summersxngs ⋆ 𖤓 ⋆˚࿔

Boredom, like the undying snake it is, had once again struck Echo, filling mirror with its deadly venom.

Usually, Echo would just bother her brothers but she wasnt very happy with them at the moment so that was off the table. He could just do its homework and get it done and over with.... Echo mentally ruled that out as well. They could text Kalim or any of her other friends and see what their doing but Echo didnt necessarily feel like doing that either, oddly enough.

So instead, she took to just wandering around the Ignihyde lounge in hopes of running into someone with just as much time on their hands as they did.

//cough.... I tried chat.... 😞

So lost. Oh-so-very lost. He'd gone to his dorm many times before, but this time he accidentally stumbled into a completely different dorm? How? The entrance to the Heartslabyul dorm is so obvious! How in the world did he get sucked into wherever this creepy place is?!

The dorm itself isn't all that bad, but whenever he took a step, somebody would snap their head towards him and stare. He's an outsider, a nobody. They must be wondering why someone like him is roaming the halls of a dorm that he isn't in.

Finally, Ruadh thinks that he spots the lounge of the dorm. Thank god, because he's been walking in circles for at least twenty minutes. He needs to sit down and take a break, maybe check his notifications in case any of his friends texted him. There also might be someone with a map there, thank sevens.

He steps into the lounge and looks around. No map holder, it seems. Lots of people, too... jeez. He does not have the mental capacity to deal with social interaction that isn't online right now. He's not rested enough to call out his inner June at this time.

So Ruadh freezes, scratching his left arm hard. He has no clue what to do.

"Hi hi!! You dont look like a Ignihyde student! Did you get lost or something? I can help you out if you need, im not doing anything right now anyways!!"

Ruadh jumped, whirling around to face Echo. Whoever this is, they're much more... cheery than most Ignihyde students. Reminds him of June, really. Maybe this person would be willing to help him out...?

"O-oh, well, I... yeah, a little? I'm... lost."

Wow. That was a pathetic response. He gulps, one of his rabbit ears flopping over his eye.

"I don't know how I got here. I was trying to go to... Heartslabyul? I don't know; I'm pretty new here... ah..."

He gulps, looking everywhere but at Echo. He really is not ready for this right now.

Echo responded happily.

"How'd you get here anyways if you dont mind me asking? I mean, Heartslabyul and Ignihyde dont really look anything alike! It would be nice if they did though..."

Ruadh's being bombarded. He turns a bit red in the face at all the questions, opening his mouth slowly.

"Well, I... I don't know how. I didn't mean to come here, I swear," Ruadh murmurs, looking down. Sevens, how could he have been that stupid enough to mistake which dorm was his and go here instead? Echo's right—they don't even look the same! Riddle will surely have his head for this, now that he thinks about it...

"Uh... ah... well, my name is Ruadh. It's nice to meet you, um... ma'am. Or—or sir. Ah... whatever your pronouns are..."

He looks down, hands behind his back.

Echo stepped past Ruadh and started leading him away from the lounge

"Y'know, you kinda remind me of my brother"

Echo said casually

Ruadh perks up when he hears the comparison of him and whoever Echo's brother is, tilting his head. He gulps, hoping that whoever they're comparing him to isn't a piece of shit.

"Ah... that's good...?"

Ruadh walks a little faster to catch up with Echo. He didn't mean to make the other student think that he hated him or anything...

"Sorry, I just... well. I'm not supposed to be here. I didn't want to seem... threatening."

He walks next to Echo now, fidgeting with his hands. It's silent, and now that he knows that Echo wants to make conversation, he has to be the one to figure out what to say. He's the guest, after all.

Ruadh rubs his arm. Echo wouldn't want to know about Ruadh's troubles. He's here to make conversation, not vent.

"Are you, ah... uh... w-what are your hobbies..?"

Echo perked up at thw question about hobbies

"Oh I do all sorts of things! I make a lot of things, nothing too special just little crafts, and then I've been really into drawing lately! I've been watching a lot of TV Shows too! Really I'll do anything as long as it keeps me busy!"

Ruadh gulps, scratching his left arm again. What hobbies does he have that don't look weird?

"And I also... read..."

Well, damn. Ruadh sounds like the biggest liar around. He doesn't know how to act without being June, doesn't know how to blend into the background and still stay talkative at the same time.

"What TV shows have you been watching, if you don't mind me asking...?"

(a starter for @lil-th0rn ! Thanks for doing this with me !)

Amos Roothyde is quite good at most of the subjects he takes. He's an expert in math, has straight A's in all things history, and when it comes to anything magic, he could confidently tutor someone and have them get as good grades as he does. He's a prodigy at knowing the history, symbolism, and how to control his own magic powers. However, if there's one subject that he would rather die than study, it would be flying. But that's the one subject he's failing, which, for him, unfortunately means that a study session is due.

Amos hops onto his broom, taking a deep breath in and out. He closes his eyes, channeling his magical capacity into the broom like he's been taught so many times.

Focus... focus...

He takes off, getting two feet off of the ground before he tips over and lands splat on the ground again. He did worse than before, so it seems. Just his luck.

"Urgh..."

Amos closes his eyes and sighs. He probably looks like an idiot, with his hair all tousled from falling one too many times and his jacket and pants covered from head to toe with grass. His gloves have also taken quite the beating, and there's now a rip on the left one that Amos hopes isn't too big so that he doesn't have to spend too much on it. Beads of sweat drip from his forehead, but wiping them off just replaces it with grass, which isn't his favorite alternative.

Sevens, why did flying have to be so hard for him? He watches his other classmates fly and compete in spelldrive tournaments without breaking a sweat, and here he is, not even able to get three feet off the ground. This is so unbelievably embarrassing. He wishes that he could be better at this instead of magic, which is something he'll never even be able to pursue. All of his talents were put into the wrong subject for him.

Never mind. He can get better at this. He has to get better at this.

Just before Spindle had gone off campus where no one would bother him. When he had enough alone time, he walked back to Diasomnia. It was quicker to cut across the PE area than it was walk the perimeter until he reached the path.

Spindle didn’t think he would run into anyone. The PE area was usually deserted that time of day. No one wanted to be around what most of the student body considered ‘torture’ when there was no need to take part in said torture.

At least, that was what he had thought before he saw a student on a broom trying to dig himself an early grave it seemed. Spindle was good at sneaking around and staying unnoticed, so he watched in silence for a few moments before making himself known.

Amos tilts his head, taking a solid minute to comprehend what the boy said. He shakes his head, a soft smile spreading on his face.

"I'm okay, but thank you. Just in a bit of a pickle here. My body has taken worse."

He has to lean on his knees a considerably long amount of time to stand upright. He's about to dust off his pants—a nervous habit, making sure that he looks like someone that can be interacted with—but then thinks better of it and decides to pass on the idea. It would be easier to dust himself off if Amos just took off his gloves, and it's... pretty obvious, actually. But he doesn't seem to notice.

"There's a thing I do. Kind of like a reward system. I can't drink water if I don't get up five feet."

By the Seven, people nowadays are absolutely foolish, Spindle thought to himself. He shook his head in exasperation.

By the looks of it, the other had been at this for a while. Spindle couldn’t pin point how long, and honestly he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the exact amount. He might actually feel concerned.

"Ah... thank you, but I'm afraid that I won't get anything done if I don't stick to my system. I'm... stubborn like that..."

His movements stutter, and he gulps, trying to get any semblance of water that he can without actually using the bottle that was offered to him. He can't tell who this stranger is. His head is spinning. The world is spinning. His muscles are cramping. He can't tell what's going on.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."

He looks up from beneath his bangs, frozen in place. He's afraid that if he moves any more he'll fall.

His day had been going so smoothly before he got himself involved in this. He made a mental note to never waste his time with this sort of thing again. The only thing that pulled Spindle out of his thoughts of annoyance was when he came to the realization that the other guy did actually look like he was about to faint.

Spindle didn’t exactly looked concerned, but his voice definitely took on a more urgent tone, “Sit down and drink. Don’t be a dunce.”

The thorn fae looked around the area hoping he could see someone - anyone who would be more writ and willing to help. Unfortunately for him, the PE area was deserted except for him and the dunce.

He takes one long sip of water, blacking out for a second or two before coming back to reality. The water seemed to have replenished him somewhat, so with this newfound discovery Amos drinks until the bottle is empty.

When he can't keep sucking anymore, Amos places the bottle down, leaning against it slightly.

"I... thank you. I didn't think that it would get this bad. Really, I owe you a lot."

Despite the water, his voice is hoarse, and he looks up with glossy eyes. It doesn't seem as if he's crying because of the help, but that could be part of the equation. He looks a bit terrified, now that the realization of near-fainting has fully dawned on him.

After watching the other chug the once full bottle of water, Spindle sat down in the grass next to him. The Sun was hot on the back of neck. Honestly, it had been a wonder the other had lasted so long, assuming he took no break.

“You wouldn’t have owed me anything if you had just stopped when your body told me to stop,” Spindle scolded. He sighed and mumbled quietly under his breath, “This generation of humans, I swear…”

Why does he looked petrified…? Spindle distantly wondered. He didn’t give the thought any mind. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

Sevens, this couldn't have ended any more horribly. Amos just had to almost have a heat stroke in front of this poor stranger, all covered in grass and grime and looking absolutely disheveled, and he still couldn't even fly more than three feet up! All he's doing is embarrassing himself today, and he scolds himself internally for it.

"Right. My name is Amos Roothyde. I'm the brother of Riley Roothyde. You've probably heard his name floating around."

He hates it whenever he has to introduce himself. "Amos Roothyde, brother of Riley Roothyde. Quieter, weirder, inferior person, brother of one of the most outgoing and popular people in NRC." Nobody knows him until he's in another person's shadow.

And then he hears the part about getting another drink, and he curses himself mentally.

The request of a new drink from the person who you just drank all of their water from should've been obvious to Amos, but even that he doesn't know if he can fulfill. Lately, the two Roothyde brothers haven't had money for anything but the food that they have at home, so their money for buying things outside is scarce. He'll try his best, but Amos doubts that he has enough change in his pockets to get something new for Spindle.

"Sure, I'll get that drink for you now. Bt, if you wouldn't mind, would you allow me a minute or two to recover? I don't think I can stand up without falling back down again in my state."

“Amos… I think I’ve heard you,” Spindle commented. Then he finally introduced himself, “Spindle Koleso.”

Spindle doubted Amos had heard of him before. He was a first year and hadn’t gotten into quite enough trouble just yet for people other than the ones in his grade to have heard of him.

Well, maybe they had heard of one of Malleus’ bodyguards. Or the only thorn fae at NRC. But Spindle doubted anyone at NRC recognized him as anything other than another intimidating fae of Diasomnia.

Spindle nodded at Amos’ request, “Sure. I’ll help you get to the infirmary, you’ll buy my drink, then I’m gone.”

Then he noticed the tear in Amos’ glove, “Can I fix that for you?”

Amos smiles, changing his position from kneeling to criss-crossed. He's blushing a little, half from the sun and half from embarrassment after everything that's happened. He nods at the plan, not wanting to get in Spindle's way anymore, but then freezes when Spindle offers to fix his glove.

"Ah... you'd really do that? Are you sure? I wouldn't want to bother you any more than I already have."

Amos rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

The last thing he needed was to be treated like a pet by some popular kid. The thought alone made his skin crawl. Spindle would rather eat one of Lilia’s meals. Not to mention Spindle assumed this Riley wanted to be his friend was because he wanted to prove he was so nice that he could friend the ‘unfriendable’ or some stupid trivial thing like that. Because this was NRC and the only one without ulterior motives is Kalim.

Spindle held a hand out for the glove, “I want something to do.”

"He believes that everybody has something unique to offer him friend-wise, and in return he has something unique to offer them. He sees people in such an interesting light. I wish I could see everybody the way he does, but unfortunately I'm more wary than he is. It's my job, as the older brother."

Amos extends his hand, allowing Spindle to do what he'd like with it. He's never seen sewing in action before, so he isn't completely sure if Spindle wants him to keep the glove on or not. However, something that Spindle notices is that he's making a pointed attempt to keep the palm of his hand facing down.

"If you think it's irritating, which some people do, then you can tell him and he won't bother you. He's nice like that."

Spindle sighed, “If I maybe blunt, it’s better to be wary than too trusting. Being too trusting is the move of a half-brained mouse. At least when you’re wary, you can say you have the ability to think…” he shook his head, “Apologies, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

It was very unclear whether he meant that apology or not.

“It would be easier for you to take the glove off. That way I don’t prick you,” Spindle instructed while digging through his bag. He pulled out a sewing kit and a push cushion poked with needles.

Amos chuckles self-deprecatingly as he takes off the glove. On his palm, Spindle could spot many scars that clashed against each other and drove deep into his skin. They don't look new, but they don't look old, either. Maybe from a few weeks ago.

"Because of my wariness, I am very, very lonely. I haven't found any real friends who actually care about me and will wait for me despite my busy schedule to do things. Riley has already found hundreds of those, and those same hundreds of friends would beat up anybody who did something bad to him in a heartbeat. Because of his stance right now, he doesn't really have to be wary. But I do. That's how I made myself to be."

He sighs, resting his hands on his lap as he watches Spindle get to work. His eyes watch the pattern of the needle as it weaves through the fabric, mesmerized. Sewing does look interesting.

He shrugged, “I don’t mind the rant. Honestly it’s nice talking to someone who mostly shares my sentiment.”

“And if you really want friends that badly, I suggest talking to Ace Trappola and honestly all of his friends. They see ‘I don’t want friends or to be around anyone’ and take that as a challenge…” Spindle suggested, clearly annoyed by the group of first years.

The glove repair was halfway done at this point. The rip hadn’t been too big in the first place. Nothing Spindle couldn’t handle.

Much more complicated. Amos doesn't have the time for friends, working two jobs on the weekdays and three on the weekends. Nor does he have the money. He doesn't even have a phone—he needs to use a computer at the library for work so often that his seat is reserved. Not to mention that his social skills are down in the dumps. Ace Trappola hasn't come to make friends with Amos yet because Amos just wouldn't be a good friend.

"I'll let him know. He'll probably get off of your tail after that, but I can't promise that he won't run into you a few times. He's just like that, but I don't think he'll bother much."

Amos looks up at Spindle, who's completely focused on the glove and isn't meeting his gaze.

"Do you not have friends? It's not that you look like it or anything—I don't mean to offend. I'm just curious. How could you live without any friends by your side? Who do you tell your fears to? Your worries? All of your moments, both the good and the bad? What are your... 'coping mechanisms,' so to speak?"

His shoulders visibly sagged as Amos agreed to put in a ‘good’ word for him, “Thank you. I don’t want to be your brother’s little pity friend, as I’ve mentioned before.”

Spindle couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at all the questions. It caught him off guard. Well he’s definitely a curious one…

“Well to start, I do have friends,” Spindle said, “Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and Malleus. And well, I guess Ortho, but I don’t know him too well. Period. I don’t need anymore. They’re the only support system I need.”

‘Coping mechanism’? That was a tad deep for someone he had just met not too long ago.

“My coping mechanism are none of your concern,” Spindle stated. Derealization, depersonalization, isolation, slashing at a practice dummy, occasionally opening up to someone I deem worthy-

Amos nods as he listens to what Spindle has to say, gulping. He needs more water, but he's also feeling even more embarrassed than before. What the hell is wrong with him? Just because things have been getting worse lately doesn't mean that he can ask advice from a literal stranger. Is he already that pathetic?

He rubs the back of his neck again, chuckling.

"Yeah. Don't answer anything you don't want to. Sorry for being so bold right off the bat."

