hazy

“I beg your pardon?”

Your head dips low. Since when were you type to stoop so low as to seek asylum from a first year, magicless, homeless student? “Hide me. From Yuu. Please. I’ll turn in all my missing assignments. Please.”

♡ That’s exactly how you’ve found yourself concealed behind his height, well-cloaked in whatever edges of his fur coat find you. The room is rife with suffocating quietness as the door creaks, slowly, taking its time, just so you can feel Yuu’s fingers graze the wood, and their eyes scavenge the vicinity for a trace of you. Closing your eyes tight-shut, you strengthen your grip on the fabric. Just this once - just this once - and you’ll survive. 

♡ “Professor, have you seen them?”

♡ Them. They don’t name you, and painfully so, Crewel immediately recognizes who they’re talking about. Nameless, colourless, faceless. There is no one here other than you. 

“As usual, no.”

“I can see them behind you.”

♡ Unfortunately, your breathing gave it away, and you're not exactly invisible, so you make do with just legging it again and stumbling into whatever room you get your hands on.

♡  Finally you come across a good one, and remember one thing: don’t  breathe. 

♡ Don’t breathe. Don’t let a single hint of your presence scrape against the floor, or taper off your lips. Don’t breathe, don’t look anywhere past the rows of ornate shelves or the very confused ghost librarian. Don’t breathe as you shimmy inside a cranny of dust, untouched newspapers and shield the crown of your head forevermore. Don’t breathe as you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine yourself anywhere else.

♡ Don’t breathe when the door creaks open. A slow, inevitable croak gliding against polished panes.

“Hi, mister. Have you seen -- well, uh -- a Scarabian student anywhere?”

♡ Don’t breathe even when you know it’s pointing straight at you. Traitor. 

“Hey..”

♡ You don’t look up.

“Why’re you hiding from me?” Behind your lids, you imagine the dark cusps of their irises gleaming with sincerety. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?”

♡ You don’t like it. You don’t like the way they’re talking to you, slow and genuine and all too dehumanizing, as though you’re but a small rabbit in their eyes. They don’t know, they don’t know you’re an actual human being - one with conscience, humanity and awareness. They don’t know you know them, and they don’t know who you really are, all that’s left in their eyes is a perfect little image of a non-playable character - one that’s bound to come in their hands, in a way, or a thousand others. 

In lieu of a response, you clamp your lips tight shut. Your eyes cinch into a glare; one you hope is full of the aversion you feel. “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”

♡ You don’t know what to do. Give in. You’re doomed. Rebel. You’re doomed. Earning Yuu’s affection, or earning their loathing - neither option is good. 

“...Oh.”

“Listen,” You crack one eye open in spite of yourself. Yuu looks devasted - you have to save yourself. Brain straining for excuses, you spout out a career-ending one. “... It’s  not  you, it’s just that..”

...

“...That?”

“That you’re not my type.”

♡ Yuu blinks - okay, this is your chance. You can’t just go into things that can be changed, look into things that are definitie. Look into.. ah, what would particularly steer your way clear of them?

♡ You look at the schedule in their hands. First year, huh?

“I’m into older people.”

“...How much older?”

You scramble. “A lot older.”

“...Like a year?”

“No. I like mature people.”

Their shoulders relax - you take that as a bad sign. "I can be mature."

"No, no.  They need to look like they have taxes."

"...Taxes."

"Taxes. I also like people who are tall."

Yuu visibly straightens.

"Very tall."

Yuu visibly un-straightens.

"Like, concerningly tall. Like if they stand up too fast they're a threat to low ceilings."

"..."

"And older."

"..."

"And emotionally unavailable."

"That sounds unhealthy."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Actually, preferably unhealthy. I like people who look at me and immediately decide I'm none of their business."

Yuu's face falls, a slope to their brows as they frown, unknowingly, to themselves. What you’ve just said might just give you some time to prepare, because you, and any sane person in the world, know that a simple barrier like a preference won’t stop them. That’s how Yuu has always been. In a way, they need to get to you, no matter what. That’s how it always will be. "I like people who forget I exist."

It falls further, you realize. Something, the one thing, actually, that the latter is not able to do.

"I like people who don't text back. Oh, and they must have weird hobbies.. Like birdwatching, or growing mush-”

Ah. Hands clasped over your mouth, with horror, do you realize you’ve begun matching your interest to a certain Mountain Lovers president. Mission abort, the withdrawal symptoms must really be getting to you, huh?

"And NOT teal hair."

Yuu touches their hair, hopeful.

"NOT first-years."

Yuu lowers their schedule, hopeless. 

"NOT extroverts."

Yuu winces.

"NOT people who follow me around."

Yuu winces harder.

"NOT people who keep asking for my number."

At this point, Yuu looks like every word is physically striking them. Relishing in the blow, you stand up, pivot on your heels and leave them to wallow in the destruction you’ve left in your wake. Not without picking up your belongings, which happen to a little journal you keep to maintain track of the plot, a chewed-up pencil, and an apple - shooting Yuu a confirmatory glare in case the thief is actually them. On the way, you realize the ghost librarian has tears in his gargantuan eyes. Oh-well, it seems like Yuu’s favoribility does not only extend to suitors, but ghosts as well.

♡ Something is going to go wrong today. Very, very wrong. You’re sure of it. 

♡ And no, you don’t just say that because of your disastrous, almost-disastrous- encounter with Yuu.

♡ Your NPC  sixth sense tells you there’s double trouble on the horizon, waiting to get a taste of you. Double trouble.. you work your throat around the words, and try to imagine anything of the sort - but your brain stalls, because apparently, rolling out of bed (literally) and forcing yourself through the daily morning rituals was still as bad as ever. It didn’t help Kalim was particularly loud today, something about the prefect, probably, you didn’t quite hear. Ugh, Vil’s going to slime you out if he ever finds out you’re skipping yet again-

“And just what are you doing in that flower bush, spud?”

♡ Speak of the devil, and he shall come. 

Pretty purple eyes do not bode well with you. 

“Uhh..” Tongue twisted, you crush one petal in the cusp of your palm,  and bring it over your eyes, hoping to block out his face. Pretending very, very hard he’s just a figment of your imagination, because really, what are the chances you meet him in the very same place you thought he’d never come? “Well, er... I’m doing something very important and class-related right now, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

♡ Oh, no, he’s caught you dead in your right!  Above, the glass dome over the botanical gardens greets you;   limpid and beautiful, and if you squint your eyes just right, you can imagine the sky back at home. Homesickness, or whatever the afflicted call it, has taken a toll on you only after you’ve come to realize just how much of your life’s gone into a perpetual state of destruction. Teeth gnawing on lip, tarnishing Vil’s self-care advice right in front of him as you revert back to sqaure one; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you want to vanish. 

♡ Why exactly are you here? Somewhere in the middle of picking out a thorn from your thumb, you toppled over your boots and landed straight in a pile of.. whatever these are called. Now you’re just mulling your life over your tongue, wondering why you’ve just lost every ounce of hope in your life -—Jade (the scapegoat, you tell yourself) , normalcy, living in the shadows  —  and the blissful stretch of time in which you had not yet encountered Vil Schoenheit. Matter of fact, it seems he’s bound to run into you everday - much to yours and his very mutual chagrin. 

♡ Hold on!  The only reason he’s not turned on you is because he’s not yet privy to Yuu’s ever-growing and laughably one-sided affection for you, and the same can be said for everyone here.. you’re lucky he’s caught you alone, and not with Yuu, (the same person who confronted you outside your class, only to have you bolt away like they’d just set you on fire).

“Unbelievable.  I  was out on my usual morning run and I see this.” Vil points a long, long nail at you. You shudder, but don’t make a move, needle-like thorns prickling your uniform. “You’re sprawled over the Convallaria majalis batch, the very things I’ve planted. Dear me.. why am I not surprised? It seems your inclination of spelling ruin comes naturally.”

♡ Oh! By the miracle of the Sevens, it seems the damage you did to Vil’s Corona Marvellous or whatever they’re called, is mild. Otherwise, he’d not be letting you off with a mere shoo and one of those signature scowls. Taking his sweet time to inspect the bell-shaped heap with gloved digits, he tuts. 

“Hm.”

”..What?”

“Nothing that should be of concern, to you, of course.” He says, reading your mind. “.. These look like they withered long before your  weight.” The slope of his brows deepen into a fully-manifested, vexed frown. “Unbelievable! Whoever’s in charge of groundskeeping hasn’t been tending to them properly. Again.”

You blink. “Wait. So I’m not the floral equivalent of a hit-and-run?”

Vil exhales through his nose, already sounding exhausted by your existence. “You flattened perhaps three stems, I’d say that’s hardly catastrophic.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was anything but a compliment.”

“Okay, but the Corolla-”

“Convallaria majalis.”

“…Bless you.”

♡ Vil pays you no heed, opting to not dwell on your eccentricity any longer. 

 “Well. Since you’ve already made yourself part of the issue, you may as well prove useful.” Bells retreat to their home as the male ponders it over his tongue. Something sparkles in those of eyes of his before he straightens with a satisfied hum, glancing over at you.

 “ Poor maintenance, trampled soil, half-dead roots…” Vil dusts off his gloves with visible disdain. “Why am I not surprised? Honestly, spud, you have a remarkable ability to entangle yourself in things beyond your understanding. Come along.”

“Wait- where-”

♡ In place of a response, he grabs your hand. 

♡ And unlike the feeling you had when Kalim did the same, this one action has chills dancing down your spine. Frigid air pushes your words back in as Vil - suddenly - rotates your wrist, brow quirking. Tipped nails perch upon exposed skin as he momentarily gives you a look. 

“Hm. New bracelet?”

“No-”

“You run away from me, yet you’ve no qualm catering to Al-Asim. I suppose he is your housewarden, after all..” Purple coalesces into an inscrutable suit. “But  loath as I am to admit, do you realize just  how terrible it is to take up so much of the precious time I spare you?”

♡ Huh? Squeezing your eyes open, you realize his focal point is.. a traditional Scalding Sands bracelet - one of the many Kalim had gifted you during his visits. Oh.. shit, you must’ve accidentally put it on rather than-

..“Take up?” you repeat carefully.

Vil stills. For the briefest second, something unreadable crosses his face, then it dissolves. 

“Don’t misunderstand.” His grip loosens, though not entirely. “You’re the one repeatedly neglecting your studies. Naturally, the responsibility falls upon me when you fail to meet basic academic standards.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “You almost sounded a little emotional there.”

“I’d sooner drink diluted apple vinegar.”

“Isn’t that, like, healthy?”

Whether he seems apalled or disgusted by you, you can’t place your finger on it. “Why, you... Forget it.”

♡ Before you can formulate a viable escape plan involving perhaps a sudden, career-ending tumble down the nearest staircase, Vil pivots on polished heels and expects you to follow as naturally as one expects ducklings to trail after their mother. Oh, no.

 ♡ You want to bolt off, hide beneath the benches or do anything, instead- blurs streel your legs forcibly in the wake of his footsteps, and you chew the thick clump of dread down your throat.  Glass arches overhead catch the amber spill of drowning afternoon sunlight, drenching Vil in celestial phosphoresence.

♡ Why is it so hard to just.. refuse him? You don’t know. Eyes straining, vision skewed, you try to focus on anything. But the slivers of parted sunlight bend around his frame, the back of his head, and it’s almost as if, painfully so, your attention is tethered towards him. 

♡  Hmph! No one should look this gorgeous while actively ruining your life. Which begs the question: where exactly is he taking you?

“Ahh… there you are, Roi du Poison.”

♡ Your soul exits your body.

Vil barely pauses at the interruption, though the minuscule quaver in his brow suggests he’d hoped to avoid this exact scenario. Through the hanging curtains of ivy emerges another Pomefiore student, feathered hat unfurled and eyes glinting beneath panes. Rook - so, your luck has decided you’d do well being hunted for sport. 

“Rook,” Vil says flatly, not even turning. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”

“Can a devoted admirer not seek the radiance of his beloved housewarden?” The hunter places a hand dramatically atop his chest. “Cruel, cruel Vil. I merely wished to deliver the pruning records and instead discover a most enchanting tableau.”

When his gaze lands on you, your muscles go rigid, being pinned to a board and encased without mercy. He seems to take pleasure in the way your gaze tries to settle on anything but him. Weirdo. 

“Ahh…” The hunter breathes. “So there is our elusive little evader.”

“I’m an evader?” you ask, then chew down your words. Well, you are actively trying to act uninteresting, aren’t you? 

“You vanished from Professor Crewel’s classroom through a window last Tuesday, did you not?”

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”

“…Huh, I thought that was last Wednesday. Oh well.”

You don’t question how he knows, how the both of them know. It’d be futile as it is. Miraculously, as if reading your mind (which you’d argue he can), he directs at you a content little smile. “As a hunter observes the rustling of grass, the flight of birds, the trembling of leaves, so too do I observe the habits of those around me.”

Rook circles once around the Convallaria patch, boots silent against the stone path. His sharp gaze skims over the crushed flowers, then the dirt shrouding your weathered sleeves, the bite-rife state of your lips, and the fatigue pulling down your lids into a perpetual scowl. It takes less than three seconds for the both of them to concur on one, concrete agreement. 

Vil starts. “I’ve said as much already. They insist on treating their body like an afterthought.”

“Mm.” Rook nods solemnly. “A neglected garden wilts all the same.”

You stare at the both of them. “Oh, cool. So this is an intervention now...”

“Far from it, actually. It would only qualify as an intervention if you intended to listen,” Vil replies smoothly. “You absorb perhaps one sentence out of every five.”

♡ Rook laughs then, rippling across the greenhouse’s feather-light air. It pulls his attention back to you again, unbearably focused. 

“The way you shrink whenever attention settles upon you.” Pointing, tipping his head back, Rook croons. “And yet, despite this, attention finds you endlessly. Oh, what a haplessly ardent predicament you’ve found yourself in!”

Before you can recover, Vil abruptly thrusts a pair of gardening gloves against your chest. You stumble, and your belongings kiss the ground, thrown out of your bag. Vil’s left to wonder how such a light nudge could have you one with the ground, bare confusion written over those features before ebbing away with an ahem.

“Since you’ve already ruined my morning, you’ll assist us.”

Your jaw drops. “Us?”

Rook beams. “Bienvenue.”

“Bird Avenue? I dunno what that means.”

“Don’t absorb your setences. For all your resistance,”  Vil says with immense satisfaction, “you’re staying right here.”

“Seriously?? Just ask Rook to use his signature spell and track the- ah..” You realize the chances of him setting a mark on the culprit beforehand are slim to none, cinching your lips shut. “Nevermind, but I’m sure we have some sort of camer.... don’t give me that look, please.”

