Note: Week end update! I got so many reviews I may be unable to reply individually to everyone unless you asked a question, I hope you won't mind! So I thank you all here publicly for following me, and I guess you'll be more pleased with an update than with a review reply, since I seem to lack time lately and am able to write only on week ends XD

This chapter is a bit less 'rhythmic' than the previous ones since I needed to put the situation in place for what's going to happen next and it required a lot of dialogs, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway!

I have to precise that I'm taking into consideration the way university works in France even if the fic takes place in UCLA, so any situation that looks unfamiliar to US readers compared to US university is normal. Don't hesitate to give me tips if you have, but I don't think things work so differently between the two countries ^^

Oh and, last but not least (well... for me at least!), on may 6th, it was the first anniversary of my presence on this site. It feels weird, and I know some people are here for far longer, but it feels like home even in only one year ^^

/!\ CONTEST /!\
I don't like the summary for this story, so I thought I would ask for help. Send me your summaries in a review (so everyone can read them and eventually vote later if I feel the need to set up a vote) if you want to participate (don't forget summaries are limited to 255 characters!).
The winner will be rewarded by a oneshot on the topic of his/her choice, only requirements: it has to be MxM, and no character death (I already did it and I'm not ready to do it again).
THANK YOU!

Matt
Fucking bastard got us into trouble. Ok, I could admit I shouldn't have insulted him, but he shouldn't have reacted so violently either. Now, and according to the rules of the university, we'd be, at best, forced to community work for the university and I knew by a friend's experience that they usually charged your back with at least twenty five hours, and at worst, we'd be kicked out for public violence. More than losing my chance for education, being kicked out would break my parents' heart... and even if the fag was the one to beat me up, as soon as the security chief would know why he had punched me, I would be held as responsible as him, since homophobic insults weren't acceptable on the campus.

My stomach was aching, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing of my face. I was feeling like if my cheekbone was going to explode, if it wasn't already broken. The security chief handed me a tissue box, from which I stirred some to wipe the blood from my mouth.

"Such public aggressions cannot and won't be tolerated. No matter what the problem between you two is, there are better ways to solve things. I do believe that behind this attitude of young male animals on hormonal mess, we can still find two human gentlemen able to communicate with something else than their fists.
Now, I will ask you your names so I can report you to the headmaster with my final decision concerning how your actions will be punished." The man looked in the fag's direction first, "And don't think you can get away with a fake name, I could easily find you, since you obviously stand out of the crowd."

I couldn't help but chuckle at the comment. I glanced at the blonde fag and he was scowling. Oh fuck, you get what you deserve for dressing like a queen, don't look so indignated! I thought. His scowl turned to me when he heard me laugh as quietly as I could.
"The warning counts for you too, Mr Red Hair." the security chief added.
Hey! I'm not responsible of my hair, unlike him who chose to dress like a prostitute! I stopped laughing instantly, in synchronisation with the fag's own starting chuckle. Bastard.

"I'm waiting, boys." the man was growing impatient, his fingers tapping the desk in annoyance.
"Mihael Keehl" the tone was different. No, the accent, actually. He had uttered his name with what was more than certainly the native accent of his name's origin. Russian? Swedish? I know I was still into stereotypes, but I couldn't imagine him being from anywhere else than the north or something, with his aryan looks. Oh, german maybe?

It was strange to put a name on him all of a sudden. I looked at him unconsciously. He glared back at me, but I was quickly reminded that I was supposed to give my name too.
"Mail Jeevas" I replied to the older man that had just scolded me.
He noted the names down on a large textbook, handed it to the other man who had been standing behind us all along and left the room as soon as he had the textbook in his hands, then went on with his paternalist rant.
"Ok, Mihael, Mail, before I make a decision concerning what just happened, I will ask you to explain yourself, one after the other, and calmly. I won't tolerate any of you to interrupt the other."
Hey, this guy didn't tolerate much, obviously.

Mihael (damn, why was I calling him by his name, it was just too weird...) and me looked at each other, none of us wanting to begin to talk, obviously.
"Ok..." the chief rolled his eyes in front of our reluctance, "Mihael, why did you punch Mail?"

The blonde fag (way better name, to my opinion, his real name was making him too human for my clichés) stayed mute. Irremediably mute.
I had expected him to complain about the homophobic insult, and I was readying myself for being kicked out of university, because I perfectly knew that homophobia would cost me a lot in that situation.
But he didn't say a word, not even when the older man threatened him. I didn't understand why, although I could almost be grateful.
So I stayed mute as well when the security chief tried to get an explanation from me, tired of the blond's silence.
The other security guard came back with the textbook and handed it to the chief, along with what seemed to be our files from when we subscribed to the university.
He browsed through the pages during long minutes, then finally concluded the case.

"I guess that without knowing the reason, I can't really make an opinion on the necessity of forcing you to leave the campus definitely, and I'm pretty sure that a few hours of community work will bring some answers since the secretary reported that you, Mail, have made a request to switch classes, which is, as I can deduce, related to both your inability to get along. So starting from next monday, you'll be assigned to various tasks that you will be given on a day to day basis from me personally, and that you will complete together."

