anonymous asked:

Dylan? Where you have him for gym, and you're one of the girl that he tackles? Like you yell at him. Either he yells or not. Maybe a Tara girl situation?

Sure thing, I hope you enjoy!

The sound of squeaking sneakers echoes throughout the entire gymnasium, paired with the competitive shrieks of dominance from the wall of jocks standing on a black thick line on the court, shining bright red dodge-balls in their massive hands, carefully selecting their victims on the other team. Usually they aimed for the “nerdy” kids, the ones wearing thick rimmed glasses and braces, their emaciated legs quivering in their gym shorts out of fear.

You were never a fan of dodge-ball, the jocks in the class always took it too seriously, which became vexatious after awhile. For the most part, you remained leaned against the wall, avoiding the cutthroat sport as much as you could, hoping that you would get lightly pelted with a stray ball so you could sit on the sideline. The girls in the class never showed as much enthusiasm as the guys did, which was completely understandable. There were too many incidents of reckless guys throwing their ball at girls’ faces, giving them bloody noses or swollen shut eyes. It was surprising that the game was still allowed.

You stand in your usual spot, propped against the wall and out of the way, watching as people run around and howl with laughter, having the time of their lives. You roll your eyes at their barbaric behavior, disgusted with their bloodthirsty desire to win. The people on your team begin to fade a little, you begin to fear that you’ll be the only one left on the team, being forced to stand on the wall while everyone grabs their rubber ball and aims for you. You take a few steps off the wall, hoping that someone would have a little compassion
and run over to tap you out, but you are gravely mistaken when a tall and lanky figures comes crashing against your body, knocking you down to the hardwood floor.

You look up with confusion, unaware of who collided into you. You begin to think it was an accident until you see the infamous small devious smirk of Dylan Klebold, who stares down at you with a ball in his grasp, his fingers so long that he could probably carry two in one hand. You let out a frustrated groan and pick yourself up off the ground and step closer to him, giving him a small shove of your own.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You snap at him, watching as his facial expression falls flat into a solemn wide-eyed look of horror. Dylan was constantly terrorizing girls with his intimidating height, knocking them over with a single push of his hand, watching and laughing as they fall to the floor. He looks around the crowded and busy gym for a moment, unsure of what to say, not expecting a remark from you since no one seemed to stand up to him.
“You’re out,” he simply replies over the loud commotion, shrugging his shoulders. You stand there and glare at him, which begins to make him uncomfortable as he squirms around and shifts his weight onto his left foot. You grab the ball from his loose grasp and launch it his torso at close range, causing him to let out a small grunt. You give him another shove, your anger getting the best of you.

“Now you’re out too,” you snap, pushing past him to sit on the sideline of your team. He shuffles behind you and tugs at your arm, surprised with your violent reaction.
“It doesn’t work like that,” he mutters through clenched teeth, pulling on you towards him. You whip around in an instant, ready to throw a fist in the air and punch him in the face for tugging on you. You immediately stop once you see the glimmer of hurt in his eyes, something that you have never seen in him before. He slumps his shoulders and shakes his head, a disappointed and melancholic expression on his face. He opens his mouth to say something but abruptly stops, but instead gently takes his ball and places it in your hand.
You watch as he trudges to the sideline of his team, taking a seat on the floor cross-legged, propping his head up with his arm on his knee.

You look down at the ball in confusion. Was this a peace offering? What was the shameful and fearful look in his eyes for? You spent so much time despising him for his wild and violent antics in class, but something inside of you screams to overlook all of the things he’s done. You grip the ball tightly in your fingers, realizing that there was something more to him, something that he was concealing and trying to hide from the rest of the world, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.