He strode down the hall in the morning, the usual smirk spread across his face. But as the newly decorated hallways hit him, he scowled. This was one thing about the school that he minded the most.
Most girls were squealing like pigs over at each poster that was put up, and even the boys were talking about it. The rest of the student body was alive with talk over preparations for the event to be launched a few weeks from now. For him though, that meant that, in that morning, nobody stole a glance at him like they usually did. The high of prom was among them again, and that irked him.
As he sat down in his first class, pretty early due to his other friends being elsewhere or otherwise busy, he saw one of his other batchmates poke her head in and glance around. She smiled at him, waving slightly, and he casually bobbed his eyebrows, when in truth he wanted to smile and wave her over. She slid in and into her seat just beside his, took out a notebook, and started doodling, or writing, whatever she usually did.
He stared at her, arms folded over his broad chest, brows furrowed as he took in her (h/l) (h/c) hair; her sweet curves; her (color) skin; her crossed legs; her (f/c) sweater, (color) (kind) jeans and (color) (brand) shoes; her cute, soft cheeks and her dazzling (e/c) eyes.
He sighed. This was the girl he'd wanted since he laid eyes on her, since he saw her when he was introduced as a transferee from Germany. He chuckled darkly at the memories of the old days.
"Class, we have a new student today. He is a transferee from Germany, and I do hope that you can make him feel welcome to our school." There were many murmurs from inside the room, mostly from the girls, that could be heard. The teacher cleared her throat. "Why don't you come in?"
He stepped into the room, his black boots making a dull staccato on the flooring. Gasped echoed in his ears as his classmates stared at him, and he stared at each and every one of their faces. Some were in awe, some in fear, some in excitement. But there was one that looked on with interest. A girl with (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair.
"Is that a scar?"
"He sure is big."
"Damn, he's got pecs!" someone hissed under their breath.
"Purple eyes? So in style!"
"God, are those muscles?"
The teacher cleared her throat again, this time in irritation. "Care to introduce yourself?"
The new boy smirked, and a few girls shrieked. "Lutz Beilschmidt."
A few curious kids started repeating his name, and he only rolled his eyes. Amateurs, he thought to himself.
"(Classmate name), as monitor, you may have to excuse Mr...er..."
"Yes, you may have to excuse his lack of uniform; it hasn't arrived yet and won't be for a few more days." The student nodded.
"Now, Mr. Beilschmidt," a few people snickered at the wrong pronounciation, to which she tapped her pencil angrily on the table, "do take a seat beside Miss (Last name) there." She turned to attend to other papers as he looked for the girl. It turns out that the girl he was admiring earlier had snapped her head up to attention and stared at the front. True enough, there was a free seat beside her, and he settled in it.
"Hey, liebchen," he said, smirking.
She stared at him, looking at him up and down awkwardly as a blush lightly coated her cheeks. "Hi," she replied, and struck out her hand. "I'm (Full name)."
He took her hand in his with a firm grip, and she smiled slightly before he released her hand. "Nice grip."
He smirked even wider. "Nice ass."
She half-choked. "Pervert!" she snapped, lightly slapping his arm as he laughed.
And that was the start of a promising friendship.
Soon after that they started to talk, even if he did put some stupid comments here and there. Most of the girls didn't like him for his pervertedness, but she seemed to accept that. One day, he wondered why.
She glanced back and forth before leaning in close. "Between you and me, my dad can be like that, you know, a perv between him and me."
He stared at her, wide-eyed. "Really?"
She shrugged, smirking at him. "It's a part of the fun between me and Dad."
And used to it she was. She never really minded the snide remarks, but drew the line at smacking her bum and staring at two—or three—other parts of her body besides her face.
In the time he was with her, he found out that she wasn't much like the other girls. She liked boys and cute things and girly things, he'll give you that, but there was something boyish about her, like the ease to talk about physically attractive features about another person, to swear, to not act like a total girl. She was fun-loving and feisty and he liked that.
The only thing he hated was how much she didn't want a boy in her life.
"They'll only pull you down, Ma says," she told him one day. "Studies first."
So, how could he ask her out to prom now? Surely that was an invitation to a full-blown relationship; they both liked things the way they were already.
"So, (y/n)," he mused, and she looked up. "You going to prom?"
