Chapter Text
Shamil glided on his skateboard, navigating through the mob of students as the school bell shrieked. His palm wiped the sweat off his forehead as he skated forward, faster.
The wheels rolled, and the sound made itself known on the footpath.
Shamil's white bangs swept to the side of his face — behind his lashes. A piercing on his brow gleamed under the sun as he skated further.
He glanced at some freshmen.
He watched as they moved out of the way of his board, scurrying away like fish. Some tripped on their shoes, followed by shared whispers.
He noticed a friend group being loud, three friends laughing hysterically in a circle. He passed them a judging look.
He then sensed a few more skateboarders behind him.
The sound of their wheels was more prominent than that of his own skateboard. Well, Shamil's board was old, to be fair.
The newcomers were passing plastic candies and performing amateur tricks with their boards. One of them was a boy dressed in purple, his hair a dark shade of the same colour. His sister was the other; her hair tied into two small buns. She glided just behind her brother.
They obnoxiously skated on their boards, desperate to push each other off.
Annoying.
Shamil hopped on his skateboard from the footpath onto the stone-cold pavement; his wheel made an unfamiliar sound.
Shamil slouched and pretended not to have heard it.
He'd just head home and fix the damn wheels, or just get a new board. It'd been long enough.
"Shamil!" one of the voices behind called to him.
He could hear polyurethane wheels trail closer behind him, their wheels rolling against the pavement as well.
"The wheels of your skateboard look like they're about to pop off!" a higher-pitched voice added.
He groaned, continuing to glide forward. He stopped shortly after, then hopped off his azure and neon-blue painted board.
Laughter followed as one of his wheels gave a loud squeak.
Shamil effortlessly kicked the skateboard right into his fingers with his right leg. He then steadily lifted the skateboard to his torso. He stepped to the side and glanced at an outdoor wooden bench facing his way.
"Be right back. Both of you can head home," he told the juniors, dropping himself onto the leftmost corner of the teak bench as it gave a small creak.
He brought his skateboard to his face and flipped it, examining the axle nuts — unaware of the presence of someone else.
Right at the other corner sat a figure who had previously been skimming through the pages of his book, but Shamil's sudden arrival seemed to have put a stop to it.
Probably some dreary nerd.
Shamil tried to tighten the axle nuts with his bare hands, though it was a struggle to do so without a socket. But at least they'd be snug enough not to wobble.
Suddenly, the air around him felt heavier. He was still working on his board, yet he could sense uninvited gazes lingering on him.
Weird. He wasn't even doing anything this time.
Sapphire — the aforementioned junior — decided to enlighten Shamil with what was going on.
"Uh, Shamil, don't move... but... "
"your ex is to your right."
What.
Shamil dunked a black-haired boy's head into the toilet, laughing to himself as the boy's head hit the porcelain bowl.
"Well, what was it you called me in the halls? Care to say it again?" he giggled, his tone mocking.
He grabbed the boy's hair and lifted his head out. The boy immediately gasped, wailing and reaching for air.
"Having fun?" he giggled again. "Keep whatever shit you have to say to yourself next time, or I'll have Brair do this instead."
The boy nodded hastily, still huffing. He muttered something that fell deaf to Shamil's ears. Shamil shoved the boy aside, fixing his hoodie as he walked away.
After that, the same boy never dared to utter a word to Shamil.
Good.
No one else did.
Until —
"Hello. Excuse me," a voice called, tender and soft.
Shamil turned around to lock eyes with the freshman everyone had been talking about. The name was Vincent Vanilla, if he recalled correctly. They said he was a goody-two-shoes with no malice in his heart. Apparently.
It's all probably just an act anyway.
His friends called him rather cute. He was kind of...cute.
His pale eyelashes fluttered, revealing his eyes — one a gorgeous shade of yellow and the other a shade of ocean blue.
His blonde hair fell over his tan skin, his bangs shaping his round, soft features.
"Uh— yeah?" Shamil answered after a little while.
"I— Are you the one who bullied my friend?" he asked right away.
"I've put a bunch of people in their place. You have to be specific, dollface." Shamil grinned ear to ear. "Though with those questions, you ought to join them, eh?"
Shamil flicked his forehead, his tone spiteful.