♡ Silence. 

♡ You close your eyes shut. Good golly, this is probably about the signature spell bit, isn’t it? Ugh, he’s going to be all up in your face within a  minute, demanding you tell him why you know such a thing. This makes room for one more entry in your journal.. and wait, your journal-

♡ As if on cue, you hear papers rustle. 

♡ “Interesting.”

♡ Double trouble. 

“So this is where your prowess lies. Story-writing?”

Though he tries his best to pull his brows together, there’s a little glister in his eyes. A relieved one, a midlly proud one, a..

“How original.”

♡ Your Scarabia room is really, really bland. That’s the first thing you notice. In the middle of your bed is a journal you exert all your pent-up vexation and guides in - and in a shelf by the side, you keep your belongings (which are, admittedly, lessening by the second. You’ve no clue whose wreaking havoc upon them. You have absolutely no idea who's responsible. Frankly, you're too tired to investigate, and  if somebody wishes to steal your half-finished notes and collection of mediocre pens, then they deserve whatever curse comes with them.) Tomorrow is a new day, and judging by your luck, tomorrow Yuu will probably discover your class schedule, blood type and favorite brand of toothpaste.

♡ You sling your bag at the bed when you enter your cave of hiding.

 ♡ As you dive face-first into the mattress, you ponder on today’s events. Jade Leech has officially stood you up - there’s been no sign of him at all. He does not deign to loiter beside your class after its conclusion, he does not show up to your club (though you know, somewhere, he’s still fixating on his hobby without you). Your plans have gone awry, haywire and well... 

♡ You don’t need another anomaly. 

♡ Right on cue, knuckles rap against your door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your housewarden’s airy voice bursts in:

"Hey! Are you awake?"

Even if you were, with the sheer volume of his voice, you'd be forced to come to. You groan- delving deeper into the plush mattress. If you were to pretend to be dead right now, you’d be steered clear of this burden. Fatigue coaxes your lids down, spots gyrating in your vision - but with another knock, Kalim shoves you off balance. 

“You wouldn't happen to know why Yuu was wandering around Scarabia asking strangers what toothpaste you use, right?”

As falsely naive as Kalim seems, you quickly find out he knows just the right way to usher you out. Ripping the barrier between you open, he greets you with his ritualistic smile. “Aha!”

“Housewarden.”

♡ This is the first time you’ve had anyone over, and this is also the last. Seeing him without his sullen retainer is a novel sight, but to dissuade you from the anomaly, he places a basket of fruits in front of you.

♡ Well, there you go.  Your arms now teem with different colours and hues - but you don’t tell him to leave, because well..

“Anyway, I brought fruit.” 

“Thank you. You can leave now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you've already delivered the fruit.”

“But we haven't hung out yet.”

“Close the door on your way out-- wait, what? Why?”

♡ After your little opportunistic venture, you doubt he’d listen to you so easily, and you don’t particularly want him  to leave as well. Those pouches and jewellery he gifted you have all gone missing, and.. well, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t want him to compensate the loss. 

♡ Inviting him in as per hospitable custom, he makes himself at home quite easily. You don’t know what you’re doing, you have a whole Housewarden in your room - albeit he did mention something related to friendship.. you suppose you have no complaint here, then - (except one related to the fact he’s in the middle of an excuse for a room while donning his sleepwear. He looks so out of place it’s actually shameful.)

“Oh, man!” He gives a bright laugh. You stand near, not wanting to admit you’re awaiting his approval.  “I sat on the bed and the frame nearly fell through!”

“Oh...” 

Kalim laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It just surprised me."

He gives the bed frame an experimental shake. The bed responds with an alarming creak, and you wince. It doesn’t do that when you lay on it, in your defense.

"There it is again."

"Don't."

You don't understand why he's so amused, your room isn't funny, it’s a room. A rather miserable, downtrodden room, perhaps, but still a room. Instead of criticizing it further, however, Kalim cranes his neck around, taking in the sparse shelves and barren walls.

“Huh.”

You brace yourself. “Huh?”

"It's kind of nice. It looks like someone forgot to move in, but I think that’s where its charm lies, y’know?” He points at your empty shelf. “There’s practically nothing stored there! It must be so easy to access whatever you need.”

“There’s nothing I need.”

♡ Somehow, your very loud exchange has, inevitably, amassed the scrutiny of yet another boy, and there he is, door opening, posture taut in the entry. This is arguably the first time you’ve ever seen Jamil in his sleepwear, and with his long tresses trickling down his shoulders in mild disarray, you get the feeling you’ve woken him up from his sweet slumber. As if you haven’t already garnered enough of his dislike, the universe still manages to blindside you with more.

“Kalim.”

“Jamil!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to-”

Though, you suppose Kalim didn’t intend for it to come out as such, the way it was worded seems to inevitably grab Jamil’s compliance. You don’t miss the way he stares at you, though, completely and utterly aware that misery will bring its company. Reluctance brews itself upon the tip of his tongue, and he wants to refuse, you can tell. At one point, he may have tried to veil it beneath his usual exterior, but now, after a most unexpected turn of events, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know, so what’s the point in putting up a façade?

“Come!” Kalim makes space on your bed, mind you. Your bed. “Loosen up a little, and play with us.”

Oh, no. You do not need this right now.

He trudges in, a breath of incredulity blooming in the air before he lowers himself to your level. Seated comfortably, he tries to get a good look at your surroundings.

At one point, his gaze lands straight on your journal. But before he can comment on it, you let a hand jut forward and snatch it away just as quickly. Now, he’s eyeing you openly, tenfold the usual suspicion he has.

“I’m surprised you’re awake at this hour.” He deadpans when you point at the fellow white-haired culprit. “I’m talking about you, not Kalim. Given his track record of doing the same, he doesn’t rouse as much disbelief as..” He pauses for a moment. “You.”

You droop. “I sleep when I can.”

“Ah, well, that explains nothing.”

“You're welcome.”

“No need for the formalities,” A crease in his brows as he looks at you, lips jolting. “For what it’s worth, I was expecting that answer.”

♡ Five minutes later, the board is spread between the three of you. You still aren’t entirely certain how this happened.  One moment you were trying to sleep, and the next you’re participating in what appears to be an ancient strategic game involving polished stones. Eyes combing through its structure and language, it appears to be a Scalding Sands tradition, and with the way they both speak of it, dwelling in the past and mulling the game over their tongues, you realize they’re already familiar with it. 

“Remember when we played this when we were kids? Huh, Jamil?”

“Yes. I remember you taking up half the pieces.”

♡ Kalim explains the rules, he then explains them again, then gets distracted halfway through his own explanation when you pester him with another question. Jamil finishes it for him - though, and even now, he has yet to relinquish that look in his eyes, that look, rife with wariness, caution and the feeling that he’s treading very, very carefully with you. Jeez, he probably thinks you have some sort of Kalim-assassination or tax fraud plan cooked up in that head of yours. Which you do. Just not as severely.

“You need to protect your centre, that's your only objective. Do you understand it now?”

“Sure do.”

♡  Anyways, three rounds later, you've somehow managed to eliminate your own piece. Jamil stares, Kalim stares, and you crane your neck at them. 

“What?”

“You took your own piece.”

“It was in the way.”

“It was your strongest piece.”

“Soo? It was still in my way.” Despondently, you caress the stony object. “Oh, well, if you insist, Jamil, then its sacrifice shall be remembered.”

An eye roll. “..By who?”

“Me, who else?”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, but just when you think he’ll respond in that quietness, he supplies. “I don’t think I've ever seen someone lose a game quite like this.”

“Yeah, well, you’re letting Kalim win every time, so I think I have a reason.”

He lets you go with an indecipherable look on his face, and you spend the night dealing with it, in your mind, in your memory, in your thoughts.

How predictably unpredictable.

♡ “Didja’ know?”

♡ You try to rub away the fatigue in your eyes.

“Know what?”

♡ Currently, you're trying to focus on the work at hand. Pen scribbling lines regarding history, you desperately try to ignore Ruggie Bucchi, but to no avail. Whenever you do so much as lean back, he tips his chair back and replicates the motion until you’re forced to give him a sliver of your attention. That gets him going, it seems. 

♡ Apparently, waking up first and foremost - earlier than Jamil, surprisingly - and realizing that having two boys dead asleep on top of you was not ideal if you were looking for some sort of salvation. You’re not even sure what had happened that led to Jamil, of all people, knuckling under sleep and forsaking that strict demeanor. It seems atypical, atleast for him, but what’s more atypical is that you’d spent another hour trying to tip-toe around your room, lest you wake them up and cause them to actually remember you in the room with them. Ah, if you stretch, you can still feel the soreness in your limbs. Only the deities who sent you here would know how you even managed to breathe with that load on you.

♡ What’s good, though, is that you seem to have taken your mind off of Jade completely. Like a leech had he plagued your mind, now you like to think he’s an afterthought, and a bygone memory that served his purpose and left when he lost interest. Hah.. you’re finally, finally improving. You’re finally..

“Eh? Didn't ya know? Vil's been askin' around Octavinelle about ya. Somethin' about gettin' you to switch clubs, I think. Heh, maybe that's just the rumor mill talkin', though. Shishishi...”

“Mm- wait-”

♡ What.

 “WHAT?!”

♡ The entire class looks at you now. Grumbling beneath their breaths, and with Professor Trein giving you the most scorching scowl known to man, you’re compelled into quietening down, but not allowing the cold knot in your stomach to simmer, nor the rapid staccatos of your pulse. This time, you willingly lean into Ruggie. Vil? Granted, he did see your.. journal work, but him going as far as to head to Octavinelle to strike a deal with them? It didn’t seem so far-fetched given the circumstances, but at that time, he'd tried his best to appear staid and unaffected by your entries. This.. this is bad, bad news. If Vil succeeds, then - you’re destined for failure. 

​​​​​​♡ If Vil succeeds, then you are the failure. 

“Who- where’d you hear that from?” You gawk, perspiration roving down your nape, pen abandoned. You don’t know what to say. Your heart is beating.

♡ Ah, what a dumb question. Ruggie is known to work odd jobs, it’d make sense he’d catch sight of Vil, of all people, amid the Mostro Lounge crowd during his shift. But really, Vil? Stooping so low as to seek Azul’s help?

♡ What even was in that journal? A few scribbles about Twisted Hearts, and the usual jargon.. nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would ultimately catch his interest. You hadn't even focused on it that much yourself, nor did you mention names, even if someone did manage to get their hands on it, you thought they’d just call you absolutely maniacal and do away with it.

♡ And you, stooping so low as to seek Ruggie’s help? 

“You have to help me.”

“Whoa, hold it right there.” His lips pull into a moue, hands tugging at his tie from where you’d  absent-mindedly rendered it askew. “ Remember all those times I asked, and ya told me to mind my own business? Why'do I go and help ya now?”

“I-”

“Besides, I got a pretty sweet side gig at the Mostro Lounge. If I stick my neck out for ya, who's gonna make up the difference, huh?”

He grins, teeth on display.

“Now, if you've got somethin' worth tradin', that's a whole different story. Shishishi.”

♡ Worth trading? You haven't got anything, you..are a lost cause. Your room is laughable, your grades are despicable, the company you keep is non-existent, and your pockets.. Ah. 

“I can give you anything you want.”

A gleam in your eyes, your hands form a bridge to let your chin perch upon. The brightness that you’d once lost reclaims its reign over your face, and if this world were any more ridiculous, you are certain he would see a lightbulb forming over your head.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Anything. I have access to Kalim’s bank account. Trust me.”

.

.

♡  “You....”

♡ Ruggie holds up the uniform. 

“You want me to infiltrate them?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Your head dips low. Since when were you type to stoop so low as to seek asylum from a first year, magicless, homeless student? “Hide me. From Yuu. Please. I’ll turn in all my missing assignments. Please.”

♡ That’s exactly how you’ve found yourself concealed behind his height, well-cloaked in whatever edges of his fur coat find you. The room is rife with suffocating quietness as the door creaks, slowly, taking its time, just so you can feel Yuu’s fingers graze the wood, and their eyes scavenge the vicinity for a trace of you. Closing your eyes tight-shut, you strengthen your grip on the fabric. Just this once - just this once - and you’ll survive. 

♡ “Professor, have you seen them?”

♡ Them. They don’t name you, and painfully so, Crewel immediately recognizes who they’re talking about. Nameless, colourless, faceless. There is no one here other than you. 

“As usual, no.”

“I can see them behind you.”

♡ Unfortunately, your breathing gave it away, and you're not exactly invisible, so you make do with just legging it again and stumbling into whatever room you get your hands on.

♡  Finally you come across a good one, and remember one thing: don’t  breathe. 

♡ Don’t breathe. Don’t let a single hint of your presence scrape against the floor, or taper off your lips. Don’t breathe, don’t look anywhere past the rows of ornate shelves or the very confused ghost librarian. Don’t breathe as you shimmy inside a cranny of dust, untouched newspapers and shield the crown of your head forevermore. Don’t breathe as you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine yourself anywhere else.

♡ Don’t breathe when the door creaks open. A slow, inevitable croak gliding against polished panes.

“Hi, mister. Have you seen -- well, uh -- a Scarabian student anywhere?”

♡ Don’t breathe even when you know it’s pointing straight at you. Traitor. 

“Hey..”

♡ You don’t look up.

“Why’re you hiding from me?” Behind your lids, you imagine the dark cusps of their irises gleaming with sincerety. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?”

♡ You don’t like it. You don’t like the way they’re talking to you, slow and genuine and all too dehumanizing, as though you’re but a small rabbit in their eyes. They don’t know, they don’t know you’re an actual human being - one with conscience, humanity and awareness. They don’t know you know them, and they don’t know who you really are, all that’s left in their eyes is a perfect little image of a non-playable character - one that’s bound to come in their hands, in a way, or a thousand others. 

In lieu of a response, you clamp your lips tight shut. Your eyes cinch into a glare; one you hope is full of the aversion you feel. “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”

♡ You don’t know what to do. Give in. You’re doomed. Rebel. You’re doomed. Earning Yuu’s affection, or earning their loathing - neither option is good. 

“...Oh.”

“Listen,” You crack one eye open in spite of yourself. Yuu looks devasted - you have to save yourself. Brain straining for excuses, you spout out a career-ending one. “... It’s  not  you, it’s just that..”

...

“...That?”

“That you’re not my type.”

♡ Yuu blinks - okay, this is your chance. You can’t just go into things that can be changed, look into things that are definitie. Look into.. ah, what would particularly steer your way clear of them?

