#d*ata

"Mm…Think the napkin’ll get it off?"

                 He could hear them w h i s p e r i n g behind their hands, but he could not help but wonder if they were even trying to be discreet about it. It was like everywhere he went, all he could hear was how he was some ruthless thug; but that wasn't true! Not true at all! It wasn't like he went out of his way to pick a fight--they just happened.

           But maybe they were right.  Maybe that was all he really was, some low life thug who couldn't keep his nose out of trouble. The thought alone caused anger to boil in the pits of his stomach, hands clenching into fists at his side.

                             Why did it hurt so much?                                    Why did it hurt that no one saw him--                                                  --for who he really was?

           Ever since he became part of the Investigation Team, he had been showing up for class more and more these days. School and classes weren't exactly a big deal to him, but apparently it was to everyone else. In a small town like Inaba, he supposed he should have expected it. They noticed that his attendance had increased, whispered and gossiped as if he couldn't hear.

           Just because he came in more often, that did not necessarily mean he showed up on time. The entire class silenced for a brief moment when he slid the door open, with a little more force than he had initially intended.  Gray eyes swept about the room, taking int he few glances before grumbling his way to his seat. Dropping himself into the chair, he kicked his feet back and leaned as far as he could.

            Unfortunately, long, beefy arms stretched out farther than he thought they would and happened to smack the person directly behind him. Turning his head to the side, looking at the victim, he widened his eyes for a moment before rubbing at the back of his head.

                 He could hear them w h i s p e r i n g behind their hands, but he could not help but wonder if they were even trying to be discreet about it. It was like everywhere he went, all he could hear was how he was some ruthless thug; but that wasn't true! Not true at all! It wasn't like he went out of his way to pick a fight--they just happened.

           But maybe they were right.  Maybe that was all he really was, some low life thug who couldn't keep his nose out of trouble. The thought alone caused anger to boil in the pits of his stomach, hands clenching into fists at his side.

                             Why did it hurt so much?                                    Why did it hurt that no one saw him--                                                  --for who he really was?