loverboy

started with a cigarette

Maneuvering between peevish individuals, fingers impatiently tapping their wheels perched in their cars, their feet against the brake pedal. Poor them, having to wait for the excruciatingly slow traffic light.

As if he'd follow traffics laws. "Follow traffic laws," was almost a foreign term to him.

Nearly scathing cars he whipped past, they gave him a look of disgust- quickly realizing after a few moments that he's the notorious biker gang leader. A walking, talking cautionary tale that parents whisper to their kids, "stay in school!" People on the street stopped to stare, recognizing the individual who's gang causes that unbearable ruckus at 1am, rolling their eyes at 'kids these days.'

There were plenty of rumors regarding the Crazy Diamonds and their kid leader- everyone in Tokyo city knew and feared him. His classmates would say "he really isn't such a bad guy!" But rumors follow you everywhere.

What they didn't know was that he was debating leaving his honest, exciting life behind. All for one stupid nark hall monitor that he formally met just couple months ago. The one who's porcelain arms were wrapped around his 'steely stomach,' pleading- almost crying out for the biker to slow down as he raced past the gossiping geezers.
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The spicy, warm air filled his lungs releasing waves of pleasant euphoria to his brain as he exhaled the grey death. He leaned against the cool brick walls of the back alley at the oh so famous- rather infamous Hopes Peak Academy, his white button-up; cuffed at the arm, tugging at the rough brick.

It was a uniform, obviously. He would show up in his full on biker getup if only he could.

"I'm just so fuckin' tired of them comparing me to him," His voice- coarse from the cigarettes. He spilled his heart and usually sheathed emotions out to this asshole. He held the cancer stick between his calloused fingers, crossing his strong arms.

Leon Kuwata gazed at him, giving the biker his full, undivided attention, running a silver ring covered hand through his thick, bright ginger hair.

"Ya know what my counselor said to me today? 'Your grades and behavior are unnacceptable. Strive to be more like Ishimaru-kun," He let out a high pitch tone and waved a finger back and forth, imitating his counselor. He growled at the name 'Ishimaru,' that god damned hall monitor.

Ultimate 'snitch,' ultimate 'nark,' ultimate 'pain in the ass,' were just a few nicknames muttered by those who despised him. Well, its not like they really despised him. More like despised his morals and rules, as if he was a walking rule book. The amount of times he dress coded Celestia Ludenberg- his own friend was absolutely ridiculous. No wonder he sits alone in the courtyard. Even his so-called friends can't stand him.

And sure, Mondo did come to class with the stench of nicotine clinging to his clothes. He did occasionally fall asleep during lessons. He was a little loud and vulgar. And he did refuse to dye his hair black... but its not like he was stuffing kids in lockers or openly punching peers in school! It wasn't like he was mouthing off to teachers or damaging school property.

So why did that fucking moral compass pick on him so much and not that purple hair bitch from the other class- who literally mouths off teachers, vandalize his desks and gets into petty fights with classmates.

He just didn't get it.

The cigarette flicks to the floor, Mondo putting his white loafer against the burning stick, feeling a soft crunch under his feet.

"Be more like him,' thats just bullshit," he puts a hand in his own back pocket, slinging his bag against his shoulder with Leon beside him, trudging in the building with style.