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Aaron finds himself at the door of his English class, just barely entering before the shrill chirp of the bell. He silently finds his seat in the very back to find a piece of plain college-ruled notebook paper on his desk, alongside a pencil, neatly placed next to each-other.
"Alright class," the teacher claps, moving to shut the door, "since we're nearing the last..." he stops to check his watch, "month and a half of school and I forgot my lesson plans today, we're gonna take this period to write poems. They can be about whatever you want, as long as they're appropriate for the workplace."
A few students groan while others quietly cheer for the absence of real work.
"I expect these turned in by the time the bell rings," he slips back into his chair with an enthused smile, "so get writing!"
"Will these be graded?" A kid blurts out, a worried expression on their face.
"That is for me to know and for you to find out!"
Aaron frowns, tentatively picking up the pencil on his desk. A poem? He thinks, biting into his eraser. What is there even to write about?
He thinks back to a neat indigo bow, long blue skirt and curiously steady gaze, and he begins to write.
Young sun reaches its long, hot tendrils over the lip of the horizon, dusting the clouds in fair and bright palettes of fierce oranges and blooming fuchsias with dawn. Blotches of blue and yellow sway in the distance, their banner waving high and proud, hastily wrapped around the steel of a towering flagpole.
Somewhere beneath the trajectory of windswept shed leaves stands a dead man walking. Crosshairs aim for his head, targets on his back, for he lives silently. He slides into bustling masses and keeps his head low with the hope not one man will spare him a glance, for if they do, he is done for. Bruises litter his body, a deep scar carved into his face like a mark, and clutched in his palms, leaking through his fingers, is nothing but sheer exasperation.
Aaron Lycan wished for reprieve from the beginning of his senior year at Phoenix Drop High, and Irene spat in his face and incredulously laughed.
"I will unenroll you from this public school and send you back to a military one, Aaron! You're lucky that you've gotten this far through desperation alone!"
His phone is still in his back pocket, the uncovered end neatly tucked beneath the edges of his blazer.
It's alright, he thinks to himself, warily passing through a crowd of meif'wa students. A white-haired one with light pink pinnae scowls at him in the corner of his eye as he cuts her and her friend off, but he doesn't pay any mind to her and her stink-eye. Day one is never that bad. I just have to make it through the introductions.
"What is your problem!?" A feminine voice--- presumably the meif'wa's--- calls out in his direction, irritation stitched within it. "You could've walked in literally any other direction and you chose to cut through us! Ugh, what---"
"It's not worth the trouble, Keori," another one says as he leaves, "people can be stubborn. You shouldn't get involved with him. He's notorious for being apart of at least half of the fistfights at Phoenix Drop High. He doesn't ever speak, I doubt he'll listen to you."
Why can't people talk about someone they've actually seen before, Aaron grits his teeth, continuing on his way. If he doesn't look up, if he doesn't engage, if he doesn't do anything at all, there's nothing to use against him but the silence. Oh yeah, by the way, that guy I don't know??? Total asshole. He can't keep his stupid little head screwed on tight because every other dude ever challenges him to some sort of fight for no reason whatsoever. Yeah, let's all dogpile on the guy defending himself, sure, why not. Irene better lend me Her strength in these times of need because I---
His train of thought turns a hard right off of its tracks as he all but knocks into something, hard. Something else clatters to the ground with the force of the impact, but he can't quite zero in on it through the sudden spike in body heat and the cloying scent of vanilla and lavender welling deep within his chest.
When he looks up, he's met with the prettiest eyes he's ever seen, molten pools of sliced sunset with scarlet accents shimmer against daylight, big and confused and warm. Sun-kissed skin greets him gently, intricate curves akin to sculpture, faint traces of a cinnamon fragrance nestled in her touch. Neat jet locks fall over her face and down her back like water, a violet bow snug in the back of her head.
And, least expected of everything, she's absurdly fucking small. Aaron has to crane his neck downwards to look at her, and he feels his heart burst once he does again. She's staring him right in the eye, her pupils wide, her rosy lips slightly parted and still.
He bites down on the quiet, pathetic sorry close to leaving him, and he slowly staggers back, his mouth falling open. He has to physically steel himself as he wrenches his head away, impulsively ducking to swipe the girl's phone off of the ground and choosing to ignore how his knuckles scrape against the concrete as he fumbles his first attempt of picking it up.
He shuts his eyes, takes in a breath, and stands, quickly tossing the phone towards her.
