Your Art Is Lovely!

It's not like you didn't know this was coming. You've already passed certain events like Thanksgiving and the Fall Equinox without a hitch.

But, for some reason, Christmas just seemed like a given. You had just assumed it would be here. Regardless of the lack of enthusiasm leading up to the winter break, for anything other than going home.

Halloween, almost a perfect copy. But Christmas? Which is arguably in the same branch of thought as Halloween, considering its roots in Pagan tradition? Nope, nothing.

It's not about the holiday itself, if you're being honest. It's about what it stood for. A day to come together. A day for you to see people you've only seen a handful of times each year. A day to remember those no longer present.

It was familiar, warm. And now you're all too aware of how cold you are. How foreign this big, abandoned dorm really is.

The ghosts eventually come to get you, since you've been standing still in your bathroom with your toothbrush in your mouth for who knows how long. You spit, hoping the action will rid you of this stupor like it will the froth on your tongue.

It doesn't, it follows you out the door and into the frigid morning air. Ready to swallow you whole until—

"Prefect!" Red and blue fill your vision, then you blink, and Ace and Deuce come into focus. "Morning!"

"... Good morning."

"Where's Grim?" Deuce steps up next to Ace, hair hanging low over his brows from the downward push of his beanie.

"... I think I left him upstairs."

"Finally deciding to abandon him?" Ace grins, all cheek.

"Sure," you shrug, then go back inside to fetch him.

The winter holidays are almost over, which you're both grateful and remorseful for. On one hand, the campus will be alive again. On the other hand, the campus will be alive again. A double-edged sword where one side holds a shiny new future of possibility and the other is covered in blot. And your holidays already had enough of the latter, thank you.

"When does everyone come back?" You ask idly while all four of you, Grim newly acquired and balanced half asleep on your shoulders, walk toward the main campus.

"That depends," Ace hums. "Some guys decide to beat the crowd by coming early, and some wait until the last minute."

"Does the Mirror bring them back?" A strong breeze pushes past you, forcing an equally strong shiver to rattle your teeth.

"If they need it, yes." Deuce moves to your other side, a shield against the biting chill of the wind. "But most just find their own way back. Like how we did."

"Oh, so other transportation." You nod, considering. "That must cost a lot each year."

"No, students get waived from travel expenses during this time of year. You just gotta show them an ID, or in our case, our pens, and the tickets are free." Ace explains.

You nod, very much impressed. What you would give to have had this type of societal support while being a student.

"Did your world not do that?" Deuce asks, a rare moment of him catching onto your reaction.

"No, not on a universal level."

"Man, your world just keeps seeming shittier and shittier." Ace tsks, kicking at a snowbank.

You only hum in response, thinking about your world. About the holidays and today’s date. About the warmth you are missing.

Your shivering stops once you start feeding the fairies their daily logs. They ooze heat like little mini radiators, pushing the numbness from your fingertips. One of them flits past your hand, especially close. So close you can feel the promise of a burn should it decide to move even an inch closer. That doesn't happen, of course, but it does look at you with what you can only assume to be the fairy equivalent of gratitude before diving back into the newly roaring fire.

Grim takes that moment to try and subconsciously lean towards the new heat source, forcing you to catch him as he rolls off your shoulders before he too becomes fuel.

"Should've let the little guy fall in. Fire would've lasted until the New Year." Ace comments from over your shoulder.

You reach out blindly behind you to pop him on the side of the head. From the volume of his yelp, you can only assume Deuce had a similar idea.

Grim jolts awake in your arms with a snort, "tuna..?"

"When we get home, bub," you murmur, petting between his flaming ears.

With all the fires restocked and fairies happy, Ace and Deuce start talking about this new card game that they learned from Kalim on the trek back. You're nodding along with them, half listening and half dissociating. But then you're forced to stop as a wall of mass folds over you, threatening to press you into the ground.

"Shrimpy!"

"Wha— Floyd?! When did you get here?!" Ace balks as he whirls around.

"Please get off the Prefect, Floyd.” Deuce, the poor boy, furrows his brows, concerned for your legs that visibly wobble.

Grim, for once, doesn't say anything. But you feel him press closer to your chest with a distressed sound.

"Morning, Floyd." You greet like normal, straining under his weight. "Did you need something, or are you just trying to turn me into a pancake?"