She shrugged, glancing at him. "My mum's even more excited about it than I am, so probably."
He let a pause drift between them. "Going alone?"
She blinked. "Probably. I mean, unless my crush asks me out." She giggled, flushing slightly at the mention and at the vision behind closed eyes.
He scowled. Of all the secrets she had to tell him, he never told her who her crush was. Even after much pestering from her and much threatening from her other girl friends, he didn't know, and everyone claimed they didn't know.
"Who the hell is your crush, anyway?" he growled.
She smirked evilly at him. "Why should I tell you?"
"Come on, (y/n)! We've been friends for three years, surely you can tell me?" He didn't push puppy-dog eyes; he was too frustrated to.
She only shook her head with a wide grin that made her shut her eyes, and amusement faintly clouded his purple gaze. he liked it when she was happy, but sometimes it was tainted with irritation; she liked teasing him as much as he did to her.
He rolled his eyes. I would have her as my prom date, he vowed silently.
The days and hours passed. During breaks, she'd vent about her mother fussing about her being more ladylike, or about her dress, or about her shoes, or her make-up. Oh, how (y/n) hated make-up! It was hot, it was heavy, and it hurt to have it applied on her eyes. But she claimed to have obliged anyway, just for her mother. He, on the other hand, would talk about his older, upperclassman brother about men's suits and tuxedoes and flowers for his girl. "Such a dummkopf," he'd say about the albino. But soon enough, during breaks, the 'asking-out' stage started.
People started knowing who likes—or liked—who, and boys were accepted and rejected here and there. Lutz didn't mind, right up until someone pulled his best friend aside suddenly, got down on one knee with a bouquet of flowers and said "Be my prom date" with a huge grin, his other friends backing him up.
She only stood there, blushing for a moment, before scratching the back of her head. Lutz could only clench his fist as others looked on, excited to know that (male classmate) liked her, and to know what she'd say. Fear, jealousy, and anger coursed through Lutz, making his muscles ripple as he tried restraining himself, permitting a death glare instead.
"Sorry, I'm waiting for someone else," she said, and while everyone was saddened, Lutz was very much relieved. She smiled sadly, and took (classmate)'s hand to pull him to a stand. He only smiled back, taking his loss like a man, and pulled her into a hug instead. She tapped a spaced-out Lutz and continued walking down the hall.
"And I, for one, won't accept anyone who doesn't really know me; they give me the wrong kind of flowers, they're not welcome to me." The two only laughed.
It wasn't long before more admirers were asking for her, each and every time, again with the wrong kind of flowers, and each and every time, they would get turned down. The set date was getting nearer and nearer, and she claimed she was starting to lose hope.
"There probably won't be time to match clothes at this rate!" she spat, head-desk-ing on her folded arms over the table.
He pat her back awkwardly. He knew he was losing time, but nonetheless wanted to know who she really wanted in the school so he could beat him up into a pulp. "I'm sure he'll ask you soon," he reassured her.
She glanced up at him with teary eyes, and wiped them away with a handkerchief. "You think so?"
He scoffed, rolling his eyes at her. "Sure I know. Who wouldn't want you as a prom date?" He pretended to hurt as she slapped him hard—well, actually lightly; he knew she knew it didn't really hurt him like others did, and she could slap him like all he cared because it wouldn't make him wince an inch.
"And you? No girl?"
Nervousness slapped his face, and he looked away, scratching the back of his head. "Ahh, I'm getting to that," he chuckled awkwardly. "I mean," his eyes widened, "all the girls hate me."
She chuckled, smacking him upside the head. "Why would anyone hate you? You're such a big softie~" He glared at her, and she laughed even more.
It was a week and a half before the set date. Time passed slowly, and soon, one day had gone, then two, then three. Both friends were losing their minds over this: her because she really was a naïve little girl who wanted a prom date and him because he really wanted to ask her out but couldn't.
He knew he was more outgoing than his polar opposite half-brother who looked like his twin, but unfortunately inherited his father's bashfulness at such a situation as this.
He thought up of chocolates—too sweet; she'd complain of getting fat. He thought of flowers—she'd probably have another allergy attack. He thought of a gift—what gift and whose money? He thought of plainly asking her out—a girl would of course think of getting a gift at this kind of invitation!
