the art of being troubled || clouis

8 || enjoy the show

   FIVE MINUTES PRIOR

   "No— I already told you, that leaking pen was merely a blip in my academic studies that took me no less than seventeen hours to get over. You're not the prank master, you're not a cunning assassin of deceit, you're an idiot," Aasim crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his back against the shoddy lockers of the math wing.

Louis, unphased by his dearest friend's deliberately cruel words, stuck his nose up at the comment.

"Prank. Master," was all he responded with, jutting his two thumbs up at himself.

"Mor-on," Aasim retorted, leaning forward at the boy.

The cacophonous collision of a fist and a locker halted all chatter from the boys. After they reactively jolted from the unexpected bang, expressions wiped and lips pursed in a moment of anticipation, watching, waiting, as Ericson's poster-boy for meatheads stomped by. Russell, fists undeniably clenched, bore a molten glare at the two as he passed them. A true 'troubled youth', if you asked Louis. The type of boy this very school was established for.

Stoic-eyed, Aasim leaned back against the locker again, his head slowly turning to watch the boy go by.

"Nutcase," he muttered, a disapproving shake of his head following it up.

"Was that supposed to scare us?" Louis questioned, his top lip curling. "Why us?"

"Not us..." he replied, jutting his chin in the direction Russell had come from.

Louis turned to see Gabe shrivelled up under his beanie, his wary eyes darting around for the threat that had stalked up before he could even unravel himself. If he didn't know any better, Louis would have sworn Russell splattered him against the lockers just by how much he retreated against it. Poor kid.

"Hey, Garcia," Louis called to him, brows furrowing. "You okay—?"

"Fuck off!" he hastily sputtered, teeth gritted as he charged past them.

Louis deadpanned.

With another shake of his head, Aasim this time let out a sigh.

"You should know by now not to expect decency from these people," he commented, jiggling his leg in anticipation. "No one here knows how to reform."

Louis' features soured.

"You tried to light Ericson's office on fire just last year," he proclaimed, folding his arms. "Your fourth attempt, may I add."

Aasim huffed.

"Fine. I had a relapse. Another blip. But at least I don't try to beat people up like eighty-percent of the halfwits here," he compromised, keeping his gaze distant.

"Well, sure," Louis shrugged. "But I wouldn't exactly call arson a good alternative."

When Louis noticed Aasim earnestly straighten up, he knew he was pretty much blatantly ignored. He could tell Aasim caught wind of an incoming Ruby from the second she turned the corner. For a moment, his friend looked utterly void of all the confidence he previously wore. Instead, he watched as Aasim was reduced to a worrisome little boy, trying his hardest not to make even the tiniest, little, embarrassing mistake in front of a girl infinitely cooler than he was.

"Go. Now," Aasim demanded of Louis, pushing himself off the lockers as he eyed an approaching Ruby.

"Hm?" Louis turned, pretending to be oblivious to what his friend had made painfully obvious. "Oh, I see. You wanna put the moves on our dearest Ruby, huh?" his lips widened into a grin.