𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 , e. yaeger.

001. 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖽

▍𝖿𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄
𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 ! e. y
001. 爱 ᠈ 𝗐𝖾𝗂𝗋𝖽 . ❫

5 years ago
                    "Y/N, WHY DON'T YOU ACT MORE LIKE HER?" Mya pondered aloud, pointing to a fellow black school mate.

You watched how the girl laughed loudly, clapping her hands and flipping her loose braids. You weren't judging, but it was 7 am and you couldn't find the energy to mirror her actions. You simply had a different personality, just like everybody on this earth.

Not every black girl acts the same, dumb bitch.

"I just don't."

Another of your "friends" nodded in understanding, "Yeaa, I'm glad you don't. She's so... well you know."

She looked over at Mya and they snorted in mutual understanding.

"I don't get why they act like that? I mean, you don't get into a good school like this by talking like that."

They were so ignorant. The whole school was, and you hated it. You couldn't count on your finger how many times some white kid would make jokes about black stereotypes, asking you if you wanted some of their watermelon or making fun of your [hair type] hair. It was part of the reason why you had permed it.

Instead of arguing, though, you gripped your back pack and sped away from the girls without a word.

The only goals in your mind were to go to class, do your work, and go home to your comfort zone. So as you stepped in your first period class, you felt accomplished, having gotten there without a single piece of attention.

There was something off about the classroom, though. The desks were set up individually rather than in groups as it usually was. Some of your classmates groaned as they found their new seats, but you smiled mentally, glad you wouldn't have to be sitting with four dumbassess anymore. You'd be by yourself, just how you liked it.

You walked in between desks until you found one in the last row with a sticky note that had "Y/n L/n" written sloppily on it. Your Algebra teacher really did have terrible handwriting.

You slid into the chair and snatched the note off your desk, crumpling it up in your fist.

More students began flooding into the class, some sitting besides you or in front, every single one white, and soon everyone's favorite pretty-boy, Eren Yeager, strolled in with his obnoxious goons.

Their loud laughing quickly turned into groans of distaste once they noticed the new seating chart, but they soon began searching for their new seats.

As if the whole world was against you, Eren sauntered to the back and slid into the seat a few inches next to yours.

You slowly put your head down at the realization that all his annoying white friends would be coming back here to talk to him, disrupting your peace.

But there was no peace at school anyway.

Just a bunch of immature teenagers with no home training.

As always, your point was proven when a few of his friends started goofing of around his desk, a few of them being assigned to seats near him.

Start class already, man. It's been like 10 minutes.

"Hey, what's your name?"

You kept your head down and prayed with all your heart that this boy was not talking to you.

"Yo," you felt a soft tap to your shoulder and looked up, "What's your name?"

We've been in the same class for 6 months, dumbass.

"Y/n."

"Oh, nice name," he said with a suppressed smile as if he was holding back a laugh.

His voice made your stomach churn in distaste.

"What are those?" he nodded to the dirty sneakers on your feet, covered in creases and fainted stains.

You glanced at your feet, "Um, polos..."

"Oh, ok," he snorted before turning around to one of his friends and mumbling a "weirdo," causing his friends to snicker along with him.

"What the fuck? Who wears polos?" another one snickered, not even making an effort to keep his voice down.

"Poor people."

"They're not even the good kinds," another chimed in.

You looked away, heat rising to your cheeks, though your melanin hid the blush. You clasped your shaky hands together in embarrassment, clenching your empty stomach and curling your toes tightly.

Fucking assholes.