"...Than-- thank you?" She says, hesitation prickling in her voice. He hears the plastic of the phone-case land against the flesh of her palm, and he feels his heartbeat stagger, something hot and sticky and unfamiliar bubbling in his stomach once he blinks against the glare of the sun and meets her kind smile.
"You are to not speak with anyone but the teachers. You are to not speak unless spoken to. You will not form relationships with anyone at that damned school, and that is final!"
Oh my Irene, why did I do that?! I never do that for anyone! I'm such an idiot-- I can't believe I did that!
He turns away, mortification settling in his skin, and hastily slips into a crowd of students near the entrance. He hopes he lost her as he rides the waves of students recklessly pushing and shoving one another to fight their way to the front, that she didn't track him with those big, gorgeous eyes of hers, ones that burn right through his skull. He can't shake the memory of her scent, her warmth, her everything, her essence clinging to the forefront of his mind like glue.
He spots her near the front office, a large Welcome to Phoenix Drop Highschool banner in bold, printed text of yellow casted against blue, meticulously adjusting the part of her hair with her tongue out and her brows lightly furrowed. She squints in the mirror pasted on the wall before brushing her hands on her skirt and wandering into the crowd, and he shakes his head, trying to rid the thought of a stranger he can't seem to ignore.
Before Aaron knows it, there are two slips of paper in his hands, one labelling his everyday classes throughout the week and his student ID, the second labelling only two, homeroom and WWLF107, a stream of text at the very bottom.
Your final class has been extended to make up for the time used for the club fair before the first day assembly.
The words filter through his mind before they fall right out, because all he can think about is the brief glimpse of the photo on the girl's phone screen he got--- a close-up of her bright smile and roseate cheeks and his scowl just a few feet behind her, dark eyes facing the floor.
I wonder if she'll retake the photo or delete it outright, he thinks as he pushes himself into his homeroom, finding a seat with the name Aaron Lycan plastered in a black font in the right-side middle row of the classroom. It'll probably be gone by the end of the day.
"Aaron Lycan!"
Mr. Gavin cheers at his arrival from his seat at his desk, pushing a stack of papers to the side to direct his attention to one student that had always managed to arrive as early as the bell would let him to room 303, even if he'd only been here since the year prior.
"Mister Gavin," Aaron greets back, though far less enthusiastically. He stiffens at the doorway, thumbing at his bag's nearest strap.
"It's good to see you back on my roster, bud," Gavin stands, approaching to give him a firm pat on the shoulder. "I was afraid your father had taken you out. It was a pleasant surprise to see you were in my class this year, let me tell you."
He releases Aaron when he wordlessly nods in reply. "It's also good to see you haven't changed," he laughs, "alright, feel free to settle in. I'm gonna step out until the class actually starts-- something about a feud between a few werewolves, then some important last-minute meeting with the principal. Can you believe they couldn't have waited for the time they at least had one Alpha to fight outside of my class? Kids these days, I swear..."
Aaron steps aside to let Gavin push himself out of the door, and makes his way to the very back of the classroom. The placement of the shelves hasn't changed since last year, seven oak slabs pressed into the far back wall lined with textbooks based on either lycanthropic anatomy or lycanthropic history, varying by skill level. He swipes one of the higher level books from the seventh shelf and turns on his heel to lazily strew his bag over one of the vacant chairs in the very back of the classroom and place the textbook on the long, two-person desk. He settles into the other chair under it.
He fishes his phone from his back pocket, pushing up his blazer to grab it by the top. Unlocking it and flipping open Messages is easy as breathing. He lets his thumb hover over Shu, one of the two only pinned contacts he has (next to Melissa, whom hasn't messaged him in months, though she's obviously not precedent over his best friend).
She's in school right now, he thinks, biting his bottom lip. She's not gonna get to it until way later. Shit, if I message her now, will I seem needy?
A speech bubble intercepts the corner of her profile picture--- the face of a small, lilac cat she supposedly drew herself--- and Aaron stops.
Shu? Not interested in clubs? Who the hell is behind the phone?
The trickle of students entering the classroom begins to slow as leisure created by the club fair comes to a close, Gavin's absence allowing their chatter to fill in the time before the bell.
A trio of werewolves walks in, each one more austere than the last, and a set of vivid red eyes snap right to him. The guy turns to his friends and waves them off, and approaches the desk Aaron is sitting at with a snarl.
