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Calculus was among Pete’s long list of classes that made him want to kill himself — it just happened to be the most insufferable one. He was good with words, but not numbers. He had told the teacher to his face he’d rather slit his throat than sit in his retarded class for even a second. That’s the reason why it was the second semester and he hadn’t gone to that classroom since the first week. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t gotten in trouble sooner. It’s not like the back of the school is some super secret hide out — the only reason the other kids didn’t skip there was because he and his friends usually scared them off.
As he took a drag of his cigarette, he heard the sound of footsteps rounding the corner. He didn't bother to turn his head until the figure was standing practically right in front of him. To his relief, it wasn’t a teacher; to his displeasure, it was Mike Makowski. God damnit. He hated him more than the other conformists boners at their school. His hatred bordered on obsession. He convinced himself it was because he wasn’t over the vamp kids bogarting his style — his friends could easily see it was more than that. He often found himself glaring in Mike’s direction without purpose. Mike’s friendliness never failed to annoy him. They’ve spoken maybe twice since fourth grade and each time he was so frustratingly nice to him; as if he wanted to be around him. He maintained that same kindness until he would snap at him and he’d give up, completely dejected.
Despite his supposed hatred, he knew way too much about Mike. More than he’d ever admit. He — unintentionally — listened in on one too many of his conversations. He found out he lived with his stepdad due to his parents' neglect. His name is Mr. Adams and he was a complete weirdo; this was a particularly sore subject for him too, guessing from how he would freeze anytime he was brought up in conversation. Regardless of what was going on in his personal life, he would show up to school, keep up his gay little vampire act, act all joyful with his friends, and do his work without complaints. He spoke with such theatrical gesticulations it was astounding how he never seemed to run out of energy. He noticed all these things through his long glaring sessions that had somehow gone unseen by Mike — presumably.
He narrows his eyes, sizing him up. He stood very awkwardly — clearly it wasn’t by his own will that he had come here. His expression was bordering on fearful despite towering over him almost an entire foot. He stares until Mike tenses up and averts his gaze. Satisfied, he blows a cloud of smoke into his face, earning an overdramatic coughing fit along with flailing arms and several steps back.
“What do you want, Mike?” He bites with a toss of his hair. He knew he went by Vampir now but he seems to have given up on correcting him. He crosses his arms over his chest with his cigarette still in hand.
Mike stammers uselessly for a moment, clearly trying to compose himself, “Uh… Mr. Mackey told me to come find you. He’s— been really upset that you keep skipping. Per se.”
He rolls his eyes, “Why didn’t he come get me himself then?”
“…He’s teaching.” He pauses, “—per se.” He couldn’t hold back a small snicker. He sounded so needlessly panicked.
He glares for just long enough to make Mike’s skin crawl. It brought him delight to watch Mike’s face change; he’s so transparent.
“Why would he send you?” Mike bites his lip, exposing his fake glued on fangs.
“You won’t like what he said,” he raises an eyebrow, prompting him to keep going, “He said I should be the one to come find you since we’re both uh… emo.” He tenses, clearly anticipating a strong response. Pete Thelman must be too predictable because he was right.
He throws his cigarette down onto the concrete and stomps it out. He wasn’t even going to that damn class and his teacher was still trying to ruin his life. It’s been years since he started dressing like this and nothing ever makes him more upset than someone calling him emo. He starts to grumble indignantly to no one in particular, “Preppy conformist bitch — doesn’t know the difference between goth and emo. I will never be a self pitying emo douche and I especially won’t be grouped in with you—“
“Why do you keep skipping? Per se.” Mike’s lispy voice interrupts his tangent. He tilts his head to the side incredulously.
“…Because it’s retarded? Obvi,” He scowls suspiciously at Mike.
“But why? You hate your other classes and you don’t skip those ones. Not even anatomy. Are you not scared you’ll fail?” Mike’s concerned head tilt only irritated him.
“Like I care if I fail. None of this shit even matters. School is a capitalist scheme to make us slaves to the system. I’ll end up dead and alone in a couple years anyway.” He spits out his usual goth, depressing bullshit, expecting Mike to give up and drop it again.