"Mmm, no, maybe later." He muses, then his weight is suddenly gone. You're about to sigh in relief until you're promptly picked up like a stuffed animal. "Gotta borrow you though."

And you're off, thrown over his shoulder as you watch Ace and Deuce get further and further away, listening to their shouts of protest.

"Hngyah?! What the heck?! Why'd you have ta swipe me too?!" Grim yowls right next to your ear.

"You're the one who didn't want to be put down." You point out with a wince, tugging at his little arms where his nails have dug into the puff of your coat.

“'Cause it’s still morning!” He whines, tail thumping across your back as it thrashes in dismay.

“Then don’t complain when you’re kidnapped along with me.” Is the last thing you say before Floyd all but launches through the Mirror.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ༄.° ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

“So happy you were free to assist us at this time, Prefect!” Azul is abuzz with enthusiasm you have no doubt is at least 75% exaggerated. “I mean, considering what a big help we were with Jamil, it’d be rude not to aid us with this new line of products for the New Year.”

“More like he’s holding you captive until you fork over your otherworldly knowledge.” Ace muttered, pressed against your side in a Mostro Lounge booth as you fiddle with the pen in your hand.

You didn’t outwardly say it, but you agreed with Ace. Turns out the ‘borrow’ that Floyd mentioned was code for ‘Azul needs you to write down recipes and specialty holiday drinks from your world that he can copy and capitalize on.’ Which, you’re a bit annoyed about, but the three did help you with the Scarabia incident. Enough to warrant a few free ideas. In the name of the Christmas spirit, you suppose.

That no longer existed here.

“Henchman!”

You jerk in your seat at Grim’s call, glancing to your left where he’s wrapped himself over your shoulders like a scarf.

“Can you get this over with already? You promised me tuna when we get home.”

“Working on it,” you huff while looking back down at the paper before you.

“What’s ‘eggnog’?” Deuce is on your other side, peering over your shoulder.

You blink, "It's eggnog."

Deuce blinks right back, "So... nog with egg in it?"

"... Maybe?"

"How do you not know what's in it?'' Ace gives you a funny look.

"I don't know," you grumble. "It's just eggnog. A type of milk that's sweet and rich that the grocery stores sell at Christmas time."

"Christmas? What's that?"

You look up and see Floyd leaning heavily across the table to stare you down. You can also see Azul stood beside him, his arms crossed and his expression curious. Jade, done with whatever he was doing behind the bar, is crossing the room towards your group.

"... Well," you croak, then clear your throat. "Christmas is a holiday from home that celebrates gifts."

"Gifts?" Grim perks up, because of course he does.

"Yeah, as in giving gifts. Families come together to give each other presents. It's supposed to be a time for joy and kindness before the New Year."

"Where does eggnog fit into that, though?" Ace asks.

"It's just a drink people make around the holidays that's associated with Christmas." You shrug, unsure of the answer yourself.

"And everyone celebrates this holiday where you're from?" Jade chimes in with a question now that he's within range.

"No, not everyone, but I'd say most people do. There's, like, different variations of the holiday depending on the religion and country."

"And what day does Christmas occur on?" Azul asks.

You pause, momentarily hesitant, before shaking the apprehension off. "Um, today, actually. The 25th of December."

They all look at you for a second in varying degrees of emotion. You make sure not to stare at anyone, taking special interest in writing down the word 'Cranberries' on your mostly blank page.

"It's today." Ace clarifies.

"Yeah, today." You still don't look up.

"We should be giving out gifts today?" Grim questions, nudging the side of your head with his snout.

"Where I'm from, yes. If you celebrate it."

"And do you typically celebrate it, Prefect?" Jade questions.

You make a vague gesture, scribbling down 'Peppermint.'

"Why didn't you say anything this morning?" Deuce, as direct as ever, goes for the jugular and asks.

You wince, mind churning for an excuse. Then Kalim and Jamil burst through the Lounge's doors on a flying carpet, and you're saved from answering.

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ༄.° ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

"Why can't we stay at Scarabia all the time? Why are we going back through the cold when we could just stay in the hot?" Ace whines, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection.

"I spent enough time in that dorm to last me the entire rest of the winter, thank you very much." You sniff, ignoring Grim, who keeps darting between your steps. Probably still annoyed that you've denied him the privilege of being in your arms on the way back to Ramshackle. "No offense, Kalim."