"What do you think you're doing here?" He growls, slamming his palm onto the advanced history textbook. Aaron doesn't miss the attempt of trying to pick up a lycanthropic scent from him, and he watches as his face scrunches up with repulsion.
He doesn't bother to acknowledge him, simply slipping his phone back into his back pocket.
"Balto, that human isn't going to listen to---"
"Shut up, mutt!" Balto(?) screams, whipping around. "If I want something, I'll get it!"
He turns back around, pushing his face closer to his in an attempt of intimidation. "Now..." He growls again, slamming his other hand on the desk. "Answer me!"
"Brushing my teeth-- what does it look like I'm doing? I'm sitting." Aaron rolls his eyes, sliding the textbook away from Balto.
His hand balls into a fist, and he slides the textbook right back his way. "In. My. Seat."
"Uh huh."
He watches as Balto physically steels himself, then makes a show of cracking his knuckles. A few werewolf students warily step away, others cringe, and a few others scowl at him, completely ignoring the idiot Balto was making of himself to try to make him feel small.
"I'm not going to repeat myself, you mongrel!" He shouts. "Stand down!"
"Fuck off."
Balto staggers back as if physically struck, anger carved deep into his features. His face twists with exasperation, his brows knit closer together, bearing his teeth.
"What did you just say!?"
"Fuck off," Aaron reiterates, neglecting his presence and moving both his bag and the history textbook to the floor, leaning one against the leg of his chair and the other under the desk.
Balto's holier-than-thou spiel of self-righteousness and the parade of unoriginal insults in-between tumble into the air just to fall right onto deaf ears, because Aaron isn't listening in the slightest. His eyes wander around the classroom, briefly glazing over the different expressions of the crowd of students all surrounding the bedlam like moths to light, before he latches onto something familiar.
The girl he shoulder-checked this morning is standing at the doorway, quietly talking to some brunet werewolf kid near her. Her eyes--- amber, amber, amber--- worriedly search the scene, her face anxiously contorting with confusion.
"Are you even listening to me!?" Balto rips through his thought process with another slam of his fists. "That's my seat!"
"There aren't assigned seats in this class," Aaron deadpans, "just go find another one."
Balto seems to be on the verge of a freakout, his tail angrily lashing behind him, red in the face. "Do you even know who I am!?"
He scoffs. "Gee, annoying, maybe?"
"Is that supposed to be amusing?" He blinks, the smile on his face tight and annoyed. "Do you expect that to fly at this school!?" His nails dig into the surface of the desk, and he leans all of his weight onto his arms. He narrows his eyes with a sneer.
"Kind of."
Balto pushes into his space without warning, intentionally trying to flex the canines buried deep in his gums.
"There's not one thing I'll enjoy more in my life than ripping your pathetic human body to shreds you---"
"Knock it off!"
The unnamed girl from before steps forward, her arms drawn back and her feet defensively spread. Balto completely freezes, his expression twisting into an irritated smile.
"Excuse me?"
"You need to stop!" She doubles down on her demand, stepping forward. "Now!"
Balto slowly turns away from him to look at her, his eyes scanning her up and down. His grin devolves into something predatory, and it takes everything in Aaron to not punch it off his Irene-forsaken face.
"Who would this be?"
"Who would this be-- who would this be?" She mockingly repeats him, her lips turning down in a scowl. She lets her bag slip off of her arm. "Who would give you the right to talk like that?"
"Shut the fuck up," Balto rolls his eyes, "no one asked you."
"I don't care!" She balks, yelling as though she sported her own ears and tail. "I will call over a teacher!"
"Little babe intends on telling on me," he laughs, stalking over to her and leaning down to meet her at eye-level. "So small, so scared. What are you gonna do if I hit you? Cry?"
"No one should be getting hurt over such a trivial issue," she firmly ignores his comment, looking him straight in the eye. She doesn't move as his fingers curl, his grip white-knuckled and tight in his palms.
"I'm afraid you're in the wrong class if you don't want to shed some blood, pup," Balto thinly smiles. "Why don't you grow your spine out? Or-- don't tell me-- will you break your back trying?"
Aaron can feel himself growing annoyed at both Balto's arrogance and the girl's idiotic bravery. He stands, one of his hands still grazing his desk. "Isn't your fight supposed to be with me?"
"Silence, you filthy dog!" He shouts, his fingers tightening around her shoulder. "I have a bitch to deal with!"
The whole classroom is stunned into complete silence, physically tensing at his word of choice. There's a fire within her stare--- her anger burning high and bright, cramping the space she takes up and more.