♡ You look at the schedule in their hands. First year, huh?

“I’m into older people.”

“...How much older?”

You scramble. “A lot older.”

“...Like a year?”

“No. I like mature people.”

Their shoulders relax - you take that as a bad sign. "I can be mature."

"No, no.  They need to look like they have taxes."

"...Taxes."

"Taxes. I also like people who are tall."

Yuu visibly straightens.

"Very tall."

Yuu visibly un-straightens.

"Like, concerningly tall. Like if they stand up too fast they're a threat to low ceilings."

"..."

"And older."

"..."

"And emotionally unavailable."

"That sounds unhealthy."

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Actually, preferably unhealthy. I like people who look at me and immediately decide I'm none of their business."

Yuu's face falls, a slope to their brows as they frown, unknowingly, to themselves. What you’ve just said might just give you some time to prepare, because you, and any sane person in the world, know that a simple barrier like a preference won’t stop them. That’s how Yuu has always been. In a way, they need to get to you, no matter what. That’s how it always will be. "I like people who forget I exist."

It falls further, you realize. Something, the one thing, actually, that the latter is not able to do.

"I like people who don't text back. Oh, and they must have weird hobbies.. Like birdwatching, or growing mush-”

Ah. Hands clasped over your mouth, with horror, do you realize you’ve begun matching your interest to a certain Mountain Lovers president. Mission abort, the withdrawal symptoms must really be getting to you, huh?

"And NOT teal hair."

Yuu touches their hair, hopeful.

"NOT first-years."

Yuu lowers their schedule, hopeless. 

"NOT extroverts."

Yuu winces.

"NOT people who follow me around."

Yuu winces harder.

"NOT people who keep asking for my number."

At this point, Yuu looks like every word is physically striking them. Relishing in the blow, you stand up, pivot on your heels and leave them to wallow in the destruction you’ve left in your wake. Not without picking up your belongings, which happen to a little journal you keep to maintain track of the plot, a chewed-up pencil, and an apple - shooting Yuu a confirmatory glare in case the thief is actually them. On the way, you realize the ghost librarian has tears in his gargantuan eyes. Oh-well, it seems like Yuu’s favoribility does not only extend to suitors, but ghosts as well.

♡ Something is going to go wrong today. Very, very wrong. You’re sure of it. 

♡ And no, you don’t just say that because of your disastrous, almost-disastrous- encounter with Yuu.

♡ Your NPC  sixth sense tells you there’s double trouble on the horizon, waiting to get a taste of you. Double trouble.. you work your throat around the words, and try to imagine anything of the sort - but your brain stalls, because apparently, rolling out of bed (literally) and forcing yourself through the daily morning rituals was still as bad as ever. It didn’t help Kalim was particularly loud today, something about the prefect, probably, you didn’t quite hear. Ugh, Vil’s going to slime you out if he ever finds out you’re skipping yet again-

“And just what are you doing in that flower bush, spud?”

♡ Speak of the devil, and he shall come. 

Pretty purple eyes do not bode well with you. 

“Uhh..” Tongue twisted, you crush one petal in the cusp of your palm,  and bring it over your eyes, hoping to block out his face. Pretending very, very hard he’s just a figment of your imagination, because really, what are the chances you meet him in the very same place you thought he’d never come? “Well, er... I’m doing something very important and class-related right now, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”

♡ Oh, no, he’s caught you dead in your right!  Above, the glass dome over the botanical gardens greets you;   limpid and beautiful, and if you squint your eyes just right, you can imagine the sky back at home. Homesickness, or whatever the afflicted call it, has taken a toll on you only after you’ve come to realize just how much of your life’s gone into a perpetual state of destruction. Teeth gnawing on lip, tarnishing Vil’s self-care advice right in front of him as you revert back to sqaure one; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you want to vanish. 

♡ Why exactly are you here? Somewhere in the middle of picking out a thorn from your thumb, you toppled over your boots and landed straight in a pile of.. whatever these are called. Now you’re just mulling your life over your tongue, wondering why you’ve just lost every ounce of hope in your life -—Jade (the scapegoat, you tell yourself) , normalcy, living in the shadows  —  and the blissful stretch of time in which you had not yet encountered Vil Schoenheit. Matter of fact, it seems he’s bound to run into you everday - much to yours and his very mutual chagrin. 

♡ Hold on!  The only reason he’s not turned on you is because he’s not yet privy to Yuu’s ever-growing and laughably one-sided affection for you, and the same can be said for everyone here.. you’re lucky he’s caught you alone, and not with Yuu, (the same person who confronted you outside your class, only to have you bolt away like they’d just set you on fire).

“Unbelievable.  I  was out on my usual morning run and I see this.” Vil points a long, long nail at you. You shudder, but don’t make a move, needle-like thorns prickling your uniform. “You’re sprawled over the Convallaria majalis batch, the very things I’ve planted. Dear me.. why am I not surprised? It seems your inclination of spelling ruin comes naturally.”

♡ Oh! By the miracle of the Sevens, it seems the damage you did to Vil’s Corona Marvellous or whatever they’re called, is mild. Otherwise, he’d not be letting you off with a mere shoo and one of those signature scowls. Taking his sweet time to inspect the bell-shaped heap with gloved digits, he tuts. 

“Hm.”

”..What?”

“Nothing that should be of concern, to you, of course.” He says, reading your mind. “.. These look like they withered long before your  weight.” The slope of his brows deepen into a fully-manifested, vexed frown. “Unbelievable! Whoever’s in charge of groundskeeping hasn’t been tending to them properly. Again.”

You blink. “Wait. So I’m not the floral equivalent of a hit-and-run?”

Vil exhales through his nose, already sounding exhausted by your existence. “You flattened perhaps three stems, I’d say that’s hardly catastrophic.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. It was anything but a compliment.”

“Okay, but the Corolla-”

“Convallaria majalis.”

“…Bless you.”

♡ Vil pays you no heed, opting to not dwell on your eccentricity any longer. 

 “Well. Since you’ve already made yourself part of the issue, you may as well prove useful.” Bells retreat to their home as the male ponders it over his tongue. Something sparkles in those of eyes of his before he straightens with a satisfied hum, glancing over at you.

 “ Poor maintenance, trampled soil, half-dead roots…” Vil dusts off his gloves with visible disdain. “Why am I not surprised? Honestly, spud, you have a remarkable ability to entangle yourself in things beyond your understanding. Come along.”

“Wait- where-”

♡ In place of a response, he grabs your hand. 

♡ And unlike the feeling you had when Kalim did the same, this one action has chills dancing down your spine. Frigid air pushes your words back in as Vil - suddenly - rotates your wrist, brow quirking. Tipped nails perch upon exposed skin as he momentarily gives you a look. 

“Hm. New bracelet?”

“No-”

“You run away from me, yet you’ve no qualm catering to Al-Asim. I suppose he is your housewarden, after all..” Purple coalesces into an inscrutable suit. “But  loath as I am to admit, do you realize just  how terrible it is to take up so much of the precious time I spare you?”

♡ Huh? Squeezing your eyes open, you realize his focal point is.. a traditional Scalding Sands bracelet - one of the many Kalim had gifted you during his visits. Oh.. shit, you must’ve accidentally put it on rather than-

..“Take up?” you repeat carefully.

Vil stills. For the briefest second, something unreadable crosses his face, then it dissolves. 

“Don’t misunderstand.” His grip loosens, though not entirely. “You’re the one repeatedly neglecting your studies. Naturally, the responsibility falls upon me when you fail to meet basic academic standards.”

“Wow,” you mutter. “You almost sounded a little emotional there.”

“I’d sooner drink diluted apple vinegar.”

“Isn’t that, like, healthy?”

Whether he seems apalled or disgusted by you, you can’t place your finger on it. “Why, you... Forget it.”

♡ Before you can formulate a viable escape plan involving perhaps a sudden, career-ending tumble down the nearest staircase, Vil pivots on polished heels and expects you to follow as naturally as one expects ducklings to trail after their mother. Oh, no.

 ♡ You want to bolt off, hide beneath the benches or do anything, instead- blurs streel your legs forcibly in the wake of his footsteps, and you chew the thick clump of dread down your throat.  Glass arches overhead catch the amber spill of drowning afternoon sunlight, drenching Vil in celestial phosphoresence.

♡ Why is it so hard to just.. refuse him? You don’t know. Eyes straining, vision skewed, you try to focus on anything. But the slivers of parted sunlight bend around his frame, the back of his head, and it’s almost as if, painfully so, your attention is tethered towards him. 

♡  Hmph! No one should look this gorgeous while actively ruining your life. Which begs the question: where exactly is he taking you?

“Ahh… there you are, Roi du Poison.”

♡ Your soul exits your body.

Vil barely pauses at the interruption, though the minuscule quaver in his brow suggests he’d hoped to avoid this exact scenario. Through the hanging curtains of ivy emerges another Pomefiore student, feathered hat unfurled and eyes glinting beneath panes. Rook - so, your luck has decided you’d do well being hunted for sport. 

“Rook,” Vil says flatly, not even turning. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”

“Can a devoted admirer not seek the radiance of his beloved housewarden?” The hunter places a hand dramatically atop his chest. “Cruel, cruel Vil. I merely wished to deliver the pruning records and instead discover a most enchanting tableau.”

When his gaze lands on you, your muscles go rigid, being pinned to a board and encased without mercy. He seems to take pleasure in the way your gaze tries to settle on anything but him. Weirdo. 

“Ahh…” The hunter breathes. “So there is our elusive little evader.”

“I’m an evader?” you ask, then chew down your words. Well, you are actively trying to act uninteresting, aren’t you? 

“You vanished from Professor Crewel’s classroom through a window last Tuesday, did you not?”

Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”

“…Huh, I thought that was last Wednesday. Oh well.”

You don’t question how he knows, how the both of them know. It’d be futile as it is. Miraculously, as if reading your mind (which you’d argue he can), he directs at you a content little smile. “As a hunter observes the rustling of grass, the flight of birds, the trembling of leaves, so too do I observe the habits of those around me.”

Rook circles once around the Convallaria patch, boots silent against the stone path. His sharp gaze skims over the crushed flowers, then the dirt shrouding your weathered sleeves, the bite-rife state of your lips, and the fatigue pulling down your lids into a perpetual scowl. It takes less than three seconds for the both of them to concur on one, concrete agreement. 

Vil starts. “I’ve said as much already. They insist on treating their body like an afterthought.”

“Mm.” Rook nods solemnly. “A neglected garden wilts all the same.”

You stare at the both of them. “Oh, cool. So this is an intervention now...”

“Far from it, actually. It would only qualify as an intervention if you intended to listen,” Vil replies smoothly. “You absorb perhaps one sentence out of every five.”

♡ Rook laughs then, rippling across the greenhouse’s feather-light air. It pulls his attention back to you again, unbearably focused. 

“The way you shrink whenever attention settles upon you.” Pointing, tipping his head back, Rook croons. “And yet, despite this, attention finds you endlessly. Oh, what a haplessly ardent predicament you’ve found yourself in!”

Before you can recover, Vil abruptly thrusts a pair of gardening gloves against your chest. You stumble, and your belongings kiss the ground, thrown out of your bag. Vil’s left to wonder how such a light nudge could have you one with the ground, bare confusion written over those features before ebbing away with an ahem.

“Since you’ve already ruined my morning, you’ll assist us.”

Your jaw drops. “Us?”

Rook beams. “Bienvenue.”

“Bird Avenue? I dunno what that means.”

“Don’t absorb your setences. For all your resistance,”  Vil says with immense satisfaction, “you’re staying right here.”

“Seriously?? Just ask Rook to use his signature spell and track the- ah..” You realize the chances of him setting a mark on the culprit beforehand are slim to none, cinching your lips shut. “Nevermind, but I’m sure we have some sort of camer.... don’t give me that look, please.”

♡ Silence. 

♡ You close your eyes shut. Good golly, this is probably about the signature spell bit, isn’t it? Ugh, he’s going to be all up in your face within a  minute, demanding you tell him why you know such a thing. This makes room for one more entry in your journal.. and wait, your journal-

♡ As if on cue, you hear papers rustle. 

♡ “Interesting.”

♡ Double trouble. 

“So this is where your prowess lies. Story-writing?”

Though he tries his best to pull his brows together, there’s a little glister in his eyes. A relieved one, a midlly proud one, a..

“How original.”

♡ Your Scarabia room is really, really bland. That’s the first thing you notice. In the middle of your bed is a journal you exert all your pent-up vexation and guides in - and in a shelf by the side, you keep your belongings (which are, admittedly, lessening by the second. You’ve no clue whose wreaking havoc upon them. You have absolutely no idea who's responsible. Frankly, you're too tired to investigate, and  if somebody wishes to steal your half-finished notes and collection of mediocre pens, then they deserve whatever curse comes with them.) Tomorrow is a new day, and judging by your luck, tomorrow Yuu will probably discover your class schedule, blood type and favorite brand of toothpaste.

♡ You sling your bag at the bed when you enter your cave of hiding.

 ♡ As you dive face-first into the mattress, you ponder on today’s events. Jade Leech has officially stood you up - there’s been no sign of him at all. He does not deign to loiter beside your class after its conclusion, he does not show up to your club (though you know, somewhere, he’s still fixating on his hobby without you). Your plans have gone awry, haywire and well... 

♡ You don’t need another anomaly. 

♡ Right on cue, knuckles rap against your door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your housewarden’s airy voice bursts in:

"Hey! Are you awake?"

Even if you were, with the sheer volume of his voice, you'd be forced to come to. You groan- delving deeper into the plush mattress. If you were to pretend to be dead right now, you’d be steered clear of this burden. Fatigue coaxes your lids down, spots gyrating in your vision - but with another knock, Kalim shoves you off balance. 

“You wouldn't happen to know why Yuu was wandering around Scarabia asking strangers what toothpaste you use, right?”

As falsely naive as Kalim seems, you quickly find out he knows just the right way to usher you out. Ripping the barrier between you open, he greets you with his ritualistic smile. “Aha!”

“Housewarden.”

♡ This is the first time you’ve had anyone over, and this is also the last. Seeing him without his sullen retainer is a novel sight, but to dissuade you from the anomaly, he places a basket of fruits in front of you.

♡ Well, there you go.  Your arms now teem with different colours and hues - but you don’t tell him to leave, because well..

“Anyway, I brought fruit.” 

“Thank you. You can leave now.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you've already delivered the fruit.”

“But we haven't hung out yet.”

“Close the door on your way out-- wait, what? Why?”

♡ After your little opportunistic venture, you doubt he’d listen to you so easily, and you don’t particularly want him  to leave as well. Those pouches and jewellery he gifted you have all gone missing, and.. well, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t want him to compensate the loss. 

