I stroll into Professor York's class, glad when the first course is over quickly enough. Even for such a peaceful guy like me, Creative Writing can get tiring. Ironic, since it was the first class, along with the singing club they offer here, that interested me into coming here. I throw a glance over my shoulder when that blonde flirts group squeezes through the door--except this time she's not the one leading them. I move to put my jacket around the back of my chair, when I spot the obnoxious pink head saunter into the room. Arching a brow, I fall back into my seat. "What, did someone pull a prank on you?"

"Thanks, you don't look too bad for an asshole, either." She sneers, sitting next to me. "But I did this on purpose unlike--is that a bruise on your face?"

Unthinkingly, I touch the yellow splotch on my cheek. "No."

She scowls at me. "You totally have a bruise on your face. What happened?"

"Last I checked, I didn't have a pink haired mother to nag me about every little thing that goes on in my life. I've been in fights before, if you'd like to know." I narrow my eyes at her, "Bruises aren't anything new for me."

"Right." She deadpans, "So, if that's true, tell me where you got it."

I scowl back at her. "It's not your business."

"Just tell me."

"Piss off."

"Not leaving you alone until you tell me. And you know how well I can bother you."

That I do, unfortunately. My first day here was a wreck thanks to her constant teasing about my white hair, which didn't stop until I told her my name. Then again, I was wide eyed and a few years younger (read: two). I take in a deep breath. Why am I putting up with this? "Why do you care?"

"I don't need a reason to. I just do. Now tell me." She crosses her arms over her breasts, slanting in her seat.

"Motorcycle accident." I huff, turning to the front of the classroom. "Now kindly get out of my life."

"You caught yourself with your face?" The pink haired woman gapes at me. I can't tell if she's laughing or purely surprised. "What the hell did you crash into?"

"A fucking mammoth," I snap. I can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. "A car, you bloody idiot. I was distracted and I almost slammed--what?" I glower at her, daring her to laugh at my stupidity. "What the fuck are you grinning about?"

"You have an accent when you get mad," She wags a finger at me, "I never knew that."

"Don't be too surprised," I answer, slowly. This girl can be so annoying, so quickly.

Professor York calls the room to silence, and I settle gratefully into my chair, for once glad to hear about maps and history and dead old people. At least this way Haylie is quiet and not bugging me.

But that's too good to be true. Ten minutes into wars and battles and smuggling, a note flips onto my desk. I snatch it up, crumpling it under my hand. Who exchanges notes these days anyway? I throw her a glower, then focus on my paper. It isn't much longer before another piece of paper lands on my journal. The air hisses out of my lungs, very, very slowly. I slide it over to the side, knocking all the others she tosses over to join it.

"Daaaanteeee!" Comes a whispered whine.

What have I done to deserve this? I close my eyes, ignoring the two notes that bump into my face, then fall to the desk. An image is flung at my mind from the darkest corners--a male, face down, unmoving, my hands bloodstained as I try to pull his limp body up. Suddenly I don't mind Haylie chucking notes at me. I jackknife into sitting position.


"...what, Haylie. What."

"It doesn't look too bad on you. Even though, y'know, you're so white you're almost transparent."

I swear my pen almost snaps in half. If this class doesn't end soon...

When the bell does finally ring, I bolt from my seat, storming to the door, Haylie at my heels. "Danteee, waaaait!" She wails, "I wanted to--"

"Wait, you little bitch. Don't you have something to say to us?" A nasty snarl cuts her next statement off.

I turn, despite wanting to be a million miles away from the pink haired woman. What is this? My eyes flicker to the girls Haylie hangs out with. Her best friends. ...It doesn't look as if they are very friendly right now. The one who spat at her, a skinny, ruby haired girl, stands in the lead, where Haylie herself stood just yesterday.

Haylie shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, shouldering her bag. "No, I don't." she says, evenly.

"You were always talking about Dante. Dante this, Dante that. It's thanks to us that you're talking to him now, you stupid cunt!" The little girl snaps, stomping a foot. A few murmurs of agreement pass through the group behind. "You left us for this creep who lives in black and white!"

I raise a brow.

"He's not a creep." Haylie twists a frown at them, her hands fisting into the fabric of her shirt. "And it's not thanks to any of you. Just leave me alone, Kayla!"

The red head, Kayla, looks ready to smack her. Instead, she stabs a finger into Haylie's chest, going nose to nose with her. "You are such a loser. You know, Derek never really liked you. He was really freaked out by you. He told me he only dated you to--"

Ah, the vicious shit talking women do.

To my surprise, Haylie's face falls with each word this girl says, about one night stands, drugs, and this boy named Derek. It gets to the point where her blue eyes are swimming in tears.

And, to my greater surprise, I step forward, sliding between the girls. "Enough. At least Haylie has the decency to not be some cardboard copy. Now get your ass to your next class, or whatever hole it is you come from." I grunt, grabbing Haylie by her bag and dragging her out to the hallway with me. I don't bother looking at the shock running through the crowd that's accumulated.

She doesn't talk. I don't offer an explanation. On our way around the corner, I dig a tissue from my pocket, handing it to her. Silently, she takes it, covering her face, her fingers latching onto my jacket as she cries into it.

I let her sulk for a moment, slightly unsure what to do, and decide to simply allow her to keep leaning into me, until her sobbing and hiccuping subsides to a muted gasping.

"Thank you," She whispers. She squeezes my jacket, then releases me, heading off to the women's bathroom.

I watch as she leaves.

What is this feeling...?

The End

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