kaysama

by all means, it should've been a normal day at ramshackle. emphasizing on normal. well, if you could even call it that. everyone came to understand after a while that you were the one to bear everyone's burdens and doing everybody's favors since you arrived, and you couldn't really fathom why that came to be. perhaps you were too willing? too nice to refuse or to deny their wants? no matter how much time you spent overthinking ways you could stand up for yourself, in the end nothing came to fruition. muling it over wouldn't do much good, you realized.

so that's how you ended up here.

a particularly hot day, after countless hours of running around encountering probably every student wanting just something from you, you decided to call it a day and head over to your room (or something close resembling a room).

opening your phone, which at this point had been untouched all day, you quickly scan all your notifications. maybe someone decided to check in on you after all these hours,

and yet, nothing.

with that, you quickly lock your phone and throw it on your bed from the sheer bitterness creating bubbles of anger and sadness inside your guts. but before you have time to think anything else, it starts ringing violently. startled at first, you peer over to see who is the one calling you and to your surprise it's none other than floyd. mr. floyd leech.

floyd has been your steady rock since your arrival at nrc. to be completely honest, at the beginning, floyd seemed excited beyond any reasonable means, which, wasn't a bad thing. but, you being new and constantly bombarded by questions and tasks, he frightened you a little. he seemed to either know that fact but chose to ignore it or he just was that oblivious. soon after though, you came to know that floyd, was nothing but sweet. so sweet in fact, that you started thinking more and more about him. maybe too much.

fighting back a smile that's almost threatening to break across your face, you pick up your phone and swipe to answer his call.

"shrimpy! you finally answered!" he's chirping from the other end, makes you giggle slightly.

"hey floyd, yes i'm here." you answer him with the most joyful voice you can muster, but at the end it comes out quieter than you intended.

"how are ya doing? i saw you runnin' around but couldn't catch ya! do ya feel well?" his concern melts your melancholy away at the seems.

you start to answer back, "yeah i just came back a bit ag-" and before you can finish he's jumping at the opportunity. "okay let's go out and have a picnic by the lake! i can pick ya up and we can have ice cream for lunch! and all kinds of sweets! maybe some cherry pie too yeah?" he's rumbling on and on and you can't help but laugh.

"but floyd! we have to have some actual food too. we can't just survive on sweets for the rest of the day you know?" you manage to be the voice of all reason between laughs.

"cute little shrimpy, you don't understand! you're the only sweet i could never get enough of!" you can practically hear his smirk from other end, his voice dropping just slightly at the end just to tease you.

cheeks burning besides yourself, you answer him, "sure floyd, let's do it." "yes! okay shrimpy! i'll be right there don't ya worry! can't wait to see ya!" his excitement is radiating through the hard glass shell of your phone and onto you. he ends the call so quick you don't get the chance to reply.

cheeks hurting from all the smiling, you start getting ready for a day out with the person that appreciates you the most.

It is an honest attestation to humanity—a primordial inheritance that has bled through one’s flesh and bones since breath was first given, and dust became living. 

The phrase has always been bracketed for conquerors and geniuses, for those who have stood on the precipice between will and subjugation—life and death. It is a consensus that has outlived empires, etched onto monuments, and passed down through blood and scripture—scrawled in the handwriting of sleepless architects who drew lines until the graphite snapped, and in the frantic, ink-smudged margins of poets who starved just to feed a single verse.

It is also laced in the mutters of delusion posed by lovesick fools.

“You’re utterly pathetic, do you know that?” 

Ace waves his hand absentmindedly in return, not even bothering to look up from where he has draped himself across your lap in a boneless and shameless manner. He leans his weight entirely to your side with a heavy sigh, polluting the air with the violent smell of cheap roses and synthetic hibiscus.

The air around him is thick with a scent so aggressively floral that it feels like being hit in the face with a funeral wreath. It’s a cloying, syrupy catastrophe of concentrated sugar that seems to radiate off his blazer, making nearby students cough and retreat—even Grim had abandoned you ten minutes ago after loudly declaring that his “snout hairs are being burnt through.”

“I’m touched by your concern, really,” Ace sighs dreamily, his voice dropping into a honey-thick register that makes Epel look like he’s about to physically gag. “But love is just a cruel and incurable affliction.”

“What in tarnation are ya saying?” Epel replies, horrified. “You… you reek of perfume from Sam’s shop!”

“It’s a love potion,” Ace corrects solemnly. “Get your facts right.”

“I told you, it was a complete accident in the lab.” Ace murmurs, his fingers tracing idle, lingering patterns against the lines of your palm. He’s been “unable” to let go of your hand for the last forty minutes, yapping about how the warmth of yours grounds the hazy territory of his tangled mind. “One minute, I’m just stirring the cauldron, the next—bam—pink smoke right at my face, and suddenly, the Prefect is the only person in the world that matters—it’s a tragedy, isn’t it?”

He tilts his head, resting it on your shoulder and peering up at you through his lashes with a gaze he clearly thinks is “smoldering” but is actually just intensely focused on making sure you aren’t suspicious. 

