Not sure about the world, but you can burn the school for sure. Maybe with someone inside, while we are at it.
Oh, now we are blaming a teacher? 
I’ve thought of several ways for the MC to carry out their revenge, and they can be extremely emotional and destructive, cold and detached, or even believe they are being righteous in their actions, so it will be possible.
Thank you for dropping by and playing! And yeah, the idea of ROs given the theme may sound silly, but they aren’t really “romantic” options; more often than not, things won’t end well, or they have their share of wounds and issues (that you can either exploit, or help them with). They can be friends, accomplices or tools, but feelings are messy and relationships hard, so everything doesn’t always go as planned 
Is it really a twist if a lot of people expect it? 
I’m not confirming anything, though 
Cold, calculating and manipulative are options, but the drive for revenge will never be just for the sake of it; Drew’s death is what spurs the whole thing, but there are plenty of reasons to carry it out 
Guess who’s unbelievably late! How awful of me, giving dates in the middle of holidays and midterms wasn’t a good idea, I’m extremely sorry for the delay. Also, I’m very sorry, because I promised to write something VERY sweet and… things turned out to be like this. Here are the snippets (the story is the same except Drew’s gender):
If your Drew’s a girl:
Audrey
You stare long and hard at the wooden dorm room decorated with a metallic plate bearing a number.
You raise your hand, but instead of knocking, you rest the tips of your fingers on the door’s smooth surface, taking a moment to organize your thoughts.
Drew is here, next door, but the exaltation brings you to a halt, a vague sense of unease settling on the bottom of your belly. Would she consider you too forward to come to her university without telling her, or take it as a pleasant surprise? You haven’t seen each other in months, and although you’re a couple, time and distance aren’t easy on the heart.
Drew managed to be the valedictorian of her year, and although there were great expectations for her farewell speech, it was kept brief and on point, without smiles or fanfare. There were no insults nor accusations, but the implications were clear, poignant; High School hadn’t been a good time for her.
After that, she managed to land herself a place at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the MIT, studying architecture with people who didn’t know her and free of St. Mary’s stigma, where she wasn’t anyone else but just Audrey Moore, Drew for her friends.
The only downside was that she barely had time for you. And well, that she was several states away.
But things had gotten infinitely better, she was more cheerful all around and enjoyed her classes to the fullest, and often shared with you her day-today and anecdotes. The last one was about how a girl in her dorm smuggled a wild goose that managed to terrorize even the security guards. In the end, the girl had to send Zacharias The White Fury back to her hometown, where her goat and four ducks would keep him company.
You should be happy for her, she’s living her dream in one of the most elite schools and is harnessing her potential to the maximum, but it feels like she’s even further away than when she was in Europe. Does that make you a bad partner?
Hush, you better let go of that line of thinking. It’s only natural that you miss her terribly, nothing more. You aren’t awful for thinking that way.
Taking a deep breath, you muster the last bits of courage to rap your knuckles, dying to see her welcoming smile.
A few seconds pass, but to you they feel slow and eternal like a drop of syrup running down a spoon, your heart jumping higher and higher as the hallway grows quieter. Perhaps she’s asleep? Or did she go out? She can’t be ignoring you, can she?
Before your mind starts spiraling down through a path you aren’t liking one single bit, the door finally opens, revealing a wild haired Drew clad in pajama sweats and an oversized shirt that showed off one shoulder.
There’s a dreamy, almost sleepy look on her face, but as she blinks herself to clarity, her whole face lits up like a full moon on a clear night. She hasn’t said anything yet, but she radiates with delight like ripples in the watter, and before you can greet her, throws her arms around you.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” She gushes with joy, tugging at your arm to get into her room, “come inside, the hallway is too chilly. I’m already freezing. Don’t worry about my roommate, she’s in the library.”
Drew’s half-right; while the corridor wasn’t as cold as she put it, her room is a lot warmer, giving it a cozy air that makes you feel snug and ready to relax. There isn’t a lot of living space with two sets of beds and desks, but you can see a clear division between her belongings and her roommate’s; at least you can see the floor on Drew’s side. You can smell a hint of cinnamon and apple, and air freshener you’re pretty sure is your girlfriend’s.
“Sorry for the mess,” she laments, waving her hand towards her bed, full of books laid open, sprawled over her bed, and not realizing that her disorder is the lesser problem, “I fell asleep while I was studying.”
“Did I come in a bad moment?”