He takes the glove gingerly, putting it on and curling his fingers in and out to make sure it's actually repaired.

"You're good at this. I've always wanted to try sewing, but I've... never gotten the chance. Thank you so much for this."

He looks up at Spindle, tilting his head.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he was grateful Amos didn’t push. A lot of people would try to pry a little more, to see if they can get anything out of him. Spindle appreciated that this wasn’t the case here.

The compliment wasn’t expected. He had never even thought of his sewing skills as much more than something that was useful on occasion. Also he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

“Oh- uh, you’re welcome. And thank you,” Spindle managed. Seven, he could only pray that he didn’t sound as awkward as he thought he did…

He cleared his throat, “As for the second favor…” he thought over his options for a moment, then pulled out his wallet, “I need to study for a test in Professor Trein’s class, but I also needed to pick up some more metal polisher from the student store. I won’t have time to do that, so you can buy it once you’re feeling better.”

He pulled out twenty dollars worth (idk the thaumarks to dollars ratio-) to of thaumarks and handed them to Amos.

Amos looks back at the broom, sighing.

"If only some of that talent could've been transferred to flying. I'm probably going to fail our next flying test. I didn't get anything done today."

Amos stands up slowly, resting his hands on his knees. He feels better now, but he's still cautious of his body in case it decides to fail him again. His eyes widen at the two-thousand thaumarks, accepting them with careful hands.

Two-thousand. It's been a long, long while since Amos had been able to actually hold this kind of money in his hands. Maybe if he were able to get twenty thaumarks per shift, things would be better off when it came to money in the Roothyde household. He wouldn't have to toil over the next day's meal.

These thaumarks aren't his, though. They're Spindle's, and he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life if he used them on something that isn't their original purpose.

He enjoyed learning about history (because history could not be allowed to repeat). It was interesting, but he was having trouble remembering all the specific things they went over in the unit. It was one of the longer ones.

“Great. That works for me,” Spindle packed up his sewing kit and put it back in his bag, “Do you feel like you can walk to the infirmary yet? I could help if you need it.”

Spindle found himself ignoring a lot of things today. Another one added onto the list being the way Amos ogled at the cash in his hands. Part of Spindle wondered if he should take it back, but he decided against it. Anyone looking at two thousand thaumarks like it was a genie’s lamp probably needed it more than he did. As long as he got his metal polisher, he didn’t care if the rest was pocketed or not.

Amos stretches his legs, picking up his broom and beginning the walk out of the field and to the infirmary with it tucked under his arm. He checks behind him to make sure that Spindle is following, and once he's sure that the other boy is, he slows down a bit so that the two can be side by side.

"That's right. The infirmary shouldn't take long, since you saved me before anything major could happen. Thank you again. If you spot any vending machines before I do, tell me, okay?"

He doubts that he has enough in his wallet to pay for a drink. Just one bottle of water is already 300 thaumarks, and Amos is unsure if he can spare even that little amount. He still needs to pay rent, buy their meals, make sure that Riley has enough to do what he wants—

"Ah. That's a vending machine, isn't it? Do you know if the drink that you want is in there?"

Amos approaches the vending machine, already scanning the prices. 600, 400, 500, 350... oh, hell. What if he wants a snack, too? I can't say no to that. He saved my life.

There were sweeter drinks that he liked, but what he said was true. He’d rather drink water while practicing with his dagger over chocolate milk. Plus it seemed to be the cheapest thing.

He examined some of the prices, “300 for water? Crowley better be using that to pay for a school therapist…”

A foolish and hopelessly desperate wish. It would probably fund his next vacation. Still, Spindle could hope, pointless as it was.

Amos reaches into his pocket, taking out a small, teared-up wallet. He flips it open and has to check every pocket in the wallet to find something, and even then it's just a few cent coins.

"I..."

Wow, he's shaking, and his face is redder than usual. He feels like an idiot, only coming up with a few cents to his name. He can't even pay for a measly water? How stupid.

"I'm so sorry. I swear that I have the money, it's just... not on me right now. It's at home. I can, ah, give you something of mine if you want, and then when I give you the bottle of water you can give it to me back? As, like, a promise?"

Amos hands Spindle the broom, trying his best to keep up his smile so that Spindle doesn't notice how unbearably idiotic and ashamed he feels. He almost looks close to tears again.

Was… was Spindle supposed to ignore how Amos was one misinterpreted comment away from a breakdown? It seemed like he was, anyway. Spindle had never been good at comforting people. He blamed that on the lack of connection with all but one person in his earlier stages of life.

He grabbed the broom and looked down at it, “I can think of a different favor, if you’d rather,” then Spindle hit him, “Actually, I do have a much better idea. Vouch for me and tell Sir Lilia that I’ll have to miss dinner tonight.”

This was much better than a bottle of water. It was Lilia’s turn to cook tonight. Some people would argue that Spindle was just being dramatic, but then they’d have to argue Sebek, Silver, and Malleus were also being dramatic.

Amos is as good as lying as he is with flying. He has a poker face whenever he lies, but he usually ends up apologizing right after, because he hates the feeling of being guilty. Amos can't apologize when it comes to this, though. He's already done so little for the other boy.

It would be better for him if he said a truthful lie. He wouldn't feel so pressured and guilty if he did that.

"Sorry again. I just... forget to put it in my wallet. The money. Ah."

He's rambling again, isn't he? Spindle already got the point. You're sorry. You need to shut up.

To be honest, Spindle could lie his own way out of this, but then he’d have to get one of the first years vouch for him, then they’d make him do something in return, it would just become a whole thing. This, however, was much easier.

“Just meet me at Diasomnia once you get out of the infirmary,” Spindle said, “I’ll be waiting near the entrance.”

The trip to the infirmary doesn't take long, since it was a minor heat stroke and didn't escalate into anything serious. The doctors send him out with a large bottle of water and a warning, but instead of keeping it to drink for himself, he puts the water into Spindle's water bottle that he realized that he accidentally kept with him and chugged the rest. He knew that he'd be fine. As he told Spindle before, his body has handled much worse than this.

The next thing he does is go to the mystery shop, where he picks up the metal cleaner and leaves with ten thousand thaumarks left to spare. These, he does not pocket, because he would feel absolutely terrible about it and would think about it for the rest of his life. Instead, he keeps them safely in his pocket for when he meets up with Spindle again.

All in all, the whole endeavor takes about thirty minutes to complete, so he's' pretty sure he's in good time. He hopes he is, anyway, when he steps foot inside of Diasomnia's dorm and sees Spindle waiting there for him.

"Hello again. Sorry if I took too long; I tried my best to get here as fast as I could."

Amos holds up the three things he was meant to give: the water bottle, the metal cleaner, and the ten thousand thaumarks. He gives Smindle a shy smile, hoping he'll forgive him now for the trouble.

“It’s alright. Lilia hasn’t finished with dinner yet,” Spindle said, standing to greet him. He grabbed the three things, putting the water in his bag, pocketing the thaumarks, and keeping the metal polisher in his hand. “Thank you.”

He meant it, but he didn’t try to make it obvious. Not that that was any different than usual. Thank the Seven Amos managed to get his hands on the metal polisher. He’d been meaning to give it a cleaning for a while now…

“I’ll show you the way. It’ll be more convincing if I’m there. Plus he won’t interrogate you if I stay,” Spindle explained, leaving no room for debate as he walked off into the actual dorm part.

Amos trails behind Spindle, hands behind his back as he steels himself to meet the Diasomnia housewarden and vice housewarden. He's heard good things about Lilia from Riley, but he doubts that he'll get the same genuine kindness Lilia gives Riley reciprocated to him. He always thinks that he will, and then at the end he ends up either being treated like a piece of shit or treated with unnerving faux-kindness because he's the brother of a really popular kid at school. He hates both options.

"This dorm is nice," Amos comments, looking around the hallways of the dorm. The gothic windows sandwiched in between statues of bat's heads was just Amos' style, and the candles on candelabras glowing a dim green tied the atmosphere together. He could imagine living here instead of the Savanaclaw dorm, and he was one of the top in the school when it came to magic...

After walking for a minute or two, Spindle pulled out a white handkerchief and poured some of metal polisher on it. He then put the bottle of metal polisher in his bag. Once that was away, he pulled out something from a pouch(?) on his belt.

A dagger.

Most of Diasomnia knew Spindle kept a dagger on him. They’d seen him walk around with it before, so he pulled it from his sheath without thinking much about it. He forgot Amos had never seen his dagger or knew he had one to begin with.

Spindle began to polish his dagger, clearly still forgetting how jarring this probably looked to an outsider. While he polished, he answered, “Perhaps, if you’re lucky. Prince Malleus has the slight tendency to wander around without warning anyone of where he’s going. Plus he’s trying to get as far away from Sir Lilia as he can while he’s cooking.”

"I see. That's alright then. No worries."

Amos plays with his gloved fingers for a few silent moments, careful to not break the stitch Spindle made before he starts again.

After polishing a specifically dirty spot on his dagger, he held it up to the dim candle light. It shined in the under the light. He hummed in satisfaction then started to polish another spot before continuing, “Silver’s friendlier than he seems. He has-… I believe people are calling it RBF now.”

“Sebek can be a handful. Don’t stand too close to him. You’ll go deaf,” Spindle said, “Lilia’s great. A little much at times, but he cares. He just can’t cook.”

“Malleus is kinder than many people think he is. People seem to have trouble understanding that,” Spindle sighed. He felt sympathy for Malleus, but there was unfortunately nothing anyone could do. Things had improved a little after the overblot, but still…

"People also tell me that I have that RBF thing that you're talking about," Amos chuckles, scratching his chin. "I've been trying to change it, but it doesn't seem to be working very well."

He tries his best to remember the faces of the other Diasomnia students, but he doesn't see them around much. He never really is around much. Fridays are the only days where he doesn't have to work at such an early hour.

"Sebek does seem kind, from what I can tell. And so does Lilia, because I've heard of him from my brother who is also good friends with him. Malleus as well—I would consider myself adequately good at recognizing the kindness meant in someone stoic."

Amos stops with him in front of the door, nodding firmly at Spindle's question.

It was odd. Or, it would be if Spindle hadn’t been aware of Lilia’s antics by now.

“I know you’re here, Sir,” Spindle called out.

There wasn’t a response at first. Then a sound - a giggle - came from above them, “Khehehe~!”

Suddenly Lilia swung down, floating midair upside down like a bat. He grinned, “Ah, Spindle! You’re just in time!” He floated down until he was right side up again, though his feet weren’t touching the ground, “The chicken noodle soup is almost ready!”

Spindle looked past him to the sludge boiling on the stove. He respected Lilia a great deal, but that *ancient fae curse word* was NOT chicken noodle soup.

Lilia then looked at Amos, his smile seemingly only growing wider with actual happiness, “Who’s your friend, Thorn? Is he staying for dinner?”

Spindle had to fight the urge to say that Amos wasn’t his friend. Lilia would’ve scolded him on his manners. Oh well. Spindle would just correct him later, “Sir Lilia, this is Amos. And no, he’s not joining us for dinner. Neither am I actually.”

Now that Amos is actually in the kitchen, the smell isn't really that bad. It's nothing worse than the trash he had to eat from a few times after his parents died, that's for sure. Maybe...

"But we would love to take some of it to-go with us, if you're okay with that?"

Before Spindle can go ahead and shoot him a weird look, amos shoots him one back: Stay quiet. I'll explain later.

He didn’t say anything once Amos shot him a look. Hopefully he would explain it later, but until then Spindle opted to stay silent.

Lilia immediately lit up with joy, “Oh of course! You can take extra, if you’d like!” He immediately floated off to get to go bowls, still talking to him, “Everyone in this dorm is always somehow either busy or have somewhere to be when it’s my turn to cook. No idea why!”

The sludge bubbled as if to say ‘I might have a guess’.

Lilia returned with three to go containers that he filled with the ‘soup’, his back turned to them. It landed with a loud, wet PLOP.

He takes a spoon from the counter, waiting for Lilia's permission. When he's given the signal, he takes a spoonful and bites into it.

Not a terrible texture, and the flavor's alright. I could easily have this for lunch and dinner if I play my cards right.

"This is pretty good. What's in this, if I may ask?"

Spindle closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Sir… please tell me you at least put chicken in the soup…”

“Fufufu! Thorn, there wasn’t any left in the fridge, I had to improvise,” Lilia explained.

Improvised… what did Lilia substitute the chicken in chicken noodle soup f- never mind. I’d rather not know, Spindle thought to himself.

Spindle wondered why Amos was letting himself be tortured like this. Going through his memory, Spindle tried to recall any bits and pieces he had overheard in the halls. A few people whispered about the Roothyde brothers being low on cash.

Well… they whispered about Riley being low on cash, but the end result was still the same.

Soup and crunch are two words that shouldn't be not even in the same paragraph, but Amos doesn't look like he's realized the oddity of a sentence that just came out of his mouth. He takes another bite, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, this is pretty fine indeed. Please, go on with packing the servings up. I'm sorry that I interrupted."

Amos steps back, moving to the sink and washing the spoon that he used to put it back in its proper place still cleaned. He stays near Lilia in case he needs any help, as well as to carry the portions when he finishes packing them.

Oh Seven no. He didn’t need to be reminded of those days. Out of all the times to bring out the childhood stories why now? Plus the reason he ate them in the first place was because it was better than what he ate when-…

“Sir-“ Spindle interrupted, trying to stop him.

“He ate everything I made.”

“Sir Lilia, please stop-“

“Every last crumb. Then he just stopped. No idea why he stopped. Oh! I think I have a photo of him when he was nine or ten with his face covered in my food-“

“LILIA,” Spindle exclaimed loudly. That was the loudest he had spoken all day. At least in front of Amos. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Amos takes the bag of food, looking happier than he has ever since he met Spindle. Having to spend half the money for food for him and his brother sure is a relief. Maybe he'll have more money to save for some good meals for him next week.

"Thank you so much, sir Lilia, Amos thanks, giving the man a deep bow.

"Me and Spindle will be enjoying the food that you made us wholeheartedly. Really, I cannot thank you enough. I'll deliver the dishes to you when we finish them. That, you can count on."

Amos sees himself out, saying another goodbye to Lilia and holding the door open for Spindle to walk through. When the two of them are a safe distance away from the kitchen, Amos begins to explain.

He shook his head, “Anyways, you’re free to take all of that. Or any other food Lilia makes for that matter.”

Spindle remembered at that moment that they had never properly confirmed or denied whether the study session was happening. It would help Spindle, sure, but he wasn’t exactly known for asking for help.

"I'm sure you've heard of others talking about how the Roothyde family is poor, and they'd be correct. I try my best to sustain me and my brother enough to look decent when we're at school, but when it comes to food, we have to take whatever we can."

He looks down at the bag of so-called "food" that he's holding, careful not to kick it too hard since he has it in front of his legs.

"Or... more like I do. Riley gets better food solely because he hasn't built up the tolerance for it like I have."

He tries his best for his brother, he really does. But when he has to give Riley the horrid food that he usually eats, or when Riley eats nothing on some days because his stomach nor their budget can handle it, Amos truly feels like a horrible brother. He wishes that he had the mental capacity and time to work three jobs instead of just two.

He looks up about the study session comment, breaking him away from his thoughts. At the slight nervousness in Spindle's voice, Amos smiles softly.

What am I supposed to say? Sorry doesn’t do anything… Spindle thought to himself. From experience, sorry loses all meaning after a while. At least it does when they say sorry for reasons other than actually being in the wrong.

Thankfully, the conversation moved on rather quickly. Spindle was thankful Amos didn’t make a big deal out of it.

