Chapter Text
Freshman Year: First Day of School
You got this. It's your first day ever in a real school. There's no way movies are accurate, everyone knows they're bullshit. Besides, this isn't some public school like in the movies. You're fine. You got this.
You keep your earbuds in as you navigate the throngs of more teens like yourself. It was overwhelming, almost enough to induce claustrophobia if you were prone to such a thing, but having that buffer of thudding bass and screaming guitars makes it easier.
You resist the urge to smooth your clothes. Last thing you need is a nervous habit like that. Your uniform is fine, your skirt follows the dress code, and much to your surprise, it was more ethical than you thought it would be. Dad's voice rings in your ears, disappointed and lecturing.
Yes, Dad. I know. There's no such thing as ethical consumption under capitalism. But this was better than I'd planned on buying.
You respond to Dad's voice with a smile in your heart as you approach the lockers. You read the numbers and frown; yours is blocked. You narrow your eyes as you study the student leaning against it, suddenly nervous. He's really hot, way hotter than you thought was possible for someone in high school. His hair is silver, and all you can think as you study the way it catches sunlight is how soft it looks. Probably some senior . His attention is fixed on two identical twin boys, all three of them talking and laughing, a trumpet case in his elegant hand.
You try to catch his eyes, but Hot And Sexy looks away before you can communicate that you need to get past. You frown, briefly annoyed, before making an effort to let it go. “Excuse me, can you move?”
Nothing.
“Excuse me, can you move please? You're blocking my locker.”
Hot And Sexy looks at you again, rich red eyes shining in the sunlight, and he ignores you. Again.
What a shock. Hot And Sexy is really Hot Asshole.
“Hey, asshole. Fucking move your ass already, and go block someone else's locker!”
Hot Asshole glares at you. “Five minutes into the first day of school and you're already ignoring the nice option, I see.”
“I ran out of ‘nice’ after the second time I asked your rude ass to move. You're blocking my locker.”
Hot Asshole moves over one locker and you trade his mocking sneer for your disdainful sniff. You turn away after setting some things inside, the music in your ears drowning out his words as you head towards the band room. If I'm really lucky, he'll have band during a different period than me.
You are not lucky.
You gather your French horn and sit in the “section” indicated. Can I even call this a section? It's a single chair. On the bright side, I can say I was first chair!
You keep your head down as students slowly file in. The sound of the bell cuts through your music and you reluctantly take out your earbuds just as someone sits next to you in the seat for trumpet first chair, directly to your right.
Unfuckingbelievable.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Am I in your way?” Hot Asshole sneers.
You look him over, your upper lip curled in disgust, before looking away with a roll of your eyes. Dick. I'm not going to waste any more breath on you. At least I don't have to deal with him after this. It sucks he's really hot, but when someone shows you who they are, believe them.
You make your way to your homeroom with little difficulty, relieved to leave Hot Asshole in your wake. You're less than pleased to see seats are assigned, until you find yours by a window. The view isn't much, just an empty field, but it's better than having to deal with more rich assholes on either side of you. And who knows? Maybe one of your fellow scholarship students is “Sylus Qin Che.” You frown; the last name is vaguely familiar.
You try to remember how you know it when a feminine voice clearing her throat near you catches your attention. You look up.
“Ummm, your skirt is like, two years out of fashion?” The girl is stereotypical SoCal pretty. She also just consumed your last nerve.
You smile sweetly at her. “Oh thanks for telling me! Do you mind helping me look?”
Skirt Brat looks at you strangely. “Uhhhh like, look for what?”
“For when I fucking asked you.” You continue to smile.
Skirt Brat’s mouth falls open in horror. “Oh my gawd, you can't just like, talk to people-”
You gesture out the window next to you. “Do you see that field out there? That's the exact field where I'm growing all my fucks to give. Oh, look! It's empty.”
You stare flatly until she finally takes the hint and leaves you alone. Movement catches the corner of your eye and you turn to greet your new neighbor.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
“It's not enough you got in my way this morning, now you're following me around? Creep.” You stare at Hot Asshole with undisguised irritation.