There's a moment the whole room is still. Everyone and everything is quiet, even Balto, for just a sliver of a second.
Everyone except for the girl with the amber eyes.
He doesn't anticipate the frustrated blow she deals on him, her knuckles flying across his jaw. Balto doubles back, holding his hands over his newly formed bruise, and the girl is growling of her own accord--- guttural and low, even if not completely canine. A few students look visibly taken aback, some even drawing into themselves fearfully.
"You---" Balto coughs, "you fucking mutt! I'll---"
Everything he has to say falls away as he's hoisted up into the air by the hips and thrown directly out of the classroom window. Glass shatters upon the impact, and he lands onto the floor with a hard thud, his eyes lost and dizzy.
The girl pants, her eyes blown wide at the scene and her mouth idly open. She worriedly looks up at Aaron before he reassuringly shakes his head, and her tense muscles relax just the slightest bit. He picks up her discarded backpack and offers it to her, which she takes and slings around her shoulder.
"Impressive collaboration," a new voice says, a slow one-man applause ringing in the air. Mister Gavin strolls back in with a look of thinly veiled amusement on his face. "Especially from you, miss Flores. I never thought I'd see the day someone stood up for the Omega, a transfer student no less."
The girl whips around with surprise etched into her features, and her spine goes completely rigid at the mention of what sounds like her last name.
"Maybe this new curriculum won't be so bad after all," Gavin remarks to himself before clearing his throat. "Everyone clap for our new Alpha male and female!"
The whole classroom erupts with acclamation, and she shrinks into herself, her shoulders held up to her ears. Her eyes well with bewilderment, and she seems so overwhelmed it concerns him.
"Okay," he announces, his voice cutting through the loud cheers of the students, "let's get started, shall we? Welcome, everyone, to werewolf one-oh-seven--- intro to basic transformation. I would advise those of you who haven't to find a seat buddy. We have an even number of students this year, so anybody that doesn't find one is getting thrown out that window with Balto."
It takes a few moments for him to speak again, and he does with a laugh. "I'm just kidding! Well, mostly."
Aaron doesn't miss the way the girl sways as she turns away, nor does he miss the nauseated look on her face. She raises a hand to her temple and staggers, one of her hands narrowly landing on the edge of a vacant desk.
He rushes to her side, his brows creased with genuine worry. He tentatively places a hand on her shoulder, and he softly squeezes it as she closes her eyes. "Are-- are you alright?"
She doesn't respond, and she completely freezes, the rhythm of her shaky breathing picking up an alarming amount.
Fuck, she's panicking, I need to get her out of here---
Aaron links his arm through hers and lightly urges her from the empty table. She barely reacts to his movements, but he can tell she's still awake, still in there, even if unresponsive.
Gavin doesn't pay them any mind, starting his lesson as he carries her along.
He all but forces open the classroom door, its iron handle loose under his hands. He ushers her out of it first, and when it shuts, he gently places her on the floor, easing her bag off of her back and leaning it against the wall. He kneels before her, taking hold of her wrist.
Her heartbeat is erratic and fast. Her eyes briefly meet his through her tears, and he rubs her shoulders.
"It's okay," he whispers, closing his eyes, "just breathe. It's fine. In and out, alright?"
She nods, shakily inhaling. He lets her regulate her breathing in silence, without any eyes on her, keeping his own shut.
After a while, she weakly nudges his arm. Her voice stays quiet. "Can--- can you hand me my phone? A-again? I need to call my--- my mom."
Detention wasn't a stranger.
Room 203 was usually quiet and vacant, and teachers were never assigned there unless the student frequented their visits there. They leave books and loose notebook paper out on a few shelves, as well as a few trinkets having to do with emotional regulation in a plastic box, tucked away at the teacher's desk in the very corner.
Aaron honestly can't remember why he's here. He's been thrown into this room so much entering it was like second nature; every teacher to be posted in 203 knew his full name and schedule, and always ended up leaving at least fifteen minutes earlier than they were scheduled to because they were bored out of their minds watching him. There was also one teacher that, weirdly enough, though Aaron can't blame him, just always fell asleep. There was always at least one teacher's aide tailing him, though, so he wasn't left fully unsupervised. (Nine times out of ten, he was written off for detention alone, so there wasn't a real need for supervision, but it's "the principle of the job," a teacher told him once, so whatever.)
"---It should be right around this corner," someone's voice cuts through the silence and carries through the open classroom door, annoyingly familiar and composed. Long brunet hair and a pale blue gaze stare him down through the slits in the blinds strung across the window, curt and clearly impatient at the sight of him.
