn't that dangerous but I had to come up with some excuses for my parents. So after I told them that a drunk friend had thrown a glass bottle towards me, they imposed a curfew for a couple of weeks.". You were so happy to see him again, so you just smiled again and you began walking again in the crowd, trying to find others Whisperers.

"So, beside Yuhkei, who's gonna take place at this?" you asked while you were looking around you.

"No one". You looked at him shocked, knowing that occasion like these weren't something racers would let go.

"Really? I thought Jooheon would have p-".

"Everyone's afraid, Y/N. After what we did at their HQs, the tension grew. Even in places like this no one really feels safe. Some of the boys even decided not to come at all tonight.".

"Fuck...I hope things won't take a bad turn tonight."

He sighed and friendly placed his arms around your shoulders "Yeah, me too."

The night was passing, more Whisperers had joined you and your circle was getting ready to see the race.

Yukhei, one of the best racers in town, was a part of your gang, and you had learned this time he'd have to compete against Jungkook, a young racer, a Poisoner.

You were looking at them on the street, near their cars: the light, blonde hair of your friend was creating such a contrast near his pitch black clothes. He was a really good racer, he loved risk, and in more than one occasion he happened to get involved in crashes. Surprisingly it was never something too major, so he kept on racing.

You waved at him and smiled. He saw you and waved back, but you didn't see him: your eyes were glued on the person who was talking to his competitor, beside him.

You remembered him, and as soon as you laid eyes on him your wrist started burning.

Not again...

you could see the boy flinch, and immediately he started looking around, his eyes stopping as he saw you.

For a moment, you both froze.

Your wrist wasn't hurting, but your head was an anxious mess.

You started panicking, thinking what you should do, if you should run away or run to him.

You were so lost in thought that you flinched a bit when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N are you okay? You were breathing so heavily..." Johnny was looking at you worried.

"N-no I'm okay. I'm just gonna go find a bathroom".

You started walking away, but you still felt his eyes on your back.

The whole even was built near an old factory, that had been transformed in something like a nightclub, with bars and a stage.

Of course it was empty, everyone was busy with the race right now.

You stepped in, and after almost kicking down the bathroom door, you gripped on the sink's edge trying to steady your breath.

"You should take long and deep breaths. Short ones won't help". You turned your head at the boy on the door frame. His voice was deep and rough.

You took a second to look at him properly: he had platinum blonde hair, more on the long-ish side. He was wearing a white t-shirt, a green army jacket and black skinny pants.

His features were slightly intimidating, in contrast with his rosy lips and skinny figure.

You didn't even realize, but your breath was much more steadier now, and the mark on your wrist was warm, much comforting than before.

"Are you feeling better?" his voice was having a strange effect on your body. It was relaxing but at the same time sending thrills in your blood.

You nodded slowly trying to get your eyes away from his.

You felt something pulling you closer, like a magnet.

"W-what is your name?". Your voice was feeble, scared, but he could only hear the soft and harmonious tone of your voice.

He started making steps, walking slowly until he reached the sink next to yours, his lower back resting on its edge.

"Yoongi" he said as a small smile grew on his lips.

His voice was making things to your body. Suddenly you felt the urge to run your hands on his skin, through his hair, fingertips tracing his veins...

You felt heating up realizing what you were thinking about, and he must have seen the light shade of pink on your cheeks because a low chuckle escaped his lips.

"Don't worry, you're not the only one that has strange thoughts in your head".

He seemed so calm and chill, while you were there almost panicking.

"How are you so calm?" you asked curious, turning your body to his.

"I'm just good at hiding it, I guess". His eyes were scanning your whole body, and suddenly you felt your knees getting weak.

"Are you gonna tell me your name, or will I have to have a nameless soulmate, love?". His deep, rich, dark eyes were fixed on yours. The presence of the pet name and soulmate in the same sentence made you feel something strange in your stomach, something that felt pleasant, you'd say.

"Y/N" you said after recollecting all the voice you seemed to have lost previously.

"Y/N, that's a beautiful name" he said, a sweet voice and his eyes suddenly seemed less dark.

You couldn't mutter anything, you were still lost looking at him.

It may not seemed like it, but he was also feeling the same way you were.

He felt like getting lost in your eyes, your shaky body, your curves, your traits, your voice.

It was the first time he ever felt like this, he thought he may could get used to this feeling. Neither of you had realized that you had somehow got closer: you were standing in front of each other, and you could feel his breaths on you.

And when you opened your mouth to speak again, he couldn't help but smile at the sound of your voice.

"Does it hurt?". You were referring to the mark on his wrist: it had assumed a soft pink color, some sparks of red. Just like if the skin made contact with fire.

"Not now. The first time it hurt like a bitch, I have to admit it" you chuckled heartily. "It doesn't hurt normally, sometimes it just stings a bit. But now it feels good.".

Your hand brushed his wrist and took a look at his mark, placing yours beside his: identical, blurred, almost irregular triangles with a tint of pink. And when his fingertips traced yours, a spark of what felt like electricity ran trough you.

He must have felt it too, because both felt like drowning in each other eyes, never getting enough of looking at each other.

You kept on looking at each other, taking in every single small detail: the moles on his cheeks, the color of his slightly chapped lips, the way his bleached hair covered a tiny bit of his eyes.

"We should probably go" his whispers broke the silence between you two. "if someone ever found a Whisperer and a Poisoner alone in a bathroom, that probably wouldn't go unnoticed" you chuckled, breaking the eye contact and taking a quick look at your marks.

"I'll go first and search for my friends". Your tone was low, defeated. A spark of sadness was blooming in your heart. He slightly nodded, giving you a small smile.

After you smiled back, you began walking out of the bathroom, trying to reach the building without looking back, trying not to notice the stinging sensation on your wrist.

The walk across the building seemed so long, and the pain was getting stronger.

It was almost unbearable until a hand grabbed your wrist and spin you around: suddenly a pair of strong, passionate lips locked in yours.

Your arms immediately locked around his neck, his hands finding their way to your hips, lips almost devouring yours.

[sketchynebula]

Scribbles, Chapter 3

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, You are here,

Scribble tag list: @mikado413 @pleasebringmerlinback @thecrimsoncodex @too-precious-to-process @skadinavien @lexi-love99 @lovisoverrated @kickthecel @rayndropsonrosez @lamp-calm-sanders@iaminmultiplefandoms @ffsas-side-account  @tree4life25 @thats-so-crash @sugarblob0 @pattongirl @fandoms-n-ship @izzynuggets  @pasteliosis @thisrandomperson102 @memepool1 @hayleycreagine @artistgracie @its-me-madzy @bunniicc

Content Warnings: Self-hate, parental death, short moment of slight dissociation, suicide, flashback of suicide, rejection, fainting, abandonment, emotional break down, descriptions of anxiety and breathing, verbal and physical bullying, neglectful adults

Pairing: LAMP

Word count: 4,725

Genre: Hurt/comfort, Angst

AU/trope: Soul-Mate AU  where whatever you write on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s.

Summary: His mind worked over-time considering whether or not running to the other end of the building would be worth it, but as the fatigue from his sleepless night pressed into him, he decided it wasn’t. Today wasn’t going to be the day he decided to be punctual.Virgil’s English class was all the way across the school from his math class, so it was a long walk. Oh, and he also had it after math and that didn’t help his mood either.

There was a moment where he was sure that he would be late. His eyes peering into an empty classroom and checking the time, only to find that he technically only had three minutes to get there. His mind worked over-time considering whether or not running to the other end of the building would be worth it, but as the fatigue from his sleepless night pressed into him, he decided it wasn’t. Today wasn’t going to be the day he decided to be punctual.

By the time he had walked through the door to the classroom it had been a few minutes after the late bell. The class was all there, all 30 of them visibly acting every bit of ‘straight out of elementary school’ as one would suspect. Fortunately for Virgil’s attendance record, the teacher wasn’t there.

Unfortunately for Virgil’s eardrums, the teacher wasn’t there.

The teacher's desk was vacant, but clean with not a page of paper on it. That was probably just as well, since anything left unattended was almost certain to be looked through.

Virgil’s head was aching again. The windows poured bright light into the room and his head throbbed in pain with each noise that echoed in the class.

He moved to sit in the back, an area that was a little farther away from the windows and a little more closed off from the rest of the students. He sat, before laying his post-concussion head down. His arms wrapping around his head in order to try to muffle some of the sensory information.

He ignored all the kids around him, and they thankfully did the same, but somehow the mess of kids, middle school boys running around and girls talking loudly, made him feel even more closed off.

More isolated from everyone around him.

These kids ran around, laughing, with the privilege of being able to care about nothing more than homework and friendships. They weren’t nursing bruises and hiding concussions. They weren’t carrying drunk parents to their rooms at night and crying when new messages were written on their wrists.

He sniffed, the emotions swirling in him were too complex for his tired mind and he pulled his head off the desk before he could fall asleep. As he lifted it up, a piece of paper came with it, stuck to the side of his cheek.

As the paper floated back to the desk he looked around, seeing that a piece of lined paper was lying on the surface of each desk. A single word was written on the board, ‘Scribbles’, and just as a dawning sense of comprehension and dread filled him the teacher decided to make an appearance.

The teacher quickly bustled in the room, a familiar face that made Virgil stare unabashedly, eyes locking with the last person he wanted to see.

“Everyone sit down! I am sorry I’m late, it’s a long walk here from anywhere else in the school. That, however, does not mean you are allowed to descend to chaos in my absence.” She leveled the class with a glare. “I’m Mrs. Higgs, and I’m your English teacher.” Virgil felt his face flush, sinking into his desk. Of course she was. In his life there was no way that he wouldn’t have to see her everyday for a year.

“Today, we’re going to be working on a free-writing prompt, some children are better at creative writing while others are better at essays.” She turned moving to grab a few papers from her desk and having everybody pass one back, “It’s in my opinion that both aspects of writing and literature are important even if the curriculum only favours one, so I like to give the creative writers in the class space to like language arts and use it as a supplement to improve their writing. Everyday when you come in, there will be a writing prompt on the board, you will write for the first fifteen minutes of class and turn it in after for a daily grade, if you are absent you won’t have to make it up and it won't negatively affect you. this isn’t supposed to be a stressful activity it’s just to expand your mind and get credit for doing it. I am handing out the syllabi and then we are to get started on our prompt,”

As the papers moved from hand to hand, Virgil’s eyes helplessly looked at the prompt. Of all the things he hated the most the list topper had to be sharing his writing. He wasn’t any good, and there was never any reason that anybody in his life had to know anything about the personal inner workings of his mind.

“We’re going to start the fifteen minutes now, try your best to stay writing the entire time- go.”

Virgil’s hand shook as he glanced from the board back to his paper. Idea’s bouncing around his head, none of them he felt comfortable with a teacher reading.

Especially a teacher that hated him.

He gripped the pencil hard before he settled for a compromise. His hand was hesitant as he wrote the first words, mind halting every few letters before his brain started to flow into the mindset. His hand movements slowly evening out, moving to weave emotions in fictional scenes.

He pulled real events out of context and projected them on a fictional world. A world that Virgil wouldn’t have to be responsible for later. Taking what he itched to write for the prompt, what he itched to tell the world, to scream at every teacher that looked at him like he was a criminal, and pressing it against a safe grey area. Somewhere in the middle a place where Virgil can adamantly deny being related to any of the words that graced the page.

Virgil wasn’t done writing by the time the teacher asked them to pass their papers forward, but he almost threw his sheet at the person in front of him. Just wanting this to be over.

The rest of the class was uneventful. The only other notable event being when Mrs. Higgs’s raised an eyebrow at him during roll-call. Virgil would have nodded off after that, but he was tense. His eyes staring forward the entire class.

