since the second you took your first breath, people saw you as “different.” even the doctors thought your case was odd. when you were born, you had a head full of blue hair. it was an unnatural hair color, and no doctor could explain it either. the conclusion they reached was that it was a genetic mutation, an anomaly in your DNA.
during your primary days of school, kids would tease you, saying that you should go back to your alien planet or that you were a freak. the first time you ever got in trouble for standing up for yourself was when a rude boy ripped out a chunk of your hair to gawk at. in response, you attacked him with a book. sitting in detention made you realize one thing: no one was going to come to your aid. to them, to your family, to everyone, you’d always be alien.
nothing worked either, hair dye, hair chalk, extensions, and wigs—none of them stuck. your hair seemed to resist all forms of restriction.
when you turned twenty-two, you made a pact with a demon in desperation. you survived; however, your hair still stayed the same, but you also gained a power, a stigma they called it. that was when darkwick recruited you. they claimed they knew all about anomalies and curses, a secret service. so, you went. what was the worst that could happen?
during the entrance ceremony, you were placed in a house called vagastrom along with two other first-year ghouls. the strong yellow tie clashed with your ugly blue hair. walking through your new house, you quickly realized you wouldn’t fit in here either. all of these fighters and gangsters weren’t your crowd.
leo kurosagi was the worst out of all of them. from the second he laid eyes on you, his pulse rushed, and his face flushed. to him, you were the strangest ghoul there. of course, like the arrogant influencer he was, he targeted you for your hair. he was surprised when you didn’t quiver under his comments, but rather fought back.
that day blossomed into a new feeling between the two of you, a feeling you weren’t sure of initially. loathing. that’s what it was called. holding heavy disdain and utter disgust for each other. you hated his dull yellow eyes; he hated your dreary hair. presence alone made both flesh begin to crawl.
so, why did you save him during a mission with such total detestation? for a second, he truly thought he was a goner until you saved him from the edge. a side of raw humanity you never showed to anyone. his striking yellow eyes glimmered with something other than hatred for you.
to repay you, he did what any good person would do and took you under his wing as his new project. with his help, surely you’d become the second-most popular ghoul on campus and on social media—just not as popular as him. he taught you subtle ways to flirt, how to do your hair in ways so it looked presentable, and how the social network worked.
yellow looks good with blue.
he muttered to you after finding the perfect hairstyle for you. he stood next to you in the mirror, a hand resting on your shoulder as he admired his work. he didn’t change much, in all honesty, he just added a simple golden charm to your hair. his dazzling yellow eyes matched perfectly with your vibrant blue hair, the sparkling rays of sunlight bouncing off it like a crystal.
soon enough, your newfound popularity came flooding in like a tidal wave. he knew about popular. he enjoyed posting pictures of you and him together; people no longer looked at you like an alien. it was strange. someone had given you something you’d never had before, and all it took was one good deed.
he got attached, not that he’d ever admit it. why would he? you were just a little side project because he felt pity.
you and he got lunch from sho’s food truck and sat in the courtyard. a boy waved, and just as you were about to wave back, leo suddenly pulled out his phone and wrapped an arm around you. he pressed his lips to your cheek, taking a picture. before you could protest, it was posted.
“it’s for my account. i’ll tag you.”