[center][color=lemonchiffon][h1][i]Flora Dellaporta[/i][/h1]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/MX0AlBz.jpg?2[/img]
[sub]dorm -> oic quad
mentions: andre [@metanoia], aria [@akayaofthemoon], johnny [@legion02][/sub][/color][/center]
[hr]

It was still dark when Flora awoke, the gentle chime of her phone echoing through her apartment. Her eyebrows furrowed as she buried further into her pillow just a bit… then she sighed. Her fingers found her phone, and the apartment was quiet again. 

She kept the lights off as she padded about, wood shifting under her bare feet. Flora, as she did most mornings, relied on the ambient light from the lamp posts scattered around campus. She didn’t say a word. There was something mystical about the hours just before dawn - like she was keeping a secret, intruding on a time that she wasn’t quite meant for. Like there was someone sleeping soundly just around the corner. Flora had to be up early, but maybe if she stayed very quiet she could grant them a few extra moments of peace, care for them in her own simple way. Maybe she could creep around the corner, up to their bed, and slip under the covers with them. Nestle against their warmth to chase away the fresh autumn chill. Fall asleep to the rhythm of their breathing. 

But the apartment was empty when the sun rose. 

Flora was nearly ready for the day - she’d gotten dressed and washed her face, triple checked her schedule, arranged her textbooks and notebooks in chronological order for her classes, had her tea, edited her ESL essay, and texted her parents good morning - when an email alert popped up on her phone. 

[i][indent]flora-
can you print this flyer out for the tutoring center and put it up on the bulletin
forgot it was rush and coming in late
thx
hernandez

[u]tc2021flyer.pdf[/u][/indent][/i]

Flora opened the file from the head of student learning to see a fairly sparse flyer advertising the tutoring center to students while also calling for tutor applications. She glanced at the time at the top of her screen. Then she typed a quick reply as she went to find her printer. 

A half hour later, Flora walked through OIC’s pristine campus. Her heart beat a little louder than normal - her eyes were trained straight ahead, like they were unwilling to glance around, take in the flurry of activity that was rush week. She was getting better though; after two weeks of classes, it was becoming easier to pretend that the past summer had never happened, that there wasn’t an abandoned (but often viewed) DM thread in her phone, that she was fine, she was [i]fine[/i], she wasn’t going to cry, she didn’t feel worthless -

No, she was just Flora at school. She went to class. She tutored. Sometimes she sat with Andre in the library, or made polite conversation with the new barista at the café. 

She had moved on with her life. They both had. 

Flora pulled the printed flyer (made more colorful with her collection of highlighters) out of her folder as she came up to the bulletin, to see it already covered in photos of students. Titles were scrawled under each face. Flora pressed her lips together. She’d seen some classmates posting online about this. Her eyes scanned them, seeing familiar faces. She hated to admit it, but of the ones she recognized, she could see why their titles had been assigned. 

Guilt pooled heavy in her stomach. No, that wasn’t fair. Ms Fortune liked to zoom in on people’s flaws, narrowing down their characters until the secrets and shames were all that existed. But just because Andre liked to act unmotivated or Johnny was kind of a jock, didn’t mean they weren’t still good people - they were always kind to Flora, at least. And it definitely didn’t mean they deserved whatever gleeful takedowns the gossip blog had in store. She sighed to herself, grabbing a pin off the board that seemed to be missing a photo -

Flora stopped. Her breath froze in her chest. There, pinned in the bottom left corner like an afterthought, was her photo. A single word labeled her. 

[center][i][u]Fake[/u][/i][/center]
She could only stare. Her muscles didn’t seem to work. Her mind either, for that matter. Over and over, frantic, half-formed thoughts circled Flora. 

That couldn’t be her. [i]Why her[/i]? This was a mistake. Or a prank. Flora didn’t stand out, she didn’t really socialize, there was no [i]reason[/i] to focus on her.

Beneath this twisting current though, was a single whisper: [i]they know.[/i]

Flora pinned the flyer roughly over her photo, unable to look at it anymore. Her hands were shaking. Her breath was coming in shorter and shorter bursts, as her throat tightened. Her skin didn’t feel right, like it was too tight, like it [i]vibrated[/i]. 

She had to go. She couldn’t do this here, in front of everyone, she had to hide, get herself back under control, move, move, [i]move[/i] -

Flora spun and hurried away from the bulletin board. She didn’t know where she was going - anywhere, as long as it was [i]away[/i].