dyslexic bby

Unbirthday parties at NRC always follow the rules—the oh-so-“questionable” rules of Heartslabyul—but for some reason, whether it’s the music or the sheer number of another dorms guests, the tension released after finals, or maybe just the chaos of other dorms sharing food, sweets, and drinks right in Riddle’s territory, this party doesn’t even feel… unusual anymore.

Maybe it’s also the fact that Ace is way too quiet in the corner, hunched over himself, trying (and failing) to hide a rather large vial in his hand. You know that when Ace has that mischievous smile and not a shred of remorse in sight, nothing good can come out of the redhead; and this occasion won’t be an exception. Especially not after you saw him pour that very vial into the punch bowl.

“Trappola tradition,” you hear him say. It seems his older brother has passed down the baton for the worst prank.

Whatever Ace poured in there, the air gets sweeter, tinged with a rainbow of colors, with that feeling you get when you finally come of age and know exactly what you want and desire, and that hint of something not entirely legal for a school campus.

Someone, probably Floyd, starts chanting, “Chug! Chug! Chug!” and Epel’s already on his second drink, trying to prove he can handle alcohol better than anyone. Grim, meanwhile, is busy fishing out slices of floating fruit, muttering about the injustice of being banned from the dessert table.

Riddle tries to keep his composure, doing his best not to think about the countless rules being broken in his own lounge, but the blush on his cheeks and the way he wobbles from side to side give him away—he’s not immune to the spirit of the party… and maybe he’s already had a taste of the punch.

You try to take it easy, but it’s hard when everyone keeps handing you drinks, plates of fruit, little candies with mysterious fillings. The world feels slow and slippery, like honey running through your veins, and suddenly you’re part of a tightly packed crowd in the lounge, shoulders pressed together, glasses raised, clinking them to the beat of a song nobody quite remembers the words to.

You catch Ruggie stuffing three types of chocolate into his pockets—not before slipping a couple into your hands, though. “Eat up! Or you’ll regret it tomorrow.” Kalim drags you onto the dance floor, his laughter easy, his hands never still, bracelets jingling as he spins you through the crowd.

The drinks get sweeter, the candies and fruits stronger. You lose track of how much you’ve had after the third glass. Laughter floats in the air, yours mixing with theirs.

You remember Vil’s perfume enveloping you as his knuckles brush along your cheek, making you shiver. “Having fun, darling?”

You just nod before walking to the other side of the room to separate Ace and Deuce—apparently both are on the verge of causing nuclear disaster in the middle of the lounge over who can fit more marshmallows in their mouth. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Leona sprawling even lazier than usual across the sofa, and Malleus… well, laughing and making the air tremble a little.

Everything that came after you remember in lazy waves: laughter blooming warm in your chest, the tickle of someone’s breath on your ear; someone tucking a wildflower behind your ear—was it a white or red rose? It doesn’t matter, 'cause seconds later someone else snatches it away with their teeth and a grin that’s barely even trying to be subtle.

The music pounds in your ears until, at some point, everything settles and you’re wrapped in silence. You remember flashes in that quiet: lips tasting of chocolate pressed to yours, teeth biting your throat, hands brushing your skin under your clothes, laughter melting into moans.

Your hands are everywhere, entwined with someone else’s, tangled in soft strands of hair, clutching a shirt as you fumble with the buttons, at a belt, at the bedsheets, everything is heat, color, and taste. The world tilts and spins and you let go, trusting in the madness of it all, in the hands gripping your waist, in the mouth claiming you, in that lovely sensation of being wanted, claimed, and utterly ruined all at once and in every possible way.

When you finally wake up, the light is all wrong and comes in without asking permission, your thighs feel heavy and there’s that pleasant tingle between them, something itches at your neck, and you’ve got hair in your face.

Your head hurts—no, scratch that, your head is pounding and trying to open your eyes is a very bad idea right now. You take a deep breath and the pain’s still there, hammering away, demanding you face the day.