“No, no, not at all! I can take a break, don’t worry. Midterms are next month, I was only revising a few things,” she answers, picking up all the tomes and putting them in her desk, careful to not knock over a framed picture she has of you.
“Aren’t you such a diligent girl,” you praise her, sitting down on the now freed mattress.
“I have to work hard if you want to marry rich, don’t I?” She sighs dramatically, sitting besides you with a laptop on her hands.
“Damn, and here I thought I was good at pretending I liked you for your looks.”
“Ha-a, try again next time. You’re lucky I want you here right now, or I would kick you out in the cold.”
“You wouldn’t dare: you like me too much,” you gloat, your smile betraying the sparks you feel in your chest.
“You know me too well.”
She leans against you and snuggles against your chest, her arms wounding up around your waist. You give her a fond look, and you can see a collarbone peeking from the neck of her shirt, a hint of a pale mark standing out against her warm tone. The smile on your lips freezes slightly before you catch yourself and look away.
You don’t need to look further to know what is it; ghosts of burn marks littering her chest. You don’t think you could ever forget.
“What got you so quiet?” She asks with a coy smile, but both of you know better. Sometimes words are not needed to know what the other is thinking. She shifts, and adjusts her shirt to cover them before returning to her previous position. “…Sorry you had to see them.”
It breaks your heart that she believes you may think of her like that. Your disgust isn’t aimed at her; never at her.
“You don’t have to be ashamed. It wasn’t your fault,” you try to reassure her, grabbing her hand and giving it a light squeeze. She feels warm to the touch, almost burning, like a star in the night sky; the fact that a few years ago you could have lost such burning tenderness crushes your trachea. “Never yours.”
Drew gives you a soft look, a soulful contemplation that gives away how she feels. How she’s still hurting, even after all her wounds closed up and mended, because she still hasn’t healed. The scars are old but the pain is fresh.
“I know,” she replies so low you barely hear her. “I know,” she repeats, this time softer, her eyes dropping. She grows quiet, and runs a hand through her curls, the beginning of a self-deprecating laugh bubbling in her throat, “Gosh, I used to be so dumb back then, didn’t I?”
There are wounds that still hurt; some will eventually heal; others never will, and will forever remain with her, her own brand of shame even though she was the victim.
She blinks hard once, and twice, and then keeps her eyes closed to keep the tears at bay, but there are so many things she hasn’t dealt with yet that it floods her, trapping her in a swamp of grief and culpability and helplessness it threatens to stagnate and ultimately drown her in misery.
“None of that,” you answer, wrapping her in your arms and resting your chin on her shoulder, your ear against her hair. Her hair is soft, but there’s a patch that feels rough and brittle against your check; ever since that incident with the bleach, her hair grew weak and scraggy, almost rough to the touch and broke with ease; shoulder length was the longest she could afford. “You’re the smartest, kindest and most outstanding girl I’ve ever known.”
“You forgot prettiest,” she protests weakly, giving you a watery smile.
“Hah. I don’t want you getting a big head.”
“Good thing I have you to keep me in check,” she whispers, resting her head in your chest," you keep everything real. Better."
She’s still hurting. You know better than anyone how she feels, how time and distance don’t always make things easier, the shame and anger and weakness still raw and bloody, but she isn’t alone; she doesn’t have to carry all that pain by herself. Drew has you.
She always had.
“What would I do without you,” she says, doesn’t wonder, because Drew already has the answer. You don’t think you would like it.
It makes you think of what if it had been the other case, if it had been them the one taken from your side.
Of what you would have been willing to do for Drew.
If your Drew’s a guy:
Andrew
You stare long and hard at the wooden dorm room decorated with a metallic plate bearing a number.
You raise your hand, but instead of knocking, you rest the tips of your fingers on the door’s smooth surface, taking a moment to organize your thoughts.
Drew is here, next door, but the exaltation brings you to a halt, a vague sense of unease settling on the bottom of your belly. Would he consider you too forward to come to his university without telling him, or take it as a pleasant surprise? You haven’t seen each other in months, and although you’re a couple, time and distance aren’t easy on the heart.
Drew managed to be the valedictorian of his year, and although there were great expectations for his farewell speech, it was kept brief and on point, without smiles or fanfare. There were no insults nor accusations, but the implications were clear, poignant; High School hadn’t been a good time for him.
After that, he managed to land himself a place at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the MIT, studying architecture with people who didn’t know him and free of St. Mary’s stigma, where he wasn’t anyone else but just Andrew Moore, Drew for his friends.
