Academy Darius is the shit. It's not exactly recent news, but I'm doing a highschool AU chapter anyway and pretending that the skin is my only motivation.

"Hey Darius."

Darius froze, not daring to acknowledge the attention monger floating around him. Instead he hunched over his desk and forced himself to focus on the lines in front of him. D-E-C-A-P-I-...

"Hey Darius."

...T-A-T-I-O-N. Pause. The assignment was to write a short story about his ideal summer, so what else was there?

"Hey Darius."

Decapitation... is fun? Wait, was fun. Did he have to write in the past tense? It was times like these that he wished Vladimir would let him take at least a peek at his homework, but the white haired boy hadn't allowed it since the last time Professor Mundo found out and went into a tirade on academic honesty.

"Hey Darius."

Damnit, he really couldn't screw up this assignment. Coach Swain wouldn't let him play for the Dunkmasters if he failed another assignment. No errors, no mistakes! That was his motto, yet his grades had been slipping since-

"Hey Darius."

"Draven, I swear if you do not leave my presence I will maul you like a bear."

-since Draven moved back in.

His younger brother, expelled, sent to boarding school, expelled again and sent right back. Not many teenagers his age could pull of such a rapid ping pong maneuver. Only Draaaaven, or so he called himself.

"Draaaaaaaven isn't feeling so good right now," the younger brother pouted. "Draaaaaaven would like a hug."

"Go away Draven."

"Draaaaaaaaven will not take no for an answer!" And with that, Draven flopped onto Darius' bed and began to roll himself up in the covers.

"Draaaaaven had a bad day at school."

"Oh really?"

"Well, not really at school, but you know what I mean. I was walking around campus and the DuCouteaus showed up."

Darius sighed. "Did you fight the DuCouteaus?"

"Well..." Draven looked away, squirming inside of the blanket burrito he had made himself, and Darius' brotherly empathy dropped dramatically. He did something stupid again, didn't he?

"See, at first I thought it was only Talon, the little one, and I knew I could take him alone, but I didn't expect the other two to jump me."

Darius' glare narrowed to a horizontal slit. Even Draven should know that the DuCouteaus always traveled in close proximity to each other. Seriously, this idiot brother...

"It was real scary, DarDar. They tore my uniform too."

"Really."

"Yeah, that Talon kid brings a hell of a lot of knives around."

That's what he's supposed to do, dumbass. How did Draven manage to stay alive for so long with this horrible memory of his? Somehow he managed to lose track of all meaningful information as soon as he needed it, like his brain cells were hiding from potential use.

"So Darius..." Draven rolled out of the bed and onto the floor, then sat up to give him a set of deceptively large puppy dog eyes.

There it was. The true reason his brother was lounging around his room for so long had finally reached the surface. Draven always needed a favor, always had a question, always wanted to hide behind him. Darius braced himself. C'mon, bring it on, make it quick.

"Can I try on your uniform?"

What.

"I'm pretty sure it's too big for you..." he said cautiously.

"Please, please please pretty please with a Draven on top?"

"I definitely don't want another Draven."

"Lemme just try it on for a little bit, it's only fair?"

"For who? You tore up your own uniform."

"If you'd warned me about the DuCouteaus-"

"I did."

"If you'd hung out with me at lunch-"

"Fuck no."

"C'mon! I just want to know what it's like to be Darius, infamous basketball champ and notorious trouble maker with a major stick up his-"

"Don't you finish that sentence," he warned. "You have your own uniform, and what with all the modifications you made to yours I doubt you'll be interested in mine."

"It's got those spiky shoulder pads."

"..." It was a stupid idea, but at the time putting pointy metal spikes on his shoulder pads sounded like the coolest thing ever to Darius. In practice they were obviously useless, and somewhat dangerous. He couldn't rest his head to the side when he was tired or he might poke an eye out. Draven was highly likely to injure himself just putting the damn thing on.

Although maybe that wasn't such a bad thing...

"No. Just fix your own uniform. Mom bought you that sewing kit you wanted, didn't she?"

"I didn't ask for thaaaat!" Draven shouted, leaping to his own defense. Fuzzy jacket bristling with indignity, he rushed to the door and slammed it shut. Darius waited, watching the door handle, listening for his footsteps.

Draven flung the door open again. "I'm not fixing your shirts when they rip anymore!"

Slam!

Darius turned back to his essay. He'd have to be careful not to tear any more shirts.

Draven had his uniform all sewed up by the next day. It wasn't even that big of a cut, just a minor rip along the shoulder.

"Friggin' fraggin'..."