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Trey

When you slowly turn your head, you find Trey sleeping on his stomach, one lazy arm under the pillow, hair a mess but annoyingly attractive. You assume his glasses are on his nightstand, the sheets dangerously low over his hips.

His hips… bare.

His chest is bare too.

You look down at your own body and—bingo—you’re naked too.

And these aren’t your sheets, this isn’t your pillow, and obviously, this isn’t your dorm bed.

Holy… fuck.

You try to remember, even with the pounding headache, half mortified, half… half what, exactly? Surprised? Embarrassed? Or just utterly satisfied to have such a god lying next to you?

Flashes hit you without warning: the warmth of Trey’s hand guiding you away from the crowd, his soft laughter by your ear, both of you laughing at some joke only the two of you found funny, stumbling together until you crashed into bed.

The taste of icing and the sweetness of strawberries on Trey’s lips when he kissed you fiercely; did he feed you with his fingers, or did you steal the flavor right from his mouth?

His hands roaming every inch of you, his palms warm; his tongue scandalous, licking you slow and deep, teasing your clit, sliding between your wet folds, holding your hips so you couldn’t escape.

Him straightening up, wiping his mouth with his thumb, looking you right in the eyes.

You felt the tip of his cock pressing against your wet pussy, sliding in slowly, panting against your lips, deep strokes, but completely sensual.

“You like how I fill you up, right? You’re so wet, so beautiful,” he’d murmured against your ear, holding one of your legs up over his shoulder to push even deeper.

The way he held both your legs over his shoulders, folding you in half, thrusting over and over, deep, hitting your sweet spot, probably making you scream.

Trey’s name on your lips when he made you cum, slipping two fingers inside you to stretch you even more while his cock was still buried deep.

The moment he held you after it was all over, the fingers of one hand tangled in your hair and the other lazily drawing circles on your back.

Trey shifts, stretching and opening one eye, still half-asleep. He gives you a small, crooked smile when he sees you—serene… and breath taking.

“Good morning.”

Goddamn, even his voice is too sexy...add that rough, low tone and you’re already wet again.

“Did you sleep well? Headache?”

Is it that obvious?

“Uh… yeah, yeah, a little.”

Trey sits up and the sheets slide dangerously lower, lower, on his hips. You try not to look… but fail.

Obviously you fail, who are we kidding? The view of this man’s torso alone is enough to make you start drooling. Those strong arms from all that kneading, the abs, the broad shoulders, and…

Marks?

He has marks on his neck?

Some are obviously hickeys… others look like the start of scratches that trail down his back.

You bite your lip, desperate to look at his back, to see the scratches you obviously left, and see how strong his muscles are there.

“Did we…?” It’s a dumb question—you obviously had sex—but you need to hear it from him.

“Yup… several times, actually.”

The heat that rushes to your cheeks is uncontrollable, almost the same shade of red as his bed curtains.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

“Are you regretting it?”

Please, this man can’t be any sweeter or he’d cause diabetes.

Trey kisses your temple when he realizes there’s not even a hint of regret, or fear, or doubt.

Then, he gets up and starts looking for something to wear before going to get breakfast.

OH MY GOD THAT BODY!!!

And the scratch marks from your nails down his back, and his ass… and his cock, half-hard.

Trey notices you’re basically devouring him with your eyes… “Do you want breakfast, or do you want me to jog your memory with another round?”

He winks at you before pulling on his glasses, boxers and uniform pants and leaving the room to get you something to eat and something for your hangover.

Ah… you could die peacefully in that bed.

Leona

It’s the heat that you notice first—something heavy and solid pressing against you from behind, half-sprawled over your side, as if you were a possession. His possession

Your nose fills with a musky, warm, spiced scent, with hints of something… wild. It’s accompanied by the soft, steady sound of breathing.

You try to open your eyes, but the light only makes things worse, so you’re forced to rely on your other instincts and sensations.