"I think I'll be following you then, if you don't mind. I don't know where the library here is."

They walk in silence for a minute or two, save for the sound of footsteps coming from both them and other students and the sound of the candle flame's soft crackle. All the while, Amos is thinking of what to say to make the walk less awkward. He knows that Spindle probably doesn't mind that the walk is silent, but he doesn't want to seem ignorant.

It may sound stupid - it sounded stupid to Spindle - but even asking for help about something as easy as this made him feel a little vulnerable. Obviously not very vulnerable (not as vulnerable as he had once been), but still.

He pulled out one of his notebooks, “These are my notes. I hope they’re legible.”

Amos takes the notebook, flipping it to the first page and reading the notes on it. He appreciates the neat cursive compared of Spindle to his own handwriting—sometimes he can't even understand his own writing—and sits down at the table Spindle picked out.

"These are some good notes you have here, however they're lengthy. Most of the essays you wrote in here can be shortened into two or three paragraphs. Don't get stressed over it, though—I'll show you how to condense them now."

He closes the notebook, handing it back to Spindle.

"Before I start teaching you, I... want to let you know that you should stop me if you don't understand what I'm talking about. I actually have, like, lesson plans that I make for things related to magic in my free time at work, because I'm really passionate about it even if I can't pursue it when I get older."

It's a shame, really. Amos wishes that he could study magic, but magic isn't what brings the money home. He needs to study not to become a mage, but to become... an accountant. Or a lawyer. or someone in a box office. He hasn't decided which.

“I see… I’ll make my notes shorter next time,” Spindle decided.

Despite sometimes coming off as viewing himself above people (not the intention but oh well), he was very willing to listen to advice. He’d try it out for a while and stop if it didn’t suit him.

Spindle raised an eyebrow, “That is impressive. Although why can you not pursue a career with magic? I’m sure there’s a good job you can use magic for.”

Amos stands back up, looking down at the table. His bangs covered his face, and therefore his expression.

"I've always wanted to help people, but right now the number one person I have to help is my brother. And helping my brother means that I need to make money for the both of us, so that way he can grow to be whatever he wants. I can handle not being a mage."

It's conflicting for Amos. He hates having to twist and bend himself to help Riley other than himself, but at the same time he knows that this is what he deserves. He hates this, but he likes this at the same time. Is he sick in the head or something?

"Sorry. You didn't ask for my entire backstory. Yeah, I'll go get the history book now."

Amos stands up, walking to a bookshelf near where they picked a table. He easily recognizes the magic history book and swiftly picks it up from its shelf, staring at it for a minute longer than necessary before heading back to where Spindle was.

He could only nod and watch as Amos went off to grab a history book from the library shelf. Then he turned back to his notebook and flipped to the point in the unit he had been struggling the most with (ugh, struggling. How he hated that word…)

Amos opens the history book, flipping it to the unit they're reviewing on the first try. He points to a picture, the information flowing out of his mouth steadily.

If Spindle doubted his prowess before, then this would have him speechless. Amos really did know just about everything related to magical history. Whenever Spindle asked a question, Amos could answer without even glancing at the book. He had those studying techniques down as well, and when Spindle mastered them, he was able to grasp the concept of the lesson way better.

Along with this, Amos would give good amounts of praise whenever Spindle got something right. A "good job" here, a "that's right. You're getting better already" over there, general things that Amos knew that others liked when studying. He tried his best to never let Spindle get discouraged or down because he didn't know something.

"And... that's about the whole of it," Amos ended, looking at a clock up at the library wall.

He felt so awkward. By the Seven, he hated this feeling. Please tell me he can’t tell how awkward I am right now…

Anything akin to the feeling of uncomfortableness Spindle chalked up to feeling vulnerable and exposed. Awkwardness? Vulnerable. Embarrassed? Vulnerable. Uneasy? Vulnerable.

And Spindle hated feeling vulnerable.

Spindle had been too focused in his studying to notice, but that was probably also easy to overlook because Amos was keeping it a secret. He knew that everybody didn't exactly like Lilia's food, and he didn't want to make Spindle get grossed out from eating in front of him.

"I, uh... or you could bring it yourself, of course."

If you don't want anything to do with me anymore.

“It probably would be easier if you came with…” Spindle mumbled. He looked at the clock, “Fine, but we have to be quick. It’s almost curfew.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Yes, it was almost time for curfew, but Spindle usually spent the first hour or so practicing with his dagger. This had been approved by Malleus, so no one would be concerned if he wasn’t back before then.

However if he was gone too long then people would start to worry and Spindle liked to get at least an hour of practice a day. Plus he had done much more talking with people he wasn’t close to than he would like.

He stood and shouldered his bag, “There’s probably enough to fill a bag with. We have a calendar for whose turn it is to cook in Diasomnia. Some people plan weeks ahead to get out of this.”

Amos checked the time two seconds earlier. Amos knew that it wasn't actually almost time for curfew. But if Spindle wants Amos to hurry up, Amos won't hesitate to comply. He still feels bad for everything that happened, so he doesn’t want to bother the other boy a more than he already has.

Idiot. Always sticking to the past. That guy doesn’t care about what happened anymore. This is all just YOU.

“Are Lilia’s meals usually so bad? Because this one didn’t taste that awful. It was pretty mediocre, actually.”

Amon follows Spindle, holding the bag with the other portion firmly in his arms. He still ate, and yet his stomach is still growling. Not from sickness, but from the desire to eat more. Today was one of those days where he doesn’t eat until he can’t handle it anymore.

“…If you want dessert that badly, I’m just going to buy you something from the vending machine,” Spindle decided, not leaving room for argument, “And don’t say you’d be able to stomach his dessert. Last time he made a cake, it wasn’t cake. It was stone. You would break all your teeth before it reached your stomach acid, so lose the ‘I-don’t-want-to-be-a-bother’ attitude and accept the offer.”

Normally Spindle wasn’t so helpful with people he barely knew, but he took pity on those who had to eat Lilia’s food. Also, he had gotten used to most people’s arrogance that this was starting to annoy him more than others’ ego.

Is Amos’ “I don’t want to be a bother” attitude actually bothering Spindle? After all he’s tried to not irritate the boy?

The thought gives Amos a sick feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t know how to act anymore. Should he stop acting submissive like this and instead be more outward? Is there a point in which someone can be too humble? Has he reached that point? How can he go back?

No matter what you do, you’ll always be a BURDEN…

“…Number nine,” he mumbled, referencing to a snickers bar in the vending machine.

“And number eleven. I’m—“

I’m sorry for making you do this, Amos almost says, but thinks better of it and shuts his mouth. He’s not making Spindle do anything. He’d probably get annoyed if Amos said something like that.

“Thank you,” he says instead, watching as he inserts money in the machine to buy the bar and the sandwich. Riley will be sure to like this for lunch tomorrow.

“Of course,” he replied, handing Amos the food, “This is much better than Lilia’s food, I promise you.”

Then he turned back to the vending machine and inserted a few more thaumarks. He got himself what had to be one of the most sugary drinks that was legally allowed to be sold. It would probably send the average person into cardiac arrest, but it was just enough for Spindle’s treat after practice.

Amos takes the sandwich, trying to stop himself from drooling. He can't take a bite. It's for Riley, and anyway he's already full. Full, but hungry. Full, but...

This is bad for him, and he knows it. This constant hunger that gnaws at him. Amos puts the new food into the bag with the other food, trying not to think about it by making conversation.

"Thanks for everything, again. If you ever need any more tutoring, you can let me know. I'm always happy to help. And if you any help with clearing out Lilia's food, feel free to tell me as well. I don't mind."

He sighed, remembering the one time Lilia almost cost Diasomnia a kitchen, “Let’s just say what cooking techniques he lacks, he makes up for in combat. And he’s very good in combat.”

Scarily good at combat, considering the analogy…

Spindle walked into the kitchen, giving Amos a nod of thanks. Lilia and Silver were in there, helping clean up. Silver looked just the smallest bit nauseous. He looked a shade or two paler as well and looked up as the two walked in.

“Ah, Spindle and… Amos, right? I hope you both enjoyed your study session,” Silver said. He then turned to Lilia, “Fath-… Lilia, may I go lay down? I’m feeling just a little unwell…”

Lilia smiled caringly and patted Silver’s shoulder, “Sure, Silver, go relax. Spindle can help once his friend leaves,” he watched as Silver walked off. Then he looked back to Amos and Spindle, “How was the study session? You two back for seconds?”

Amos' nods, waving goodbye to Silver as he leaves to rest. When he's out of sight, he faces Lilia, giving him a sheepish smile.

"Our study session went well, I'd hope. From what I could tell, Spindle left more informed. I'm around of him, really."

Amos chuckled, blushing when Spindle mentioned the leftovers tidbit.

"Ah... yes, that is right. I promise not to take too much of your time, not to worry. I understand it's late. However, I do have a container for you from Spindle's leftovers, and if you wouldn't mind, it would be a great help to me if you were to put any leftovers of the food you made today in here. If you are not saving them, of course."

Lilia walked over to the fridge and pulled out the pot of leftovers. It still looked pretty full. He then took then container from Amos and filled it up, “Is that enough? You can take more if you’d like,” then he had a thought, “You can stay for ice cream if you’d wish! Then you two can tell me about your study session. Thanks for helping Spindle, by the way. He rarely ever asks for help, even from m-“

Spindle coughed into his fist loudly, “Lilia.”

“Oh, alright,” he sighed and shook his head in amusement, “You and your pride, Little Thorn, my Seven.”

Spindle didn’t say anything further, but he did glare at Lilia’s last remark. He wasn’t that prideful. He could ask for help when he really needed it, he just didn’t need help that often…

"Anytime. I am always happy to help. Thank you again for the leftovers, sir."

He puts the spoon away, closing the drawer and taking the time to reorganize his things. Only when Lilia asks Amos what flavors he'd like from the group is when the offer dawns on him.

"Ice... cream...?"

Amos feels especially stupid right now. It seems to be a common reoccurrence today. He's heard sometimes of Riley going out to get ice cream with friends, but it was usually much too expensive to get when it was hot outside. He would usually opt for shitty lemonade. Therefore...

As much as Spindle wanted to say no, he really couldn’t say no to ice cream.

Spindle walked over to the tub labeled cotton candy and opened the lid, revealing bright blue and pink ice cream. He’ll never understand how some people didn’t like it. He grabbed a spoon and took a bite. He looked like he was in heaven.

Amos locates the cups easily, taking out cups for the three of them and taking the ice cream scooper gently from Lilia's hands. The tubs are almost entirely frozen, making it exceptionally hard to scoop anything up, yet Amos does it without a struggle.

For Spindle and Lilia's cups, he fills it to the brim with the ice cream that they choose, but for himself he only fills it halfway. He then gives each person their cup and a small spoon, moving out of the way of the toppings. He doesn't know when is appropriate to start eating it.

Lilia looked at Amos’ bowl and chuckled, “Oh you’re allowed more than that!” He grabbed the ice cream scooper and filled Amos’ bowl as high as theirs, “You’re the guest. It’s alright if you don’t finish it all!” Lilia then grabbed the chocolate syrup and poured it all over his own ice cream.

Spindle hesitated before pushing the caramel syrup towards Amos, “Chocolate ice cream tastes better with caramel,” he shrugged, “Or don’t use it. I’m not you.”

"I've never had caramel, either. I don't think."

Oh, sevens. Not again. Don't cry don't cry, don't cry, don't cry...

Amos wishes that he wasn't close to tears. He doesn't cry in front of anybody, and yet it's already happened three times today. Three times? What the hell? Is he that sensitive? Grow up, Amos.

"Sure, I'll... get a bit. If you wouldn't mind."

Who would mind. Who would mind? Amos is overthinking as he grabs the bottle and pumps a few squirts. As usual.

"Thank you so much for being so accepting of me. I... I really appreciate it. If you two want to ask me any questions about myself, you can go right ahead. Just to, ah... show that I'm completely safe."

…Shoot, Spindle thought to himself. He slid the chocolate sprinkles over, hoping they would help. The only forms of comfort Spindle could give were advice and gifts. Everything else came awkwardly to him.

Lilia smiled at Amos’ suggestion, “Sure! And that gives me a great idea! What if we all play 20 Questions. You can ask questions about us, and we’ll ask some about you!”

"That sounds like a good idea. I think that one of you should ask me a question to start, since I'm the unknown one here. For the most part. I don't find any question as being too personal, so please ask whatever you'd like."

Amos scoops up a small bite of his ice cream and puts in it his mouth, his eyes widening at the taste. It's so good. His stomach growls a little louder as he takes another bite, trying his best to eat slowly.

Thankfully, that was what ended up happening. Lilia thought for a moment before finally saying, “Ooooh, I got one!” He pointed his spoon at Amos and grinned, “Who’s your favorite housewarden?”

Spindle pretended not to be listening for Amos’ answer, but he definitely was. Obviously the best housewarden was Malleus, Amos would probably say it was Leona.

Amos' face turns a little red as he continues.

"I admire his power and how he's determined to change since his overblot. It's inspiring, and... well. I really have an affinity for magic, so meeting him personally has always been one of my dreams."

A dream that he knows he shouldn't have. It'll only fuel his desire to learn about magic even more, despite the fact that he can't. No matter what he does, Amos Roothyde will never be able to continue pursuing his love of magic because his duty is to make money. Magic doesn't make money.

Magic doesn't make money.

"I doubt it'll ever happen, though. Which is fine by me."

Amos takes another bite, thinking of a question to ask.

…He was saying all of this out loud, wasn’t he?

He quickly cleared his throat and regained composure, “…a very powerful figure, yes,” there was silence. And then Spindle said, “…I practice with my dagger, sewing, and bird watching.”

Seven, end me now…

Lilia chuckled at Spindle’s outburst of enthusiasm, but didn’t comment on it, “In my free time, I enjoy traveling alone. It’s quite relaxing.”

Amos rubs the back of his head, crafting his answer carefully.

"Ah... my favorites would be cats. I love cats. Riley—my brother, as you know well, sir Lilia—is also fond of cats, but he's allergic, which ends up with me having to go to a nearby CVS to get him allergy medication."

A lie. Amos can't afford to get medicine unless it's free, which leads him to resort to some sketchy places to get what he needs. He hates doing it, but he has to.

Spindle shot Lilia a glare. He knew the older fae was absolutely lying through his teeth - Lilia never ran out of questions for everyone. He shot Spindle a wink that went unnoticed by Amos that clearly meant “Go on”.

Spindle rolled his eyes and looked at Amos, “How about your favorite… song? Or genre of music?”

Amos rubs the back of his neck, thinking of what he should ask next.

"I'll ask the next question, then. Uh... the only thing that comes to my mind is something a little more personal, so I hope that you two don't mind. But, ah... what are your biggest influences?"

“That’s because you only like two songs and they’re both lullabies, Little Thorn,” Lilia said. He gave a long, dramatic yawn, “Well I’m going to hit the hay. You two finish the game. Spin, if I’m still up, come see me afterwards. I wanna talk to you about something afterwards.”

Spindle glared at Lilia. This lying old *ancient fae curse word*. He’s a nocturnal fae, he doesn’t get tired that easily, especially not this late at night.

In the end, Spindle sighed, “Of course, Sir Lilia,” then he got to thinking about his answer, “I’d say… discrimination. Oppression of groups, genocide of those who are ‘different’, things along those lines,” then he realized how that sounded, “Influenced in a good way.”

That didn’t help, “As in I do not want to end up like that.”

"That's a fair motive. One of the reasons that I wish to study magic as well. Both me and my brother face those oppression groups every day, even though you're probably not talking about this specific one. So it's good that you're striving to not be the one at fault."

