"Pervert!"

"Fag!"

 "Rapist!"

 Francis Bonnefoy grit his teeth, using all his will power to keep from turning around and giving those bastards a piece of his mind. Sure, Francis was a litte.....Overpassionate, but did that give them the right to call him a rapist? No, it most certainly did not!

 He didn't bother correcting them anymore, though. He just learned to grin and bear it, for there was nothing else he could do. It's not like his teachers gave two shits either way, and his parents.........Well, his relationship with them wasn't the pleasent of most, and he had a feeling going to them for his personal problems would only make them worse.

 "Freak!"

 Just grin and bear it, he reminded himself.

"You creeper, how many girls have you raped today?"

 Grin......Grin and bear it.

 Francis had been counting to 10 in French, his mother language, trying to calm down, when a hand slammed down on his shoulder. Francis whipped around, no longer able to keep silent. "What?!"

 Arthur smirked, clearly pleased that he'd gotten a reaction out of the frustrated Frenchman. "What's up, faggot?" Arthur Kirkland, one of the biggest punks in school, famous for his dirty mouth and equally dirty relationship with pretty much every girl. And, of course, Francis just HAD to run into him.

 Just his luck.

Arthur moved closer. "You know what I don't get? Why you're still alive." He laughed, and Francis's fingers twitched as he resisted the urge to wrap them around Arthur's throat. "I mean, everyone hates you, don't they, rapist? Why bother living. Hey, you know what?" The Brit's voice lowered to an incoherent whisper, though Francis heard the next three words all too well.

"Go kill yourself."

 The Frenchman only stayed long enough to see Arthur's smirk grow before he ran away.

***

Most people consider places such as the library to be their sanctuary. For Francis, however, it seemed to be the school bathroom, seeing as it was the most conveniant place to hide during school hours.

 Francis sat on the floor in one of the stalls, his bright blue eyes brimming with tears. How could Arthur be so heartless, to ask Francis to kill himself? Did everyone really hate him that much? A tear made its way down his cheek, but the Frenchman made no attempt to stop it; many, many tears before that one had done the exact same thing, what made this one any different? Francis sniffled. Mon Deiu, it was so unfair.

It felt pretty nice to wallow in self pity, so much that Francis almost didn't hear the knock on his stall door. "O-Occupied." He forced out, trying and failing to hide the fact that he'd been crying.

"Yeah, I know. Let me in, please." The voice that responded surprised Francis; it was soft, gental, not laced with hatred and malice like the others. What's more, it was female! What was a girl doing in the boy's bathroom?

 With a sigh, he unlocked the door and got a good look at the visitor. Well, it was definatly a girl, Francis knew that much. ____ offered him a smile, shutting and bolting the door behind her, and taking a seat. There was a moment of awkward silence before Francis spoke up. "You're a girl, oui? You're not allowed to be in the boy's bathroom....."

Her smile widened. "Hon, if I gave a shit about that, I would've been out of here a long time ago."

 Interesting girl, Francis silently mused.

She continued. "Say, you're Francis, right? Francis Bonnefoy?" He nodded. "Arthur told me about what he said to you." She grinned. "I punched him in the face for you, if it makes you feel better." It did, but Francis wouldn't say that out loud.

He looked at her. "Why would you do that?"

 She took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Because no one deserves to be bullied like that. I don't know you very well, but I do know this: you're not a rapist, or anything else those assholes call you. Just a sweet boy horribly misunderstood." ___'s eyes pierced Francis's stunned blue orbs, her smile much more confident now. "I haven't properly introduced myself, have I? I'm ____. How about we be friends?"

 The smile faded when she saw tears trickle down his cheek. "Aw, shit! I'm sorry Francis, I di-!" Her words were cut off when Francis suddenly wrapped his arms around her, pulling ___ close, burying his face in her hair.

 The tears he cried now were from joy, joy that someone cared for him. When Francis was younger, he'd read stories about how everyone had that one special person they were born to meet. This, Arthur, was the reason why he was still alive.

He'd lived just to meet ____.

"Francis?" She questioned, carefully returning the hug. "Are you alright?" He was fine, better than fine, actually. Francis tightened his grip on you, smiling faintly as one thought passed through his head.

 I love you.