fockinglevendcliche
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Eastwood Liberty students had only one mission: to always be on top, at everything, no matter the cost.
It took Robbe just a day to realize that people there only cared about two things: money and power. But that was no surprise to him. What he didn't expect was to be confronted by this group of rich and spoiled boys, who used to always get what they wanted, especially their leader, Sander Driesen.
Sander made the rules, but unfortunately for him, Robbe had never been really good at sticking to them. -
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Sander snorted sarcastically, "You don't know a fucking thing about me, Robbe."
"You think? Look at you, Sander. The mysterious, dark boy who only wears black clothes and uses art as a coping mechanism. You're such a fucking cliché."
One more step. Sander was already so close. Robbe could already hear the blond boy's deep breath. His smell invading Robbe. And fuck, that was a good smell.
"Want to talk about clichés, skater boy, for real? The same boy that only wears clothes too big for his little body? Who's always either drunk or high? That thinks the world is always against him, that one?"