Epel stares at him aghast, disbelief painting his countenance as he tries to blink away the ridiculous sight in front of him. Deuce stands slightly farther away from the scene, partly to stay away from inhaling that biohazard and mostly to save himself from embarrassment, looking deeply conflicted about whether he should intervene or let his friend continue to descend into social suicide.

“You really should pay attention to the steps Professor Crewel gave us.” You sigh, trying to steady him as he practically melts against your form. 

You do not notice the collective agony radiating from everyone else.

Ace suppresses a smirk against your shoulder. He’s a fencer—he knows all about finding an opening, no matter how cornered or tight it might be. If he can’t find a way to your heart through normal, non-embarrassing means, he’ll simply build a bridge out of lies and stinky perfume.

He slackens his shoulders, his gaze turning glassy with manufactured devotion, and with devastating overcommitment, he squeezes your hand like a maiden grasping her final earthly tether.

“Prefect,” Ace calls out softly like he’s moments away from collapsing into an early grave (you swear you can see Deuce grind his teeth in cringe). “I don’t think I can survive this cruel affliction alone.”

Deuce makes a strangled noise. “Ace, it’s not possible to die from a love potion!”

“Oh, Juice… You truly don’t know anything.” He sighs, burying his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply—unfortunately, it turns out to be a massive tactical error on his part, because he ends up breathing in a mouthful of his own gas chamber of a perfume. He chokes for a split second, but he recovers with the terrifying tenacity of a man who could take on Lebron in a match.

“See? Love is the most twisted curse of all.” 

Epel physically recoils. “Oh, no way you said that.”

“Ace,” Deuce hisses under his breath, face impressively red from secondhand embarrassment. “You said you were only gonna act a little weird!”

“Well, excuse me for being committed to the role.” Ace shoots back before instantly melting back into his lovestruck persona the moment your attention diverts back to him. His expression softens with almost terrifying speed, eyes half-lidded as he gazes up at you, as if you personally hung the stars, the moon, the sky, and everything under heaven. “Sorry, Prefect… loud noise makes my symptoms worse.”

You, completely oblivious to the fact that a standard love potion doesn’t require a daily application of five ounces of lavender eau-de-toilette, merely pat his head with a sympathetic sigh. “Does your head hurt? Maybe we should go to the infirmary…”

“No! No infirmary!” Ace stumbles out quickly in a panic, his voice cracking slightly before he clears his throat and drops it back into that low, dramatic purr. “The school nurse doesn’t have the cure. Just… let me stay like this for five… or fifty… more minutes.”

He is, without a doubt, a top-three fumbler in the history of Night Raven College. He has alienated his friends, ruined his favorite blazer, humilaitingly seen by a handful of his upperclassmen, and smells like three different air purifiers in the dead of summer—but as he feels you wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him from sliding off your lap, Ace decides that not even Sun Tzu can outsmart him in a strategic battle.

Ace is a genius—holy shit, he’s for sure one hell of a tactical genius bastard.

He presses closer, a smug and completely hidden victorious grin stretching across his face against your shoulder.

Epel mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “yeah, bet the nearest mental institute might help ya instead,” but he doesn’t dwell on it.

Unfortunately (or fortunately?), Ace’s “condition” unsurprisingly somehow follows you everywhere.

EXHIBIT #01: THE HEARTSLABYUL UNBIRTHDAY PARTY.

You can feel stares drilling straight into your soul, but you try your best to feign ignorance, opting to enjoy a slice of tart in lieu. Beside you, your sticky parasite doesn’t seem to get the memo, as he effectively continues to paralyze you by using your shoulder as a personal pillow, his arm looped tightly through yours.

“Prefect… the tea is too bitter,” Ace whines, his voice dropping into that theatrical cadence that nearly makes Trey drop his spoon. “The only sweetness I can tolerate right now is your presence. Feed me a forkful of that strawberry tart? My hands are just… so weak from the potion’s tolls.”

“If your hands are weak, Trappola, I can detach them from your wrists, if you’d like.” Riddle seethes from the head of the table, his teacup trembling with a dangerous clicking sound. His face is a shade of red that rivals his cape—half from the sheer, unadulterated public indecency of the display, and half because the sugary foulness permeating through the air is ruining the aroma of his Earl Grey.

“A—Ace, please, Housewarden Riddle is looking right at us,” Deuce whispers frantically from across the table, looking paler than paper. “You said you were just going to ask the Prefect to walk you back to the dorm!”

“I can’t help it,” Ace sighs dramatically, tightening his grip on your arm and leaning his head further on your shoulder. “If I’m not near the Prefect, I might seriously stop breathing—it’s the potion doing it, I’m telling you! You wouldn’t want to explain a corpse at an Unbirthday Party, would you, Housewarden?”

His fellow dormmates look the other way with varying degrees of expressions that encapsulate their desperate prayers of coming out of the party alive.

“I am going to count to three,” Riddle says, his voice lowering into a terrifyingly calm note as he pulls his magic pen. “And if you are still doused in that unsavory cologne and violating personal space boundaries, I will see to it that it will be Off With Your Head for a straight month!”

EXHIBIT #02: THE LIBRARY.