“Someone has an over-inflated sense of self-worth. This is my seat, and don't worry. If I ever decide to follow anyone, you're safe. I'd pick someone with manners.” His (stupidly attractive) face is twisted with similar irritation.
Eyes roll once more as you look away, lip once again curled into a sneer. Fine then. First two periods. What are the chances of us having every class together? It's-fuck. I knew I should have paid closer attention to probability. Whatever. It's slim to none. I'll be fine.
The bell rings.
“Greetings, everyone! Welcome to World History. We're going to start with some icebreakers, so turn to your neighbor. You'll be getting their name and an interesting fact about them, and then you'll be introducing them to the rest of the class.”
Your desk feels cool against your forehead. You wonder which would break first if you bash your head: your desk or your skull. You sit upright with a sigh and look over at Sylus. He's staring at his phone. A growl rumbles deep in your throat as you turn fully and face him.
“Well?”
“Can't you read?” Sylus sets the piece of paper with his name where you can see it. He doesn't look at you.
“I still have to get a fact-”
“Now you want me to do your work for you? Nice try, sweetie. Figure it out.”
“God, you're a prick. Do you need-”
“I know how to read.”
Sylus doesn't spare a glance, scrolling on his phone as he leans back in his seat. Frustration and irritation bubble under your skin and you figure out how you know the name Qin Che.
It's only the name of one of the richest men to ever live, and the CEO over a massive corporate empire. A groan of irritation slips out as you lean backwards and stare at the ceiling. Great. Not only is he an insanely hot asshole, he's also an insanely rich asshole. The exact kind of people Mom and Dad have dedicated their lives to fighting. And now I have to breathe the same air as this butthook? One of us is going to end up murdering the other.
Your turn comes before you know it. You stand with a contemptuous sigh and point at Sylus. “That's Sylus Qin Che.”
You pause for dramatic effect as you scramble for a fact to share.
You pause some more, just because.
You pause one last time to make it awkward out of spite and pettiness.
“He has hair.”
Your classmates and teacher look baffled as you sit down, staring dead ahead. You refuse to look at Sylus as he stands.
“That-” Sylus pauses until it's awkward.
Asshole. I did it first.
“Is Hypatia Anastasia Sullivan. She has a face. It covers the front of her skull.”
The confusion in the classroom is palpable and you watch as your teacher, Mr. Thomas, makes the decision to ignore whatever had just happened between the two of you and move onto the next pair. You tune out the other students until a pair of identical twins stand up. The same twins Sylus had been talking to before school started.
You smirk quietly. Did the teacher not think his seating chart through? He sat identical twins next to each other. They have nothing to share here. Apparently Mr. Thomas realized the same thing, only it was too little, too late.
“Oh, I'm sorry. You two don't-”
“He's Kieran Metzger and he once scaled Mount Everest entirely by tapdancing.”
Mr. Thomas blinks, looking back and forth between the twins. Kieran stands. “That's Luke Metzger and he only knows how to swim like a mermaid.”
There's muffled laughter to your right as Sylus covers his mouth. Mr. Thomas looks even more confused, looking between the two brothers, unsure if they're honest or goofing around. The silence thickens and begins to weigh everyone down before he shakes himself and begins to set expectations for the school year.
As you sit down in your last class of the day, you want to scream when Sylus walks through the door.
Every. Fucking. Class.
The icebreakers every teacher insisted on putting students through was agonizing and only intensified the bristling animosity that filled the space between you two. You let out a heavy sigh as he sits down next to you. I don't know who I pissed off but I'm sorry? Probably?
You and Sylus look at each other with undisguised contempt. “At this point in the day, the only way I want to break the ice with you is if I can throw you through it.”
“You could try, but be careful you don't break a nail, sweetie,” Sylus answers snidely.
Your English teacher stands the moment the bell rings. An older woman, she has a look of no-nonsense about her. She claps her hands once and grabs the attention of the room.
“I'm Mrs. Smith. When I take roll, state your pronouns-”
“Why do we have to do all that woke shit?!” One kid protests.