"I was—"
The blonde was interrupted as Shamil grabbed his shirt and shoved him aside.
"I don't care." Shamil retorted, walking off. One hand in his pocket, the other lazily waving.
Laying out pranks with his 'beastly' companions. Grinning and taking pride in all the threats they passed around together.
That is who Shamil was.
He couldn't stop himself from trying to outshine every single marionette on his grand little stage. He really just couldn't help it.
Yet this dimwit Vanilla had tried so many times to offer friendship, talk to Shamil, or stupidly — even pass him smiles.
After all Shamil was, all he was feared for, all he was admired for — this idiot blonde brushed it aside.
After all the threats he passed him, all the times he'd poked fun at his friends.
This idiot would still seek him.
Shamil hated the way Vincent was always composed and serene. He hated the way Vincent was actually genuine under that smile.
He hated how Vincent got along with everyone so easily, something Shamil had never been good at.
He hated the way Vincent stood back up on his feet every single time.
But what he hated most was the way Vincent smiled at him.
He hated him and his stupid, stupid face.
Such an idiot.
Yet, he was—
The only idiot who ever understood.
Shamil snapped back into reality when the high pitched voice of the junior with the buns chimed in.
What was he doing again? Right. His skateboard wheels.
Yet, the thought of his ex's presence on the other end made it impossible for him to focus.
His pale, long fingers slipped against the axle nuts.
He could feel more eyes falling onto him, more heads turning.
His focus shifted, he tried — daringly, to steal a glance.
His gaze fell on Vincent's cream-colored chunky loafers, He felt himself freeze when he tried lifting his gaze to meet his eyes.
God, how'd he end up here anyway?
Of all benches in the entire school, was this really the only bench Vincent found?!
Who was he kidding? Vincent sat on this very bench daily.
How'd he even end up
How'd he end up losing hi—
He pushed the thought away. He just wanted to go home and lie on his bed, away from the thought of Vincent. Away from the vanilla scent that clouded his mind the longer he stayed seated on the wretched bench.
He quickly stood up and finally stole a glance — Vincent remained infuriatingly adorable.
He strutted forward, choosing to ignore his opportunity to maybe ask— Why had he cut his hair short? since when did he start reading those—
Nope! He's over him. So over him!
"Let's go.." he muttered under his breath, Directing his 'minions' to follow closely behind.
He hopped on his skateboard and pushed alot harder than actually needed.
Vincent lay lazily on his bed on his side. He held his phone close to his face, squinting because his glasses were neatly kept on the table beside his bed.
A lamp glowed dimly beside him.
Smudging his droopy eyes, his thumb scrolled through posts. His attention was caught by a particular post that seemed to have blown up last night.
It was a fresh post nonetheless, something about the day before.
Vincent's half-lidded eyes fluttered fully open when he recognised the post — and the people the post was specifically about.
The picture was him and Shamil on the wooden bench yesterday. And honestly speaking, they looked ridiculously reluctant.
Vincent was startled by Shamil's unexpected arrival, he was skulking with his expression extremely flustered, his hand clumsily grasping the book.
As for Shamil — his eyes were wide in realisation, though he will admit — Shamil was quick to hide it.
The post was made by an anonymous user, titled, “Damn, these two still gay.”
Vincent bit the inside of his cheek, he didn't know what to make of it. All he knew was that today, school was going to be very... inquisitive? Bothersome?
Maybe both. Probably both.
He took a fresh shower and got dressed.
Shirt tucked in, nicely ironed. All pristine and neat.
Standing serenely by the mirror, gazing upon his own reflection, he picked up a brush — humming a tune as the brush's bristles untangled all the knots in his now short, lustrous blond hair.
He hadn't really needed to braid it anymore, it was no longer that long. Though it'd be a lie if he admitted he did not miss it.
He headed downstairs for breakfast and greeted his mom with a wide smile.
School wasn't the best, yet Vincent had learnt to enjoy it nonetheless. As life should be enjoyed.
Vincent passed a nice smile to all his friends, his loafers giving tiny squeaks against the floor.
Upon his arrival, he was greeted by Lily Welles — his closest best friend.
"Vinny! Hey!" Lily called out to him from across the hallway, a friendly smile on her face.
They exchanged a few laughs as they walked through the corridor, bidding each other farewell when the bells rang.
