Chapter Text
He opens his locker with a calm ease, the familiar clank of metal echoing softly down the hallway. Micro is friendly and approachable, the kind of guy everyone’s friends with even though he doesn’t talk much. As the sports captain, he’s focused on the game rather than clubs. He’s the type to apologize for the smallest things, and while he’s great at English, math is a whole different story he’s definitely struggling there.
He closes his locker and glances down the hallway, spotting Snowbird and Rotation chatting by the lockers a few steps away. Micro also notices a certain brunette hiding behind them, barely noticeable. Must be Thomas, he thought. A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he heads over to them.
Before he even gets close, Rotation spots him and yells out his name, making the whole hallway echo with the shout. Micro laughs quietly, quickening his pace to join them.
“Hey guys!” Micro says, putting his hand on Rotation’s shoulder.
The conversation shifts to casual catching up until the bell rings, and that’s when Micro realizes Thomas has been sitting on the floor against the wall, distracted with something the entire time.
“See ya later, Micro!” Rotation shouts as soon as the three start walking away.
Micro gives them a small wave and makes his way to class.
⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚
Micro steps through the door of his home, dropping his bag by the entrance with a tired sigh. The familiar quiet wraps around him, giving him a moment to just breathe. Was his father home? Micro wondered.
“MICRO GHOST JR!” Yep, that answered his question.
“Yes, Father?” he replies calmly, walking toward his father’s voice. Micro stands at the open office door and knocks twice.
“You may come in.” He enters. His father is sitting in his chair with his glasses on his head and a blank, stern look on his face. “I saw last week’s math quiz paper,” he huffs. “You’re failing.” His tone is serious. “I should have never gotten you into football. This is the outcome of my past decisions. Your mother would be disappointed, Micro.” Micro can only stand and listen to his father’s lecture. “I’ll give you an ultimatum: either you get your grades up, or you quit the football team.”
“But- but Dad,” Micro stutters, trying to reason with him, but he knows his dad won’t listen.
“At the end of the second semester, I want to see a change, and you know what will happen if I don’t.” His father huffs. “I don’t even trust you to do it yourself. I’ve been talking to the school, and they’ll assign you a student tutor. And don’t forget you’re a Ghost. You live to be successful.” After a short moment of silence, he adds, “You’re excused.”
Micro quietly exits the office and makes his way to his room. He knows there’s no point trying to reason with his father he’s too stubborn.
When he gets to his room, he takes off his jacket and throws it lazily onto his chair before lying flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He remembers how his father wasn’t always this way.
Once upon a time, his father was kind and supportive of his dreams unlike his mother, who wasn’t even there for him physically. She always traveled for work and was never home for the majority of his childhood. The only thing she truly cared about was her child’s image and grades. When his mother died when he was twelve, everyone around him cried and grieved her normally, except for him. Micro never shed a single tear for his mother. It was as if he couldn’t cry, like he was unable to. His whole life he just never cried, he could never bring himself to do so. Her absence didn’t change, life was still the same as before. But unlike her, his father’s absence was very noticeable. He became cold, distant, and threw himself into work. The father Micro knew, the one he looked up to, the one who encouraged him, had changed.
Before his mother died, Micro’s grades were decent, and his father was never one to lecture him or blame him for anything. Nowadays all his father’s lectures were the same: “Do better,” or, “This is what your mother would have wanted.” But this time Micro felt he took it too far. After all, he was really passionate about football, it was the only thing he had truly enjoyed over time.
Now all Micro could do was sit and comply with his father’s demands.
⋆.˚☾⭒.˚
Thomas is by the lockers packing up his homework and assignments for the day when all of a sudden his homeroom teacher calls him aside.
“Thomas, we’ve found you a pupil to tutor. His name is Micro, you may know him as the school’s football captain. He’s a really nice kid; I’m sure you two will get along well. Also, you should probably go meet him and exchange information to plan a session.” Thomas simply nods and walks out.
As he leaves the classroom, he realizes he left his bag inside his locker. Fuck, dude, he thinks to himself. When he goes back to his locker and grabs his things, he slides the straps of his messenger bag onto his shoulder and closes the locker.
There stands Micro, leaning back against the lockers, his body slightly slanted against the cold metal surface, head tilted and looking calm. Thomas jumps back a bit from the surprise. “Dude, you're like a ghost,” Thomas says with a panted breath. Face to face with a really pretty guy with white hair and eyes that look like they came from the moon itself.
“It’s in the name,” Micro chuckles. “Sorry for startling you. I tend to do that a lot, so you might wanna get used to it.”
“Right.” Thomas huffs and gives him a deadpanned look. “Give me your number.” For a second Micro gives him a confused look. “For the sessions,” he clarifies.
“Of course, yeah.” They swap phones to exchange numbers. Thomas notices how pale Micro’s hands are. They aren’t delicate like his friend Saps, they're rough, something you’d expect from a football player.
Micro names himself “Micro Ghost 🤍”.
When he gets his phone back, he sees the name “Thomas.” Jeez, this guy is boring, he thinks.
“I’ve gotta go. Just text me whatever time matches your schedule. I’m assuming you’re pretty busy, considering you're the football captain.” Thomas turns around and walks away.
Okay, so he’s just assuming things. I see. Micro scoffs to himself and goes home. He thinks about how those study sessions will likely be the most boring stuff ever.
Thomas
Hey, does 4:50 tomorrow work for you?
Micro Ghost 🤍
yeah that works
Thomas
Place?
Micro Ghost 🤍
definitely not my house
Thomas
My house works too, if you're comfortable with that.
MicroGhost🤍
That's fine!
Thomas
see you at 4:50 tomorrow then
MicroGhost🤍
see you then
huh this guy isn’t that dry over text I guess. Micro thinks.
Maybe things between them will get better, after all first impressions are always terrible.