Chapter Text
Another godawful day ridden with the rats and the rumbles. It’s pitiful how the scrawny and solemnly shaky boy makes his way to the sink, scratching any bits of sleep off his face. He spends the time in the shower staring at his hands instead of using them to clean himself. And it’s pitiful how he mumbles responses to his endearing mother who wishes nothing but the best for him, really. How he carries his bag on one shoulder, stumbling his way to the school entrance.
The Gloomy Boy moved in with his family to a mix of the suburbs and the rurals. Not a single thought gets through any of the kids’ minds here, as there’s no reason for it. Everything is handed to each and every one of them; a kind, wealthy and fruitful family. However, he always preferred to separate himself from others. Perhaps he finds himself superior.
He thinks of making a run for it. Away from the school gates and as far west as he can find himself going. Unfortunately, he loses his opportunity when a pointed football crashes into his side, making him wince.
A group of boys run over to him in concern. “I’m sorry. We’re really sorry–Why didn’t you catch the ball, bro?!” The ambitiously loud yellow haired boy contests through a smile. His hair is rather…firey.
“It’s not my fault!” Another boy (whose hair is clearly a failed attempt at bleaching blonde to white) covered in jewels shouts. “Your aim is just trash!” The Ugly and the Loud Boys make fun of each other rather flirtingly, every now and then remembering The Gloomy Boy exists.
Oh. Right. There’s easy-to-remember nicknames assigned by the boy who just moved in. The fire-hair boy has been given the title “Loud Boy,” while the other boy is honored with the title of “Ugly Boy.” However, that might get confusing for The Gloomy Boy, as many of these guys are rather unappealing.
The boy makes his way to his homeroom, still rubbing his aching side. A couple students barge their way in. One pretty tall, pink and minted haired girl (who The Gloomy Boy liked to call Smiles), and a short masked boy (who was called Striped Boy, due to him always wearing stripes), disrupted any sort of peace and silence there was remaining. Then a few others join, including Loud and Ugly Boys from before. And the day screeches its way through, going by painfully slow. As always.
Eventually, the school day is almost at its end with only two more classes to go. According to The Gloomy Boy’s schedule, there was only Physical Education, and a study hall period left to go. P.E being his favorite, as it required less thinking skills, the one hour and fifteen minute block went by in a whiff, leaving the last period left. Study hall.
Not having any work to do, The Gloomy Boy decided to zone out into the world and listen to music as if the instruments sung for him.
Every now and then, he’d zone back in because a classmate yelled too loud, or someone’s water bottle decided to identify itself as a bomb when it fell to the floor.
The Gloomy Boy overheard his homeroom teacher and Smiles talking.
“Wait!” Smiles exclaimed. “There’s gonna be a new student tomorrow?!”
“Yes, I heard from the principal that he had some,” the teacher paused, “family struggles. I have no doubt you’ll be accepting and make him feel at home?”
Smiles shrieked in her usual excitement, “So many new kids!!” Really only two. “You can count on me Miss!” She said with a giggle, hopping on her feet and running off back to her mess of a desk.
Ah, well, at least he won’t be the only new kid, he thought. Not like it mattered, since he wouldn’t converse with the other kid either way.
The Gloomy Boy heard the school bells ring over the blasting of his headphones, and decided to take his sweet time on the walk home.
His choice to go through a more scenic route wasn’t unnatural, and he quite enjoyed every bit of it. The birds chirped to their hearts content, the wind listening and trying to follow. There was a sort of peace that The Gloomy Boy had felt when he wasn’t with others, including himself. Like he could disassociate into the air and pretend like he fancied his time on Earth.
Alas, he had to go home at a reasonable time before his mother worried and his older sister forced a lecture onto him.
Twisting the keys into the lock, The Gloomy Boy makes his way to his room, only to be stopped by his mother.
“Did you hear? Tsutsu said there’s going to be another new kid tomorrow!” The boy nodded. “Tsutsu” is The Gloomy Boy’s sister’s nickname. “You could make a friend, you already have something in common.” This was his mother’s attempt at trying to make The Gloomy Boy find a bright side to moving.
