Chapter Text
Esophagus Tung Tu brushed back his hair with his small hand, as tufts of it dropped out, revealing the light peach of his head. I’m so sigma, he thought to himself, smirking. He was sure everyone wanted him. Even now, some betas were whispering about him. His smirk only grew wider. Whisper about me all you want, kekeke! You won’t have me anyways.
Behind him, a girl whispered, “Is he balding?”
“Idk, don’t ask me,” said her friend. She was very sigma.
Suddenly, the bell rang. “Oh!” said Esophagus nonchalantly. He made sure to shake his hair so everyone would see. Even more nonchalantly, Esophagus grabbed his things with dignity and walked slowly. The opps could never catch him lacking. The girl frowned as her and her friend were blocked by his bigback. As he scampered around to his next class, he remembered something. “Silly me! Today marks the start of the new semester,” he laughed. He changed his direction, earning dirty looks when a trail of white flakes dropped out.
Esophagus was headed to band class when something tall and big rushed past him. In a daze, he was spun around with the speed of that thing. He dropped to his knees in a flustered state; what was that! As Esophagus got up, he thought, it was so big and manly. He shook his head, blushing. What’s wrong with me? Time to play my oboe.
Walking to his band cubby, he heard the distant yelling of Ms. BadApple in the distance. He tiptoed to reach for his cubby, struggling. When he finally grabbed it, he sensed that most of the others had gone, but a lone student slowly reaching for his band binder near him. Esophagus curiously watched. Then he realized, that student was the one who was bravely speeding through the halls.
It was Arthritis Choi!
Arthritis Choi was a student that was smart and quiet. Some of Esophagus’s friends interacted with him, but Esophagus himself had never. He was a diligent, tall kid. Did he realize he lost aura from running? Or did he, perchance, gain aura? Esophagus wondered whether he was an Alpha or an Omega. Perhaps a Beta?
Arthritis finished getting his things. He glanced at Esophagus, then turned and walked away.
…
“N-Nani?!?!!”
Had he been staring?! Esophagus' hair stood up on its ends and he blushed furiously. Rooted in place, he felt the badump badump from his heart, hands shooting up to cover his face.
Why did I do that?? Ahh, this is so unsugoi!!
“Alright, whichever guyatt still back there get out of the storage room!!” roared Ms. BadApple.
Esophagus snapped back to his senses at the yell. He gripped his oboe case and rushed to his seat. Ms. BadApple started criticizing a girl in the percussion section. The longer she went on, the more liable Esophagus was to tune her out. Quickly tapping his shoe, he began losing focus. Freak, why am I like this today?? This isn't like me. I'm most definitely losing aura. Unconsciously, his eyes began to drift over to where Arthritis was. He was slowly polishing his bassoon with a fabric, looking super sigma in his black coat, jawline so round it was alluring. His face was etched with black sorrow. Esophagus was suddenly overcome with a sense of familiarity. Arthritis Choi…
People said he couldn't love anything or anyone. He was a side character, a random. Smart enough to be seen, but not enough to be recognized. Unlovable, unable to love. A lone wolf…. never understood. He's just like me.
Esophagus pondered. Did Arthritis feel like death was a welcoming door too? Does he ever get fanum taxed when he gets skibidied into generational aura debt?
Entranced, Esophagus was lost once again, into the shiny bassoon and sharp eyes of Arthritis.
Thick, furrowed brows turned his way. Esophogus flinched and dropped his oboe.
“How chalant,” someone giggled behind him.
Ignoring the haters, Esophagus scrambled to pick it up while looking down, nearly dropping it again, hiding the flush that crept up his cheeks. There was no way he got caught twice in a row. I was just curious! he defended himself….W-What if Arthritis-Kun thinks I'm weird?… Slightly, hesitantly tilting his head, Esophagus quickly spared another glance, heart thumping; but Arthritis had already turned away.
…
He should've felt relieved, so what was this frantic, strange feeling? It was like, to Arthritis, his existence was nothing more than a slight breeze.
Baka, baka, baka!!
Suddenly, a musical note of 2a sounded.
“Wait!!”
Ms. BadApple put one hand in front of her and looked down. The class became chorus and everybody sang “they don't love you like I love you”
“Oi, oi, oi Esophagus. Where's your yellowbook?” said Ms. BadApple.
“Oh- um, it's here,” Esophagus stammered. A snicker was heard from the flute section. Ms. BadApple shot the culprit a glare, and faced Esophagus again,
“Ok man. Start playing or else you'll get sent to unsigma jail.”
He gulped and put his reed to his mouth with shaky hands. Get Your Act Together, you unsigma rizzler!
Time seemed to pass by slowly during band class. Band, something Esophagus excelled in, became insufferable. Esophagus wished for nothing but to get out. A tight, twisted sense came over his chest. Esophagus felt so unskibidi and irrelevant. Overcome with this unfamiliar feeling, the only thing Esophagus could do was to play as loud as possible to distract himself. From Arthritis, but he denied it.
Ding, ding, ding.
Esophagus leapt from his chair, knocking a stand over and hitting the Beta next to him with his oboe. “Shoot, my bad, gang,” he said apologetically.
“Infront of the huzz??” said Showie disappointedly. The Beta wiped the spot on her hair where the reed touched her in disgust.
Feeling slightly guilty, Esophagus convinced himself that his impeccable aura would solve everything, and hurriedly dropped his oboe off. Esophagus left the band room and glanced once more at the bassoon section. It was empty. But as he was griddying down the hallway, he saw a hopeful sliver of a black coat.
***
Arthritis raced through the halls at astounding speed, knocking over at least 3 average weighted people.
I need to get to class.
His ruthless, cold motions did not waver while his face betrayed no emotion to the innocents fallen.
A dark cloud of fear engulfed his pheromones and he ran even faster. The bell can't ring now, he murmured to himself, and his computer case hit a petite 6th grader, knocking the guy out cold.
Finally, the colorful and joyous walls of P.E. appeared. However, Arthritis refused to feel any sense of celebration or joy. He couldn't. He lumbered through to the locker room, now slowly, with no expression. No sign of weakness.
Arthritis opened his P.E. locker; he had already had it from last quarter. Just as he was pulling the uniform over his head, jet black spiky hair caught his eye.
“Arthritis?”
End of Chapter 1.