“Look at this section, Prefect,” Ace mutters, his warm breath hitting your neck, sending a shiver down your spine that he definitely notices, given his shit-eating grin that he doesn’t bother to conceal. “See, the ancient kings fought wars for land and territory, but I’d give up the whole world just for a single glance from you, y’know?”

From across the table, a poor Scarabia student groans into his hands. Genuinely, get this corny shit out of my face.

Seated in the quietest, cramped corner of the library, as dust motes dance beneath the dim lights, the supposed “study session” for your upcoming history quiz is completely overturned the moment Ace decides to sit so close to you that he is practically in your skin. His chin rests heavily on your shoulder, his chest pressed against your back, while his hands “helpfully” guide your fingers across the page.

So much for trying to pass Professor Trein’s class.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over the table in the form of Sebek Zigvolt, who, with his arms crossed, stares at the two of you with a snarl of pure, righteous indignation.

“Trappola!” Sebek starts to bellow, before remembering where he is and dropping to a harsh and aggressive whisper that still rattles the desk. “What is the meaning of this indecent display?! Get off the Prefect at once! Your vile stench insults the very air Lord Malleus breathes!”

“Ugh, talk about bad timing. It’s called romance, Sebek. Not everyone is emotionally repressed.” Ace doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed, dropping his chin back onto your shoulder and tightening his hold on your waist with an arrogant, proprietary tug that cements his position. “Prefect, my head hurts… tell that loud pipsqueak to go away.”

“Loud pipsqueak?! Why, you impudent, malingering fraud—”

Before Sebek can burst a blood vessel, you hurriedly lift your hand to Ace’s forehead, your fingers brushing against the fringe of his bangs as you press the back of your palm gently against his skin. 

Your brows knit together in concern, your thumb unconsciously smoothing a strand of his hair away from his forehead. “You do feel a little warm… maybe the potion is affecting you more than we thought.”

Ace nearly fucking ascends.

The moment your cool fingers brush against his forehead, his entire brain short-circuits. The smug grin completely vanishes, replaced by a bright red flush that creeps up all the way up to the tips of his ears. Your thumb idly smooths down his hair, and Ace suddenly realizes that playing dead might actually become a reality if his heart keeps hammering against his ribs this thunderously. 

Sebeks merely gapes at you in utter, speechless cosmic horror, his chest locked mid-breath as he watches your hand actively comfort the enemy. His mouth opens once, then closes again with an audible click as he struggles to process the cataclysmic level of gullibility unfolding before him in real time.

“Prefect,” he says slowly, voice immensely strained with the effort of remaining civil, “surely you cannot be believing this buffoonery.”

Ace gasps as though Sebek has just insulted his entire lineage. “Why are you all against our love? Is it a crime to yearn? Is it a cardinal sin to be entirely consumed by the most profound and inescapable emotion known to mankind?”

Ace clutches weakly at your sleeves with the grace of a tragic heroine abandoned at sea, his eyelids fluttering with a level of vehement agony that is likened to a mourning opera singer. He blind-grabs your free hand from the desk, clutching your knuckles against his chest right over his furiously beating heart.

“Don’t look at him, Prefect,” Ace pleads, his voice trembling and delicate like spun sugar—so terribly artificially sweet just like the overwhelming wave of vanilla floating directly up Sebek’s nostrils. “If the world stands against us, then I’ll stand against the world.”

Sebek’s face violently transitions from an offended purple to a vein-popping, volcanic shade of crimson.

EXHIBIT #03: THE CAFETERIA 

“Ace, I genuinely wish from the bottom of my heart that you will fall into a ditch and never be seen again.” Epel deadpans, his fork hovering precariously close to his plate of baked potatoes. 

His knuckles are white from his grip, and his face is gnarled into an expression of raw visceral disgust that is worse than when he’s talking about lifestyle lessons with Vil.

Across from him, Jack quietly nods in agreement while trying—and failing—to eat his lunch through the suffocating floral fog emanating from Ace’s blazer.

“I can taste the perfume.” He says, disgruntledly, his ears flattening so far back that it’s practically pinned to his skull.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” Ace replies without shame.

The humid midday heat of the cafeteria has essentially aerosolized Ace’s three layers of perfume, turning your circular table into a high-concentration chamber that can suffocate a small woodland ecosystem. Nearby students have already cleared out, dragging their trays three tables away just to escape the fumes, leaving the first-year gang isolated in the red zone.

Poor Jack, being a beastman with heightened senses to top it all off—it’s a miracle he hasn’t passed out yet.

“Prefect,” Ace pokes your arm, his tray sitting almost untouched in front of him because, apparently, lovesickness has also robbed him of the ability to feed himself, “can you cut my omelette and feed me? I think I’m going to faint…”

Epel massages his temple. “Please stop talking.”

You glance between Ace’s sprawling state on your shoulder and his untouched lunch. “Is it really that bad?”

“See? Prefect gets me,” he sighs. “Unlike you heartless people who mock a man suffering through the torment of forbidden love.”

“There’s nothing forbidden about it!” Deuce whisper-yells, looking seconds away from ripping his hair out of second-hand humiliation. “You literally made this whole thing up!”

