Chapter Text
He started running as soon as he got off the bus. He knew very well he shouldn't but part of him wanted to give the finger to his fucking health and just live his life like any other senior high-school student, well almost like any other senior high-school student. Well, at least live some kind of a life.
He regretted bitterly after only a few yards, when he started retching and gasping for air, his lungs burning as if scorched from the inside. His head started spinning with the lack of oxygen. He fumbled in his pockets and finally found his inhaler before passing out. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a few seconds as he felt the medicine work his lungs open. It was just in his head the sensation but that was how he felt it. When he opened his eyes things were less blurry and he could see the school from afar. A black limo was parked at the entrance, quite peculiar, he noted, for the neighborhood they were in, but he didn't dwell on it. He packed in inhaler and resumed running, feeling again the air burning his throat and his ribs constrict as if pressing his lungs until they were useless.
He ignored the pain. He was late. Again.
All his efforts almost paid off and he would have been right on time if Schmidt hadn't pushed him against the lockers and knocked him out for a second or two. He wasn't very sure how long he had been unconscious—or even if he had really been unconscious—but he remembered blacking out, not for long, not even enough to collapse, but enough for him to lose his bearings and to zone out aimlessly in the corridors for a few minutes afterwards, wondering what he was doing here. By the time he snapped out of it, the bell had already rung.
He brought long and skinny fingers to his temple and felt a small bump jutting out. He pressed it without thinking and felt stupid when it hurt. He delicately wiped the smear of blood off it and headed to the English classroom. He knocked on the door and closed his eyes as he staggered inside, expecting to encounter Mr Fury's wrath. No such thing happened however. Instead he was met with the death glare of his single eye for a split second and annoyed ignorance as he coldly told him off. "You're late, Rogers."
His eyes roamed the room and paused on Johan and his goons, snickering like grade-schoolers. Steve rolled his eyes and ignored them. He was way above such childish behaviors and if he couldn't fight back physically, he had decided he would compensate his short size with a grander attitude.
Nothing more was said, to the great disappointment of Schmidt, and Steve was allowed to his seat which he reached quite efficiently, quietly weaving his way in between the tables. Sam gave him a silent smile and nodded approvingly then his expression turned into a concerned frown when he saw the blood on his temple.
Steve shrugged it off and started taking his stuff out diligently. He was already late, no need to make another fuss. Sam pouted disapprovingly but didn't push further. Both of them ended their unspoken conversation before the magical eye of their passive-agressive English teacher told them off with an oppressive silence and they opened their books.
Steve was happy to forget about everything and immerse himself in Dickens. English was one of his favorite subjects after arts and he was thoroughly considering it when applying for college next year. Therefore he focused all his attention on the class while catching his breath slowly, very slowly—twenty-five minutes to be precise—and ignoring the pain in his chest scorching his lungs at each hissing breath he took, as well as the throbbing in his head.
He beamed when his last essay was dropped carelessly on his table and he saw the grade. He tried to keep his joy to himself as he glanced at Johan Schmidt's twisted mouth. No need for useless provocation, it was satisfying enough knowing. He still grinned silently at Sam and showed him the paper. Sam smiled back at him but there was something off about his expression and Steve suddenly felt the pain on his head slightly throbbing again.
He ignored it. Life sucked enough as it was.
Another scorching sucked-in breath and Steve took his inhaler again. Another whiff of medicine and his head started spinning. Forget about college, he was gonna spend the rest of his life in a fucking hospital at this pace. His good mood ebbed away quickly, all his hopes flying out the window.
Never mind his perfect-student image, he felt suddenly tired and depressed and dropped his head on his forearms, sprawling on his table for a few moments. He closed his eyes, thinking about all his efforts, all his hard work, all the pain he had to endure on a daily basis and wondered why he persisted with this nonsense. He wasn't even sure he would be able to afford college anyway. The more he looked at the facts, the more he saw how pointless and ridiculous his dedication was. No matter how he would present, he couldn't see any satisfactory outcome in the end, no matter what.
Life sucked.
Fortunately for Steve, he was never feeling down for too long and soon he willed himself back on Dickens. He raised his head, took a deep breath, ignored how much breathing still hurt and focused on what the teacher was saying. It helped that something—or someone—else would distract him from his dark thoughts for the rest of the day.
A sudden, unexpected knock on the door. Fury made a quick movement of his head towards the entrance, annoyance written all over his face, deeply inscribed in his disapproving frown. He was ready to unsheathe but quickly cooled his ardors when he saw the Principal cocking his head inside, expression sheepish and falsely apologetic. Mr Fury hated being disturbed in class. It was fair, Steve thought. It was hard enough to get their attention for more than five minutes, it must be enraging to lose it because of external factors, like your boss coming unannounced right in the middle of class...
Anyway, Steve tried not to think about how both sad and funny this impromptu visit appeared and stared with interest at the scene. There was an unusual silence in the classroom and it was very relaxing.
"Mr Fury." The Principal said, "I'm sorry to interrupt your class but I'd like to introduce a new student. His name is Anthony E. Stark. He's been unexpectedly transferred here and we're very glad to have him with us. Please, give him a warm welcome and make sure he feels happy in our school." Steve laughed internally, wondering if those words were addressed to them, or Fury. Both options being absolutely laughable.