Kalim, the sweet angel, merely laughs and beams. "The heat isn't for everyone!"

"Well, it is for me." Ace groans, feet crunching heavily in the snow. "Why'd we have to leave? I was fine moving shop after Kalim and Jamil came barging into Mostro."

Turns out, Kalim and Jamil came flying into Mostro (literally) because they were looking for you. In your stupor from this morning, you forgot you had agreed to guide Jamil through a recipe you knew from home, which was weirdly similar to a favorite of Kalim's. And for some reason, that meant everyone in the room with you had to come with to try it.

"If this breeze is enough to get you whinin', you wouldn't last a second where we're from, Crabby." Floyd comments.

"That's another thing, why are you guys still here?" Ace pointedly looks at the Octavinelle trio.

"Huh?" Floyd's tone turns lilting in a way that spells trouble. "You telling us to scram, Crabby?"

Ace, ever the empath, quickly shoots out, "No. I just meant I'm surprised you would want to play games with us."

Somehow, during your master chef lesson in Scarabia, the guys had gotten Kalim and Jamil up to speed on Christmas. To which they had insisted there be a party. And you, not knowing what to do with the feeling swirling in your chest, vehemently denied it. Arguing that yeah, ok, maybe there should be a party, but just a little one. Cause Christmas was personal like that.

And now here you were, towing a group of guys to play Go Fish or something in your living room.

What a life you now lived.

"Let's try and keep this evening civil, gentlemen." You cut in before Floyd gets especially offended. "We take card games very seriously in this household, within reason. That means no throwing fists and no cheating."

"We would never," Azul gasps, looking appalled.

You, having survived a deal with him, raise a brow, unimpressed but without further comment.

Azul smiles in response, all good-natured and proper. So does Jade, and Floyd. If you consider flashing sharp teeth in a smile reminiscent of something feral, proper. Jamil looks about as unimpressed as you feel, but maybe with a tad bit more disgust. Kalim is strangely quiet but visibly eager as he bounces on the balls of his feet. Deuce is as well. The quiet part, that is, not so much visibly eager. And refusing to look at you on top of it. Ace, on the other hand, is staring right at you and pointedly not at Floyd.

You sigh, feeling old beyond your years as you open your front door. To which you're immediately greeted by a wave of noise and a half-pile, half-orderly array of shoes.

"... Kalim," your mouth moves ahead of your thoughts. "Did you decide to host a party anyway, but at my house instead?"

"No! Well, kind of." He waves his hands around. "You said it should be personal, right? Christmas."

"What?" Falls incredulous from your lips before you shake your head. "I mean, yeah. Sorta."

"Right, so I told a bunch of our friends to gather at Ramshackle to join us for game night!"

There's too much to consider at the moment. But the smug satisfaction across Ace's face in particular is just begging to be addressed.

"You knew about this," you state more than ask. "All that complaining was an act."

Ace's smirk is answer enough. "Had to play my part, right?"

"I cannot believe you," you say, yet you totally do.

"Got you good, huh?"

"I will throw you out a window."

"What happened to being civil?"

"Unnecessary comment, Jade, hush."

"Come on." Kalim, done waiting, latches onto your arm and starts bodily dragging you toward the noise. "Everyone is waiting!"

Turns out, 'everyone' meant just about everyone you vaguely knew. Cater, Trey, and Riddle were sitting around your coffee table in discussion with Lilia, Silver, and Sebek. Jack, Ruggie, someone you think is the Ignihyde Housewarden's bionic brother, Ortho, and who you knew to be Epel from Spelldrive Club were nearby talking as well. Even the Housewarden and Vice Housewarden of Pomefiore were here. Which was odd considering you've only heard stories about them, really. But not as odd as Leona somehow being here. Granted, he seemed to be asleep across your sofa, but still. Props to whoever convinced him to be conscious enough to get here.

"Shouldn't everyone be at home still?" You ask, reeling.

"We mentioned this morning how most people get back early, right?" Deuce leans into your line of sight with a questioning tilt of his head.

"Well, I don't know all these people."

"That would be my doing!" Cater chimes with a raise of his hand as he approaches. Making everyone in the room stop in varying degrees to look at your group. "I know the ADeuce boys said it was personal, but a friend of a friend still counts, right?"