Ace gasps loudly enough to earn several irritated looks from nearby upperclassmen.

“Deuce…” he breathes out quietly, eyes full of faux betrayal, “how could you expose my medical history in public?”

“That is not what medical history means!”

“Wow, look at him trynna act smart.” Ace snickers near your ear, completely unfazed by the fact that Deuce looks like he’s about to pop a blood vessel. He slides a fraction lower, his shoulders slumping deliberately as he lets his weight anchor completely against your side.

“You were the one who asked me to help you!” Deuce hisses, lurching toward his direction with a desperate tone of someone attempting damage control, his voice pitched low enough as he jabs an accusatory finger toward him. “You said—and I quote—bro, it’ll just be a little joke for like ten minutes. Ten minutes, Ace!”

“Well, plans evolve, Deucy Juice.” Ace merely shoo’s him, letting his head drop onto your shoulder again, his hair tickling your neck as he shifts closer, shamelessly stealing warmth and attention as if it’s his God-given right.

Jack looks greatly disturbed as the seconds tick by. “You’re making us lose our appetite.” 

“That sounds like jealousy.” Ace replies instantly before reaching his fingers over to play with the hem of your blazer. “It’s okay, I get it. I’d be jealous too if I saw us together.”

Epel slams his forehead directly against the table.

EXHIBIT #04: THE BOTANICAL GARDEN. 

The golden sun bleeds a heavy, bruised orange through the glass panes of the Botanical Garden, but the natural fragrance of rare flora has been completely eradicated. 

By evening, the entire first-year population has become unwilling participants in Ace’s one-man theatre production.

You sit on a stone bench near the temperate zone, trying to review your notes for the day, but it proves hard in practice when Ace is practically poured over your lap, his legs stretching across the bench, while his face is buried into your side. 

He lets out a drawn-out sigh loud enough to constitute a public disturbance.

“What now?” Grim groans, his paws clamped so tightly over his snout that his voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “You’ve been leaking that fake flower juice all day! My ears are ringing from your whining!”

“Nothing,” Ace replies, his voice a lazy murmur that rumbles right against your ribs. He shifts slightly, dragging his cheek along the fabric of your uniform. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” You ask, not looking up from your notes.

He cranes his head up to gaze at your eyes, looking at you through the messy, unstructured fringe of his bangs, lips curling into a devious smirk. “...You.”

“Oh, how touching.” Grim snarls right back at him.

“Ugh, just throw that damn ginger back to his dorm, henchhuman!” Grim’s muffled voice wails from behind you, now burying his face into a nearby bush brimming with exotic plants to save his nostrils.

Before said ginger can concoct a two-page excuse for why the scent of Heartslabyul’s air—especially if away from the Prefect—would further detonate his predicament and cause the fall of NRC, Othor’s buoyant voice beats him to it.

“Incredible!” Ortho chirps cheerfully, his mechanical voice cutting through the (frankly repugnant) air. “My atmospheric sensors indicate that the floral fixative concentration in this exact three-meter radius has nearly reached the level that is technically classified as a skin irritant! Ace, are you attempting to pheromone-bond with the Prefect?”

What the fuck.

“...Pheremone… bond?” You repeat, weakly.

“...Ortho,” Ace says carefully, in the tone of someone who’s trying to lace an emergency exit out of a conversation. “Look, buddy, my guy.”

“I’m just curious!” Ortho continues, his eyes blinking with the bright, faultless energy of someone who has absolutely no idea of the scale of the bomb he just dropped. “Pheremone-bonding is a documented cross-species courtship behaviour—I read about it in volume three of Advanced Magical Biology—where one party attempts to establish a scent association with a preferred individual through sustained proximity and repeated olfactory exposure!”

Ace nearly faints for real this time. The absolute, paramount confidence that he’s been riding all day as he flaunts it right at every possible chance shatters into a million jagged pieces. A violent, red blush erupts across his face, spreading from his cheeks down to his neck and up to the tips of his ears.

“Ortho, shut up!” Ace panics, his voice cracking spectacularly as he scrambles out of your embrace. He bolts upright, stumbling over his own legs as he storms right up to the floating guy.

He stands on his tiptoes, his face completely ablaze as he frantically swats at the glowing holographic charts floating in the air. “Why do you even have graphs for this?! Delete them! In fact, burn them!”

“But these are important visual aids!” Ortho protests, dodging Ace’s flailing hands with effortless ease as he floats higher into the air. “See? This chart clearly displays the increase in physical clinginess whenever the Prefect directs positive attention toward you! Would you like me to print a comprehensive report for your Housewarden?”

“What?! No! No one is printing anything!—”

While the two of them are locked in a high-stakes, hyper-panicked screaming match—Ace frantically jumping up and down to try and drag the other out of the air—Grim slowly peeks his head from the shrubbery. His blue flame ears twitch as his eyes dart between Ortho’s glowing charts, Ace’s crimson face, and your completely serene countenance.

Grim blinks—he looks at Ace, then looks back at you. A sudden, sharp realization strikes his brain, and he waddles over to your side on the bench, completely ignoring the chaotic noises in the background.

