|| "So darken your clothes, or strike a violent pose. Maybe they'll leave you alone, but not me" - Teenagers by My Chemical Romance
｡･ﾟﾟ･ summary: Zane Ro'Meave around Season 2 of Phoenix Drop High. Self reflection of his own self to the reader, but ultimately he chooses to make a name for himself in a less than ideal manner by making The Jury.
｡･ﾟﾟ･ mentions!: (loser!) Zane Ro'Meave. Zane tired of being looked down a upon. Changing for the better <<< changing for the worst. Established close friendship w/ reader. hints of reader (f) liking voices if you squint (sorry y'all that's a projection of mine). Garroth, Vylad and Aphmau cameo appearance. your POV, no use of (y/n).
｡･ﾟﾟ･ author's note: enjoy!
୨⎯ "𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝔀" ⎯୧
By all accounts Zane Ro'Meave was a self imposed, pitiful loser who unfortunately was never graced with the proper socialization skills needed to navigate Phoenix Drop High School.
However, that meant according to association and the tedious finicky thing about reputation; you were also at the bottom barrel of the school by being his friend. The only thing relatively saving you was the fact that you were in sports, offering you the ability to know a plethora of people, forming camaraderie driven relationships.
That never stopped girls during the bathroom breaks from asking you completely unprompted how on Earth that you managed to "stand him" and that he was "so annoying" for whatever class they had managed to share with him.
The odd friendship was a result of sitting next to each other during homeroom, both skittish new freshmen, and you had the luck of being the new kid. Forced to watch painfully on as everyone seemed to know each other from their middle school years was bad enough, but swallowing your shyness to make sure you're not a complete social outcast was even harder.
Which is how you've ended up on a park bench beside the emo-looking boy, passively entertained by his older brother, Garroth, his half brother, Vylad, and the ever perky Aphmau; all of whom played soccer out on the large open field.
Over the course of your friendship, Zane had opened up about the weight of being overshadowed by his glorious golden child older brother. You could see the notable difference yourself without him having said anything. A completely polar opposite pair that it even competes with the sun and moon.
The sun was a good way to describe Garroth. A personified golden retriever, a blonde haired and blued eyed gentleman who happened to be good at everything he touched. It would be a lie to say that he hasn't peaked your interest. Even his voice was terribly attractive.
But as it happened, his attention was captured by the spunky Aphmau who always seemed high energy and was absolutely kind to everyone she met. A stark difference to your calm persona, (not saying you were any less kind). Jealousy was a bitch, but you buried it as best as you could.
You lulled your head to the side, watching as they played on. Zane had invited you spontaneously, complaining over the phone about how he was dragged out of the house and that he was going to be bored without you.
There was something about these damn Ro'Meave brothers and their voices.
Not too long ago, Zane was hit in the throat by a volleyball which seemed to strangely expedite his squeaky late bloomer prepubescent voice into something far deeper and mature. You could shamelessly listen to him all day if he'd let you.
However, these days it consisted of needing to prove himself to get out of the dumpster fire of a reputation that he somehow dug himself into freshman year. Ranting about how he had to change the "loser" title that he earned to something "cooler" and more "badass".
"You don't understand," he hissed "It's already set in stone. Cemented in everyone's mind that I'm some pathetic loser. They'll carry it on year after year until we graduate from that shithole."
"Maybe you need a do-over," you suggested "New clothes. New vibes. New you next school year. One that doesn't involve getting with those sketchy Shadow Knights. Seriously, Zane, it's only making you look worse."
He gave a deep sigh, one interrupted by the cheering from Vylad from a distance as Aphmau kicked the ball into the goal.
"You know what?"
"Hm?" you hummed in response.
"I don't need them. I can make my own group. A cooler group. Then everyone won't look down on me," he ascertained, the plan slowly forming behind his pale blue eyes.
"Yeah. That's right. If I can't make them like me. I'll make them fear me instead," he continued on, laughing a little too gleefully. "I'll call it The Jury and you watch. I'll run the place."
You weren't sure if you should take him seriously or not. It sounded a little too maniacal and outlandish for your own liking. "And where do I fit in the picture?" you asked testingly.
"My right hand of course," he said matter of factly, clearly pleased with himself. "My loyal hand that remains beside me."
He turns to look at you, his visible eye trained on you with such a scary look of determination that it nearly sends a shiver down your spine.
"You won't leave me right? You can't leave me." There was a certain desperateness that reminded you of yourself a year ago, sticking by him during freshman year.
"No Zane. I won't leave you," you say to placate him. "I'll join that Jury of yours."
You weren't going to leave him even if the thought of "running the school" seemed like an absolutely absurd dream. Even after seeing him turn to the wrong crowd for notoriety.