"... So it wasn't just Kalim putting the word out, was it." You give your two most trusted advisors a critical eye, rethinking your mental title for them entirely. "The nerve."

Deuce looks bashful, and you find the fight leaving your body as quick as it came. Ace, however, you could punt.

Before you can, though, Vil Scheonheit of all people walks up. "Prefect," he acknowledges with an outstretched hand. "I've heard lots about you, it's a pleasure."

More than a little spellbound, you automatically reach to shake it. His hands are far too soft for how cold the weather is.

"There," he smiles, pleased. "Now we're more than just a friend of a friend, hm?"

You have nothing else to say to that. Nor do you ever get a chance to, as you're pulled into the fray of people.

You tried not to hope for anything today after you saw the date on your calendar. It was easier to live here through a lens of uncertainty than one of expectation. Otherwise, you would've died from culture shock long before your first overblot.

"Oh... oh!" It takes the second time around for the realization to really kick in, and suddenly you're very awake. You twist over, trying not to stare down at his pants where your head had just been lying, as you push back onto your heels. "So sorry, Hornton, I can't believe that I..."

You can see the remnants of your evening now that your eyes are adjusting. Two empty mugs on your coffee table, some plates that once held snacks, and your frequent evening visitor still sat on your couch, with posture as primly straight as ever.

"I... I fell asleep."

"You did.” He's way too amused by all this. Especially for someone who had to sit still for who knows how long with your head in his lap.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" You settle on asking, trying to keep the embarrassment out of your voice, squinting.

"You were sleeping." Again, simply put.

"... Well, yeah, but... I was sleeping on you."

"That is correct."

You're wondering if you're having two different conversations. Because as you keep trying to hammer in your point, his expression just keeps getting more and more amused. Like this joke of his is so funny he's having to physically restrain himself from laughing out loud.

“Just… ugh, whatever.” There was too much drowsiness sticking to your eyes for you to care anymore. You can cringe about this another time. “Thank you, then. For letting me sleep.”

He has nothing to say to that. And you’re too busy shoving the heels of your palms into your eyeballs to consider why that might be.

God, you were tired. You must’ve been asleep for a while. A quick glimpse out the windows shows it’s still fairly dark, so maybe it was the middle of the night. But it could also be early morning. A quick tap on your phone screen, where it sits next to your empty mug, tells you that it is, in fact, very early in the morning. The sun would be rising soon.

… There were classes today, and Hornton was still here.

“Oh god, don’t tell me you stayed up this whole time—?”

He's looking at you. But not in amusement like before. His face is perfectly lax, no indication for what he's thinking of. He looks focused though, and you peek over your shoulder just to see if there’s something you’re missing behind you that’s got him staring so harshly.

Trying to decipher his expression leads you to a reminder of how clean he looks. For lack of a better descriptor, he looks airbrushed. Which isn’t that dissimilar to how you’d describe people like Vil or Cater. But it’s just, somehow, he’s different. There is something in the glint of his eyes and paleness of his skin that is so perfect it’s looped all the way back around to being slightly uncanny. Where it’s clear Vil and Cater worked hard for their beauty, you’re hesitant to say the same for Malleus.

… You need more sleep. It’s too early to be waxing poetics about a man… being, entity, who likes how decrepit your house looks from the outside.

“You never went home, did you?” You try again, and this time his attention actually latches onto what you're saying. You can tell by the way his eyes flick up towards your face and his pupils readjust. Widening at the sides, then shivering back in, much like a cat’s. It’s sort of… cool? Freaky? Makes you want to get a laser pointer and see how blown out they could get.

“… Child of Man?”

Now you’re the one needing to recenter your attention. Because apparently you’re so gods damned out of it that you’ve started zoning out to the thought of playing with Hornton like he’s a house cat.

The day this being learns how to read minds, it’s over for you. Or maybe he already can, and your time is already up.

“Sorry! Uh, what, what were you saying?”

His lips curl, and it’s simultaneously terrifying and mesmerizing to see the smile take shape on his face.

“No,” he says. That amusement is back in his voice. Then he reaches over and pulls the collar of your sleep shirt back up over your shoulder. You're unsure of when it had even fallen to begin with. “I have not returned to my dorm yet. As I was here with you while you rested.”