That didn’t mean he was paying attention at all though. He felt far away from the situation, away from the room and the light and the pain. All until he found himself jumping at the sound of the bell. His body temporarily going rigid before he moved to reach down under his desk. His body buzzed with nerves, antsy to get out of here, to spare himself the embarrassment of having to be around Mrs. Higgs for any longer.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, students brushing his side as they moved pass him to get to the door, but just as he reached it himself Mrs. Higgs called him back. One of her hands clutching his free-writing assignment in her grip and beckoning him over.

“Don’t worry, You’re not in trouble.” She asserted to him as he glanced at her warily. His cheeks burning.

She motioned him to take a seat in a desk in front of her, “This will only take a moment, however I will write you a pass to get to your next class.” Her lips scrunched, brows furrowing in a stern way.

Virgil fidgeted as the flash of that memory passed through his brain. His mind was flooded with all the other things it brought with it. Saturday was fast approaching, only two days away as the week quickly ends. Everything that that meant was fresh in his mind. He swallowed hard and gripped his hands together in his lap.

“Virgil, you’re writing is- far beyond your grade level.” She said, eyes running over the page again before carefully placing the writing down on the desk and pushing it toward him. “Have you ever thought of taking up writing as a future career choice?”

Virgil can’t say he’d ever really thought about his future, he always assumed he wouldn’t have one to begin with.

He pulled the paper back towards him a full 10/10 points graced the corner of the page in red ink and he shrugged. The thought never crossed his mind.

“There's a writers competition, an annual event that i think i want you to participate in,” she cleared her throat, “though i must admit i have never chosen a participant this early in the year-” Pulling a few papers out of one of the locked drawer of her desk, she circled around to him handing him the papers, a list of careers and different applications of writing was there, along with a ‘Young-Authors Competition’ registration form, the top page of the stack had a bolded title of ‘what you can do with writing’.

Mrs. Higgs nodded to the pages, “I recommend doing some research on some possible careers in the meantime, only if you’re interested of course. perhaps a journalist, or even maybe an author?”

Virgil's face was awestruck, hesitantly he shrugged. His brain backtracking turning the words over in his head. Trying to find any alternative meaning in them than the one he was being presented with. Anything that would make more sense.

His writing wasn’t good by any stretch of the word. It was jumbled and unthought out, each word was meaningless, a product of his mind spewing out emotions that he trapped inside himself over the years. His pulse increased at the very idea of a competition.

A writing competition with people who spent their lives learning how to be good writers. Students who wanted to write since they were young and not someone like him. Him who only wrote because he never seemed to be able to speak.

His shaking was visible now and Mrs. Higgs reached out, hand resting over top his clenched fists, trying to get them to still. The warmth and weight of it made him look up at her concerned expression.

“The competition isn’t until December, you have time to think about it dear.” She said softly, “I, of course, won’t and can’t force you to submit something against your will, and I for one think you are all a little young to be able to fully decide what you want to be in life.” She said gesturing to the pages she had given him, “but it’s better to be well informed and say no than be poorly informed and say yes.”

She patted his hands, before pulling away and moving around the desk, hunching over it to quickly scrawl out the information on a hall pass, ripping it out in one fast motion and handing it to Virgil.

“However, i would at least think about it.” She finished eyes imploring as she turned away from him.

Virgil swallowed hard, standing slowly before his body went into overdrive. He pulled his backpack off the floor, collecting his items and almost running out of the room. The concerned eyes of Mrs. Higgs following him as he went.

Virgil moved out of the way of oncoming hallway goers, ducking through the hall as he made his way to flow onto the correct side.

His fingers nervously tear the edges of the hall pass he was given. He was at lunch, but he appreciate the sentiment more than anything else. Most teachers didn’t care enough to write him one anymore.

Which Virgil wasn’t blaming them for. When someone is as consistently late as he is there came a time where there wasn’t a point.

Virgil’s hand pressed into his pocket, shoving the pass deep inside with it, and he held the small stack of papers in his left hand, eyes glancing over the words and dates.

The bodies moving in the hallway brushed up against him in an uncomfortable ‘sardine can’ way. Shoulders hitting against his until one particularly hard shove had his side slamming into the row of lockers beside him. The disorientation was instant, and the snickering that followed confirmed Virgil’s immediate hunch. He angled his head to see Ricky and Fred’s backs as they passed down the hallway. Laughing to themselves.

Virgil’s hands balled themselves into fists, crumpling the papers, as he kept walking. Hunching into his frustration, and the brand new ache in his shoulder, he walked until he was able to carefully and discreetly duck into the school library. A small area that attempted to tightly fit book shelves and open desks together.

Virgil spared a glance at the librarian at the front desk, he managed to give them a small smile despite his mood, you always wanted to be on a librarians good side. His hands pressed the papers to his chest so nobody else in the room would catch a glimpse of their content, before he moved to round behind a row of bookshelves that were further back.

He hadn’t eaten in the cafeteria since his first week of first grade, the memory of having chocolate milk poured down his back was humiliating enough that he was willing to take steps to not have it repeated.

Virgil pressed his back into the bookshelf there, the knobs of his spine aching uncomfortably. He slid to sit down, hidden in the small nook that he had found. He dragged his backpack into his lap, his legs stretching out in front of him.

Unzipping the top of his pack with one swift motion, he pulled out his sad, sad, sack lunch. A bag that he’s pretty sure he just threw some bread and an apple in that morning.

Virgil frowned at the memory of that morning. His mother having sat silently in the kitchen, nursing a hangover, probably not even knowing that she shared a memory with him from the night before. A memory that his brain couldn’t help echoing back at him when things were quiet. The words ‘I’m glad you don’t have a soulmate’ making him feel guilty and paranoid all at once.

He hunched into his corner, not bothering to touch the bread as he bit into the apple. His unoccupied hand pushed the papers roughly into the backpack before zipping it back up and tossing the pack to the wayside.

“Hey, Verg?” James’s voice whispered out, starling Virgil, who inhaled a bit of apple as James rounded around a shelf. “Guess what!”

Virgil panicked for a moment, coughing before shrugging, his mouth full. James laughed, nodding his head “i feel that! anyway- you know how Mrs. Kace used to be the AP French teacher at the High-school?” Virgil paused, startled at the sudden topic of conversation. He slowly managed a shrug.

He typically didn’t make a habit of talking to teachers, at least not as a pastime, and especially those he didn’t have to directly deal with.

“Well, okay - i guess long story short- I have a chance to win a Trip to France under an exchange student program!”

Virgil’s chest was suddenly tight, his eyes wide in shock before he swallowed hard and tried his best to smile. His face split into more of a grimace.

“Yeah! I might get to be with Sarah!” James gripped his hands together, eyes dancing over the written exchanges they shared on his arms all in french.

Virgil, felt the bit of apple be was able to swallow sour in his stomach, he nodded jerkily to James.

“That’s cool.” He said, his voice weaker than normal.

“Right! Sarah says her parents are more than willing to house both of us and my mom says that if we present out soulmate status they will most likely give me citizenship,” James’s voice was hard pressed to continue to be a whisper, his voice slowly rising in volume as he continued his small, hopeful rant. “-I mean it’s France they’re like the epicenter for soulmate finding resources, you know, as long as i can prove i can speak French well and yadda yadda whatever, I’ll be able to meet her! Isn’t it great!”

It was. He was happy. It was so good for James. He had worked his entire life for something like this. Deciding to be a French translator in second grade when they had first started to write to one another and found out about the language barrier they had to overcome.

He was going to be with his soulmate. In a school that wouldn’t immediately mentally connect him with the outcast and ostracized him in turn. A school where Virgil wasn’t ruining his only chances at being a normal kid.

Why can’t Virgil just be happy for him, why can’t he just be supportive.

Why can’t he just let his soulmates be happy without him.

“That’s amazing, I’m so glad you two- I’m glad you guys get to see each other and stuff.” Virgil said, eyes void, stony and guarded and James’s smile slowly faded, eyes filling with recognition,

“Oh i am such a dick.” He said, a grimace pulling at the sides of his mouth, “dude, i’m sorry, i totally forgot, here i am telling you all about Sarah when everyone knows-,” He paused voice lowering, even quieter than a normal whisper now, and leaning in, as if what he was saying wasn’t common knowledge to every kid in this school district “- everyone knows you don’t have a soulmate” James tried to look Virgil in the eye but Virgil just shook his head.

“No, it’s fine.” Virgil shrugged and James just shook his head back,

“No it’s not, I just- i can’t even imagine-...” Virgil looked at James eyes imploring him to change the subject.

“Anyway?” Virgil said, voice more neutral than his previous tone.

James hesitated before he continued “Anyway… I- I’m just saying that if my french essay gets chosen for this thing in November i’ll be gone by next semester so…”

Virgil nodded his head. That was it. He suddenly felt like he didn’t have anything left to lose anymore.

Scribbles

Virgil's fingers raked through his hair, grimacing. It seemed to be greasy no matter how often he washed it.

He met the mirror with a blank stare. His eyes had started to form light bags under them from inconsistent and sometimes nonexistent sleep. His reflection looked as tired and pale as he remembered it.

The surge of fear that he felt while his shaky hands pushed his hoodie back over the mirror was enough to make him question why he was here. Standing around and holding up the only bathroom in a comic shop near the Cedar cafe.

Who was he kidding?‘Strip’s Spot’ was a geek safe haven that was literally right across the street from the hipster paradise that was the Cedar Cafe. It’s large glass doors and windows making the comic shop a safe viewing spot.

It was stalking, basically. Virgil recognized this to the point that it was almost tormenting him. He was stalking them now.

Or maybe he was always stalking them. His arms and hands containing personal information about them that they wouldn’t normally have shared with anyone they didn’t trust. The question ‘would they trust him’ bouncing around his head was promptly answered by every dark part of his mind, the resounding ‘of course not’ breaking him down a little more.

“But we’re soulmates” he whispered to himself eyes settling over the fabric of his hoodie. “We’re- we are, soulmates.” He stated to himself shakily.

They have to love him.

Their soulmates.

“emphasis on the ‘have to’ part” he mumbled to himself, echoing his thoughts out loud. His mind wavering. He pulled his hoodie away from its place precariously balancing on the mirror, pulling it around his shoulders. He thumbed the sleeves, eyes catching another unwanted glimpse of himself from the mirror before he turned to unlock the bathroom door.

As his hand wrapped around the metal and he spared a moment to try and pull on an at least semi-good neutral face. The kind of face one wore for a public area.

His eyes blinked from being in the darkly lit bathroom to suddenly being in a well lit shop. He took in the dark patterned carpet and the vivid posters once more. His eyes nervously glancing around at the few shop goers as he moved to stand near one of the windows. He pulled one of the comics off the shelf, hands thumbing through it as he pretended to brows, eyes glancing up at the people around him. He was trying so hard to be casual, though that could wrap around and make him seem weird, ‘too casual’ is a thing that exists.

Was he being too casual?!

His pulled himself away from panically staring at a random page of a comic book only to have his eyes connect with the window.

He felt paralyzed.

He didn’t know how he knew it, though it was probably because they were the only party there that was larger than two, but when his eyes landed on the three of them he knew.

It felt like he had known them forever.

They were all standing in the outside seating area just outside of the cafe, hugging, all three of them so elated.

A redshirted boy that Virgil can only assume was Roman was almost jumping up and down. The boy who was obviously Patton, wearing a rather warm looking puppy and kitten themed sweater, was attempting to hug each of them together. The last of them had to be Logan who was smiling a warm smile, and hugging back when it suited him. They all seemed happy and Virgil felt a sting of envy again. Their warm arms and faces were exchanging looks and touches.

Virgil was standing in a Comic shop.

They fit so well together, their arms and hands wrapping around one another like it was the most natural thing in the world.

They fit.

They just- they fit together effortlessly.

His entire life Virgil had never fit anywhere, Virgil had been time and time again shown that he didn’t belong with anyone.

Apparently not even his soulmates.

He watched their hands curl into one another and their faces breaking out in bright smiles. He watched them confirm every fear he ever had, knowing that he could never do any of those things. He could never jeopardize them that way. His hands were cold, and his very presence brought gloom.

