Chapter Text
The agonizingly loud screeching of his trashy little alarm clock sends waves of pain rolling through Sollux's head- makes him want to bury into his bed until it stops and he can go back to sleep.
It's with deep reluctance and the extra push of his father's voice carrying through the closed door that he sits up- leans over until he can find the cord to the alarm clock and yanks it a few times until it loses its power source. Sweet silence fills the air, and it takes all of his willpower to swing his legs over the side of his bed instead of dropping back down into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.
He's always been a slow riser- and currently hates mornings with a burning passion. It doesn't help that he stays up late into the night, thanks to the insomnia. But in general, waking up sucks.
A deep, tired sigh escapes him, one hand coming up to run through his fading dye job. The ends of his hair- the fading blond mess that he'd done impulsively a few months ago- makes him want to throw up.
He regrets it.
He groans as he pushes himself into a standing position, joints cracking in a manner both painful and satisfying as he shifts into a stretch that pulls at bones that had been kept in positions they shouldn't be in for hours on end.
He's sluggish as he moves around his room- his new room. Searching for clothes that seem relatively clean, which he slips on the moment he finds them. He can't be bothered to shower this morning- doesn't have the energy. But he does find his way to the bathroom, dry swallows the acid-taste of his pills and brushes his teeth to cover it up. The up-keep for his braces takes up most of his already limited energy stores, and when he makes his way down the stairs he has to make an active effort to not just let his limbs fold in and go where the stairs take him.
An emotion stirs deep within his tired soul when he spots his step-brother, happily making a mess of the place as he eats pancakes that he could only assume his step-father made. His dad was, after all, a horrible cook.
It strengthens when he spots said step-father- said intruder upon his life- standing at the stove with a shitty gay apron covering his business clothes.
It's negative. Most of his emotions are- but that doesn't mean it's any more tolerable. To feel that vague, indescribable negative emotion surge through him at the sight of his new 'family.' As far as he's concerned, it's just Brice and Mituna. People they're living with. He'd acknowledge the marriage- he was at the wedding, after all,- but he wouldn't call them family.
Brice perks up at the sound of feet dragging against the tile floor, and Sollux tries to ignore it, but-
"Morning, Sollux!"
He feels himself deflate- he doesn't have the energy to deal with this. To deal with Brice trying to be nice because he's trying to fill the void of a second parent just because he's married to Sollux's dad now. Just because legally, they're sort of related.
"Fuck off." It's lazy, no energy. But it gets his point across, he hopes. He doesn't want to talk. Doesn't want to deal with that cheery bullshit- doesn't want these people around.
Mituna cackles at the curse, and it renews Sollux's headache enough that he groans and decides that breakfast- lunch- it's not worth it. He'd buy whatever shitty food the school would provide, and breakfast makes him sick, anyways.
"Are you- aren't you going to eat?" Brice asks it almost cautiously, and Sollux doesn't want to respond. Doesn't want to acknowledge him, because every interaction is annoying, and he wants to pretend that the two people in the kitchen just don't exist.
So he does. Ignores the question, picks up his bag and moves to slip on his shoes.
"I'll take that as a no." It sounds dejected- an attempt to hide it, but failed. It makes him want to throw up. Makes him want to punch something.
He's shoving his mismatched shoes onto his feet when he feels a hand come to rest on his shoulder. He jolts and snaps his head to the side, mouth opening to tell whoever to fuck off- but he falters when he spots his dad. Stills and waits for whatever's coming- a scolding, probably. Something about being nicer.
"Don't forget these." He holds out a pair of glasses- the tinted ones, red and blue. The ones that disguise the heterochromia that makes Sollux want to die, every time he looks in the mirror. The kind that he'd gotten special, years ago, when he'd had a breakdown about-
"Thanks." He takes them, gently slides them onto his face, settling into that familiar two-toned world view. The duller world. Not so bright- not so overwhelming.
"And," Sollux tenses, glances away as the undoubtable scolding finally comes in.
"Talk. Okay? Communication is important, remember?"
There's a pause, and Sollux holds his breath as though it would end the conversation early. Make him feel less like a disappointment. It does nothing.
"..Okay."
Simon Captor smiles, ruffles his sons hair in a form of affection familiar between the two. Sollux wrinkles his nose, but makes no move to get away from it. Just finishes pulling his shoes on, adjusts his bag when his dads hand pulls away.
"I'll see you when you get home."
"Yeah."
»»————- ————-««
When Sollux arrives at his new school, he's overwhelmed with the urge to bail out. To find somewhere to spend the day instead, pretend that he went so that his father won't be upset with him, but never so much as put his toes past the front door.
It's not intimidating- far from it. It's school. He doesn't have to put that much effort in, and he's perfectly fine just ignoring every other person who exists for the duration he has to be there. It's tolerable.
But today, there's anxiety swirling in his gut, and something is telling him to say fuck it because today is obviously going to awfully, horrifically wrong. Rationally, he knows this is untrue. He has no way to predict a doomed day like that- but the rational part of his brain doesn't change the fact that he has to flex his fingers a few times over to calm down enough to step through the doors. It doesn't negate the anxiety, nausea, paranoia.
He pushes through it, makes his way into the dirty public school halls earlier than anybody in their right mind would care to be there. Even though the churning in his stomach remains, and the nauseating speckled floors of the halls don't help, he pushes through.