Because you had used him as a pillow without his consent.

"I’m so sorry.” Your whole body heats up, mainly from shame.

“Apologies are unnecessary.” He brushes your concerns off without so much as a blink. “It was a worthwhile experience to watch you sleep.”

“… Pardon?” Did you hear that right?

“I rarely get to witness the habits of humans while they rest anymore, so to be able to regard yours was very intriguing.”

“… Right.”

Sometimes your visitor says the strangest things. But he wouldn’t be your nighttime guest without it.

“Is that a… Fae thing?” You ask, overwhelmingly curious now that it’s been brought to your attention.

You see his eyes widen, just the slightest. You assume that means he's confused, so you clarify.

“Like the, uh, interest. In watching people sleep. Do Fae not sleep like humans do?”

The resulting silence that follows is a bit nerve-racking. So much so, you're tempted to apologize for possibly being offensive until he starts to answer.

"You are correct, in a sense. Some Fae require minimal sleep, such as I. Additionally, I usually prefer to rest during the first rays of sunlight."

"Oh, so then school must be hard on you."

"Nothing is hard for me."

"Oh yes, how could I forget."

What a jerk.

"You are grinning."

"Oh," you were, funny that. "I guess I am. Feel free to ignore it."

"And if I don't wish to?"

Now he's also smiling with that damn grin of his. The one that his eyes follow, mimicking the curl of his lips, yet with not a wrinkle to show for it. It's the one that tells you he knows. He knows what you're smiling over. He knows that it's him, and he's proud of it.

"Then it's not like I can stop you." You shrug, accepting your defeat at the hands of this unreal entity you can't stop yourself from feeling fond of.

"No, you cannot." The bastard's smile grows, all too pleased. You can see the tips of viper-sharp fangs peaking over his bottom lip. You fear you're going crazy when, instead of unease, all you can conjure up is something resembling cuteness aggression.

When you were comparing him to a cat, it wasn't supposed to be serious; you try and berate your brain in admonishment, hoping it'll listen for once.

"So," you choose to change the subject, wishing to ignore how hot your skin still feels. "You'll be alright for classes today? I haven't completely ruined your school day, have I?"

"No, you couldn't. Even if you tried."

"Is that a compliment or a challenge?"

"Feel free to take it however you wish, Child of Man."

Is it possible to be sick of smiling? Cause you're considering it at this point. Or at least hoping that it will occur eventually. So you can stop feeling like this every time he calls you that stupid title he made, or grins all nefariously, or acts all high and mighty.

You feel itchy, not physically but from within. Something in you yearns to leap out from the very depths of your marrow. To be free from the cover you've put over it.

"Then, should we watch the sunrise?" Is what comes out of your mouth. "Since you bothered to stay for so long, why not make it longer?"

His expression falls, and for a second, you swear your heart stops. But then you're tugging on some shoes and a coat in your entryway, stepping out into the crisp morning air with him at your side.

You can't remember the last time you've done this, or if you've ever done this. You feel lost in your own yard before he steps into your sights with a gesture to take his hand. When you do, you blink and you're on your roof. He already has an arm hovering at your side to prevent any unfortunate accidents your surprise might cause.

"You know, you could always give me a warning first." You comment as he vigilantly watches you sit down. Like a parent waiting for their child to fall.

"My apologies." Call you biased, but you're finding it hard to believe he's really sorry.

"Whatever you say, Hornton."

In your peripherals, his head turns to look at you.

"... You still refer to me with that name."

Ah, you were wondering if he'd ever bring it up.

"I do," you nod, wringing your hands together. "Is that a problem?"

"No," he says. Then really considers the thought before shaking his head resolutely. "No, it does not. I just wonder why you do not call me by my real one."

"Well... I guess..." Your eyes are trained on the horizon, where the faint glow of the sun grows ever more apparent. Despite the cold of the morning, you feel warm beneath your collar. "I don't mean anything bad by it. I mean, you still call me 'Child of Man,' don't you?"

His eyes widen; you can catch it even out of the corner of your vision. "I do, does that bother you?"

"If it did, do you really think it would've gone on for this long?"

He doesn't respond, so you push on before that thing within you says too much.

"So, I guess, that I call you Hornton for the same reason you call me Child of Man."

