MT   Look.

MT   You have to stop following me around.

He gives a wary glance at another table further away. There are a group of people sitting there who exchange looks. His friends, perhaps? You wonder why it's only you who's thought to sit with him today.

MT   For one, because you didn’t even bat a FUCKING eye at what I just said.

MT   Big red flag there.

MT   Second, I don’t appreciate whatever sentiment you’re going for.

VC   Sentiment...?

You take a bite of a roll, mulling over the texture moreso than the flavor. You faintly wonder about the cafeteria workers who made it. Did they make it with love?

VC   Yes, this feeling of fondness.

VC   Sentimentality, perhaps.

VC   Isn't it... nice? To know someone wants your company?

MT   Not when you've been attached at my DAMN hip since Monday.

VC   You handle an acerbic tone well.

VC   Have you considered Creative Writing?

MT   Ha!

MT   That class is dead to me, actually.

MT   But thanks for helping me remember a third thing.

As if emboldened, he leans in, his gaze intense.

MT   What is up with the way you talk?

MT   And write, for that matter?

MT   Did you grow up in a haunted mansion, with floorboards hiding bodies or some SHIT?

VC   Fl-floorboards?

MT   What's that SAT word? Grandiloquent?

MT   That's you, MOTHERFUCKER.

You gasp.

VC   Such grasp of vocabulary...

VC   You would befit our class!

MT   What?!

MT   You... you can't just...!

MT   It’s not... AUGGH!

He groans into his very nice two-tiered lunchbox. Many of the students here bring their lunches from home, even if the cafeteria is rather luxurious. Something so intimate, so deeply personal... it makes your chest ache with longing. You wonder if he has people he loves making food for him.

MT   You’ve given me no choice.

His voice is muffled from the lunchbox. Fortunately, he looks up right after speaking.

MT   Vincent, right?

VC   Y-you remembered!

MT   Don't interrupt me.

VC   Wah! Sorry...

MT   Anyway.

MT   New plan.

MT   I’m going to start destroying things.

MT   Yeah, that's right. Feel that chill up your spine.

MT   The little fancy pencils you have? Snap.

MT   And that, uh, weird notebook you always carry around?

MT   Trash can.

VC   No...

MT   Dead serious.

The thought of him using your passion for your writing implements… your expression must be pleasing to him, because his grin only further grows.

MT   Yeah. I’ll FUCKING demolish your SHIT. Everything.

MT   That's what you get for messing with me.

MT   How's that sound, idiot?

VC   A punishment...

VC   Th-that... that...

VC   That would be wonderful.

His mouth hangs open.

VC   Yes, it would be a shame to lose my belongings.

VC   But, in its own way, isn't destruction is an act of creation?

VC   The creation of art, of spectacle?

VC   And to have it be done to items of my own... to have involvement in such a thing...

VC   Yes, it's a worthy sacrifice in the greater scheme of things.

VC   Oh! Would you allow me to watch?

VC   I've always enjoyed the beauty in unconventional matters.

VC   'It is around us, visibly invisible.'

VC   That was a line from before.

VC   I-I could recite the piece again, if you like.

VC   I like to memorize them. Going over the words in my head... it grants perspective.

VC   Perhaps I could write something for this.

VC   Yes, that would be wonderful! You've truly granted me a blessing!

The more you speak, the more his horrified expression grows. You're used to seeing one, but he wears it strikingly well.

MT   ...

He suddenly stands up and grabs your collar. You yelp as your body is pulled uncomfortably over the table.

VC   M-Matt?

His voice is low, nearly a growl.

MT   (This is a threat.)

MT   (If you don't piss off, I'm going to beat the SHIT out of you.)

MT   (What do you think about that?)

That old feeling. Palpitations, a fear that makes you want to bolt. A certainty that what you see will cause immeasurable pain.

VC   (You must truly despise me.)

VC   (...)

VC   (Then, I must truly deserve it.)

You envelope his trembling hand with both of yours.

VC   (If you have to strike me, to release everything you have against me,)

VC   (Please. Make me a masterpiece of black and blue.)

It seems an eternity before he lets go, before he sits back down with that vacant look on his face.

MT   ...

MT   ...fuck, man. Do you need to talk to someone?

VC   What do you mean?

VC   I’m… I’m talking to you.

VC   Aren't we... enjoying ourselves?

Your answer only seems to evoke his earlier irritation.

MT   I didn't ask to be stuck with you!

MT   I don’t want you to be so into what I’m doing.

MT   All that was just... god, a normal person wouldn't have...!

MT   In fact, you know what?

MT   It's super FUCKED up that you're so accommodating for this.

MT   Don't you have any survival instincts, you creepy-ASS loser?

MT   Why don't you just leave already? Before you get hurt?

You blink away some tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

VC   W-why would I leave?

VC   You're my friend.

All you can hear are the busy mutters around you. The clatter of utensils against porcelain.

You look back down at your tray, and you take another bite of the bread.

MT   Is that your whole lunch?

VC   ...yes.

MT   That's a lot of carbs.

VC   I l-like bread.

He pushes his lunchbox towards you, gesturing towards the slots with his fork.

MT   Take what you want.

You look up at his face again. He still isn't making eye contact. But he isn't angry - no, there's something else there, now.

MT   They always pack too GODDAMN much, anyway.

When you take your first bite of the hearty stew in the largest section - Potjiekos, he called it - you couldn't believe how good it tasted. When the tears fall from your eyes, he teases you, that something so simple deserves to evoke such a reaction.

But it does. It tastes just like you imagined it... something you don't deserve.