The first twenty four hours in the body of his new host ended swiftly. He had spent most of it sleeping. And when he was awake, he tried to get accustomed to this new body, diving through memories that weren't his. The former Damian Grant had gone through a lot of things that even he as an Alpha wouldn't think of doing to his enemies.
He was still sorting through the pain when he heard them.
Footsteps. Not one set, not two, but many, shoes scuffing linoleum in uneven rhythm, murmurs rising like a tide outside his door. At least ten people. Maybe more.
The voices came next, low and overlapping, familiar.
The door opened without a knock, and the small private room flooded with bodies. Balloons bobbed against the ceiling. Someone held flowers. Phones were already out, angled discreetly.
Classmates.
Damian froze, every muscle locking. These faces had haunted the old Damian's memories. They were the ones who had laughed, who had looked away, who had whispered faggot just loud enough to hear. They were the audience to his suffering.
So why were they here? What did they want from him now that he'd almost succeeded in escaping them?
He didn't have time to finish the thought when a familiar figure rushed into his arms desperately.
"Damian, oh my God, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry—"
Amanda Wheeler. The one bright spot in the boy's memories. The only one who had ever sat with him at lunch, who had texted him every night to make sure he was okay, who had screamed at bullies until her voice cracked. His best friend. Maybe his only real one.
He let her cry into his hospital gown, one hand rising awkwardly to rest on her back. But Amanda wasn't exactly who Damian was worried about. His eyes swept through the small crowd in the room until they landed on the one face he'd been searching for.
Gregory Murphy.
Tall, broad-shouldered, football star, and the golden boy with the easy smile that turned cruel the moment teachers looked away. The one who had led the worst of it, shoving Damian into lockers, spreading rumors, filming him once in the showers and threatening to post it. The antithesis of his existence in this lifetime.
Gregory stood near the back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Damian felt his blood curdle with rage at the sight of the boy before him. Hatred and anger spread through him like wildfire, and before he had the chance to control himself, his lips were already moving.
"Why is he here?" The words came out slowly, but everybody in the room could feel the emotions lingering behind every word.
The room went silent in an instant. Amanda pulled back, confused, but soon understood the deal when she saw Gregory. She had insisted that he didn't come along, but the teacher had persisted, saying attendance was mandatory.
Damian's gaze never left Gregory. "I said—" his voice rose, cracking with fury he couldn't control, "—why the hell is Gregory Murphy here?"
Silence swallowed the room. Balloons swayed gently. Someone's phone lowered.
He sat up straighter, ignoring the pull of the IV, the ache in his bandaged wrists. "Answer me!"
Gregory opened his mouth, but no sound came. His eyes flicked to the floor.
Mr. Brown, one of the senior teachers, stepped forward from the doorway, hands raised placatingly. "Damian, son, everyone just wanted to see that you were—"
"Get out."
Damian said calmly. Under normal circumstances he would never talk to a teacher that way. But this wasn't the old Damian, and there was nothing normal about the circumstance he was in right now. If he hadn't reincarnated in this body, these bastards would have taken a son from his mother. They would have stood over his corpse, shed fake tears and go back to living their lives the very next day. All of this was performative, Damian knew that better than anyone, and he was done pretending like he didn't know.
"Get. Out." He yelled louder this time. "I don't want your flowers. I don't want your balloons. I don't want any of you here."
"I said GET OUT!" he continued until tears began to drop from his eyes reflexively. He was so angry, and it annoyed him that all he could do about it was just scream and shout. Damian wanted to do more, to fight someone, but he was quickly reminded that he wasn't in his old body when a bolt of pain had him lying back down on his bed.
Amanda reached for his hand. "Damian, please—"
He yanked away, trembling. "All of you. Now."
Mr. Brown sighed, defeated. He didn't judge the poor boy, he probably would have done the same if he was in the same situation.
"Come on, everyone. Let's give him space." The old teacher said to the crowd who were probably eager to leave at that point in time.
Slowly, the crowd shuffled out. Gregory lingered longest, something almost like regret flickering across his face before he turned away.
Amanda was the last to go. She stood at the bedside, tears streaming. "I'll come back alone, okay? When you're ready. I'm not leaving you. Not ever."
Damian couldn't look at her. He stared at the ceiling until the door clicked shut and the footsteps faded down the hall.
Only then did he close his eyes, fists clenched under the thin hospital blanket.
He had wished to be ordinary, but there was nothing ordinary about this life one bit. He was struggling once again. And while it was a lot better than being at the front lines, this new life of his was far from being ordinary.
Damian let out a deep breath, relieved that he was alone once more. He loved the silence, but it didn't last for long. Before he could get used to it, the door swung open. He opened his eyes expecting to see his mother, but was surprised to see an unexpected figure right at his door.
No way, why was he here? He's not even from my class, what did he want? Damian wondered as the figure slowly kept walking to the side of his bed. Was he dreaming? Why was his heart suddenly beating so fast? He searched his memories quickly, and things fell into place quickly. The boy before him was probably the hottest boy in their school, Zayn Hale. What was he doing here?