arescere ✿ xavier thorpe

¹

1 - the boy with the book

"they're many flavours of outcasts here. but the four main cliches are fangs, furs, stoners and scales. those are the fangs, aka vampires. some of them have literally been here for decades. that bunch of knucklehead are the furs, aka werewolves. like me! full moons get pretty loud around here, that's when furs wolf out. i suggest you pick up some noise cancelling headphones." the colourful one informed wednesday as she gave her the quick rundown of social status at nevermore. students were littered around the quad, most stuck in their cliches and others in their friend groups. the quad was as grey as usual. it always seemed to be gloomy and monochromed, the surrounding area of nevermore seemed to be. it made their uniforms look rather bright, the indigo was a weird colour choice.

"i'm assuming scales are sirens?'' wednesday spoke as she watched a girl twirling her hand in the water. watching the skin glisten to scales and back again. she knew those eyes from anywhere, sirens indeed.

"you catch on quick. and that girl, bianca barclay, is the closest thing nevermore has to royalty. although her crowns have been slipping lately. she used to date our resident tortured artist, xavier thorpe but they broke up at the beginning of the semester. reason unknown." enid started spitting out the notes that she had written down in her vlog. bianca was only popular because she chose to be, they were very few people who actually liked her. and wednesday's eyes moved to the boy with the painting. hair tied back as he was painting some kind of raven, a raven. representation of prophecy. interesting.

"fascinating." she spoke, it was not. she did not care nor did she imagine herself ever caring.

"i know. my vlog is like the number one source for nevermore gossip." enid carried on, overjoyed someone was listening to her. but wednesday's eyes had drifted to someone else.

"so who is he?" music played softly in his headphones, the tangled mess of wires allowed him to drown them out, his fellow students hanging around the quad. but he could still hear the things they said about him. he could feel the eyes on him, something he was used to. but this was different, it was colder. harsh but not the same as the others. his gaze raised from the book. finding a girl dressed in black and white staring at him. but not completely coldly, it was interesting.

"peter belfiore. he's either always reading or writing in that book of his with them headphones on. he's strange. that's all there is to know." the girl told her. they didn't know what made him like them? was he even different? and wednesday just looked. merely glanced before some guy was walking over to them. and peter returned to his scribbles, pressing his lips together as he glided the pen across the page.

'did she right through me too?' written in his overly neat writing, even though it was the same text as everything else he had written. it stood out. if you were to read, it would be the first thing your eyes would drift to on the page. and he carried himself back to his room as the school day came to a close. he was going to go down to jericho, get himself a hot chocolate and a new book from that small dark library in the back of town. he was one of the only customers of the shop, the man was young. his hair only just starting to grey. peter could have sworn he saw the man conjure a book down from a top shelf once. but hey, that's none of his business. one good thing about being 'normal' was his ability to blend into normality. like how he could sit in the coffee shop in jericho for hours in his uniform and nobody would question him as a nevermore kid. no one in town would look at him and see a nevermore student. they just saw a boy who liked music and writing, which at the end of the day. that's what he was. he just had a withering touch. something two of the coffee boys had figured out long ago. they watched as he took a sip of his hot chocolate, staring at the usually bright flower blooming in the pots on the middle of the table. they'd watch as it faded in colour, before curling and twirling as it died at his touch. he did the familiar cut through the woods, blasting his music through the headphones as he did. and little did he know he'd be thankful for not hearing the twigs snap and the scream in the woods mere metres from him as he walked. he went for his drink first, ordering two hot chocolates to go. before making his way to 'nott a bookstore' he always got mr nott a hot chocolate when he came to buy books. he'd listen to his wacky stories, something about a magical school and white blonde ferret. maybe he was a nevermore student once over too?

"peter! i was wondering when i'd see you again." the man exclaimed as he opened the shop door, a smile lighting his face.

"hello mr nott. i got you a drink.'' peter smiled as he entered the bookshop. the man sat at the counter. surrounded by piles of books. peter didn't understand how he did it, owning a bookshop with this many books. they were everywhere, scattered on bookshelves, piled on counters, littering boxes on the floor. he didn't seem to get tons of customers, so how was he running a business?

"peter, you are too kind. and please, how many times do i have to tell you. call me theo, or even theodore." the man said as peter handed him the warm drink over. and he couldn't help but laugh, he only still called him mr nott because it got on his nerves. and as always, peter would sit on the rickety chair and listen to the man ramble on about the time some kids blew fireworks during his exams. theo would walk along the stores, running his finger over the delicate binds as he spoke. peter was intrigued by the man and his stories. he always told them in a way that kept you interested, that had him leaning on his chair and biting his nails. he was forty something years old but had stories for a man of three hundred years. he watched and listened as the man picked him out a book. he always knew what peter needed. and he handed him a book.

"the city and the pillar? by gore vidal? what's it about?" peter questioned as he took the book. it was a black book with silver letters. the pages had been painted silver but the colour had long since faded and started to chip. the pages were crinkled and delicately binded.

"you'll learn." and this stuck with the boy, even as he headed back up towards nevermore holding it in his hand. staring at the cover. he trusted theodore with his book choices and never googled them, but this one was pushing it.