Laurance makes a noise of disgust, turning to whoever he was guiding with narrow eyes. "You're stuck with that guy," he says, jutting a thumb to the window, "I'm sorry for your loss in advance. If he so even looks at you the wrong way, call me."
What did I even do? Aaron squints at him, hoping that he sees his judgmental expression withering in his peripheral.
A head of long, brushed black curls takes his place once he backs away, hints of pretty purple fabric nestled in her hair. When she looks to the window, she blinks, confusedly turning to Laurance.
"Why are you acting like it's such a tragedy to have to be in detention today?" She asks, curiously tilting her head. She tosses a gesture in Aaron's direction. "It's just him."
"Just--- just him? Just Aaron?" He incredulously laughs, shaking his head. "No, no, Aphmau, have you not heard of his behavior? His rebellious streak?"
Aphmau(?) doesn't laugh in return. She stares up at him expectantly, then casts a look to the open door across the hall through the glass, furrowing her brows.
Laurance hums, nodding thoughtfully. "Well, alright. I just wouldn't get involved with him, okay Aph? He's not particularly known for having others' best interests in mind..."
Aphmau wordlessly waves him off with a pointed roll of her eyes, and she mindfully steps to the side to continue down the hall. After a few moments, she comes around the corner and steps inside 203. She stares at the open doors a little dumbly, hesitantly reaching out before pausing.
Something quiet and unintelligible slips from her under her breath, and she subtly bites her lower lip. Her hand falls away, and her fingers grasp at the edges of her neatly pleated skirt. He doesn't ask what it was she said, letting her recollect herself and adjust to their surroundings on her own.
She aimlessly wanders around the classroom, an oddly serene look on her face that contrasted the irritation buried within her expression before she walked in. Aphmau approaches a pot of gorgeous white lilies, corollas pointed and spread, basking in the sun filtering through the high glass on the far wall. She delicately traces the edges of a petal with a fond look in her eyes, their titian hue glittering orange within the light.
When she turns away from them, her gaze snaps right to his, like she could just sense his curious stare despite not having looked at him at all.
"You don't need to stare," she grumbles, "I dislike being here just as much as you do."
Aaron wordlessly shies away from her, watching as she carries herself to a desk in the row before his with his peripheral. He tentatively turns back to Aphmau once she's rolling up her sleeves and settling in her seat, her head idly pressed into her forearms.
"What even landed you here anyway?" He asks, his voice uncomfortably crackling with disuse.
He never gets a verbal reply.
Mister Gavin is going on and on about the importance of marking territory--- much to his students' dismay, some even pinning their ears with their hands so they don't have to bear to listen--- when Aaron walks through the door.
"Aaron," Gavin screeches to a halt, genuine astonishment reflected in his eyes. He stops to whisper to him, his brows drawn with concern. "You're sure late. Do you have a slip?"
"Yeah, right here," he digs into his pocket to pull out a hot pink tardy slip, sliding it onto the desk. "I was held back after class because of a misunderstanding."
"Right. Take a seat then."
Aaron makes his way down the rows of student desks to make himself comfortable in the one standing in the far left corner, next to a still broken window, mindfully sitting aside Aphmau and setting her bag onto the floor.
She chances a hesitant glance his way once or twice throughout the duration of the period, and she never fails to look away once he notices. Once the final bell rings, piercing and dull all at once, she reaches into her backpack's front pouch.
"Wait," Aphmau's hand lands on his shoulder as he's about to leave, "I have something for you."
She scours through her backpack for a few more seconds, her tongue subtly flicking out of her mouth in the process, and a transparent ziplock bag comes out. It's carefully poised between her fingers, like something delicate, held by the very top of the bag.
"Cookies?" Aaron tentatively takes them from her, scrutinizing the contents and texture of the dough.
"They're oatmeal," she explains, a nervous grin growing on her face. Her eyes search his own for any signs of a negative reaction. "I didn't know if you had any allergies, but considering you're in a werewolf class, I didn't want to use chocolate. I did, however, want to make something for you, so I made these instead. As a thanks, for the-- for the other day."
For the first time in Irene knows how long, he genuinely smiles, even though it's small.
"Thank you," he whispers, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. "I appreciate it."
It can get hard to play a guitar without a pick to play it with.
