#allmate high

Valentine's day. Hersha keeps his eyes down on his phone as he listens to the quiet ramble of his surrounding student body. They were all consistently chattering about the community center's annual Valentine's Day Dance that they had been holding since the 20's. It was getting old really quick.

However, no matter where he went, Hersha simply could not escape the (what was supposed to be) harmless chatter. Instead, it echoed around him, causing him to slowly become more and more hidden by his hair. It's not that he didn't want to go. Oh no, he really wanted to. He just didn't want to go alone. The only problem was: no one had ever asked him to the dance. Ever. In history.

And he never expected to be asked either.

Sitting at the drama table at lunch, Hersha immediately becomes engrossed within his phone, trying to block out all of the Valentine's day talk around him. Even his brother was going on about it. Blocking Berta out was a bit easier, he supposed. It's not like he hadn't done it his whole life.

The rest of the group wasn't so easy to block out. The sounds of their voices bounced around in his skull for what seemed like an eternity. He barely recognizes anyone talking to him until he feels Berta nudging him. Turning his head away from his phone, Hersha raises his eyebrows, wondering why he was being bothered.

"Don't you just love Valentine's day, Hersey?"

The shit eating grin on Berta's face made Hersha glare dangerously at him. He hums, flicking his hair out of his face, enough to fully glare at the other.

"I don't know. Don't you just love having a fork shoved in your eye?"

To prove his point, Hersha raises one of the plastic forks on the table, getting it rather close to Berta's eye. Berta just sighs, taking it from him. Having a second thought, Berta pokes him quickly in the shoulder with said weapon, before turning back to his own tray.

"What's even your damage when it comes to Valentine's Day? You're like Scrooge. Except instead of Tiny Tim dying, it's Cupid."

The rest of the table giggles a bit, and Hersha scoffs; he doesn't offer much more of a reply. Instead, he returns to his phone, going back to his scroll, refresh, scroll, scroll, refresh pattern. Berta sighs, returning to the conversation. While he was gone, it had shifted to a small debate on something Shakespear had said a few hundred years ago.