“Wait a minute…” He mumbles, pointing a paw directly at your face. “Henchhuman… you knew from the beginning, didn’t you?!”

You look at Ace, currently yelling at the robot three feet away, entirely stripped of his cool-guy facade and looking thoroughly like a thief caught red-handed. You let out a small, amused huff and calmly reorganize your books.

“Mhm.” You hum noncommittally.

Grim’s jaw drops, his tail snapping wildly in the air. “You knew?! And you just let him drag you around all day?! You let him ruin my nose hairs with that cheap flower juice for nothing?! Why didn’t you just punt him out the window?!”

“Well,” you reply smoothly, leaning back against the stone bench as you watch Ace fervently try to jump-kick Ortho’s thrusters, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “He just looks so cute trying so hard to find an excuse to cuddle with me. I figured the least I could do was let him have his win.”

Grim drags his hand down his face so hard it might as well leave a physical mark on his face, groaning loudly into his paws at the realization that he is trapped in a greenhouse with a shameless yearner and an absolute enabler.

When Jade realized his own attraction towards you, he was hesitant to act on it. Land camp had explained a few things about human courting, but mostly in the context of how to avoid making acquaintances feel uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how exactly to go about it. He spent a lot of time trying to look things up online-- a mistake-- and in books, trying to figure out how humans even started their courting rituals let alone what the entire process entailed. He wasn't about to go around asking, knowing anyone who would be willing to give him an answer in the first place would also be the most likely to give him false information. So he was stuck looking through various books trying to find answers for you.

And he had no idea you were doing the same for him.

It was easy to fall for Jade once you got past the subtle menacing aura that was always surrounding him, and you fell hard. You didn't fully realize it yourself until you found that you'd listened to him talk about the mushrooms he'd found on his hike to fill out his most recent terrarium for two hours. You learned more about mushrooms in those two hours than most people would want to know in their entire lives, and you were excited to hear more. When you got back to your room that night, you started researching merfolk romance online-- A MISTAKE-- trying to make sure you wouldn't do anything to insult him. The only people you could ask about the topic were Azul and Floyd. Azul would almost certainly make you sign away something in return for the information, and Floyd... yeah, no. That's a nonstarter. So you ended up in the library, sneaking back to your dorm with books about merfolk courting rituals, both ancient and modern, praying no one would catch you on the way back.

Jade had read through the few informational manuals he could find on human courting-- one written by a merperson decades ago, and another that seemed to be angled towards preteen girls and had some truly terrible advice-- and had to move on to... more unconventional methods. Which lead to him reading romance novels in a far corner of the library. There were a surprising amount of them, many with musclebound men with long hair and a petite woman in his arms on the front. Jade opted for the other plentiful options that wouldn't blow his cover immediately. He was engrossed in his book, one hand propping his head up on the table and the other flipping pages, fingers lightly drumming on the cover as he read. It wasn't a terrible read, but it seemed wholly unrealistic. How would owning a dog get you a romantic partner? He was too deep into the book to notice someone lurking, barely keeping his composure as someone gasped loudly beside him.

"Monsieur Prémédité!" Not many people could sneak up on Jade, but Rook was definitely one of them. "I was not aware of your exquisite taste in literature! Comme c'est merveilleux!"

"This is actually quite far from my usual choice, I'm afraid." Jade corrected as Rook beamed down at him. He carefully flipped the book closed, back cover up, as two others approached from behind him. "Are you familiar with this one?"

"Oui! I find it most interesting how the dog is a pivotal part in the budding romance!"

Of course he does.

Vil leaned forward to skim through the description on the back, confusion growing on his expression at each word. "If this is so out of the norm for you, why are you reading it?" He asked.

"For research purposes." He admits, flashing the Pomefiore students a sharp smile.

"Un étudiant en l'amour?" Rook gasped excitedly as he quickly sat down across the table, lacing his fingers under his chin in intense interest as Vil rolled his eyes and straightened back up. "Monsieur Prémédité, je n'aurais jamais deviné! For what are you researching? Please, tell me everything!"

"Now you've done it..." Epel muttered from behind Vil, sounding exhausted.

Jade hesitated for a moment. The Pomefiore students would certainly be the ones to ask when it came to these sorts of things. They at least would be the least likely to lie to him about the particular subject. "I'm researching human courting rituals. There is little in the way of instructional manuals in our library, so I have turned to these." He gestured to the book in front of him before turning back to Rook, who practically had stars in his eyes. "Unfortunately, there isn't much to be gained from these, as it turns out."

"Are you trying to find information so you can court someone?" Epel asked, looking mildly concerned before Vil swatted him lightly upside the head with a mutter of "too blunt."

"Land boot camp never covered the topic, and I must admit, I've been dreadfully curious ever since I first heard the story of the mermaid princess." It was as easy for Jade to lie through his teeth as it was to breathe, piling on the pitiful tone and expression to try to play at least one of them for a sucker. "The stories never went into detail on how the land prince courted her, I thought I would find more information here, but alas..."