♡ Inviting him in as per hospitable custom, he makes himself at home quite easily. You don’t know what you’re doing, you have a whole Housewarden in your room - albeit he did mention something related to friendship.. you suppose you have no complaint here, then - (except one related to the fact he’s in the middle of an excuse for a room while donning his sleepwear. He looks so out of place it’s actually shameful.)

“Oh, man!” He gives a bright laugh. You stand near, not wanting to admit you’re awaiting his approval.  “I sat on the bed and the frame nearly fell through!”

“Oh...” 

Kalim laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It just surprised me."

He gives the bed frame an experimental shake. The bed responds with an alarming creak, and you wince. It doesn’t do that when you lay on it, in your defense.

"There it is again."

"Don't."

You don't understand why he's so amused, your room isn't funny, it’s a room. A rather miserable, downtrodden room, perhaps, but still a room. Instead of criticizing it further, however, Kalim cranes his neck around, taking in the sparse shelves and barren walls.

“Huh.”

You brace yourself. “Huh?”

"It's kind of nice. It looks like someone forgot to move in, but I think that’s where its charm lies, y’know?” He points at your empty shelf. “There’s practically nothing stored there! It must be so easy to access whatever you need.”

“There’s nothing I need.”

♡ Somehow, your very loud exchange has, inevitably, amassed the scrutiny of yet another boy, and there he is, door opening, posture taut in the entry. This is arguably the first time you’ve ever seen Jamil in his sleepwear, and with his long tresses trickling down his shoulders in mild disarray, you get the feeling you’ve woken him up from his sweet slumber. As if you haven’t already garnered enough of his dislike, the universe still manages to blindside you with more.

“Kalim.”

“Jamil!”

“How many times do I have to tell you to-”

Though, you suppose Kalim didn’t intend for it to come out as such, the way it was worded seems to inevitably grab Jamil’s compliance. You don’t miss the way he stares at you, though, completely and utterly aware that misery will bring its company. Reluctance brews itself upon the tip of his tongue, and he wants to refuse, you can tell. At one point, he may have tried to veil it beneath his usual exterior, but now, after a most unexpected turn of events, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know, so what’s the point in putting up a façade?

“Come!” Kalim makes space on your bed, mind you. Your bed. “Loosen up a little, and play with us.”

Oh, no. You do not need this right now.

He trudges in, a breath of incredulity blooming in the air before he lowers himself to your level. Seated comfortably, he tries to get a good look at your surroundings.

At one point, his gaze lands straight on your journal. But before he can comment on it, you let a hand jut forward and snatch it away just as quickly. Now, he’s eyeing you openly, tenfold the usual suspicion he has.

“I’m surprised you’re awake at this hour.” He deadpans when you point at the fellow white-haired culprit. “I’m talking about you, not Kalim. Given his track record of doing the same, he doesn’t rouse as much disbelief as..” He pauses for a moment. “You.”

You droop. “I sleep when I can.”

“Ah, well, that explains nothing.”

“You're welcome.”

“No need for the formalities,” A crease in his brows as he looks at you, lips jolting. “For what it’s worth, I was expecting that answer.”

♡ Five minutes later, the board is spread between the three of you. You still aren’t entirely certain how this happened.  One moment you were trying to sleep, and the next you’re participating in what appears to be an ancient strategic game involving polished stones. Eyes combing through its structure and language, it appears to be a Scalding Sands tradition, and with the way they both speak of it, dwelling in the past and mulling the game over their tongues, you realize they’re already familiar with it. 

“Remember when we played this when we were kids? Huh, Jamil?”

“Yes. I remember you taking up half the pieces.”

♡ Kalim explains the rules, he then explains them again, then gets distracted halfway through his own explanation when you pester him with another question. Jamil finishes it for him - though, and even now, he has yet to relinquish that look in his eyes, that look, rife with wariness, caution and the feeling that he’s treading very, very carefully with you. Jeez, he probably thinks you have some sort of Kalim-assassination or tax fraud plan cooked up in that head of yours. Which you do. Just not as severely.

“You need to protect your centre, that's your only objective. Do you understand it now?”

“Sure do.”

♡  Anyways, three rounds later, you've somehow managed to eliminate your own piece. Jamil stares, Kalim stares, and you crane your neck at them. 

“What?”

“You took your own piece.”

“It was in the way.”

“It was your strongest piece.”

“Soo? It was still in my way.” Despondently, you caress the stony object. “Oh, well, if you insist, Jamil, then its sacrifice shall be remembered.”

An eye roll. “..By who?”

“Me, who else?”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, but just when you think he’ll respond in that quietness, he supplies. “I don’t think I've ever seen someone lose a game quite like this.”

“Yeah, well, you’re letting Kalim win every time, so I think I have a reason.”

He lets you go with an indecipherable look on his face, and you spend the night dealing with it, in your mind, in your memory, in your thoughts.

How predictably unpredictable.

♡ “Didja’ know?”

♡ You try to rub away the fatigue in your eyes.

“Know what?”

♡ Currently, you're trying to focus on the work at hand. Pen scribbling lines regarding history, you desperately try to ignore Ruggie Bucchi, but to no avail. Whenever you do so much as lean back, he tips his chair back and replicates the motion until you’re forced to give him a sliver of your attention. That gets him going, it seems. 

♡ Apparently, waking up first and foremost - earlier than Jamil, surprisingly - and realizing that having two boys dead asleep on top of you was not ideal if you were looking for some sort of salvation. You’re not even sure what had happened that led to Jamil, of all people, knuckling under sleep and forsaking that strict demeanor. It seems atypical, atleast for him, but what’s more atypical is that you’d spent another hour trying to tip-toe around your room, lest you wake them up and cause them to actually remember you in the room with them. Ah, if you stretch, you can still feel the soreness in your limbs. Only the deities who sent you here would know how you even managed to breathe with that load on you.

♡ What’s good, though, is that you seem to have taken your mind off of Jade completely. Like a leech had he plagued your mind, now you like to think he’s an afterthought, and a bygone memory that served his purpose and left when he lost interest. Hah.. you’re finally, finally improving. You’re finally..

“Eh? Didn't ya know? Vil's been askin' around Octavinelle about ya. Somethin' about gettin' you to switch clubs, I think. Heh, maybe that's just the rumor mill talkin', though. Shishishi...”

“Mm- wait-”

♡ What.

 “WHAT?!”

♡ The entire class looks at you now. Grumbling beneath their breaths, and with Professor Trein giving you the most scorching scowl known to man, you’re compelled into quietening down, but not allowing the cold knot in your stomach to simmer, nor the rapid staccatos of your pulse. This time, you willingly lean into Ruggie. Vil? Granted, he did see your.. journal work, but him going as far as to head to Octavinelle to strike a deal with them? It didn’t seem so far-fetched given the circumstances, but at that time, he'd tried his best to appear staid and unaffected by your entries. This.. this is bad, bad news. If Vil succeeds, then - you’re destined for failure. 

​​​​​​♡ If Vil succeeds, then you are the failure. 

“Who- where’d you hear that from?” You gawk, perspiration roving down your nape, pen abandoned. You don’t know what to say. Your heart is beating.

♡ Ah, what a dumb question. Ruggie is known to work odd jobs, it’d make sense he’d catch sight of Vil, of all people, amid the Mostro Lounge crowd during his shift. But really, Vil? Stooping so low as to seek Azul’s help?

♡ What even was in that journal? A few scribbles about Twisted Hearts, and the usual jargon.. nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would ultimately catch his interest. You hadn't even focused on it that much yourself, nor did you mention names, even if someone did manage to get their hands on it, you thought they’d just call you absolutely maniacal and do away with it.

♡ And you, stooping so low as to seek Ruggie’s help? 

“You have to help me.”

“Whoa, hold it right there.” His lips pull into a moue, hands tugging at his tie from where you’d  absent-mindedly rendered it askew. “ Remember all those times I asked, and ya told me to mind my own business? Why'do I go and help ya now?”

“I-”

“Besides, I got a pretty sweet side gig at the Mostro Lounge. If I stick my neck out for ya, who's gonna make up the difference, huh?”

He grins, teeth on display.

“Now, if you've got somethin' worth tradin', that's a whole different story. Shishishi.”

♡ Worth trading? You haven't got anything, you..are a lost cause. Your room is laughable, your grades are despicable, the company you keep is non-existent, and your pockets.. Ah. 

“I can give you anything you want.”

A gleam in your eyes, your hands form a bridge to let your chin perch upon. The brightness that you’d once lost reclaims its reign over your face, and if this world were any more ridiculous, you are certain he would see a lightbulb forming over your head.

“Now we’re talkin’.”

“Anything. I have access to Kalim’s bank account. Trust me.”

.

.

♡  “You....”

♡ Ruggie holds up the uniform. 

“You want me to infiltrate them?”

The next day goes off without a hitch–it’s like the conversation between the twins never existed, because as soon as your class is over, you see Jade standing by the door, patiently waiting for you to come out and walk you to your next class as usual. 

For some reason, you wince at the sight of him and think, is this all an act? Still, you stand by his side and greet him. He leans in to smoothen your uniform for you, “Fufu, Prefect, I assume you were in a rush this morning? Your collar is askew, but there, I’ve fixed it,” He holds out his arm to you, “Shall we walk to your next class?” 

You stretch out your arm to link it with his, as if by muscle memory, but stop yourself midway, remembering his words from the night before. Instead, you choose to position your hands behind your back, grinning up at Jade. His usual smile doesn’t falter, but you notice the slight twitch of his eyebrows at your decision to withhold physical contact, how unusual, he thinks. Despite the tension in the air, your eel still walks you to history next. Still, he doesn’t stop his attempts at growing closer to you.

“Would you allow me to hold your things for you, my dear? I see you’ve forgotten to hand me your books.”

“Well, I just feel like carrying them myself today. Also, I’ll just see you at Mostro Lounge later, you don’t have to walk me to flight class anymore. I have to grab something from Deuce in between.”

Ouch. Met with another rejection, and plighted with the news of you meeting with another boy (though that boy is a certified goofball), clearly avoiding him. What could you possibly ask from that Heartslabyul boy that he couldn’t provide for you? Besides that, you were always delighted to be by his side. It made no sense to change your routine even if you did need to pick up something. He’d simply accompany you. What caused you behavior to go amiss? He wonders, and catches on that something is wrong, fast.

Not wanting to act without being certain, your wounded eel accepts your words for now. “I see, I’ll be awaiting your presence at the lounge tonight, then.”

Little does he know, you take his lack of objection as further confirmation that you’ve been too clingy, and your chest feels a bit tighter.

As you two part, Jade somehow comes to the conclusion that he must woo you–again. 

But now, you fully believe he’s grown tired of you. 

“Hiya Shrimpy~ are ya lookin’ for Jade? He’s in the kitchen makin’ a special meal for ya, or so he says,” Floyd shoots you a lazy grin and slings his arm over your shoulder, which earns a nasty glare from Jade standing by the counter. Why are you accepting his touch, but not mine? It turns out that your eel is a bit more dramatic that he lets on. 

When you approach him, he lays out a meal he prepared for you, along with your favorite tea. Freeing you from Floyd’s grasp, he places his hand on your shoulder as he guides you to one of the booths at the center of the Lounge. You notice that his grip is a bit firmer than usual, and that his smile towards you seems a bit strained. 

Once you’re seated, you expect Jade to go on with the rest of his shift and serve the other customers pooling in, but he instead takes the seat beside yours, leaving almost no space between the two of you, and grabs a bite of the food and…turns to you? 

“Prefect, I’ve made your favorite today, now if you would just open wide and say, ‘ahh’,” 

You feel Jade’s cold fingers on your chin that move to make you face him. With his eyes meeting yours, you notice that his features seem more relaxed now compared to earlier–the strain in his smile is now replaced with a look of fondness. Why was your eel acting extra sweet today? 

However, you feel the looks you’re getting from the other students dining in at the lounge. You remember that to them, it seems uncanny that the ever so intimidating, cold, and scary Jade Leech is looking at you like you hung the moon–not to mention feeding you a bite of his cooking!

You have no choice but to play along to his whims, and move to taste the food. It’s cooked to perfection–perfectly adjusted to your tastes. You can tell Jade’s spent time trying to cater to the flavors you enjoy, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness gripe at your heart knowing this could be the last time you’ll ever try it. Instead of responding with praise, as you normally do, you silently chew on your food, with a neutral look on your face.

“Hm, is something the matter, Prefect? I believe I’ve cooked the meal to your liking, or perhaps your tastes have changed?” Jade presses his eyebrows together and pouts to give you a look of feigned hurt, which you’re familiar with by now, but for some reason his tone seems to hold genuine concern. All this over food, Jade? At the moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking anymore. “Is it perhaps the position we’re sitting in that makes you uncomfortable? I did try to reserve the best seats in the lounge for you, I thought you might enjoy a change from where we usually sit.”

What kind of stunt is this eel trying to pull? Is the extra sweetness part of the act?? Does he know that you overheard him and Floyd last night???

You offer Jade a flushed look, half because of how cute his concerned face looks and the other half being that you have no idea what to think anymore. Distracted by your adorable reaction, Jade believes his plan is working.

What really sends you into overdrive, is when he walks you home from Mostro Lounge. Instead of offering his arm to you once again, he silently intertwines his gloved hands with yours as you make your way to Ramshackle dorm–leaving you no room to refuse his touch. 

“Prefect, please send me recipes you’d like to try in the future, I’ll try to recreate them for you if today’s cooking was not to your liking. Perhaps you’d like to have a dish with shrimp in it, fufu,” your eel teases you about your earlier lack of reaction. While he may jest, he secretly worries that his efforts haven’t reached you. After all, his main goal of the night was to please you, and remove the doubt in his mind that you were distancing yourself from him. 

Reaching the gate of Ramshackle dorm, you speak up, “Jade, I can go from here. Thank you for cooking for me, it really was good,” for some reason, it sounded like the last time he’d cook for you, Jade thought. How curious. 

Of course, what kind of gentleman would he be if he allowed that to happen? “My dear, do you think I don’t have the decency to walk you to your door? You wound me, Prefect,” the grip he has on your hand feels tighter as he walks the path leading to your home, “Come, I’ll even make some tea for you inside, if you’d like.” But as he expected, you take the chance to refuse his effort of spending any more time with you. 

So your beloved eel resorts to one last thing as you approach your door, “I shall brew you a drink another time then, Prefect,” he slithers his free hand around your waist to pull you closer, enough for you to pick up on his comforting scent. Then, he brings your hand up to place a kiss inside your palm, looking up at you with his smile, “Have a good night, my dear.” 