He had no place with the three of them. Their colour and their light was gift he was supposed to admire not contribute to.

Not that he had anything to contribute to it anyway.

Virgil tried to shake a barrage of thoughts from his head, eyes watering. The loud sound of a honking car horn startled him, blurry eyes raising to barely make out the faces of just as elated adults waving to the group from a car. Virgil’s cheeks flushed, hands almost dropping the comic book he was now tightly clutching, another car stayed down a ways, the parents smiling.

Normal families.

Normal happy families that Virgil can contact and ruin, ruin the same way he ruined his.

A flash of his fathers cold hanging body made his brain silence, his chest suddenly tighten, his mind tilting until there was nothing.

He woke up all at once, and the moment he was standing to the moment he was waking up on the floor felt like a mere instant appart. A concerned store manager hovering over him, a hand at the back of his head checking for an injury.

He pulled away from the strangers hands, the man's voice was muffled, sounding too far away from the still reeling Virgil.

“-Would you like me to call your parents” The words came into focus like a lense, slowly and with a gradient in time between indecipherable and clear. Virgil shook his head.

Who was there to call?

As Virgil sat up on the floor, he tilted back a little to peer out the glass doors, seeing both the cars and his soulmates gone.

‘Probably soul-bonding’ he thought to himself. Swallowing hard. An aching feeling filling his chest made him turn his head, and stare at the carpet there, mind dully wondering if there was ever going to be a time when things started to hurt less.

Scribbles

The night was all consuming and the edge of the table pressed into him. The blankness of his arms made the sorrow crop up inside of him again. His hoodie discarded to the floor.

It didn’t feel like there was a need for it anymore.

“You don’t normally take the hoodie off.”

Virgil’s head snapped to the side, looking into the eyes of his mother, who he hadn’t talked too since three days ago. He swallowed hard at the tired disheveled look she had. Her eyes bruised with circles and hair tousled.

“Yeah.” He said, turning his eyes back to the wood of the table as he waited for her to go for the liquor cabinet.

His mother took a seat.

She put her purse on the kitchen table, heaving out a sigh as she pulled her name tag off and ran a hand through her hair. “I- I know I’m.. I’m a- failure of a parent.” She stated and Virgil’s heart ached.

“No. You’re not. You do everything you can-,” Virgil began but his mother spoke over him

“I don’t- I don’t do enough.” She said, turning the name tag over in her hand as she spoke.

There was silence then. All consuming silence as they both sat in their own turmoils.

Emotional grievance pulling them both into the darkest places of their minds.

“How did you-” Virgil started suddenly, his voice cracking. “How did you deal with dad- with you know…”

His mother looked away from him. Her eyes vacant again, her expression mirroring the look she gave him in the bathroom that night. Virgil’s heart braced itself. The wounds so fresh that he didn’t think he could take another disappointment.

“I didn’t.”

She stood, tears running down her face. Giving Virgil the most apologetic look he’d ever seen on another human beings face. She pulled herself away from the kitchen table, the apartment echoing around them both as she pulled open the liquor cabinet.

Virgil stood, eyes spilling and a hand covering his mouth. He stepped over the hoodie. Leaving it there.

He burst through the door to his room with the edges of hysteria gripping at him. His hands going to clutch at his hair, yanking until it hurt. The pain making his eyes water.

He thought about his mother, about the years of isolation and pain. He thought about his dad leaving the both of them for his mental illness, and he thought about inevitability.

The pressing feelings that he would end up just like the both of them. His mother who would never see her soulmate again, and drank to forget that. His mind working against his own happiness no matter how every talks about soulmates being the ‘cure for all ills’.

He would be just as broken up, just as lost and desperate. Another ghosting figure in a world that doesn’t care about anyone with anything other than a happy ending. He was a damned soul.

A soulless.

He was truly a soulless now.

His breath came out in harsh puffs and he collapsed, sitting on his bed, keeling over and folding in on himself until his chest rested on his knees.

His eyes rose for just a second, just long enough for the time it took for his eyes to connect with the haphazard pile of the pages on his desk. The writing information Mrs. Higgs had given him. All of them collected in a single spot, discarded and crumpled.

There was stillness. The tears running down his face continued and he stood. His body slowly moving. He gripped the first page, moving it aside to pick up the Young-Authors Competition Rules. His hand shakily gripped a pen. His knuckles turning white with the force, and he pulled a loose leaf sheet onto the surface.

Then. He wrote.

Chapter 4

[iconicstyles]

Tutor Me

Math is evil and Harry is assigned to be your tutor. 

Quiet, nerdy Harry is a weakness of mine so I hope everyone likes this oneshot, could potentially have other parts if everyone likes it. 

My whole life I was told to enjoy high school because these were the last years I had to just be kid. It was a brief moment in time before I had to grow up so I took full advantage. My senior year started off great. I was a cheerleader, went to great parties, and got accepted into my dream school. It was all going to plan until January hit and I started my most dreaded subject. I’ll admit I barely scraped by in Math, I somehow always seemed to pull out a decent enough grade to pass the class but this time was different. Every single time I stared at a problem I just couldn’t answer it. I prayed every day in class I wouldn’t be called up to the board and work a problem in front of everyone. A month into the class and I was failing. Everything I worked for was going up in smoke due to this one stupid subject.

Even though I hated it I was glad Math was my last class of the day. My brain was fried after every lesson leaving me grateful I didn’t have to suffer through another one after it. I was almost at the door when Mr. Boroski called me aside. “Your parents will need to sign this.” He sighed passing me the quiz we just took. I wasn’t surprised to see an F at the very top. “Not your best work.”

“I know.” I grumbled, hoping he would just get the lecture over with so I could go home.

Leaning against his desk Mr. Boroski started talking again. “I know senior year is supposed to be fun and you want to live it up with your friends but you can’t neglect your studies.”

‘I’m not neglecting them, I just have no idea what the hell I’m doing.’ I thought but decided against saying it out loud. “I know, sir, I’m really trying.”

“I know you are, and it’s ok to ask for help every once and awhile which is why I assigned you a tutor.”

It felt like my eyes were going to pop out of my head. “A tutor?”

“Yes, don’t worry, it’s not me.” He laughed.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” A deep voice said from behind me. I knew who it was without even having to turn around.

Harry Styles was a transfer, mostly kept to himself. The only reason we knew he was from the UK was due to his accent. He came in during freshman year. Out of the whole time I’ve known him I don’t think I’ve really seen him hang out with anyone. That didn’t mean no one tried, I know several girls that had tried their best to get his attention but it never worked. For the most part Harry was alone, he seemed to want to keep it that way. “Yes, Harry, thanks for coming.” Mr. Boroski said. “You said a while ago you would like to start tutoring. Well I believe I’ve found your first pupil.”

Harry glanced at me briefly from what I could see behind his thick, black glasses. I could feel a blush creeping up on my face. Why was I suddenly so intimidated by this boy? When neither of us said anything Mr. Boroski spoke again. “You two can figure out some sort of schedule, I just want her to be prepared for the midterm.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry nodded.

“Well that would be it, you two have a good day.”

Without another word Harry left the room leaving me scurrying behind him. The hallways were empty with the exception of the janitor mopping on the other side of the hall. Harry didn’t say anything until we arrived at his locker. I waited by patiently as he pulled out his backpack. “All right, so what’s your schedule?” He asked suddenly making me jump.

“Uh, I’m all clear since football season ended.” I stammered. “You want to meet up tomorrow after school?”

He nodded once. “Meet me in the library at three thirty.”

I quickly agreed stepping aside so Harry could walk by. He didn’t look back as he walked out of the school. I was stunned. This was the first time I had ever spoken to him so I didn’t know what I expected.  One thing was for sure, I needed him if I was going to pass this class and graduate.

I had never told anyone I was failing any of my classes. My dad knew only because he was the only one I went to with a bad grade. He would sign them, tell me to do better and then send me on my way. My mom was a little bit more strict when it came to my grades. There had been plenty of lectures when it came to Math. They both knew it was my worst subject but I don’t think they knew just how bad it actually was. I was too embarrassed to tell my friends. For the most part they all did well in their classes. Sure, they weren’t A plus students but they all passed. They probably would have helped me if they knew but I just couldn’t bring myself to tell them.

Before I knew it school was over and I accidentally spent too much time gossipping with one of my friends. Checking my phone I realized it was almost three forty-five. “Oh, I gotta go.” I gasped, shutting my locker quickly.

“Why? Meeting up with Travis?” Lydia asked.

I turned my head so fast I’m surprised I didn’t get whiplash. “Like I would meet up with him.” Travis was on the football team. We had dated off and on since junior year until I found him making out with another girl in his car.

“Hey, I’m just saying, you haven’t dated anyone since him. I thought maybe you were going to give him another chance.”

“Absolutely not,” I cringed. “I told my grandmother I would help her with some cleaning.”

“Oh, well tell her hi for me, see you tomorrow.” She smiled before leaving me.

I hated lying to anyone, especially my best friend but what else was I gonna say? In a mad dash I ran into the library to see Harry walking towards me with his bag slung over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed earning a loud ‘shhh’ from the librarian.

Harry shook his head. “I’ve been waiting for fifteen minutes. Do you think your time is more important than mine or something?”

“No, of course not, I just got caught up with a friend and lost track of time. I’m so sorry, it won’t happen again.”

I was prepared for him to brush pass me and tell me to find another tutor but instead he turned around and walked back towards a table. “You coming?” He asked over his shoulder.

Collecting myself I followed him. He sat on one side of the table with me on the other. I pulled out my book and binder while he handed me a sheet of paper. “This is just a practice quiz I made to see where you’re at.”

I stared dumbly at the questions in front of me. While Harry worked on his own homework I began his quiz. This quiz was just like the ones in class. I would stare at the paper and wish the problems would somehow solve themselves. When that didn’t happen I would try my best to answer each question but I was sure all of it was wrong.

Right as I finished the last problem I heard a phone ding. When I saw that it wasn’t mind I noticed Harry pick up his own phone. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to leave earlier than I thought.”

“Oh, is everything ok?” I asked, sort of grateful I wouldn’t have to listen to him laugh at how stupid I was when it came to this subject.

“Huh? Oh yeah, it’s fine, my Mum just reminded me we’re having people over for dinner tonight. One of her friends from work.”

As we started packing our stuff away he reached for the quiz. “I’ll look over this tonight and we’ll talk about it tomorrow, all right?”

“Ok.” I murmured, not wanting to talk about it at all.

Without really saying goodbye we left the library and went to our own cars. As I drove home I started to dread our next session. Harry probably already had some idea of how bad I was at Math but after he grades that quiz he’ll know I’m completely clueless. I didn’t want to face that kind of judgement. If Mr. Boroski assigned him to be my tutor it was because Harry was one of his best students. Now here he was tutoring me who was on the verge of failing her senior year.

When I got home I checked my phone. No surprise, I had a few text messages from Lydia asking if I wanted to go out to eat that night with the rest of the cheerleading squad. Deciding a night out would do me some good I sent back a quick reply. With a few hours to spare before we had to meet up I decided to finish up the rest of my homework. As I started working on my History notes I thought back to the library. While I tried to work out a few problems I would glance up at Harry. With us being in the same grade I had noticed him in the halls on occasion. Every girl thought he was attractive, with his looks combined with his accent it was surprising he never really had a girlfriend. I wondered why. Obviously he was smart, but what else was there to know about him?

I spent more time daydreaming than actually doing my homework. Deciding I done enough for the moment I headed out to meet up with my friends. We usually spent our time in a small cafe in the middle of town. When I got there Lydia was already at a table with a few other girls from the squad. “Ladies,” I greeted, taking a seat beside Lydia.

“So where were you after school?” Aubrey asked, I almost wished she didn’t show up. After I broke up with Travis it didn’t take long for her to ask him out. I had never been one to cause arguments so I never said anything but it still bothered me.

