start a fire, watch it burn

fire hazard

New Bostin smells like new opportunities and ambitions for glory paid in blood, but that is nothing unusual. In a world where ability dictates the worth of individuals, perpetuating violence is but a common occurrence; might dictates right as the saying goes. The world bows to those with power and scorns those without it.

The sun is in ascent when you meet him, shoulders colliding against each other and one chanced glance where your eyes meet. He reacts in a way you expect: bared teeth and harsh words, the promise of violence in the way he holds himself—shoulders squared, stance adjusted to balance his weight. You smile, underneath the haze of summer sun accentuating the harsh angles of his face and the sharpness of his features, the boy with dark hair and golden eyes is beautiful.

The urge to sink your claws in him and rip apart the beauty you see is overwhelming.

"The hell you're smiling at." He says, his scowl deepening. A laugh leaves your lips and you smile wider.

"I like you. You're beautiful." That is not a lie, but he takes it as one as he moves to lunge at you. Predictable, your body moves on instinct, honed from experience.

"Shut the hell up, fucking weirdo." He swings at you, a punch aimed to the side of your head but you block it, grabbing hold of his fist. He hits heavy, you mentally note, he has experience and good instincts. How intriguing.

"I'm not kidding, I swear! Just now, you looked really cool with the way the sun accentuates your features, you look like a model." Eyebrows furrowing together, he looks at you with confusion, the anger seeping off him. You see it in the way his demeanor shifts, the way his arm grow lax and the hard edges around his eyes melting away into something more soft and friendly—he's written you off as some weirdo, you can work with that.

"You're an idiot, aren't you." It's a statement, you laugh and play innocent.

"Maybe. Maybe I just have weird tastes." John lets his hand drop to his side, looking torn between annoyed and intrigued. You'll hook him and reel him in. Extending your hand, you offer it to him.

"I'm [Y/N] by the way, a new student! Let's get along?"

He stares at your hand, and then at you, scrutinising the offer before he decides that he has nothing to lose and takes it. John's hand is calloused and rough against your own, his grip tight and domineering as he gives your hand a quick shake.

"John."

××

You befriend him quicker than you imagine, it is not a complaint. He is a storm of anger and hate, the school revels in his power just as much as they shun him for it. Too much violence and they whisper in hush tones as they call him a tyrant, and monster; too little and they brand him soft, a pushover. How lovely, they hand you a weapon to brandish, you'll break him for sure.

××

"You're really chirpy these days." Nathaniel says, stroking your hair. You shiver, ice in your veins and stones in your stomach as you make yourself still as possible.

"I found a toy, he's pretty powerful I think." You say, voice barely above a whisper. Strands of white hair tickle your face, you do not resist when he pulls you to his lap. He is your master, your benefactor, you exist so long as he lets you; it doesn't make you less afraid.

"Oh? Tell me about him."

"His ability is like Stefan. I think he'll be useful." His fingers thread through you locks of hair, tugging at them gently. You force yourself to relax and lean against him, anxiety gripping you as you try to anticipate how his reactions.

"Oh, that sounds useful. Bring him around sometimes, I'd like to meet him." Relief floods you when he pushes you off his lap, you keep your shoulders squared and strong, weakness has no place in this room.

"Yessir."

"You're dismissed." You pretend you do not notice how you hasten your pace to leave the room as quickly as you can after dipping your head, bowing to show your subservience to him. He makes no comment, only watches your retreating back with piercing lilac eyes.