You find yourself surprised at his sudden display of affection, he must still be toying with me, huh? Either way, you still feel an overwhelming sense of giddiness being on the receiving end of such love from your eel, whether or not the reason behind it is actually what you think. Not wanting to let your feelings show, however, you simply nod and wave him goodbye.

Jade can’t help but feel the distance between the both of you grow, despite his efforts. However, little does he know that how you watch him leave all the way until his figure disappeared from your sight. His actions confuse you, but it doesn’t stop you from longing the times you could indulge yourself in his sweetness.

The following week was the same–you were under the impression that Jade had grown bored of you, and that he was toying with your feelings at this point before dropping you eventually. You rejected his advances as physical affection, spent more time with Grim and your friends, and rarely dropped by his room to hangout. On the other hand, Jade was working harder than ever to get on your good side again. He was unfamiliar with the feeling of being unsettled by one person, a human at that. However, your boyfriend mistakes the feeling of missing your active presence for being unsettled. 

He had been needlessly sweet to you the past week. He began appearing at your doorstep in the morning with a drink in one hand and offering to carry your books in the other, but not without taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on it first. He also started acting more physically affectionate with you too, which wouldn’t be weird if not for where he’d do it. In the past, Jade preferred to show your affections in private, but now, he’ll bring you close and lay his head on your shoulder in the middle of the courtyard, claiming that he needs to rest! What a sneaky eel you have. 

Deciding you’ve had enough of this confusion, you gather in the big leagues to ask advice. Certainly, you’d consult those seasoned in the area of relationships, with mature minds and words of wisdom. Surely, maybe someone like Vil or Trey, an experienced senio-

In your living room, you sit across Ace and Deuce. 

Not that you had a choice, because they noticed how lovey-dovey you and your boyfriend have been lately and decided to make it their problem because surely something MUST have happened! 

Click clack…Jade opens the gate to Ramshackle, holding a container of sweets you mentioned the other day, hopeful to gain an excited reaction and maybe a little praise coming from you. 

“Okay guys, the truth is, I overheard Jade and Floyd talking about me the other night and….” 

Oho? By now, Jade’s reached your door and is about to knock, a polite smile on his face, but he pauses when he overhears you mentioning his name. The Prefect is chatting about me even in her private time, how adorable. 

“What did that bastard say about you??? Does he need to be taken care of???” Ace exclaims loudly, clearly carried over by emotion. Deuce aggressively shakes his head in agreement.

“Wait! I didn’t even get to that part yet…you see, he said that I’m too tiresome to be with….”

Hm. Jade wasn’t expecting that. In fact, he was a little hurt at the fact that you could even consider he’d think that of you. 

“--and I think the reason he's being so much sweeter towards me these days is because he knows I overheard them. Is it all an act? I can’t tell anymore, but I don’t have the heart to ask, in case I’m right…” 

Jade stands still in front of your door, his smile intact, your sweets still in hand. But to his surprise, he almost drops them. 

Clutching them a little harder now, he takes a step backwards and decides to retreat. He takes big strides over Ramshackle’s lawn. How odd of me, he thinks. He’d usually take the chance to scare first-years and amuse himself with their reactions when they find out he’d been listening in, and of course, he’d like to soothe your doubts right then and there–but a big part of him doesn’t realize how much he actually treasures you. He needs to corner you talk to you privately. It’s all an excuse, because he needed to compose himself lest he breaks down your door. 

Jade hates how you ever thought of those things in the first place. How could you doubt this eel’s sincere heart that only wishes to win your affection once more? With a new resolve, he concludes that he must seek you out directly. 

How direct? Well…how about eel appearing in your kitchen first thing in the morning? 

Waking up to the smell of your favorite food is something you haven’t experienced since coming to Twisted Wonderland. There go the ghosts, messing with the kitchen. But wait, why does it smell…really good? Like the kind only Jade would make you? 

Dragging yourself out of bed and hopping down the stairs, still in your pajamas. You see the tall figure of your boyfriend brewing some tea, and you’re met with his signature smile when he turns around. You can’t decide if you’re ecstatic to see him so early in the morning or afraid because he’s now spreading his antics to your dorm, wondering what’ll happen next.

“Have you slept well, dear Prefect? Come, I’ve prepared you your favorite meal–I especially foraged the ingredients for this dish.” Jade takes hold of your arm and leads you to sit on the dining table, occupying the space next to you. He’s already dressed in his uniform, his black strand of hair straightened, and gloved hand already pouring out tea for you to drink. 

“Jade…this is really sweet and all, but can I ask you one thing? 

Here it comes, “Of course. By the looks of it, I assume it’ll be quite a fun discussion, fufu.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” You don’t mean for it to sound so blunt, but you’ve only just woken up, after all. It’s the one thing that’s been weighing on your mind since that night–is he just acting the part of a “perfect” boyfriend, when in reality, he finds your company to be quite meddlesome? Why does he still keep you around, or rather, actively seek you out more than ever now, if you aren’t amusing to him anymore?

“Ah, is it so unusual of me to want to treat my beloved so well? I must say, I am a bit hurt that you would doubt my actions toward you,” his eyebrows knit together, forming that worried expression of his, “On the contrary, dear, might I ask you why you’ve been acting differently as of late?” 

Now he’s turning this on you, huh? Well, you decide, there’s no other choice but to come off clean, and end your worries once and for all. You take a deep breath, before telling him, “Okay, the truth is…I overheard you and Floyd talking the other night. Remember when I came by to ask help on Potionology?” 

“Of course, I remember that you followed my tutoring so well–it seemed that asking for “help” was just an excuse to seek out my affection that night, though~”

You laugh dryly, wondering why he was acting fond of your physical touch, “Jade, I think it’s time to end this. I heard you tell Floyd that I come to your room too much, that it’s tiresome to always be with me. I’ve known you long enough to expect that you’d eventually grow bored of me.”

“I tried to keep my distance from you and give you a chance to break up the routine of being with me, but why are you acting this way? Why are you suddenly being more…romantic, sweet, than normal?”

On the outside, Jade maintains a neutral expression. But internally, he feels a foreign feeling of disappointment. Not at you–never at you. But at himself, for not relaying his true emotions toward you. Was that truly what you thought of him? 

“Prefect…I believe you have a wrong idea of how the conversation went on. Would you like me to tell you the full details?”

Huh??? 

“While it is true, Floyd did ask me if I had gotten tired of…our time together, my response was referring to the fact that we usually meet at my quarters. I was considering the option that you’d appreciate if we had a change of pace, and go someplace else for a change. I was thinking of other ways to please you. I never thought that you would interpret our conversation in that way.

Extending his hand to place on your cheek, he continues, “On the contrary, I thought I had done something amiss, and my behavior the past weeks has been an attempt to court you once again. To you, I extend my deepest apologies–I find it difficult to imagine that I would ever get tired of you.”

“If you would allow me, I would like to take care of the perpetrator of the issue,” Jade grins, his eyes uneven. The way his eyes glimmered, you knew that a certain twin would be on the receiving end of his wrath. He made a move to stand up, possibly to make his way to Octavinelle and beat up talk to his brother, but you quickly pulled him back down to his seat. You’d rather have your eel intact so he could hear what you had to say. 

“Oh Jade, I’m sorry too–I can’t believe I…” Now you just felt mildly embarrassed, and a bit angry at yourself for letting your thoughts consume you. After a beat, you found yourself in a fit of laughter at how badly you misunderstood the conversation. Jade looks down at you with a fond smile, seemingly content with the outcome of your discussion–how long had it been since he saw you so carefree around him? 

You wrap your arms around his and lean your head on his shoulder, and look up at him, “So…you don’t mind it if I do this, after all?” A sly grin occupies your face, your eyes crinkling at the thought that Jade might love you more than you thought. 

“Not at all, instead, I do wish you would show your affections toward me more freely. Seeing how much you’ve rejected my advances toward you in past weeks, you have a lot to make up for, Prefect, fufu,” Jade gives you a chilling smile, but now you know his words are genuine–your eel simply missed you. 

“Now then, while I admit that you look quite…adorable in your sleeping attire, shall I offer you my assistance in getting ready for the day, my dear?”

Now that you’ve resolved your grave misunderstanding with Jade, you thought that you two would go back to normal–but it seems your eel had other plans. It seems his attempts to woo you haven’t ceased, as you walk down Ramshackle’s rickety stairs to see Jade cooking you breakfast once more. He’s been at it since the first day he came.

You come up from behind to embrace him, but sensing your footsteps, he turns to face you. “Prefect, you’re awake. I’ll be finished in a bit. ” He ruffles your bedhead and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Fufu, or would you rather join me and prepare our meal together?”

You let out a satisfied huff, and ask, “Jade, why do you still come by everyday? Not that I’m complaining, but you don’t have to do all this after, you know…”

“I must admit, Prefect, that I have been wishing to act this way for a while. The situation simply provided me an opportunity to act on my desires and pamper you, fufu,” Jade gives you the smile you know so well, and you can’t help but bury your head on his shoulder, “Ah, Jade…why are you so cute…”

“I don’t know what you mean, Prefect, I’d say you’re quite adorable yourself,” He gently smoothes down your bedhead once more. The both of you stay standing in the kitchen, embracing one another and enjoying each other’s company.

After a while, you look up at your boyfriend. “Jade…I think something’s burning.”

Unfazed, he gently lets go of your arms and turns off the stove. “It seems I lose track of time when I’m you, my beloved. Your touch is too tempting for me to resist, fufu.”

“Just admit you forgot!!”

i eat this trope up everytime i see it and i wanted to write one with jade !! sothis is actually the first thing i've ever fully written before anything else lol please be very kind with me lol (Not that edited either we ball or it'd never see the light of day !!!)

inspired by "an affection anthology" by twstyturny and "jade leech and the three breakups" by schoenpepper (graciously reblogged by twstyturny as well) !!! i <3 the hurt comfort these fics have hihi this has been living in my head rent free since i read it its so so good i love it love it

You knew for a fact that you loved the eel, and that behind his scheming pursuits and chilling smiles, he does hold some affection for you. But you weren’t sure if he liked you the same way you did. When your fingers brushed over his, did he feel the same rush you did? Whenever you spot him in a sea of students after class, does his heart run to the moon and back, the same as you still do despite all the time you’ve spent together? 

Amidst your racing thoughts, Jade calculates his own response. 

But first, a realization. 

“It seems that I have missed something…” His voice comes out as a soft mumble, as if he were talking to himself. 

“Sorry?”

He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, concern painting the eel’s face. This kind of expression was common, but it was usually accompanied by a scheme of some sort. The only scheme here would be playing your heart, however. But you see the slight downward twitch of his lips, and for a moment, you believe that his worry is genuine. Then, his mouth moves to turn into a little pout. Adorable, you think. 

“I cannot believe that I have overlooked such a vital part of our relationship.” Jade makes a move to hold you closer, his long limbs slithering along the dip of your waist. Your heart does a flip, maybe 10000 flips in a second. Lethal power: 67%.

“Prefect…” His fingers drag along your hair, tucking it behind your ear. The closer proximity gives you a chance to study his annoyingly handsome features. His mismatched eyes meet your own, and his lips contort into the smile you’ve grown fond of. You feel your knees weaken, and mentally thank Jade for holding you–otherwise you might’ve fallen. Fallen for him, though, you already have. Lethal power: 82%. 

Suddenly, he draws back. Your eel retracts his arms from your shoulder and waist, takes a step to create some space before you, and holds his hands together in the usual, polite manner he does. 

“Will you let me have the honor of marrying you?” 

…

…?

…????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Lethal power: MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE

You find yourself unable to move in shock. Was there something you missed? What part of your conversation could have ever led him to Him??? Marrying??? You???

Before he could reach for the box in his pocket and get down on his knees (why does he just have that prepared?); your arms frantically reach the sides of his shoulder and bring him up to your eye level, looking at him as if he had gone insane. Well, you’re not that far off…

“Wait, Jade! I’m sorry, I don’t understand! I thought you didn’t like me back, why are you–”

“You thought that I didn’t return your affections? My dear, are you dense?”

Dense. You don’t know if that was a more fitting description for yourself or the eel standing before you, “On the contrary, I believe my feelings are affirmed to you each and every day we spend together.” For the second time, you’re taken aback. Unlike the first, your mouth is left gaping so much that a fly could take space and start paying rent. However, Jade graciously brings his hand to your chin to close it, and looks into your eyes once more. 

“I believe I haven’t missed a day. I was under the impression that our relationship was going smoothly, and that you were unsatisfied that I haven’t proposed to you yet. Was that not your point, my dear?”

No, far from it! You wanted to shout, but to your favor, you let him continue, “I remember the day you first confessed your feelings for me. I assumed that you were accepting my attempts to court you. I always made sure to intertwine your arm with mine, after all.” 

That day, after his polite response, he reached out to offer his arm for you to hold, and walked you back to Ramshackle. It was no surprise to you, however, because it was common for him to do so. You safely assumed that he was trying to play the part of a gentlemanly, polite eel. But apparently, that meant something entirely different to Jade. He was courting you all this time? And you never noticed??

“Jade, are you serious?” You give him an incredulous look, your brain trying to catch up with this new information. The eel smiles at your current expression, now clearly finding amusement at the situation.

 “Yes, quite serious, my dear. But to calm your worries, I assure you that I sincerely return your affections. I find that our time together has made my days much more pleasant, and that your presence is one that I can never bring myself to tire of. Though you can be a handful at times, it seems that it only causes me to fall more in love with you, fufu.” The lilt in his tone soothes your thoughts, and you begin to fully look at the eel standing before you. Standing up with perfect posture, his hands are brought together across his stomach, and he still has his signature smile spread across his face. If you squinted a bit, you’d find that his cheeks are even tinted a very faint shade of pink, and that his breathing is a bit uneven. For Jade, such a small reaction is a big sign that he’s worked up. You find that hard to believe, but just hearing you doubt his love for you is enough to throw him off track.

Despite that, his eyes seem filled with amusement crinkling their corners, clearly focusing all his attention on you. At the realization, you feel your face heat up, and your heart runs a mile once more. But you’re happy. Relieved, even. Though your hypothesis was completely off, it’d be the only thing you’d never want to be true. The fact is: your eel is undeniably and utterly in love with you. 

There is one question left unanswered, however. 

“Prefect, I’m glad that I was able to erase your doubts, but I believe you have yet to respond to my previous inquiry.” 

“Huh? What did I miss…I love you too?”

He smiles at your reply, and gently runs his gloved fingers through your hair once more, “I appreciate your words, but I was referring to my marriage proposal.” 