“I had some studying to do.” I muttered.

“I thought you were helping your grandmother?” Lydia asked.

I suddenly remembered the lie I had originally told Lydia. “Oh right, I finished early and started studying for our Anatomy test.”

None of them seemed convinced. I knew they weren’t going to let the subject go so I quickly excused myself from the table to go order a drink. I mumbled something to the barista, I couldn’t bring myself to go back to my friends. Instead I sat down at the bar and waited for my drink. In the quiet cafe I heard the bell ding above the door indicating someone had entered. Looking over I saw Harry stroll in. Glancing between him and my friends I was torn from saying hi and just ignoring him like usual. None of my friends were ever rude to him but how would they react to me suddenly talking to him?

My thoughts were interrupted when I felt someone sit down next to me. I was surprised to see Harry taking up the stool beside me. “So I graded your quiz.” He whispered.

I cringed, this was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now. I knew what he was going to say and I wasn’t prepared for it. “Can we not talk about this here?” I asked.

Harry narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why not?”

I didn’t answer but I could hear Lydia call my name from our table. Before I had the chance to reply Harry nodded his head slightly. “I see, you don’t want to be seen talking to me?”

My eyes widened in surprise. “No, no that’s not it.” I stammered.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you tomorrow after school.”

With that he was gone faster than he arrived. I was stunned. How did he think I wouldn’t want to be seen talking to him? I had been so out of it I hadn’t even noticed the barista place my coffee in front of me. When he cleared his throat I finally snapped out of my trance and headed back to my table. “So what’s up with you and brooding Harry Styles?” Leave it to Aubrey to get straight to the point.

“Nothing.” I said quickly.

“Oh come on, I’ve never seen the guy talk to anyone and all of a sudden you’re friends with him.”

I glanced at Lydia for some kind of help but she seemed just as interested in some kind of explanation. “Really, it’s nothing.” I muttered, taking a sip of my drink, burning my tongue preventing me from saying anything else.

Surprisingly they let the subject go. Instead Aubrey started going on and on about a guy she had met at the gym. I tuned the conversation out when Lydia joined in. I was still confused by Harry’s sudden change in attitude. As far as I knew I had never seen Harry be bullied especially by anyone I was friends with. Some girls on the cheerleading squad had even asked him out on several occasions. I just didn’t get it but I had a feeling our next tutoring session would be tense.

The next day I felt sick. Partly from having to face Harry but more than likely the stomach flu that had been going around. During Home Economics I had to run out in a panic to the bathroom. By the time I got back Mrs. Turner had already contacted the office and told them to call my parents. I was home in bed by lunch. I vaguely remember my mom telling me she had to go back to work but she would be home early if I needed her. I couldn’t keep anything down and decided to lay on the couch in the living room since it was the closest to the bathroom. At some point I fell asleep and was woken up by a loud knocking. Wrapping myself up in a blanket I trudged over to the door and opened it. My mouth fell open seeing Harry standing on my front porch. He seemed just as surprised. “Oh so you really are sick?” He questioned. “I thought you were faking to get out of tutoring.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m glad you think of highly of me.”

“Sorry.”

“What do you want, Harry? And please hurry, I don’t want to throw up on your shoes.”

“I just came by to give you some worksheets from Mr. Boroski, some practice problems to help with my tutoring you.”

Reaching out I took them from him. I stared dumbly at them just as I had the practice quiz. I waited for him to bring that up but he never said anything. “Harry, I’m sorry.” I muttered.

“For what?”

“Last night, I didn’t get a chance to explain.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, yes I do.” Swallowing my pride I started talking before I could stop myself. “My friends don’t know I’m being tutored.”

“Why not?”

“I’m embarrassed, I guess, they all pass without a problem. I don’t want them to know how bad I am with this. I’m sure you already know how much I need help.”

Harry took a step closer to me. “I would never say it like that. There’s nothing wrong with needing a little help with Math.”

“Yeah, but Harry, I’m awful.”

“Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m gonna help you, just maybe not today because it looks like you’re about to fall over.”

If I looked how I felt I’m sure I looked like death warmed over. “I would appreciate it. And here.” I sighed, pulling my phone out of my hoodie pocket. “Put your number in so next time you won’t have to come here and see me look like this.”

Taking the phone I heard him laugh slightly. “You look fine, I’m just messing with you.”

A faint blush crept up my cheeks. “You don’t have to lie but I don’t want you getting sick, ok?”

After handing me the phone back he nodded once watching how I called the number he just put in, now he had mine as well. “So I’ll see you later?”

I nodded in agreement and watched as he walked down the porch steps towards his car. Once he had driven off I stepped back inside to take another nap. It was nighttime by the time I woke up. Rolling over I reached over for my phone. Only one text message was on the screen from a new number. I re-read the words over and over again knowing it was from him. ‘Feel better x.’ With just a simple message I started to feel a little better about everything going on in my life.

The next day my mom still wasn’t sure about letting me go to school. Insisting I needed one more day of rest she let me stay home. Another day spent in bed only this time I was beyond bored. I glanced at the worksheets Harry brought by. If I wasn’t going to see him for tutoring the least I could do would be to just try and work on these problems. Pulling out notes I had taken from class I tried to use the techni ques Mr. Boroski taught us in class. I was able to work out the first few but the rest didn’t come as easily. I finished what I could and called it a day.

My mom let me go back to school that Friday. I was actually glad to be back but soon realized I missed more than I originally thought. In high school things change quickly. In the two days I was gone Lydia had began dating Travis. I felt sick all over again. I didn’t have feelings for him anymore but seeing my best friends dating my ex sent a whole new wave of nausea through me. When she asked if I was meeting up with him she was testing the waters to see if I had any feelings left for him. I said no so she took that as the go ahead to start seeing him officially. It hurt even more to hear Aubrey had encouraged the whole thing. In the blink of an eye my whole world turned upside down. My two best friends had betrayed me and I felt more alone than ever.

Even though I had missed two whole days of classes I couldn’t bring myself to sit in a classroom where everyone knew the current situation. I held it together at first but soon found myself sitting in a corner in the back of the library. When I was finally alone I broke down. Tears fell down my cheeks leaving droplets on my jeans. I knew I missed my first two classes but didn’t bother standing to go to the rest. I thought about leaving all together, it was Friday it would give me the weekend to pull myself together. I was still considering my options when I heard someone clear their throat. “This is where I go when I need to get away from everyone too.” Harry spoke making me pick my head up.

Quickly wiping my face with my jacket sleeve I asked. “Y-you want your spot back?”

“No,” He sighed walking over to sit down beside me. “No, I think you need it more than I do.”

Sighing in frustration I choked out. “So you’ve heard about it too?”

“Word gets around in a small school like this, even I bound to hear about it.” He explained. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not, if you were you would be in class with your head held high. Not sitting in the back of a library, crying.”

He was right, of course. “I just didn’t know how to face it all. I was gone for two days and everyone I thought I could trust betrayed me. I think you’ve got it right, don’t be friends with anyone...you don’t get hurt that way.”

Leaning his head back against the bookshelves he said. “Don’t say that, you’ve got plenty of people that care about you. Don’t let a few assholes ruin that for you.”

I didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “Why do you never talk to anyone?”

Harry seemed surprised by my sudden change in conversation. “No reason.”

“There has to be some reason. I won’t judge you, I promise, I’m just curious.”

He opened his mouth and shut it again. It was like he was considering his answer before he said it. “I guess...when I moved here I was terrified. A brand new place, I was shy to the point of shutting myself off. You all have gone to school together since you were kids, I guess I would never fit in so I didn’t bother trying.”

“So you’re not some mysterious, lost soul, you were just too lazy to make friends?” I joked.

It worked, it was the first time I ever heard him really laugh. “I wouldn’t say I was lazy,” He chuckled. “Maybe I was just waiting for someone else to make the first move.”

Just when I think I may be figuring this guy out he throws me a curveball. Was he being flirty? I didn’t have the nerve to find out. Reaching into my bag I pulled out the worksheets from the night before. “I finished a few last night but I couldn’t work them all out.” I told him.

Shuffling the papers in his hands he said. “I may have lied to you, Mr. Boroski didn’t give me these. I made them myself so I could see just what you could and couldn’t do.”

“Well obviously it’s not a whole lot.” I grumbled.

“Don’t beat yourself up like that,” He chastised. “Now that I know what you can do it’ll make tutoring you easier. We can skip over certain areas and just concentrate on the important parts.”

It made sense. Here I thought he was going to mock me but instead he just needed to know how and what to teach me. “Thanks, Harry.”

“For what?”

“For taking the time to tutor me, I’m sure you would rather be doing anything else.”

“Hey, like you said I don’t really have any friends so I don’t really have anything else to do.”

“Well consider me flattered.”

“You should,” He countered, pushing himself off the floor he held his hand out to me. “Come on, I know hiding out in here is tempting but you have to face it sometime.”

I knew he was right. Placing my hand in his I let him pull me up off the floor. When I was standing upright he continued to hold my hand. Looking up into his green eyes I wanted to say something else but had nothing in mind. “Thanks,” I blurted.

“No problem, how about we go to my house instead? I think you’ve spent enough time in the library today.”

I agreed as we began walking out of the library together. Stepping into the halls felt like I suddenly walked into a fish tank. It seemed like all eyes were on me, waiting to see how I would react. Taking a deep breath I trudged forward vaguely aware of Harry walking along beside me. Everything was going ok until I spotted Lydia and Travis walking hand in hand. I froze, here they were, they never even noticed me but they were all I could focus on. A shoulder gently connecting with mine pulled me out of my thoughts. Glancing over Harry was looking down at me with a sympathetic look. “Everything’s ok, just ignore them.”

His voice was soothing, instantly calming my frazzled state. With him beside me I continued on until we got to my next class. “I’ve got Chemistry...see you later?” He asked.

I nodded my head, watching on as he walked away. I still wanted to leave, this day was a lost cause, but maybe if I had someone like Harry in my corner it will all be ok. “I got this.” I whispered as I went to my seat.

The rest of the day went by smoothly. I kept to myself when I wasn’t around Harry. No one from the cheerleading squad talked to me, which I expected. It seemed like they all took a side early on and it wasn’t mine. For the rest of the night I kept my head down, speaking only to my teachers. Whenever my class would end Harry would meet up with me in the hall. He didn’t really speak, he was mostly there for silent support.

When the final bell rang he found me by my locker. “Just follow me to my house. My mum shouldn’t be home for a few hours.”

I agreed as I gathered my books. We walked out together, him leading me to my car before going to his own. I waited a few minutes before he started driving with him following close behind. He lived about ten minutes away in a nice subdivision. Manicured lawns, older women walking their prissy dogs, it was pretty nice. Harry pulled into the driveway of a two story brick house with red shutters. No other cars were in the driveway but I didn’t think anything of it since he already said his mom was going to be gone.

Without saying anything he led me inside. “You want something to drink?” He asked, going over to the fridge.

“No, thank you,” I said noticing how relaxed Harry seemed to be in his own environment.

He had taken off his thick sweater leaving him in a plain white T-shirt. It was the first time I had ever noticed how toned his arms were. I had noticed never his rings before either, just how many did this boy own?

As I started unpacking my bag Harry came over to sit down next to me. “So where do we start?” I asked.

“First I want to say what I’ve noticed, when you get nervous, you shut down. Math makes you nervous so you give up on the problem.”

“It’s not that I’m nervous, I’m just clueless.”

“But you were able to figure out some of these problems, what made these different?” He asked, holding up the first worksheet I was able to finish.

“I guess because Mr. Boroski taught us different ways to solve them.”

“Well there you go, just because you didn’t learn one way doesn’t mean you’re bad at Math. It just means you learn differently.”