Then, after realizing that he, too, should give further context:

"Because... well. He's aroace. And I may be something similar."

Amos would usually mind telling somebody of him and his brother's sexuality, but not Spindle. Hell, even Spindle himself looks aroace, so he doesn't really care. He deserves the context anyway.

"Gossip?" Amos repeats, almost laughing at the question.

(for @nrcsfavoriteshrimps ! This takes place during book 4, but I feel like this would be in an AU where Jamil doesn't go apeshit :3 )

Vicente Cabro is a regular at The Mostro Lounge, but he's never come at this hour before. Usually, late Saturdays means that the lounge is packed, but now that it's the winter, barely anybody is staying in. The only people he knows that are staying are Jade and Floyd, which is the reason he came to the lounge anyway. When he enters, however, he doesn't see either of the Leech brothers—instead, he spots someone he's never seen before: it's Rocky, who's about to inform him that he came at a very bad time.

Vince would be going out to see his family right now, but he was informed a day before break that they wouldn't be home, since they had a few things they had to collect for the farm and decided that they would all just take a trip to explore the place. He wasn't mad, but he was missing them terribly, and he didn't really appreciate the fact that seeing them again would be postponed (even though he calls them every other day).

Similar to most people, loneliness is how Vince ended up at the Mostro Lounge, just outside the foot of the entrance resembling Ursula's cave. He pushes the door open, about to step inside when he freezes. He watches as a boy that's five feet away who's carrying a box that's too big for his size slips on a small puddle of water on the floor and falls straight on his ass.

A string of curses escape from the boy's mouth as he shoves the box away. Suppressing a snicker, Vince jogs over, standing in front of the boy and extending his hand. "'R ya' alright there, friend? Ya' took quite a tumble there, 'f I do say so myself. N' I'm doin' that now!"

Vince laughs at his own joke, attempting to light the mood.

“Sure, DURE, I’m GREAT! With the crash landin’ from the Ramshackle crew, my boss n’ the Leeches suddenly dippin’ and leavin’ ME in charge, n’ now all my dormmates feel like slackin?! I’m just PEACHY, thanks!”

[He groans as he stands back up, dusting off his dorm uniform. His ears pin back against his head as he looks back at a very much destroyed booth. He…seems to be having a rough time.]

Vince drops his hand, not bothered by the fact that the other hybrid didn't take his hand. He picks up the box that had been thrown aside, leaning on it as he speaks.

"Seems like y' need sum help ova here. Could be m' payment fr' that snack. Could go fr' a banana split right 'bout now..."

Vince grins, picking up the box and lifting it high over his head without breaking a sweat. His pants pull up at this, and small tufts of white fur can be seen at the ankles if someone looked closely.

"Where's this headin'? N' what're we up t'?"

“E-Eh? You…you’d…” [His eyes widen in shock as he stammers, before clearing his throat and crossing his arms.] “Whateva! I’ll do it cuz you’re helpin’, so don’t go gettin’ the wrong idea! It’s the least you could do!”

Vince chuckles, amused at the boy's reaction. Despite him being younger than Rocky, he reaches down and ruffles his hair teasingly.

"I know that y' 're just itchin' to have me aroun', but I can't do nun if you don' tell me what I gotta do! N' what's in this box?"

Vince shakes the insides around a little, not realizing that what's inside could be glass. He has no harmful intentions, though, as he seems to be analyzing the sound that the object inside makes carefully.

“R-Right. Follow me, kid, I’ll show ya what ta do.” [He huffs, walking off to wherever the boxes were supposed to go. He murmurs something under his breath, though it’s hard to understand.]

Vince places the boxes on the corner of the island, opening it up and taking out a flour bag. What Vince doesn't notice is the fact that there were some other pointier things in the box along with the bag, and the fall Rocky had caused one of them to puncture a hole on the bag's top.

So when he sets the flour down fimly, about to make a joke, what he gets instead is a kitchen, a Rocky, and a him that is covered in flour.

Vince looks at the flour bag. Then at Rocky. Then at himself. Then at the flour bag again.

And then he bursts into hysterics.

"'Right! Work 'ya magic!"

But then he sees something that catches his attention, and he moves over to inspect it just as Rocky was starting to use his magic. From inside the box, he takes out a cigarette holder, tilting his head.

"Whatdd'ya need a cigarette holder fr'? Lookin' pretty old-fashon'd, 'f I do say so m'self. Which I—"

The cigarette holder flies out of his hand, snapping in half because of the magic Rocky started using.

“…whaddid I just say, kid.”

[He huffs, finishing the spell before crossing his arms and turning his back.]

"Whadd'ya suppose we do, then? Glue it back? Ya' got any glue ova there? R' maybe we could work it wit sum magic!"

[Sighing, he picks up the box again and puts it where it needs to go.]

That's about the only thing Vince is good at when helping around. He makes even more of a mess when trying to organize, breaks plates trying to scrub the grime off of them, and don't even get him started on cooking. At this point, he might even be worse than Lilia. He's solid at baking, though.

"'D feel bad 'f I didn't do anythin t' repay 'ya. C'mon. 'Could at least do sumthin' 'round here."

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, kid.” [He waves him off.] “If ya really wanna pay me back for it, money works jus’ fine. Or, like…conversation. Ya know?”

Vince is a real yapper. He could talk and talk all day if he was allowed it, but usually people don't want to hear that much conversation. He would talk a lot with his siblings especially, but now that he's away from them, he's had to repress his talkative nature to not be annoying to others.

Until now.

Vince looks down at his pants, leaning down and tugging them lower. While he's bent over like this, he spots a cabinet that has a label reading "DO NOT OPEN" and reaches to open it.

[A small magic spell zips past Vince’s hand, a warning to not open the cabinet.]

"Ah! Didn' notice tha', 'f m' bein' frank. Ma fault."

Vince steps back, hopping onto the counter and sitting down on it. He swings his legs over the edge, listening to what Rocky wants him to rant about with a shine of excitement in his eyes.

"Ah! M' family's a real big 'un. 've got four parents, consisting' 'f m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad. They're all n' a polycule, n' they had 5 children n' adopted four. M' one of 'em adopted ones, tha's right. N' I luv all my mums n my paps n my siblin's."

[Rocky can’t hide his envy, even with his back turned. Hearing about a big family, the family he’s always wanted…he couldn’t help but feel jealous. Especially because he himself had none.]

Vince huffs, crossing his arms. He looks mad at them, but in the teasing way that most kids are when they play-fight with their siblings. He can sense the jealousy in Rocky's voice, however, and he plays with his hair as he figures out a way to make this better for the both of them.

"'Could call em', if ya'd like! 'Think they'd be pretty happy t' see that 've gotta new friend 'round here!"

Vince texts something to a number before calling them, the phone wringing for a solid two seconds before the person on the other line picks up. A woman who looks to be in her mid-forties beams at the sight of her child, her face half-covered from moving around.

"Ah, hai, dear!! How 'r 'ya?"

Vince beams back holding the phone away so that both him and Rocky could be shown in the frame. There are a lot of overlapping voices on the other side of the screen—probably from Vince's siblings—but the woman's voice is clear when she speaks.

"Hi, momma'!"

"Ah! N' that's your friend, ain't it?" Momma smiles, sitting dowm.

“I-I’m um…f-fine, ma’am…” [he mutters, shyly fidgeting with his hands.]

Vince grins, feeling pretty proud of himself. He’s not good at reading people, that’s for sure, but Momma was. And if a kid especially was acting weird when it came to family, Momma would always be the one to resolve the issue. He loved his momma so much because of that.

“Ya don’t even gotta ask, momma!! ’ve met this guy fa ten minutes ‘ready, n’ he’s the best guy I’ve met ‘round ‘ere!!”

Vince gently takes a hold of Rocky's hand, enough to keep him in place but would also allow him to pull away if he wants to. Which he probably will, and it's something that Vince realizes pretty soon. He hopes that Rocky will stay, though. The other boy is good company.

"I kno' that ya' don' gotta do nun tha' urgent right now. Ya' ain't gotta lie ta me. N' I got 'nough mamas left ta' go 'round. Ya' can leave if ya' wanna, but yaknow, if ya' ever wanna talk t' jus' my momma by 'urself, ya can go 'right ahead. In case, ya' now, if ya' don' got no momma tha' could be a goodun t' ya'."

Vince smiles. Hopefully he doesn't look like he's trying to intrude or anything. He just wishes the best for anybody with shitty families because his own former family wasn't that great.

[Pursing his lips, he forces himself to sit back down. He places his arms on the table, burying his face in them to hide himself.]

"That's good, dear! N' ur grades good n' all? My baby's pretty smart, but not very much when it comes ta school. Everyone has their own strengths."

"HEY! Ah heard tha', momma!"

Vince steps back into the kitchen holding a box of tissues. He hands them to Rocky, sitting back beside him and placing a hand on his back reverently to try and comfort him.

(a starter for @lil-th0rn ! Thanks for doing this with me !)

Amos Roothyde is quite good at most of the subjects he takes. He's an expert in math, has straight A's in all things history, and when it comes to anything magic, he could confidently tutor someone and have them get as good grades as he does. He's a prodigy at knowing the history, symbolism, and how to control his own magic powers. However, if there's one subject that he would rather die than study, it would be flying. But that's the one subject he's failing, which, for him, unfortunately means that a study session is due.

Amos hops onto his broom, taking a deep breath in and out. He closes his eyes, channeling his magical capacity into the broom like he's been taught so many times.

Focus... focus...

He takes off, getting two feet off of the ground before he tips over and lands splat on the ground again. He did worse than before, so it seems. Just his luck.

"Urgh..."

Amos closes his eyes and sighs. He probably looks like an idiot, with his hair all tousled from falling one too many times and his jacket and pants covered from head to toe with grass. His gloves have also taken quite the beating, and there's now a rip on the left one that Amos hopes isn't too big so that he doesn't have to spend too much on it. Beads of sweat drip from his forehead, but wiping them off just replaces it with grass, which isn't his favorite alternative.

Sevens, why did flying have to be so hard for him? He watches his other classmates fly and compete in spelldrive tournaments without breaking a sweat, and here he is, not even able to get three feet off the ground. This is so unbelievably embarrassing. He wishes that he could be better at this instead of magic, which is something he'll never even be able to pursue. All of his talents were put into the wrong subject for him.

Never mind. He can get better at this. He has to get better at this.

Just before Spindle had gone off campus where no one would bother him. When he had enough alone time, he walked back to Diasomnia. It was quicker to cut across the PE area than it was walk the perimeter until he reached the path.

Spindle didn’t think he would run into anyone. The PE area was usually deserted that time of day. No one wanted to be around what most of the student body considered ‘torture’ when there was no need to take part in said torture.

At least, that was what he had thought before he saw a student on a broom trying to dig himself an early grave it seemed. Spindle was good at sneaking around and staying unnoticed, so he watched in silence for a few moments before making himself known.

Amos tilts his head, taking a solid minute to comprehend what the boy said. He shakes his head, a soft smile spreading on his face.

"I'm okay, but thank you. Just in a bit of a pickle here. My body has taken worse."

He has to lean on his knees a considerably long amount of time to stand upright. He's about to dust off his pants—a nervous habit, making sure that he looks like someone that can be interacted with—but then thinks better of it and decides to pass on the idea. It would be easier to dust himself off if Amos just took off his gloves, and it's... pretty obvious, actually. But he doesn't seem to notice.

"There's a thing I do. Kind of like a reward system. I can't drink water if I don't get up five feet."

By the Seven, people nowadays are absolutely foolish, Spindle thought to himself. He shook his head in exasperation.

By the looks of it, the other had been at this for a while. Spindle couldn’t pin point how long, and honestly he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the exact amount. He might actually feel concerned.

"Ah... thank you, but I'm afraid that I won't get anything done if I don't stick to my system. I'm... stubborn like that..."

His movements stutter, and he gulps, trying to get any semblance of water that he can without actually using the bottle that was offered to him. He can't tell who this stranger is. His head is spinning. The world is spinning. His muscles are cramping. He can't tell what's going on.

"I'll be fine. Thank you for your concern."

He looks up from beneath his bangs, frozen in place. He's afraid that if he moves any more he'll fall.

His day had been going so smoothly before he got himself involved in this. He made a mental note to never waste his time with this sort of thing again. The only thing that pulled Spindle out of his thoughts of annoyance was when he came to the realization that the other guy did actually look like he was about to faint.

Spindle didn’t exactly looked concerned, but his voice definitely took on a more urgent tone, “Sit down and drink. Don’t be a dunce.”

The thorn fae looked around the area hoping he could see someone - anyone who would be more writ and willing to help. Unfortunately for him, the PE area was deserted except for him and the dunce.

He takes one long sip of water, blacking out for a second or two before coming back to reality. The water seemed to have replenished him somewhat, so with this newfound discovery Amos drinks until the bottle is empty.

When he can't keep sucking anymore, Amos places the bottle down, leaning against it slightly.

"I... thank you. I didn't think that it would get this bad. Really, I owe you a lot."

Despite the water, his voice is hoarse, and he looks up with glossy eyes. It doesn't seem as if he's crying because of the help, but that could be part of the equation. He looks a bit terrified, now that the realization of near-fainting has fully dawned on him.

After watching the other chug the once full bottle of water, Spindle sat down in the grass next to him. The Sun was hot on the back of neck. Honestly, it had been a wonder the other had lasted so long, assuming he took no break.

“You wouldn’t have owed me anything if you had just stopped when your body told me to stop,” Spindle scolded. He sighed and mumbled quietly under his breath, “This generation of humans, I swear…”

Why does he looked petrified…? Spindle distantly wondered. He didn’t give the thought any mind. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

Sevens, this couldn't have ended any more horribly. Amos just had to almost have a heat stroke in front of this poor stranger, all covered in grass and grime and looking absolutely disheveled, and he still couldn't even fly more than three feet up! All he's doing is embarrassing himself today, and he scolds himself internally for it.

"Right. My name is Amos Roothyde. I'm the brother of Riley Roothyde. You've probably heard his name floating around."

He hates it whenever he has to introduce himself. "Amos Roothyde, brother of Riley Roothyde. Quieter, weirder, inferior person, brother of one of the most outgoing and popular people in NRC." Nobody knows him until he's in another person's shadow.

And then he hears the part about getting another drink, and he curses himself mentally.

The request of a new drink from the person who you just drank all of their water from should've been obvious to Amos, but even that he doesn't know if he can fulfill. Lately, the two Roothyde brothers haven't had money for anything but the food that they have at home, so their money for buying things outside is scarce. He'll try his best, but Amos doubts that he has enough change in his pockets to get something new for Spindle.

"Sure, I'll get that drink for you now. Bt, if you wouldn't mind, would you allow me a minute or two to recover? I don't think I can stand up without falling back down again in my state."

“Amos… I think I’ve heard you,” Spindle commented. Then he finally introduced himself, “Spindle Koleso.”

Spindle doubted Amos had heard of him before. He was a first year and hadn’t gotten into quite enough trouble just yet for people other than the ones in his grade to have heard of him.

Well, maybe they had heard of one of Malleus’ bodyguards. Or the only thorn fae at NRC. But Spindle doubted anyone at NRC recognized him as anything other than another intimidating fae of Diasomnia.

Spindle nodded at Amos’ request, “Sure. I’ll help you get to the infirmary, you’ll buy my drink, then I’m gone.”

Then he noticed the tear in Amos’ glove, “Can I fix that for you?”

Amos smiles, changing his position from kneeling to criss-crossed. He's blushing a little, half from the sun and half from embarrassment after everything that's happened. He nods at the plan, not wanting to get in Spindle's way anymore, but then freezes when Spindle offers to fix his glove.