“Wait, you’re really asking me that? Right now?” You were only in your second and third years, after all. You didn’t think your relationship would last either, and that you’d be left to deal with your “unrequited” feelings forever…

The amused look in Jade’s eyes turned into something that resembled mischief instead,  “Hm? I take it that you are rejecting my request? Or is it that…there is a third party?” This time, he puts on his worried face–cute pout intact–hand holding his chin, clearly putting on an act to look pitiful. “I was hoping to wait for the perfect time to ask for your hand, but I thought that waiting had become a hindrance in our relationship, in regard to your previous worries. Though, I am curious as to what your answer will be, my dear~.”

You let out a dry sniffle, but then your eyes warm up, and suddenly tears are streaming down your face. You find that your overwhelming happiness at the realization that Jade is in love with you…is quite difficult to hold back. Through your blurry vision, you manage to make out how Jade’s eyes are slightly widened, and his eyebrows are etched in genuine worry once more. He immediately moves to retrieve the handkerchief from his breast pocket, “Oh dear, Prefect, I apolog–”

“Yes! Jade, please marry me!”

extra:

After your confession, Jade walks back to Octavinelle in high spirits. Even Floyd is weirded out by how happy his brother seems, but immediately assumes that Shrimpy had done something nice to him that day. More than nice, actually.

He gathers his materials and the plants he’s foraged to create a terrarium dedicated to you. One out of many, in fact, but this one is special because it marks your first day as a couple. He sets two budding plants together, hoping to see them bloom with you.

Then comes your new routine–preparing you lunches with mushrooms he’s foraged and recipes he threatened asked for from Ruggie, taking initiative and inviting you on hiking dates or go stargazing with him, and clearly giving you special treatment by handing out discounts whenever you visit him at Mostro Lounge Azul is on his last straw.

The only thing running through his head while doing these things is of course, three simple words: I love you. 

Seeing you waiting by the counter at Mostro Lounge? I love you. When he gifted your couple-terrarium and saw how overjoyed you were, he thought, I want to see this reaction forever, interesting…so this is love. Even though hiking wasn’t your strongest suit, you insisted on going with him because you wanted to be part of his hobbies, too. I am in love with the Prefect. 

However, it seems he got a bit carried away, because he never actually uttered these words to you–they remained as constant thoughts in his mind, leading him to believe he always relayed these feelings to you. Hm, and he has the nerve to wonder why you ask him one day, “Jade, will you ever break up with me?”

“My apologies, Prince Minajael,” Jamil spoke first, head bowed in respect (and to also hide his smirk).

The prince merely waved the apology off, wiping a stray tear as he calmed down. You hated to admit that his bright smile warmed parts of you that you forgot existed. He was the most handsome man you have met, which is saying something with the company you carried.

“No apologies needed,” Minajael chuckled. “Though I am curious as to what brought that comment.”

You felt your soul leave your body for the second time in the last 5 minutes. How the hell were you supposed to explain that your lizard brain took over the second you saw his exposed midriff? 

“Uh,” you spoke dumbly, blinking rapidly as you tried to rack your brain for any sensible answer to calling someone a slut. Traitorously, your eyes lowered to where brown skin lay exposed for anyone to see. 

“Objectifying me already,” Minajael hummed dejectedly, amusement underlying his tone. 

“Excuse me, I am going to jump into the nearest river now,” you stand up, fully ready to go through with your threat, only for said prince to grab your hand, halting your escape.

“It’s okay,” he laughed, eyes strangely warm, even though you did kind of just insult him accidentally. “I’m not used to people treating me in such a manner, it’s refreshing.”  You raise an eyebrow, wondering if he’s into being name called. Once again the word slut reverberates through your skull, but you keep it inside this time. You know you were never going to live this moment down. Minajael Tealrajah was going to be the death of you, and you couldn't help but find yourself excited by the prospect.

“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”

“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”

“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”

He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”

The broken wrist is so worth it.

With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.

“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to. 

By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.

“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”

“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”

You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”

“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”

It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”

“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”

At this, your ears perk.

“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”

He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”

Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you. 

The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.

Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb. 

MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.

You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment. 

Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.

MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.

“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”

“Awful. I went through war.”

Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”

“Yours.”

“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”

“Even you can’t save me for this class.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food?  “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”

Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”

“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”

He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”

You shrug. “You tell me.”

His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”

“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”

“With your friends?”

“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”

He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”

You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”

“I’m done studying.”

“Liar.”

Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.

You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.

The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.

A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.

You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper. 

He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.

Because he’s not Caleb.

It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.

You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.

But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.

“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”

He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.

You nod again. Smile again.

Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.

You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.

The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.

You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.

No messages.

Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.

Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.

And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.

[you]: hi

The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.

[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?

[futre hubs <333]: i can

You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him. 

It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.

You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.

Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.

The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good. 

But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.

You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.

Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble. 

A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her. 

You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.

“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”

“No.”

“I told you to grab a jacket.”

“You nag too much.”

He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.

“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”

“You and your questions.”

“I want to know.”

He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”

You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”

“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”

“...Other than that.”

“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”

“Something else.”

“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”

Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens.  “Splints?”

You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”

“I was just kidding around.”

“Jokes have some truth to them.”

“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”

Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.

Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.

But nothing comes.

The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.

You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct. 

Caleb glances at you. Then away.

Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.

“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.

You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.

Another pause. God, it’s awkward.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”

Just not enough.

“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.

Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.

“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”

You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”

He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”

Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.

“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”

The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair. 

Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.  

“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”

Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.

Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.

So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.

The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.

The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.

“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”

He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.

Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner. 

“I dunno.”

You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”

He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”

“Not hungry,” he mutters.

“Don’t care. Sit up.”

He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.

You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.

“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”

“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”

He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”

You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.

“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.

Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”

He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”

“Learned from the best.”

His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”

Your hand stills. “What?”

He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”

His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”

“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”

You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.

“Idiot,” you whisper.

He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.

“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”

“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”

You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.

“…Is she okay?”

It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.

“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.

“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”

You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.

“Like what?”

“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.

He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”

There it is. It’s always about her.

You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him. 

“Does it matter?”

Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”

“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”

“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”

Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”

You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.

“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”

“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”

He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.

He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”

“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”

“You’re angry.”

You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”

“What?”

“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”

You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.

“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”

“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”

“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”

“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second. 

“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”

“I am now.”

“What has gotten into you, splints?”

“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”

Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.

“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”

But you’re not over it. Not at all.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.

“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”

The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him. 

You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.

“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”

But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips. 

“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”

You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.

A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins. 

Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.

Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.

His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.

Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.

“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave. 

You don’t wait to see if he hears you.

The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by. 

You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.

If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?

Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.

You press it and shut your eyes.

Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.

Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable? 

Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.

“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.

“No.”

He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”

You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right. 

As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.

“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”

“I don’t read them.”

Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”

Silence.

“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”

You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone. 

[1:41PM]

[caleb]: are you eating well?

[caleb]: i made this today

[caleb]: [image attached]

[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later

[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho

[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)

[8:13AM]

[caleb]: hi splints :)

[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it

[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining

[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3

[5:32PM]

[caleb]: ranked first today

[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/

[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol

[caleb]: hope you’re okay

[11:23PM]

[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid

[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then

[caleb]: i still don’t

[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that

[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…

[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then

[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say

[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol

[caleb]: it was never about her

[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person

[caleb]: miss you a lot

[caleb]: sleep tight

You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.

“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech. 

“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”

“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”

You don’t respond.

Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.

‘I love you.’

The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.

Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.

Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.

Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.

Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.

You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.

Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.

“…We’re a mess.”

A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”

“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.

Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod. 

Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.

“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”

Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”

“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”

He grins, lopsided. “You should.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.

You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”

He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”

“You nag too much.”

He kisses your nose. “Hm?”

“You’re emotionally repressed.”

“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.

“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”

Your jawline.

“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”

“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.

Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”

april 5th, the sunday after nrc.confessionz dropped.

these past two days have been a handful. honestly, you just want to go to sleep. the school week starts tomorrow and you just know your friends are not going to drop the whole nrc.confessionz account. speak of the great seven, there they are, blowing up for group chat. grim’s tail was flickering behind him, snickering as he read over your shoulder.

you shut off your phone and tossed it to the side, grim yelping. “watch where you’re throwing stuff, hench human!” he grumbled before laying back down. 

whatever, it’s a silly little joke going on in your friend group. eventually, someone will fess-up to owning the account, you all will get mad at them for 24-hours (max) and move on with it.

this won’t spread outside your friend group, right?

right?

oh you were so wrong.

previous: ii. enter 'SCARABIA STUDENT B HATERS ‼️' <- masterlist -> next: iii. a week in summary ii. the virus has spread.

note: so... theres now going to be 3 parts to 'a week in summary'... LMFAO it just got way too big so i had to space it out like this. i'm finally getting to the parts where i can use the rumors you guys have sent (YAY)!! okay fr this time next part will be out this week. please enjoy, this one was fun to make! big thank you to my stink stink (@shikiyomizu) for the rumor used for jack! (she made it up before playing twst and now that she's playing she feels bad for doing him dirty,,,)

check out the promo post to see how you can be involved in the story! if you're reading, if you have any particular rumors for scarabia, octavinelle, or ignihyde, they may coming up soon (wink wink).

My immediate impression of Mina is that he speaks casually, but is serious when it comes to achieving his goals. However, this doesn’t mean that he can’t also be a romantic or have a teasing streak.

As I mentioned earlier, he is canonically very opinionated when it comes to matters of love and is against the idea of having others choose his partner for him.

I see the RSA boys as kinda… bleeding hearts and/or those with savior complexes. For Mina specifically, I think he’d share Jasmine’s fierceness and self-righteousness, so he’d be the type to intervene if he senses a NRC guy is giving someone else trouble. Swoop in and play hero, y’know 😭

I fully believe in Mina’s capacity to whip out the charm if he has to or wants to. Now, I don’t think he’s a playboy even if he kinda looks like trouble. He’d be looking for The One to pledge his devotion to, someone who would love him for him, and not money, status, or titles. An old-fashioned romantic at heart!

Mina daydreams about having a serendipitous encounter in some farmer’s market (while he’s in his commoner cosplay). Like he reaches for the same blemished apple as a rando and then their hands touch, their eyes meet, sparks fly—

Mina does strike me as someone who easily teases, thanks to being inspired by Jasmine. He’s not unaware of the effect he has on people, bro knows what’s up.

He’s very selective with how he wields his charm, because he doesn’t like the idea of giving false hope. If he’s such an advocate for true love, then the last thing he wants to do is lead someone on. And if the person he’s interested in is into someone else, Mina will immediately back off and encourage them to follow their heart. HE’S A SUCKER FOR HAPPY ENDINGS (even if they do not involve him).

I think a good way to incorporate Jasmine’s (initial) hesitancy and skepticism (of Aladdin as his Prince Ali persona) is… maybe Mina teases others as a sort of “test” to see how they react. Kinda like putting his feelers out there, so he can determine what kind of person they are, if he can trust them or not, etc.

To add that element of insincerity (Jasmine faking it with Jafar) to Mina, I think he has a… complicated relationship with flirting? Like, it’s a useful tool to determine friends and foes, but it isn’t “true”—it has a detached quality to it. Maybe he feels a real connection with someone, but then the thought occurs to him that they may not like him for his “real” self, since he’s kinda putting on an act or pretending to be someone else in the moment (perhaps someone more romantically aggressive).

He doesn’t like being pursued; he’s more into being the pursuer. I think this thought of mine stems from Jasmine’s “I am not a prize to be won” line and how she constantly had suitors knocking at her door. It’d feel suffocating for Mina and like people are fighting for his affections. He wants that freedom to choose who he loves and pursues.

I think he'd be really popular on Magicam and every time he posts, he gets a flood of thirst tweets and people hitting on him. Mina laughs it off, but it'd make him feel kind of uncomfortable and think about how people like him only for his riches or looks and not really for HIM, the "real" him.

Mina seems so easy to talk to… so casual. Flirting comes to him naturally, and sometimes even the non-flirting sounds like it because of how effortlessly it rolls off his tongue. My female friend and I have this dumb in-joke where we’ll greet each other with “hey, girl” to parody playboys, but in Mina’s case, that “hey” greeting would actually be innocent and chill but so, SO effective, even if he does not mean for it to be that way.

You know how sometimes guys use their dogs in dating app photos to make themselves seem more likable??? MINA WiTH HIS PET TIGER AS HIS WINGMAN…

I don’t think he’d be perfect in matters of love. At the end of the day, Mina is still extremely privileged (despite his own reservations about his status), and that will blindside him to certain things that the common man experiences that he never has. He might make some accidentally insensitive comments, but quickly recovers from them and is cordial + mature with the apologies unlike most of the NRC boys. Y’know, cuz Jasmine can get pretty feisty but isn’t afraid to change her mind when she has realized she was wrong.

He once thought about confiding in his thoughts on love with Neige, Rielle, etc. but they got way too squeaky and excited about it, so Mina changed his mind and shut the convo down 💀

but like you said, sleep was never peaceful. two of your friends were already bickering, and who else would it be but the heartslabyul duo. 

“dude, get your nasty dogs out of my face!” ace grumbled, hitting deuce’s legs with a nearby pillow. deuce looked at him, brows furrowed, not quite at his ‘delinquent switch,’ but pretty close, “i’m not even near you, ace. you had to reach to hit me!” he said, throwing a pillow of his own at ace’s face.

ace shot up, a sleep-ridden pout on his lips and his brows furrowed, “i can smell them!” 

“that’s a load of bullshit and you know it!” deuce retorted back, and the whisper-shouting kept escalating. you would’ve interfered, but you were brushing your teeth and just came out to see this. 

“DANGNABBIT, YER A BIG OL’ BUNCHA IDJITS, YA HEAR ME?” epel shouted, sitting up clearly upset, his hair in all sorts of directions, “SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYNA SLEEP!”

both deuce and ace turned to him, blinking at their friend. deuce broke the silence, “uhm, epel. i think it was just you sleeping. everyone else is up.” he said as ace nodded his head in agreement. sebek and jack got up earlier than everyone else, probably off training before you all had to head to classes. grim was surely scourging your barren cabinets for something to snack on and you weren’t entirely sure where ortho could be.

“ah.” epel said, blinking and taking in the information. he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand, stretching his arms above his head. “right, well, g’morning…” he said, getting up to use the bathroom, saying hello to you as you made your way to the living room and him to the bathroom.

