— ᨳଓ .

yongliang rolls his eyes. "clearly, that is because of your lack of imagination. otherwise you might have done something like that anyway." honestly, he is not that sure about that, but he desperately tries to find some ground to stand on. "oh come on, it is not that difficult to get someone's hair. you are basically shedding all the time. i'd just wait for the right moment..." yongliang quiets down for a moment before reaching out and taking a strand of hair from nari's shoulder, where it was hanging on his clothes. "see! completely not difficult. it's not like i would need your whole head. but if you want a sleepover, you can just say," he adds the last sentence with a smile.

nari doesn't want to laugh. honestly, he should be far more offended than he is. yet, he finds himself letting out a laugh deep enough to make his stomach cramp. "wait for the right moment? fuck, do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?" he says between chuckles. laughter stops suddenly as yongilang nabs a strand right off him. shit, that was pretty easy. "alright, fine. it's still weird, though..." the last sentence drives his eyes to meet the other's. it was dumb to let the same competitor eager to cast spells on him into his home, but if there is anything nari loved, it was risk and absolutely shitty decisions. "yeah? well, sleepover at my place, then. i'm free tonight."

sumire has a type, or at least tova thinks that she has a type, and so there are some expectations in her head already when she takes the phone. "you know, maybe that is good too? if the man has no page and no pictures, or if it looks too good, it is always a red flag," tova says with her nose up high as if she had all the experiences dealing with the opposite gender (which she definitely doesn't have, as she tries to avoid them as if they had the plague). she scrolls down, noticing that the guy definitely likes his money and pretty things. "well... better than pics with fish," tova laughs, giving the phone back to sumire. "i dunno he's like... i guess he seems okay? as much as man who is clearly flaunting that he has the newest iphone can be," she rolls her eyes because that one was a little bit on the nose. tova doesn't really know what to think about him because she wants to immediately hate him but cannot find a reason for it. "you think he has money? or maybe he wants to be your sugar baby," tova snickers, hiding her laugh behind the palm of her hand. "and he has weird chin."

sumire nods eagerly, "mhmm, exactly what i was thinking." she tracks each and every microexpression on tova's porcelain face. eyes drift down to her lips a few too many times. she decides to go back to the screen, missing the eye roll just in time. "yeah, i mean, he's definitely a guy who's into the nicer things." silky straight hair is tossed over her shoulder, light dancing over fresh highlights as it shifts. "kinda makes me feel good, you know? like he has such good taste, and i'm part of that..." giddy at the thought, she almost doesn't catch tova's snide laughter. almost. "heeey," glossy lips tilt into a pout as she whines. "don't say that! he has his own money- a-and his chin isn't weird!" another look down at her phone brought an uncomfortable silence. then, a deeper frown. "fuck, now it's all i can notice. thanks, tova." the phone is snatched from her friend’s grip in an irritated huff.

verity slowly pushes herself off the counter. bare feet meeting the floor in movements that were unsettling, as if she was still adjusting to the new body she was in. araceli's face remained twisted into something dark and hollow, stripped of everything that made it her own. there was no space left between them as araceli's dark eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. her palm raises to settle over his chest where his heart was beating. amusement flickered behind araceli's eyes although it was verity looking back at him. "you really think you can save her, don't you?" the question was genuine. his determination fascinated the demon more than she cared to admit. why stay? why make this his burden? what did it matter if this girl lost her soul? humans and their relentless need to save one another and the acts of love had always been one of verity's favorite things to steady. a long, dramatic sigh slips past araceli's lips followed by an exaggerated shrug. "fine. but only because you're boring me now." a smile spreads across his lover's face, too wide, stretching from cheek to cheek. then suddenly, it vanishes. a loud gasp shatters into the silence. the kind of gasp that's let out after being held underwater for far too long. araceli lurches forward as though she'd bene shoved from behind, colliding with his chest. her knees nearly buckle beneath her. confusion, fear, and relief all crowd her face at once. his name leaves her lips with a little more than a whisper. until she realizes everything that's just happened. and her eyes drop to the crumbled paper clenched in his hand, color draining from her face. "kôna, i-i was going to tell you. i-"

the demon's question sparked a glimmer of determination in the rich brown of his eyes. "i know i will," he corrected. there was no sign of give in his words, only the type of devotion that could drive a man mad when left unchecked. he could not imagine a future where he did not save araceli. in this moment, he doubted he'd want to live if he failed, no matter how much his family depended on him or what obligations tied him to life itself. there was a fragile 'thank you' before araceli burst back into his presence. malevolence took the back seat as her energy, familiarly warm and undeniably his, returned. arms moved to catch her in a tight embrace and support her trembling frame. peaceful relief was short-lived. "tell me what, exactly?" he let go of her. the paper was thrown with enough force to make it look like it weighed more when it hit the floor. "how you signed away your soul for fucking acting? how you plan to leave me for cain?" for once, kôna was not measured or careful. anger seeped off of him and contorted his face into one he'd never shown her. "i cannot believe you would lie and keep this shit from me, araceli-" he felt sick, angry, betrayed. "do you have any idea how much you've fucked our lives up?!"