"Ah... you'd really do that? Are you sure? I wouldn't want to bother you any more than I already have."

Amos rubs the back of his neck, a sheepish smile spreading across his face.

The last thing he needed was to be treated like a pet by some popular kid. The thought alone made his skin crawl. Spindle would rather eat one of Lilia’s meals. Not to mention Spindle assumed this Riley wanted to be his friend was because he wanted to prove he was so nice that he could friend the ‘unfriendable’ or some stupid trivial thing like that. Because this was NRC and the only one without ulterior motives is Kalim.

Spindle held a hand out for the glove, “I want something to do.”

"He believes that everybody has something unique to offer him friend-wise, and in return he has something unique to offer them. He sees people in such an interesting light. I wish I could see everybody the way he does, but unfortunately I'm more wary than he is. It's my job, as the older brother."

Amos extends his hand, allowing Spindle to do what he'd like with it. He's never seen sewing in action before, so he isn't completely sure if Spindle wants him to keep the glove on or not. However, something that Spindle notices is that he's making a pointed attempt to keep the palm of his hand facing down.

"If you think it's irritating, which some people do, then you can tell him and he won't bother you. He's nice like that."

Spindle sighed, “If I maybe blunt, it’s better to be wary than too trusting. Being too trusting is the move of a half-brained mouse. At least when you’re wary, you can say you have the ability to think…” he shook his head, “Apologies, that was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

It was very unclear whether he meant that apology or not.

“It would be easier for you to take the glove off. That way I don’t prick you,” Spindle instructed while digging through his bag. He pulled out a sewing kit and a push cushion poked with needles.

Amos chuckles self-deprecatingly as he takes off the glove. On his palm, Spindle could spot many scars that clashed against each other and drove deep into his skin. They don't look new, but they don't look old, either. Maybe from a few weeks ago.

"Because of my wariness, I am very, very lonely. I haven't found any real friends who actually care about me and will wait for me despite my busy schedule to do things. Riley has already found hundreds of those, and those same hundreds of friends would beat up anybody who did something bad to him in a heartbeat. Because of his stance right now, he doesn't really have to be wary. But I do. That's how I made myself to be."

He sighs, resting his hands on his lap as he watches Spindle get to work. His eyes watch the pattern of the needle as it weaves through the fabric, mesmerized. Sewing does look interesting.

He shrugged, “I don’t mind the rant. Honestly it’s nice talking to someone who mostly shares my sentiment.”

“And if you really want friends that badly, I suggest talking to Ace Trappola and honestly all of his friends. They see ‘I don’t want friends or to be around anyone’ and take that as a challenge…” Spindle suggested, clearly annoyed by the group of first years.

The glove repair was halfway done at this point. The rip hadn’t been too big in the first place. Nothing Spindle couldn’t handle.

Much more complicated. Amos doesn't have the time for friends, working two jobs on the weekdays and three on the weekends. Nor does he have the money. He doesn't even have a phone—he needs to use a computer at the library for work so often that his seat is reserved. Not to mention that his social skills are down in the dumps. Ace Trappola hasn't come to make friends with Amos yet because Amos just wouldn't be a good friend.

"I'll let him know. He'll probably get off of your tail after that, but I can't promise that he won't run into you a few times. He's just like that, but I don't think he'll bother much."

Amos looks up at Spindle, who's completely focused on the glove and isn't meeting his gaze.

"Do you not have friends? It's not that you look like it or anything—I don't mean to offend. I'm just curious. How could you live without any friends by your side? Who do you tell your fears to? Your worries? All of your moments, both the good and the bad? What are your... 'coping mechanisms,' so to speak?"

His shoulders visibly sagged as Amos agreed to put in a ‘good’ word for him, “Thank you. I don’t want to be your brother’s little pity friend, as I’ve mentioned before.”

Spindle couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at all the questions. It caught him off guard. Well he’s definitely a curious one…

“Well to start, I do have friends,” Spindle said, “Lilia, Silver, Sebek, and Malleus. And well, I guess Ortho, but I don’t know him too well. Period. I don’t need anymore. They’re the only support system I need.”

‘Coping mechanism’? That was a tad deep for someone he had just met not too long ago.

“My coping mechanism are none of your concern,” Spindle stated. Derealization, depersonalization, isolation, slashing at a practice dummy, occasionally opening up to someone I deem worthy-

Amos nods as he listens to what Spindle has to say, gulping. He needs more water, but he's also feeling even more embarrassed than before. What the hell is wrong with him? Just because things have been getting worse lately doesn't mean that he can ask advice from a literal stranger. Is he already that pathetic?

He rubs the back of his neck again, chuckling.

"Yeah. Don't answer anything you don't want to. Sorry for being so bold right off the bat."

He takes the glove gingerly, putting it on and curling his fingers in and out to make sure it's actually repaired.

"You're good at this. I've always wanted to try sewing, but I've... never gotten the chance. Thank you so much for this."

He looks up at Spindle, tilting his head.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he was grateful Amos didn’t push. A lot of people would try to pry a little more, to see if they can get anything out of him. Spindle appreciated that this wasn’t the case here.

The compliment wasn’t expected. He had never even thought of his sewing skills as much more than something that was useful on occasion. Also he didn’t know how to take a compliment.

“Oh- uh, you’re welcome. And thank you,” Spindle managed. Seven, he could only pray that he didn’t sound as awkward as he thought he did…

He cleared his throat, “As for the second favor…” he thought over his options for a moment, then pulled out his wallet, “I need to study for a test in Professor Trein’s class, but I also needed to pick up some more metal polisher from the student store. I won’t have time to do that, so you can buy it once you’re feeling better.”

He pulled out twenty dollars worth (idk the thaumarks to dollars ratio-) to of thaumarks and handed them to Amos.

Amos looks back at the broom, sighing.

"If only some of that talent could've been transferred to flying. I'm probably going to fail our next flying test. I didn't get anything done today."

Amos stands up slowly, resting his hands on his knees. He feels better now, but he's still cautious of his body in case it decides to fail him again. His eyes widen at the two-thousand thaumarks, accepting them with careful hands.

Two-thousand. It's been a long, long while since Amos had been able to actually hold this kind of money in his hands. Maybe if he were able to get twenty thaumarks per shift, things would be better off when it came to money in the Roothyde household. He wouldn't have to toil over the next day's meal.

These thaumarks aren't his, though. They're Spindle's, and he'd feel guilty for the rest of his life if he used them on something that isn't their original purpose.

He enjoyed learning about history (because history could not be allowed to repeat). It was interesting, but he was having trouble remembering all the specific things they went over in the unit. It was one of the longer ones.

“Great. That works for me,” Spindle packed up his sewing kit and put it back in his bag, “Do you feel like you can walk to the infirmary yet? I could help if you need it.”

Spindle found himself ignoring a lot of things today. Another one added onto the list being the way Amos ogled at the cash in his hands. Part of Spindle wondered if he should take it back, but he decided against it. Anyone looking at two thousand thaumarks like it was a genie’s lamp probably needed it more than he did. As long as he got his metal polisher, he didn’t care if the rest was pocketed or not.

Amos stretches his legs, picking up his broom and beginning the walk out of the field and to the infirmary with it tucked under his arm. He checks behind him to make sure that Spindle is following, and once he's sure that the other boy is, he slows down a bit so that the two can be side by side.

"That's right. The infirmary shouldn't take long, since you saved me before anything major could happen. Thank you again. If you spot any vending machines before I do, tell me, okay?"

He doubts that he has enough in his wallet to pay for a drink. Just one bottle of water is already 300 thaumarks, and Amos is unsure if he can spare even that little amount. He still needs to pay rent, buy their meals, make sure that Riley has enough to do what he wants—

"Ah. That's a vending machine, isn't it? Do you know if the drink that you want is in there?"

Amos approaches the vending machine, already scanning the prices. 600, 400, 500, 350... oh, hell. What if he wants a snack, too? I can't say no to that. He saved my life.

There were sweeter drinks that he liked, but what he said was true. He’d rather drink water while practicing with his dagger over chocolate milk. Plus it seemed to be the cheapest thing.

He examined some of the prices, “300 for water? Crowley better be using that to pay for a school therapist…”

A foolish and hopelessly desperate wish. It would probably fund his next vacation. Still, Spindle could hope, pointless as it was.

Amos reaches into his pocket, taking out a small, teared-up wallet. He flips it open and has to check every pocket in the wallet to find something, and even then it's just a few cent coins.

"I..."

Wow, he's shaking, and his face is redder than usual. He feels like an idiot, only coming up with a few cents to his name. He can't even pay for a measly water? How stupid.

"I'm so sorry. I swear that I have the money, it's just... not on me right now. It's at home. I can, ah, give you something of mine if you want, and then when I give you the bottle of water you can give it to me back? As, like, a promise?"

Amos hands Spindle the broom, trying his best to keep up his smile so that Spindle doesn't notice how unbearably idiotic and ashamed he feels. He almost looks close to tears again.

Was… was Spindle supposed to ignore how Amos was one misinterpreted comment away from a breakdown? It seemed like he was, anyway. Spindle had never been good at comforting people. He blamed that on the lack of connection with all but one person in his earlier stages of life.

He grabbed the broom and looked down at it, “I can think of a different favor, if you’d rather,” then Spindle hit him, “Actually, I do have a much better idea. Vouch for me and tell Sir Lilia that I’ll have to miss dinner tonight.”

This was much better than a bottle of water. It was Lilia’s turn to cook tonight. Some people would argue that Spindle was just being dramatic, but then they’d have to argue Sebek, Silver, and Malleus were also being dramatic.

Amos is as good as lying as he is with flying. He has a poker face whenever he lies, but he usually ends up apologizing right after, because he hates the feeling of being guilty. Amos can't apologize when it comes to this, though. He's already done so little for the other boy.

It would be better for him if he said a truthful lie. He wouldn't feel so pressured and guilty if he did that.

"Sorry again. I just... forget to put it in my wallet. The money. Ah."

He's rambling again, isn't he? Spindle already got the point. You're sorry. You need to shut up.

To be honest, Spindle could lie his own way out of this, but then he’d have to get one of the first years vouch for him, then they’d make him do something in return, it would just become a whole thing. This, however, was much easier.

“Just meet me at Diasomnia once you get out of the infirmary,” Spindle said, “I’ll be waiting near the entrance.”

The trip to the infirmary doesn't take long, since it was a minor heat stroke and didn't escalate into anything serious. The doctors send him out with a large bottle of water and a warning, but instead of keeping it to drink for himself, he puts the water into Spindle's water bottle that he realized that he accidentally kept with him and chugged the rest. He knew that he'd be fine. As he told Spindle before, his body has handled much worse than this.

The next thing he does is go to the mystery shop, where he picks up the metal cleaner and leaves with ten thousand thaumarks left to spare. These, he does not pocket, because he would feel absolutely terrible about it and would think about it for the rest of his life. Instead, he keeps them safely in his pocket for when he meets up with Spindle again.

All in all, the whole endeavor takes about thirty minutes to complete, so he's' pretty sure he's in good time. He hopes he is, anyway, when he steps foot inside of Diasomnia's dorm and sees Spindle waiting there for him.

"Hello again. Sorry if I took too long; I tried my best to get here as fast as I could."

Amos holds up the three things he was meant to give: the water bottle, the metal cleaner, and the ten thousand thaumarks. He gives Smindle a shy smile, hoping he'll forgive him now for the trouble.

“It’s alright. Lilia hasn’t finished with dinner yet,” Spindle said, standing to greet him. He grabbed the three things, putting the water in his bag, pocketing the thaumarks, and keeping the metal polisher in his hand. “Thank you.”

He meant it, but he didn’t try to make it obvious. Not that that was any different than usual. Thank the Seven Amos managed to get his hands on the metal polisher. He’d been meaning to give it a cleaning for a while now…

“I’ll show you the way. It’ll be more convincing if I’m there. Plus he won’t interrogate you if I stay,” Spindle explained, leaving no room for debate as he walked off into the actual dorm part.

Amos trails behind Spindle, hands behind his back as he steels himself to meet the Diasomnia housewarden and vice housewarden. He's heard good things about Lilia from Riley, but he doubts that he'll get the same genuine kindness Lilia gives Riley reciprocated to him. He always thinks that he will, and then at the end he ends up either being treated like a piece of shit or treated with unnerving faux-kindness because he's the brother of a really popular kid at school. He hates both options.

"This dorm is nice," Amos comments, looking around the hallways of the dorm. The gothic windows sandwiched in between statues of bat's heads was just Amos' style, and the candles on candelabras glowing a dim green tied the atmosphere together. He could imagine living here instead of the Savanaclaw dorm, and he was one of the top in the school when it came to magic...

After walking for a minute or two, Spindle pulled out a white handkerchief and poured some of metal polisher on it. He then put the bottle of metal polisher in his bag. Once that was away, he pulled out something from a pouch(?) on his belt.

A dagger.

Most of Diasomnia knew Spindle kept a dagger on him. They’d seen him walk around with it before, so he pulled it from his sheath without thinking much about it. He forgot Amos had never seen his dagger or knew he had one to begin with.

Spindle began to polish his dagger, clearly still forgetting how jarring this probably looked to an outsider. While he polished, he answered, “Perhaps, if you’re lucky. Prince Malleus has the slight tendency to wander around without warning anyone of where he’s going. Plus he’s trying to get as far away from Sir Lilia as he can while he’s cooking.”

"I see. That's alright then. No worries."

Amos plays with his gloved fingers for a few silent moments, careful to not break the stitch Spindle made before he starts again.

After polishing a specifically dirty spot on his dagger, he held it up to the dim candle light. It shined in the under the light. He hummed in satisfaction then started to polish another spot before continuing, “Silver’s friendlier than he seems. He has-… I believe people are calling it RBF now.”

“Sebek can be a handful. Don’t stand too close to him. You’ll go deaf,” Spindle said, “Lilia’s great. A little much at times, but he cares. He just can’t cook.”

“Malleus is kinder than many people think he is. People seem to have trouble understanding that,” Spindle sighed. He felt sympathy for Malleus, but there was unfortunately nothing anyone could do. Things had improved a little after the overblot, but still…

"People also tell me that I have that RBF thing that you're talking about," Amos chuckles, scratching his chin. "I've been trying to change it, but it doesn't seem to be working very well."

He tries his best to remember the faces of the other Diasomnia students, but he doesn't see them around much. He never really is around much. Fridays are the only days where he doesn't have to work at such an early hour.

"Sebek does seem kind, from what I can tell. And so does Lilia, because I've heard of him from my brother who is also good friends with him. Malleus as well—I would consider myself adequately good at recognizing the kindness meant in someone stoic."

Amos stops with him in front of the door, nodding firmly at Spindle's question.

It was odd. Or, it would be if Spindle hadn’t been aware of Lilia’s antics by now.

“I know you’re here, Sir,” Spindle called out.

There wasn’t a response at first. Then a sound - a giggle - came from above them, “Khehehe~!”

Suddenly Lilia swung down, floating midair upside down like a bat. He grinned, “Ah, Spindle! You’re just in time!” He floated down until he was right side up again, though his feet weren’t touching the ground, “The chicken noodle soup is almost ready!”

Spindle looked past him to the sludge boiling on the stove. He respected Lilia a great deal, but that *ancient fae curse word* was NOT chicken noodle soup.

Lilia then looked at Amos, his smile seemingly only growing wider with actual happiness, “Who’s your friend, Thorn? Is he staying for dinner?”

Spindle had to fight the urge to say that Amos wasn’t his friend. Lilia would’ve scolded him on his manners. Oh well. Spindle would just correct him later, “Sir Lilia, this is Amos. And no, he’s not joining us for dinner. Neither am I actually.”

