2 | Delicate

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You'd moved into your apartment two weeks prior to the end of the summer holidays. Second year was approaching, and you would be joining a new school, which went by the name of Collége Françoise Dupont—you weren't thrilled.

Your French was still very rusty, and the most phrases you were in confident consisted of cusses. How the hell were you supposed to make friends when the only thing you could offer them was a blunt, "Tu ressembles à une merde"?

You should've taken Spanish instead.

Still with lots to unpack, on the first Monday morning back, your mother dragged you out of bed by your ankles. You ate breakfast sullenly, in your small kitchen, that barely had enough room for two people, that was also stacked with boxes.

"Quit making that face," your mum scolded, when she saw you glaring intensely at your food. "You look constipated. Get yourself together, you need to make a good impression on those dumb rich kids."

"You mean... I need to flatten them with my grand lack of money?" you asked dryly.

"Precisely," your mother answered, "show off your hardworking persona!"

You didn't respond, cringing, since procrastination was arguably your most prevalent trait. Instead, you stared down at the cereal in your bowl, and let out a defeated sigh, not ready to go back to an education.

Once you'd got dressed, and packed your things, you bid your parents goodbye, before taking the train to the centre of Paris-or to be more precise, where the more notable features of the city were.

Looking outside of the window, the buildings became noticeably nicer, and more well constructed, than in the rundown area you resided in. The infamous boulangeries of France popped into view, showcasing delicious treats that made you unbelievably hungry, despite having had breakfast a mere fifteen minutes ago.

So, here was the Paris that was presented in the media, rather than the despicably underdeveloped, underfunded part you lived in.

How disgusting.

Hating yourself for finding all of the posh stuff so wondrous, you grumbled to yourself, and slid out of your seat, preparing to leave the train. When you arrived at your stop, you were quick to disembark, and made your way swiftly to the school, following instructions from Google Maps.

It was a tall, very university-like structure, with tall pillars, and a proudly placed plaque on the top displaying its name. The colour scheme was lazy, however, and it seemed to be a little much too like an old Greek building.

A 4/10, you'd say. Perhaps you might've elevated the rankings if you had been in a better mood.

You sighed, trudging up the steps, readying yourself for the inevitable slowing of time that would occur once you entered the school. That was, till something crashed into you, and you fell flat on your face, with someone landing beside you with a thud.

"What in the name of-?" you started to complain, sitting up, and rubbing the back of your head; but then you shut up.

It wasn't the fact that the boy you'd just bumped into was incredibly attractive (with a fine face, impeccably styled blond hair, and wide shoulders), but what concerned you more was the intense look of panic and worry in his green eyes.

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