What does it matter? The pitiful boy thought.
He entered his room, throwing his burden of a backpack off onto the carpeted floor with a softened thud. A sigh filled with exasperation and disappointment left his mouth, and with it he hunched over.
Only three more months left to go. That’s right. Three more months until his school year ends, and he’ll only have to drag himself through two more. He doesn’t mind his high school with little-to-no work. And for the most part, people leave him alone. The exception being Smiles.
Smiles. He flopped himself over on his side, opposite his backpack.
The Gloomy Boy appreciated Smiles in a way. She always–like her nickname implies–has a smile on her face, she finds the good in everyone and in every little act. Every now and then, when The Gloomy Boy didn’t eat anything for the day, Smiles saw to it.
“You want a muffin?!” She’d say through a mouthful of chocolate chips and candy.
“No thanks.”
Sometimes Smiles would pressure The Gloomy Boy into eating by threatening to call on him to read in class. Which then he would have to admit defeat.
Aside from Smiles, there was Stripes, Loud Boy, and his other half, Ugly Boy.
The Gloomy Boy respected Stripes. One time he almost tripped, and Stripes caught him right before his face made impact with the curb side. They rarely talked to each other, but Stripes once shared with him that, “Don’t you damn dare try to go for her,” “her,” referring to Smiles, “or you won’t see the end of it.” Stripes said this in a joking tone, but anyone who actually tried to hit on Smiles would always come out crying.
Loud Boy, like Smiles, always had a smile on his face as well. Whenever he talked (moreso yelled), “HELLO EVERYONE! I HOPE YOUR MORNING HAS BEEN EVER SO EXCELLENT!” it’d be through a wide grin. His eyebrows were thick and dark, highlighting his flame-like irises.
The Gloomy Boy didn’t actually consider Ugly Boy to be as ugly as it sounded. He just thought it was ironic how Ugly Boy always boasted about how he thinks, “I can make any girl fall for me in just a single gesture!” flaunting his grey, shoulder-lengthed hair, while taping his nose up to look like a pig.
There were a few others that The Gloomy Boy usually talks to–Well, they talk to him–that haven’t shown up to any class today; Insect, a freshmen girl who's short in height and in temper that would always mess around with The Gloomy Boy like a mosquito, liked to spout nonsense like, “You know, if you go weeks without smiling or laughing, it could lead to indigestion–and even diarrhea! I’d watch out.” Don’t let this girl get into medical school.
And then there was Scary. He’s a volunteer substitute teacher.
Scary wasn’t named for his bold physique that could make anyone feel protected if he came to their aid, but he was named after how he’d always randomly start crying. One time in freshman year, The Gloomy Boy’s legs still hadn’t gotten used to the uphill slope, so they were sore and burning. Scary offered to help him up the stairs, in which doom and gloom couldn’t refuse. Once they had gotten up those stairs, The Gloomy Boy thanked him, which resulted in Scary putting his hands together in a praying motion while tears fell out his face saying, “This is not a matter in which you’d thank me. Rather, thank the Lord.” The much smaller boy didn’t know how to react, so he awkwardly stepped away, scared that he could be banished to hell at any moment. Not that he was that religious anyway.
Bored from thinking about all of his peers, The Gloomy Boy freshened himself, and forced down a supper of orange chicken and rice. Afterwards, he then rushed to bed.
It was only six in the afternoon, but who cares, right? The boy dreamt of himself resting at the bottom of the ocean, while all sorts of eerie looking sea creatures swirled around him, unbothered by his presence.
The following day in homeroom, the teacher announced the new kid. He was around the same height as The Gloomy Boy, however that was where their similarities ended. Unlike The Gloomy Boy, the new kid had what seemed to be natural white hair, the kind people see on their elders. He lacked the thick eyebrows that The Gloomy Boy was always insecure of; his skin was a few shades darker; he was muscular, and could definitely hold his own.