Long fingers dig into the cheap printer paper his schedule is printed on, tired eyes glancing over room numbers he'd be confined to for the next four or so months. It would be a disgusting, constant switch between upstairs and downstairs classes, with a mix of gym being only second to last for the day. He dreads all of it.
The anxiety in his gut doesn't fade as he wanders around mostly-empty halls. A few students file in as he's tracking down his classrooms early- making sure he won't get lost when the time calls for it. Teachers make a big stink when you're late, and he hates dealing with it. But most of them tend to stick to the sides of the halls- at lockers or talking to other early friends. So he doesn't bother to pay much mind outside of glancing up at room numbers as he wanders the upper halls, aiming to track down his Socials class.
Perhaps, he should have listened to the anxiety.
He doesn't see who it is. Doesn't notice anybody even approaching him until he's slammed into with all the force of somebody who had to be borderline running, in order to knock Sollux backwards like that.
It dazes him. Leaves him in a mixture of surprise and confusion, until he registers a loud voice snapping at him, foot stomping down akin to a child throwing a tantrum.
Was this a child? They're- short.
"-Fucking kick your ass!" He tunes in to the end of whatever probably threatening and insulting bullshit is spewing out of the infants mouth, and his lip curls ever so slightly as he fully registers it.
"Fuck off." It's calm- at least, compared to this stranger, it is. Sollux could probably snap to a decently intense level and be calmer than this- child- who looks borderline rabid about just being bumped into.
"Fuck off?!" The strangers' voice raises even more, incredulous. "You fuck off! You're the one who ran into me like a fucking jackass because you were too absorbed in whatever the fuck bullshit to actually pay attention to people. Who the fuck even are you? Fucking 3d glasses? What bullshit! This isn't a fucking movie theatre, dipwad!"
"It's not a one-way street, buddy." Sollux all but snarls, but it's- not very effective. Judging by the way the stranger stutters in what's bound to be the second part to a rant, and then tries to hold back laughter. The kind that usually gets accompanied by-
"It's not a th'treet at all." Things like that.
"Clever. Never heard things like that before. Where do you get your genius from? Does your big brain make up for your tiny legs? Gotta compensate somehow, I guess. You must have worked so hard to be this smart! How many grades did you skip? Four? Five?"
The choked back laughter dies immediately, scowl quickly taking what must be a familiar place on the strangers face. It's satisfying, to see him change so easily.
"Eat shit! Your comments aren't fucking original either, you fucking K-pop-wannabe."
Heterochromatic eyes role in the most dramatic and annoying fashion Sollux can manage, and he hunches his lanky body forward to condescendingly reach eye level with the stranger. He, ultimately, isn't even that much taller. It's noticeable, but it's under a foot- but if Sollux has learned anything about people he has a noticeable height difference over, it's that they get fucking mad when you do things like this. And right now, that's all he wants.
"Sorry, speak up? I couldn't hear you from all the way up there."
He doesn't have time to process more than how red the strangers face gets, before a fist comes flying to his face with an unexpected force. The surprise sends him stumbling back, tripping over his own feet and ending up flying towards the ground, back of his head slamming against the hard tile with a bang that undoubtedly brings some sort of attention their way.
A curse escapes his lips, encapsulates his surprise, anger, and pain all in one. He's given no time to recover, no time to register that his bag is slipping off his shoulder, before he feels a weight drop down on top of him.
A surprised breath is all he gets before fists start absolutely fucking wailing on him. Yanking at his hair, slamming against his face with way too much force for somebody so small. He knows he just bit his tongue hard enough to make it bleed because of one of those hits, and that's when he decides to hit back.
It's Sollux's first day really experiencing this new city- first day leaving his house, first day at this school full of people he couldn't be bothered to care about. And he's locked into fisticuffs, rolling on the floor with this stranger as though calling him short was the biggest offence in the world. The same as hurling slurs that were probably more likely to come from this strangers mouth than be aimed towards him.
It's not surprising that it's a decently fair fight- Sollux doesn't have much muscle, but he has enough length in his limbs to get the upper hand now and then. His glasses fall off of his face and he hears a crunch, at some point, but he can't be bothered to care past the fact the world is back to being too bright and too ugly. He's focused on the fight- on the occasional insults and curses, and the fact that there's a crowd starting to gather.
There's a metallic tang in his mouth, sharp pangs of pain with near every hit, and his scalp aches with how often this little freak decides yanking hair is a good way to play. Red drips both from him and onto him, and he's sure his own teeth are as bloodied as the strangers. Capillaries bursting under his skin, scratches starting to bead scarlet.
It's a back and forth of feral energy, clawing and hitting and pulling, and Sollux thinks he has an upper hand- until he feels a heavy pain in his arm, feels skin break way and he gasps, rips his arm away and falls backwards because-
"You fucking bit me?!"
The stranger snarls, and now it's Sollux's blood on those teeth, and it makes him want to bite back and have an anxiety attack all at once.
What he settles on, instead, is scrambling to his feet, calling the stranger a freak, and booking it out of there like his life depends on it. (Which it very well may, judging by how fucking feral the freak is acting.)
He shoves past people that tried to crowd around, ignores the pain that hits him with every movement, and doesn't notice between the pain, fear, and anxiety, that he left behind his broken glasses, and his bag.
The only thing he carries out of that school with him, that first and worst day, is wounds both mental and physical.