Everyone knew Dean Ambrose. Whether it was by his name or by his demeanor, everyone knew who he was. To some people he was "that guy," but to some—very few—he was Dean. Friends were not something Dean had a lot of. It had been a very long time since someone made a connection with Dean on that level.

He used to have friends, sure, but it wasn't something he desired anymore. Even though he had great, loving parents, Dean couldn't figure it out. He didn't want friends. He didn't want parents. He didn't know what he wanted.

That didn't seem to matter right now as Dean was stuck in the middle of his United States history class. Mr. Hayes didn't seem to care about anyone other than himself. Dean was fairly certain he'd heard his teacher make a couple of racist remarks at the black guy from the wrestling team—Mark Henry or something like that. None of that mattered, though, because there were exactly fourteen minutes and thirty-eight seconds left in class.

Thirty-seven.

This was the game that Dean played with himself. He'd keep checking the time to see how much was left. The true game was trying to understand the concept of time. Four minutes always felt like four hours to him. He never understood time. He never really won the game.

Something—or some one—was occupying his time, though. A new guy at Westhill High School arrived in history class. His name was Seth Rollins and Dean found him to be quite intriguing. He couldn't put his finger on it, but maybe it was Rollins' hair – the blonde streak in it. Maybe it was the fact that the kid looked completely lost. Sure, Westhill wasn't the easiest school to adjust to, but what was up with this kid?

"Ambrose?" the voice of Mr. Hayes called out to Dean.

Dean brought his attention back to the front of the room, where his teacher's gaze met his. Awkward. The older man had his trademark "gotcha" grin draped across his face. "Care to answer the question?"

A grunt escaped Dean's lips. It wasn't really a response, but the entire class was used to it. Well, almost the entire class, that is. The new kid—Seth—was now staring at Dean along with the rest of the class, though this kid was much more interested in what Dean was going to do than anyone else in the room. He wasn't necessarily excited for the reply, but Rollins was intelligent enough to pick up on the tension in the room.

"Have we arrived at that point in the day again?" the teacher asked.

Dean looked back to the clock and coyly retorted, "What, 2:56?"

A chuckle escaped Rollins' lips. It was right then when he realized he made a mistake. Mr. Hayes—though masked by an idiotic smile—wasn't as amused as Seth had been. A quick turn of the head toward Rollins was accompanied by what could only be described as a death stare.

"Something you'd like to add, Mr. Rollins? First day at Westhill and making friends already?"

"What? No, I—" Seth stumbled over his words. But it was too late, Mr. Hayes' mind was made up.

"Why don't you accompany your new friend to Mr. McMahon's office, then?"

The principal? On the first day of school? Seth couldn't believe it. How on Earth would he explain that to his parents? And why was he suddenly being linked to this Ambrose guy? He wasn't even sure what his name was – Dean or Dale, one of the two.

It didn't make any difference. The two boys rose from their chairs and silently sauntered toward the door, Dean much more proudly than Seth.

"Fuck that guy," Dean said as soon as the door closed.

Seth looked at the other teen. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd just been invited to a conversation or if this guy was just talking out loud. Regardless, Seth hated silence. He needed to respond in some form so that this trek to the principal's office didn't last an entirety.

"Where is Mr. McMahon's office?" was the best Seth could muster up.

"You actually headed over there?" Dean replied.

"I don't want to get into anymore trouble than I already am. It's literally my first day at this school and I'm already being sent to the principal's office." Seth was ashamed and it might have been a little too evident to Dean, but that didn't matter right now because he was being sent to the principal's office. Never in a million years would this happen.

Seth was a good student. Sure, he slacked off and played video games and watch TV just like every other teenaged boy his age did, but he never received any grade lower than a B. Not only that, but he wasn't even sure what a principal's office looked like. Seth assumed there were all like the John Hughes films from the '80s, except maybe with less blow-dried hair. And while that might be a cool visual for a few seconds, the potential repercussions of being sent into one made Seth's stomach turn over itself a couple times.

"So don't fucking go," Dean's voice rang out. He wouldn't look at Seth. There was something very intentional about how Dean was talking to Seth right now, like he refused to become too invested in the conversation. Once again, this guy intrigued Seth.

Seth looked at Dean: "What do you mean 'don't go?'"

"I mean, I feel like that was a pretty direct statement," Dean joked.

A smirk graced Seth's lips for a second. This guy is actually kind of funny. "That's not what I meant," Seth covered. "I'm asking what your intentions are."

"My 'intentions?' My intentions are to leave school a minute early and get a head start on doing absolutely nothing for the rest of the day. Mr. Hayes never tells McMahon when I'm coming. I stopped showing up to his office a few months ago and I've never been in trouble for it."

"Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack." Again, what was with these witty remarks? They kept making Seth grin and his face would heat up slightly like nerves were rushing to his head.

They made it to the crossroads in the hallway. Either they could continue walking forward and exit the building, or they could turn to the right and follow the ominous sign with red block lettering PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE à. Seth knew what he should do, but he also knew what he wanted to do. Right now, he wanted anything more to not be in a principal's office on his first day at a new school.

"I guess this is your stop," Dean stated. He looked down the corridor to the right. Seth picked up on Dean's familiarity with the particular hallway.

Seth didn't want to head to the right. It was too intimidating of a visit for the first day. Without really thinking about what he was doing, Seth turned to Dean and was able to get the other boy to look him in the eyes.

Adrenaline surged through Seth's body as Dean's stare met his own. A pair of green eyes pierced his brown ones and, for a moment, Seth lost his train of thought. Maybe Dean's look was so instant that Seth wasn't ready for it. Maybe it was something else.

"You want to get out of here?" Seth asked the other boy.

"What? With you?" Dean questioned.

"Yeah – I mean, if you want to. I guess you don't seem like the kind of guy who would want to hang out with me, but I don't know anyone at Westhill yet," his answer was quick and even perhaps a bit frantic. It was too direct; Seth wouldn't make any friends this way. He needed to get this guy to laugh back at him: "Other than you and Mr. Hayes, that is."

Silence greeted the two for a moment before Dean finally responded. "Do you even know my name?"

"I'm sure I will soon enough," there was an unintentional confidence to Seth's answer. He wasn't sure if it helped at all, but this guy's response sure made it seem that way.

"Dean."

"Seth." The longer-haired teen stuck out his hand to shake. Dean complied and grabbed his hand. Seth noted how firm his handshake was. The guy had a really strong hold.

"Okay, Seth. What kind of trouble do you get yourself into?"

Both Dean Ambrose and Seth Rollins knew this was going to be an interesting afternoon.