A/N: Hello! Great news! New story! Well, it's "Book 15", except it's Greg's point of view. So, if you haven't read Book 15, you should! I hope you enjoy this one and if you do, please review!

The whole thing is rated K+ because there's a lot of bad language.

Greg hates his literature class. It's not that he doesn't like to read or write, it's just hard for him to do both of those things. He hates reading in school because he can't always comprehend all of the literature they read. Shakespeare is hard to understand, of course, but so are books with a lot of different writing techniques. He just can't comprehend it.

Writing, however, he hates because all the ideas he has in his head? All the romance, all the humor, all the great ideas he has in there…it's just so hard to get out. He knows what he wants to say, he just never finds the right words to get his point across.

His teacher instructs the class to retrieve their books off the shelf, and Greg just sighs. He hates the book, but of course he's got to do what he's told. He gets up out of his seat and grabs the same book he gets every day: book #15. He doesn't know why, it's just a habit by now. He's always careful to put it in the exact same position as when he got it, because it's clear that someone's putting it there on purpose.

Greg throws himself back into his seat. He flips to the page instructed and begins to read.

Except, he doesn't read. Instead, his mind returns to the events of his morning, because it was all a bit too distracting to just forget.

Greg was woken up by his mother screaming at his father. The fighting had stopped for a while, which was wonderful, but three days ago his dad was fired from his already-too-low-paying job and his mum was tired of it. Instead of sticking around to listen to it, Greg left for school early without eating his usual big breakfast.

When he got to school, his best friend Hank was already there. And Hank didn't help. Hank isn't the type of friend to care about feelings, Greg knows this, but Hank immediately started harassing a few girls and shoved Greg when Greg told him to back off. None of their friends backed Greg, causing Greg to storm off in a rage.

He hasn't seen Hank since then. He doesn't really mind, it's just that after the morning he had, he wishes there was someone to talk to about it.

He feels so alone. All the time at school, having to walk around with happy people and pretend to be happy himself when he's hiding so much about his life is enough to drive him crazy.

Without noticing whatsoever, Greg starts doodling in his notebook. He looks down and just sees "Hi" written in his own handwriting, and he's shocked. Without knowing why, Greg rips out the paper, folds it up, and places it in the book.

The next morning wasn't much better for Greg. His father didn't even come home last night, causing his mother to be a wreck all night. Greg didn't know, however, if it was a happy wreck or a sad and nervous wreck. All he knows is she started drinking alcohol at 7 PM, was drunk by 8 PM, and Greg left at 9 PM. He walked around until he got too cold, then he walked home and went straight to bed. His mother was passed out on the sofa, so he left her there and left for school this morning before she was awake.

All of this makes him grouchy all day, and it especially makes him dread literature, just as he does every day. However, today there's something different. He had forgotten all about that note he left yesterday until he finds it again in his book.

"Hello?"

Greg smiles, then chuckles. Joy blooms in his chest; someone. That's just it. Someone is there.

"How are you?" Greg asks next. He puts the paper back where it was and actually begins to focus on reading.

Greg hates lunch, too. It gets very embarrassing when everyone asks you why you're not eating. Greg usually tells people he had a huge breakfast, or that he's got an early dinner planned, or sometimes he doesn't like to eat before gym, but it's all a lie.

On Wednesday, to avoid questions, he claims that he needs some alone time, so he goes out to the empty courtyard outside of the lunch room.

But really, if Greg is going to be honest, all of that isn't the only reason he likes going out to the courtyard.

And ahh, there he is. Mycroft Holmes: a square in perfectly pressed pants and fancy Italian shoes. What sixteen-year-old needs shoes that expensive? What sixteen-year-old needs to wear a tie every day? And those stupid, stupid glasses he wears every once in a while. Sure, they frame his face perfectly, they fit him, but they're still dumb.

Greg lays eyes on him and just wants to wreck him. Just once he wants to get that perfect white shirt dirty, he wants to wrinkle those pants, he wants to smash those glasses, he wants to use that tie for terrible things. He wants to see the perfection stained and tainted and impure.

Instead of doing something about that obsessive need to ruinthe other boy, he just punches the book out of the boy's hands. It calms him a bit, relaxes the nerves he feels when he sees Mycroft. It's like when little kids see a little puppy and just get so excited that they want to squeeze it.

After he punches the book, he takes the sandwich out of Mycroft's hand. Just because he's so hungry.

Mycroft sighs.

Greg laughs. "What? You're not going to say anything?"

"Am I going to fight you over a sandwich? No, I'm not."

Greg steps on Mycroft's book, then kicks it away.

"I really can't believe that you have nothing better to do than to torment me, Gregory."

Greg's heart stutters when Mycroft calls him by his full name. Nobody ever does, as a matter of fact, he doesn't even know if his friends know that his name isn't just 'Greg'.

After half a second to steady his heart, he laughs. "Surprisingly, I have nothing better to do."

Mycroft gets off the bench to march over and angrily retrieve his book. He bends down and Greg watches intently, staring at those stupid tight pants he wears stretch impossibly further over his hips.

"And where is the rest of your bonehead posse?" Mycroft asks.

Greg shakes his head to clear his mind as he diverts his gaze. He shrugs as Mycroft is standing. "I don't know. Flirting with half the school by now, I bet." He lifts his leg onto the bench, resting his foot on Mycroft's backpack.

"And you're above all that," Mycroft says.

Well really, he is. Greg doesn't find the need for a partner as necessary as his friends. Hank, for example, has a different girlfriend each week. Greg, on the other hand, has never has a girlfriend. He's only kissed two girls in his life, and a few months ago, after noticing how unbelievably tight Mycroft wears his pants, he realized that it's not be because of the girls he knows.

"I like older girls," Greg replies anyway, making it a joke.

"I'm sure," Mycroft coldly says.

Greg decides to just be a jerk and drop the last bite of Mycroft's sandwich on his tray. He wipes crumbs from his hands onto his jeans, then picks up Mycroft's delicious looking apple.

"You're an animal," Mycroft comments, sounding disgusted. He often sounds like that to Greg, but Greg thinks its funny, for some reason.

He grins widely and bites down on the juicy apple, letting moisture run from the sides of his mouth. He laughs when Mycroft rolls his eyes.

"Please leave," Mycroft demands. "Now that you've successfully ruined my lunch in more ways than one."

Greg takes another large bite of apple, then stands up straight. "It's always a pleasure, Holmes," he says, dropping the apple into Mycroft's backpack. He wipes his hands on his jeans without seeing the look on Mycroft's face. He knows that if he looks up, he'll probably be compelled to apologize.

"See you around, loser," he says instead, turning away from Mycroft and walking back towards the building.

"See you around, arsehole."

Greg can't help but laugh as he pulls the door to the building open again. But once he's inside, away from Mycroft, he frowns.

One day, he promises. One day I'll stop this.

He's excited when he gets to class. He laughs at the long reply waiting for him, telling him how much this other person hates this class, and he's glad he's found this person to talk to. He would have been disappointed if this person loved literature, and really he probably wouldn't find that person very interesting at all.

At the end of the paragraph, "How are you?" is written.

And even though he decided to be a jerk to Mycroft, he feels fine.

"I'm fine," he says back. "I don't particularly love this class either, but it's something we have to do, you know? What's your favorite class?"