You feel something wrapping around your leg, something soft, moving, tickling you lightly with part of its fur.

Wait… fur?

Is he holding you with a tail?

A TAIL?!

You force one eye open and the first thing you see, in all its glorious splendor, is Leona’s bare chest pressed against your back, one arm wrapped around your stomach.

You follow the line of that arm and realize you’re naked too…

You lift the sheets. Yep. Very naked.

Your skin tingles and your hips ache, your thighs feel like jelly, clear evidence that the bed wasn’t used just for sleeping.

You try to move, but Leona’s arm is like an iron bar, stopping you from even sitting up, his fingers tightening possessively on your hip. A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his tail slide upward, his ears twitch.

“Going somewhere, little mouse?” His voice is deep and rough right by your ear.

You turn your head and meet the lion’s wide green eyes, far too awake for this early in the morning. He gives you a half-smile, one fang showing, dangerously smug and a little arrogant… well, very arrogant.

That look is unmistakably that of a predator about to pounce on its prey.

You pull the sheets up to cover yourself a bit more, as if there were any way to hide a nakedness that had clearly already been explored hours ago for… quite a while.

“What happened last night?” Your mind is racing and your heart feels like it’s about to leap out of your chest.

Leona growls softly, though he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest that you’re covering your “modesty.”

“After how loud you were all night, I figured you’d remember at least something.”

Your face goes nuclear red. You clutch the sheet tighter, but it’s useless. You’re in his bed, in his territory.

“Did we… sleep together?”

“Sleep?” You hear a low, amused scoff from his chest. “Oh, we did more than sleep… want me to remind you?”

He doesn’t need to. Your body does it for him.

Not only do you feel the dampness between your thighs, but there are bite marks along them, already starting to bruise, traitors that reveal just how intimate last night was.

You can feel a few on your neck and collarbone too; they don’t hurt, but you know they’re going to be bright red well into the morning.

Your own memories begin to surface: your hands in his hair as you both devoured each other’s mouths in the hallway, his low, rough voice murmuring when he finally pulled back, “Do you want me to take you to my bed, or do you want me to wreck you right here in the hallway?”

His lips moving from your shoulder down to your breasts, massaging one with his large palm while he trapped your nipple between his lips, licking it and making you arch your back.

“Say my name, again. Do it again” every time you moaned with each thrust. Your face buried in the pillow while he took you from behind, relentless and unhurried, panting heavily over you.

His hands roaming your entire body, strong, confident, taking what he wanted without asking; his teeth grazing your neck. Was it just one bite he left, or several?

His name on your lips every time he made you cum, even when he was nowhere near finishing himself. Pride mixing with hunger as he felt you clench those soft walls around his cock.

The boldness in your voice when you begged for more and more. “Please, harder… harder, Leona” How could he possibly say no?

You remember being on top of him, legs spread wide as you rode him desperately, thighs shaking; him leaning back, hands behind his head, enjoying his private show.

His strong hands on your ass, “helping” you move faster, impaling you with every thrust.

Leona coming inside you, holding you tight against him. “That’s it, little mouse, fill yourself up with me”

“You were wild—I barely managed to get your clothes off,” Leona pulls you out of your thoughts as he props himself up on one arm without a hint of shame, his body fully on display.

“Not that I’m complaining. You were pretty insistent when you rode me and asked for a second round. And a third.”

You let out a small squeak and cover your face with both hands. “Please, stop.”

Leona straightens and takes your hands in his, pinning them above your head against the pillow; he flips you onto your back with ridiculous ease, looming over you with a feral grin. You’re caged, completely at his mercy.

And gods, his body lit by the morning sunlight is far too delicious.

“You look incredibly tempting.” His gaze roams over your face and body, barely covered by the sheets.

He gives your shoulder a small bite and laughs when you let out a little yelp. “Want another round? Or breakfast so you don’t pass out on top of me?”

You glare at him, cheeks burning; you want to strangle him. Or kiss him. Possibly both.