Growing up, Aaron was forgetful. Like, absurd levels of forgetful. He'd never remember to turn in assignments on time, never remember to attend the meetings he was requested to join, never remember any rules or boundaries his parents set when it came to social interaction outside of "only speak when spoken to." Because of this, he often misplaced items no matter how dear they were to him, inevitably meaning that he lost small objects all of the time.
Melissa had first gotten him a guitar for his twelfth birthday after picking up on his attuned ear for music, alongside several picks to accommodate for his memory. Over time, he had lost every single one of them, and it didn't take long for her to realize that this would happen a lot because of their size. So, every month from that point on, she got him a set of new ones. However, ever since she'd gone away for college, she'd completely gone dark, meaning that Aaron had to endure the growing burn of callouses forming on the pads of his fingers if he actually wanted to play the guitar.
(He'd suck it up and just buy more himself if his father wouldn't throw a fit the second he was notified of the purchase. Anything having to do with spending money was completely off limits unless it was either spent by Melissa or spent on his bi-weekly grocery shopping trips, which he has to notify Derek of beforehand.)
He's currently skipping class with the hope of adjusting to it faster. He lost the last one he had last week after leaving the practice room in a hurry to get to class, and he would honestly rather get challenged for Alpha a whole seven more times all on the same day than even think about asking any of his family to get him more of them.
The chords of Eternity are simple, their patterns frequent and comfortably familiar to him by now. Even with the detriments towards his efficiency, his fingers pick at each string easily, the solace of the song and the memories it held deep and happy enough for him to file away the angry ache of his skin into the back of his mind to complain about another time.
The warm, steady lull of the melody doesn't quite drown out the loud, jarring slam of the music room door, and Aaron nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of it.
Someone is relentlessly panting, their things dropping into the floor. They mutedly grunt, and the shuffle of fabric takes the place of their voice.
"Huh," someone else says from the outside, shaking the knob, "I guess the door is locked. There's no way Kitty's in there. Come on, Zenix. Let's check somewhere else."
Unnerving silence radiates from behind the practice room door, the unnamed person's breathing now hesitant and shaky with every push and pull of their lungs. After a few moments, they heave a trembling sigh, and their footsteps grow louder as they approach the door. Their body forcefully presses against the other side, initially a short pound against the surface, and trailing after it is a quiet thud.
"I'm so sick of this," they--- she angrily mutters, an agitated, guttural noise erupting from her throat, "I'm so fucking of this. It's been half of a week and I've shown no interest, what the fuck could he possibly want from me? What does he get from harassing me non-stop over something I clearly don't care about in the way he wants me to!?"
She continues to exasperatedly ramble to herself about her situation, occasionally interrupted by a strangled, irritated yell. Her words devolve into grumbles choked between rattling sobs and heaving breaths, her pent-up anger tense and familiar in a way that makes him ache for her.
"Why can't they just leave me alone?" She hoarsely cries, her hopelessness messily weaved into her voice. "I've ignored almost all of what he's said yet he keeps coming back for more. What does he want-- what does he want?"
Aaron closes his eyes and leans the back of his head against the door, half of his mind circling the process of remembering where to put his fingers land on the frets, the other half wilting with lament, her frustration growing and blooming and squeezing in his chest thorough and fast. He slowly breathes in, then out, ignoring the way his hands stutter on the strings with his lapse in focus.
"Are you alright?" He asks, just loud enough to be heard over the guitar.
"HOLY SHIT!"
She seems to startle and jolt away from the door, a high-pitched shriek slipping right out of her throat. She takes a few seconds to recollect herself, wordlessly breathing as she settles back against the wood.
"I'm sorry," she nervously laughs, "I didn't know anyone was in here. I thought I was alone."
"What, you think the music is just constantly playing because this is a music room?" Aaron chuckles, defaulting to sliding his thumb across the array of strings for emphasis. "I thought I was alone, too. That's why I'm here."
"You eat lunch in the practice room?"
"Well, no, I practice in the practice room." He freezes, trying to recall the time he snagged the guitar from its spot the wall. Fuck, no, I lost the thought. "...it's lunch-time?"
"Yeah?" She laughs again, the way she does almost making her sound unsure. "It is. First period, I mean. Why are you skipping lunch?"
He hums in thought, repositioning his fingers. He slowly begins to play Eternity again, releasing a soft, satisfied breath. He thinks of Shu and her absurdly big heart, her insistence on staying his friend over the years, even when he pushed her away, time and time again. He smiles before shaking away the thought. "I'm just not hungry."
"Hm."