The only downside was that he barely had time for you. And well, that he was several states away.
But things had gotten infinitely better, he was more cheerful all around and enjoyed his classes to the fullest, and often shared with you his day-today and anecdotes. The last one was about how a guy in his dorm smuggled a wild goose that managed to terrorize even the security guards. In the end, the guy had to send Zacharias The White Fury back to his hometown, where his goat and four ducks would keep him company.
You should be happy for him, he’s living his dream in one of the most elite schools and is harnessing his potential to the maximum, but it feels like he’s even further away than when he was in Europe. Does that make you a bad partner?
Hush, you better let go of that line of thinking. It’s only natural that you miss him terribly, nothing more. You aren’t awful for thinking that way.
Taking a deep breath, you muster the last bits of courage to rap your knuckles, dying to see his welcoming smile.
A few seconds pass, but to you they feel slow and eternal like a drop of syrup running down a spoon, your heart jumping higher and higher as the hallway grows quieter. Perhaps he’s asleep? Or did he go out? He can’t be ignoring you, can he?
Before your mind starts spiraling down through a path you aren’t liking one single bit, the door finally opens, revealing Drew clad in pajama sweats and an oversized shirt with a funky yet faded design.
There’s a dreamy, almost sleepy look on his face, but as he blinks himself to clarity, his whole face lits up like a full moon on a clear night. He hasn’t said anything yet, but he radiates with delight like ripples in the watter, and before you can greet him, throws his arms around your waist.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” He gushes with joy, tugging at your arm to get into his room, “come inside, the hallway is too chilly. I’m already freezing. Don’t worry about my roommate, he’s in the library.”
Drew’s half-right; while the corridor wasn’t as cold as he put it, his room is a lot warmer, giving it a cozy air that makes you feel snug and ready to relax. There isn’t a lot of living space with two sets of beds and desks, but you can see a clear division between his belongings and his roommate’s; at least you can see the floor on Drew’s side. You can smell a hint of citrus, and air freshener you’re pretty sure is your boyfriend’s.
“Sorry for the mess,” he laments, waving his hand towards his bed, full of books laid open, sprawled over his bed, and not realizing that his disorder is the lesser problem, “I fell asleep while I was studying.”
“Did I come in a bad moment?”
“No, no, not at all! I can take a break, don’t worry. Midterms are next month, I was only revising a few things,” he answers, picking up all the tomes and putting them in his desk, careful to not knock over a framed picture he has of you.
“Aren’t you such a diligent guy,” you praise him, sitting down on the now freed mattress.
“I have to work hard if you want to marry rich, don’t I?” He sighs dramatically, sitting besides you.
“Damn, and here I thought I was good at pretending I liked you for your looks.”
“Ha-a, try again next time. You’re lucky I want you here right now, or I would kick you out in the cold.”
“You wouldn’t dare: you like me too much,” you gloat, your smile betraying the sparks you feel in your chest.
“You know me too well.”
He slings an arm around your shoulders as you lean against his chest, where his heart beats and spikes a bit further when you sight in delight. His T-shirt has rucked up a bit over, giving you an eyeful of the planes of his stomach and hints of pale marks standing out against his warm tone. The smile on your lips freezes slightly before you catch yourself and look away.
You don’t need to look further to know what is it; ghosts of burn marks littering his stomach and hip. You don’t think you could ever forget.
“What got you so quiet?” He asks with a coy smile, but both of you know better. Sometimes words are not needed to know what the other is thinking. He shifts, and adjusts his shirt to cover them before returning to his previous position. “…Sorry you had to see them.”
It breaks your heart that he believes you may think of him like that. Your disgust isn’t aimed at him; never at him.
“You don’t have to be ashamed. It wasn’t your fault,” you try to reassure him, grabbing his hand and giving it a light squeeze. He feels warm to the touch, almost burning, like a star in the night sky; the fact that a few years ago you could have lost such burning tenderness crushes your trachea. “Never yours.”
Drew gives you a soft look, a soulful contemplation that gives away how he feels. How he’s still hurting, even after all his wounds closed up and mended, because he still hasn’t healed. The scars are old but the pain is fresh.
“I know,” he replies so low you barely hear him. “I know,” he repeats, this time softer, his eyes dropping. He grows quiet, and runs a hand through the fuzz of his hair, the beginning of a self-deprecating laugh bubbling in his throat, “Gosh, I used to be so dumb back then, didn’t I?”