all wynne wants right now, the only thing in this world, is to smoke the cigarette currently pinched between his middle and index finger. minding the handler that his father so thoughtfully hired for him ( ie: the bodyguard employed regardless of wynne's belief that there was no need for such a thing to be contractually worked out ) is not on his list of priorities, to say the least; and sure, it's petulant of him to give him such a hard time, but he isn't used to anyone being in his space, alright? this has been a long first week of adjusting to this, and now he's frustrated. the stick taps impatiently against one of his ankles where he's sat on the balcony swing, legs criss cross. he tips his chin up towards moose where he stands, his tone and smile equally sardonic as he says: "i've heard secondhand smoke kills. that could be a harm. to you." this is shaped like it's supposed to be a threat, nevermind that he hasn't even lit it yet, or that he's about as threatening as a teddy bear, his eyes even presently clinging to the other man, an unspoken plea to please, please go away embedded inside them — or that he's practically on the verge of pouting. he's certainly whining up a storm, even if his lip is not jutting out. "i'll bet they actually needed protecting. whatever my father told you, i think he's a little paranoid, love. his safety, i get being worried about. or mom, that'd make sense too. me, though... world's right well forgotten about me, and that's how i like it. any chance you'll forget to come to work sometime?" wynne sits up suddenly, eyes squinting, tone taking a conspiratorial shift as he suggests: "maybe i can match whatever he's paying you." he can absolutely not. "how much? i'll match it."

moose has to swallow a laugh by the time he realizes wynne's smoke reminder is meant to be a threat. "please, with this job i'd be lucky if it's secondhand smoke that takes me out." honesty bleeds through an otherwise detached dismissal. years of experience bring a steady ease to him that is… slightly unnerving. danger wasn’t new and spoiled brats weren't, either. the sulking one that sat on the swing looked more like a kicked puppy than the typical rich kids moose was tasked with quarreling. pools of blue look to him for a sliver of mercy he hasn’t had since his youth, painting a half-smile over his lips at the pitiful attempt to grasp at something long gone. “unfortunately, you don’t have to be relevant to be at risk. it takes only one creep to be a little too invested, and next thing you know—” his fingers snap sharply, “—you’re a headline darling for months. at least until some other sorry victim takes the media’s attention.” that word, victim, is intentionally drawn out until vowels warp into a lingering reminder. after all, wynne's future looked bleak if the last few months were any indication of what lay ahead. "there's no chance i'll miss a day, and i doubt you can match what your father is paying me. i did my homework before taking this job, and your net worth doesn't quite cut it... unless you can cough up two grand for a day’s work, plus a little extra on top for every fire i put out?"

he's been out of it for days. even his coworkers notice, which doesn't help to shake him out of his funk. instead he opts to work from home ⏤ which also seems to blow up in his face because the universe just has it out for him this week. almost as soon as he sends that text to his boss, he gets a call from their son's school. time in between his sessions is spent looking after alon and replaying the conversation he and james had over and over and over again. nish doesn't want to call it a fight. after his last session, it's a different kind of battle, trying to get their son to eat something. literally anything. nish is not above begging at this point. he knows what he should do but he doesn't do it, doesn't even let himself look at his phone until alon's tears seem to manifest out of nowhere, asking for james. nish is nowhere near ready to face him but all of that is overridden by their son's pleas. the text is sent, and they wait. nish doesn't leave alon's side, curled up with him in bed when he hears the door open and close again. nish's voice is caught in his throat, but their son calls out for him.

distraction was used as a protective measure against their argument and the overwhelming feelings it mucked up. james immersed himself in his work, writing and studying music day and night, and even extended his office hours. when students didn't come pouring in, he scheduled a date which was promptly ended when nishad’s text delivered. without hesitation or delay, james left his date where she sat. he slipped into nishad's place quietly, dressed too formally for a regular friday night, and slowly walked to their son’s room where warm lamplight pooled beneath the door. alon’s pleading call quickened his pace. cologne trailed behind him, meant to be thick enough to cut through the scent of five courses but now performs as a cloying reminder of what this night was meant to be. "hey buddy," he coos, affection softening the rigid lines of worry in his face as he stepped toward the bed. finger’s trace along his small forehead where dark ringlets lay, a quality that always reminded him of nishad. the same person he deliberately avoids eye contact with now as he asks, "what happened?"