JUST MY TYPE

pettiness

the sky had been crystal clear, not a single trace of a stormy cloud, yet in the blink of an eye, the heavens had started to shed tears and torrents of rain poured down on you relentlessly. "ah, shit. just my luck," you groaned inwardly, only running faster after the indigo-haired boy. "SCARAMOUCHE!" you yelled at the top of your lungs, silently praying he would hear you. and he did. "what?" he asked in an annoyed tone, crossing his arms. his indigo hair was drenched, and honestly? he looked like a cat after a shower-cold and pathetic. he was shivering, his fingers clenching around his top evidently due to the chilliness of the evening. 

"how can you just... run away like that? you're a scaredy cat! get back here," you hollered, trying for your voice to overpower the rain. he only replied with a puzzled look, signifying you were not within earshot. shaking your head in defeat, you walked to him, your eyes meeting his. "what the fuck was that earlier? you just...left. like a fucking scaredy cat," you glared at him. he shook his head, dismissing the idea. "hell, you don't know half of what the heck happened to me. it's messed up as fuck. so i reassure you, miss vice head prefect, it is none of your beeswax. so how about you be the perfect, model student you are and walk away?" scaramouche leaned towards you, his teeth gritted. 

"none of my beeswax? hah. you have the gall to say that? you know what's none of your business? me. you have no fucking right to tell me what's my business and what's not. in fact, the duty of a vice-head prefect is to care about the student body's wellbeing. so it is my business, you fucking dipshit," you stared icily at him, leaning in, hissing. 

he was stunned into silence for a moment. then he just sighed, rolling his eyes. "mm. fine then. why do you think i ran away?" 

"last place? when childe mentioned it, your eyes suddenly widened. i can't believe you're so petty that you would be mad about that," you commented. 

"petty?" 

"petty."

his gaze at you suddenly turned even more cold. in an instant, his hands were on your shoulders, his face barely inches away from yours. "you, out of all fucking people, have no right to tell me I'm petty. ANYBODY could call me petty. but the one person who can't, is you," scaramouche hollered at you, the rain falling on both of you. it was getting heavier. 

the rain was getting heavier, but the beads of water that rolled down his cheeks were far too rapid for them to be raindrops.

hence, you patted him on the shoulder, hoping that your cold and shaky hand could calm his nerves. "god, don't do that," you mumbled, his grip still tight on the jacket that you were wearing. his hands were trembling.

how hypocritical of you, considering beads of tears were rolling down your cheeks too.