Oᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ 14. 2024.
Graded works have started being distributed for the midterm progress report card. Alessia received her first graded classwork today and she's sure she aced it without even trying. However, whether she passes or not does not matter when her plans doesn't involve going to school. Attending public classes was something she used to dream of, but she deems her plans more important and chooses to sacrifice something that had become more like a hobby than a mandatory action.
With her usual resting bitch face, she follows the crowd out of her class at the sound of the bell. She is still thinking of ways her plans can fail and proceeds to omit them all until she reaches definite success in her imaginative preview. Glancing at no one in particular, she wonders about what the cops are doing.
Katya hasn't called, or anything, and her phone has been going to voicemail again. Why? Why does that happen? Can she only reach her when she's sleeping? Is she that busy?
"Alessia!" ——— "Lessi!"
At the sudden yell of her name, she whips around, startled. Her appearance is unlike what anyone has seen before: hair uncombed, eyes sleepy and dark, and her face is breaking out. Her pulse sensor goes a little crazy when she was startled.
Vincent and Phillípe looks at each other after calling the same person at the same time, and Vincent snaps out of it first to approach the girl.
"What is it?" She whispers as soon as he gets in her personal space.
Worry lines creases his forehead as he frowns, asking, "Are you better now?" His hands find themselves on her face and neck, checking her for signs of ailment.
Phillípe and a few other onlookers aren't very pleased with their interaction, but all they can do is observe.
"I'm fine." She stares, and his eyes catch the band around her wrist.
He mutters in question, disgruntled, "A heart monitor...?"
Alessia's senses spike, to which she stiffens, staring up at him chillingly. His deep, amber eyes flit to her silicone, blue ones, causing her to see everything in that moment. His feelings—God, no—his fucking feelings, when did they grow? There weren't any the night they had spent together in her car.
As if she was burnt, she snatches her hand away, holding where he held, irked. "I'm fine." She grits out.
He gulps and it feels like it's sand he has swallowed.
Putting his hands inside his front pockets, Phil decides to talk to her later since she's irritated. He's just concerned about their night out, that's all. Her good-luck doesn't sound sincere no matter how many times he recalls it and when he tries to shake this ghastly feeling away, it comes back. There's more to her words than it seems. He knows it.
But, why?
"Okay." He hears Vincent say.
Alessia inhales deeply, chest visibly inflating, then deflating as she exhales, releasing some stress. Holding her forearm, she walks away faster than before, passing the open doors of the cafeteria.
There's a thumping in Vincent's head. Negativity is flowing through his veins and spreading viciously. His being begins to ache from a clear rejection he wasn't prepared for. Heck, he didn't even know he had feelings for her until now.
They were unpredictable, like her unconsciousness on the field. Remembering that day puts him under a dizzy spell.