Chapter Text
Rumours were not uncommon in the halls of Wellston High school. A private school, where the majority of students are over achieving, ability wielding upper-class individuals who have probably never heard of the word ‘molly’ is where rumours are bound to spread fast.
Unfortunately for Arlo, a hot topic right now is a tale of a masked, blood-thirsty student who was named the ‘Joker’.
He was a fucking joke alright.
Ofcourse, Arlo couldn’t react to these rumours. Every little thing, action he made would be scrutinised, studied. A lingering glance? He definitely slept with them last night. That’s what Wellston High School is like, especially towards their famous barrier King.
He can’t say he hates it.
But on the inside, he couldn’t help but feel a little… nervous? No, that wasn’t like him at all. More… curious. Right. Curious as to what this masked individual would do next.
Only, he knew exactly what was going to happen. He had caused his own damn demise, all thanks to his intefering ways.
‘ Some say it’s Arlo– After all, not everyone can beat isen with ease,’ a whisper, painfully louder than the rest, reaches him. It takes him a second to neutralise his face, remove the brief flicker of scorn that flits across.
Hah, as if. To think he, the King, would ever turn to such pitiful forms of retaliation. Blood, beatings and brutality was never a favoured coping method of his. Infact, he most definitely enjoyed quite the opposite– not that he needed a coping method.
But he did know of a certain gel-worshipping, stubborn student who did seem to enjoy the unconscious, broken body of Isen underneath his fingertips a little too much.
John Doe.
John . Where the hell could he even begin? All that bottled up anger, bitterness, hatred for the very hierarchy itself was incredibly uncommon, even from the slightly less radical god-tiers. Was it here, at Wellston? Surely a little bullying here and there couldn’t have got under this skin this much.
According to isen, who is still nursing wounds at Wellston Hospital (Darren took one look at him, cursed and arranged for an ambulance to come), the violence originated much earlier. Around middle school, by the looks of it.
Arlo couldn’t say he didn’t relate– he knew what it was like, using violence because it was the only way to prove power. But there was a difference– Arlo was using it for the greater good of this school, and John was using it because he was bitter.
And being bitter is a deadly weapon when it comes to one of the strongest people he’s met.
He most likely realised that on his ‘errand’ day, lying on the dusty ground that was the Turf war battleground. Panting, clutching his wounds gingerly, he had to admit he had completely lost his sense of self that faithful day.
Worst part was, there was no going back. Even if he swallowed his fruitless pride and mustered up some sort of meaningful apology to offer John, the former would most likely laugh at his face and continue down his spiral of destruction. Everything had been going so well. Here he was, a nearly perfect GPA, a one track route straight to the Bureau, and king of a damn private school– but no. he had to meddle. He had, admittedly, to feel inferior.
On paper, he was inferior to John. But his meddling started miles before that– when he was just an irritatingly goofy cripple who hung , most likely leeched (in his opinion), off the school’s Ace. All because he couldn’t figure out what exactly made that cripple better than him. Why seraphina would ditch her duty as a royal in favour for stupid pig games and boba drinks.
Why?
Noticing a concerned glance from Holden, who had apparently waved at him from down the hallway a few moments ago, Arlo was forced to focus on the present, and act as the perfect King he would and always will be.
There was nothing else he could do.
—
A month earlier, Wellston Rooftop.
The afternoon sun beating down on his blonde hair, beams rippling off the pale skin of his arms. The rooftop, a place which was familiar to royals.
So why the fuck was a cripple here?
Completely unapologetic on top of that.
He watched in utter disbelief as John chewed on his – whatever he was eating– dark eyelashes glancing down at his phone, crinkling slightly as he grinned at a message he received.
That made his jaw tick.
Say you were a mouse – bottom of the food chain, amounting to absolutely nothing, and all of a sudden a tiger walked in– realistically, you’d scarper within seconds.
So what the hell was this puny pest still doing here?
Pissed at John’s lack of reaction (and respect, on top of that) he strided forward, lowering into a crouch. Because that’s what he felt like he had to do. That in itself irked him. He was used to students and faculty alike practically throwing themselves at him, doing everything just for a glance or a pleased nod. Now here he was , lowering himself just to receive a pathetic look from an equally pathetic cripple.