You force yourself to ignore what hints of his expression you can maybe glean. It's both painful and soothing on your nerves.

Your hands are thoroughly chilled by the time the first flecks of sunlight break over the horizon. You watch raptly as it settles over the treetops, lowers down to the ground, and sweeps across the snow. It warms your frigid nose, and you sigh a breath of visible air.

Like a siren call you can't ignore, your head turns to see what type of expression Malleus holds in this very moment.

He's looking at you. Nothing sharp nor lax about it. It's a new expression you've hardly ever seen on him.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask before your treacherous mind can provide a word to describe what emotion is making him look at you in such a way.

"... Crowley asked me to check up on you."

"Of course he did," the second year sighed with all the grandiose of an actor. "That man doesn't know when to keep his beak out of other people's businesses."

"... It's almost midnight, Azul."

"... Yes?" He finishes sipping the rest of his coffee out of one of four cups surrounding him at his desk.

You feel the urge to facepalm and readily deny yourself.

"Right, well, I'll be blunt and just say that I'm on therapist duty since you obviously haven't been keeping up with self-care."

Azul gives you an incredulous look, which you honestly can't even blame him for since you're certain you made the exact same face when Crowley came to you with this request.

You knew Crowley had a bit of an aversion to Azul considering the student was actively blackmailing him, in essence. But to think he'd sick the responsibility of wellness checks onto you because of it seemed a little absurd. Though, this was Crowley you were talking about. His middle name was "Absurd."

"So, Crowley gave you the work that he didn't want to do himself, is that it?" Azul's lips curl into something between a smile and a sneer. "You really must learn to put your foot down, Prefect. Otherwise that man will just continue to walk all over you."

"Yeah, yeah," you wave him off with a flap of the hand. "I'm aware of my status as his unofficial official errand boy, but that's not the point."

You cross your arms, "when was the last time you slept?"

He raises a brow, "why does it matter?"

You cock your hip, feet planted. "Because sleep matters, that's why."

He adjusts his glasses with a push of his middle finger against the bridge. "And I've been functioning fine with minimum hours of rest for years now, so it mustn't matter that much, in the grand scheme of things."

"Azul."

"Prefect."

Lord— or whatever Twisted Wonderland version of God there was help you.

"Listen, Azul," you ground out, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice. "You can either put that damn pen down and go to bed, or I call Leona over to evaporate all your stupid papers again."

You regretted it as soon as you said it. In a flash, Azul’s whole demeanor turned hostile. Shoulders bunching, posture hunching, hand tightening around his fountain pen. His expression pinching into the briefest instance of panic before hardening into anger.

“Is that your solution for everything, Prefect?” His words are biting, a mocking smile lifting at his lips. “To destroy it? Destroy everything your opponent ever worked towards, watch them crumble, then come in like a saint to pick up the pieces? Like you weren’t the one to cause it in the first place?”

He didn’t move a singular inch, but that didn’t matter because he might as well have slapped you. You’d like to deny it, his words, but third time's the charm, right? And it’s been three too many overblots for it to still be considered a coincidence.

He’s still in his seat, motionless, not even to continue writing on his pile of documents. Like an animal waiting for its moment to flee.

You clench your hands beneath your crossed arms, urging yourself to ease up, wondering when you had tensed in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice caught in your throat. Then you clear it and try again, this time evenly. “I’m sorry, Azul. I shouldn’t have said that, especially considering our history.”

And what a history it was. Deception and lies, one trying to make it out on top while the other just trying to make it out alive. You were both bound to get hurt, no matter how much you had tried to prevent such a thing.

Who were you kidding, you didn’t prevent anything. You had gotten so caught up in the need to survive, so scared for your house and friends, so pissed at Azul for taking everything he could, that you didn’t notice. Couldn't even begin to see that you were both so alike all along. That you were just two souls vying for survival, in the end. Like the scared animals you were.

"I could've said no to Crowley," your eyes are drawn to his gloved fingers, smudged with ink. "Despite what you may think. But I didn't, because when I heard you weren't recovering well, I got worried."

“And like I said, why does it matter—“

“Because as much as I admire your diligence, it’s pretty obvious how quickly it can turn into desperation.”

He inhales like he intends to respond but no rebuttal comes. He just stares at you, transfixed.