For the next two hours Harry went over several different ways for me to work out whatever problem was in front of me. By the end of it he watched on as I began my homework. When I finished he held out his hand to check it. I stared at his face as his eyes scanned the paper. His focus was on the sheet in front of him leaving me to be able to really analyze his features. He had the most beautiful green eyes. His lips formed a pout, occasionally he would bite his bottom lip when he was really concentrating. A few times he would run his hand through his cropped brown hair messing it up slightly.

Our eyes met when he finally looked up. “Good job, just remember to show all of your work. Mr. Boroski is a stickler for that.”

“Oh, ok,” I murmured.

Standing up from the table he walked around to the pantry. “You hungry?”

“I should probably get home.” I said even though I really didn’t want to leave just yet.

“No, stay,” He urged. “It’s Friday night and after the week you’ve had I think you deserve a nice meal.”

“You cook?” I questioned, watching on as he began pulling items from the pantry.

“Occasionally,” He smirked. “Fajitas are my specialty.”

“Well at least let me help you. Cooking relaxes me.” I smiled rising from my seat to join him at the stove.

It was like we had been friends for years. I was able to get him talking about stuff other than school. I learned about his home in England, his older sister who was going to University in London, that he moved to the US with his mom when she got a new job in town. He was like an open book once I got him talking. There was one subject I was hesitant to ask about though. After a while I wondered if he was seeing anyone.

Our food was finished and we were sitting back at the table when I worked up enough courage to ask. “So...I know you said you’re private but...have you dated anyone since moving here?”

He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes going from me to his plate. Taking a deep sip of water he sighed. “I did...sophomore year.”

With that answer I could tell it didn’t end well. I didn’t want to push the subject any further but he continued. “She was in college.” He explained. “I met her in town and I lied about my age. I told her I was eighteen and somehow she believed me.”

“Wow, I never thought you would be the type to do something like that.”

“I was in love...or I thought I was. I decided to surprise her one day and I found her in bed with someone else. I was devastated. I closed myself off completely so I would never feel that way again.”

I was shocked. I couldn’t believe someone would treat him like that. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”

Shaking his head he reached over to pat my arm. “It’s not your fault. I know not everyone would do that to me I just...didn’t want to take the chance. Not like it matters much anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath. “I’m moving back to London after I graduate. I’ve already been accepted to University.”

A small piece of my heart broke. Here I was getting to know this guy and it wouldn’t matter in a few months. He was leaving, he had a plan and I knew I wouldn’t be able to change that.

Pushing my plate aside I suddenly didn’t have much of an appetite anymore. “It’s getting late, I better get going.”

“Let me walk you out.”

I wish he wouldn’t but he was too much of a gentleman. He walked me all the way to my car. “Just a heads up, Mr. Boroski is giving out a pop quiz on Monday.” He said opening the door for me.

“Great, just the thing I need on a Monday.” I frowned.

“Hey, don’t worry, you’re going to do fine. If not then I’ll help you with whatever gives you issue.” He told me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

His touch sent a shiver down my spine. I knew it, I had a full blown crush on this guy. It had hit me harder than any guy I had ever been with. A thrilling feeling in my stomach instantly turned to dread when I thought back to him telling me about him moving. Mumbling a quick goodbye I climbed into my car and drove home. Images of him smiling filled my head, his laugh could still be heard. This boy was taking over my entire being but I couldn’t let him. It would only end in heartbreak.

I spent my weekend at home. To distract myself from thinking about Harry I cleaned my entire bedroom from top to bottom. Went through my closet and donated old clothes I never wore, dusted the furniture, and put away pictures of me along with Lydia and Aubrey. Neither had spoken to me since I found out about Lydia and Travis. It wasn’t surprising but it still hurt they wouldn’t try to reach out. I guess my dad was right when he said I wouldn’t be friends with everyone I went to high school with. I just thought we would stop being friends after we graduated. I never expected us to drift apart while we were still in the middle of our senior year.

Even though I had tried my best to not think of him whenever I had a spare minute Harry would take over my thoughts. I wanted to continue to get to know him, to make him laugh, hear about his favorite books or movies. I just wanted to be around him. The boy had taken over my life without even trying.

On Sunday afternoon I tried reading a book I had been meaning to read for a while. I stared at the same page for what felt like hours but the words wouldn’t sink in. When I felt my phone vibrate beside me I picked it up in an instant. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” Harry spoke. “I was just calling to see if you’re prepared for tomorrow’s quiz.”

“Uh, about as ready as I’ll ever be,” I sighed, I hoped my disappointment couldn’t be heard in my voice. He finally calls me and it’s because he wanted to talk about school?

“You’ll be fine, I’m telling you if you can’t work out a problem one way just use one of the other techniques I taught you.”

“I will, thanks,” I mumbled.

I wanted to ask him out. Maybe we could do something that didn’t involve tutoring. The question was on the tip of my tongue when he said he had to go. He wished me good luck and hung up the phone. Falling backwards on my bed I wanted to let out a frustrated scream. I was never one to be so hopeless with a guy. I fell asleep that night still thinking about Harry wishing somehow things would work out the way I wanted them to.

School was back to normal. No one stared at me in the hallways or talked about me behind my back. I was still alone but I prefered it that way at the moment. Unfortunately Harry was nowhere to be found. Even though I wanted to be around him I missed how he made me feel more secure with him walking with me. When I still hadn’t seen him after lunch I started to get nervous. By the time Math class rolled around I felt even more anxious. I was sure I was going to bomb the quiz but after seeing the problems in front of me everything Harry had taught me came rushing back. For the first time I was able to work everything out and actually feel confident in my answers. Even Mr. Boroski seemed surprised when I was one of the first to turn in my quiz. “I’ll grade it right now,” He whispered.

I stood at his desk with a lump in my throat as I watched his red pen glide over my paper. Finally, after what felt like hours he passed it back to me. My mouth fell open in shock when I saw the eighty at the top. “Good job.” He said.

I wanted to squeal in happiness. This had been my first passing grade all semester. When the bell rang I searched the halls for Harry. Through the crowd of people I spotted him at his locker. Without even saying anything I all but crashed into him, wrapping my arms around his waist from behind. He seemed surprised as he tried his best to turn around. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” I grinned.

Gently he wrapped his fingers around my wrists to unlock them from around his torso. He turned to face me with a smile of his own on his face. “What’s this about?”

Holding my quiz in front of my face I exclaimed. “Look! I passed!”

“I told you don’t worry about it, you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.”

I couldn’t contain myself anymore. I was so happy and grateful for him my body just moved on its own. Stepping closer to him I raised my head up until my lips connected with his. It was a quick peck but time seemed to freeze. After I took a step back the realization of what I had done hit me like a ton of bricks. Harry stood in the same spot, his eyes as wide as saucers. His mouth slightly hung open in shock. “Uh...I have to go.” He mumbled, slamming his locker and brushing past me.

I stood around in disbelief and embarrassment. Did that really just happen? Did I just ruin everything in a split second? The joy I felt when I saw my grade was gone, now I just wished I could take it all back. I wanted to apologize but didn’t want to face him again. Crumpling up my quiz I headed outside to the parking lot. Harry’s car was long gone along with my hope of him becoming anything more than my tutor.

When I got home I was relieved to see no one else was back yet. I needed some time to myself after what happened in the hallway. Falling onto the couch I started watching some sort of movie on Netflix but I stopped paying attention when the cute teenage couple began making out. I was still mad at myself. How could I do that? Now not only will Harry hate me but he will definitely stop being my tutor after that.

I was in the middle of my self-loathing when I heard the doorbell ring. Dragging myself over to the door I almost fell over when I saw Harry standing on the other side. “Harry.” I breathed not knowing where this conversation was going.

“I’m sorry for running off like that.” He sighed, his hands stuffed into his jean pockets.

“It’s ok, I did kind of jump you.”

“No, no, it’s not that. I mean, you did surprise me but I’m not mad that you did it.” He explained.

Now he was just confusing me. “Then why did you run away like that?”

“Because you fucking terrify me. This terrifies me.” He said, his voice rising slightly. “I’ve had walls up for so long I don’t know how to take them down. I haven’t let myself care about anyone since my ex. I don’t want to go through that again.”

“I understand that, Harry, but I don’t have the best track record with guys either. Most have either cheated on me or just...lost interest.” I frowned, I hadn’t told him that much about my previous love life but if we were being honest I needed him to know. “I’m scared too, you know.”

“How about this? We take whatever this is slow because...I do want to see where this goes.”

The sides of my mouth tugged up into a smile. “I would like that.”

With a smirk on his face he took a step forward. “Is this slow enough?” He asked, leaning his head down so his breath hit me in the face. “You took me off guard earlier...I want to make our first kiss a little better than that.”

“Then maybe you should move a little faster.” I whispered.

Without missing a beat he leaned down until his lips connected with mine. My arms were quick to wrap around his neck while I felt his rest on my hips. Kissing him felt even better than I originally thought. His lips were soft and fit perfectly against mine. He didn’t push anything further, we both seemed content with just a simple kiss. When he pulled away he rested his forehead against mine. “We still need to work on your Math homework though.”

I groaned. “Fine, if you say so but I want a date at some point.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Our future may still be uncertain but I knew I could face it with Harry by my side. It would take some time but maybe we would be able to help each other.

[floweringthewords]

Untitled pt. 3 - Daily Grind

Sleep came slowly, like a dizzy haze. First it was nothingness, sweet as any dream. But then the reoccurrence came into focus, fading in from the black to the white of morning light, waking up but still in within a dream. It was just the same as I woke up every morning. The movie began to play out with a faint golden silhouette, gold blonde hair framing her face. Her delicate hands run through them as she stretches. I remember thinking her body had more curves than the Nile river. Every time, I could never believe I got to wake up to that each day. A smile graces her lips, half of her face cloaked by the white light. She leans down and presses her mouth to mine. My arms slip around her like a blanket, except she was the one to give me warmth. I run the back of my hand against her smooth back, her skin smoother than velvet. I was always comforted most when I had her in my embrace. She was my drug and my medicine. She was twice the dosage. “Morning,” she hums, her face in my neck. My mouth opens to respond but no sound comes out as I speak. She frowns. “Everything okay?” I swallow and try again, cupping her cheek. Her eyes glisten softly, grinning at me. She rolls and climbs on top of me. “C’mon, speak up. Life gave you a good mouth for a reason.” She smirks before giggling and climbs off. I reach for my throat, trying to cough. I could feel my voice working, but it was like I was mute. Neither of us could hear me and I could feel my panic rising. Ava stands from the bed, staring out the window. “Alright, you coming with, boss?” I get up and reach for her, but my hand goes through her like fog. My fingers felt frail without being able to feel her, and I grasp harder, my hand closing in a fist in hopes that she would become solid. The light gets brighter, the white too much to face. I squint, holding my arm above my eyes to block it off. I try to look at her, but she only melted into the light, walking further as she waited for me to follow, not even looking behind, confident I was already following. The light starts to scorch my skin, then my eyes, and I attempt a scream, the white turning to fire and pouring itself down my throat until the sound finally rips through, her name bellowing out in a piercing, haunting echo.

[girls-scenarios]

Let It Happen

Idol: Sana (Twice)

Prompt: Can you do a Twice Sana scenario (she isn't an idol) where you're both in college and she's the social Communications major and you're the quiet, sarcastic Accounting major and you both get paired for a project even though you have very different personalities

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: I swear I’ve gotten similar prompts to this 4 times, just with different idols. Also, I geeked out a bit writing this and went back to all the interpersonal communication classes I’ve taken so there’s a lot of actual theory and technical terms in here. Anyways, hope you all enjoy!

“They hate me. They hate me and we’re going to fail this project and I’m going to lose my hard-earned 3.7 GPA.” Jihyo looked up from her textbook and made a face at the girl currently wallowing on her bed.

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic, Sana? You don’t know for sure they hate you.” Sana whined and buried her face in Jihyo’s pillow, causing the older girl to grimace. She’d just washed those sheets.

