Too many people. Too much weaving. Too much movement and feeble, mindless chatting. Too many worthless kisses and hugs, too much nonsense.
He loathed school. He loathed the idiotic teachers. He loathed the homework, and the tests, and the end-of-the-year exams. But most of all, he loathed the people. Stupid, moronic Neanderthals bred from savage narcissists and egotistical oafs.
"Thinking about blowing up the school again?" Emmy scoffed, her loose blonde hair flipping to her opposite shoulder as it sat perfectly constructed into a tight ponytail.
"You know me so well," William grumbled, sighed audibly as he reached his locker, passing a superficial couple on the way.
"It's a full time job," She shrugged, grinning widely at the expression marring his features, his all natural 'I hate everyone' face.
Will shook his head, attempting to tune out the rest of the world while he exchanged his art materials, pencils and erasers and blending tools, for his chemistry textbook.
"So, I wasn't going to bring it up," Emmy began, tone of voice wavering, unsure and wary, "But I have officially met Oliver Emerson."
William flinched involuntarily and within an instant his textbook was whirling towards the ground, slamming against the bottom of his locker and landing on his foot.
"Fucking hell," he bit out, rattling his head at his stupidity, at his body's ill advised reaction.
"Nice going, faggot," a voice spat out, one of which had originated from a group of passing jocks, heads held high, and expressions sneering at him, sniggering at his mindless actions as they walked onward.
"You see," Emmy groaned, "One mention of him and your world literally goes to hell."
Growling under his breath at his one and only friend, he crouched to collect his book, wiggled his throbbing toe, and slamming his locker shut, "I don't need to be informed of that, thank you Emmy."
The girl beside him huffed and lifted the several textbooks she carried in her arms a little higher, using them to push up her thick rimmed glasses. "All I'm saying is, he approached me today, he seemed nice, he told me his name, I freaked out, apologized and ran away. I said nothing about you whatsoever."
Rolling his eyes, William nodded along with his friend, quickening his steps as he trudged to class, knowing Emmy meant well but that she was overtly trying his patience, "Do you not get it, Em? Whether you mentioned me or not, I doubt he'd even remember who I am, let alone recognize me."
Emmy snorted, shaking her head as she twirled around, striding backwards through the hall so she could efficiently continue the conversation. "Doubtful. Between the ages 2 to 3, children begin to show considerable advances in declarative memory. So at age 7, it is almost unnatural for him not to remember you."
Stopping in his steps to glare at his friend, William tilted his head to the side, "And what if the child in question moved away, never said goodbye, and lacked to contact his acclaimed 'best friend' in roughly ten years?"
Emmy bit her lip, "I'm not sure there are any studies on that."
William scowled and carried on walking, inching his way towards Emmy so that she would quickly begin trotting backwards again, "Look, I just want to forget about him, okay?"
His friend winced and glanced downward, "Highly improbable, seeing as he's the only thing you've thought about for ten years."
His expression frowning in outrage, William glowered at his friend, about to reprimand her by shooting back with a far more hurtful response, only to be halted in his tracks as she ran into the back of someone; a tall someone, with golden hair.
With a grunt of surprise, both the victim and Emmy spun around, coming face to face, and instantly Will's breath caught in his throat.
The heartbreak was still there.
Still clear as day.
Still utterly gut-wrenching, his stomach churning, his mind whirling.
He wanted to cry.
Right then and there.
William Levi, of whom had plowed through several facial piercings, multiple tattoos, cocaine withdrawal, and breaking his ankle, wrist, and pinkie finger, wanted to cry because he simply saw someone.
But this wasn't just any someone; this was Oliver Emerson.
Tan skin, a built physique, a kind smile, bright emerald green eyes. He was beautiful, and Oliver could feel his heart shattering into millions of pieces, a simple glance at the boy more painful then any blow he'd ever received from any bully, any tormentor.
Before he could look for too long, William ducked his head and maneuvered around Emmy, dodging a familiar gaze, and making his way to his fourth period class, Chemistry. In his quick retreat from the boy he used to play monopoly with, share a room with on sleepover nights, kick a soccer ball back and forth with, get ice cream with, tell ghost stories with, watch movies with in the dark of a blanket tent, he heard the faint undertone of his soft voice, as he smiled down at Emmy Brighton.
"Oh. Hello again. Actually, can you point me in the direction of the gym? Still lost."