**So, you have two dads in this and that’s why you’re bullied just saying
“Arthur!” you screamed, your young voice shrill as you fell from the large tree in your yard.
“(Y/n)! I’ll catch you,” he cried back, sprinting on his small legs to try and save you. But he was too late. Just before you hit the ground…
You wake up, sweat drenching your body. Taking a shaky breath, you throw off the covers and get out of bed. After you change into clean pajamas, you lay a towel over the damp spot that you were laying on and turn on a fan. You also opt to keep the blankets off as you fall into another uneasy slumber.
When you wake up to your blaring alarm clock, you were covered again by blankets, no doubt by one of your caring fathers. Smiling, you pull yourself out of bed and get dressed, the only reminder of the nightmare being the towel and still damp clothes. Wearing your favorite tee shirt and shorts, you look in your mirror as you pull your hair up, noticing a note from your dad.
I know it gets hard with me being the typical gay man but there’s this amazing theater company putting on a production of Les Mis and I know a few friends* that are interested in going so I think you should audition! I’m certain that you would get a role! I may have left you a filled application on the kitchen table… Anyhow, your father and I are working late tonight so dinner is in the fridge.
Have fun at school!
*read as scouts that I used to work with
Laughing at the note, you pin it to your corkboard, on top of the rest of the little note that your dads would leave for you. Then, you went down stairs; put the application in your book bag and grabbed an apple and the lunch money that Dad probably left for you before leaving for school.
You weren’t going to tell your dads but you hated going to school. It wasn’t because of classes because you normally did well in all classes, except for one or two, but because of a bully. Bullies had always been a problem for you in school because you were that girl whose mom left and her dad found out he was gay anyway. On top of that, your mom wanted nothing to do with you, wanting instead to have a fresh start. Then, your dad meet Daniel, who insisted you called him ‘Pops’. Not that you minded. Your dad had finally fallen in love and, even though they couldn’t get married, they both raised you from when they met. You were 12 at the time. Now, you were 18 with two months of school left before you had to go to college. You already had applied, though, seeing as you wanted to major in acting and minor in musical theater. Pops had made you into such a theater kid. He always joked that if he was going to be gay, he was going to go full out.
Suddenly, you’re kicked out of your day dream, having made it to the school and now in a parking lot filled with the honking cars of other students.
“Final stretch,” you sighed, parking in a spot as close to the school that you could get. Gathering your bag, you slide out of the truck your father gave you from his days of set building. That was how he and Pops met, actually. Anyway, you were getting distracted again. Gritting your teeth, you stepped up to the school. You walked through the campus, head held high. You weren’t going to let this bully get the best of you. It was a new day and you were sick of seeing your eyes puffy in the morning and your wrists raw and scratched. When you reached your locker, you knew he was going to be behind you to shove you against your locker and demand your lunch money. Smirking, you spun on your heels just in time to face the punk. His blonde hair had a new streak of black in it and his green eyes glinted for a moment with surprise before pinning you to the locker as normal. Grimacing as the lock dug into your back, your take a deep breath, not wanting to give the ass the gift of your tears. Before he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes and cut in.
“Listen,” you say, bored, “You’ve done the same thing basically all year Arthur,” digging your hands into your pocket, you produce the money that he was about to demand, “Just ask next time.” Pushing the money to his chest, he stumbles back a bit before one of his friends, Francis, catches him.
“Get off git,” he growls as you open your locker and put your book bag in then pulling out the books you needed for the classes before break period. Just as you took your hand out, another hand slams the locker closed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you,” he says, his breath tickling the back of your neck, “But it’d better stop.” Shivering a bit at the closeness of his body, you step away from the Brit, walking to class without another word to him.
Though you had acted calm, you were super thankful to the fact that you had only one class with him and that was last period. Luckily, because you were a senior and did so well in your classes, you only had three academic classes; math, English, and science. Your other classes were drama, advanced choir and assisting in Arthur’s science class.
You managed to make it through the first four periods with no incidents from the friends of your bully that were in your classes but when you stepped into the choir room, Francis ran into you, spilling his coffee all over your shirt. Gasping at the sudden heat on your chest, the only thing Francis could do was laugh as you excused yourself from the room, rushing to the bathroom.
Leaning over the sick, you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill. After taking a deep breath, you pulled off your shirt, thinking the only people to come in would be other girls so when you heard the door open, you didn’t worry. You kept your back to the person, rubbing your shirt under the running water from the sink, until they cleared their throat.
“Oh, sorry,” you mumble, ringing out your shirt, happy that you got most of the coffee out, “Did you need to use the sink?”
“Not now, love,” a familiar voice chuckled coldly from directly behind you. You freeze, knowing how vulnerable you were in this position.