JUST MY TYPE

i hate you.

you two spent the day together in the library, bantering and arguing about whether your answer was right or wrong. if it was algebra, he was definitely correct, and anything else meant that you were correct. 

it was fun, to say the least, seeing the indigo-haired boy groan in exasperation seeing you do the math questions. "i don't even like fucking studying and this algebra shit is easier to me than you. do you have a hollow head or something? i don't get what you don't understand," he sighs, rubbing his eyes. "you must know, i suck at math," you reply dryly, not appreciating the hit your ego was taking. 

"here, how about this. algebra is just like life. to solve for x here, you have to eliminate y because it's just another thing in your life that you don't need; a distraction. when one side of the equation is a decimal and the other side is whole, you make both sides bigger, giving them an advantage. then you move yourself over to the people you're supposedly like, abandoning your original 'friends'. then you cut them all down, and you're left with pieces of yourself which are the only ones for life," he explains, drawing out the equation as he spoke. 

"and that's how you're the only one left, the best. i know this from experience," as he mumbled those words, his voice quietens to a whisper. 

your eyes widened, hearing his analogy. it was... dark. but he had said it all without even batting an eyelid. as if it had been hammered into him, being part of him. the boy sitting beside you had many layers to him, and you intended to find out. to unravel all of those lies, those secrets. 

"uh... strangely, i understood that. thank you..?" you say questioningly, solving the equation. he nodded approvingly, laughing. then, it was at that moment he realised he was letting his guard down. being overly nice, even for flirting. "did it sound weird? of course, it did. you wouldn't know, after all, you've never been the best. you're just a vice-head prefect, not even head. see, experience. here's some advice," he said cockily, a smug grin on his face. 

perhaps he didn't realise how much that fucking hurt. how painful it had been, the day when you had been selected as vice-head when all your life you had been striving to be the best.  how many days and nights you had cried over that stupid badge. standing up, you clenched your fists, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "fuck you, scaramouche. why did i ever think you, a flirty delinquent could be different? that perhaps, we could have been friends? i hate you, more than i hate my fucking father!" you hissed between sniffles and deep breaths, before you abandoned your books, turning and running out of that library. 

ouch, that hurt. 

you ran straight to the bathroom, locking yourself in one of the cubicles and crying your heart out as if it were a replay of five months ago, that fateful day. hot tears rolled down your cheeks, as you wiped your nose that was running like a faucet. that day, the principal pasted that white sheet of paper on the notice board, announcing the positions. 

your sister had been head prefect.

how embarrassing. you're a vice-head prefect, get yourself fucking together. i wish you could be more like your sister-that annoying voice in your head again, that man's wretched voice.

but you didn't care about him, not now. it was scaramouche. "you've never been the best-" you hated everyone to fucking hell. why, oh why, couldn't the universe just let you win at life for once? perhaps a true friend, anything really. but no. 

with that, the tears came rushing up on you again. 

scaramouche was sitting at the same place in the library, looking down at his clenched fists. his knuckles were turning white at how tightly he was gripping the chair, his hair covering his eyes. he was glad the library was nearly empty at the time, so nobody was there to see the one and only scaramouche shrivelled up like a pathetic prune and sobbing hysterically. 

he didn't even know why it affected him so much. it was just another girl, just another bet. he could just say that childe won, and he didn't need the money- but no, this time was different. seeing you mad at him, made him realise how badly he had fucked up. how the vice-head prefect who was generally nice to everyone had burst into tears, running out of the library as if it were sports day. 

why does everyone he takes an interest in, everyone he wants to get to know better repel him? it's his fault. it's always his fault. he had never really trusted that, but this time? he did. wholeheartedly. 

"i hope i die in a ditch," he muttered, leaning his face on the table. he deserved it, after all. 

you vowed to never involve yourself with anyone who threatened to hurt you in any way again. 

he vowed to never involve himself with you anymore, so as to be fair to you.