Brown irises, nearly a shiny gold in the afternoon light, met his, looking strangely comfortable. ‘Uh… hey Arlo.’
No, no. this was all so wrong . He should be scrambling up now, apologising profusely for even thinking of disrespecting wellston’s king– one who could crush him in an instant , ability or not.
Instead, an awkward greeting– as if he were a kid who had just lost his mom.
‘...hey.’ he responded, a faint grimace curling at his lips. An idea struck him– an idea that would allow him to see between the blunt, overly friendly responses. ‘Say, i have a scenario for you.’
‘Hand it to me’ John shrugged, setting his phone aside.
Arlo took a moment to track the movement, eyes lingering on the faint muscle definition he was able to see as his grip loosened. ‘So, there’s this one guy i know. No credentials, no purpose.’ he spat out the words as if they almost physically pained him – or rather, as if he wanted them to hurt the other.
No reaction. Just that infuriatingly apathetic blink.
Spurred on, Arlo continued, ‘Yet, he still thinks he can talk back to me. He walks where i walk, sits where i sit. It’s really starting to tick me off.’ his gaze purposely intensified as he leaned closer, trying to get John to cower, both physically and mentally.
Still nothing. A brief flicker of confusion, sure. But other than that, the guy continued to chew at his meal with seemingly no negative feelings.
‘If you were King, what would you do about him?’
Arlo knew that the supposed cripple opposite him had to have some sort experience at navigating difficult scenarios– he’d have been jumped if not.
Chewing for another moment, John raised a brow. ‘I mean… i’m not exactly the right person to go to for advice. But… You should be grateful’
Although the words were presented to him in a slightly sheepish, awkward manner, there was no hint of hesitance in those eyes. Either he was incredibly blunt, or purposely trying to piss him off. And the fact that he actually couldn’t tell only served as fuel to the flames.
‘What?’ the question had slipped out before he could stop it, making him feel inferior; vulnerable. He didn’t need fucking advice from a cripple, he needed subservience.
And yet, he found himself listening anyway.
‘If you’re able to keep all but one person in line– he made a vague gesture with a bottle of juice – then you must be doing your job right.’
Something flitted across the ravenette’s eyes. Momentary, but for someone who was as close as he was at the moment, it was nearly obvious.
Guilt. Longing.
What do you have to be guilty about, John?
‘After all, a King is nothing if his subjects refuse to follow him.’
His eyes widened in surprise, his fists clenching. The statement was shockingly similar to his own experience– beating each and every rebel post-Rei’s rule, becoming a King that, at first, no one believed in.
Why the fuck would a cripple know, in such depth ontop of that, what ruling feels like?
—
Current time, Wellston rooftop
Arlo found himself at the exact same rooftop, staring into a sky that was now setting thanks to the late winter weather. Something, something he didn’t want to feel, was itching at him like a fucking plague.
He and John were not similar whatsoever. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, similar about the two. John was too brash, too bold, too cruel . Arlo his foil, his contrast. He was calculating, decisive and lenient. He was the perfect suit for King, and John?
John was nothing.
However, that wasn’t what his precious hierarchy had orchestrated. It was part of the rules, the law that Arlo had held to the utmost degree for John to be King, not him. And at first, that was almost what he had wanted. It wasn’t that he cared specifically for John’s well being, more so the image he was painting for god tiers alike.
God tiers do not kneel. God tiers do not fear. They don’t submit to those who are weaker.
He blinked, rubbing his eyes. Something clicked in his sleep deprived mind– John didn’t bow. Never. No matter how pathetically injured he was; there was always a sarcastic quip, a surprise blow, something .
Had he got it wrong?
Was John a stronger man than him because he didn’t use his power simply as a method of intimidation?
Possibly.
Not really. The strongest still use their abilities. They don’t hide them– especially not from their best friends.
John was a coward, the worst kind. A strong man who cowered at his own damn shadow.
It was fucking pathetic.
At that final thought, arlo made a decision. One he would come to regret, but one that also bloomed something new.
—