To say Abbas hated you was an understatement. There wasn’t a single word in the world that could describe what he felt for you.

You, and your stupid, bubbly, outlook on life.

It’d been explained, on your first day, the type of creature you were. He remembered watching you, standing before the class, signing your name and saying hello with some much joy on your face as the teacher gave you a (quite flattering) introduction.

An undead, thinking, creature- sewn together with parts from several dubious sources— and yes, you looked the part. You were the ideal, pretty and symmetrical, designed to be that way. Clearly there was love put into making you. And if it weren’t for the very prominent stitches and discolored patches of skin, you might actually have been nice to look at.

If it weren’t for that stupid curiosity you carried about you, that eagerness to learn, so oblivious to the filth of the world, Abbas might have tolerated you. But that wasn’t the case. You were cheerful. You were bright. You were stupid.

And He’d become your favorite thing to learn about.

It wasn’t until prom season that he broke— When everyone dawned their lovey dovey spirit and dewy eyes, getting down on one knee and acting like it was the end of the world as they asked each other out— that he snapped.

He hid in the library, pressed in the corner behind a winding stack of unsorted text books with his head in his hand, scowl on his face— just praying nobody would seek him out. And of course, like always, you had to show up and ruin that.

“Scram,” he’d grumbled as you approached his little hiding hole. “I’m not in the mood to answer questions- go bother someone else.”