Deadly Class Imagines and Short Stories☆Marcus Lopez Arguello

"What the Fuck..."

(Cliff hanger, I'm just posting this unfinished, if anyone is super keen on getting the rest of it, go ahead and comment, I just don't know if anyone really cares lmao)

"With every obstacle, there comes a mental awakening. What did you learn from that obstacle: possibly that you are not what you thought you were to be?, That the people around you are not what you thought they were to be, or possibly that the world is not what it seems to be." My AP manipulations teacher spoke to us. That line seems to be the thing I've been struggling with ever since I got to King's Dominion.

It's been about a month now since I first put on this uniform 58 days since I killed for the first time, 56, since I killed a second time and I've forgotten rest. 

I walked to the garden after class, I've started to become more familiar with my peers and usually hang around a group to be entertained by their dumbassery.

on most days Chico would be here with his goons—hawks hunting down anything that moved: today he was not in sight, wonder why.. Casually, I scanned the courtyard, hoping that maybe I could ease my boredom with someone to talk to. 

To my luck, I spotted someone perched on one of the larger stones behind a tree just barely in sight. If it weren't for the vibrant red trimming of his uniform, it would have had to been more deliberate of a search. 

I understood that someone who was sat in the corner of a garden might not want anyone to disturb them, however, I was a curious person and boredom almost always beats common sense; so I calmly walked over.

The person was oblivious to my position behind them and jumped when I spoke.

"Kinda sketchy, ya know, sitting in the corner behind a tree, a little suspicious." I joked. 

It happened to be Marcus—the edgy hardcore bombshell new kid. Although he's actually pretty easy going i'd have to say. Almost every girl in King's is practically drooling over him, and I couldn't blame them. 

He had a look in his eyes, and his face often had many cuts, adding to his 'couldn't give a flying fuck' aesthetic. His hair, I had to restrain myself from messing up his hair. 

Everything about him was practically a perfect mess is some strange way.

Marcus stared, devoid of something in his eyes—He was off and it was evident in his face. Attempting to respond to my sneak attack, I cut him off after a word or two.

"Marcus?