Just Typical.

Karkat Vantas, self proclaimed asshole.

A.N: The chapters are pretty short, but I've always been a short chapter kinda person. Sorry if this pisses you off, I'll try and make them longer. But here, have chapter 2.

-----> Be the still pissed new kid. (Again.)

You walk into your class, and, because the world just wants to make your life a living cliché, the only seats that aren't covered in gum or unidentified substances are in the back row. With a sigh of resignation, you walk to the back row and sit in the middle. God forbid you sat in a seat near the window, that would be-

"Mr. Vantas, is it? I hate to interrupt your train of thought, but maybe you could start to pay attention to what is happening? Or would you want to start the day with a trip to the principles office?"

You are snapped out of your train of thought by the intrusive voice of the literature teacher. You look up and mumble an insincere apology, noticing the eyes of the class on you.

"Oh great. Everyone suddenly has piqued interest at the arrival of the new kid. Thank fucking God, this day couldn't get more typical if it tried.." You mumble, doodling absently on the paper in front of you.

"You know, talking to yourself as if you're in a high school new kid film probably isn't the best way to appear sane." You know that voice. The obnoxiously cool voice that you could recognise a mile away. The arrogant, narcissistic owner of the voice sat next to you, leaning over to your desk, so close you could smell the sickening scent of breath mints that lingered on his breath.

"I don't care what anyone thinks. What do you want, asshole?"
"Nothing. Just trying to keep you seem saner than you probably are."
"You can talk. Now, fuck off, cool kid."
"I'm touched."
With those final words, he leant away, taking the mint scent with him and turned to do his work. You couldn't help but take notice of him.

Cool Kid, his name until you were told otherwise, had light blonde hair that seemed white in particular light. His shades that he somehow got away with wearing covered a large portion of his face, but you could see that he had a slight scatter of freckles on the bridge of his nose and the top of his cheeks. He wore a long sleeved red and white shirt, with a design that you couldn't quite make out. He had black skinny jeans on and an expressionless face. His face showed no emotion save for when he was pissing you off, where his lips would twist into a smirk.

You shook your head and looked back up at your work before he noticed. And then, your shit bad luck kicked in. Ruining almost any chance you had at staying unnoticed in this hell hole.

You dropped your pencil. And, because you can't doodle without a pencil, you bend down to pick it up. Mr. Cool Kid over there does the same thing, reaching down to pick up your pencil, and you bang heads.

Now, that shouldn't be that immensely life ruining, should it?

Nope, it shouldn't be. Until his shades fall off. You here him mumble a string of expletives and he covers his eyes with his hand, but you see a glint of his crimson red irises anyway. You avert your eyes, and he rushes out the room, his shades in his hand and his eyes covered.

You shouldn't feel bad, should you?

You're Karkat Vantas, self-proclaimed hot tempered asshole. You shouldn't care about knocking some shades off of a random narcissist's face, should you?

Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maybe if you think it enough it will come true.