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savanaclaw:

octavinelle:

scarabia:

pomefiore:

ignihyde:

diasomnia:

bonus of me getting my best friend's seal of approval

ruggie’s been in fights before. 

too many to count, really. it’s a given, considering his tendency to take anything that seems like it can be repurposed or sold. old habits die hard, he supposes. even if he’s living way better off than how he was a couple years ago, he still feels that itch in his fingers whenever he sees something he can take. it’s never ending, that constant want in his gut for more. it’s a good thing that most of the students on campus are so easily duped. 

most of them, at least. 

ruggie knows he’s agile enough to outrun any spell cast at him. scratch that, ruggie knows he can outrun anything if he tries hard enough. he’s got stamina and determination for days, and simple humans could never outpace a beastman. especially not a hyena beastman. even if ruggie gets caught pickpocketing, it’s just too easy to escape from the scene of the crime. after all, some kids never grew up needing to run like he did.  

but nobody’s perfect, and even ruggie messes up sometimes. really, he’s gotta hand it to those prissy heartslabyul kids with nothing bouncing around in their empty heads besides tea and biscuits, they know how to aim their spells. 

thankfully, the magical properties of the school uniform nullified most of the effects of the spells that hit him. it’s just a shame his face isn’t quite as immune. as luck would have it, one of the fire spells just barely managed to hit him, leaving him with a minor burn on the side of his face. he’s lucky he got away with his life, really. who knows what would’ve happened if it hit him dead on. 

as he sprints through corridors, desperately holding onto the heartslabyul students’ wallets, he briefly considers playing goody-goody later in the year so he can recruit them. it’s really too bad they were aiming their spells at him rather than at a spelldrive disc. their talents would be better utilized on the field. 

leona would probably be pissed he brought along heartslabyul students, but in the end he would begrudgingly acknowledge their potential. and when he realizes what great players ruggie brought, he’ll toss some of his princely dollar bills ruggie’s way as a thank you, and ruggie can treat himself to a hard-earned meal. 

yet even as the prospect of securing a dinner lies tantalizing before him, the throbbing pain of the burn on his face snaps him out of it.

maybe he should be getting used to burns by now, considering all the times he’s accidentally been blasted with a fireball in the countless spelldrive training matches in savanaclaw, but what can he say? he’s a sensitive hyena.  

ruggie takes a moment to glance behind him. the corridor is empty. those heartslabyul kids seem to have given up on trying to trail him. 

he takes a moment to slow down and catch his breath. 

he’s not dumb. now is no time for rest. ruggie knows that at this very moment, he should go to the infirmary as soon as possible. or maybe his dorm instead, to ensure that those heartslabyul kids won’t find him and try to start something again. who cares if the sweltering heat of savanaclaw irritates his injury? at least he’d be safe.  

yet as he begins his trek to the hall of mirrors, he hesitates. stops again. glances around. and decides to make a detour to your place instead. 

stupid, he knows. but his feet seem to have a mind of its own, dragging him to you rather than back to his room. 

nobody would go looking for him at your place, he rationalizes, it’s safe. it wouldn’t aggravate his burns like savanaclaw would. 

most importantly though, there’s you there. and ruggie, the greedy hyena he is, would endure any pain if it meant a singular second longer with you. your presence is, admittedly, compensation enough for the troubles he has to face.

but the rational part of him doesn’t want to drag you into his problems. what if they do come looking for him at yours? you’re a stupid bleeding heart, and considering your track record for playing savior, he doesn’t doubt that you’d immediately try to help him. if he makes you take care of him, makes you deal with his own situations, then he owes you one. and if there’s anything he wants to avoid most, it’s owing people. 

and he absolutely cannot owe you, of all people, anything, lest he fall into madness trying to figure out the unsolvable problem of how to pay back someone who deserves something far more than what he can provide. what can ruggie bucchi offer you that matches anything you’ve done for him? honestly, he shivers to think about what sort of repentance would be enough for you. 

you’d probably tell him that you don’t need some sort of thank-you gift, and that’d make him go crazy. usually, he’d praise those people to heaven and back, grateful to keep his money and his time. but with you, he feels like he’s tearing his own hair out in frustration. just take his damn gifts of gratitude! 

but even as his brain tells him to turn right back around and go back to the hall of mirrors, he finds himself at your doorstep. he hesitates a little before pocketing the wallets and knocking. 