He slammed his fist down on the table in irritation, the bottle of beer rattling on the wood. Why would he ask her out anyway? He knew she knew he was only the kind of superficial guy, and his reputation preceded him.
And how would she react to such a thing? She probably only saw things between them as friends. Would he really risk their current relationship? What would happen if he even did that?
He crushed the bottle in his hand, the shards tinkling and burying themselves in his flesh. At that moment, his three other brothers stepped out.
"Oi, kleine bruder," his older brother, the loud, obnoxious albino named Gilbert the first, called out quite worriedly.
"Go away," Lutz snarled.
The other albino, Gilbert the second, more commonly called East, apparently Gilbert's twin, only tried prying the violet-eyed boy's hand open. The younger blonde, Ludwig, was holding up a first-aid kit; he had quietly gone out to get it.
"So, Lutz," Gilbert mused, "what in heaven got you in a twist?"
"(Y/n)," he only said, and the rest of them only nodded in reply.
"Dumped you?" Lutz needed only to glare at his older brother for him to shut up entirely.
"Nope," East replied. "Prom." The other two 'ahh-ed' in understanding.
"Why don't you get some dating advice from the awesome me?" Gilbert offered with a smirk.
"As if any of our tactics are no different, brother," Lutz hissed, and hissed some more as the shards were taken out one by one. Gilbert's shoulders slumped.
"I'm sure you'll know what to do," East said quietly as he worked on his little brother's hand.
Lutz blinked. What would he do?
"Lutz, what happened to your hand?" (y/n) nearly shrieked upon seeing him the next day.
"Ah, I got drunk last night," he replied smoothly. At least, drunk in another way, he thought sourly.
"And I crushed a glass in my hand," he continued.
She quirked a brow. "Crushed a glass?" she said slowly while glaring up at him. "Drunk?" He only 'pssh-ed' it off, and she laughed, opening her locker.
"Yeah?" She shut her locker and started walking down the hall with him.
"If...if 'he'...asked you...you know, to prom, would you go?"
She stared at him with red cheeks, but smiled quite nervously and said, "Of course! How can I turn down such an invitation?"
He only nodded, jealousy getting the best of him. She probably wouldn't want to go out with him anyways; she was only a friend.
"Lutz?" she asked, a hand on his big arm. "Anything wrong?"
He glanced back to find her precious (e/c) eyes worried and anxious. "Ah, I'm good," he replied with his usual smirk to tell her he really was fine. She smiled, and continued walking. And then, it occurred to her that—
"You're jealous, aren't you?" she teased.
He flushed greatly, head whipping to hers. "Wh-what?"
She elbowed him. "Ooh, someone's jealous~" she sang.
"I am not!" he spat crossly, amusing her all the more.
"Sure you're not," she replied, and he returned it with a growl.
"Look, Lutz," she said as she settled her stuff down on a table in the cafeteria, "sometimes it won't even matter if I have another date or not, you're still my best friend."
"But I wanted things to be more than that," he murmured.
"Ah, wishful thinking," he said, smiling. She quirked a brow again, flushing, but nonetheless shrugged it off. As she skipped away for lunch, he followed her much more slowly, slightly saddened.
"You know," she said as she handed him a tray, "if this is about a girl, don't be afraid to tell her you like her!" She wore that same, cheery smile he liked to see, the one she wore everyday, and he felt...reassured. Confident. Determined.
For once in his pathetic life, he wanted to accomplish something.
The next day, he was plenty confident that she would go with him to prom. With a big bouquet of (favorite flowers) behind his back, he trudged up to their lockers, located beside each other. He was so excited and so nervous that he didn't see the boy that stood in front of (y/n), her back to her locker door. They were smiling, and Lutz frowned; what were they so happy about?
"Sure, I'll go."
Lutz froze. Go? Go where? When? With whom?
Suddenly, (y/n) glanced to the side. "Oh, hey, Lutz." She grinned sheepishly.
"H-hey," he muttered. He didn't know whether it was shock, anger, or jealousy that made him stand still and not knock the boy's head off his shoulders, but he didn't—couldn't—move.
"So, I'll pick you up at five? I'm sure it'll take a long time, and it's a long drive."
