The New Reaper

The Redhead Boy and Your Roommate

You stand outside the towering Reaper Academy, in your second year at the college but after being transferred to the London branch from your old academy, you feel more like a first year. You clutch your book bag closer to you, your sharp reaper eyes darting all around frenetically, taking in all the strange information that's flooding your senses. You're overwhelmed, and you feel tired. And you are dreading having to socialise with everyone. Or anyone. You realise that you've been standing still in front of the building for a few seconds as everyone moves in and out, and you don't want to draw attention to yourself. You lower your head, so you can still see what's around you but you can't accidently make eye contact with anyone since your (h/c) hair is obstructing your view. And you boldly and bravely take you're first step into the academy.

You would have liked the architecture if you had paid any attention to it, but right now you are more focused on how busy the place is. Students taller, smaller, better-dressed, thinner, fatter, happier and sadder than you are keep darting around, too quickly for your eyes to follow. You squeeze into the side, trying to avoid anyone brushing into you or pushing you over. You don't understand what the big hurry is. Class doesn't start until next week, shouldn't people be relaxing? Apparently not. Why are they all here anyway?

Once you are in a slightly less busy area of the school, you can focus more on what is happening around you. You analyse the other students, trying to picture yourself as their friend. Someone catches you looking, and you shift your gaze immediately to the notice board to your left, which details all the different glasses lenses that adapt to different reaper's eyesight. You don't like the reaper glasses, any of them because they draw attention to you. They're too...flashy. Your attention lands on a boy in front of you, leaning back against the lockers and huffing to himself in discontent. His arms are crossed and his sullen face is framed by longish shoulder-length hair, a bright red colour which clashes with your own (h/c) hair. He is pale, and you take a second to admire his sharp, shark-like, white teeth. You'd like to be friends with him. You can imagine the long conversations and the nights of endless studying that doesn't seem too bad as long as you are with a friend. But you lower your head again, and inwardly sigh. You'll never talk to him and you know that. The only way you can be friends is if he speaks to you, and on the off-chance that he will (which you highly doubt) you wouldn't even know what to say. 'Hi my names (y/n) and I've wanted to talk with you since forever even though I can't say anything to you'? Yea, you sarcastically wonder how that will go down.

You try to put the boy out of your head. You have bigger problems to worry about. Like sharing a room with someone! You read over your timetable, and see that your roommate is a boy named William T. Spears. You don't have any information other than that, so you find your dorm and look at the closed door in front of you. If your roommate is in, then you don't want to enter. You don't like being the last person to enter a room. You often feel inferior when you are. Not that you don't feel inferior all the time anyway. You knock softly, after waiting to hear if any rummaging noises were coming from inside and hearing none. The door doesn't open so you take out your own key and turn it in the lock, inhaling quickly as tension builds inside you before you open the door and see-

An empty room. Thank fuck.

You exhale in relief and look at the twin beds, parallel to each other with two dressing tables on either side, both with a drawer. There is one wardrobe, and you have a small freak-out in your head, before just deciding to keep all your clothes in your suitcase under your bed. You don't want to take up too much space and have your roommate hate you on the first day! You stuff your suitcase under your bed and climb onto your own, pulling your knees up to your chest. You start to rock back and forward slightly. Not because you're crazy, but because it soothes you, and the predictability of the rhythm makes you slightly less worried about the unpredictability of this college. You hope your roommate William doesn't have parties. Loud noises really aren't your thing, and neither is crowded spaces. Plus, if he has a party he will most likely want you out of the dorm. Where will you go? You shove these bothersome questions out of your head and just focus on the small of your back softly tapping the wall behind you. You're trying to relax, but you know it won't work. You don't know if you've actually ever been relaxed.