“Of course they hate me. We’ve been in this class for two months together and the only sentence they’ve spoken to me was something super sarcastic.” Sana turned her head to look at Jihyo, trying her best to look like a kicked puppy. “Don’t you understand what I mean now?”

“You’be only sat at the same table once, it’s no surprise that you’ve only talked once as well. Maybe they’re shy.”

“If they were shy, I doubt they’d make that type of comment.”

“And I doubt they meant it to be taken the way you took it.” As she spoke, Jihyo turned back to her book, underlining something important with her pen. Sana opened her mouth to reply, but the door flew open with a bang, scaring the reply she was going to give out of her. Jungyeon strolled inside, bags of chips piled in her arms and backpack hanging loosely off one shoulder. Behind her followed Nayeon, Mina, and Momo, who had bags of drinks held tightly in her fists.

“We brought snacks,” Jungyeon said, glancing between Jihyo at the desk and Sana on the bed. “Is Sana still having a crisis over that classmate she has to work with in her interpersonal communications class?” With a loud whimper, Sana buried her face in the pillow once again.

“I think that’s a yes.” Nayeon dropped her bag by the door as she spoke. “I don’t see why this has to be such a huge deal. Do the assignment and get it over with, then you’ll never have to talk to them again. Probably.”

“It’s not that easy, especially since I’m sure they hate me. I don’t even know what I did.” Sana’s voice was muffled by the fabric, making Jungyeon snicker. Momo elbowed her in the side before responding.

“If you don’t know what you did, then I doubt you did anything. Don’t worry about it so much, there’s much better things to spend your time thinking about.”

“Like our biology test tomorrow,” Mina added. already beginning to take out her textbooks. Sana immediately sat up, eyes wind. This time Jungyeon moved away from Momo to snicker at the hair sticking straight up at her forehead.

“Shit. I forgot.” Mina raised her eyebrows and pulled out her packet of notes almost as big as the textbook itself. Nayeon shuddered.

“So, should we begin?”

This was it. This was how it ended. Suddenly a study room that Sana had been in many times seemed like the portal to hell, and she was tempted to bolt and not stop until she was at her dorm and safe behind Mina’s fortress of textbooks. To any normal person, the room seemed normal. A long plain table, three chairs on each side, a whiteboard, a small TV to hook up laptops for presentations. But it wasn’t the setup that was making her nervous. No, it was the fact that you were sitting right inside, elbows on the table as you scrolled through something on your phone. Sana had never been one to be intimidated by talking or working with other people, but somehow....

She took a deep breath and set her shoulders, shirting her backpack up before walking over to the study room and opening the door. You looked up at the noise, eyebrows raised, before giving her a small smile and taking one last glance at your phone as you turned it off. Sana’s chest tightened but she ignored it. She could do this.

“Hey. Sorry, am I late?” You shook your head.

“No, you aren’t. I just got here a bit early.” Sana set her backpack down on the floor as you put your phone in your pocket and opened your laptop. “Do you know what topic we were chosen to present on? I didn’t put that in my notes.” At your words, she quickly unzipped her backpack and dug around inside until she found the folder and notebook for the class.

“I think it was one of the relationship theories… Yeah, Social Penetration Theory.” She held up the assignment paper and closed her folder. “It should be easy, the theory is pretty self-explanatory.” She handed you the paper before digging in her backpack again for her laptop, and you looked at it for a minute before looking back at her, expression concerned.

“It is?” Confused, she looked up.

“Yes?” You frowned and looked back down at the paper. “We’re just talking relational closeness and explaining the layers of closeness.”

“It actually doesn’t make much sense to me. Math I can understand, but I don’t understand how our interpersonal relationships are related to onions.” Her mouth dropped open a bit as she slowly dropped her laptop on the desk.

“Oh.”

“I’m not doing very well in this class, basically.” You grimaced, and Sana felt the pressure that had been in her chest lifting.

“I can help you! I’m a communications major. The way our teacher explains the theories is confusing, but I can make it simple.” It was your turn for your mouth to drop open, and Sana pushed on. “If you want, I can tutor you or something. I’ll teach you the theory as we work on the project. We can raise your grade.” You were quiet as you put the paper down and glanced at the screen on your laptop. The pressure on her chest was gone, but now there were some annoying butterflies beginning to pop up in Sana’s stomach. Finally, you responded.

“Are you sure? There’s honestly a lot of catching up I need to do.”

“I’m sure! I like helping people.” You gave her a smile, and the butterflies multiplied.

“Thanks, Sana. I appreciate it.”

“I offered to tutor them.”

“If you don’t stop coming over just to mope on my bed I’m going to stop letting you in.” Jihyo didn’t even look up from her laptop as she spoke, making Sana whine.

“I’m having a crisis. They’re cute. I didn’t realize that they were cute and they’re not good at communication and now I have to spend every Friday alone with them in the library.”

“Good for you.” Jihyo highlighted a piece of her essay. “Get some.”

“I hate you.”

“Good. Go mope somewhere else, this research essay is due tomorrow and I can’t concentrate with you talking my ear off.” With a pout, Sana rolled off the bed and grabbed her backpack. As she put on her shoes, Jihyo turned around and gave her a small smile. “Good luck on your shit.”

“Thanks.” Sana shifted her backpack up on her shoulder and grinned as she opened the door. “Good luck on yours.” She closed the door behind her and looked down at her phone, checking the time. The sun was lower in the sky than it had been when she left class, and her stomach grumbled, reminding her of the fact that she hadn’t eaten since lunch, when she grabbed a sandwich from the mess hall before class. It took about five seconds of thought for her to decide that eating was better than standing around outside Jihyo’s dorm room, so she shoved her phone into her pocket and tripped her way down the stairs and out into the chilly air.

The easiest place to eat was the mess hall, so she headed back, debating whether she should get pizza or go a more healthy route with a salad. By the time she’d made it inside the building, she’d added a hamburger and fries to the list of possible options instead of narrowing it down. She was about to call Mina and ask her to decide for her when a familiar voice called her name. She spun around, only to come face-to-face with you.

“Oh, (Y/N). Fancy meeting you here,” she said. You laughed.

“Do you always say weird things when people surprise you?”  She grinned back at you, the butterflies back to life in her stomach. People moved past the two of you, backpacks bumping against shoulders.

“Yep. You’ve just peeled the first layer of the onion.” Your face twisted in confusion at her words.

“What?”

“Social Penetration Theory. You’ve learned something about me that I didn’t tell you, but you instead realized through interacting with me.”

“Ohhh. I guess that makes some sense.” The smile returned to your face, and Sana’s heart jumped. “I’m just here trying to eat and I ended up getting a mini lecture.”

“Speaking of eating. I have to ask you something.”

“This isn’t about onions or communication, right?” She covered her mouth as she giggled, shaking her head.

“No, it’s more important. Pizza, salad, or hamburger?”

“Well, I was going to get pizza myself,” you said.

“Then that’s what I’ll get. Otherwise I’ll just end up standing here for hours trying to decide.” You rolled your eyes and shook your head, waving one hand to indicate for her to follow you. She grinned widely and easily fell into step beside you. Somewhere in the back of her head, she figured she shouldn’t fall for someone so quickly. But somewhere else in the back of her head, a little voice whispered that she’d been attracted for much longer than she wanted to admit, and nothing good ever came from not trying.

“So you’re bad at making decisions?” You asked.

“Well, sometimes. But other times I’m good. I made one just now, actually. And I’m pretty sure about it.”

[leviathangourmet]

Washington Irving High School, 2001–2004

My NYC teaching career began a few days before September 11, 2001 at Washington Irving High School. It was a short honeymoon period;  the classes watched skeptically as I introduced them to a method of teaching French using virtually no English. Although the students weren’t particularly engaged, they remained respectful. During first period on that awful day there was a horrendous split-second noise. A plane flew right overhead a mere moment before it blasted into the north tower of the World Trade Center. At break time word was spreading among the staff.  Both towers were hit and one had already come down. When I went to my next class I told the students what had happened. There was an eruption of rejoicing at the news. Many students clapped and whooped their approval, some getting out of their seats to do a sort of victory dance. It was an eye-opener, and indicative of what was to come.

The next three years were a nightmare. The school always teetered on the verge of chaos. The previous principal had just been dismissed and shunted to another school district. Although it was never stated, all that was expected of teachers was to keep students in their seats and the volume down. This was an enormous school on five floors, with students cordoned off into separate programs. There was even a short-lived International Baccalaureate Program, but it quickly failed. Whatever the program, however, the atmosphere of the school was one of danger and deceit. Guards patrolled the hallways, sometimes the police had to intervene. Even though the security guards carefully screened the students at the metal detectors posted at every entrance, occasionally arms crept in. Girls sometimes managed to get razors in, the weapon of choice against rivals for boys’ attention. Although I don’t know of other arms found in the school (teachers were kept in the dark as much as possible), one particularly disruptive and dangerous boy was stabbed one afternoon right outside school. It appears he came to a violent death a few years later. What a tragic waste of human potential.

As the weeks dragged painfully into months, it became apparent that the students wouldn’t learn anything. It was dumbfounding. It was all I could do to keep them quiet; that is, seated and talking among themselves. Sometimes I had to stop girls from grooming themselves or each other. A few brave souls tried to keep up with instruction. A particularly good history teacher once told me that she interrupted a conversation between two girls, asking them to pay attention to the lesson. One of them looked up at her scornfully and sneered, “I don’t talk to teachers,” turning her back to resume their chat. She told me that the best school she ever worked at was in Texas, where her principal managed not only to suspend the most disruptive students for long periods, he also made sure they were not admitted during that time to any other school in the district. It worked; they got good results.

This was unthinkable in New York, where “in-house suspension” was the only punitive measure. It would be “discriminatory” to keep the students at home. The appropriate paperwork being filed, the most outrageously disruptive students went for a day or two to a room with other serious offenders. The anti-discrimination laws under which we worked took all power away from the teachers and put it in the hands of the students.

Throughout Washington Irving there was an ethos of hostile resistance. Those who wanted to learn were prevented from doing so. Anyone who “cooperated with the system” was bullied. No homework was done. Students said they couldn’t do it because if textbooks were found in their backpacks, the offending students would be beaten up. This did not appear to be an idle threat. Too many students told their teachers the same thing. There were certainly precious few books being brought home.

I tried everything imaginable to overcome student resistance. Nothing worked. At one point I rearranged the seating to enable the students who wanted to engage to come to the front of the classroom. The principal was informed and I was reprimanded. This was “discriminatory.” The students went back to their chosen seats near their friends. Aside from imposing order, the only thing I succeeded at was getting the students to stand silently during the Pledge of Allegiance and mumble a few songs in French. But it was a constant struggle as I tried to balance going through the motions of teaching with keeping them quiet.

The abuse from students never let up. We were trained to absorb it. By the time I left, however, I had a large folder full of the complaint forms I’d filled out documenting the most egregious insults and harassment. There was a long process to go through each time. The student had a parent or other representative to state their case at the eventual hearing and I had my union rep. I lost every case.

Actually, the girls were meaner than the boys. The latter did not engage at all. They simply ignored me. Except for the delinquents among them, the boys didn’t make trouble. The girls on the other hand could be malicious. One girl even called me a “fucking white bitch.” It was confidence-destroying and extremely stressful. I was often reported to the principal for one transgression or another, like taking a sheet of paper from a student. Once I was even reprimanded for calmly taking my own cellphone from a girl who’d held on to it for half an hour, refusing all my requests to hand it back. The administration was consistently on the side of the student. The teacher was the fall guy, every time.

The abuse ranged from insults to outright violence, although I myself was never physically attacked. Stories abounded, however, of hard substances like bottles of water being thrown at us, teachers getting smacked on the head from behind, pushed in stairwells, and having doors slammed in our faces. The language students used was consistently obscene. By far the most commonly heard word throughout the school, literally hundreds of times a day, like a weapon fired indiscriminately, was “nigga.” The most amazing story from those painful years was the time I said it myself.

