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“This is for your comfort, not mine.” He says as he unwraps the bandages, revealing the holes within his arms to the professor. Squeamish students averted their gaze as the professor remained baffled.
Defeated and distressed, she raised her disgusted tone, “Okay, you've made your point. Hurry up and cover it!” The audacity and nerve of people like her were nothing new; however, watching her ego get bruised was entertaining. Society was cruel to those it didn’t understand.
Bonolenov was from the Gyudondond Tribe. Like most small tribes that lived isolated from the world, once modern society forced them from their land, their culture suffered along with their people. The lingering life of a culture can only exist if the people hold on to it. Culture was something that Bonolenov held with great pride and grace.
Most people found Bonolenov disturbing and strange, yet they were all wrong about him. Ever since that day, when he stood his ground against the professor, Feitan couldn't help but admire him. Unlike every other friend he had in his life, Bono wasn’t a childhood friend. Much like Chrollo, he was refined and polite, yet people rarely noticed those qualities. Much like High School, society was hung up on appearances.
Chrollo had the luxury of receiving an ample supply of benefits of the doubt, much to his chagrin. The way people swooned over his velvety sweet tone was nothing short of irritating to watch. It wasn't his fault; he's just good-looking. Always has been. It was difficult to dislike him, as he was always the least judgmental of the friend group. In fact, Chrollo was the one who introduced them to Bonolenov.
He’d hate to admit it, but initially, he didn't give him a second look. Feitan was always so caught up in his own relationship at the time. His deep and close bond with Phinks. His complicated and turbulent friendship with Shalnark. His friendly fire beef with Nobunaga and Machi. His distant but strong respect for Chrollo. All of which occupied his attention.
But now, Bono has piqued his interest. He always had a bad habit of viewing politeness as passiveness. Or, more accurately, the absence of power and strength. Feitan always prided himself on things others wouldn’t. If Chrollo had a silver tongue, Feitan had a heart with teeth. A tongue dipped in poison and wit. Bono was nothing but polite, often spoken with poetic words or famous quotes.
“Sticks and Stones could break my bones, but your words mean nothing to me.” Were the type of comeback he'd say to the bullies. Feitan couldn't help but feel that those lines were corny as hell.
The more he observed him, the more apparent that words truly never went under his skin. It was admirable, but he'd be lying if he didn't feel the hint of jealousy that loomed over his mind. Still, he'd rather enjoy his company than let envy consume him.
By the next semester, when he was unable to room with Phinks. Sort of both of their faults, practically almost failing last year caused Chrollo to force them to get their shit together. Since Phinks had the worst grades, he was stuck with him. Their video game nights were cut drastically short now that he couldn’t escape Chrollo’s lectures. Phinks really had a tight collar around his neck.
His current roommate, Shalnark, for lack of a better word, is a menace. To think last year Chrollo had to deal with that?! He’s fine when he’s busy or occupied; the issue arises whenever he is bored or curious. Threats don’t work well with him; they’ll work in the moment, but the next day he’d go back to his usual shit.
So, whenever he needed an escape.
…
A sharp knock was followed by the door opening. Bono smiled, “Ah, Feitan. Hope you're doing well.”
Feitan sighed in response.
Opening the door wider, inviting the man in, “Shalnark?”
He nods with a reluctant, sluggish sigh, “Shalnark.”