It was unsurprising that Rook took the bait, hand resting on his chest as he nodded along sympathetically. Vil rolled his eyes again and Epel muttered something about courting rituals to himself, neither nearly as invested in the lie.

"On land, courting must be bold!" Rook began without prompting as he stood from his chair, Vil only just keeping him from propping a foot dramatically on the table by grabbing his arm and pulling him back. "Loud proclamations of love! Flowers! Doves! Music!"

"And some people don't enjoy that at all." Vil sighed, shooing Rook down from his soapbox. "You just have to play to your audience. But it does often involve flowers."

"My Meemaw says the quickest way to anybody's heart is through their stomach." Epel chimed in, getting a quick glare from Vil at the accent slip.

"Your grandmother is correct on that front."

Jade stared for a moment at the phrase. Another he didn't recognize and wasn't exactly provided context clues for. The way to win your affections lies... in your stomach?

"The most common way to begin a human courtship is by bringing flowers, admitting your intentions, and inviting them out with you on a date." Vil explained further, Rook quietly waxing poetic about each point next to him. "Which is why it's more commonly referred to as dating, rather than courting."

"I see... This has been enlightening, I thank you all for your input." Jade nodded to them.

"Do let us know how it goes, Jade." Vil gave him a knowing smirk as he spoke.

Jade flashed back his own sharp smile, narrowing his eyes just slightly at the housewarden. "I've no idea what you mean, Vil."

Meanwhile, you'd found some fairly decent information on merfolk courting rituals, turns out their methods were significantly better documented than humans' were. Unfortunately for you, however, a lot of the courting rituals varied between the different species of merfolk and there wasn't a lot of overlap as far as you could tell. The biggest overlap you could find had to do with small gifts; pebbling, as some species of merfolk called it. It seemed to be finding something cool or pretty on the ocean floor and bringing it to the person you were courting, which sounded easy enough. You were already a fan of picking up cool rocks, it wouldn't be any trouble to just bring them to Jade instead of putting them on your windowsill.

Another common overlap you found was the importance of jewelry across all species of merfolk, but it seemed to be... maybe a little too important for just trying to date him. From what you could tell, giving a merperson jewelry was their closest equivalent to proposing, or maybe a promise ring? You weren't entirely sure, but it seemed like too much. Specifically to eel merfolk, the book you found talked a significant amount about a dance that you couldn't quite understand. It was definitely an underwater activity, as far as you could tell, but maybe dancing in general would be good enough on land? The way the book talked about it made it seem like it was common enough knowledge that no one would even bother writing down the details. You were too engrossed in the notes you were taking-- yes, you were taking notes on this-- to notice the floorboards on the other side of your door creaking.

"Hey Yuu, I got yer--" You scrambled to cover up your notes, the book, to be nonchalant about it as Epel walked into your room, holding your potionology notebook in his hands. He looked surprised at your panic as you blocked your desk with your body, definitely not looking completely suspicious. "--notes. What, uh... Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing. Studying." You spat out, not moving from the uncomfortable position you found yourself in. "Thank you for bringing those back, you can leave them on the armchair."

"Or... I could just hand 'em to ya." He smirked, inching towards you and watching as you leaned backwards over your desk to keep hiding the evidence.

"Or you could just hand them to me!" You agreed in a tone too upbeat to be believable, snatching the notebook out of his hand as soon as he was close enough. "Thank you, Epel, but I really have to study so I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure, sure..." He nodded slowly, just managing to peek past one of your arms, smirk growing devious. "Ya writin' an essay 'bout merfolk courtin' rituals?"

"OUT. GET OUT." You shouted as your face began to burn, leaping up from your awkward position to shove him out the door while he cackled.

"Aw, c'mon, I ain't gonna tell nobody!" He protested. "In fact, I got some interesting information myself in the library today--!"

"DON'T CARE, GET OUT. TELL NO ONE." You shoved him out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him.

Out in the hall, Epel simply shrugged, smirking to himself as he walked away. "They'll figure it out eventually." It was nice to be the one in the know.

You were mortified but at least you were fairly sure he wouldn't run to tell anyone about it, you don't think you'd ever be able to live it down if Ace caught wind of this. You twisted the lock on the door into place before going back to your desk to continue your research, face still burning red as you flipped everything back to where it had been.

Vil had given Jade a decent jumping off point, but he found himself going back to the phrase Epel had used. The way to the heart is through the stomach. Of course that had to be a way to win your affection, but through your stomach? He hadn't read anything about the abdomen being involved in any courtship rituals, at least not the initial stages. Perhaps he had missed something? Maybe it was something lesser known that older generations did? It couldn't possibly be as simple as food, could it? The common language turns of phrases were never so simple, even the ones he understood. He turned the phrase over in his head for a few days, too busy analyzing it as he walked into his Ancient Magic class to catch who had put a rock on his desk. Why was there a rock on his desk? He stopped to stare at it for a second before glancing around at his fellow sophomores, none of whom seemed to be taking even a passing interest in his confusion. It had definitely been placed with purpose, squarely in front of his chair so there was no way of him missing it or mistaking it as being for someone else. He picked it up as he sat down, turning it over to examine in his hand as Floyd flopped down in the seat next to him.

