(I JUST HAD THE ENTIRE THING TYPED OUT AND ACCIDENTALLY DELETED IT AND CONTROL Z WONT WORK FUCK I HATE EVERYTHING) Peter Joyce strode down the hall, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. His letterman jacket made him look bulkier than he was in reality. Truthfully, he was one of the smaller members on his highschool football team. His speed and agility were the only things that kept him on the team. His hair fell around his head in a choppy cut, dark strands falling into his green eyes. He watched his beat-up Converse slap against the linoleum with each step, keeping the rhythm in his head. It was Friday and the last dismissal bell had just rung. Peter's eyebrows knitted together when he heard the familiar jeering of his fellow teammates. An infinite string of slurs bubbled up in Peter's throat but never made it to his lips as the jocks waved him over, hooting and hollering as they called his name. An internal conflict nearly tore Peter into two. One one hand, they were all asshats. On the other hand, he didn't care to be on the receiving end of said asshattery. He forced a small smile onto his face as he did what any Junior-in-highschool conformist would do; he crossed the hall towards his teammates. They laughed and bro hugged him, an awkward gesture that Peter despised. But he did it anyway, his chest slamming against a few others. He resolved to sit in the middle of the pack against a locker, his hands returned to his pockets as he looked up and down the hall. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the boy he'd had a crush on since middle school approaching the pack of rowdy boys with his own friends in tow. [Person A] had seen Peter witness his teammates roughing up his friend's before, and he'd seen that Peter had done nothing to stop it. Peter was not high on [Person A]'s list of morally correct people, if he was even on it at all. As far as Peter knew, he wasn't even under [Person A]'s radar.