ɪ ʜᴀᴛᴇ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ (Gareth x Reader)

X

You spin your pencil mind-numbingly in your hand as your eyes follow the minute-hand of the clock, the draft paper in front of you empty. You had so many thoughts about the novel, so many writing prompts bouncing in your head like a DVD screen, but you had to confide any concept with the freak sitting next to you. 

You felt his eyes burning into you all of class, and refused to meet his gaze. Your ability to turn your head left was completely turned off as he flipped through the pages half-hazardly. He glared at you every so often, followed with a loud sigh that sounded oddly like the boy was trying to garner your attention. You looked back down when he did it again.

“Any idea what the essay should be on?” You broke the silence, causing a slight shock to erupt in him. His eyebrows raised slightly at the fact you spoke to him. 

“Isn’t that your half of the work? Or did we never learn how to write in elementary school?” He remarked, jaded, which caused you to grow more frustrated with him. The sympathy you felt from his bruises began to falter slightly. You swallowed back a sneer, trying to hold out a small smile. 

“We have to agree on it though, I just-” 

“Why?” Gareth snapped, cutting you off. You drew back, turning towards him and blinking. 

“Why what?” You asked, waiting for an answer. He scowled, shaking his head at you. 

“You just sent your dickwad of a boyfriend to break my nose in the parking lot, and now you’re acting all professional. You’re just fucking confusing,” he admitted, rolling his eyes and shifting uncomfortably next to you. 

You blinked, “‘boyfriend?’” you asked, taken aback, before snickering to yourself. Gareth turned back towards you, an eyebrow raised.

“‘Boyfriend!”” you laughed harder, a few heads turning. Gareth’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“What’s so fucking funny?” He asked bitterly, his eyes burning at the whiteness of your teeth, a typical privileged thing to have. 

You finally caught yourself from continuing to giggle, before clarifying, “you do not mean-”

“Chance Smith.” you both said in unison, and you shook your head before swallowing down a smile. 

“He’s… not my boyfriend,” you stated, and Gareth once again raised an eyebrow. A new piece that didn’t quite fit with the puzzle. 

“You’re kidding. Or lying to me,” Gareth defended aloud, his expression hard but monotone, him trying to swallow the curiosity in his stomach. You shook your head, turning back towards the paper in front of him. 

Gareth stared at the wall in front of him. This wasn’t adding up. You’re saying that a cheerleader isn’t dating the next available basketball player? Was there no boyfriend… period? 

The red yarn in his head fell now with a handful of tangles. 

“You’re telling me that you, a perfect little pom-pom thrower, ain’t got another ‘perfect,’ popular boyfriend?”

You looked up, taken aback by his sudden interest in you. But then your face fell. You couldn’t explain the full picture to him. The truth. You couldn’t really say much, because he was right. You were supposed to date Chance. But you aren’t who you say you are. You’re not a normal cheerleader. 

You’re a nerd.

“He’s… not my type,” you stated blankly, holding the terms ‘asshole’ and ‘entitled’ down like bile. Gareth scoffed, “oh really? I find that hard to believe.” Gareth responded, before listing out all the qualities someone like you should find in a guy. 

“He’s a basketball player.” Check.

“He’s popular.” Check.

“Undoubtedly rich.” Check.

“And he’s a prick.” 

“You can say that again,” you snorted out, causing Gareth’s face to soften. You just called a basketball player a prick. Your face pinkened, realizing the slip-up.

“I think that’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” he admitted, and you smiled slightly at the remark. That was the first nice thing Gareth had said to you. He turned away, reminding himself who he was talking to. 

You sighed, looking down at the paper before answering your own question from before: “The topic could be how the portrayal of characters impacts the themes that Tolkien tries to display.”

Gareth stared off at the wall with a bored expression. 

“Sure.”