Another AU folks.

This somehow came to me while listening to Britney Spears' Femme Fatale album. We love and respect Britney in this house.

Anyways, I have nothing to say for myself other than self-indulgence strikes again! Will be multiple chapters altho I have no clue how many. (It'll be way longer than Snowblind)

Rating will change, but we got a long time before that. Word count will vary from chapter to chapter.


She was in kindergarten when Claire met the strangest boy.

Daddy told her not to be nervous so she wasn't. He said she'd be without them for a few hours every day but she would make friends. Everybody would love Claire.

When daddy dropped her off at the basketball courts where all the other kids were lining up for their classes, Claire found that familiar sandy blonde hair that belonged to Andrew Clark. Turns out, they were having the same teacher.

They'd known each other for as long as Claire's little mind could think back. Their moms were friends from high school that grew closer during college. Whenever her parents threw those lavish parties of theirs, they'd come over. Andrew was a totally normal presence in her life.

The teacher was nice and had a name most of the class couldn't properly pronounce. Too much tongue rolling. Claire's bit of French helped be ahead of them.

He shortened it to Mr. Ryan. He was teaching them how to color in the lines and that made Claire happy. She loved coloring.

Daddy bought her a pack of sixty four Crayola's that wasn't on the list of required supplies. All the kids wanted to be at her group table. Claire wasn't a mean girl. Her parents raised her better than that. She shared, even if they weren't at her table.

Mr. Ryan needed to step out, leaving the class of a little over twenty kids by themselves with papers full of outlines butterflies that needed life poured into them through color.

Balls of paper started landing on her table. Claire didn't think anything of it, too immersed coloring her butterfly the prettiest shades of pink. Andrew let out a sound when one of the balls hit his cheek. Claire could tell by the dark blue smudges on his sheet that he was getting angrier by the second.

Something landed on the back of her head not long after the balls stopped. It didn't hurt but she thought it was stuck. Claire reached behind her to take it out but there was nothing; all she felt was the straw of her hair. Mommy did her hair nice today, using a lot of hair spray. Claire hated every second of it.

When Claire turned in her chair, there was a boy off to the side in a table by himself. His lips were pressed tightly together and his cheeks were tinged in red. He was barely containing himself.

Claire shouldn't have thought it, but the boy was pretty. Even if his hair was a beautiful mess and his clothes looked too big for him.

She looked down at the ground. There was a paper airplane on the floor made from the butterfly sheet.

"Hey," Andrew called out, attracting the attention of some of the other kid's—including that boy. "Don't you have something to say?"

"Like what?" He replied easily with a grin.

"Sorry, maybe?"

"Why? I didn't do anything." He said innocently.

"You're such a liar, Bender."

"Well," Bender clicked his tongue. "She's the one with the big head!"

Claire pressed her lips tightly.

"Just leave her alone," Andrew said curtly, shooting him a glare. "Say you're sorry and quit it."

Bender regarded Andrew with a cocky look. "Are you her brother?"

"I'm a friend. And if you keep messing with her, I'll kick your butt."

"Ooh. You're her… boyfriend?" He asked with exaggerated devilry.

"Ew, no!" They both said in unison.

Bender's grin seemed to get wider. "Maybe you should—"

He didn't finish it. Bender's grin faltered as his eyes watched the silhouette of Mr. Ryan on his way back to the classroom. Bender immediately looked down at his empty space and picked up one of the old, broken crayons.

"He's such a buttface," Andrew mumbled so lowly that only Claire could hear as Mr. Ryan walked in. "I hate him."

Her brows furrowed and she frowned. "That's not nice, Andy. Hate is a strong word. You don't know him."

"I don't have to," He responded bluntly. "If he's not nice, then I won't be either."

Claire glanced back, at the boy sitting in the lone table with no crayons of his own. Mr. Ryan started walking towards his table.

"Should we tell on him?" Claire whispered.

"You pick."

Claire didn't know why, but she didn't.