“Breakfast… then we’ll see.”

He pecks your lips softly. “Good girl.” And then he gets out of bed without the slightest bit of modesty, tail swaying, letting you admire the scratch marks trailing down his back.

Jade

Why does the silence feel like you’ve been swallowed by the sea?

And why does it smell like seawater? And sea salt?

The room is so dim that the few rays of light filtering through the curtains make strange patterns on the bed.

And it’s a kind of dimness you haven’t seen in Ramshackle for a long time… which means, this is not your room.

Everything hurts; your throat is raw, your lips are swollen, your body heavy, like something squeezed you until there was nothing left.

You try to move but there’s a hand on your belly, a thumb lazily drawing small circles on your bare skin.

Bare skin…

BARE SKIN?!?!

You sit up—and it’s a very bad idea. The hangover slams into your head and you bring your hand up to your temple.

“Ah… looks like you’ve got a hangover, and considering how eager you were last night…”

You turn your head to find Jade’s smile—small and polite, but absolutely terrifying.

“Does my pearl need something to make her morning… more productive?”

“Jade…” your voice comes out hoarse and rough, and you cough, trying to clear the discomfort.

“Ah, I warned you I might wear you out. Seems I was right, hm?”

The memories hit you so hard they make your headache worse:

Jade pulling you away from the party, an astute glint in his eyes and his voice serene yet venomous, coaxing you into the comfort of his room—his bed.

His hands stripping away every piece of clothing until you stood naked before him, his fingers mapping your sensitive skin, anticipating every tremor, seeking out what made you sigh, moan, or arch.

Your boldness as you made him sit and you knelt in front of him, your lips around his cock, trying to take him deeper and deeper. His praises made your pussy wet and made you want to do better, his hands in your hair guiding you, helping you choke on him.

Your eyes brimming with tears when you looked up and saw him smiling, pleased, fingers caressing your cheek before plunging you into a fast, unkind rhythm, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

Your own mouth screaming in pleasure as he took you from behind, you on all fours on the bed, ass up, completely at the mercy of his hands and hips.

“Come on, little pearl, cum for me” the authority in his voice, impossible to resist, every word a praise tangled with a command.

Your climax hitting so hard it left you sprawled on the bed; Jade grabbing your head so you couldn’t move, your screams muffled by the pillow as he found a better angle to fuck you, making you cum again.

The taste of his cum when he made you take him back into your mouth and spill inside.

You swallow, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a shaky, ruined, “holy shit”

He runs his thumb over your hip bone, where the bruise from his grip is already fading… only to grab you there again, just as hard as you barely remember.

“Overwhelmed, maybe? Though I must say… you were so hungry for me you nearly made me mistake you for a predator.”

Jade sits up and the sheets slide even lower on his hips. He’s so tall it feels like he could cover you completely. He admires the bites and marks he left all over your chest, shoulders, and neck.

You’re his own personal canvas, and the fact that there are still places left unmarked… it’s intoxicating to him.

He pushes you back, slipping between your legs again, hands running along your sides before gripping your thighs and positioning them around his hips.

“Dare to tell me you regret it, little one.” When you shake your head, terrified but just as aroused, he adjusts your legs around his hips, letting you feel how half-hard and hungry for you he still is.

“Excellent,” he kisses the tip of your nose before rolling his hips, brushing against your clit. “So, do you want another round or some tea for that poor throat?”

You shiver, completely lost to his movements and the pleasure slowly building inside you.

“I won’t let you surface just yet, my pearl”

Jamil

For a few blissful seconds you think you’re safe in your own bed, within the walls of Ramshackle… until the scent of countless spices fills the air. Clove, cinnamon, something deep and intoxicating, spicy.

Yeah… you’re not in Ramshackle.

Is it wise to open your eyes with the sunlight filtering in through the window? Unfortunately, you’ll have to.

Eyes open and a hammering headache, you recognize the décor: elegant, gold details, Arabic architecture… Looks like you ended up in Scarabia.