There are wounds that still hurt; some will eventually heal; others never will, and will forever remain with him, his own brand of shame even though he was the victim.
He blinks hard once, and twice, and then keeps his eyes closed to keep the tears at bay, but there are so many things he hasn’t dealt with yet that it floods him, trapping him in a swamp of grief and culpability and helplessness it threatens to stagnate and ultimately drown him in misery.
“None of that,” you answer, sitting up to look at him properly in the eyes. Lifting a hand, you caress the side of his head, feeling his shaved hair prickling the tips of your fingers; ever since that incident with the bleach, his hair grew weak and scraggy, rough to the touch and broke with ease; shaving it was the most practical, even in not most desired, option. “You’re the smartest, kindest and most outstanding guy I’ve ever known.”
“You forgot most handsome,” he protests weakly, giving you a watery smile.
“Hah. I don’t want you getting a big head.”
“Good thing I have you to keep me in check,” he whispers, resting his head in your chest," you keep everything real. Better."
He’s still hurting. You know better than anyone how he feels, how time and distance don’t always make things easier, the shame and anger and weakness still raw and bloody, but he isn’t alone; he doesn’t have to carry all that pain by himself. Drew has you.
He always had.
“What would I so without you,” he says, doesn’t wonder, because Drew already has the answer. You don’t think you would like it.
It makes you think of what if it had been the other case, if it had been them the one taken from your side.
Of what you would have been willing to do for Drew.
If your Drew’s nb:
Andrea
You stare long and hard at the wooden dorm room decorated with a metallic plate bearing a number.
You raise your hand, but instead of knocking, you rest the tips of your fingers on the door’s smooth surface, taking a moment to organize your thoughts.
Drew is here, next door, but the exaltation brings you to a halt, a vague sense of unease settling on the bottom of your belly. Would they consider you too forward to come to their university without telling them, or take it as a pleasant surprise? You haven’t seen each other in months, and although you’re a couple, time and distance aren’t easy on the heart.
Drew managed to be the valedictorian of their year, and although there were great expectations for their farewell speech, it was kept brief and on point, without smiles or fanfare. There were no insults nor accusations, but the implications were clear, poignant; High School hadn’t been a good time for them.
After that, they managed to land themselves a place at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, the MIT, studying architecture with people who didn’t know them and free of St. Mary’s stigma, where they weren’t anyone else but just Andrea Moore, Drew for their friends.
The only downside was that they barely had time for you. And well, that they were several states away.
But things had gotten infinitely better, they were more cheerful all around and enjoyed their classes to the fullest, and often shared with you their day-today and anecdotes. The last one was about how an enby in their dorm smuggled a wild goose that managed to terrorize even the security guards. In the end, the enby had to send Zacharias The White Fury back to their hometown, where their goat and four ducks would keep him company.
You should be happy for them, she’s living their dream in one of the most elite schools and is harnessing their potential to the maximum, but it feels like she’s even further away than when they were in Europe. Does that make you a bad partner?
Hush, you better let go of that line of thinking. It’s only natural that you miss them terribly, nothing more. You aren’t awful for thinking that way.
Taking a deep breath, you muster the last bits of courage to rap your knuckles, dying to see their welcoming smile.
A few seconds pass, but to you they feel slow and eternal like a drop of syrup running down a spoon, your heart jumping higher and higher as the hallway grows quieter. Perhaps she’s asleep? Or did they go out? They can’t be ignoring you, can they?
Before your mind starts spiraling down through a path you aren’t liking one single bit, the door finally opens, revealing a wild haired Drew clad in pajama sweats and an oversized shirt that showed off one shoulder.
There’s a dreamy, almost sleepy look on their face, but as they blink themselves to clarity, their whole face lits up like a full moon on a clear night. They haven’t said anything yet, but they radiate with delight like ripples in the watter, and before you can greet them, they throw their arms around you.
“I can’t believe you’re here!” They gush with joy, tugging at your arm to get you into their room, “come inside, the hallway is too chilly. I’m already freezing. Don’t worry about my roommate, xe’s in the library.”
Drew’s half-right; while the corridor wasn’t as cold as they put it, their room is a lot warmer, giving it a cozy air that makes you feel snug and ready to relax. There isn’t a lot of living space with two sets of beds and desks, but you can see a clear division between their belongings and their roommate’s; at least you can see the floor on Drew’s side. You can smell a hint of sea breeze, and air freshener you’re pretty sure is your partner’s.