Now that Amos is actually in the kitchen, the smell isn't really that bad. It's nothing worse than the trash he had to eat from a few times after his parents died, that's for sure. Maybe...

"But we would love to take some of it to-go with us, if you're okay with that?"

Before Spindle can go ahead and shoot him a weird look, amos shoots him one back: Stay quiet. I'll explain later.

He didn’t say anything once Amos shot him a look. Hopefully he would explain it later, but until then Spindle opted to stay silent.

Lilia immediately lit up with joy, “Oh of course! You can take extra, if you’d like!” He immediately floated off to get to go bowls, still talking to him, “Everyone in this dorm is always somehow either busy or have somewhere to be when it’s my turn to cook. No idea why!”

The sludge bubbled as if to say ‘I might have a guess’.

Lilia returned with three to go containers that he filled with the ‘soup’, his back turned to them. It landed with a loud, wet PLOP.

He takes a spoon from the counter, waiting for Lilia's permission. When he's given the signal, he takes a spoonful and bites into it.

Not a terrible texture, and the flavor's alright. I could easily have this for lunch and dinner if I play my cards right.

"This is pretty good. What's in this, if I may ask?"

Spindle closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “Sir… please tell me you at least put chicken in the soup…”

“Fufufu! Thorn, there wasn’t any left in the fridge, I had to improvise,” Lilia explained.

Improvised… what did Lilia substitute the chicken in chicken noodle soup f- never mind. I’d rather not know, Spindle thought to himself.

Spindle wondered why Amos was letting himself be tortured like this. Going through his memory, Spindle tried to recall any bits and pieces he had overheard in the halls. A few people whispered about the Roothyde brothers being low on cash.

Well… they whispered about Riley being low on cash, but the end result was still the same.

Soup and crunch are two words that shouldn't be not even in the same paragraph, but Amos doesn't look like he's realized the oddity of a sentence that just came out of his mouth. He takes another bite, nodding thoughtfully.

"Yes, this is pretty fine indeed. Please, go on with packing the servings up. I'm sorry that I interrupted."

Amos steps back, moving to the sink and washing the spoon that he used to put it back in its proper place still cleaned. He stays near Lilia in case he needs any help, as well as to carry the portions when he finishes packing them.

Oh Seven no. He didn’t need to be reminded of those days. Out of all the times to bring out the childhood stories why now? Plus the reason he ate them in the first place was because it was better than what he ate when-…

“Sir-“ Spindle interrupted, trying to stop him.

“He ate everything I made.”

“Sir Lilia, please stop-“

“Every last crumb. Then he just stopped. No idea why he stopped. Oh! I think I have a photo of him when he was nine or ten with his face covered in my food-“

“LILIA,” Spindle exclaimed loudly. That was the loudest he had spoken all day. At least in front of Amos. He buried his face in his hands, trying to hide his embarrassment.

Amos takes the bag of food, looking happier than he has ever since he met Spindle. Having to spend half the money for food for him and his brother sure is a relief. Maybe he'll have more money to save for some good meals for him next week.

"Thank you so much, sir Lilia, Amos thanks, giving the man a deep bow.

"Me and Spindle will be enjoying the food that you made us wholeheartedly. Really, I cannot thank you enough. I'll deliver the dishes to you when we finish them. That, you can count on."

Amos sees himself out, saying another goodbye to Lilia and holding the door open for Spindle to walk through. When the two of them are a safe distance away from the kitchen, Amos begins to explain.

He shook his head, “Anyways, you’re free to take all of that. Or any other food Lilia makes for that matter.”

Spindle remembered at that moment that they had never properly confirmed or denied whether the study session was happening. It would help Spindle, sure, but he wasn’t exactly known for asking for help.

"I'm sure you've heard of others talking about how the Roothyde family is poor, and they'd be correct. I try my best to sustain me and my brother enough to look decent when we're at school, but when it comes to food, we have to take whatever we can."

He looks down at the bag of so-called "food" that he's holding, careful not to kick it too hard since he has it in front of his legs.

"Or... more like I do. Riley gets better food solely because he hasn't built up the tolerance for it like I have."

He tries his best for his brother, he really does. But when he has to give Riley the horrid food that he usually eats, or when Riley eats nothing on some days because his stomach nor their budget can handle it, Amos truly feels like a horrible brother. He wishes that he had the mental capacity and time to work three jobs instead of just two.

He looks up about the study session comment, breaking him away from his thoughts. At the slight nervousness in Spindle's voice, Amos smiles softly.

What am I supposed to say? Sorry doesn’t do anything… Spindle thought to himself. From experience, sorry loses all meaning after a while. At least it does when they say sorry for reasons other than actually being in the wrong.

Thankfully, the conversation moved on rather quickly. Spindle was thankful Amos didn’t make a big deal out of it.

"I think I'll be following you then, if you don't mind. I don't know where the library here is."

They walk in silence for a minute or two, save for the sound of footsteps coming from both them and other students and the sound of the candle flame's soft crackle. All the while, Amos is thinking of what to say to make the walk less awkward. He knows that Spindle probably doesn't mind that the walk is silent, but he doesn't want to seem ignorant.

It may sound stupid - it sounded stupid to Spindle - but even asking for help about something as easy as this made him feel a little vulnerable. Obviously not very vulnerable (not as vulnerable as he had once been), but still.

He pulled out one of his notebooks, “These are my notes. I hope they’re legible.”

Amos takes the notebook, flipping it to the first page and reading the notes on it. He appreciates the neat cursive compared of Spindle to his own handwriting—sometimes he can't even understand his own writing—and sits down at the table Spindle picked out.

"These are some good notes you have here, however they're lengthy. Most of the essays you wrote in here can be shortened into two or three paragraphs. Don't get stressed over it, though—I'll show you how to condense them now."

He closes the notebook, handing it back to Spindle.

"Before I start teaching you, I... want to let you know that you should stop me if you don't understand what I'm talking about. I actually have, like, lesson plans that I make for things related to magic in my free time at work, because I'm really passionate about it even if I can't pursue it when I get older."

It's a shame, really. Amos wishes that he could study magic, but magic isn't what brings the money home. He needs to study not to become a mage, but to become... an accountant. Or a lawyer. or someone in a box office. He hasn't decided which.

“I see… I’ll make my notes shorter next time,” Spindle decided.

Despite sometimes coming off as viewing himself above people (not the intention but oh well), he was very willing to listen to advice. He’d try it out for a while and stop if it didn’t suit him.

Spindle raised an eyebrow, “That is impressive. Although why can you not pursue a career with magic? I’m sure there’s a good job you can use magic for.”

Amos stands back up, looking down at the table. His bangs covered his face, and therefore his expression.

"I've always wanted to help people, but right now the number one person I have to help is my brother. And helping my brother means that I need to make money for the both of us, so that way he can grow to be whatever he wants. I can handle not being a mage."

It's conflicting for Amos. He hates having to twist and bend himself to help Riley other than himself, but at the same time he knows that this is what he deserves. He hates this, but he likes this at the same time. Is he sick in the head or something?

"Sorry. You didn't ask for my entire backstory. Yeah, I'll go get the history book now."

Amos stands up, walking to a bookshelf near where they picked a table. He easily recognizes the magic history book and swiftly picks it up from its shelf, staring at it for a minute longer than necessary before heading back to where Spindle was.

He could only nod and watch as Amos went off to grab a history book from the library shelf. Then he turned back to his notebook and flipped to the point in the unit he had been struggling the most with (ugh, struggling. How he hated that word…)

Amos opens the history book, flipping it to the unit they're reviewing on the first try. He points to a picture, the information flowing out of his mouth steadily.

If Spindle doubted his prowess before, then this would have him speechless. Amos really did know just about everything related to magical history. Whenever Spindle asked a question, Amos could answer without even glancing at the book. He had those studying techniques down as well, and when Spindle mastered them, he was able to grasp the concept of the lesson way better.

Along with this, Amos would give good amounts of praise whenever Spindle got something right. A "good job" here, a "that's right. You're getting better already" over there, general things that Amos knew that others liked when studying. He tried his best to never let Spindle get discouraged or down because he didn't know something.

"And... that's about the whole of it," Amos ended, looking at a clock up at the library wall.

He felt so awkward. By the Seven, he hated this feeling. Please tell me he can’t tell how awkward I am right now…

Anything akin to the feeling of uncomfortableness Spindle chalked up to feeling vulnerable and exposed. Awkwardness? Vulnerable. Embarrassed? Vulnerable. Uneasy? Vulnerable.

And Spindle hated feeling vulnerable.

Spindle had been too focused in his studying to notice, but that was probably also easy to overlook because Amos was keeping it a secret. He knew that everybody didn't exactly like Lilia's food, and he didn't want to make Spindle get grossed out from eating in front of him.

"I, uh... or you could bring it yourself, of course."

If you don't want anything to do with me anymore.

“It probably would be easier if you came with…” Spindle mumbled. He looked at the clock, “Fine, but we have to be quick. It’s almost curfew.”

That wasn’t entirely true. Yes, it was almost time for curfew, but Spindle usually spent the first hour or so practicing with his dagger. This had been approved by Malleus, so no one would be concerned if he wasn’t back before then.

However if he was gone too long then people would start to worry and Spindle liked to get at least an hour of practice a day. Plus he had done much more talking with people he wasn’t close to than he would like.

He stood and shouldered his bag, “There’s probably enough to fill a bag with. We have a calendar for whose turn it is to cook in Diasomnia. Some people plan weeks ahead to get out of this.”

Amos checked the time two seconds earlier. Amos knew that it wasn't actually almost time for curfew. But if Spindle wants Amos to hurry up, Amos won't hesitate to comply. He still feels bad for everything that happened, so he doesn’t want to bother the other boy a more than he already has.

Idiot. Always sticking to the past. That guy doesn’t care about what happened anymore. This is all just YOU.

“Are Lilia’s meals usually so bad? Because this one didn’t taste that awful. It was pretty mediocre, actually.”

Amon follows Spindle, holding the bag with the other portion firmly in his arms. He still ate, and yet his stomach is still growling. Not from sickness, but from the desire to eat more. Today was one of those days where he doesn’t eat until he can’t handle it anymore.

“…If you want dessert that badly, I’m just going to buy you something from the vending machine,” Spindle decided, not leaving room for argument, “And don’t say you’d be able to stomach his dessert. Last time he made a cake, it wasn’t cake. It was stone. You would break all your teeth before it reached your stomach acid, so lose the ‘I-don’t-want-to-be-a-bother’ attitude and accept the offer.”

Normally Spindle wasn’t so helpful with people he barely knew, but he took pity on those who had to eat Lilia’s food. Also, he had gotten used to most people’s arrogance that this was starting to annoy him more than others’ ego.

Is Amos’ “I don’t want to be a bother” attitude actually bothering Spindle? After all he’s tried to not irritate the boy?

The thought gives Amos a sick feeling in his stomach. He doesn’t know how to act anymore. Should he stop acting submissive like this and instead be more outward? Is there a point in which someone can be too humble? Has he reached that point? How can he go back?

No matter what you do, you’ll always be a BURDEN…

“…Number nine,” he mumbled, referencing to a snickers bar in the vending machine.

“And number eleven. I’m—“

I’m sorry for making you do this, Amos almost says, but thinks better of it and shuts his mouth. He’s not making Spindle do anything. He’d probably get annoyed if Amos said something like that.

“Thank you,” he says instead, watching as he inserts money in the machine to buy the bar and the sandwich. Riley will be sure to like this for lunch tomorrow.

“Of course,” he replied, handing Amos the food, “This is much better than Lilia’s food, I promise you.”

Then he turned back to the vending machine and inserted a few more thaumarks. He got himself what had to be one of the most sugary drinks that was legally allowed to be sold. It would probably send the average person into cardiac arrest, but it was just enough for Spindle’s treat after practice.

Amos takes the sandwich, trying to stop himself from drooling. He can't take a bite. It's for Riley, and anyway he's already full. Full, but hungry. Full, but...

This is bad for him, and he knows it. This constant hunger that gnaws at him. Amos puts the new food into the bag with the other food, trying not to think about it by making conversation.

"Thanks for everything, again. If you ever need any more tutoring, you can let me know. I'm always happy to help. And if you any help with clearing out Lilia's food, feel free to tell me as well. I don't mind."

He sighed, remembering the one time Lilia almost cost Diasomnia a kitchen, “Let’s just say what cooking techniques he lacks, he makes up for in combat. And he’s very good in combat.”

Scarily good at combat, considering the analogy…

Spindle walked into the kitchen, giving Amos a nod of thanks. Lilia and Silver were in there, helping clean up. Silver looked just the smallest bit nauseous. He looked a shade or two paler as well and looked up as the two walked in.

“Ah, Spindle and… Amos, right? I hope you both enjoyed your study session,” Silver said. He then turned to Lilia, “Fath-… Lilia, may I go lay down? I’m feeling just a little unwell…”

Lilia smiled caringly and patted Silver’s shoulder, “Sure, Silver, go relax. Spindle can help once his friend leaves,” he watched as Silver walked off. Then he looked back to Amos and Spindle, “How was the study session? You two back for seconds?”

Amos' nods, waving goodbye to Silver as he leaves to rest. When he's out of sight, he faces Lilia, giving him a sheepish smile.

"Our study session went well, I'd hope. From what I could tell, Spindle left more informed. I'm around of him, really."

Amos chuckled, blushing when Spindle mentioned the leftovers tidbit.

"Ah... yes, that is right. I promise not to take too much of your time, not to worry. I understand it's late. However, I do have a container for you from Spindle's leftovers, and if you wouldn't mind, it would be a great help to me if you were to put any leftovers of the food you made today in here. If you are not saving them, of course."

Lilia walked over to the fridge and pulled out the pot of leftovers. It still looked pretty full. He then took then container from Amos and filled it up, “Is that enough? You can take more if you’d like,” then he had a thought, “You can stay for ice cream if you’d wish! Then you two can tell me about your study session. Thanks for helping Spindle, by the way. He rarely ever asks for help, even from m-“

Spindle coughed into his fist loudly, “Lilia.”

“Oh, alright,” he sighed and shook his head in amusement, “You and your pride, Little Thorn, my Seven.”

Spindle didn’t say anything further, but he did glare at Lilia’s last remark. He wasn’t that prideful. He could ask for help when he really needed it, he just didn’t need help that often…

"Anytime. I am always happy to help. Thank you again for the leftovers, sir."

He puts the spoon away, closing the drawer and taking the time to reorganize his things. Only when Lilia asks Amos what flavors he'd like from the group is when the offer dawns on him.

"Ice... cream...?"

Amos feels especially stupid right now. It seems to be a common reoccurrence today. He's heard sometimes of Riley going out to get ice cream with friends, but it was usually much too expensive to get when it was hot outside. He would usually opt for shitty lemonade. Therefore...

As much as Spindle wanted to say no, he really couldn’t say no to ice cream.

Spindle walked over to the tub labeled cotton candy and opened the lid, revealing bright blue and pink ice cream. He’ll never understand how some people didn’t like it. He grabbed a spoon and took a bite. He looked like he was in heaven.

Amos locates the cups easily, taking out cups for the three of them and taking the ice cream scooper gently from Lilia's hands. The tubs are almost entirely frozen, making it exceptionally hard to scoop anything up, yet Amos does it without a struggle.

For Spindle and Lilia's cups, he fills it to the brim with the ice cream that they choose, but for himself he only fills it halfway. He then gives each person their cup and a small spoon, moving out of the way of the toppings. He doesn't know when is appropriate to start eating it.