Okay, one problem solved; now… who’s breathing against your neck, slow and steady?

You turn just enough to see the mess of dark tousled hair belonging to Jamil, splayed across the sheets and pillow. He’s on his stomach, facing you, eyes closed but with a small smile on his lips; his arm stretched out across your hips, giving you slow, gentle caresses.

You blink—once, twice, three times.

One more, just to give your brain a chance to process that his torso is bare and the sheets are dangerously low.

You freeze, memories hitting you in dizzying flashes through your hangover: his eyes shining in the half-light, pinning you with his gaze from across the lounge, like he was drawing you to him with nothing but his eyes.

Your body pressed to his while he whispered something in your ear that had nothing to do with the party, but still made your cheeks flush… more than they already were from the punch.

His hands, so careful with everything he handles, guiding you into a different kind of dance—one that didn’t need music or an audience; your laughter mixing with his before finding your lips, his mouth hungry.

The taste of spicy spices, and a hint of mint, with every kiss and stroke of his tongue across your skin, intoxicating and making you shiver.

Jamil kneeling at the edge of the bed, grabbing your feet and pulling you toward the edge so he could run his tongue along your soaked folds and slip it inside. Sucking on your clit until you were shaking.

The cry of his name when he made you cum with his fingers inside, curved and massaging your most sensitive spot.

His voice in your ear, soft but commanding, ordering, “Look at me, habibti” every word coaxing you closer to the edge. Sharp images of your wrists pinned above your head by his hands, of how he made you arch for him, Jamil’s long hair falling over your face as he watched you from above, his pupils blown wide and a bead of sweat trailing down his neck.

Your legs shaking, the pressure of his hand on your throat while he pounded into you again and again, his hips driving hard, his abs rubbing against your belly; his movements calculated, slow when you were desperate, brutal when you begged.

You let out a whimper, and that’s when Jamil opens his eyes. He blinks, then his gaze sharpens, lazy and sly.

“Morning”

Your mouth is dry, cheeks blazing. “Oh my Sevens… what happened last night?”

Jamil kisses your shoulder, moving up to your collarbone, your neck, up to your jaw before giving you a little bite.

“You don’t remember anything?”

“Fr-fragments.”

You feel his hand sliding down your thigh… and realize you’re also naked under the sheets.

Okay, yep, we fucked… got it.

“You were bold. Even eager.”

His hand slides up, up, reaching the wetness between your legs. Your skin lights up and a jolt runs down your spine.

“I regret not doing this sooner,” is all he says before claiming your lips again, his fingers slipping inside.

You moan into his mouth, biting his lower lip, heart stumbling—but all you care about is melting in Jamil’s arms.

“Let me take care of you, habibti,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll make you forget about your hangover”

And when Jamil pulls you back under the sheets, you’re pretty sure you don’t want to remember anything but this.

Idia

The silence in the room is so intense it feels like you can hear your own breathing and heartbeat.

The first thing you notice is that the bed feels… off—not the pseudo-comfort you remember from your bed in Ramshackle.

Second, your head is about to explode; third, you’re naked and there’s a chill in the air, as if warmth doesn’t exist, making every hair on your body stand on end.

You crack one eye open, grateful that the blue light is diffuse and not too harsh, though it still hurts to look at.

Blue light… you turn your head and see a glowing skull. On the other side, way too many monitors crammed onto a single desk, one of those screens has thirty code windows open.

You bolt upright when you realize you’re not just in Idia’s room… you’re completely naked in Idia’s room.

There’s a groan beside you, the creak of bedsheets, and movement.

You turn around; a chaos of blue hair, pale bare shoulders, and a pair of yellow glowing eyes blinking at you from behind a curtain of messy hair.

Idia stares at you, mouth open, emitting a high-pitched, static-like whine; the ends of his blue hair turning pink, then pure red from embarrassment.