“Sorry for the mess,” they lament, waving their hand towards their bed, full of books laid open, sprawled over their bed, and not realizing that their disorder is the lesser problem, “I fell asleep while I was studying.”
“Did I come in a bad moment?”
“No, no, not at all! I can take a break, don’t worry. Midterms are next month, I was only revising a few things,” they answer, picking up all the tomes and putting them in their desk, careful to not knock over a framed picture they have of you.
“Aren’t you such a diligent enby,” you praise them, sitting down on the now freed mattress.
“I have to work hard if you want to marry rich, don’t I?” They sigh dramatically, sitting besides you with a laptop on their hands.
“Damn, and here I thought I was good at pretending I liked you for your looks.”
“Ha-a, try again next time. You’re lucky I want you here right now, or I would kick you out in the cold.”
“You wouldn’t dare: you like me too much,” you gloat, your smile betraying the sparks you feel in your chest.
“You know me too well.”
They lean against you and snuggles against your chest, their arms wounding up around your waist. You give them a fond look, and you can see a collarbone peeking from the neck of their shirt, a hint of a pale mark standing out against their warm tone. The smile on your lips freezes slightly before you catch yourself and look away.
You don’t need to look further to know what is it; ghosts of burn marks littering their chest. You don’t think you could ever forget.
“What got you so quiet?” They ask with a coy smile, but both of you know better. Sometimes words are not needed to know what the other is thinking. They shift, and adjust their shirt to cover them before returning to their previous position. “…Sorry you had to see them.”
It breaks your heart that they believe you may think of them like that. Your disgust isn’t aimed at them; never at them.
“You don’t have to be ashamed. It wasn’t your fault,” you try to reassure them, grabbing their hand and giving it a light squeeze. They feel warm to the touch, almost burning, like a star in the night sky; the fact that a few years ago you could have lost such burning tenderness crushes your trachea. “Never yours.”
Drew gives you a soft look, a soulful contemplation that gives away how they feel. How they’re still hurting, even after all their wounds closed up and mended, because they still haven’t healed. The scars are old but the pain is fresh.
“I know,” they reply so low you barely hear them. “I know,” they repeat, this time softer, their eyes dropping. They grow quiet, and run a hand through the fuzz of their head, the beginning of a self-deprecating laugh bubbling in their throat, “Gosh, I used to be so dumb back then, didn’t I?”
There are wounds that still hurt; some will eventually heal; others never will, and will forever remain with them, their own brand of shame even though they were the victim.
They blink hard once, and twice, and then keep their eyes closed to keep the tears at bay, but there are so many things they haven’t dealt with yet that it floods them, trapping them in a swamp of grief and culpability and helplessness it threatens to stagnate and ultimately drown them in misery.
“None of that,” you answer, sitting up to look at them properly in the eyes. Lifting a hand, you caress the side of their head, feeling their shaved hair prickling the tips of your fingers; ever since that incident with the bleach, their hair grew weak and scraggy, rough to the touch and broke with ease; shaving it was the most practical, even if not the most desired, option. “You’re the smartest, kindest and most outstanding fella I’ve ever known.”
“You forgot hottest,” they protest weakly, giving you a watery smile.
“Hah. I don’t want you getting a big head.”
“Good thing I have you to keep me in check,” they whisper, resting their head in your chest, “you keep everything real. Better.”
They’re still hurting. You know better than anyone how they feel, how time and distance don’t always make things easier, the shame and anger and weakness still raw and bloody, but they aren’t alone; they don’t have to carry all that pain by themselves. Drew has you.
They always had.
“What would I so without you,” they say, don’t wonder, because Drew already has the answer. You don’t think you would like it.
And it makes you think of what if it had been the other case, if it had been them the one taken from your side.
Of what you would have been willing to do for Drew.
Fan fact: Andrea is considered an unisex name, and is also the name of both of Drew’s (paternal) grandparents.
I hope you enjoy these snippets, and if I’ve gotten a pronoun wrong, please tell me! 
I’m still not done with midterms and college-related stuff, and the next update will more than likely take a while, but I have in the works:
- A talk about prom.
- Some of the bullies appearing sooner.
- Hints about what might be Drew’s (true) personality like, without the MC’s idealization Is Drew really that great?
Also, spoilers for Chapter 1:
- What Bethany did could have left some serious lasting damage on either Drew or the MC. What do you think she might have done?
Have a great day! 