Sometimes you just have had enough. One day a girl sitting towards the back of the classroom shouted at some boy up front, “Yo! Nigga! Stop that!” I stood up as tall as I could and said in my most supercilious voice, “I don’t know which particular nigga the young lady is referring to, but whoever it is, would you please stop it.” The kids couldn’t believe their ears:

“Yo, miss!  You can’t say that!” “Why not? You say it all the time.” “Uhh…  Because you’re old.” “That’s not why. Come on, tell the truth.”

This went on for a bit, until one brave lad piped up: “Because you’re white.” “Okay,” I said, “because I’m white. Well what if I said to you, ‘You’re not allowed to say some word because you’re black.’ Would that be okay?” They admitted that it wouldn’t. No one seemed to report it. To this day, it’s puzzling that I didn’t lose my job over that incident. I put it down to basic human decency.

Of course my teaching method had to be largely scrapped. The kids didn’t listen to me in either French or English. But they had a certain begrudging respect for me, I think because I told them the truth. I’d plead with them, “Look, kids, you’re destroying yourselves. Yes, the system stinks, but it’s the only show in town. Please, please don’t do this to yourselves. Education is your only way out.” But it was useless. I didn’t possess whatever magic some teachers have that explains their success, however limited.

Aside from the history teacher from Texas, other Washington Irving educators stood out as extraordinary, and this in an unimaginably bad learning environment. One was a cheerful Lebanese math teacher who had been felled as a child by polio. He called himself “the million dollar man” because of his handicapped parking permit, quite a handy advantage in Manhattan. Although he could only walk on crutches, he kept those kids in line! His secret? A lovely way about him and complete but polite disdain for his students. Where he came from, students were not allowed to act that way. Another was a German teacher, the wife of a Lutheran minister. Her imposing presence—she fit the valkyrie stereotype—kept those mouths closed. You could hear a pin drop in her unusually tidy classroom, and she managed to teach some German to the few hardy souls who wanted to learn it.

The most impressive of all was a handsome black American from Minnesota. He towered over us all, both physically and what the French call morally. He exuded an aura that inspired something like awe in his colleagues and students. I think he taught social studies. He was the only teacher who got away with blacking out his classroom door window, which added to his mystique. He engaged his students by concentrating their efforts on putting together a fashion show at the end of each school year. They designed and produced the outfits they strutted proudly on the makeshift catwalk, looking as elegant and confident as any supermodel. To tumultuous applause. They deserved it.

Although the school was always on the verge of hysteria and violence, it had all the trappings of the typical American high school. There were class trips and talent shows, rings and year books—even caps and gowns and graduation. High school diplomas were among the trappings, handed out to countless 12th graders with, from my observation, a 7th grade education. The elementary schools had a better record. But everyone knew that once the kids hit puberty, it became virtually impossible under the laws in force to teach those who were steeped in ghetto and gangster culture, and those—the majority—who were bullied into succumbing to it.

Students came to school for their social life. The system had to be resisted. It was never made explicit that it was a “white” system that was being rejected, but it was implicit in oft-made remarks. Youngsters would say things like, “You can’t say that word, that be a WHITE word!” It did no good to remind students that some of the finest oratory in America came from black leaders like Martin Luther King and some of the best writing from authors like James Baldwin. I would tell them that there was nothing wrong with speaking one’s own dialect; dialects in whatever language tend to be colorful and expressive, but it was important to learn standard English as well. It opens minds and doors. Every new word learned adds to one’s wealth, and there’s nothing like grammar for organizing one’s thoughts.

It all fell on deaf ears. It was impossible to dispel the students’ delusions. Astonishingly, they believed that they would do just fine and have great futures once they got to college! They didn’t seem to know that they had very little chance of getting into anything but a community college, if that. Sadly, the kids were convinced of one thing: As one girl put it, “I don’t need an 85 average to get into Hunter; I’m black, I can get in with a 75.” They were actually encouraged to be intellectually lazy.

The most Dantesque scene I witnessed at Washington Irving was a “talent show” staged one spring afternoon. The darkened auditorium was packed with excited students, jittery guidance counselors, teachers, and guards. Music blasted from the loudspeakers, ear-splitting noise heightened the frenzy. To my surprise and horror, the only talent on display was merely what comes naturally. Each act was a show of increasingly explicit dry humping. As each group of performers vied with the previous act to be more outrageous, chaos was breaking out in the screaming audience. Some bright person in charge finally turned off the sound, shut down the stage lights, and lit up the auditorium, causing great consternation among the kids, but it quelled the growing mass hysteria. The students came to their senses. The guards (and NYC policemen if memory serves) managed to usher them out to safety.

Once, on two consecutive days, enormous Snapple dispensers on a mezzanine were pushed to the floor below. Vending machines had to be removed for the students’ safety. On another occasion, two chairs were chucked out of the building, injuring a woman below. Bad press and silly excuses ensued. Another time, word spread that a gang of girls was going to beat up a Mexican girl. There was a huge crush of students who preferred to skip the next class to go see the brawl. The hallway was packed, there was pushing and shoving, causing a stampede. I was caught in it and fell to the ground; kids stepped over me elbowing each other in the crush of bodies. Eventually, a student helped me to my feet. Badly shaken, I was taken to the nurse’s office. My blood pressure was dangerously high; I was encouraged to see a doctor, but declined. My husband came and brought me home.

Shortly thereafter, the teachers union (United Federation of Teachers, or UFT) fought the Department of Education, which had recently loosened the already lax disciplinary rulings. They organized a press conference and asked me to speak at it about the worsening security situation. The principal refused me permission to leave even though my supportive assistant principal found a fellow language teacher to take over my classes. As soon as school was out, though, a union rep implored me to rush downtown with him as the press conference was still going on. Questioned by reporters in front of the cameras, I spoke about the stampede. There was a brief segment on the local evening news.  The principal was furious, and the next morning screamed at me in the lobby that I was a publicity seeker who just wanted to give the school a bad name. However, the UFT was successful in this case, as the former, less inadequate disciplinary measures were restored, and things went back to their usual level of simmering chaos.

Although it was clear that my generally robust mental state was deteriorating, I did not want to quit. The UFT encouraged me to go into counseling; I didn’t see the point but acquiesced and agreed to see one of their social workers for therapy. Her stance seemed to be, “What is a nice girl like you doing in a place like that?” I started to write about the situation to people in authority. The UFT president Randi Weingarten and the DoE head Joel Klein were among the recipients of my letters detailing the problems we faced. I visited my local city councilman, who listened politely. I did not receive a single response.

Soon thereafter, my beloved husband died after a brief illness. The students knew, so were somewhat subdued when I returned to work. But one afternoon a girl, I forget why, muttered “you fucking bitch.” I finally broke. I screamed at the whole class and insisted that they all get out of the classroom. Furiously. Any physical contact was strictly forbidden between staff and students, so my voice alone did the job. It was also strictly forbidden to send one student out of the classroom, never mind the whole class. The good-hearted teacher next door came to my aid. The administration took pity on me and did not press charges.

In the meantime, the UFT somehow found the “nice girl” a job at Brooklyn Technical High School. There was one going for a French and Italian teacher, as there were not enough classes for another full-time French teacher.

Brooklyn Tech, 2004–2009

Brooklyn Tech was considered one of New York’s “top three” high schools. Students had to test in. My first principal was a big, jolly black man, but he got caught on a minor offense and was sent packing. His misdeed was bringing his daughter to school in New York from their home in New Jersey, which, although against the rules, was hardly unheard of. There was a $20 million restructuring fund in the offing for his replacement. The new principal ended the unruly after-school program that purportedly prepared underprivileged children for the entrance exam. Disruptive behavior subsequently dropped considerably.

The new principal ‘s word was law. Under the last-in-first-out system, my job was never secure. Most students were the children of recently arrived immigrants from Asia, Latin America, and Eastern Europe. A minority were from older Irish and Jewish immigrant families. The many obvious cultural differences were fascinating.

Our assistant principal was an amusing old cynic who loved a hassle-free life. Under him, teaching was a pleasure. It was hard work, as classes were large and students handed in assignments to be graded, but it was rewarding. On Friday afternoons he would announce, “Okay, girls and boys, it’s time to go to the bank,” our signal that we could leave with impunity before the legally stipulated hour. However, some teachers always stayed behind for hours on end to avoid bringing work home.

Despite the disruptive students at first, the classes were manageable. What the youngsters lacked in academic rigor, they made up for in verve. However, as the years passed, micro-management became more burdensome. Supervision became stricter, with multiple class visits and more meetings. Some “experts” up the DoE ladder decided that we had to produce written evidence that our lesson plans conformed to a rigid formula. The new directives did not take into account that foreign-language teaching requires instilling four different skill sets (listening, speaking, reading, and writing) and therefore a different, more flexible methodological approach. Unfortunately, our easy-going assistant principal had his fill of the worsening bureaucratic overload and retired. Instead of an eccentric opera buff with a sense of humor, an obedient apparatchik would enforce the new rules.

In the spring of my 5th year there, he informed me that I had been chosen to replace the Advanced Placement French teacher, as her results were poor. I did the AP training course and prepared for the new challenge that would begin in September. The day before school began, however, he phoned to say that my job was terminated. “There wasn’t enough interest in French” to justify my position, apparently. This was despite vociferous protests from students and parents. I would like to know if, as a member of the UFT’s advisory council, I had asked the principal too many questions. He was so kind as to find me a place at a “boutique” school way down in Brooklyn’s Flatlands.

Victory Collegiate High School, 2009–2010

Victory Collegiate High School seemed promising. It could boast of Bill Gates money, and was one of only two or three new experimental schools co-located in what was once the venerable South Shore High School. It served the local, partly middle-class, partly ghettoized black community. The principal informed me proudly that the students wore uniforms, and no cellphones were allowed. The classes were tiny in comparison to other high schools, and there were no disciplinary problems.

Despite the devastating blow to my career, I set out hopefully on the long commute to Canarsie. The metal detectors should have clued me in. Any pretense of imposing uniforms was eventually abandoned. Cellphones were a constant nuisance. Administrators turned a blind eye to the widespread anti-social behavior.

It would be repetitive to go over the plentiful examples of the abuse teachers suffered at the hands of the students. Suffice it to say, it was Washington Irving all over again, but in miniature. The principal talked a good game, believing that giving “shout-outs” and being a pal to the students were accomplishing great things, but he actually had precious little control over them. What made matters worse, the teaching corps was a young, idealistic group, largely recruited from the non-profit Teach For America, not the leathery veterans who constituted a majority at the two previous schools. I was a weird anomaly to these youngsters. What? I didn’t feel pity for these poor children? I didn’t take it for granted that they would abuse us? The new teachers were fervent believers in the prevailing ideology that the students’ bad behavior was to be expected, and that we should educate them without question according to the hip attitudes reflected in the total absence of good literature or grammar, and a sense of history that emphasized grievance.

One example of the “literature” we were expected to teach was as racist as it was obscene. The main character was an obese, pregnant 14 year-old dropout. The argot in which it was written was probably not all that familiar to many of the students. Appalled, I asked an English teacher why the students had to read this rubbish. She was shocked at the question: we have to teach “literature the kids can relate to.” Why on earth did the school system believe that such a depraved environment as depicted in this book was representative of the very mixed group of families that inhabited the area, many of whom were led by middle-class professionals from the Caribbean? The “language arts” department (the word “English” was too Euro-centric) made one obligatory bow to Shakespeare—a version of “Romeo and Juliet” reduced to a few hundred words. It was common knowledge that the Bard was “overrated.”

My small classes faced a large photograph of Barack Obama displayed proudly in front of the classroom over the title “Notre Président.” The picture resonated as little with the students as the Pledge of Allegiance. Like at Washington Irving, all I managed to do was to get them to stand for it and sing some songs. I did have the rueful satisfaction towards the end of the year, however, of being told after the class trip, “Mary, you won’t believe it! The kids sang French songs all the way to Washington!”

