Blind Hearts, Obsessed Minds {JeanMarco !COLLEGE AU!}

Watcher-Marco POV

This chapter has a trigger warning for anxiety, bullying, and references to r@pe and to homophobia

I feel like I'm being watched.

Bertolt says it's just paranoia, but I think that's just because the thought freaks him out too. Poor guy.

Hitch just told me it was probably anxiety from being separated from my family for the first time, well, ever. I'd never lived anywhere but with my mother and sisters, I guess I had gotten attached to their comfort every time I'd ever been hurt.

But I'm an adult now, officially 19 as of June 16th, and as Hitch has told me "time to put on your big-boy-panties and learn to comfort yourself." I thought that was a tad harsh.

I'm not normally an anxious person, never felt it until I moved away. I always had the shield of my mom and older sister to make me feel safe, but I can't shake the feeling of someone watching me. I don't feel like I'm in danger but I can't shake a habit of checking the shower before I get in, to make sure no one is there waiting for me, keeping my window bolted shut, despite Bertolt's complaints about how hot it is in our dorm house and checking my wardrobe to make sure no one is crouching in there, waiting for me.

Yes, it's probably an overreaction, yes, like according to Hitch, it's probably separation anxiety of some type. I've always been a momma's boy and got teased for that on the playground. But she's all I had for the most part, my parents got divorced after my little sister, Marie was born, when I was 8 and my older sister, Margo, was 11. It was a pretty messy divorce, the two of them had been separated before that, on and off since I was about 4. Marie is here out of an attempt to save their marriage but, in the end, it was clearly futile. But, they've been on better terms the past few years, my dad coming to visit on holidays and, before college, me and Marie were able to spend time at his house during the summer. Margo never went though, unfortunately, she never had a good relationship with our father.

But our mother, on the other hand, was an actual godsend. Taking care of 3 kids isn't an easy task but shit, if she did it, she definitely did it well.

I sighed, leaning back into my chair in Professor Ackermann's class. Mathematics was always a better subject of mine but even I have trouble keeping up with this class. I can't necessarily blame it on Ackermann himself but I mean, it's not completely out of left field. He always seemed to make our Mathematics/ Math Reasoning class a living hell for most students. I fiddled the pencil between my forefinger and thumb before a loud bang caused me to drop it onto the desk in front of me.

The clanging noise had come from the door to the auditorium, it was just as class was starting when a student rushed in. I recognized him as the person that sat next to me, he had shown up, damn near late, a still steaming Starbucks drink in his hand, his backpack almost slipping off his slender shoulders and the large notebook he had in his arms stuffed to the brim with what appeared to be drawings rather than notes for a class. He was clearly winded, breathing heavily as he made his way to the seat beside mine, Ackermann's signature scowl shadowed him up until he plopped himself next to me, scurrying to get his notes and writing utensils out.

He was fairly tall, almost as tall as I was, slender with stronger arms that he had shown off at the beginning of school by wearing sleeveless band t-shirts, though now he mostly donned a large zip-up Anthrax hoodie over his slim body. He had amber colored eyes, similar to the color of tree sap and had two toned hair, the shaved underside being a deep burgundy-brown and the fluffy top being bleached, adjourning a light pinkish hue, like it was once dyed and it simply never washed all the way out. He'd recently shaved the stubble off of his chin, I noted, it was much more visible earlier this week.

His name was Jean, French, I believe and his last name had slipped my mind though it sounded German, I recalled from the last time I had heard it. He was probably the same age as me, and clearly had something a bit fruity about him if he listened to AFI and HIM like his shirts said he did. The Starbucks that he guzzled nearly every day wasn't helping his case either. Though, my gaydar has been off before, unfortunately.