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[sub][color=azure]During the beginning of homeroom
Mentions of [color=FFA07A][b]Fawn[/b][/color] [@Kitty] & [color=FFFACD][b]Roz[/b][/color] [@Fabricant451][/color][/sub]
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[indent]Helping? He helped her at the party? Lucky Cross, having taken a shower after his sprint on the field and early morning work out, sat in the boys' locker room, on the bench, with wet hair and his body fully clothed. He stared down at a note attached to a bag with 3 cookies inside of it. He was the only one in here (homeroom would begin soon), and yet he chose to take his [i]sweet[/i] fucking time. This was far more intriguing than whatever the morning show would showcase today.  

The girl he had ‘shadowed’ at the party felt inclined to thank him. Thank him out of all people. All he did was give her a good time, like any gent would do when they saw a pretty, tiny, and naive girl. A girl that reminded him of a baby lamb or hell, even her namesake, a widdle fawn. That night it became his duty to make her less squeamish. Give her a reason to loosen up and forget about the violence. Not every party resorted into kids using other kids as punching bags. Only the best ones did. That simply meant his fellow peers were indulging in sin and letting out a side of them they’d be afraid to let out during the daytime. It’s like Dwight L. Moody said: [i]Character is what you are in the dark[/i]. Alcohol brought out the truth, sex gave people something to talk about, and violence meant there was something to avoid, something to be involved in, or something to watch. Depends on the person or the day or both.

Peering down at the cookies, Lucky opened the bag and took in the scent of the sugary-sweet aroma. His actions may have been in the present, but his mind was stuck in the past. Thinking of a distant memory of a long, long time ago.

Even if his jeans weren't faded in, his white shirt wasn't covered with stains, and his jacket wasn't ripping at the seams, there was something with the way Lucky held himself that made him stand out from the crowd. That made him not belong. The attitude and mentality of an outsider. The clothes gave him the ability to blend with his peers, while his stand-offish quality dared contact, without an invitation. He knew he was blessed with Miss Fortune after he lost the one thing that made him susceptible to hurt. The one thing that made him vulnerable in this dog eat dog world. Hell was on Earth and he knew he would forever be at the core of the burning flames, unless he, himself, climbed out of it to find Paradise. His paradise. Ah, but for him, he liked how things were. He liked not giving a shit. He liked taking part in the damnation of his peers’ lives. He liked hurting people. 

Life could easily take away the things you loved the most, especially when you least expected it. Life wasn't going to spoon feed him, or give him shelter, or protect him. No, not like she did. He learned the hard way he had to work for what he wanted and that meant he'd make Lady Luck his bitch to get where he needed to go, regardless who he hurt on his way. He couldn’t afford to feel. To love. To be careless and allow himself the pleasure of forgetting. The pleasure of being ‘happy’ in the way that others deemed happiness to be. 

Advancing in this world — love was not in the prerequisites. He made the mistake of growing attached to one person already at this school. Roz Norcross. There were fine lines in their friendship, neither knew much of the other, but respected and appreciated the companionship given when there was no one else. That didn’t change the fact that she was the only person Logan “Lucky” Cross had an inch of feelings towards and as a result, a man who didn’t want any weaknesses, had a weakness. He’d ruthlessly go miles for her because he [i]cared[/i]. Like a hound cared about protecting his master and her belongings. Protected her from trespassers. Those that weren’t welcomed. A hound that would vigilantly stand at her side, because the world they were part of, with the beautiful, the dirty, and the rich, were against them. Always, against them.

Not romantically though. Roz, as sad as it sounds since they were more associates than friends, was the closest thing Lucky’s ever had to a ‘best friend’. He didn’t want to make the same mistake again. He knew one wrong move and all his efforts would crumble to the ground. He’ll be back at square one. It was just nice, to have someone like Roz. She helped make this petty existence of his a little less shitty. 

Now, here was this other girl, who hardly knew him, thanking him for being there for her when all he did was give her drugs, dance with her, let her dose off on his shoulder on the couch, and drop her off wherever she wanted to be dropped off at. That was nothing to thank him about. And yet, here in his hand were cookies. He pulled one out and examined it. Felt the texture and focused on the detail. 

Home cooked. Fresh. Warm. Filled with [i]care[/i].

One bite and he would choke on the distant memories that something so sweet reminded him of. Memories of his mother. If he had milk, he could wash it all away, but he didn’t have milk and he wasn’t sure he wanted to take a bite into his feelings. Would it make him rude if he didn’t eat her gift? The aromatic fragrance was already bringing him back to his old bedroom, which honestly wasn’t a bedroom, just a mattress on the ground in a living space, with cookies and milk beside it, and a fairy tale story filling the air by a timid, yet tantalizing woman’s voice. A voice that reminded him of the radiant sunset. 

For a woman that showed so much kindness, why did she do what she did? Lucky could still remember her face, even if he was young and he hardly knew who she was as a person. All he knew was, there was a lot of pretending. Pretending to care. Pretending to love him. Pretending to be his mother. When in the end, she packed her bags and left. If it was the abuse, why did she leave him behind? If it was the circumstances, why didn’t she run away with him and create a better tomorrow, for her and her baby? If it was because of him… why did she pretend? He would’ve preferred not knowing the feeling of being loved, as brief as it was, than having her and losing her in a blink of an eye. 

To add salt to the wound, she died. He was too young to understand at the time, but when he was able to access a computer at the local library, he found out her death made it all over the papers and that she was actually someone important in this world.  His existence was truly meaningless to her. They, as in him and his deadbeat father he no longer talks to, were kept a secret to protect her. Her fame. Her wealth. Her reputation. Was she actually protected at the end, if her last breath was taken from her by a bullet to the head? 

Funny how life works, don’t you think?

Coming back to the present, his current reality, Lucky noticed that the cookie he took out was crumpled in his hand. He stood up and walked to the trash. He let the crumbs slowly slide off his hand, leaving a small piece for him to consume. Bringing his hand to his lips, he grabbed the piece with his tongue and ate it in still silence. 

They were good. 

He looked at the rest of the cookies. He’d give the rest to Roz. Glancing at his smartwatch, he sent a quick text to the [i]kind[/i] sophomore. 

[quote=Lucky][b]To: [color=FFA07A]Fawn Woods[/color]
[color=536878]Thanks.[/color][/b][/quote]
His eyes trailed to his notifications. Someone had posted an instagram picture of the flyers scattered throughout the halls, with the caption and a smug emoji face: Exclusive party. On a boat. #NewYears #Take2. He scrolled down to see another picture, on Becca Helmsley’s instagram, of her and her twins. Saying “Three is better than one.” It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. [i]They’re back.[/i]

He’d need to see Roz.

Give her cookies and see what’s brewing in that head of her’s. If she was going to the party, he’d attend to. If she wasn’t going to the party, he’d still attend, on the account of being her hound and gathering intel when she couldn’t, while making a few people cry along the way. Maybe he’ll invite a [i]little someone[/i] to soften the knife’s edge that was him and Roz, but also be his way of saying thank you for thanking me. He’d wait to see. Once he decides, he’ll extend an invitation to the baker girl behind the cookies.

Roz would like these cookies.  [/indent]