A Flawed Perfection

By DxDevlin

Disclaimer: I own nothing but Duke Devlin and, in this chapter, Joey Wheeler

Summary: Duke Devlin's real name is Bukerye, just like every man in his family for centuries. His family was cursed with the gift of perfection, a curse that was out to destroy him. With the descendent of their curser right under his nose, he can destroy it, right? But things aren't always what they seem…

Author's Note: The 'Joey' Duke meets is Joey Wheeler. The 'Devon' is no one. I was thinking of maybe her Téa, but that would be kind of weird, right?

Chapter 2:

Irony

"Duke! What's up?" Sayce Lasker whipped around in his groovy shoes and his sagging pants. He had class, he had style, and he had royal blood, considering the fact that he was the great-great-great-grandson of Dilan Lasquar.

"Just chillin', " Duke replied monotonously. He was tampering with the shades of colors of a Dungeon Dice Monster board and wasn't exactly delighted to be interrupted. Then again, he had just been told of the story of his ancient uncle Bukerye and the curse bestowed onto his family by Sayce's ancestor, so that probably was a factor in his brusqueness.

Not able to produce a further response from his friend, Sayce bent over Duke's shoulder and scrutinized the board.

"You're still doing that DMM thing? Get a life. The world is right at your hands."

There was a definite annoyance in Duke's tone when he responded. "It's DDM! Get it right."

"Gee. Sorry. What's up with you?"

Duke calmed his face. "We've known each other an awful long time, don't you think? But, uh, we never talked about where we were from, you know? So, Sayce, where's your family from?"

Sayce was wide-eyed. "Are you kidding me? What the - seriously man, what's up?"

"Nothin', man. I'm just curious. I mean, we're such great friends, but I don't even know where you're from."

"Uh, yeah. That sure puts a damper on our relationship, doesn't it? Gee, I'm from America, the Land of the Free. Happy now?"

Duke whisked around in his seat and faced Sayce. "I'm serious," he pleaded. "I need to know."

"Why?"

"Just tell me, dammit." Duke was on the brink of a temper breakdown.

"Hey, don't you go around telling me what to do, alright?"

The truth was that Duke didn't quite believe that Sayce Lasker was the descendent of Dilan Lasquar. True, they nearly had identical last names, and Sayce constantly boasted about his 'royal blood.' But other than that (and the fact that Duke's father had claimed that Sayce was in fact his descendent), Duke didn't have any evidence. So he had to discover the truth. Without, of course, angering Sayce in any way that would hinder their friendship.

But already he had failed. He forced himself to give in and reconcile with Sayce. He apologized with a bowed head, but it was sincere. They dropped the matter.

"So Duke, I know we're not arguing anymore, but seriously, what was that whole thing about? I want to know, ok?"

Duke avoided Sayce's eyes. "Nothing. It was just…some random thing going on in my head."

So they dropped that matter too. And they went to school. Which was equivalent to a heavenly hell for Duke. For one thing, the girls clobbered over him, even the shy ones. They flirted with him in the halls, in the classes, in the cafeteria. Girls he didn't know, even. Girls who were ugly. Girls who were loners. Girls who lived in their own crazy worlds.

In short, everyone.

Duke didn't even have a girlfriend. He didn't want one. Even if he did, the girls would nevertheless still clobber over him like hawks seeking rats. Except that, once again, he wasn't prey; he was their god. He walked through the halls, looking neither left nor right. But the girls were impossible to ignore. He would hear things like,

"Hey Duke!"

"You look nice, Duke!"

"Cool hair, Duke!"

(Someone's long and (one could say) cute sigh…)

"How's it going, Duke?"

"Dukie!"

etc. etc. etc. etc. (In short, etc. for eternity.)

There was one girl he'd been keeping his eyes on, actually. She was the only girl who he ever bothered to look at. She had natural beauty; natural grace. She didn't dress up in snobbish clothes and pound her face with makeup. She didn't dye her hair obscene colors or walk around with an I'm-too-good-for-you tone. She never randomly shouted his name or flirted with him. She glanced at him, but she didn't slobber. There was something he saw in her that filled his guts with warmth. There was in her a force that he had been unknowingly seeking throughout his life. He didn't know what it was, but he knew it was there.

"Hey." Before he even realized it, he was standing in front of her, talking to her.

"Hey," she replied. Her voice was gentle and a little held back, but he rushed in.

"I'm Duke." He smiled briefly.

"Yeah, I know. I'm Devon."

"That's a nice name. Almost like my last name."

He blew it. What could she say after a sentence like that? But suddenly, another guy swooped in. He had wild, blond hair poofed up on top of his head. He looked oddly familiar…

"Joey, isn't it?" Duke asked, remembering. Inside, he spat in disgust that a brat just cut him off from Devon.

Joey did in fact spit. Well, no spit came out, but the sound was there.

"What the hell are you doin' here, Devlin?" he asked raucously.

Duke took this as a challenge. "You're that little brat I taught a lesson to, aren't ya?"

"Hey, no one taught a lesson to anyone. You better run away and stay away from my girl before I beat some sense into you, you got it?"

Duke gaped. "Your girl? Your girl? Why the hell would anyone want to touch you?"

"Break it up, guys!" Devon quickly jumped in between them. Duke felt his heart race in excitement.

"Let's go, Joey." She took one last glance at Duke. It was an obvious look of disgust. She walked away, hand in hand with her boyfriend. Duke's expression sunk. He had found her: the type of girl he'd always longed for, the type of girl who didn't care so much for looks as for personality. Every girl wanted him, yet the only girl he wanted just said goodbye to him. A curse of perfection? More like a curse of the worst. He walked down the hall, pitying himself. For all it was worth, he hated this curse; this heavenly bliss. Who wouldn't want to be perfect? It was the dream life; yet he despised it.

And yet he loved it. That was the truth, yet it wasn't. What was life turning into? A life filled with the battle of opposites? A life where he didn't even understand his feelings? A life of figuring out what he liked and hated; what he wanted and what he lacked?

What was this?

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Thanks for reading! Anything suggestions? Remember to review!

-DxDevlin