...now that he thinks about it, do you even have proper first aid equipment?

“ruggie?” you say as you open the door, interrupting his thoughts. your expression morphs from being confused to being worried. he feels like an insect under a microscope when your eyes flick to the rather prominent burn on his face.

“had a little run-in,” he laughs. the sound isn’t as smooth as he thought it’d be, and it only seems to make you frown even more. “can i, uh, y’know, crash on your couch real quick?”

he probably looks like a stray dog, begging for scraps at your doorstep. do you think he’s pitiful? is he someone to be pitied?

your eyes soften. “like i’d say no. come in.”

you step aside, allowing him access into your home. it’s funny, the way the outside is so rundown, but the inside is perfectly cozy. for some reason, you personally put in the effort into transforming an old house clearly falling apart at the seams into something somewhat decent looking. 

ruggie doesn’t really understand why you bothered. it isn’t your responsibility to take on the burden. if it were him, he would’ve just let someone else do it.

doesn’t mean he’s not a fan of your furniture choices though. you suggest he go sit on the couch and he practically collapses onto it. his ears pick up the sound of you running water and opening cabinets. probably looking for first aid. good to know you do, in fact, possess medical supplies. 

you scurry over to where he’s sprawled on your couch and hand him a cool, wet cloth.

“thanks,” he grins, sighing with relief as he presses it against the burn, “you’re too good to me, you know that? you okay with having me in your house like this?”

(are you okay with having me at all? are you okay with me?)

“of course i am,” you say with a huff, placing the kit on a nearby table, “why wouldn’t i be?” 

ruggie blinks. he can think of a multitude of reasons why you wouldn’t want him in your space.

“if someone who stole from me came up to me asking for help, i wouldn’t just, y’know, let them in with a smile and be like, ‘sure, why don’t you put your feet up on my couch, even!’” he says. with a more rueful sigh, adds on, “man, you’re just too nice for this school. ya gotta learn that not everyone has your best interests at heart.”

you roll your eyes playfully. clearly, it’s not the first time someone’s told you to be more alert. it surely isn’t ruggie’s first time telling you to watch your back. at this point, he’s pretty sure the information just goes in one ear and out the other.

why do you care so much? actually, scratch that, why don’t you care at all?

“you didn’t steal from me, you stole from grim,” you quip back, popping open the lid of the first aid kit, “so technically, you haven’t wronged me just yet. at least not enough to warrant me shutting the door in your face. anyways, i’ll let you know, i’ve been extremely, super-duper careful. haven’t gotten into a sticky situation in a week now.”

“...hate to be the one to break it to you, but most people don’t get into ‘sticky situations’ like overblots ever.”

you burst out into laughter, and the sound is just as soothing as the cool press of the cloth against his raw skin. maybe you do possess some sort of magical prowess after all, the way you make all aches dissipate into thin air. 

no, that’s not it. no amount of healing magic could hold a candle to how your smile heals his soul.

“ya know what,” he says with a smile, sitting up as you grab ointment, “i won’t look a gift horse in the mouth. if you’re offering oh-so politely to give me medical care for free, well, just who am i to refuse?”

“honest as always, huh?” you smile back. you gently pull ruggie’s hand away to apply ointment to the burn, and ruggie’s heart rate spikes. when you grip his chin so you can be more precise, he’s almost certain that you can feel the way his face heats up. 

he could’ve done it himself. but you just took it upon yourself to do it for him like the goody-two-shoes you are. what a savior. 

ruggie’s learned that in the real world, the only person he can rely on is himself. when he got hurt and scraped up, the only person that could help was him and him alone. but with you, he’s reminded of how his grammy used to kneel in front of him and kiss the cuts on his hands better. he’s reminded of that feeling of having somebody else take care of him for once. 

it’s nice. being here with you. letting you take care of him. really nice. 

you’re nice. 

ruggie can’t help but stare at your concentrated expression as you carefully dab at the raw skin. can’t help but stare at the furrow of your brow, the way your eyes squint slightly, the way you bite the bottom of your lip. how would you react if he told you the reason why he got burned was because he nabbed the wallets off some poor heartslabyul kids? how would you react if he told you, yet again, that he’s stolen something?

you probably wouldn’t care. you probably already know the reason why he got hurt was because of some nefarious act of greed. the thought that that’s what you think of him, someone who perpetually lies and steals, is a heavy one, but nonetheless true. 

but you still sit here and treat his wounds. you, who is possibly the very definition of an angel, treat the wounds of a thief without a moment’s hesitation. you and your stupid bleeding heart.

why?

