I sighed, struggling to keep my eyes open as I stared at the clock, just behind Miss Rieder's head as she continued to babble on about whatever we were learning about in maths that lesson. I couldn't remember much of it, just the part where she had said it'd be crucial for us to know this for an upcoming exam. I guess importance of education doesn't matter when you get three hours of sleep.

I glanced towards Frasier who pulled a bored face before glancing back down at her work. Frasier was my best friend, the best best friend I'd ever had, in fact. She'd been given a boy's name because when her mum was pregnant with her, the ultrasound technician told her she was having a boy, so the name was chosen and painted on the Nursery wall in their house and embroidered onto ridiculous amounts of clothing. Sometime later, a healthy baby girl popped out.

I snorted at her expression before looking back to the clock. Three. Two. One. The bell rang obnoxiously, but to all of the students in the humid, overpopulated class room, it was a blessing. I sighed in relief, almost leaping up from my seat and shoving all of my things into my messenger bag that had seen better days.

"Wait for me, idiot!" Frasier called behind me with a laugh.

"Thank God it's Friday," I sighed as we left the room "We get a sunny day in winter and I'm stuck in the world's smallest, warmest classroom."

"Well, it is only three. We could go on a wander around the town?" she suggested.

"Alas, diddums, I appear to be stuck in the art department for the next few hours to try and finish this stupid project," I said, using the mock-pet name we had for each other.

"Ah, I would keep you company but all the teachers in there hate me and I don't really feel like getting glared at for however you plan on lurking around there."

"Nah, s'fine, dude, Bianca'll be there anyway," I shrugged "and at least the rooms in there have air conditioning."

"Have fun then, dearest," she snorted "I'm off to mope around at home."

"Don't let me stop you, then," I grinned as we parted ways.

Three hours. That's how long I was in the art department before the cleaners urged me to leave. It wasn't out of some special eagerness to do well, it was because I knew that I wasn't putting enough effort in as it was and considering my terrible attendance, unless I stayed after school, I had no chance of passing the exam.

"You're going to have to leave school soon, love, it's dark and nobody's in the office to phone for a taxi for you," said one of the cleaners.

Our school always had an obsession of sorts with safety and they hated letting anybody but the sixth formers out at night without knowing they had a safe lift back home. It was understandable, but a bit annoying. It was only six, after all.

I gave a small nod and a sigh, grabbing hold of my A3 sketch pad with everything I'd need inside of it.

"How are you getting home?" the cleaner called after me.

"The metro, I'll be fine, thanks!" I called behind me, clutching the sketch pad in front of me to avoid letting anything fall from it, struggling to pull on my knee-length leather jacket as I walked.

By the time I had it buttoned up, I was at the metro station, which was only a short walking distance from the school. Once I'd gotten down the many stairs leading to the tunnel, the breeze managed to run through my coat, causing me to shiver and lose my grip on the sketch pad. It dropped open in the middle where I'd placed all of my loose papers, causing them all to blow out around the station.

"Shit!" I cursed loudly, my voice echoing around the empty tunnels, as I was the only one there as far as I knew.

I managed to grab most of the papers as I let out a relieved sigh and stood up with the sketch pad now in my arms. But as a caught sight of my main project that I'd spent half the year on blowing precariously close to the rails, I felt my face pale. This couldn't happen. I quickly dropped my bag onto my sketch pad, keeping it and all of the papers inside of it weighed down and I made a mad dash towards the paper, just as the wind in the tunnel picked up faintly, blowing it onto the rails.

"No! No! Not now! No!" I cried, running towards it and trying to reach down as I could hear the metro drawing nearer...and nearer, just as I began to lose my balance.

I felt a hand grab the back of my jacket and yank me up onto the platform as well as my drawing, all in one sweep, milliseconds before the metro shot by, centimetres from the tip of my nose. I let out a shaky breath and scrambled backwards, staring at the metro, wide eyed.

I turned around to face whoever had saved me and when I did, I wondered how I hadn't noticed his presence in the first place.

He had hair that was such a bright shade of orange, it almost looked like the colour was artificial. He was dressed from head to toe in red – a red suit and even a cloak, much to my surprise. Finally, and most bizarrely, he had an obvious scar running all the way down the left side of his face and I couldn't help but do a double take – something I hoped he wouldn't take offence to.

Despite how abnormal his appearance was, I couldn't help but find him attractive, even in these circumstances.

He, unlike myself, didn't appear to be out of breath in the slightest, even though he would've had to have moved incredibly fast to pull me back and save my project, which he now grasped in his right hand, along with other papers that I didn't recognise.

He was staring at me with greenish-blue eyes, with a gaze that was both incredulous and curious and I felt myself blush under it.

"What were you..." he trailed off and shook his head "are you alright?"

His voice was quite deep and had a rich quality to it, but not strangely so – he didn't exactly sound like Alan Rickman. I found myself beginning to like it. I frowned inwardly at myself. I'd nearly just died and all I could think about was how attractive I found my saviour.

"Y-yeah, thanks," I forced out, taking his other hand as he offered it to help me up I noticed scars on his fingertips, too.

How on earth had he managed that? Once I was up, I let go of his hand.

"Why is this so important that you risked your life to retrieve it?" he asked, staring at the paper whilst I shakily walked over to where my bag was, pulling it over my head and onto my shoulder and I picked up the sketch pad from under it.

"I've been working on it for the best part of a year, I have to hand it in next week to be evaluated. I'd have no chance of doing it again," I explained briefly.

He scanned over the piece of paper again before giving a small, almost approving nod and handing it back to me.

"And now I missed the metro," I murmured, more to myself and then I felt a small pang of guilt as I regarded the orange haired man "And you yours."

He gave a small shake of his head.

"I am not here to travel, and you were in no state to. I doubt you are now."

"...Why are you here then?"

"To hand out these," he handed me a green flyer with the words "CIRQUE DU FREAK" printed on it in large bold letters.

I scanned over it briefly, it looked cool.

"Can I keep this?" I asked, gesturing to it.

He seemed reluctant at first but then gave a small nod and then it fell silent until fifteen minutes later when the next metro finally arrived, nearly empty. I stood up from where I'd seated myself on the floor and with one foot in the carriage, I bit my lip before speaking.

"...What's your name?"

He seemed surprised for a moment and then it appeared as though he was considering my question before he spoke once more.

"Larten Crepsley, and yours?"

"Monica Mastrelli. Thanks for saving my life, I owe you one."

Amusement flicked through his eyes as they stared into mine, causing my face to go a light shade of pink before I stepped properly into the metro and the doors slid shut. The last I saw of him that evening was when he gave a small sort of parting nod before the metro gathered speed and shot off through the tunnels I'd nearly lost my life in.

Taking a seat next to the doors, I couldn't help but hope that I hadn't seen the last of Larten Crepsley.