But what anyone would immediately notice were the scars on the boy's face. One stretched from the left side, across his nose, and ending in a point on the right. Then, there were two scars on his forehead, just underneath his hairline, that formed an X.
As The Gloomy Boy scanned the new kid, he noticed that his arms also consisted of smaller, but similar, scars. He was curious as to where they came from, whether it was all at the same time, or if it was self-inflicted over a period of time.
If it were the latter, The Gloomy Boy wouldn’t have the slightest clue of the placement, let alone his choice to show them off.
It wasn’t until the first class of the day, English Honors II, started that he’d realized how much he stared at the new kid. The way he’d swing his pen between his fingers; how he’d glance over at the obnoxious kids on the opposite end of class; his messy handwriting on the whiteboard when explaining his opinion of the events in The Odyssey; His voice.
It wasn’t a voice that sounded so low it could break beneath the floorboards, nor was it high enough to punch the clouds. He decided upon the analogy that the new kid’s voice sounded like a pebble splashing against the surface of a lake. He liked that image. Soft and gentle, yet impactful.
Later, during a twenty minute break which came right after the first block, The Gloomy Boy found himself sitting right against the brick wall underneath a canopy of cement. He was peacefully reading when Smiles interrupted.
“Hey!” She squeals, kneeling down right in front of him. The boy didn’t even bother to look up, but he did mutter a response, which was quite enough for Smiles.
“You know the new kid right?” She asks. The Gloomy Boy nods. “He wanted to know your name.”
The thought of that sentence being true makes his heart skip a beat.
“Why?” He asks.
An unsure laugh leaves Smiles mouth, “Well, he did mention you were staring at him the whole A block.” The boy thought the new kid hadn’t noticed, “I offered him to come over with me but he said he’d rather figure out where his next class is.”
“Oh,” is all that could leave the boy's mouth. He doesn’t express anything more and goes back to reading.
However, when he looks at the words on the page, he can only focus in between the lines. Like, literally, the gaps between the lines. His mind doesn’t let him latch onto the imagery and instead starts racing with new thoughts.
Smiles had already left, now hanging with her friends. But, the Gloomy Boy wanted to know more about him. He needed to know. He couldn’t go on the rest of his day not knowing what the new kid’s first impressions were.
Just as he started heading towards Smiles, the five minute bell rang out, leaving The Gloomy Boy with no options other than to oblige.
And upon entering his B Block, there he was. The new kid seated in the rear row of desks, casually texting on his phone in a slumped back position. The Gloomy Boy didn’t really think when walking towards him, but when has he ever put thought into anything other than his bedtime?
“Smiles said you wanted to know my name.” He blurted out.
The new kid looked at him confused for a second, and then instantly realized the nickname’s owner. He laughed a bit at the realization, but kept silent.
Assuming he was waiting for an answer, The Gloomy Boy responds with his real name. The new kid smiles, and responds with a “hey.”
That’s all that the two get to say to each other before the teacher conducts everyone to their seats, and immediately begins the lesson way before the bell ending passing period rings.
Every now and then, The Gloomy Boy would glance behind him and catch the new kid staring back. The first few times were awkward, but eventually, those awkward glances turned into awkward smiles.
The Gloomy Boy found himself subconsciously hoping the new kid was staring at him, and pretended to work on a problem in the prettiest way he could. Except, he doesn’t know much about pretty when it comes to presentation.
After class ended, The Gloomy Boy had to make his way to the exact opposite end of the campus, and he wasn’t fancying the idea of getting a detention.
He rushed out the door, and on the speed-walk to his next class, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the new kid.
“What class do you have?” He asks.
The Gloomy Boy recovers from his racing heartbeat. “My elective. Clothing Design.”
The new kid lifts up the paper that has the printed schedule, “me too. Room 505?” After a quick confirmation, the two silently walk side by side. They enter the classroom, and the new kid sits right next to the boy.
Today’s lesson in Clothing Design seems easy enough; Grab two different pieces of fabric, measure them out in a 9x10 rectangle, cut them in two layers, take one side of the inner and outside fabric and press the right sides together. Then, sandwich the zipper at the upper seam, pin, and sew.