“does it hurt?” you ask softly, pulling away. ruggie can’t help but try to chase after your touch like the greedy hyena he is. begging for more than what he’s allowed like he always does.

“‘course not,” he snickers, “who do you think i am? it’s gonna take a lot more than a little cream to get my hair standing on end.”

“of course,” you roll your eyes again with a smile, procuring gauze from your first aid kit, “shouldn’t have asked. you’re the most resilient student i’ve ever met.”

ruggie’s shoulders shake as he laughs, a hand coming to his mouth to partially hide the ever-familiar grin on his face.

“resilient, huh?” he says, “that’s definitely one way to put it.”

you reach out once more, cradling his face and covering the burn with gauze. you treat him like some sort of precious object. what a stark contrast to him being thrown against the floor only hours prior.  

does he deserve this genuine kindness from you? maybe not. but when has the concept of “deserving something” ever stopped ruggie? 

“and… there,” you breathe a sigh of relief, a proud smile working its way to your face as you gaze upon your incredible work of medical genius, “good as new!”

ruggie’s fingers reach up to gently brush against the gauze. he feels like he’s just cheated you of your time, medical supplies, and energy. 

…he hopes you can forgive him, because he doesn’t feel a lick of regret. 

(what can he say? he never said he was ashamed of being a thief.)

“thanks,” he says, “you’re surprisingly good with first aid. must’ve had to open up the kit a lot recently, huh?”

“you know it,” you sigh dramatically, closing the kit with a click! “you’d think after the third time, something would change! but nope, i’m still getting thrown around like a ragdoll left and right.”

you seem to realize something, and inquisitively tilt your head towards him. “now that i think about it, why’d you come here instead of the nurse? they could’ve healed you up in a second of what it took for me to bandage you.”

“you’re asking that now?” ruggie asks, “man, you really are too trusting. i could almost mistake you for kalim.”

“very funny. so?”

ruggie hums, pretending to be lost in thought.

“...i’m used to doing it this way,” is what he settles on. kicking up the dramatics, he sighs and places a hand on his heart. “back home, there weren’t many people who could do fancy-schmancy healing magic, y’know? so this is more familiar.”

“liar,” you accuse immediately, “you could’ve just done it yourself then.”

“i wasn’t lying! and anyways, fine, i guess i just wanted to leech off you, then.”

“hey!”

ruggie laughs again, leaning back on the couch as you giggle along with him. 

“okay, okay,” he relents, “you want an honest answer from lil’ ol’ me? i like being doted on. y’know, i’m always being run so ragged by leona all the time, i can’t do all the work myself. why should i when i could come here and get you to take care of me and serve me delicious snacks?”

you gasp in mock offense. “is that all i am to you? free help and food?”

“and free couches!”

okay, yeah. maybe he’s not being entirely honest. even though it is true he likes being doted on. having grandmas serve you biscuits whenever you feign sickness was always pretty nice. but when you dote on him, it’s just… well.. 

you make him feel like he’s worth more than he actually is.

but when you laugh with him and swat at his shoulder, he thinks that you probably don’t need to know all that. 

“...thanks again,” he smiles, “is it okay if i stay a little longer? i don’t feel like walking all the way back to my dorm.”

“duh!” you say immediately. the way you don’t even hesitate, the way you don’t think twice about having ruggie in your home, in the space you so carefully curated, it makes him feel butterflies in his stomach. 

you don’t mind if he stays. you don’t mind letting someone so obviously beneath you take up space in your home and use up your supplies. you don’t mind keeping a lowly thief. 

…you really are too trusting.

“wait,” you tell him, “let me go get you a drink or something.”

“there’s the free food part. been waiting for you to pull that out!”

“hey, don’t test me! or i’m gonna feed you grim’s cat food!”