She giggled. "Sure."
"See you there," he replied, and with a nod to Lutz, he walked away with a hop in his step, fist-pumpung lightly. (y/n) saw and giggled, turning back to her locker.
"(Popular boy classmate), don't you know him?" she asked, flushing slightly.
"What happened? You're not usually this giddy." He tried keeping his tone casual, but jealousy dripped from it.
He was just glad she didn't notice. "He...he asked me out."
"Really?" He didn't need to ask; of course it was for prom! Why shouldn't she be so happy; (p/b/c) was probably her crush anyway, the one she wanted to take her to prom.
She suddenly hand-spazzed, startling him. "I'm so excited!" She didn't ramble on and on about it anymore; he knew she knew how he hated girls gushing about such girly things.
"What's that, Lutz?" His head snapped to hers with a glare, and found her looking around him to the bouquet in his hand.
"Ah, I was going to ask someone out to prom," he murmured, "but...it turns out she...had someone else."
"Oh," she breathed. "I'm sorry."
He only nodded. She didn't even know it was her he was going to ask out.
She pat his back. "Better luck next time, eh?" she whispered, and he nodded again. She took out her books, and closed her locker, waiting for her friend.
Noticing she was waiting, he quickly stuffed the flowers into his locker and pulled out a few books. They walked in silence; she knew he needed it after such a turn-down. They parted in the hallway to head for separate classes.
When she came back to her locker, Lutz wasn't at his usual spot. He was usually earlier than her to the lockers, given his classroom was closer than hers to their lockers, but she opened her locker nonetheless. That was when she saw the flowers.
She gasped before squealing giddily. The only one who knew about her locker combination was Lutz and a few girl-friends; surely this was from the German?
She pulled out a note, unfolded it, but failed to start reading because of her girl-friends.
"Wow, who's that from?"
"Yeah, who knew you could have a date?" The others snickered as (y/n) rolled her eyes.
"I dunno, I haven't read the note yet." She giggled.
"Well, then read it! We're so happy for you, girl."
She smiled brightly, peering at the odd scribble, the only one she knew would be Lutz's.
What she couldn't believe was the message it sent.
"Excuse me, girls," she whispered, stuffing her books in and pulling out the bouquet of flowers.
"(Y/n)! Where are you going?"
She didn't answer as she bolted down the hallway and out of the school grounds.
"Why?" he whispered, driving his borrowed switchblade into the tree in front of him. "Why did it have to be someone else?"
Anger drove him to make another few slashes to the now-lacerated bark of the tree, and tears streamed down his cheeks for the first time since he was a child. He gripped the handle of the blade to the point of breaking; he would owe Luciano if any damage had been done.
All his life, things have been uneventful. His brothers didn't care for him, so he begged for attention. His father always preferred his smart and responsible younger half-brother, whom Gilbert called West, whom everyone called Ludwig, and his older brother, East. Gilbert had the sort of charm that made women love him despite his ego and his self-proclaimed awesomeness, even if he did try to avoid relationships, and even he had smarts. East was quiet and smart, though his love and adoration was most public.
But then again, who would want him?
He was a pervert. Everyone knew that. He had no heart, wanted nothing more than to have meaningless sex—not that he already had—and cared for women like you’d care for a dust mote. He liked girls whose backside was good enough for his pale hand to smack, whose bosom was open and big enough for staring, whose face was pretty enough to charm.
He wasn't smart. At least, he wasn't as smart as her. If she was above average, then he was below average. He didn't care for studies, just that he could get out of frigging school for all he cared.
He was a rogue. He loved getting into fights, he wanted the adrenaline in his veins, the strength that made his muscles ripple. He liked playing the big, bad wolf, whose prey was that of the white, innocent sheep; was that of the innocent teenagers that plagued the halls.
He didn't have any goals. He didn't see himself as a great man in the future, just a guy that can stay home all day and drink beer, eat, sleep and take drags on cigarettes.
He was lusted after. He was, in the school, the one with the best body, the boy with the worst strength. Most girls would sneak into the gym and hide when he had his nightly training there, where he would do so in nothing but his pants and a skin-tight wife beater. The female species’ eyes darted towards him as he sauntered by, hands in his pockets, his chest puffed.