Mike presses his lips into a thin line, “You didn’t answer my question.” Pete couldn’t help but notice how his voice lowered to that concerned tone he usually only used with his friends. Still suspicious, he leans back into himself like a turtle retreating into its shell.
“There isn’t a point. It’s not like I understand a word of what’s going on in there,” That, of course, wasn’t enough to make Mike leave him alone. In fact, it encouraged him. His face instantly lights up with a realization he was sure he wouldn’t like.
“If you’re struggling, I can always help you! I’m really good at math, per se. I can even share my notes with you—“ Mike looked so hopeful and excited he almost felt guilty for snapping at him. Almost.
“Mike,” he interrupts, “that’s not the—“ He pinches the bridge of his nose with a groan, finally pushing himself off the wall he leaned against. “Why the hell are you bothering trying to help me? I’m not a freakin’ charity case. I know what I’m doing to myself — I do it on purpose. Just go back to Mr. Dipfuck and tell him you couldn’t find me already.”
Mike seemed nearly deterred for a moment — before taking a step forward with stubborn countenance. “I know you don’t care, but I do. You can’t expect me not to worry when you act like this—“
“Why would you worry? You don’t even like me,” He retorts, frustrated by Mike’s sudden determination. “You’re not even choosing to talk to me right now. You’re only here because you were told to.” He watches as Mike tries to formulate a response, only to end up with nothing. “Oh my God. I don’t know if you think befriending me will make you more respected in your little fag cult or something but it will never happen. You’re just another preppy straight A’s student who happens to shop at Hot Topic — and still acting like a vampire in high school is freakin’ gay.”
Mike was at a loss, and Pete thought that he had won. His hand had just moved to his pocket to reach for a new cigarette when Mike finally countered, “If you despise me so much, why do you keep staring at me?” For the first time, his expression falters. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was shocked or not. He didn’t glower at him that often. He watched to make fun of him — to complain about him to his friends — but that seemed utterly ridiculous to say out loud. It would be just as unbelievable to Mike as it was to himself. No one stares at someone as often as he did purely out of hatred.
“Will you just leave me alone already?” He deflects.
“Not until you let me help you—”
He interrupts Mike by grabbing him the lapels of his jacket and crashing their lips together. There wasn’t anything gentle about it, considering how forcefully he had to tug him down to even reach his mouth. For a moment, his entire body locks in place. His body registers the heat before his mind does. He could feel Mike’s glued-on fang poking against his lower lip. His brain starts to catch up to him just enough to comprehend Mike’s frustratingly adorable gasp against his lips. He probably would’ve kissed him breathless if he didn’t have the sense to stop.
He pulls back with a sharp exhale, his hands still holding Mike in an awkward slouch. Mike’s usually pale face was now a light glow of red and his hands were raised awkwardly hovering above his shoulders. His lips were slightly agape and coated with a thin layer of saliva. He’s never seen him so sheepish before. Pete’s mind was somewhere else entirely — his thoughts full of the taste of chapstick and clamato juice. He must’ve been staring too long, as Mike finally broke the silence before he even thought to.
“…Was… was that… a yes?” An embarrassed but giddy smile spreads across his face. Pete lets out a sound close enough to a scoff, releasing Mike’s jacket in favor of crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fine. Freakin’ whatevs. But I’m still not going today.” He says with a hair toss, attempting to regain his composure. That stupid grin on Mike’s face only grows larger — he holds back on kissing it off of him.
“That works for me, per se!” He leans down to press a kiss to the top of Pete’s head, excitedly scuttering his way back towards the building before Pete has the opportunity to react. He stops at the corner, turning to add, “I’ll tell him you’re coming tomorrow!”
“No! Don’t, just—“ He attempted to yell back, but Mike had already run off. He huffs, now fully comprehending what he had just agreed to. Now he had to actually try to pass calculus. All because a cute faggy vamp kid was so insistent on helping him. He reaches into his pocket to play with his lighter. Despite himself, a smile sneaks onto his lips. He hated Mike now more than ever.