Chapter Text
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
BEEP.
BEEP.
You shift your arm around, trying desperately to untangle it from the trap like sheets of your bed, movements dull and slow. The frantic beeps and buzz of your phone is starting to get to you, and you think that it is probably time to stop hitting snooze, and just maybe, get your lazy ass out of bed. Grasping wildly at your bedside table, your fingers wrap around your phone, vibrations running up and down your arm as you bring the small mobile device closer to your face.
Fuck.
You, for the most part, cannot currently see. Somehow, in the fuzzy, sleep-static filled brain of yours, you have forgotten about one of the main reasons why your life sucks. The ever wonderful condition of ocular albinism, paired with a nice case of photophobia. To put it short - the sun is a burning shit orb and all types of light hurts your stupid, stupid, stupid, eyes. You slam your eyelids shut, groping blindly for the pair of prescription sunglasses at your bedside. You had fought tooth and nail to get glasses that helped with your condition, and you were very happy when you got them and they didn’t look stupid. To anyone other than you, they just looked like a plain pair of aviators. To you, they were a saving grace. Even though you would get teased for wearing them, they would never leave your face when in public. The fine lines of white in your hair were enough, nobody other than yourself should get to gaze into the colorless grey of your iris.
Your fingers wrap nimbly around your frames, and you slide them on your face with a practiced grace. Scratch that. You poke yourself in the eye with the end of one, and then they get on to your face. Even with all the years of practice you’ve had, you still suck at being a living creature. Oh well, that is a concern for another day. Right now, your concern is getting ready for the day. Stumbling out of your bed, you approach your closet, grabbing the comfiest clothes you can find. Fuck dressing up, you are gonna wear what you like to wear and that’s final. After the momentary struggle into your personal favorite outfit, you feel ready to take on whatever life throws at you.
Meaning that life better not throw much at you, or you’re fucked.
…..You’re probably fucked.
You slip downstairs, grab your already ready bag, thank god for your past self being smarter than your current self, and slip your, now charged, laptop into the front pouch. Grabbing one of the suckers you keep by the front door of your empty house, you slip your sneakers on just as you slip the morning pick me up candy into your mouth. You keep them by the front door because of your probably bad habit of skipping breakfast, but hey, it was something. With a quick move, you are out the door and on your merry way to the building of the happiest place on earth. Without the happy part. Ah yes, high school, the cesspool of all that the teenage years have to offer. Which is basically pocket lint and trash, but who’s counting?
The walk there is short, and you are very glad that your guardian bought a place close to Alternia high. The cool, crisp air of an early fall swirls around you, but you are too caught up trying to figure out how to get through your last year of school in a place where you know nobody, and where nobody knows you. Ah yes, the classic cliché of ‘Weird kid in a new school’. All that you need now is an equally cliché jock kid to bump into you on the first day of school, signaling the start of a beautiful relationship.
Yeah, no. For the most part, you just wanted to get through this school year unnoticed, letting the days breeze by until summer, where you can troll in your room all day and not have to see the sunlight for two months. Then school starts up again, but you don't like to think about that. One day at a time.
Too bad life hates you, because the first thing that happens to you when you set foot on school ground is getting bumped into.
Violently.
Very, very violently, and to the ground. The person shoved into you falls beside your growling self, and you only vaguely notice the cracking noise through the blinding white haze.
“Good job, Captor.” Wow, they sound snobby.
“That’th your fault, Ampora!” Wow, they sound angry. And lispy. Probably both.
Too bad you can’t focus on that.
The only thing you can focus on is the snapped frames, peeking out from under the fallen boy’s leg, and the familiar sensation of stinging.
Your name is (Y/N), you have severe photophobia, and now, your only method of surviving normally for the past few years of your life, is on the ground, shattered and broken.
“Both of you should figure out who caused that, cause i’m gonna break their stupid fucking nose.”