"I don't suppose you saw who left this, did you?" Jade asked, presenting the rock for Floyd to see.

"Nah, couldn't give a shit less." Floyd grumbled, barely glancing at the rock before draping himself forward over the desk.

Jade hummed lightly, glancing around one more time before depositing the rock in his bag. He could maybe make use of it for a terrarium, if nothing else. He didn't think much of it the first time, but as the week went on, there continued to be rocks on his desks. Not ever in the same class either, so he could confirm that it was not an accident the first time. They were just small rocks that could fit in the palm of his hand, some of them having interesting patterns or colorations, some having interesting shapes, but they were still rocks. He kept the nicest few to put in his terrariums, the rest were left in his bag to bring with him on his next trip to the mountain.

By the end of the week, you were out of your coolest rocks that you were willing to give away. You were almost certain you were doing this wrong, leaving them for him to find instead of just handing them to him, but you were so afraid that maybe pebbling didn't apply to eel merfolk, or that the rocks weren't good enough. You didn't find them outside in the grass or still in the classrooms, so you considered that a win at least. And Epel was the only one smirking at you whenever Jade walked into the cafeteria or down the hall, so he hadn't told anyone what he'd seen. Another win!

You planned to spend your weekend figuring out how to go about dancing with Jade. The books weren't clear enough on what the dance entailed besides that it was done with tail fins while underwater, but it was very clear that it was done while courting. You were on the couch in the Ramshackle lounge on Saturday evening, rereading the courting book for any sort of clues you'd missed when there was a knock on the door. You quickly shoved the book between the couch cushions, making sure it was completely hidden as you got up and headed for the door, immediately glad you'd hidden the book as you opened the door to Jade standing on the front porch. He was dressed in the outfit he usually wore to go up the mountain, mud still on his boots from his hike and gloves dangling out of his pockets.

"Hello, Yuu." He said pleasantly, looking over your obviously startled demeanor. "I do hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, not at all." You waved him off quickly, trying desperately not to somehow give yourself away. "Just, uh... reading. What's up?"

You froze as he stepped forward, into your personal space, and placed a hand on your stomach, just above your navel. Even through your shirt, his hand was cool, sending a shiver up your spine. You stared wide eyed as he smiled down at you before reaching into his bag and pulling out a bundle of small flowers, presenting them to you. They were a little squashed from being in his bag, and it looked like he had picked them off the mountain himself. You felt the heat rising on your cheeks as you took them from him, the fact he’d taken the time to gather them himself was flattering by itself.

“I was given advice on how to go about this, and was told to just be straightforward with my intentions.” He began plainly. “I’ve found myself drawn to you recently, and would like to begin courting you. I was told it was called “dating” and that I should invite you out with me, if you’re interested?”

You could feel how hot your face was getting as he spoke, not believing your luck. Maybe you wouldn’t have to figure out that dance? Maybe you still should? Would it be rude not to? He, on the other hand, was getting nervous in the drawn out silence that your internal reeling was creating, worried he’d done something wrong. He wouldn’t show it on his face, of course, but he was getting uncomfortable.

“Oh, uh, yeah!” You spat out quickly, chuckling nervously as you realized just how long you’d let that moment drag out. “Definitely. When? And where?”

He paused for a few confused blinks, smile slipping as you watched a light dusting of pink grow on his cheeks. If he weren’t so close, you might’ve not even noticed. “I was... unaware that was something I had to plan ahead of time.” He admitted slowly, internally cursing himself for not asking more details when he had the chance.

“That’s alright!” You were quick to assure him, fiddling with the little bouquet he’d given you. “We can figure that out together, if you want?”

His smile returned at the offer, warmer this time, fonder. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Great!”

There was another pause as you looked down at the small blooms in your hands, then at his hand, which was still rested on your belly. You glanced up at his face, then his hand, then his face again.

“Hey Jade?”

“Hm?”

“What... What is this?” You tried your best not to sound like you disapproved as you glanced down at his hand again. What if it was something the books didn’t cover? Other than the dance-- and the inadvisable internet searches-- there was no mention of physical contact. There was dancing, there was biting which was less for courting and more for established couples, but not... this.

He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned, the blush on his cheeks growing slightly. “Ah. That wasn’t correct then?”

“I don’t know? What was it?”

He groaned slightly, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he spoke. “Epel had said a phrase that I didn’t quite understand, about the stomach being the key to affections. Even Vil agreed that it was correct, I thought it must be a common courting method.”

You muttered the words to yourself, trying to piece the phrase together, biting your lip hard to keep from laughing when you realized what he was talking about. “The way to someone’s heart is through their stomach?”

“Yes, that’s the one. I’m not familiar with many common language phrases.”

“Food. The way to someone’s heart is good food.”

It really was that simple. Damn it. He let out an awkward chuckle, trying to hide his embarrassed expression from you by rubbing at his eyes. “I suppose I should’ve just looked it up, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay!” You laughed, wanting to reassure him. This was going way too well for him to back out due to embarrassment now! “It’s hard to find information on what’s allegedly common knowledge! I mean, I can’t figure out that courting dance for the life of me--!”

