yaouri-losers

“(name)! wake the fuck up before i smash that phone!”

the voice cracked through the fog of your dreams like thunder.

it was laurance.

“hu—hah?” you croaked, eyes barely open as your alarm screeched beside you. laurance was perched at the edge of your bed, face twisted in annoyance, the sharp scent of his cologne cutting through the fresh morning air.

"you could've just shut it off yourself, laurance." you grumbled.

“wipe that drool off your face and go get ready.” he tapped your cheek until your vision cleared. you wiped your mouth, mortified to find he wasn’t exaggerating.

“what time is it?” you muttered, scrambling to shut the alarm off.

“you’ve got twenty minutes before we leave,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “and for god’s sake, brush your teeth—your breath stinks.” he swatted the air as he walked out, motioning toward your neatly ironed uniform hanging by the door.

the silence that followed was heavy, pressing. sunlight had already started to spill into the room, too bright, too accusing.

by the time you finished getting ready, the twenty minutes were long gone. no breakfast, no slow calm start—just you grabbing a slice of bread on your way out.

“took you long enough,” laurance muttered when you joined him outside. he took your bag without another word, slinging it over his shoulder. he’d still scold you, tease you, ignore you when it suited him—but somehow, he always took care of you anyway.

for a long time, it had been just the two of you. despite being the same age, he’d stepped into the role of an older brother back in the orphanage—saving you the best parts of his meal, taking the teasing meant for you, standing his ground when you couldn’t. you were a package deal, inseparable from the start—two names always spoken together.

“tough night?”

"are the bags under my eyes that obvious?" you groaned.

“i got a c on my psych test—stressed me out so much, i couldn’t sleep.”

his face shifted slightly in concern, his pace subconsciously slowing to match yours. for a moment, only silence surrounded you. you could practically see the gears in laurance’s head turning as he searched for the right words to comfort you.

“well—it isn’t the end of the world…” he bumped your side lightly, testing your reaction.

“that’s easy for you to say, mr. soccer captain.” you teased. laurance flushed, muttering something under his breath before speeding ahead of you.

but really, you were a little envious.

your brother was always athletic, always at the top of his team. he was on track for a sports scholarship at some prestigious university far away. cadenza, on the other hand, had already earned a scholarship of her own.

and that left you.

with no particular talent for sports or the arts, academics became your arena. it was the one place where you could stand out, however small the victory. you yearned for the same prideful smiles your parents flashed at your siblings, a quiet acknowledgment that even someone as plain as you could achieve something worth celebrating. 

plus, it would really suck to see all your siblings off while you’d be left behind.

the rest of the walk passed in comfortable silence, courtesy of the exhaustion weighing you down. dread slowly pooled in your chest as the familiar shape of phoenix drop high came into view.

at your lockers, you caught a glimpse of a tuft of blonde hair before an arm hooked around your shoulders in a half-hug.

“my favorite zvahls!”

“i’m telling cadenza, garroth.” laurance was just as trapped as you in garroth’s heavy attempt at a group hug. the blonde’s eyes widened as he sputtered a mess of please don’ts and i didn’t mean it like thats.

the playful banter between your brother and his best friend always drew a smile from you. garroth was always around—with laurance, without him, it didn’t matter. somehow, he’d become just as much your friend as he was your brother’s. and for all his loud, sunshine energy, he had a way of listening when you needed it. when there were things you couldn’t tell laurance, garroth was the one you turned to.

“psych class this morning, (name)?” the blonde boy slid his arm off your shoulder, taking your bag from laurance’s hands. he held it up for you while you sorted through the mess between your locker and your bag.

“mmhm, you too?” you replied, shutting your locker door—carefully avoiding the sheet of paper taped inside, the one with an angry-red c– scrawled across it. it was too early for your mood to take another hit.

“nope, but my class is right beside it. i’ll walk you.” garroth slung your bag over his shoulder with ease, then offered laurance a half-hearted salute as goodbye. you waved to your brother and fell into step beside garroth.

he asked you about small things—teachers, homework, weekend plans—sprinkling in jokes that made the morning air feel lighter.

“so then he just kept swinging and swinging—”

garroth’s voice trailed off. you glanced at him, following his gaze. his eyes were soft, wide, caught in quiet awe as he stared ahead.

you turned your head and found the reason — a short girl with long black hair, a purple ribbon tied neatly in it, laughing as she talked to a white-haired boy.

oh.

seemed like garroth had a crush.

“sooo… who is she?” you teased.

garroth blinked, snapping out of it, his ears turning pink as he looked anywhere but at you.

“who is who?” he asked, voice a little too fast.

you shot him a suspicious look.

“riiiight…” you drawled, dragging the word out just to watch him squirm. before you could press further, you reached your classroom—psych 101 printed in bold letters on the door.

garroth handed your bag back wordlessly, cheeks still faintly pink. he gave a small wave and disappeared next door.

it didn’t matter. you’d find out who she was soon enough.

stepping into your classroom, you realized your usual front-row seat was taken. the only ones left were in the back. not your thing, but it would have to do.

it had only been a few minutes after you sat down when your teacher walked in to start the class. her voice droned on, the lesson dancing around your head mockingly as you struggled to focus. all you could think about was that grade.

maybe i’ll ask if i can do something for extra credit.

yeah, i’ll do that.

you wondered what you could offer in exchange for a few points. a thousand-word essay, maybe? a report on the self? a kiss?

you snorted quietly at the thought.