“dude…” ace said, shaking his head in resignation. 

turns out sebek and jack did train while you all were sleeping in. they somehow even managed to get showered and changed before you all did? and the audacity to be rushing the rest of you. you did find out where ortho went though, apparently he had to get everyone some drinks for the walk to campus (how sweet)! 

you all walked to the main campus from ramshackle. as you know, ramshackle is the only dorm located on campus, the main seven are accessible through the mirror chamber. it’s not inconvenient but it is a fair walk from your dorm to campus. while you usually have grim, it’s also nice to have your friends’ company.

talking about here and there, complaining about classes, sharing club news, getting digs in at each other — you know, the usual. right when you guys got in eyes distance of campus, ace came over and nudged you,

“hey, saw what you did there, prefect. didn’t think you’d be one to bring home traditions to night raven,” he said, raising his right brow as he kept nudging you. 

your brows furrowed in confusion, before you could question what this duffous was talking about, jack beat you to it, “what are you talking about, ace? oh, wait, do you mean that magicam account?”

“oh yeah!” ortho chimed in, floating over to you, “i meant to ask you about that earlier.”

you shook your hands, rounding to the front of your group and facing them, “no, no. that wasn’t me. i was going to ask which one of you idiots made that, i got a follow sometime last night.”

“shifting the blame onto someone else, hmm, hench-human?” grim snickered, climbing up to your shoulder.

“dude, grim, how would you know? you don’t even have a phone.” deuce said, shaking his head as he shrugged his shoulders.

epel added to the sudden not so sudden grim slander, “unless he took her phone and made the account himself,” he said, hiding his laugh behind his hand.

“hmph, you give the monster feline too much credit. he can barely form coherent strings of text with his paws,” sebek huffed, his know-it-all smirk proudly beaming.

“watch it!” grim exclaimed, standing on your shoulder, much to your dismay, “i was given enough credit and i’m not a feline! what if it was epel!” 

you hummed, “hey you were on your phone pretty late…” if they were going to take digs at something you didn’t do, two can play that game!

“wha—no way!” epel said, bringing his hand out defensively, “i told you i was tryin’ to make sure vil didn’t know i stayed up that late. i was changing my active time.”

“woah, you can do that? epel, you’ve gotta teach me. the amount of times housewarden has almost taken my head over staying up past curfew is crazy.” ace said, sliding up next to epel.

epel nodded, but then a mischievous grin painted his face, “it could totally be ace. weren’t you up late too?”

“oh? were you?” ortho added, ever the instigator.

ace recoiled back, flabbers gasted, “what—dude, no!” 

as much as everyone would’ve loved to continue pointing fingers at each other to get underneath each others’ skins, you had to break for homeroom, which deuce and jack kindly reminded you all. 

professor crewel as your homeroom and first-period isn’t as bad as your friends make it out to be. it’s definitely not a walk in the park, but you struggle a lot less with alchemy compared to history of magic with professor trein. at least you could use some things you learned chemistry from your world and apply it to alchemy.

“hey, prefect, get off your phone~ we know you’re trying to cover your tracks~” ace teased, putting his flask down as deuce looked at him unimpressed. “dude, cut it out. we only have one chance to get the 5 reactions right because someone wasted all of our reagent.”

“hey! the instructions were not clear!” grim huffed, stomping one of his paws while you shook your head. “actually, if you would’ve done the prelab, it says the amount of mL we were supposed to use…” 

the experiment got to a point where you all had to wait fifteen minutes and what else would you do but goof off on your phones. 

lunch was…as expected. same as always — chaotic, just with the added feature of your friend group accusing each other of being behind the account. grim took the opportunity to snag people’s food while they were distracted pointing fingers at each other. there were a few minutes between lunch and your next class where you’d usually chat with your friends some more, but someone ace forgot his gym uniform at his dorm and had to go back to grab it. you stayed back with the other. all was well until epel started laughing, showing his phone to sebek who shook his head in disbelief, but there was a hint of laughter by how his shoulders were moving. ortho then tapped your phone for you to see what was going on.

previous: piece of my world <- masterlist -> next: a week in summary (to be posted).

note: guys there was NOT supposed to be that big of a time gap from the first post to now...IM SO SORRY! if anyone noticed, i did switch the posting order! mainly for 1) i wanted to get something out ASAP but 2) it makes more sense spacing wise instead of having a mega 4k chapter with a bunch of smau inserts. (so, smaller chapters but easier to digest) next two parts will be posted together this week! (some of your submissions will be there teehee). thank you for all the love so far <3

check out the promo post to see how you can be involved in the story!

taglist (open!): @yyuangss @shikiyomizu @jar-03 @kimura-uzuri @saaaasas @koku11 @weepingfrenchfries @katzline @whotdefak @strayy-kidz @baizhumywife @galaxy-batsy-world @sincerelyruu @feliciefifi @gloomuraaii @earlgreyteebag @raidumpster @twistedmoonspirit @k3lbug @kiwis-kikis @hirayahhh @aoilovereha @0512odeco @simping4malleus @nullifiedadviser @trip13-aaa @yvres @pinkiipeachiikeen @silverargentu @vanillaadots @zeinkx @mxvoid26 @waitlexist @popteenotaku @fandomotakutraveler @azzberry @reversearrowhead @qaxdea @lady-father @lostsomewhereinthegarden @ragdol-666 @theleftovere @latisthegenderwannabealone @roses-and-reeses @adollssecretdiary @caffeinatedtale @monsieurgucchi @c3lery (bold it isn’t letting me tag you :()

Your heart hammers at how needy he is. “If you want it so bad, you kiss me.” 

Without an ounce of hesitation Caleb crushes his lips to yours, tongue pushing past your opening in desperation as if he was starving for you. It is a clash of teeth and mixing of saliva as he suffocates himself against your lips, taking as much as he can get. He finally pulls away to get air, whimpering as he mouths pathetically at your bottom lip, mind too fuzzy to kiss you properly. 

The brush of your tongue against his has him panting, drool connecting the both of you as he sloppily mouths at your parted lips without thought. You smile slightly, leaning in to lock against him once more. 

Caleb’s eyes are blown wide, hazy and unfocused as he tries desperately to kiss you back, clumsily pressing his lips against yours in an attempt to keep up with you. 

Streams of whimpers and whines leave his mouth, his chest heaving as he attempts to even his breathing. “Hnng, I… pip-squeak—”

You decide to give him a break and trail your kisses down his neck to pay special attention to his bobbing Adam’s apple, smiling slyly as he tilts his head up. Shaky breaths brush your ear as he struggles to keep his composure. “Pips…I can’t…mmph…! I can’t f-focus…when you…ah!” 

Mouthing gently at his Adam’s apple, you feel Caleb’s hips buck up against you in shock. You groan, sending vibrations though his body that makes him shudder weakly. 

You’ve broken and reduced this man into a stuttering mess, but he looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be, eyes teary and head foggy as his eyes zero in on your lips. Hm… cute. 

“Wanna take me to the bedroom?”

“I…uhhh…huh?”

“Bedroom, Caleb.” 

The implication has him scrambling. “Yes…!”

As you pound your fists against his back and kick at his shins, he bursts into laughter and starts spinning. Faster, higher, more chaotic. Your vision whirls, and if the Seven really exist, you’re praying for an eighth.

Even after the sound of shoes snapping against the floor draws near and Floyd finally stops, everything is still a blur.

Everything—except for Jade’s sharp smile, far more on edge than usual.

His hand digs into his twin’s shoulder, veins standing out beneath the pressure, knuckles taut. Floyd turns to look at him, clearly annoyed, already going on about “learning to share” and “not being a spoilsport”—as if he were the responsible one between them.

You’re tossed to the ground like a beloved sack of potatoes, and as you try to steady yourself, you’re already plotting how to jump on his back and get even. But Jade steps in first, extending a hand that should feel welcoming, while the other boy fades into the background.

Your gaze flickers between the offer and his usual expression. Trusting him feels impossible, and paranoia screams in your ears that accepting would be the same as getting roped into something illegal.

There’s something suspicious about him—especially in the way it lingers on his lips. They always seem to promise bad news or some flowery twist of words, in a way you can’t quite decipher: a slightly crooked curve hinting at irritation, paired with a subtle pout that tries to appear gentle.

Every time Floyd crushes you, it ends like this. Jade appears like a specter, takes control of the situation, and offers to help.

“Sibling rivalry,” you think. It’s probably worse when your sibling is your exact copy.

And yet, his mannerisms are too tense, too immature to be entirely spontaneous—or entirely planned. It’s confusing, yes. But is it really worth acting kinder just to save one of your relative’s victims?

Maybe it’s the afternoons—the exact moment when your gazes meet. No hurry, no intention, and yet Jade seems almost unhinged when your attention aligns with his.

Those bicolored irises send a chill down your spine. You feel your soul being examined, your sins judged. But looking away feels just as dangerous, so accidental glances stretch into long minutes.

The classroom noise fades into a dull, soothing buzz, and honestly, you hadn’t been paying much attention to begin with. But now you are—focused, trying to understand how, even from across the room, you can see his pupils round out—almost swallowing the yellow hues—and your own reflection inside them.

A coral tint blooms across his cheeks, worthy of his origins. Jade isn’t pale nor particularly flushed, which only makes the blush stand out more. It doesn’t match his ever-composed demeanor, and strangely enough, you can’t recall a single time he wasn’t like this.

He blinks with the flair of a damsel in distress, tucking a darker strand of hair behind his ear, making his earring chime softly. The few seconds he allows himself to look elsewhere—still fluttering his lashes—are, indeed, very few. The merman struggles to look away from you, devouring your figure in one last desperate feast.

You both know it’s not the last. It’s not the first—far from it—that you find yourselves in this stalemate, competing for reasons neither of you fully understands.

You avoid blinking for your own safety. And Jade? Why does he look so utterly possessed?

It’s fascinating—borderline terrifying. Especially when, right after the professor remarks in refined tones that eels keep their mouths open to attract potential partners, you catch a glimpse of small, serrated teeth glinting in the light.

Dwelling on how lethal those teeth might be would only give you new nightmares. Swallowing hard doesn’t stop the fear that he might lunge at you and shake you like a dog with its prey.

Can he smell your fear? If so, then maybe he should make it clearer why all his efforts seem to circle back to trying to appear kind.

Maybe it’s the nights—being welcomed into the Mostro Lounge with obvious privileges: 50% off every order, the best table in the house, and a personal waiter—not exactly, but there is a certain eel who lingers around you throughout the entire shift.

You stop yourself from ordering anything beyond your budget, barely daring to go past a simple glass of ice water. A safe, modest choice that suddenly goes wrong: the longer you stay, the more your table fills up.

Three-tiered cakes with generous frosting, perfectly prepared shrimp cleaned just the way you like, freshly made juices bursting with ripe fruit, and so much more. Coincidentally, all these delicacies are served only by Jade—and charged to his account.

Men in uniform are easy on the eyes—fact. Still, the eel leans over your table, hips tilting as he recites the menu in a soft voice, as though he could offer you private, special services.

Sometimes you feel like snatching the tray from his hands and smacking yourself over the head with it. Brushing those thoughts aside, you settle for the house water.

Other customers notice. And how could they not? One of the infamous Leech brothers insisting on wiping a smear of sauce from the corner of your mouth with an embroidered handkerchief—far superior to the napkins set on the tables—is not exactly an everyday sight.

Then again, maybe it is. Any student must be used to scenes like this by now, so sugary they might as well cause cavities.

You can’t blame them—you don’t do much to dispel the image either. When the flow at the Mostro Lounge slows down, nearing closing time, Jade asks if you’d be willing to wait until his shift ends.

You wait. Customers gradually pay and leave. Floyd waves at you enthusiastically, telling you not to do anything obscene with his brother in the kitchen. Even Azul, the owner, leaves, entrusting the keys to you—because he knows the dorm’s Vice Housewarden won’t forget them if you’re around.

Jade locks the register and tries to loosen his tie, his fingers a little clumsy from wearing gloves. He steps out from behind the counter and pretends to be distracted, checking for any lights left on beyond those in the main hall—conveniently ignoring the fact that you’ve stolen his hat and are wearing it without a shred of ceremony.

You hand him the keys, saying all the closing procedures have been taken care of. With this odd routine repeating so often, you’ve memorized how to check everything: the stove off, dishes washed, chairs stacked.

In a way, you’re doing his job for him. Maybe you should be paid—or perhaps this is your way of thanking him for the meals. It’s hard to tell, just like it’s hard to understand why you don’t make excuses to dismiss Jade and head straight home to the comfort of your own space.

Is it fair to indulge him this much? Helping him undo his tie, even though you’re fully aware he could do it himself—without gloves, with gloves, even with his hands tied. Listening to the lock click shut as he moves to your side, the two of you walking together toward the Mirror Chamber through the empty, dim hallway.

The palm of your hand is brushed once, twice, three times—however many it takes until you give in and let your fingers intertwine with his.

Why is he so persistent about your company?

But surely, it was the invitation to the Coral Sea City. Especially considering it was for a wedding.

You weren’t sure which was more dangerous: accepting a travel offer or attending a stranger’s marriage.

You and Grim had been sitting on one of the many steps of Ramshackle Dorm, complaining about how life had grown dull and uneventful, when he suddenly appeared.

Once again, carefully crafted words were shaped to bless your ears. Floyd had run into… an issue, one that would prevent him from attending the event and leave Jade in a difficult position.

Not only did the merman hold a role of great importance in the execution of the Trials of Romance, he would also require all the support he could get. Pressing a hand to his chest, feigning a broken heart, lowering his voice into something melancholic—it was all quite convincing.

Most of the explanation went over your demonic cat’s head. The whole conversation might’ve been boring, irrelevant to Grim’s wise, fluffy ears—but the hint of gossip made him perk up:

“Wait! You’re getting married, Jade?!”

He went quiet, pondering for a moment, his kind smile slipping away in the process. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the gears turning in his mind. With a tongue as sharp as his, taking this long to answer wasn’t expected.

Then Jade turns to you, blinking the same way he does during class, before breaking into a foolish smile and quickly trying to hide it, pressing his lips together.

The idea of someone marrying him already unsettled you, regardless of the reason. But watching him sway slightly in his expensive shoes might’ve explained the way your brows arched.

“Oh, no,” Jade replied, not letting even the smallest of your reactions escape him. “Not yet.”

If possible, his face grew even brighter. Children on Christmas morning couldn’t rival his excitement, though he made a clear effort to maintain his composed posture.

His eyes remained consuming, yet seemed to carry accusations all the same. You admit you got lost in the yellow—the glow, the elongated shape. It was deep, almost suffocating, silently begging to be understood.

You didn’t think much of it.

But Georgina Leech did. Because she knew something.

When the twins’ mother learned about the last-minute guests, she reacted with good humor, ready to make everyone comfortable. She didn’t flinch at Riddle’s personality, Rook’s curiosity, Grim’s gluttony, or even the presence of Malleus Draconia.