The Gloomy Boy flies through rather quickly, as his mother and sister are both seamstresses who taught him a lot, and only struggles with lining everything up symmetrically. The new kid, on the other hand, is quite the opposite.
“Need help?” The Gloomy Boy asks.
“Holy shit, yes please!” The rapid reply makes the boy let out a playful scoff, and the first lesson begins.
“Okay,” The Gloomy Boy starts, examining the fabrics. “You’ve measured correctly, however, you only need one layer of fabric for this first bit. So after cutting these two out, separate the fabrics. This is your outside fabric, yeah?” He looks to the new kid, who’s staring right into his eyes.
“Yeah.” This is the most The Gloomy Boy has ever talked to someone consecutively in a while, and the new kid is well aware of it.
“Then, take the inner fabric, do that exact same thing, and take one layer. Are you following?”
“Yep.” Still looking into The Gloomy Boy’s eyes.
“The right side is the side you want to show, the wrong side being the side that won’t show. Luckily for you, the wrong side is clear to see on both your inner and outer fabrics. So, take the right sides and line them up…which, that’s where I struggle.”
After messing up the symmetry in the fabrics, The Gloomy Boy lets out a disappointed sigh.
In a gentle tone, the new kid says, “I’ve got you,” and gets the lining perfect on the first try. The Gloomy Boy’s disappointment turns to admiration.
“Alright,” he says in a chuckle. “Now, put the zipper right…here.” The boy places the simple black zipper on the inside of the edge of the two fabrics. “Pull the zipper open just about halfway, and then undo the fold.”
The small 9x10 rectangular fabric now looks like a lump of dirty clothes, and The Gloomy Boy puts six pins through the three layers, and back out.
“Now you can sew,” he looks to the new kid, who only smiles, and places the
fabric sandwich onto the needle plate.
Back at his desk, the Gloomy Boy is replaying the exact moments in his head as if it were a video he’d never seen. But, he has seen it. He lived it, just a few seconds ago. It wasn’t just some fantasy the boy had conjured up in the desperation of his isolation, it was reality. And the thought made the boy smile brighter than he had in months.
A minute or two later, as The Gloomy Boy finished up the first half of the project, the new kid taps his shoulder.
“Look at how straight I stitched it.” He holds up his soon-to-be zipper pouch, and the threading on the upper edge is terribly wobbly. It goes straight for a couple of centimeters, and then drops down and picks back up.
“It looks like a bunch of runic hieroglyphics. You could almost mistake it for a foreign language.”
“Oh you know, just following what’s trendy.” The new kid replies with a wink.
The boys laugh together, and the new kid is advised to redo the stitching at the narrow edges.
As the new kid gets back to deciphering his ancient language, The Gloomy Boy keeps his eye on him instead of continuing his project. Many…many thoughts race through the boy’s mind, all of which are almost as out of place as the new kid’s stitching.
“I never asked your name.” He says.
The new kid turns over, and ever so casually leans back on his desk. “Finally.” The two smile at each other. After hearing the new kid’s response, a couple nicknames cross The Gloomy Boy’s mind. He decides to try some out.
“So, Shaky Hands, how’s your project going?”
“It’s oka–Wait, wait. What did you just call me?” He jokingly interjects. This makes The Gloomy Boy let out a laugh that’s been begging to get out.
“Shaky Hands. ‘Cause your stitches are so neat, remember?” The Gloomy Boy patiently waits for a response with a smile.
“Nope.”
“No?!” Shaky Hands doesn’t seem to like his new name. He shakes his head.
“Okay, what about…Zig-Zag?”
“Absolutely not.” He’s still disappointed.
“Okay… Wonky-weaver?”
“Oh, God no!”
The two boys keep the conversation going, each nickname getting brutally rejected. With enough bantering, however, an official victor is decided.
“I still don’t know how to feel about this name.” the white haired boy says.
“You’ll warm up to it, Rune-emi.”