She doesn't verbally reply, instead crooning under her breath in time with each note, like she had known the song by heart.
"...What was upsetting you? Before you came in?" Aaron tentatively asks, keeping his voice low with the hope of not disturbing her peace as much as he would've were he to speak normally. He fucks up the first note of a chord and tries his best to ignore it.
She answers after a while of silence, softly sighing. "If I tell you, will you keep playing?"
"Yeah," he nods, even though she can't see it. "I can do that."
"Well," she sighs again, what he assumes to be her head thudding again the door. "I've been getting harassed by Gene and his stupid-- stupid Shadow Knight gang all week because of something I didn't even do. He's been trying and failing to blackmail me."
Aaron didn't know the Shadow Knights that well. They had tried to approach him once and goad him into a fight with some kid he didn't know during his junior year, brown-haired and dark-eyed and way too confident in his physical ability for someone so skinny. He'd backed off once Aaron stood at his full height and had been revealed to be at least five inches taller than him, and he never saw them much after that. He's never had a reason to seek them out--- they were just a few misguided delinquents that were unhappy with their lives--- but now he's not so sure.
"What is he trying to blackmail you over?" He gently presses.
She seems to hesitate to answer for a while. She sucks in a breath through her teeth, and she gives. "A dumb decision made by a friend of mine that I was roped into. Gene managed to snap a photo right as it happened, and he's been trying to use it to get under my skin and guilt-trip me into doing his bidding. It's-- it's so..."
"Frustrating?" Aaron supplies with a small smile.
"Yeah," she amusedly huffs, "frustrating."
"I know the feeling."
He takes a minute to mentally replay what she said, carefully carding through her words of choice. Gene has a photo, that he's using to piss off the girl behind the door, and he's...
"You said he's trying to... guilt-trip you?" He makes a face to no one in particular. "How?"
"This... friend, of mine," she begins to explain, "did this something behind his best friend's back. If he were to find out, he'd totally freak out. Gene has been using the poor guy's emotions as leverage to get me to pity him and do his bidding to spare my friend's-- my friend's best friend's feelings."
"Huh," he cringes, taking in the summary of the cause for her distress carefully.
"Does anyone else know about this? What's going on, I mean."
She groans. "Ugh, no. I can't tell his friend because he'd freak out, I can't tell my mom or she'd freak out and ground me before I could get a word in, and I can't tell any teachers because they wouldn't understand and once he finds out I did he'll try ten times harder to get me to cave. You're the first person I've told."
Hm. "I think you need to let the situation play out," Aaron decides on, clicking his tongue, "what happened wasn't because of you, it was because of your friend. He needs to own up to it and deal with the consequences once his friend finds out. You don't owe anyone anything."
The bell rings just as he finishes his sentence, cutting their conversation to a close. The girl behind the door stands with a grunt.
"I think you're right," she laughs breathily and clears her throat, "I-- I-- um, thank you. For-- for listening. It helped."
"Don't mention it," he says, hints of triumph licking at his chest. "It was the least I could do for you. You better get to class, though. I doubt you wanna be late."
"What about you?" She pauses, her voice low and quiet. "What will you do?"
Aaron sets the guitar against the wall and stands, bracing his arms against the door. He presses his forehead to the surface, and he exhales, fondly shaking his head at her concern. "I'll be fine, don't worry. Go. Don't let anyone stop you."
There's total silence as she leaves, the only indicator she ever did the two clicks of the doorknob, spaced only slightly apart. When he leaves the middle practice room, he has to strain to see it in the dark, but a small plastic bag lies on the floor, inside of it a sandwich cut diagonally, its crusts sliced off. A yellow sticky note is plastered on top of it.
Please eat something, it read in thin, loopy writing. It reminds him of Aphmau's, the way it seemed to be hurriedly scrawled onto the paper. He thinks of her panic to jot key points of Gavin's lessons down into her journal, pushed to the side of the paper to make space for her mindless drawings, and he laughs. Just try.
Who the hell leaves a stranger their lunch? He snorts to himself, picking the bag up nonetheless. He savors the taste of every last bite, a small smile on his face.
He has an idea.
An awful one, but an idea nonetheless. It's exactly why he wants to do it.
"Hey, could I like, talk to you? For a second?"
The sun is proud and relentless in the dawn of Phoenix Drop High's annual sports festival, beaming against the bodies of students and volunteer-chaperones wandering the fields of the school's campus, sparing no reprieve from sunburn to anyone and anything beneath it. Aaron is already starting to feel it and they haven't even begun the games, his hair growing hot and his face burning.
