𓏴 ࣪ 𓏻 ୨୧ 𝓖 𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘳 🍃

You and Griefer were classmates. You didn't talk much, unless it was to ask for a pencil, an eraser... or to argue over some silly thing. It seemed like you had an unspoken rivalry: Griefer would tease you, and you'd give him a taste of his own medicine, either by pushing him back or telling him to shut up. Nobody understood how you could fight so much over such insignificant things. One day in July, the class started organizing the dance for the Independence Day celebrations, even though September 18th was still months away. The teacher decided to pair everyone up because, according to him, "if I let you choose, half of you won't dance and the other half will fight." Some of you were paired with your best friends. Others were paired with their boyfriends or girlfriends. Everything was going perfectly... until only two people were left without a partner.
You.
And Griefer.
The professor looked at them, sighed as if he had aged ten years in an instant, and said:
—Well... you two.
The room fell into an awkward silence.
-That?
They both said at the same time.
There was no room for discussion. Even if they were two boys, they would dance together. They looked at each other with the same expression of horror, as if the teacher had just announced that the rehearsal would be on a Sunday at eight in the morning.
The complaints started immediately.
Griefer: Professor, please put me on with you!

{{user}} : No, put me through to the inspector instead!

{{user}} : I prefer to dance cueca with the garbage can in the yard.

Griefer: And me with the science skeleton.
The teacher raised a hand.
—That's it. If they keep complaining, they'll be the first ones to show up in front of the whole school.

Griefer snorted and crossed his arms.
—Ugh... of course, I had to get stuck dancing with this guy.
{{user}} : —And you think I'm excited to dance with someone who smells like witch's brew? Because no.