He insisted on the last word, and I felt my heart skip a beat, then two, then three... was I going to die of shock?
Unfortunately no, my heart didn't seem like it was gonna spare me the humiliation of working with the blonde fag.
And if I had been shocked at first, the smirk of the fag as he looked at me made me want to scream and run away. Oh fuck. Fucking fuck. His face was screaming sadism. I was sure he was gonna make me suffer with plans of gayness attacks on me during all the time we'd have to spend together. I shuddered. Together... Urgh...

"You'll come to see me every morning at 7:30. And you can forget about switching classes, too."
Shit. Double shit. Waking up early AND not being able to switch classes. What would be next? I was doomed, for sure.

Mello
"How many hours?" I asked, wondering how long I would have to cope with the homophobe. Oh no, I didn't like what I just heard. Being forced to be near him made my hate rise, but fuck if I was gonna let it show. He looked more than shocked, and suddenly I knew how to take advantage of the situation. I wanted to assert my dominance over him, so I gave him the creepiest smile I could, one that said "I'm gonna make these hours of community work a hell for you". And it worked, judging by the way he lightly trembled and his eyes went wide. I know there was no way to escape these few hours in his company, so I'd have to make sure he wouldn't try anything funny during that time. None of us was pleased with the situation, but I wanted to make it even worse for him, and a little better for me. It wasn't my cup of tea to just hate someone, I had to make him miserable on top of that, that was way more appealing.
And he deserved it. It was all his fault, after all.

"Let's start with thirty hours. I'll see at the end of that time if you need more or not." the man stated, dismissing us.
A few hours, huh?

I left the office quickly, hurrying for the class that probably had already begun. As I sat in the amphitheatre, I saw Layla at the first row. Bitch and teacher's shoes licker.
I also noticed that the redhead was nowhere in sight.
When the bell rang, I gathered my stuff and left. All of this was putting me in a good mood, although I didn't exactly know why, so I nonchalantly walked across the campus (ok, sexily swayed my ass) to a tree and sat against the trunk. I stirred a chocolate bar from my bag, plugged my earphones, and put the music of my Iphone on random before closing my eyes and savouring my sweet treat. A light breeze made my hair tickle my face, it smelled like fresh cut grass, and it was just warm enough not to be too warm to my likings. For once, I didn't feel like studying although I had two hours to kill before the afternoon classes, and I didn't want to eat at the cafeteria, the food there was insipid, greasy and not balanced (God, they even put tons of mayonnaise in salads that were supposed to be healthy!).
I was not a diet freak, but with all the chocolate I ate, I was lucky I practised a physically demanding sport like sambo because I'd be fat otherwise. So I had to be careful about the rest of the food I ate, and even if I wasn't only living on salad and water, I needed to eat balanced.

Puberty had been a hell for me, fortunately not for long, but still.
I was fourteen when my voice started to drop, my hairs started to... well... begin to fight between all three of them (I told you I wasn't hairy) for a place on my crotch, and my body started changing. The skinny kid I was, that was used to the awfully fat but tasty german food, combined with a good share of junk food and sugary drinks and my usual amount of chocolate, gained weight. Yes, I began to get fat. Actually, I, as a 160cm tall or something kid at that time, went from 40kg to 65. Horrible, you said it.
I'm not the kind to judge people by how much they weight, and I sure wouldn't mock anyone who's fat, but me? No, thanks. I already knew I was gay, at 14, and just like girls wanting to date guys, I wanted to date... guys and so I wanted to look nice.
Only four months later and the extra weight was forgotten, but I realised at that time that my freshly turned adult body was now playing against me.

Just like when you're sleeping heavily, lost in a wonderful dream, and that the alarm clock rings to remind you to get up for a boring day, Layla's squeaks, covering the music in my ears, popped my bubble and made me unpleasantly come back from my kids memories.
I cracked one eye open and met the scene: the redhead was coming from an end of the campus's grass area, Layla from the other, and in the distance, she was screaming murder at the sight of his bruised face. She almost hung herself to his neck when she finally was close enough, but he pushed her away lightly, apparently embarrassed by the people staring at the loud chick.
I cut the music, wanting to hear what they were saying.

"Matt! What happened?" she whined. Matt. Now that I thought about it, why did he make himself be called Matt when he said his name was Mail, a little earlier?
Mello was my nickname and Matt probably was one too, although it sounded like a name more than a nickname, unlike mine. And he didn't know I was called Mello. I smirked. I knew more about him than he did about me.

He didn't say anything about our earlier altercation to Layla, dismissing the question with a 'nevermind' in a tone so annoyed that I wondered if he had seen me, and if he didn't want to admit the insults in front of me.
But she looked straight at me although the redhead hadn't. Blame women and their sixth sense, she knew.
Or she suspected me, to the least. Because my own face was free of any damage, and what she said next proved that she imagined the redhead like a super invincible knight. Let me laugh.
"Whoever you fought with, I bet he's looking ten times worse than you do!" she squealed. What is it with women that make them think they are attractive when they play the naïve admirer? They just look plain stupid.

He looked at me, then told her he had to talk to me. Talk to me? What the fuck?
She gave me a despising once over, and insisted: "We still have stuff to do... if you see what I mean." she purred, coming closer to him, almost glueing herself to his chest. I prayed for him to listen to hormones call and go to fuck her in his oh-so-awesome-car (even his car is a proof he's a macho, to my opinion) but no, fate had decided he would come to talk to me. Fuck, I didn't want to hear what he had to say. Hello fate? I still hated him you know...