“mr. gene vargas, how nice of you to join us after weeks of classes.”your teacher’s voice was sharp, slicing through the room so cleanly that everyone stiffened.

you glanced toward the door. a black-haired boy stood there, uniform rumpled, hair tousled, and eyes half-lidded in defiance. you were two weeks into the school year, and this was the first time you’d seen him in class.

teony must’ve caught him roaming the halls.

“my pleasure, teach,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“please stay after class.”

the room erupted with quiet ooohs. gene rolled his eyes and started toward the empty seats.

you forced your attention back to your notes. he wasn’t worth the distraction. all you knew was that laurance used to get in trouble with him last year—enough reason for you to stay far away.

wait.

why did the chair squeak beside you?

why do i smell tobacco?

panic settled in your gut.

gene.

gene vargas was sitting next to you.

in your daze, you hadn’t realized that the seat beside you was the only one left.

you chose to ignore him, boring holes into your notebook from how hard you were staring. you were frozen, as if staying still would make you invisible, and he wouldn't notice you. the air around you two felt tense and awkward, and you weren't sure why.

"relax, i don't bite." 

you jumped at the sudden remark. that's probably the first time gene has ever spoken to you. still, you refused to send even a breath his way.

"unless you want me to." his cocky tone filled you with disgust. you slowly met his mischievous gaze, your face twisting in distaste. 

"what the fuck?" 

the moment you spoke, gene's wicked expression faltered. realization flickered across his face as if a light bulb went off in his head.

"oh shit—you're laurance's sister!"  

he sounded way too gleeful for comfort. you scowled at him and went back to your notes, trying to drown out the irritation bubbling in your chest. you could feel his stare—steady, unrelenting. from the corner of your eye, his smirk was still there, carved into his face like it lived there.

“hey, angel—can i call you angel? anyways—how about joining the shadow knights?”

you rolled your eyes. “you come up with that name when you were six or something?”

gene gasped dramatically, clutching his chest where his imaginary pearls would’ve been.

“i’ll have you know, your brother thought it was pretty cool last year.”

 you cringed at the memory. when laurance got tangled up with the shadow knights, home stopped feeling like home. nights were louder, tenser—arguments with cadenza, slammed doors, and the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes. you’d never forget the way your father’s face darkened when he found the cigarettes in laurance’s uniform pocket.

you blinked the memory away and forced a scoff, "no thanks. you see, i actually have a plan for my life. you know, something that isn't tagging walls for a living and pretending i'm cool?"

gene’s smirk twisted as his eyes narrowed. he leaned closer, face inches from your side profile. the scent of minty tobacco mixed with the overpowering punch of dior sauvage—typical male manipulator scent.

“you think you’re so high and mighty just because your uniform is all prim and proper and your grades are straight a’s, when really… those bags under your eyes just make you look miserable.”

offended was an understatement. you’d spoken to gene all of ten minutes, and he already had the sheer audacity to insult you like that.

“oh yeah?” you sang, turning to face the intensity of his eyes head-on. “you smoke so much just to make your voice all hot and sexy, when really…”

you leaned in just slightly, letting the words hit.

“the only thing smoking got you are those bags under your eyes that look like fucking cigarette butts.”

evil.

gene looked absolutely evil, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“you think i sound all hot and sexy?”

you felt your stomach drop at the implication.

“that is not what i said—”

“ms. zvahl! mr. vargas!” your teacher’s voice boomed like lightning striking your spine.

you glanced up. the entire class was staring. every. single. pair of eyes.

your cheeks flamed, hot and heavy, while the boy beside you looked… downright pleased.

you shrunk back in your seat, crossing your arms and refusing to give him so much as a glance. 

the remaining fifteen minutes of class felt like dying slowly and painfully in hell. you’d never been called out like that before—and of course, it had to happen right when you were planning to ask your teacher for a favor. how would she ever agree to anything now?

when the bell finally rang, you took your time walking up to her desk, running through what you could possibly say. by the time you reached the front, she was packing up her things.

"ms. zvahl." she gave you a tight lipped smile.

"miss—i know i was really rude today but i—" you hesitated. maybe it really was too thick skinned of you to ask—but you had to try. 

she raised her eyebrow at you, silently urging you to go on.

"i wanted to know if there was anything i could do to pull my grades up? a paper, a report—a project! maybe?" you offered every option you could think of, hoping at least one would sound appealing.

“i’m not sure about that, ms. zvahl…” she started, eyes flicking around the room as if she was weighing something.

“please! i really need this.” it was humiliating to beg, but it was all you had left.

she paused, and then a small, knowing smile curved her lips.

“how about a project?”

you instantly brightened, nodding eagerly before she could change her mind.

“perfect!” she said—far too cheerfully. “mr. vargas!”

your blood ran cold.

gene looked up from his desk, clearly amused, as he lazily made his way over.

“from today,” your teacher continued.

“you’ll be paired with ms. zvahl for a project.”

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