In the classroom, the children did as they pleased. Since the classes were smaller, some students managed to learn a bit of French, but most obdurately ignored me. One memorable 16 year-old fresh from Chicago loved French but was contemptuous of me. She was tall and slender, quite beautiful, and in love, it seemed, with another girl in the class, who was not blessed with similar beauty. Throughout the year they were an item. I finally managed to separate them, insisting that they change seats when it became increasingly difficult to stop them from necking in the classroom. That was when, despite her love of French, the Chicago girl left my class never to return, except once, when we were watching a movie. She came in, sat down and watched with us, breezing out again at the film’s end. This was not unusual behavior. Some students had the run of the hallways, wandering around as they pleased.

As before, students engaged fully in the ancillary aspects of high school life. As before, I tried to encourage them to engage in the learning process. On one memorable occasion, I said to them: “You are not here to play, you are here to develop your intellect.” The puzzled stares this remark elicited spoke volumes. It seemed an utterly new concept to them.

The school had an exceptionally good math teacher, among other excellent ones. In November, students sat for the preliminary Scholastic Aptitude Test that all juniors were required to do in preparation for the real thing in the spring. I had to proctor the first half. As instructed, I walked up and down the aisles keeping an eye on things. It all went smoothly. When the language section was over and the math part began, however, students stopped working. They sat there staring at the desk. I quietly encouraged them to make an effort, but the general response was, “I ain’t doin’ it, miss, it’s too hard.” I could not get them to change their minds; they sat doing nothing for the rest of my shift.

The preliminary test results that came back in the spring were abysmally low—despite the fact that every single response bubble on the math test had been filled in. Either the next proctor forced the kids to randomly fill in the bubbles, or some administrators did so, another example of the rampant deceit the school system indulges.

After the terrible 2010 earthquake in Haiti, a number of Haitians joined the school. These youngsters were remarkable for their good manners and desire to learn, for their outstanding gentility in fact. They provided a most refreshing change, but it didn’t last. They quickly fell into the trap of hostile resistance.

By June, things were really depressing. Not only was the academic year an utter failure, word spread that 10 girls had become pregnant. Since there were only about 90 girls in the school, this represented over 10 percent. The majority of the pregnant girls were freshmen, targeted it was said by a few “baby daddies” who prided themselves on their prowess and evolutionary success. One of them, however, was the beautiful “lesbian” from Chicago. As her jilted partner moped around, cut to the quick, it was impossible not to feel terrible for her.

Once again, I finally and suddenly broke. The threat was from an unlikely source, a big lad who was always subdued. He was in the special education program, and never gave any trouble when I substituted in that class. But one afternoon, for some unknowable reason, this usually gentle giant came up to me and said, “I gonna cut yo’ ass.” That was the final humiliation I would suffer in the New York City public school system.

I left that afternoon never to return. I left much behind: trinkets I’d brought from France, hoping to use them as prizes for the highest achievers; my beautiful edition of Les Fables de Jean de la Fontaine; class records, French magazines, CDs and other educational materials. But I brought away something priceless: an insider’s knowledge of a corrupt system.

One teacher phoned me to say that in her culture “I gonna cut yo’ ass” should not be taken literally, it just meant that he would teach me a lesson. “I don’t care,” I replied. Another called to express her astonishment that I would abandon my students. Why on earth did that matter, I answered, they hadn’t learned anything anyway. The school would hand out passing grades no matter what I did.

It is not poor teaching or a lack of money that is failing our most vulnerable populations. The real problem is an ethos of rejection that has never been openly admitted by those in authority.

Why should millions of perfectly normal adolescents, not all of them ghettoized, resist being educated? The reason is that they know deep down that due to the color of their skin, less is expected of them. This they deeply resent. How could they not resent being seen as less capable? It makes perfect psychological sense. Being very young, however, they cannot articulate their resentment, or understand the reasons for it, especially since the adults in charge hide the truth. So they take out their rage on the only ones they can: themselves and their teachers.

They also take revenge on a fraudulent system that pretends to educate them. The authorities cover up their own incompetence, and when that fails, blame the parents and teachers, or lack of funding, or “poverty,” “racism,” and so on. The media follow suit. Starting with our lawmakers, the whole country swallows the lie.

Why do precious few adults admit the truth out loud? Because in America the taboo against questioning the current orthodoxy on race is too strong and the price is too high. What is failing our most vulnerable populations is the lack of political will to acknowledge and solve the real problems. The first step is to change the ”anti-discrimination” laws that breed anti-social behavior. Disruptive students must be removed from the classroom, not to punish them but to protect the majority of students who want to learn.

[rebeccahpedersen]

Has Toronto “Met It’s Waterloo?”

TorontoRealtyBlog

Do you ever look back at a particular teacher, class, or year of schooling, and identify that as where you learned the most in all your formative years?

For me, that had to be Grade 7, and the teacher had to be Mr. Montgomery.

Mrs. Withers is probably 1A here, since I had her for home-room in both Grade-5 and Grade-8, so let’s not sell her short!

But Mr. Montgomery was the first male teacher I ever had for home-room, and for an impressionable 12-year-old child, that was enough to make a difference on its own.

Mr. Montgomery was unorthodox, and truly an “outside the box” teacher, as his methods were different, but he also encouraged us to think in different ways.  In math class, he put us in different “teams” of five students, and every lesson for a month was essentially a quiz-show format, with points, winners – and trades.  Yes, we could trade players to different teams, and it kept us on our toes, got our competitive juices flowing, and made us want to learn, and thus absorb the material.

He also had students grade each other’s work.  For each project and presentation during a particular course, there would be a panel of three students, which he called, “adjudicators,” who would be responsible for voting on a grade, which would, along with his grade, combine to provide that student’s work with an overall mark.

The biggest project I worked on in 1992 was in history class, when I put together a project on Napoleon.  I had no idea what, or who, I would study for this project, and I was sitting in the corner of the room, sulking, as every other student had picked his or her subject, when Mr. Montgomery passed by and thew a National Geographic at me and said, “Fleming – check this guy out.  You might like him.  You have a few things in common; you both know how to move armies, and you’re the same height.”

On the cover of the glossy, yellow magazine was Napoleon Bonaparte.

I don’t know if I ever worked so hard on a project in public school.

I took a 4 x 6 sheet of plywood and with a lot of plasticine (do schools even have this anymore?) made a scaled reproduction of Napoleon’s Europe at the height of his power, using little flags for each battle (that I got at a Mexican food restaurant – it’s all coming back to me now…), and the colour red for the major movement of his armies.

After my presentation, Mr. Montgomery regaled me with praise, and told me his mark was a 98.  The three “adjudicators” came along and told me they had voted for an 81.  I’ll never forget Mr. Montgomery jump out of his chair and say, “No Bueno!  I’m going with my own on this one!”

Bueno.  That was his line.  One of them, anyways.

And what do I remember of Napoleon, from 26-years-ago?  As with many things you “learn” in school, I have essentially two take-aways: 1) The Napoleon complex 2) The phrase, “You’ve met your Waterloo.”

That’s about it.

But that’s not bad, considering I have no idea what a parabola is, or how to take a derivative, or even how to multiply a binomial  First, Outer, Inner, Last.  “FOIL,” as I recall.  So I know the acronym, but not how to do it…

Well, thanks for allowing me to take you down (my) memory lane.

Every time I’ve heard the word “Waterloo” since 1992, I’ve thought of Napoleon.

And yes, I thought my title of today’s blog post was witty, even if I do not think Toronto has met its Waterloo.

There was an article in Wednesday’s Financial Post that doesn’t look like it got much readership; as I write this at 11:58pm on Wednesday night, the article has exactly one comment.  That’s rather telling.  An article about a hair in a mole on Kyle Jenner’s ankle will get tens of thousands of comments, but perhaps I’m just boring and out of touch with reality.

The article: “Buyers of New Condos Get Twice The Space In Waterloo As In Toronto”

Now just to get the cynicism out of the way early, I should note here that the title could have read, “Buyers get twice the amount of granite counters for the same price as marble,” or just about anything else that compares two different products or services.  “You get twice as drunk drinking 28% alcohol peach schnapps as you do drinking the same amount of 14% red wine.”

No kidding.

But I guess what interests me here, aside from the basic mathematical equation, is the notion of condo buyers in Waterloo.

Even more interesting is the notion of pre-construction condo buyers in Waterloo, which tells me it’s not just residents of the city that are buying, but rather investors as well.  And on that note, and at the risk of sounding ignorant here, I can tell you that the names on the listings for most of the condo assignment sales on MLS…………sound like foreign investors.  So take me to task on that, if you want.  But there’s no other way of saying it.

So what do you get in Waterloo for your money?

It’s funny, because looking at these listings, I basically see Toronto ten years ago.

How about this one:

That’s a 527 square foot, 1-bed, 1-bath, for $272,000.

I haven’t sold a condo in Toronto for $272,000 or less since August of 2009.  And yes, I looked it up.

Also worth noting is that the maintenance fees are $0.26 per square foot, which is also half of what you’d expect to pay in Toronto.

But if you know the campus around Waterloo, and you know Spruce Street, then you know this area has turned into a student ghetto.

I chatted with a friend today who went to Laurier University, and who has been back to Waterloo many times over the years, who told me that condos like this are “basically like owning a single-occupant dorm room in student housing, albeit much larger, with a kitchen, and not as many people peeing in the hallways.”

I used to frequent this area circa 2002, and I personally witnessed (and wrote about on my blog years and years ago too) the massive development that was going on in the student ghettos.  The house in which I used to stay at 18 Ezra Avenue still stands today, but the other side of the street, which used to be small (and highly illegal) student residences are now long gone, and massive 5-storey, 20-unit (each 4-bedrooms) buildings stand in their place.

It seems as though the trend to build multiplexes in place of bungalows has fallen by the wayside, and replaced with a new trend toward building much larger condominiums.

If you’re not a fan of the “student dorm condo” idea, here’s something that will likely still be primarily inhabited by students, but isn’t actually referred to as student housing:

At 543 square feet, this is a cool $552 per square foot, again with very low fees.

No parking, no locker, but a 25th floor view, and steps to Laurier.

These rent for $1,200 – $1,300 per month, so the yield is higher than what you’d find in Toronto.

Now do you want to see something crazy?

Check this out:

That’s a five-bedroom, five-bathroom condo.

Who ever heard of such a thing?

Over 2,500 square feet, and currently rented for $3,850/month.  The maintenance fees are $0.25/sqft.

You know, I don’t want to sound like a hindsight-thinker, but I remember looking at houses up in the Waterloo student ghetto in 2005.  I looked at a 5-bedroom house on Ezra Avenue, up the street from where I used to stay, that was probably on something like a 50 x 200 foot lot, for $330,000.

Now we’re seeing 5-bedroom condos almost double the price of that house.

But the same could be said of just about anything we see in Toronto.

That’s the real estate market in the Golden Horseshoe, whether it’s Toronto, or Waterloo.

I would argue it’s a misconception that people could actually commute from Waterloo to Toronto every day for work, and thus I’d be inclined to argue that the Waterloo real estate market is not taking off because of new residents, who can’t afford to live in Toronto, but rather because of investors, not in full, but by and large.

Yes, there is a Go Train that leaves the University of Waterloo in the morning and runs to Union Station, but it takes over 2 1/2 hours.  That’s not commuting.

And yes, Metrolinx has a $43 Billion expansion planned, as the Financial Post article details above, but can that actually make Kitchener-Waterloo a viable place of residence for those working in Toronto?

Waterloo is a major hub in the Information Technology field, and from what I understand, the Artificial Intelligence companies aren’t coming to Toronto – they’re in Waterloo.  The city used to be known as the Blackberry capital of the world, but those days are gone.  Are IT and AI large enough players to have a significant impact on the number of jobs, number of residents, and thus number of new condominiums built?

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