Polar Opposites (Brance Concept)

Part I: Punk

Was it really a gift, being so smart?

Of course not. Being smart isn't natural. It's not something that comes to you at any given interval. To be 'smart' is to learn and implant knowledge in your mind. To be smart requires hours and hours of work and only minutes of sleep, so one can finish their final assignment at 4:00 in the morning. To be 'smart' requires putting your hand up in class because nobody else had the intellect to do so. People will envy you for being smart. And they will pity you for being dumb. There is just no in between.

So why was intelligence ever considered a gift? This insignificant yet everlasting thought lingered in Bruce's mind ever since he discovered his first test score.
He would forever remember the constant disapproval of his family, had he made a mistake. The sigh that would usually drag from his father's lips, had he got anything below a B.
But it was just his luck, not having to experience the discomfort of being 'stupid' any more. For now, it was straight As.

Being smart came with a weighted cost, however.
For example, just then, as the bell rang, and as the boy was packing away his resources, a peer of his tapped his shoulder and whispered 'Bruce!'. As anyone would, he turned around and raised his brow with inquisition. "What's up?"
"It's uh- it's about the homework due Monday..."
Bruce knew exactly what to expect. It happened to him so often, it felt like rehearsing a mental script every single day of the week just so another dumb child could get away from a detention. "Let me guess. You want some help with it?"
His classmate would chuckle nervously, following with a small, subtle nod. "Kinda. I'd rather you just do it for me over the weekend. I'll bring in extra cash, I swear!"
This offer made Bruce double take for a moment. Never in his thirteen years of existing had he been offered money just to do somebody's homework.

Was he really that desperate?

"...Are you sure?"
"I am! Just- take it please, and..."
His words trailed off whilst he held out the incomplete homework in front of him. "I can come to yours to pick it up Sunday, how about that?"
Bruce was hesitant in taking the paper from him, his eyes skimming the questions mindfully with an unsure look. "Sure. I've got time. Do you... Need my address?"
Following the boy's nod, the ravenette's tongue would glide over his teeth in consideration as he began to write it down on a small sheet of paper. He folded it in half, handing him the written address with a smile as his classmate thanked him.

If it weren't for his parents going out for work in the weekend, Bruce would have said no. As if it wasn't weird enough, having a classmate come to your house just to retrieve a sheet of homework...
What was the harm in exchanging on Monday?

His thoughts on the matter had come to a halt once he realised he was the last person left in the classroom. And so he fumbled with his bag, slipping the unfinished homework inside and walking through the classroom door.

-

Friday Evening.

A soft breeze entangled with Bruce's hair as he pushed open the door to the town's library, inhaling the common librarian smell of vanilla and oak. It wasn't a homely one, albeit it still had a cozy atmosphere that he couldn't help but appreciate. Bruce didn't go there on a daily basis, for on other days he was caught up with baseball practice, but regardless, he still didn't mind sitting in the library in silence. If only it was something he could have done more often.
Stood in the vast doorway of the library, he surfed through his schoolbag in a matter of mere seconds to retrieve the sheet of homework, ensuring it had no creases before walking through the frame.

It wasnt common for him to not pay attention to his surroundings... Until then.
By the very second Bruce snapped back to what was around him, he bumped harshly into someone, his attention drawings towards the comics that fell to the ground in a haphazard pile. Shaking his head, his eyes wandered towards the face of the other with an apologetic grown on his face. "I am so sorr-"
Oh shit. It was Vance Hopper. Just his sorry luck.
It was no matter of time before Bruce found himself taken by the collar and shoved against the door frame, and he would try to struggle out of the blonde's grasp, apologising much more hurriedly but to no avail.
"What the fuck will 'sorry' do to save you if my pages are bent!?"
Vance's loud voice crashed the tranquillity of the library, though suddenly, he furrowed his brow and loosened his grip against the other upon a small realisation.

"Huh. You're that smartass from the class opposite me. The one who slaves away on people's homework for them."
Bruce scoffed, still subconsciously grasping the other student's arm. "I'm not a smartass... I'm Bruce."
"Uhuh. Who's fuckin' homework is this? Not your own, right?"
"Maybe let me go first, and I'll show you if you're so interested."
"I'm not," Vance denied his words, moving back and eventually letting go as he snatched the sheet from him, reading the name with a frown. "Tommy as in Tommy Hillington?"
Bruce nodded. The two had been silent for a moment, until the blonde began to tear up the homework sheet unremorsefully. This lead to Bruce widening his eyes in horror yet again, looking around hurriedly and back at Vance with an ounce of anger.

"Are you insane?! Like, are you actually okay in the head!? I needed that, you idiot!"
Bruce exclaimed, quiet enough so it didn't infuriate the librarian. Vance, aware of the other's infuriation, just shrugged in retort, stuffing the paper into his hands. "I told that little bitch to stop using this tactic... He's punkin' you, Bruce Yamada. Don't be all surprised and shit if you see Moose at your door soon."
These words made him fall silent. It was hard to believe, since Vance Hopper out of all people was telling him, but at the same time, a dubious feeling began to pool in his mind.
Vance scooped up the comics from the ground, eyeing the black haired boy with a furrowed brow.
"Consider it a miracle if I ever decide to kick their asses for ignoring me. You're already lucky enough cause I won't be burying you in your nerd-ass books this time."
Before even being given a chance to respond, Vance would walk the opposite direction to the confused boy, pushing open the doors and leaving before anyone could punish him for being too loud. Bruce looked down at the shredded paper in his hands, gritting his teeth and storming towards the nearest bin.

What an asshole.

-
Sunday.

Although he didn't want to believe the blonde's words, for some reason, he did. But not by a huge amount.
It coursed through his mind constantly, but he did what he could to suppress it, even as he was wiping down the kitchen counters and going on with his merry day. Well, he hoped it would be merry for long enough.
But unfortunately, not everyone got what they wanted, right?

Once Bruce was satisfied with his efforts, he tucked away the yellow cloth, and his attention snapped to the obnoxious banging against his door. Obviously, this caused him to jump, albeit the fact he was only somewhat expecting it to happen. But when it dawned upon him that they really went to his house to most likely jump him, he peeked out of the window in concern and ran upstairs as soon as he noticed the infamous scruffy brown hair. His eyes were immediately fixed on the baseball bat propped up in his bedroom, and he wrenched it from the wall, dashing back down to the kitchen and stopping in his tracks.

Would he even do it?

Would he dare swing a weapon at another person? The thought of having to defy everything he believed in just to defend himself made his heart flutter, and before he could adjust the position of his grip, he heard the name 'Vance' be called out amongst the slurs and insults aimed towards the bullys' hesitant target.
Was he there to kill him as well? God, Bruce was not having a good day.
He held his head in his free hand for a moment, attempting to calm down his petrified nerves while double checking outside to see what was happening.

What he expected to see was Vance waiting outside as well while Moose was kicking his door. Not the shocking scenery of Vance beating the everloving shit out of him on his porch.