That's all he was. He wasn't a romantic like other teenage boys, he wasn't smart-ass responsible like East or Ludwig, he wasn't as smart-ass like East and Ludwig, he wasn't kind and/or sweet, he wasn't awesome like Gilbert, he wasn't as popular as Gilbert with his 'Bad Touch Trio'. He was Lutz Beilschmidt. It wasn't expected of him.
Yet, one question was asked the loudest by the little voice in his head.
Why not (popular girl) or (sexier girl) or (another popular girl)? They were all so much better than (Y/n): They were popular, sexy, trending. They had lives in estates with pools, with the money to buy clothes from Zara and bags from Louis Vuitton. (Y/n) was just a girl that stood in the background with odd interests and simple clothes.
Oh, that as right: she was the only one who charmed him. Not by looks, not by money, but by herself.
After his family, she was his first friend. She was the only one who took him in, whose interest defied psychology physics and accepted the fact that he was a pervert, partly an idiot and had a sort of killer instinct. She was the one to stick by him even if he did get out of control sometimes. She was the one who held him back from clobbering Gilbert one day.
She was the anchor to his ship, the one to hold him back from going out to sea, to be lost forever in the unknown due to his actions going with the flow of the sea, of his reactions. And she was the sun, the moon and the stars: the only one to give him peace and happiness in the turmoil in his heart.
And she was just...gone.
She had promised her heart to someone else, to another man that he knew didn't deserve her like he did. She wanted someone who couldn't want her like he could, someone who was normal.
Like he could ever be.
It was something he could never be.
He slid the point of the switchblade up and down his thigh as he knelt before the roots, watching the steel as it traveled along the fabric of his uniform with a crazed, but empty, look in his mauve eyes.
It was one of a distraught, unrequited love, one that threatened a man over the edge of rationality, one that rendered one defenceless against the incoming prospect of landing in a straightjacket.
So this is what it feels like to be in love.
He fingered the sharp edge with a naked hand, the black glove strewn on the grass over his tan jacket that always hung loosely on his shoulders. A supreme calm washed over him, and with every deep breath he felt the pang of heartache dull with the serenity.
He closed his eyes, and a last tear escaped the barrier of lashes. Tilting his head upwards, he positioned his arms up, the point aimed inwards. With a last breath, he stilled himself; he knew there was no more to living after that.
"Lutz Beilschmidt, don't you dare drive that blade through your heart!"
His eyes snapped open, and in his surprise the blade fell, with a dull rustle, to the ground. He turned around, only to fall backwards into the tree in the flying leap she took.
He stared down at the (color) head that rested on his chest, felt the arms that barely encircled him. Shock made him redden and freeze, and she took that time to speak.
"Lutz...you don't have to die for something like that...you've still got a future."
He heard hiccups and sniffles in there; she must be crying.
His large arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. "Nein, there isn't...not without meine liebe."
She glanced up at him with wet red eyes, and his ungloved hand cupped her face, his thumb rubbing the skin lightly. His eyes only held sadness and love, nothing else, as hers did.
Until anger rose to her attention.
"You...you dummkopf!" she shouted at him, pushing him off. "What do you think I would do if you died?"
She didn't have to scream; the words screamed at him themselves. His eyes widened even more. What?
She sniffed. "What do you think would happen to me if you were gone?" She dropped to her knees, shaking. "What do you think would happen if my best friend and my crush were gone?"
He stood there, stock-still in disbelief. So many emotions swirled in his mind, his heart. Ecstasy, disbelief, and shock all replaced the bitter thoughts that were at the forefront of his mind. Before he knew it, he was huddled with her in his arms as she cried on his shoulder, clutching the platinum mess on his head. He, too, let out his own emotions in sweet, soft lament, lightly soaking her (h/c) hair.
"(Y/n)?" he whispered as she quieted down.
"Ja?" She pulled back to glance up at him as she straddled his lap.
He reached out to the side, grabbing the bouquet of (favorite flowers), tearing up the note, and said, "Come with me to prom," with the cheesiest smile he could muster at the moment.
She bit her smiling lip, eyes glistening all over again, but this time in elation.
"Of course I will!" she squeaked, tackling him to the ground. He laughed heartily and freely for the first time in a long time.