His funny mood didn't start long as his eyes fell on the student in question. Anthony E. Stark. The name resonated in him, somehow, and Steve snapped out of his daze and sat up from his seat to get a better look at transferred boy. He was annoyingly tall, dark hair, dark eyes, fancy clothes. A dashing smile. A beautiful smile, perfect teeth all rightfully aligned—a promise for the best and the worst—and a mischievous twinkle in his playful eyes that made Steve's heart skip a little.
The perfect male alpha in all his glory, with a tinge of bad boy attitude and a load of self-confidence. Everything perfectly dosed.
Steve hated him a little. He wasn't just the perfect alpha, he was more. There was something about him. Steve wasn't sure what exactly. Just a feeling. Just a glimpse of a smile, or a flicker of an emotion flashing across his eyes. He was handsome, yes, from an objective point of view, he was. Steve could admit that although he hadn't really decided—well "decided" wasn't the right word, it was more like determined—what kind of person he was attracted to. Since he hadn't presented yet, it was not a thing he wasted time on. Maybe he was wrong not to, what did he know? He was just fairly uninterested.
But there was something more about this guy. An attraction maybe. Or a smell? Maybe it was just the name, it appealed to him. Something. Anything. Steve was fascinated and his eyes followed the young boy as he walked confidently across the classroom, a smirk on his lips and a powerful stance that even reduced Johan Schmidt and his goons to silence, somehow impressed and probably as fascinated as the rest of them.
There was always some kind of morbid fascination mingled with unjustified wariness towards transfer students. People wondered why. Had he been expelled? Did he have family problems? Had he been bullied at his former school? People always started making assumptions and not knowing only made it worse. This Stark guy didn't make exception Steve reckoned and, as soon as the Principal had left the room, whispering started, pernicious and vile, spreading like a highly contagious disease among the students.
The boy's smile died down quickly but for all that he didn't lose his composure and didn't seem to spare any second of his attention to the flourishing gossip around him, even though he must have known everyone was talking about him. He just pouted contemptuously and quietly paced to his designated table, sending provocative smirks here and there at other students' comments. When they stared too much he stared right back at them until they looked away ashamedly. Steve stared too but he wasn't met with a glare from the brunet, that was the perks of being invisible he guessed. It happened a lot. People didn't notice him. He was too small, too average, too insignificant. It had its advantages sometimes, like today. He could ogle at the boy to his heart's content. And he happened to be the perfect distraction Steve needed today.
Steve didn't pay much attention to the lecture for the remaining fifteen minutes. The boy was sitting right in the middle of his line of sight, at the perfect angle. He was two rows before and placed exactly where Steve could stare inconspicuously without anyone noticing. The boy was listening carefully, or pretending too, Steve wasn't so sure yet. He was slightly slouched on his seat, enough to give him a nonchalant attitude without being outwardly rude either. His legs were spread wide as if showing off an impressive package down there, not that Steve had been looking anyway. Actually, he'd rather look at his right hand. It was rough and skillful, playing swiftly with a pen, making it roll around it smoothly, like it was nothing.
As the minutes went by Steve's gaze wandered up his arm and his shoulder. He stared at his back, not as muscular as a quarterback's but decently muscular for a teenager his age. Besides, he didn't seem to be the type, not like Steve knew anything. Just a feeling. Again. Anthony E. Stark—Steve already liked the sound of the name in his mouth—didn't look like a jock at all. Maybe that was a thing they had in common. Maybe that was the reason behind this weird connection he seemed to have been feeling since the boy's arrival.
He was feeling a lot today, it seemed.
At some point he heard someone speak out and people laughing. Apparently he had missed one of Fury's rare jokes. Not that he cared but he had always paid attention in class and being caught—even by himself—not listening, made him blush embarrassedly. He suddenly felt self-conscious. He tried to concentrate but the boy brushed a hand through the small hair at the top of his nape and Steve's focus was immediately drawn to his long, entrancing fingers and his charcoal hair, a weird sort of warmth pooling inside. He was fascinated, again, and couldn't keep his eyes off.
It took him a moment to realize the bell had rung. It took him a moment, too, to take his eyes off the boy's slender nape and the way he held his head aloofly. It was all quiet suddenly, or maybe Steve didn't pay enough attention to his surroundings anymore, or maybe he didn't care.
The boy packed up his stuff conscientiously and Steve tried not to envy him and how tall and handsome he was. He bent down to catch his bag and pack. When he rose back his eyes met the boy's. He was looking at him, piercing through him. A smirk on his lips. And then his smile seemed to soften, something melancholic pooling in his eyes, or maybe in Steve's heart, only for a split second. Something leapt in his chest and he tried to look away but the two dark marbles were like magnets. The boy was smirking again and he gave Steve a wink as he turned around and left the classroom.
Steve felt an unnecessary blush creeping on his face. He hurried up and left the classroom in a rush, feeling his fast heartbeat throbbing in his temple.
The boy was everything Steve wanted to be, he realized. Everything he had always dreamed to be and everything he definitely wasn't. A dark lump started growing in his heart, a mixture of ugly feelings pooling in his chest. Resentment, envy, fascination and melancholic sadness and... and... something else.