sweater weather ↠ markle

twelve ↠ the midnight snow

Farkle's P.O.V.

The halls seemed colder today, the week spinning by drastically slow as they all awaited for Thursday, when heat would once again flood their mandated prison.

After this morning, Farkle had found himself in a systematic mood, one of a robot, absentmindedly passing through their objectives. Not to mention, a certain blonde had switched seats first period, disrupting his own robotic routine, and with that, the setting for the rest of the day was null.

Farkle couldn't explain the knot in his chest as he watched the cascade of blonde hair from his corner of the bustling classroom. How she had gotten to school this morning, he had no idea, for when he pulled into the parking lot, he saw her truck parked in the same spot, covered in over a foot of snow with no sign of recent movement. She had probably walked. His eyes caught sight of her flushed color, contrary to her usual pale tone. It was odd, watching her, the way she would block out the rest of the world as her fingers doodled masterpieces on her lined paper.

Maya, Farkle concluded, was a mystery that he vowed to solve. She had evolved since middle school, the world changing around her in ways that caused her to retaliate, to build up walls and line them with ammunition. Said ammunition seemed to be represented with a stern, cold glare. Much like the one she was currently sending him, having noticed his dazed stare. A small cough erupted from the boy as he directed his gaze elsewhere, unable to fight the small tinge of red that rose to his cheeks.

Why was he embarrassed? He should be angry, spouting curses left and right for the blonde devil, as he had heard others in the locker room refer to the girl. She had a reputation for outbursts, for 'crazed' scenes, shown by their latest conversation.

"Look, we are not friends. We are not friendly. We are not close in any way. I appreciate all the shit you've done for me, but now it's time to go find yourself another charity case."

Hearing it straight from the source was hell. Farkle thought he was being a good friend, caring for the girl as he would anyone else. Except, he was being a good friend, she just didn't want to accept it.

The sounding of the bell rung, dismissing first period and rattling Farkle from his thoughts. He began to pack his stuff up, sending quick, secret glances to the blonde in the front of the room who hadn't seemed to notice the movement around her, too entranced in the movement of her pen and the beat of a drum that pumped through her earphones.

Hesitant feet stood stationary, Farkle contemplating his choices. He could tap on her shoulder, risking yet another outburst from the figure, or he could leave her to deal with their teacher, who would no doubt give her a scolding not only for the earphones, but also for her lack of activity in the class since the semester had started. Figuring it was probably better in regards to her situation, he went with the former.

So, with pursed lips and a slightly worried expression, Farkle's feet padded slowly towards the girl, a lanky finger reaching out to tap along her shoulder.

↠

Maya's P.O.V.

The morning had been somewhat a disaster, Maya rushing to catch the morning train in nothing more than some sweatpants, a tank top, and an old, rustic jacket she had stolen from her father's closet years ago, one of the only things she had left of him to this day.

Her face was bare, red from a nights worth of crying, and her hair was a mess, having barely gotten a brush through it before she had to rush off to school.

To say Maya was a bit off her game today was an understatement, to say the least. It didn't help that a certain soccer player had been staring the entirety of her mess down throughout an agonizing first period.