A little while after lunch, Vincent found two of his other friends by his locker — chatting away. Vincent joined them as they went on.
"Van! How are you?" Holly asked Vincent, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.
Vincent let out a small chuckle and waved them a quick ‘hi’ first,
"I'm good, Holly. What about you?" he asked back,
"I'm—"
"Forget that, Vincent, are you and Shamil dating again?" Goldie interrupted, barging in with a lifted brow. She leaned against a locker, her arms folded.
Vincent blinked his eyes fully open in surprise, taken aback by the sudden accusation.
Holly nudged Goldie's shoulders, mouthing a quiet 'shush.'
"Okay sorry, I was just a little curious — is all, y'know Vinny there's a post that's been circulating recently?" Goldie remarked.
"Yes... I am aware." Vincent sheepishly nodded his head, "But! I assure you it was nothing!"
Vincent gave a sheepish smile to both the girls.
"Good. He's an asshole anyway. He doesn't deserve you, okay?" Goldie declared, offering a genuine smile.
Vincent let out a nervous chuckle with a small nod.
It was Holly who conversed next, yet whatever it was that she said did not meet Vincent's ears as his eyes fell on the passerby — Shamil Mori — dastardly handsome, scoundrelly trickster.
Also, his ex. wow.
He wore a ponytail today, the seas of long dark blue-black hair tied behind with only wild white strands covering his face. A piercing on his brow and one on his lips.
His face was covered in bruises, a large black mark stained his cheeks and under-eye.
And just as he came, he passed by. He did not look at Vincent, not even once.
It was as if he did not know him, as if he never knew him.
As if they were once nothing.
"Hey— Vincent, you good?" Holly asked, worried.
Vincent hurriedly responded by forcing a thin smile,
"Yes! Sorry... I zoned out!"
"Did you see Shamil's face? Did he get beaten up for what?" Goldie commented, almost amused.
Holly passed her another glare, Goldie shrugged it off after a small 'sorry.'
"I think so." Vincent admitted.
"Well, he has been getting into a lot of fights these days..." Holly said.
"He just has a knack for beating people up or getting beaten up. Nothing better to do." Goldie muttered.
Vincent couldn't get Shamil's bruised face out of his mind, more than that — he couldn't talk about him. Conflicted, he did not know what to say, to assume, to—
"I'll be heading to the library now! Catch you guys later?" he announced, smiling as his cheeks puffed.
He left Holly and Goldie on their discussions about the next upcoming movie hit or something like that, as he made his way to the library.
The library — by the shelves to the end — where the scent of old paper lingered, by the window ledge — was Vincent's favourite place in the entire school. Second favourite, actually.
A faint blueberry aroma lingered nearby.
Vincent leaned by the window with a book held in his hands. Yet, those letters weren't what Vincent's undivided attention was on.
It was on those azure blue eyes instead.
"Nillyyy, what do you even do here?" Shamil wailed playfully.
He leaned in closer, close enough to peep at Vincent's face as a grin brimful of mischief tugged at his lips.
He effortlessly grabbed the book straight out of Vincent's warm hands. Vincent smiled in turn, after letting out a small yelp.
"Nilly? Who's Nilly?" he asked the taller boy.
"Vanilla. Nilla. Nilly. All you, idiot." Shamil grinned, pinching Vincent's cheeks.
"Ow."
"You don't like it?"
"No no! I do like it!"
"Good. You better. I stayed up all night coming up with nicknames." Shamil grinned wider, which made Vincent let out another chuckle.
Shamil hopped onto the other side of the window ledge, he held the stolen book in his right hand.
"Oh me! Oh my! romance novels?" Shamil chuckled to himself as he turned the page.
Vincent reached out for the book, a faint hue forming across his cheeks. Shamil pushed Vincent's arms away.
"Give it back!" Vincent giggled.
Vincent blinked his eyes open. He found himself on the same window ledge, a book in hand. Only this time,
That sly smile wasn’t what would greet him if he got bored.
Those pale hands wouldn't playfully pinch his nose or tease him about the embarrassing things he was reading.
He would not lose his breath laughing.
And no one would pry for his attention.
Vincent buried his face into the book's pages, bringing it close to his face.
And for the first time, the library seemed very, very loud. Despite the absence of literal noise.