“You’ve already made it, Azul.” You add, shifting in place under his attention that doesn't waver. “You’re one of the top ranked students academically, your business is successful, and you’ve got the respect and fear—mainly fear—of the other students. You’ve done it, you’re safe. Your empire isn’t going to suddenly disappear if you decide to get a few extra hours of sleep.”

As you talked, you watched as his posture slowly deflated, slumping. You took that as your sign to get closer. By the time you had finished with your piece, you had successfully pried Azul’s gloved fingers off his pen, setting it down.

“So, if you would please go to bed, I’d be in your debt.”

Azul has started to look a bit like a fish out of water. His mouth is agape, eyes wide. His hand was still in yours, but not because you were holding it anymore, rather he was. Not even the word “debt” that you may or may not have slipped in on purpose elicited a reaction like you had anticipated.

“… Azul?” You squeeze his fingers that are stubbornly still attached to yours. You can only assume he’s not doing it on purpose. Maybe it’s some sort of knee jerk reaction for him to grab and latch onto anything you put in his hands. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? Or are you plotting my demise? Because if it’s either then I’m sure you could get it done just as efficiently in your bedroom.”

“—Ah.” He finally makes a noise and seems to all at once snap back into himself. He straightens up, fixes his glasses, adjusts his fedora lying stylishly askew on his head. Then realizes he’s still got your hand and yanks his back like you’ve burned him.

“Right, yes, I-I…” He clears his throat, ducking his head so the brim of his hat hides his expression. But what it doesn’t hide is the way his ears have started to turn pink. “I suppose you have a point… possibly.”

“Would it kill you to actually acknowledge that I’m right?” You deadpan.

“But it’s not just a matter of my own desire to sleep,” he ignores you. “I’ve been… struggling, to sleep, even in my allotted hours to do so.”

“Oh…” You blink, “so you have insomnia?”

“I wouldn’t call it that, I just…” He flounders for a word, waving a hand around.

“You have insomnia,” you tell him, nodding.

“Alright, yes, fine,” he sighs, admitting defeat as much as his ego can handle. “So I have insomnia. Thus, even if I were to go to bed, I’m almost certain I’ll be up for another few hours.”

“Hmm…” You pick at your finger nails, thinking. What did you have back in your old home that helped you sleep? “Do you have a weighted blanket?”

“… A what?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

It was already midnight, you were tired, not paid enough, and still feeling the remnants of guilt that haven't left since watching Azul transform into a whirlwind of tentacles and blot. So call your next idea one done out of desperation.

"I'll be your weighted blanket then, come on."

Grabbing his hand yet again, you pull him around his desk to the door.

You expected a rebuttal, something. Azul was smart enough to assume what being someone's weighted blanket meant without knowing what it was. But as you dragged him out of Mostro Lounge, there was nothing.

He finally spoke when your knowledge of where to go had run out.

"Why," his voice was small. So unlike what you've known him to be. "Why are you bothering to do all this?"

You look back over your shoulder to see the same Azul as ever. With his meticulously swooping hair and pressed to perfection suit. Staring at you like he can't begin to comprehend how you got here.

"... If you need a motive," you say, slow and sure. "Then let's just say I'm doing this as penance for sticking my nose in your business."

You let that sit as it is, then choose to add on. "I'm also incredibly tired and want to sleep next to something that doesn't run hotter than the average person. No offense to Grim."

He doesn't respond, so you stand and wait. Cause it's not like you can escape your own words now that you have no idea where to be dragging him off to.

Maybe you should just pick a direction and hope for the best.

"Heh," you hear him scoff... laugh? You think it was a laugh, maybe. An Azul rendition of it. "Interesting motives you have there, Prefect. Hardly a proper business proposal but there's room for improvement."

He heads towards a set of hallways and now you're the one being dragged.

"... Why do I need to know about business proposals? In this situation, specifically?"

"Because I can't have the one person who's bested me be anything but phenomenal."

"Joy, I can't wait for my lessons in legally viable scamming."

"That's the spirit!"

You're not sure whether your meddling is for the better until it's all over and done with. But you can only assume it gets you somewhere from the way he's looking back at you. Like he's actually glad you're the one he's holding onto.

If he ever regrets that, you can only assume it has yet to come. Considering he still holds your hand even now, nestled side by side for bed.