Aphmau tosses the volleyball a final time before turning around to greet him, her brows raised and her lips parted. She doubles back towards the boy with white hair across from her, the ball within his hands, and he flashes her a thumbs up, a big grin on his face.
"Yeah, sure," she pants, nodding to both herself and the two of them. "Just give me a second, Travis, I'll be right back."
"Righty-o, chief!" Travis (?) jerkily salutes with a laugh, and he alternates the ball between both hands, watching as she follows him away from the plain.
Aaron walks her to a set of bleachers on a far corner of the soccer field, his hands jittery and his heart racing with the high of nervous anticipation he's built up at even considering the idea of expressing what he's thinking to her. His anxiety is at an all time high, and he hopes he can keep it under wraps and wear it out just long enough for her to not notice. He quickly ducks for the shade casted by the benches, pulling her behind it.
"What's all this about?" Aphmau awkwardly laughs, a hesitant smile on her face. Her eyes can't seem to focus on one thing, and he has to keep himself from snickering from nerves. She looks exactly how I feel.
He doesn't know her that well, nor does he know what she thinks of him, only getting the vague idea that she can tolerate talking with him and selectively let herself laugh at witty remarks he never even remembers saying. He doesn't know how she's going to react, and it's keeping him at his wits' end.
"Okay, so," he grabs his phone from where it's tucked in the back pocket of his school-assigned athletic blue shorts, unlocking it with one swipe, "I'm gonna show you something. Just for a second, so once I'm done, you can go back to that friends of yours."
When she apprehensively nods, he pulls up his notes app and clicks open a new note, only typing two keys onto the field. The flashing indicator waits impatiently for him to move, and it drives him to impatience.
He takes a breath, and flips the phone over in her direction.
Aphmau grimaces at the screen, her face contorting with disgust and her lips pulling back in a sneer. She tilts her head away, squinting at the phone.
"I hate that damn face," she drawls, "it's so weird and... eugh."
"Of course you do," Aaron breaks into a grin, losing himself in a cackle he's been waiting to let out, "Shuki says the same thing every time I use it."
Aphmau completely freezes, her expression is dropped for something genuinely astonished. Her pupils go wide and her mouth falls open, and she takes one look into his eyes and smiles, big and bright and unsure, and she begins to incredulously laugh.
"...FC?" She says. When he clutches at his stomach, she takes his still-unlocked phone from his hands, instantly opening his Messages app. "You motherfucker! Are you serious? All of this time?"
"I only started to suspect it recently!" Aaron chokes through his fit. "Oh my Irene, the look on your face---"
"I'm going to kill you, you asshole! What the fuck!?" Aphmau playfully punches his shoulder. "How could you! I thought you were gonna, like, chloroform me or something! You're telling me you're-- you're FC? And you've been him this whole time?"
He nods, and he succumbs to her reign of play-fighting and insults she doesn't really mean. At some point, she tackled him onto the ground, a happy expression on her face despite it.
"I cannot believe you," she collapses onto the ground beside him, kicking him in the shin, "you-- you jerk."
A whistle blows somewhere in the distance, and she gasps, instantly shooting up from the dirt.
"The sports festival!" Aphmau exclaims, a big grin on her face, "I am so beating your ass! I am going to humiliate you!"
Aaron takes the hand she offers him and stands. "You're going down," he lowly chuckles, leaning down to meet her at eye-level, "potato."
Aaron pinches the pencil between the sides of his fingers before pressing the sharp end into the top right corner of the paper, mindlessly scribbling as he tried to think of any last minute additions to scrawl before he submitted it into the tray on the teacher's desk for work done during sixth period. He ghosts the lead over the neat handwritten font forming his first and last name and the current date in the opposite corner of the sheet.
Yeah, this'll do, he thinks, and he pushes himself out of his chair and into a half-kneel half-stand. He strolls over to the now-vacant desk and hums, contently turning his paper in just as the bell begun to ring.
There's a girl by the window,
the same one you'd see in dreams;
tanned, pretty and orderly in her own unique, fascinating way.
"It's okay," she says,
sharp pointed canines prick at her lips,
a discordant hint towards something darker.
"You don't need to be alone anymore."
You stop and stare,
afraid of a lie,
then you look into her eyes,
a deep, warm brown that glows brighter in daylight;
kind, rich orange,
amber,
and it feels like she's all you've ever known.