“Pronouns have nothing to do with sleeping, unless you're talking about a specific person sleeping. They're just a part of speech, like verbs. Or nouns.” A student with shaggy black hair answers and even across the room you can see his eyes are a deep purple. “They're used because using someone's full name every time you address or refer to them is bulky and cumbersome.”
“The fuck are you saying to me?!”
“I'm explaining pronouns? They're standard parts of speech, along with verbs. Those are the action words, by the way. Don't you know this?” The second student answers helpfully.
Your eyes narrow thoughtfully as you watch the exchange as the heat in it becomes increasingly lopsided. There's something about the way the second student is answering that's off. Funny for sure, but also off.
“You mean to tell me if some dude says he's a she, I should call him a she?!”
“Uhhh yes? It's a shorthand for their name? You wouldn't call them by the wrong name, right?”
He thinks the other guy doesn't know what pronouns are. He's trying to educate him, not realizing the other guy just doesn't want to respect people whose pronouns might not match whatever is in their pants.
You're delighted.
“He's a little confused but he's got the spirit,” you murmur quietly to yourself. Or so you thought.
It wasn't quiet enough.
Sylus heard you and immediately doubles over with muffled laughter. His hand clamps down tight over his mouth and you watch as his face gets red. His suppressed laughter is contagious and you find yourself stifling your own laughter, your eyes dancing between Sylus red-faced and shaking beside you, and the student with purple eyes. The first student is ranting about sexual identity as opposed to gender and the second looks confused.
“But grammar has nothing to do with someone's genitals? Why are you bringing those up?”
The first kid loses his mind, drowning out Mrs. Smith's futile efforts to restore order to her classroom.
“Pronouns are standard parts of speech, and for someone who doesn't want to use them ever, you've been using them this entire time? Don't you know what pronouns even are? Why do you want people to use your full name every time they talk to you?”
“Pronouns are part of the gay agenda's efforts to give everyone a transgender! Gender identity is bullshit and your sex is what you're born-”
“Why are you talking about sex and gender? This is English class, we won't cover sexual reproduction until second semester. In health class, which is a different class from first semester English. ”
Sylus had finally stopped laughing and was wiping tears from his eyes when the first kid gets an ugly look on his face. He glares at the other kid and points aggressively.
“You're some kinda queer, aren't you?!”
“Dude, the hell is wrong with you? Did you get so caught up in watching rage bait TikTok reels over the summer that you forget that grammar exists?” Your voice is blistering with a level of scathing contempt that you had previously reserved for Sylus.
“Why are you throwing a temper tantrum about something so minor? You'd have so much more energy during the day if you didn't waste it on stupid non-arguments like pronouns,” Sylus asks.
Unprepared for his opponent to be defended so quickly, the first kid sputters out weak protests.
“Why do you even care so much about what's in other people's pants? It's not like you're ever going to see.” The purple-eyed student asks curiously.
The class erupts with laughter and other students begin congratulating the second kid. The first gathers his things and storms out, his face red with either fury or embarrassment. You laugh again; good riddance. The second kid’s face is confused as he's heaped with praise, and you realize he hadn't intended for that remark to sound as insulting as it was.
The first student gone, Mrs. Smith has no difficulty in reestablishing order as she finally takes roll call. She looks around. “Normally, I'd have you all do an icebreaker but you all look exhausted and I'd rather not offer an opportunity for another disruption. If you already know something about a classmate, please don't hesitate-”
One of the identical twins stands up and points at his brother. “His name is Luke and over the summer he got shot in the ass,” Kieran declares loudly. Luke looks stunned before he gets the giggles.
Sylus laughs hysterically once more as he puts his head down on his desk. “I said I was sorry!”
Mrs. Smith blinks and you can see her give up for the day, waving her hand as she tells everyone to talk quietly amongst themselves for the rest of the period. Still giggling at Sylus and the other student, Caleb Xia Yizhou, you open your phone and text your parents about your first day.
Not even Sylus “Stupidly Rich Hot Asshole” Qin Che could take away how proud you were of yourself for making it through without breaking down.