However, when she recognized you, Georgina froze—as if she had made an unbelievable discovery.

“Stunned” wouldn’t begin to describe it. The silence that fell over the group, everyone trying to make sense of her reaction, was painfully awkward.

Pulling her son’s head down to whisper, her hushed tone still didn’t stop you from overhearing:

“Is that her? The girl from your school?”

“Yes.”

Jade sounded unmistakably proud. And Georgina’s expression reminded you that she was Floyd’s mother too—that infamous, toothy grin full of enthusiasm.

Her mermaid-style dress flowed with precise elegance, and when she stood face-to-face with you, the oppressive height difference made you instinctively want to hunch down, to seem smaller.

She seemed pleased by your discomfort, though her eagerness to socialize was evident. Perhaps beauty and sadism really were genetic traits.

Either way, Georgina took your hand and kissed it. The touch was as light as a butterfly landing, her lipstick leaving a mark on your skin—leaving you both uneasy and flattered.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” she sighed, enchanted.

Madame Leech took a liking to you quickly. And when the ceremony outfits arrived, you began to suspect a family conspiracy designed to spoil you.

Jade’s father—who had already provided excellent accommodations and carriage rides—had clearly outdone himself with the attire, staying true to Floyd’s nicknames.

Each piece was more beautiful than the last, draping your friends in perfection and the culture of the city. Fabrics reminiscent of ship sails felt delicate against the skin, gem-studded ornaments spoke of their high value, and even the stitching seemed scented with a faintly citrus fragrance.

A fairytale, without a doubt. Imagining the Leech patriarch as a fairy godmother was a stretch—but you couldn’t deny the quality and dedication delivered within such a short time.

Then came your dress—just as divine, yet carrying unique and anything-but-subtle traits.

The length of it was covered in pearls, varying in size as they cascaded down from the corset into layers of ruffles. Puffy sleeves, exaggerated in just the right way, framed your shoulders in an off-shoulder style. Scarves and veils—translucent or reflecting the cruelest hues of the ocean’s depths—wrapped around your body, nearly trailing along the floor like the tail of a true mermaid.

Earrings, bracelets, and a necklace matched the maritime color palette, but the entire ensemble was a delicate mirror of Jade’s attire.

The same colors, the same type of fabric—and a single ring to complete it, resting bright and resolute on both of your ring fingers.

Georgina was just as enchanted. She covered her mouth as though on the verge of sobbing, insisting that you and Jade stand side by side for a photo.

Highly suspicious, wasn’t it?

Your thoughts drift away as you return to the present, watching the couple at the altar—soaked from head to toe, yet radiant in those conditions. They had passed the trials, especially the Float of Eternity. Of course they were happy as they exchanged vows, weaving promises of love while holding back from simply grabbing each other.

At that very moment, you should be rooting for their happiness—or moved by the ceremony. Instead, you’re far too focused on Jade’s slow, yet promising, approach.

The guests are overcome with emotion, not even noticing as the merman takes tiny steps closer, until the distance between you is reduced to his elbow brushing your shoulder. The height difference is almost disheartening.

Being an eel capable of capsizing a boat, he’s just as soaked. Some accessories have been removed, and a change of clothes might have been impossible with how the current ones cling to his skin, outlining the exact shape of his slender body.

Your contact only proves the dampness, gradually spreading from him to soak the side of your dress and part of your arm. Honestly, it’s a terrible trap—but you find no reason to object.

You wonder if he’s cold, with all those layers of fabric holding water, or uncomfortable. Before your concerns can even settle, Jade pulls your arm and wraps it around his waist, insisting on the closeness.

His hand glides along your forearm with the rhythm of elegant waltzes, absorbing the softness beneath his calloused fingers. Strangely gentle, masking the fear of coming across as threatening.

His palm curls around your wrist, reminiscent of the times his tail tried to coil around your ankles. The grip is firm, in contrast to the clear submission and the way he seeks your hand.

You press against the bones of his hips, mapping their shape. Water overflows—droplets falling to the floor and against your skin, creating rhythmic and oddly unsettling sounds.

Considering everything you think about Jade Leech, you should push him away—stop him from unraveling the rest of your composure. And yet, you simply accept it when he bends his knees just enough to rest his face in the curve of your neck.

As if by magnetism, your head tilts over his, holding him there in whatever this gesture of affection is supposed to be.

His lashes tickle, the curve of his cheeks betrays a smile, and your thumb slips beneath the fabric, trying to reach him.

You catch glimpses of his hair—likely combed back with his fingers to keep it from covering his eyes—the shape of his nose, and the awkward posture that will surely lead to future aches.

“In sickness and in health…” draws your attention back to the main couple.

Golden rings are exchanged, bridesmaids cry, and the newlyweds kiss—overwhelmed after what must have felt like an endless wait to finally belong to each other. Is this the famed “happily ever after”?

You think you could share one of those with Jade.

In truth, (Name Surname) is a strange one too.

Maybe it’s the shared meals, separated only by tables in restaurants ranging from the most refined to the most questionable.

You watch Jade eat. Small bites, followed by long pauses to chew and swallow. He takes slow sips of his drink, murmuring in contentment as the taste reaches his tongue.

When you raise a brow at him, the merman experiences the jolt of being caught in a cheap lie—so unlike his usual standards. He grabs the napkin, covering his mouth as he lets out a soft, clearly forced cough.

Jade glances between you and his plate, torn between maintaining his table manners—entirely fabricated—or revealing the true capability of his serrated teeth.

You know how a Leech prefers to eat large portions. His fork usually works like a high-speed shovel, and that’s never been a concern to him.

If people were bothered by the fact that Jade could finish a double burger in minutes, then they should be the ones to leave. Yet here he is, eating with the demeanor of an English lord in front of you—recognizing which utensils are for salad and how to properly sip tea.

It’s strange behavior. If you didn’t enjoy watching him indulge in your shared meals—his cheeks full, that deep sigh of someone genuinely delighted by the flavor—you wouldn’t invite him so often.

Eating slowly, to him, must mean the food is no longer at the perfect temperature, the process dragged out unnecessarily. The scene repeats often: Jade is stubborn, determined to appear refined despite the discomfort of changing his habits.

Both of you can play this game of indulgences. Against all of the merman’s performances, you give his shin a kick—bordering on affectionate—beneath the table. Jade always jolts slightly, eyes widening in surprise you can’t quite tell is genuine or acted. You nod toward his plate—a silent plea for him to drop the act.

The most beautiful smile spreads across Jade’s lips, stretching nearly to his ears. His eyes curl into little crescents as he gathers a generous portion onto his fork, needing the knife to keep it from falling, and brings it to his mouth.

His cheeks fill, a satisfied sigh escapes—and you couldn’t be more entertained.

He devours the food, all grace and pleasure. You rest your face in your palm, watching in silence, committing every movement and expression to memory.

His overly polished personality enchants you—especially in moments like this, when it slips just enough to reveal him. It’s subtle, minimal, yet you can’t help the growing smile.

Jade notices the way he’s being admired like a work of art. Every so often, your gazes meet, and something like electricity seems to run faster than blood through your veins. The poor eel lowers his head slightly, trying to hide the visible delight of feeling beautiful.

You read every reaction. Not content with merely making him blush, you nudge his leg under the table again.

Maybe it’s the mushroom conventions.

Yes, it sounds strange—but, surprisingly, there’s nothing criminal about it. It simply involves going back and forth between unusual places to learn about new species or collect samples.

Jade has such an intense fixation on fungi that it’s almost unsettling. And yet, you never refuse the meals made from them, nor stop yourself from gathering new specimens for his collection.

He lights up while showing you the composition of his terrariums—speaking with pride about the fresh soil he collected from the mountains, perfect for proper growth, gently nudging the tiny leaves that enhance the beauty of his mushrooms.

He could go on about these little things for days—and you would listen, asking questions, proving yourself a good audience. Jade smiles foolishly, lowering his voice by a few octaves, pleased that his hobby is taken so seriously.

Even if you’re not part of the Mountain Lovers Club, you agree to the trails he suggests. Walking through nature, climbing uneven terrain, missing the internet—it may not be exactly your thing, but it’s worth it for how grateful Jade seems to be to have you there. Besides, when it’s time to rest, he grills what you’ve gathered along the way and turns it into a feast.

Taking him to those conventions—where people from across Twisted Wonderland gather to express and commercialize their love for fungi and plants in general—also makes for a great outing.

While he socializes with others like him, exchanging cultivation tips, Jade carries all the bags—but asks for something in return: for you to touch him. It’s nothing new, regardless of the occasion, to see the eel doing anything at all with a strand of your hair wrapped around his finger. He even seems more eager to interact that way.

He values your suggestions on decoration and species, even knowing your lack of expertise. If you say that string lights around the jar would make the terrarium prettier, Jade will soon have mushrooms shining brighter than festive ornaments.

He enjoys creating terrariums inspired by friends and family. In his room, there’s a shelf dedicated solely to them: a pot with plants growing in opposite directions yet somehow maintaining a teasing harmony—dedicated to Floyd; another with purple soil and painted circles along the glass, mimicking Azul’s suction cups; and yours—lush, fragrant grass growing, with mushrooms of different colors and sizes arranged in an almost heart-like shape.

Maybe it’s his mystical anatomy, showing you just how different this world is from yours.

Octavinelle has large private water tanks, where students from the sea can return to their origins—transforming into their primary forms and swimming freely without worrying about oxygen.

Jade didn’t use that privilege often, he once told you. He had been focused on learning about the daily life of bipedal creatures, integrating without losing focus.

However, after you casually mention to a friend that you’d love to see a mermaid in action, something clicks in his mind.

It wasn’t your intention to provoke Jade—but since he made a point of listening to the highlight of the conversation, why not take advantage of the perks?

Ignoring human routines, the merman begins returning to his roots, under the excuse of giving you something to marvel at.

You doubt that’s the only reason. Jade is quite the exhibitionist when it comes to you.

He asks you to sit at the edge of the pool, watching carefully as your feet sway playfully in the water.

When he dives in, his figure disappearing into the depths, you search for him across the pool, looking for something—anything—familiar. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Until a pair of hands, large and tinted a deep petroleum blue, slowly emerge and rest open against your knee.

Each finger trails downward, building tension you could compare to horror scenes—monsters gripping the edge of a bed in the dark. But those long claws, as dark as the streak in his hair, only dare to brush lightly against your skin. The sensation is almost illusory—more ticklish than forceful.

Jade lifts himself up, water streaming from his hair without disturbing his immaculate style.

Leech is a beautiful existence. Eccentric, yet captivating. And within a confined space—one clearly ruled and embraced by his nature—he indulges in an inexplicable elegance.

You feel the weight of his body settling onto your knees as he rises closer. The scent of fresh water is striking, contrasting only with the perfume you once complimented—and which has since become his signature.

He tilts his face in different directions, never looking away from you. It feels as though his pupils—now so sharp—need to readjust to your silhouette. It doesn’t take long before they widen again.

“You’ve seen a mermaid. Did I make your dream come true?”

“Honestly, I’m more worried you might drown.”

You remove his hands from your skin, and Jade sinks as if struck down, as though he might actually suffer. What a dramatic eel.

The moment the back of his neck disappears, he resurfaces. His tail moves restlessly, striking deeper water and sending ripples across the surface. He laughs—a rare sound, reserved for special moments. In this form, his teeth are sharper, and his gills expand and contract in happy rhythm.

“Hypnotizing” is the word that floods your mind.

Jade swims with pure elegance, drifting through the pool like a ribbon of silk. His body glimmers in blue stripes, shimmering even when fully submerged.

And whenever he returns to the surface—always bracing himself against some part of you—he tries to coax you into diving in, to join him. His tail, long and thick, coils perfectly around your calves, tempting you.

After hours of floating, teasing you with fins brushing lightly against your feet and leaping high only to crash back down and create small tsunamis, the merman finally settles into your presence.

Jade’s head rests heavily on your thighs. His arms wrap around your legs, pulling them close to his chest, so firmly that you can feel the outline of his muscles.

Curious, your fingers follow the same path—tracing along his ears until reaching the membrane, where the texture feels like brushing against fine veils. He presses his face deeper, savoring the laziness firsthand.

The merman doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to interrupt—and even letting his eyelids fall seems like too much effort. Seven, what comfort.

Jade doesn’t complain—he never will—about the marks traced along his biceps, the way his upper lip is lifted, his gums touched, or his scales—however subtle beneath his smooth skin—being caressed.

He hums, almost like a song. You hope it’s not the infamous “siren’s song,” the one that lures poor sailors into the open sea.

Then again, you doubt it’s possible to fall any further for someone.

But surely, it will be the opportunity—served on a silver platter, allowing your longing to finally bloom.

The moment the ceremony ends, with guests rushing to attack the buffet or congratulate the couple, it will be just you and Jade. Your friends will be distracted by the commotion; only after they’ve eaten their fill and danced enough will they notice your absence.

You’ll look at him—still, still pressed fondly against your side. Acting on instinct, your thumb will press just a little deeper into his covered skin, enough to draw a soft sigh from him and make him lean in, searching for more.

The tip of his nose will drag along your neck, while his cupid’s bow seems to ache to be next. The salty scent of the seaside, lingering in the air, will feel strangely welcome.

And at last, you’ll understand that this feeling isn’t fleeting. Much less something that had gone unnoticed.

Ignorance may have clouded your senses, keeping you from recognizing the truth. If Jade had been inching closer and closer, making such saccharine advances that were hard to decipher, then you hadn’t been far behind.

Jade is not merely this mess of opportunistic thoughts and questionable actions. If there is—and you know there is—a gentle side beneath all those mysteries, it would only be revealed to someone special.

You allow yourself to be bold—overconfident, even—offering yourself as that special person. You want to sink your hands into him, kiss him until he has to search for air, and watch that cunning expression melt into the lovestruck softness of a romance film.

When you offer him a towel to dry off, insisting on walking him back to the hotel room—one his father made sure you would share—the way the soft fabric drags along Jade’s neck will not be accidental.

Even less accidental will be the way you use the towel to pull him closer, crashing your lips against his, dragging your tongue as you explore him.

Leech won’t have time to react—nor the strength to. He’ll melt, trying to keep up as you draw him in, clinging to the ruffles of your dress as if he wants it to last forever.

As he whimpers, asking for more kisses and already dreaming up a confession, you’ll scatter soft pecks across that dangerous face. It will be fun, delicious—a way to express the overwhelming feelings that have been tormenting you both.

In the end, Jade Leech and (Name) are strange individuals.