Lilia looked at Amos’ bowl and chuckled, “Oh you’re allowed more than that!” He grabbed the ice cream scooper and filled Amos’ bowl as high as theirs, “You’re the guest. It’s alright if you don’t finish it all!” Lilia then grabbed the chocolate syrup and poured it all over his own ice cream.

Spindle hesitated before pushing the caramel syrup towards Amos, “Chocolate ice cream tastes better with caramel,” he shrugged, “Or don’t use it. I’m not you.”

"I've never had caramel, either. I don't think."

Oh, sevens. Not again. Don't cry don't cry, don't cry, don't cry...

Amos wishes that he wasn't close to tears. He doesn't cry in front of anybody, and yet it's already happened three times today. Three times? What the hell? Is he that sensitive? Grow up, Amos.

"Sure, I'll... get a bit. If you wouldn't mind."

Who would mind. Who would mind? Amos is overthinking as he grabs the bottle and pumps a few squirts. As usual.

"Thank you so much for being so accepting of me. I... I really appreciate it. If you two want to ask me any questions about myself, you can go right ahead. Just to, ah... show that I'm completely safe."

…Shoot, Spindle thought to himself. He slid the chocolate sprinkles over, hoping they would help. The only forms of comfort Spindle could give were advice and gifts. Everything else came awkwardly to him.

Lilia smiled at Amos’ suggestion, “Sure! And that gives me a great idea! What if we all play 20 Questions. You can ask questions about us, and we’ll ask some about you!”

"That sounds like a good idea. I think that one of you should ask me a question to start, since I'm the unknown one here. For the most part. I don't find any question as being too personal, so please ask whatever you'd like."

Amos scoops up a small bite of his ice cream and puts in it his mouth, his eyes widening at the taste. It's so good. His stomach growls a little louder as he takes another bite, trying his best to eat slowly.

Thankfully, that was what ended up happening. Lilia thought for a moment before finally saying, “Ooooh, I got one!” He pointed his spoon at Amos and grinned, “Who’s your favorite housewarden?”

Spindle pretended not to be listening for Amos’ answer, but he definitely was. Obviously the best housewarden was Malleus, Amos would probably say it was Leona.

Amos' face turns a little red as he continues.

"I admire his power and how he's determined to change since his overblot. It's inspiring, and... well. I really have an affinity for magic, so meeting him personally has always been one of my dreams."

A dream that he knows he shouldn't have. It'll only fuel his desire to learn about magic even more, despite the fact that he can't. No matter what he does, Amos Roothyde will never be able to continue pursuing his love of magic because his duty is to make money. Magic doesn't make money.

Magic doesn't make money.

"I doubt it'll ever happen, though. Which is fine by me."

Amos takes another bite, thinking of a question to ask.

…He was saying all of this out loud, wasn’t he?

He quickly cleared his throat and regained composure, “…a very powerful figure, yes,” there was silence. And then Spindle said, “…I practice with my dagger, sewing, and bird watching.”

Seven, end me now…

Lilia chuckled at Spindle’s outburst of enthusiasm, but didn’t comment on it, “In my free time, I enjoy traveling alone. It’s quite relaxing.”

Amos rubs the back of his head, crafting his answer carefully.

"Ah... my favorites would be cats. I love cats. Riley—my brother, as you know well, sir Lilia—is also fond of cats, but he's allergic, which ends up with me having to go to a nearby CVS to get him allergy medication."

A lie. Amos can't afford to get medicine unless it's free, which leads him to resort to some sketchy places to get what he needs. He hates doing it, but he has to.

Spindle shot Lilia a glare. He knew the older fae was absolutely lying through his teeth - Lilia never ran out of questions for everyone. He shot Spindle a wink that went unnoticed by Amos that clearly meant “Go on”.

Spindle rolled his eyes and looked at Amos, “How about your favorite… song? Or genre of music?”

Amos rubs the back of his neck, thinking of what he should ask next.

"I'll ask the next question, then. Uh... the only thing that comes to my mind is something a little more personal, so I hope that you two don't mind. But, ah... what are your biggest influences?"

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."

Vince decides to be a little daring and press against Greyson's shoulder. Now, instead of a light graze, they're pressing into each other, however softly.

Vince chuckles, letting Grey rest on his shoulder all he wants. He's itching to get closer, longing to get the affection he heeds. But he's able to controls himself and take another puff instead.

"How 'bout I use they/them on you from now on? So y' can see when one y' like better?"

Don't get ahead of 'urself, Vince. He don't mean anythin' by this. Stay calm.

"N' for me, you can use sum' usual he/him, by the way. To let 'ya know."

A comfortable silence wraps around the two boys. Or, comfortable for Greyson, at least—Vince is internally panicking, scrambling to find something else to talk about. He's usually good at this. Why can't he be good at this right now?

"Ya' told me a bit 'bout your home life, so 'll tell you 'bout mine 'n return," he blurts a little faster than usual. A weak conversation starter in the sense that it's obvious, but a conversation starter nonetheless.

"'M adopted. Grew up young n' a shit family, not very important. Got adopted by m' momma n' my mom n' my papa n' my dad when I was twelve. Ya' heard right: four. 'S a polycule, n' they adopted four children n' had five t' go with 'em. M' the seventh r' eighth, pretty sure."

Vince chuckles, ruffling Greyson's hair lightly as a thought occurs to him.

“I'm not one to shy away from dirty work, but I'll warn you now that I burn like dry grass in a heatwave.” It's a kind offer, one that he's never been given before. Usually people were too wary of him to get close.

Vince laughs out loud, the worry from being away from his siblings for long slowly fading away. This boy—this sweet, quiet boy, really had an effect on Vince. Greyson was able to bring Vince back to normal even while they're talking about family.

A kind person, indeed. Vince would have to try his hardest to befriend Greyson.

"Reckon you'll have fun, though. 'll put you with sum' easier jobs, n' at the end, we could go do something' fun. Moms n' dads won't let you r' me leave without a fight."

A blush creeps up Vince's cheeks. There it is. He's lost his limits, and is inviting practically a stranger over to his house. What's up with me?! I can't be so bold alluva sudden!

Easy to fluster under all the so-called aloofness. No one ever tries to approach them, and Vince might just be the first.

"N' why would that be? You're adorable! Nevr' get people, really. Always judgin' for no reason."

Vince slaps Greyson's shoulder a few times, in a teasing, playful manner. He's grinning from ear to ear, happy that Greyson is happy and also so close to him.

“I'm adorable, huh? I think that might be a new word used to describe me. You're easy on the eyes too, Vince.”

Obvious? Yes. But Mother always said to go after the things he wants before they escape him.

"'Easy n' the eyes?' I've been called more uva hunk in my lifetime. But thank 'ya, Grey."

He looks down, watching Greyson's finger as it trails up his metal arm. He extends his fingers, showing the arm off a little bit.

"Does it look odd to 'ya, Grey? 'S a prosthetic arm, if 'ya couldn't tell. Got this while I was fulla bullshit. Still full bullshit now, but I can control myself. 'Nough."

Vince grabs one of his poor cigarettes, the newer one that Greyson gave him kicked to the curb long ago. He twists his finger, and a soft flame bursts from the tip of it, which he uses to heat up the front of the cigarette.

“...Yourself, huh? It suits you, makes you all the more charming, non?” He doesn't know why he slips into a different language, maybe it's from being in such proximity to Rook, or maybe his childhood lessons finally have reason to be used, but there are just some words that English doesn't contain to describe this.

“Une œuvre d'art. A work of art. Your arm, that is. Though that's not to say that you aren't also a work of art- Aïe, je suis en train de me creuser ma propre tombe.”

Grey goes silent, praying to the Seven to give him strength, and wills the warmth on his cheeks to retreat.

“What I mean to say is, your talent, precision, and dedication are works of art.”

Vince waves his hands around, being all showy in an exaggerated way to try and get this guy to laugh. He's not all that egoistical, so it's obvious that what he's saying is all just a joke. When Grey gives him a funny look, Vince can't help but burst into laughter all over again, slapping Grey on the back hard. Not enough to make a dent, but enough to make that cute pouting face again.

When Grey starts speaking French, though, Vince blanks, freezing in place.

"...Ah? What's up with the French? I don' speak a lick 'f French, 'll have 'ya know. Coulda' call'd me a slur, 'nd I'd have no clue!"

Vince snorts, grinning from ear to ear. It's true—he doesn't know not one bit of any other language besides the one he was born saying. The only French words he does know would be stuff like "oui oui" and "bonjour," and even then he would butcher them horribly (wei wei and bonejauhr).

Vince noticed Grey almost going to fiddle with his earring again, and decides to take a bold move and place his mechanical hand gently on top of Grey’s. He chuckles at the other boy’s sheepishness, winking at him as he speaks.

“Think ‘ur good with words, tho’. Ain’t have nobody call me a work ‘f art in this lifetime. N’ I don’t think nobody’ll ever tell me it like you did.”

So much care around the words. So much tenderness, even though they’re technically not even friends yet. Vince wonders why that is, but drops it after a few seconds of pondering. It’s probably just out of formality.

“Mmm… We’ll, if ‘ya think that way, then how ‘bout ya’ give me a real authentic French insult? One that’ll get someone’s boots shakin’, so I can tell it to ‘ur haters n’ have ‘em runnin’ for their lives?”

“Avoir le QI d’une huître. It means that to have the IQ of an oyster. One of my favorites, personally.” Grey smiles, a bright little thing that makes the world feel just a little bit brighter.

Vince laughs, patting Grey on the back for the good insults. He tries to say the insult in French—"cone conmeh uhn valaisw sans po-ih-knee?"—but butchers it terribly and has to watch as Grey laughs in his face.

"Wha—hey! M' pronunciation ain't tha' bad! V' never dun this befor'!"

He's not offended by it, though. Vince laughs along with Grey, but pauses when he catches sight of that pretty smile. My, Sevens...

"Ya'know, after seein' it n' person, m' thinkin' you should smile a little more. Suits 'ya. Brings out yer eyes."

He takes out his phone, opening the camera app.

"Cm'ere. Lemme show ya'."

He flushes at the compliment to his smile, but sheepishly looks towards the camera while placing a hand on Vince's shoulder.

Vince shows Greyson the photo, zooming into his face. Whether or not Greyson sees anything different in himself, it's clear that Vince sees a lot in him.

"'Dorable! Ya'd really be a hot shot, if ya did tha' 'round more people. Good thin' that ya' ain't, 'cause I kinda wanna keep tha' perfect smile all to m'self."

Vince sends the photo to his family group chat before putting the phone into his pocket. The action rides his pants down just a tad, but what's really curious is the white fur peeking underneath. He doesn't seem to realize this, nor the implications of what he just said.

“I-” His throat feels dry. Why does it feel dry?

“You wouldn't have to pose, you're pretty as is.” He mutters, too flustered to notice the fur as he takes out his own phone cups Vince's face with his free hand.

It seems like he's perfectly fine with taking pictures with other people as long as he's not the main subject of it. He stares at the photo for a very long time, then pockets his phone after sending it to someone.

Who?

Who knows. There wasn't a contact name.

"Wha—hey! Whos' that, eh? Ya' beter not be sendin' stuf t' sum rando who'll mock me fo' tha' arm o' mine!"

Vince pouts after realizing that he's really not going to be allowed to see who he's texting, but then his eyes light up when an idea crosses his mind.

"Ah! Didya want my magicam n' that number o' mine, Grey? M' happy t' give it t'ya! I post sum stuff n' there, f' ya'd like t' take a look!"

That's what Greyson starts with, typing the handle into magicam to find the account. When he clicks on the profile picture of a cat hiding in the bushes of a forest, he can already spot a picture from Vince at the gym peeking out from under his bio.

"I could type ma numba for ya, if ya'd like! Y' could put whateva profile picture ya' wanna on there! N' y' don' mind me taggin 'ya n' stuff, d'ya?"

Vince takes Greyson's phone, inputting the number and putting his name as "VINCE!!". He then sends a test text to himself (labeled as Testing!! Testing!! 123!) and then checks his own phone (responding with It worked!!)

"It worked!" Vince exclaims out loud, looking up from his phone.

"'ll be textin' ya 24/7, too. Any sorta pref as ta' what ya' want ur profile pic n' ur name ta' be?"

All he sent?

He check his prone for the test text message, lighting up when he sees the heart.

"Tha's such a cute heart! 'Ur softer than I thought! D'ya text everyon' a heart, r' am I a special lil' fella?"

He replies to the emoticon with one of his one: (*´ω｀*)

Greyson fiddles with the keyboard, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he tries to make one by himself. Greyson tries to speak, but Vince won't let him until he's conjured up the perfect kaomoji to use.

"Eh... ahah! 'Think I got it!"

He sends the one he made along with a few variations, grinning like a proud father when he finishes and sits back.

\ (// `u` //) /

\ (// `_` //) /

\ (// `0` //) /

"Thank 'ya! Ya can use 'em if ya... huh?"

Vince looks down at his phone, noticing that Greyson hearted all of the kaomojis with spiderwebs. He tilts his head, squinting to make sure that he was seeing right.

"'S thatta spiderweb?"

Vince looks back up, eyes filled with wonder.

Vince laughs, abandoning his phone to reach out and pinch Greyson's cheeks. His touch is soft, but his hands are rough. Probably from days of working at the farm.

"What a cutie! Wouldda never thoughtta doin' somethin' so creative! How cute!"

Vince moves back, picking up his phone again. He taps his chin, scrolling through emojis until his eyes light up. He then proceeds to like all of Greyson's texts, but instead of a heart, it's a leaf.

“Awh that's cute. A leaf suits you.”

Vince chuckles, now pressing into Greyson fully. He's open for a hug, he very much wants a hug, but he also doesn't want to push Greyson.

"Did'ja really wanna come ofer ta' ma' farm? R' wassat all sum joke?"

He grins, placing his head on Greyson's shoulder.

"Would love it 'f ya came. But we only jus' met."

His eyes light up as a new idea dawns on him.

"Whaddya say ya ask me a few questions, eh? N' I do the same ta ya! How about 'ya start?"

“I don't joke lightly about wanting to escape my mother. I'd love to visit.” He admits, already itching for another cigarette. He doesn't wait long before he's grabbing another from his box and lighting it.

Vince presses his cheek against Greyson's head. He thinks about what question he could ask for a few seconds, taking out another cigarette of his own and asking the question when he the smoke in his mouth caught with the air.

Vince snorts, getting a little shy now. He usually doesn't reveal things like this right off the bat, but... oh, hell. Vince trusts Grey enough for this.

"Ya might find it stupid, but I do like ta' dance. Think I look like tha' dancin' type, Burt not fo' tha type dancing tha' I do. 'Cause I do pole dancin'."

He nudges Greyson playfully, winking.

"Well, m' gonna need a lil more from ya. How 'bout... a secret? Here— 'll give ya mine first. Fair 'change."

Vince taps his chin, thinking about a good secret to give him.

"Ah. 've gotta good 'un. N' if ya come to da farm, ur gonna see 'em anyway."

Vince chuckles nervously, rolling his pant legs up to reveal white fur. His face turns a little redder as he speaks.

“A secret of mine? Hm...” Greyson takes another drag of his cigarette while he thinks, searching for anything that he might categorize as a secret.

Oh.

Well. There's that, of course.

But...

No, too soon.

He could only hope, anyway.

"N' I suspect 'ur gettin' better, no? 'Cause 'ur real nice n' amazin'! M' enjoying' ma time wit ya!"

He winks, pulling down his pant leg. He doesn't feel so ashamed about his legs anymore. Not with the way Greyson reacted to them. He's glad that the other boy didn't find them weird like most do.