You slapped your hand over your mouth as you realized what you were saying, watching as Jade slowly looked up at you in confusion. You wanted to cringe all the way back up to your room as you watched him mouth the word “dance,” gears turning in his head as he looked you over, before a smile grew on his face. You broke eye contact as you realized he’d clicked everything into place.

“Yuu, have you been pebbling me?” He asked, tone equal parts teasing and astonished.

Well, this was going too well for either of you to back out due to embarrassment now, you supposed. You lowered your hand, narrowing your eyes at him with a smirk. “That depends, has it been working?”

He laughed, hiding it behind his fist as his eyes scrunched closed, and your heart absolutely fluttered. You really did fall hard. And so did he. He was flattered that you’d also done research on courting, relieved that you hadn’t gotten it quite right either, glad it hadn’t deterred either of you.

“It would’ve worked better if I’d know it was you, my dear.” He responded through his laughter, giving you a look of pure adoration. “Typically, you hand the items to people, not leave things for them to find themselves.”

“I wasn’t sure I was doing it right!” You defended lightheartedly.

“Well then,” he started as he held a hand out for you to take, which you did, of course, “how does dinner sound? Since food is the way to the heart.” He pulled you a little closer, tone dropping a bit as his smile grew. “Then, perhaps, I can teach you that dance.”

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

Your chest rose in tandem with the boy beside you; a coincidence that seemed to intertwine you both in a deeper way than simply physically. It was rare to have these moments with Azul, and that seemed even more so a fact with the steady approach of exams trailing behind you both.

The chill of Octavinelle didn’t go unnoticed to you even while huddled up in the thick white blanket covering most of your body. It trailed up your spine and threatened to draw out an instinctive shiver from you, but ultimately it didn’t. Leaving you on the edge of preparation of a sensation that would never come.

It hadn’t helped that your beloved generated no heat himself whatsoever. A reminder that although he seemed human there were distinct differences that set you both apart. As a merfolk he was naturally cold-blooded. Meaning absolutely no warmth seemed to radiate off him, and if anything he seemed to sap away all of yours as well.

Everything was painted in a hue of violet with the only light illuminating the room being the lamp on his desk. Darkness loomed in the corners of the room mutely wishing to crawl over to where the both of you lay. Not yet. It wasn’t quite time for rest it seemed.

If someone were to (rudely) barge into the room though they may think otherwise. Between the complete silence and stillness of you both one would be safe to assume that you may indeed be asleep. Such things weren’t the case though, and your hand resting upon his clothed back slowly began to move.

The pads of your fingers pressed against the silk fabric and trailed up to the place between his shoulder blades before gliding back down.

This languid motion repeated a few times before you felt Azul shift ever so slightly. An unconscious squirm of his body like a cat trying to deflect another pet from its giddy owner.

“Hm?” A soft hum came from you.

“Nothing.” The words were muffled against your shoulder. Sharp and to the point, though you’d been around him enough to pick up on the small hesitancy in his voice.

That just seemed to peak your interest even more and so experimentation seemed to be the only option now. Breaking off the standard path of his spine your fingers danced closer and closer to his side; dipping down the soft curve of his lower back until you got the same response.

You felt him stiffen. You did it again and it elicited the same response. Eventually tiring of your behavior a strained sort of noise- most likely a complaint- came from this throat as he abruptly flipped himself over with a huff.

There was no way to see his expression as his head steered away from you. Yet, from the slight pinkish color blooming on the tips of his ears you could guess he was either embarrassed, frustrated, or both. You had half the mind to tease him for his response, but held back on account of not wanting to ruin the moment.

He’d probably try and shove you off the bed in all honesty if you pointed out how you’d found a new ticklish spot on him, even if you both could deduce that without words.

So with that in mind your hand found comfort resting on his abdomen with your fingers flexing ever so slightly against the silk fabric of his robe.

Almost instantly you felt the tightening of his stomach beneath your heated palm. Sucking it in almost as if it were instinct at this point. A subconscious habit he’d been unable to break ever since he was just a small octopus roaming about in the ocean.

You could feel your heart twist in knots at such a small involuntary response which meant more than you could ever vocalize. A deep insecurity buried inside of him that wanted to claw its way up to the surface even if he hadn’t realized it himself.

A kiss pressed just against his temple was what you responded with. A small fleeting thing that spoke what you did not. The petals of your affection unraveled from the budded shape they held as you wrapped you encircled your arms around his waist before giving him one good squeeze.

Something soft, barely audible came from him at that. And like a humming bird unable to deter itself from the sweet nectar he began to relax in your hold once more; succumbing to the affection.

His legs scrunched up as your knees pressed into the back of his own, thighs providing enough warmth to the point his own body began to greedily drink it up again and leave you with a small chill. But you truly didn’t mind it at all.

Not as your breath warmed the back of his neck causing his own to speed up ever so slightly. His body molding perfectly against yours like he was meant to be there against you and his eyes eventually began to flutter shut even while the lamp continued to brighten the room. A single thought crossed his mind in the moment.