A satanist and a cannibalist. An unhealthy duo.

"N' wha 'bout you? R' should I ask a differen' quest'n?"

Is it better or worse that he's glad it was her and not anyone else?

He looks one minute away from just shoving his cigarette into his mouth and eating it.

"I won' tell. An' if ya don' wanna tell what happen' tha' day either, tha's a-okay. But jus' kno' tha you n' I, well, we're in tha same situation. So if 'ya ever wanna tell me 'bout tha, I could tell ya bout my siblings Marcy n Ophelia."

He smiles, trying to lighten the mood.

Vince giggles, ruffling Greyson's hair as an excuse to get to touch him more. Vince had never really had a crush before, more prone to feeling familial things than anything else. But now, with this sweet, broken boy...

He didn't want to get too into it.

"'Cause ah'd say tha' we're weird, too. Is it like tha'? R' sumthin' different?"

He tilts his head, reaching out and snatching another fancy cigarette from Greyson. He chuckles, lighting the front with his mechanical finger like he had shown before. He then opens a hidden pocket in his arm, taking out two chocolate bites.

"Tha's pretty wild. Neva knew of sumone who could do tha before."

After a second, he adds quickly:

"Only if ya wanna! 'S of course ur decisi'n! I don' mean ta be so forward 'bout these things. M' sorry."

Vince rubs his hand over his arm a few times. He hopes that Greyson isn't getting weirded out because of how forward he keeps being. But then again, going right about now to a cafe sounds like a good idea... to drink a smoothie from the same straw like 1980s rom-coms...

Oof.

Vince smiles, already gathering his things to leave. If Vince knew Greyson even a little, he could already tell that someone like him would know the best way to sneak out of school. He's done it a few times himself, but maybe learning from a true expert would prove him well. Most of the times that he's done it, he's gone straight to detention.

Boredom, like the undying snake it is, had once again struck Echo, filling mirror with its deadly venom.

Usually, Echo would just bother her brothers but she wasnt very happy with them at the moment so that was off the table. He could just do its homework and get it done and over with.... Echo mentally ruled that out as well. They could text Kalim or any of her other friends and see what their doing but Echo didnt necessarily feel like doing that either, oddly enough.

So instead, she took to just wandering around the Ignihyde lounge in hopes of running into someone with just as much time on their hands as they did.

//cough.... I tried chat.... 😞

So lost. Oh-so-very lost. He'd gone to his dorm many times before, but this time he accidentally stumbled into a completely different dorm? How? The entrance to the Heartslabyul dorm is so obvious! How in the world did he get sucked into wherever this creepy place is?!

The dorm itself isn't all that bad, but whenever he took a step, somebody would snap their head towards him and stare. He's an outsider, a nobody. They must be wondering why someone like him is roaming the halls of a dorm that he isn't in.

Finally, Ruadh thinks that he spots the lounge of the dorm. Thank god, because he's been walking in circles for at least twenty minutes. He needs to sit down and take a break, maybe check his notifications in case any of his friends texted him. There also might be someone with a map there, thank sevens.

He steps into the lounge and looks around. No map holder, it seems. Lots of people, too... jeez. He does not have the mental capacity to deal with social interaction that isn't online right now. He's not rested enough to call out his inner June at this time.

So Ruadh freezes, scratching his left arm hard. He has no clue what to do.

"Hi hi!! You dont look like a Ignihyde student! Did you get lost or something? I can help you out if you need, im not doing anything right now anyways!!"

Ruadh jumped, whirling around to face Echo. Whoever this is, they're much more... cheery than most Ignihyde students. Reminds him of June, really. Maybe this person would be willing to help him out...?

"O-oh, well, I... yeah, a little? I'm... lost."

Wow. That was a pathetic response. He gulps, one of his rabbit ears flopping over his eye.

"I don't know how I got here. I was trying to go to... Heartslabyul? I don't know; I'm pretty new here... ah..."

He gulps, looking everywhere but at Echo. He really is not ready for this right now.

Echo responded happily.

"How'd you get here anyways if you dont mind me asking? I mean, Heartslabyul and Ignihyde dont really look anything alike! It would be nice if they did though..."

Ruadh's being bombarded. He turns a bit red in the face at all the questions, opening his mouth slowly.

"Well, I... I don't know how. I didn't mean to come here, I swear," Ruadh murmurs, looking down. Sevens, how could he have been that stupid enough to mistake which dorm was his and go here instead? Echo's right—they don't even look the same! Riddle will surely have his head for this, now that he thinks about it...

"Uh... ah... well, my name is Ruadh. It's nice to meet you, um... ma'am. Or—or sir. Ah... whatever your pronouns are..."

He looks down, hands behind his back.

Echo stepped past Ruadh and started leading him away from the lounge

"Y'know, you kinda remind me of my brother"

Echo said casually

Ruadh perks up when he hears the comparison of him and whoever Echo's brother is, tilting his head. He gulps, hoping that whoever they're comparing him to isn't a piece of shit.

"Ah... that's good...?"

Ruadh walks a little faster to catch up with Echo. He didn't mean to make the other student think that he hated him or anything...

"Sorry, I just... well. I'm not supposed to be here. I didn't want to seem... threatening."

He walks next to Echo now, fidgeting with his hands. It's silent, and now that he knows that Echo wants to make conversation, he has to be the one to figure out what to say. He's the guest, after all.

Ruadh rubs his arm. Echo wouldn't want to know about Ruadh's troubles. He's here to make conversation, not vent.

"Are you, ah... uh... w-what are your hobbies..?"

Boredom, like the undying snake it is, had once again struck Echo, filling mirror with its deadly venom.

Usually, Echo would just bother her brothers but she wasnt very happy with them at the moment so that was off the table. He could just do its homework and get it done and over with.... Echo mentally ruled that out as well. They could text Kalim or any of her other friends and see what their doing but Echo didnt necessarily feel like doing that either, oddly enough.

So instead, she took to just wandering around the Ignihyde lounge in hopes of running into someone with just as much time on their hands as they did.

//cough.... I tried chat.... 😞

So lost. Oh-so-very lost. He'd gone to his dorm many times before, but this time he accidentally stumbled into a completely different dorm? How? The entrance to the Heartslabyul dorm is so obvious! How in the world did he get sucked into wherever this creepy place is?!

The dorm itself isn't all that bad, but whenever he took a step, somebody would snap their head towards him and stare. He's an outsider, a nobody. They must be wondering why someone like him is roaming the halls of a dorm that he isn't in.

Finally, Ruadh thinks that he spots the lounge of the dorm. Thank god, because he's been walking in circles for at least twenty minutes. He needs to sit down and take a break, maybe check his notifications in case any of his friends texted him. There also might be someone with a map there, thank sevens.

He steps into the lounge and looks around. No map holder, it seems. Lots of people, too... jeez. He does not have the mental capacity to deal with social interaction that isn't online right now. He's not rested enough to call out his inner June at this time.

So Ruadh freezes, scratching his left arm hard. He has no clue what to do.

"Hi hi!! You dont look like a Ignihyde student! Did you get lost or something? I can help you out if you need, im not doing anything right now anyways!!"

Ruadh jumped, whirling around to face Echo. Whoever this is, they're much more... cheery than most Ignihyde students. Reminds him of June, really. Maybe this person would be willing to help him out...?

"O-oh, well, I... yeah, a little? I'm... lost."

Wow. That was a pathetic response. He gulps, one of his rabbit ears flopping over his eye.

"I don't know how I got here. I was trying to go to... Heartslabyul? I don't know; I'm pretty new here... ah..."

He gulps, looking everywhere but at Echo. He really is not ready for this right now.

Echo responded happily.

"How'd you get here anyways if you dont mind me asking? I mean, Heartslabyul and Ignihyde dont really look anything alike! It would be nice if they did though..."

Ruadh's being bombarded. He turns a bit red in the face at all the questions, opening his mouth slowly.

"Well, I... I don't know how. I didn't mean to come here, I swear," Ruadh murmurs, looking down. Sevens, how could he have been that stupid enough to mistake which dorm was his and go here instead? Echo's right—they don't even look the same! Riddle will surely have his head for this, now that he thinks about it...

"Uh... ah... well, my name is Ruadh. It's nice to meet you, um... ma'am. Or—or sir. Ah... whatever your pronouns are..."

He looks down, hands behind his back.

Echo stepped past Ruadh and started leading him away from the lounge

"Y'know, you kinda remind me of my brother"

Echo said casually

Ruadh perks up when he hears the comparison of him and whoever Echo's brother is, tilting his head. He gulps, hoping that whoever they're comparing him to isn't a piece of shit.

"Ah... that's good...?"

Ruadh walks a little faster to catch up with Echo. He didn't mean to make the other student think that he hated him or anything...

"Sorry, I just... well. I'm not supposed to be here. I didn't want to seem... threatening."

He walks next to Echo now, fidgeting with his hands. It's silent, and now that he knows that Echo wants to make conversation, he has to be the one to figure out what to say. He's the guest, after all.

Greyson massaged the bridge of his nose as he slipped out of history class as soon as Professor Trein turned his back, footsteps light and quick as he retreated to his favorite spot in the courtyard. He sat down on a bench and pulled out his box of cigarettes, lighting one with a bit of magic and taking a long drag from it.

“Fucking finally.. I've been craving a smoke all day.” He mutters to himself, smoke drifting past his lips and curling into the air.

He thinks he's alone. But is he truly?

Vicente Cabro isn't well-known, but he isn't unknown, either. He's somewhere in the middle, and while he knows many people, he doesn't have a lot of them that he can call friends. Who knows— maybe Greyson Jude will be the one to become one of the rare people Vince calls a true friend. Maybe someone who isn't afraid to defy the rules is just what he needs.

Vince needs a break. He's only been in Night Raven College for a few months, and already he's getting overstimulated. He's never been away from his siblings for so long, the most being a day or two when he's out doing things. The absence of their chattering voices is jarring for him, and history class isn't really doing it for him when it comes to listening the growing ache in his heart. Stepping out of that stuffy classroom buzzing with energy and getting some fresh air for a few minutes is exactly what he needs right now.

Except the air isn't all that fresh. It's laced with smoke, something Vince can sense from a mile away. He's not unfamiliar with the smell—in fact, he even brought outside a pack of his own cigarettes, ready to use them to blow off some steam. Is there already someone smoking out here?

He steps forward, the grass beneath him shifting to hold his weight. When he gets closer, he tilts his head, recognizing their uniform. A Pomefiore student. And a young one, at that—a first year like him, maybe? Vince doesn't see many first years smoking like he does. This is new. And very welcome.

Vince comes closer, ready to join the other boy on the bench if he'd allow it, but he freezes when he whips his head around. He hadn't thought that he would scare the poor Pomefiore so badly.

"Ah... didn' mean t' startle ya', man. M' here for the same reason you are, if 'm bein' frank."

He takes out the pack of cigarettes from his pocket, jostling them while his other hand moves to rub the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture.

"Do ya' mind if I sit next t' ya'? M' not a tattletale or anythin', I swear."

“You're in my class, aren't you? T'be honest, I didn't think anyone else would come out to escape from Trein's bullshit.” Grey mumbles around his cigarette, digging in his pockets for a moment and pulling out a lighter that he offers to Vince. They can just use magic, sure, but there was something nostalgic about using an ordinary lighter.

Well, as ordinary as a custom-made lighter could get. The mirror and forest motifs, alongside Greyson's name scrawled in cursive, is a dead giveaway that he has money or at least comes from it.

Vince takes his seat a comfortable distance away from Greyson, leaning his arm against the side of the bench. He takes one of his cigarettes out, murmuring a small "thank you" when the other boy hands him the lighter.

"Unless ya' ain't willin', which in that case, I'd be makin' a fool outta myself right now. M' pretty experienced in that... locale."

Vince turns the lighter over in his hands, reading the word engraved off to the side.

"Doesn't look like any regular lighter I've seen. N' those cigarettes, too—look like they come from 'n expensive brand, why don't they. D' ya' think they feel any different to smoke, at the end?"

He chuckles, lighting up his cigarette and handing the lighter back. He takes a puff, giving the smoke a minute to properly mix with he air before he asks another question.

“There's probably not much of a difference, but you can try one of mine if you'd like.” He offers, taking the lighter back and pocketing it before blowing smoke out into the air.

Vince takes the offered cigarette gingerly, lighting it with the other cigarette he has on hand.

"Feel like 'm in the presence 'f riches, I do. Like 'm some poor weasel on the side 'f the road that's gettin' a whiff of the way the wealthy do it. Reckon 'm feelin' right?"

He smiles at his analogy, taking a whiff from this cigarette.

"Flows a little better, that's for sure. But at the end 'f the day, the relief is all the same. Thanks for letting' me try em' out, though."

Vince tilts his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles wistfully. It's not a surprise to him that this Greyson stranger didn't catch his name right off the bat—it's near-missable, unless you're actually looking out for it. Vince won't admit it out loud, but the other boy does look like the type to fully disregard anyone who won't give him something.

Maybe this exchange is different. Or maybe he's the victim.

"Name's Vicente Cabro, but everyone calls me Vince. Don't blame ya' for not recognizing it right off the bat. A pretty ordinary name, that one."

Vince offers his own cigarette box to him, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

“Vince, hm? I wouldn't call it ordinary, if anything I think Greyson is more common, but it's a pleasure to meet you as well.” He hums with consideration after getting a whiff of the other's cig.

"Right they do," he says simply, nodding as he brings the fancy cigarette up to his lips again. He looks back at the other boy, noticing the details in his uniform: the beret-like hat on his head, the accent necklaces, the earrings that are something new compared to what students at Night Raven College usually wear. It's cute, he thinks.

"I like what y' did with the outfit, by the way. Added 'ur own personal touch. That's nice."

He tips his cigarette over the bench, dusting some of the charcoal-dark particles off with his finger.

Vince smiles faintly, but his eyes don't look like they're present in the conversation.

"'S hard for me to stay away from m' family for so long. I've been w' them for ages. I jus' got particularly overwhelmed today."

He watches Grey fidget with the earring, noticing that he might be uncomfortable. He hesitates before speaking his next words, voice careful.

"You wanna tell me how you got to this school? This college? Only if you wanna, of course."

Vince is a touchy person, and not having affection for months on end can make a touchy person go crazy. He used to get satiated easily, getting in a cuddle pile with his parents and siblings and watching a movie and play-fighting with them and sticking by their side. But now, this—barely a graze, an unconscious movement—is all the touch he can get anymore. It drives Vince mad, but he doesn't want to make a move and scare the poor boy. He... looses track of his limits sometimes, especially with unfamiliar things (or people).

"I understan' the feeling," Vince nods. "My parents used t' do the same thing, but t' a... more brash extent. But now I got brought into a lovin' family, n' I would never change 'em for anythin' else. Thing's get better, Grey. You can hold me t' it."

Vince looks down at his free palm, opening and closing it a few times. He pretends to do a cool magic spell, whacking it round and round as if he's doing something really powerful.

"Don' even have my UM yet. I wish, though."

His palm drops back to his lap.

“I'm glad you have a better family, at the very least. It must be nice, having siblings. As far as I know, my closest relative is my grandmother, and I'm quite sick of hearing her preach about gender comformity.”

He laughs, but it's a little bitter. The Pomefiore student hides his wistful look behind another drag of his cigarette, which was already becoming a stub from use over time.

Vince takes a drag with him, the smoke from the two cigarettes hesitating before twisting and blending into each other. It's almost poetic.

"I don' care 'bout gender nonsense, don' get me wrong. I jus' wanna know what t' refer t' you by. Better t' tell me sooner than later, 'cause then I keep slippin' up."