There’s a sound like a computer blue-screening right before Idia lets out a strangled squeak, scrambling backwards to put distance between you...then promptly falls off the bed with a loud crash.

“HOLY SHIT, IDIA!! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”

“N-NO!! I’M NOT OKAY!! Wh-what did we do last night? Ohgodoh godohgodohgod—”

Idia grabs a pillow, but no matter how hard he tries, he’s bigger and taller than it.

He’s about to combust

“I died last night and on my way to the dorm something hit my head and I died again, and got isekai’d to some forbidden erotic world…”

You reach over and pinch his arm hard to bring him back to reality. “Ow!”

“This is real, Idia! We actually had sex!”

Heat rushes up your neck as flashes of last night come back: your hands on his, surprisingly warm, pulling him close to you in the middle of the party. Shy smiles, nervous giggles.

Idia’s inexperienced lips on your neck, his hands awkwardly squeezing your hips until you taught him how to hold you right.

His monotone voice now a whisper, full of need and want, “Are you sure? I-I’ve never—” and yours, suddenly bold, telling him you want him now.

The blue fire of his hair lighting up the darkness of his room and the naked skin of you both; the nervous way he looked at you and touched you, learning with every move of your hands over his on your hips, your breasts.

His eyes going wide as you guided his fingers to your clit and whispered in his ear how wet you were for him; his long, slender fingers working magic between your folds, barely realizing what he was doing.

Idia stammering as he tried to put on the condom backwards and failed—twice—begging you for help between gasps and awkward laughter. “Why is this so complicated? This… never happens in doujins…”

The exact moment he entered you for the first time, his breath hitching, a sharp, surprised moan as he felt himself inside you—slick and completely ready for him to go deeper, harder; to be entirely his.

Him finishing ‘embarrassingly’ fast (according to him). But all it did was make you want another round, and another, and another.

His lips traveling down your neck and, in a moment of sheer daring and lust, squeezing your breasts together to suck and bite your nipples at the same time, making you arch your back to give him more and more.

The way he moaned your name when you rode him for the first time, desperate not to finish too soon again, but absolutely mesmerized by the sight of your body so free and needy for him.

You taking complete control, hands on his chest, grinding your hips to rub your clit against his pelvis and clench your soft walls around his cock.

Idia groans with embarrassment, interrupting your lascivious memories.

“I-it’s not like… I mean, I’m not complaining or anything, it’s just… this is… max difficulty! Like, y-you’re like a goddess… most beautiful OP character… y-yeah and I—”

“And you’re Idia… was it at least good for you?”

His voice turns to static and he locks eyes with you in a rare burst of confidence.

“Good?! It was… it was overlord level. Uh. You were… really… really—”

Another memory hits: Idia clutching the sheets with every roll of your hips, moaning in time with you. His hands grabbing your hips, squeezing your thighs and holding on to you like his life depended on it.

After a while, still avoiding your gaze, Idia returns to the bed, hiding behind the pillow again. It’s almost cute...

No, it’s very cute. And funny.

You take the pillow away and let him curl up beside you again. For now, both of you log out of reality outside his room and let Idia melt under your touch.

Game over for virginity, am I right?

Silver

You wake up with the weight of an arm draped across your waist and the warmth of a body pressed against your back. The bed is way too comfortable, and your body… way too happy, though aching and with a hangover that could flatten you in the sun.

Little memories float to the surface: lights, very loud music, punch spiked with alcohol, a whirlwind of colors… and something silver blurring your vision.

Silver’s hair between your fingers as you kissed, his eyes—clear and bright—locked on yours in the middle of the chaos, giving you a look that told you both to take this moment somewhere else.

The feel of soft, sweet sheets on your bare skin stops your thoughts in their tracks, making you open your eyes and turn your head to the side.

Girl… you’ve got Silver, completely naked, behind you. His strong, well-trained arm pinning you against his chest.

Ahhhh… his chest; bare, rising and falling in a steady rhythm. He’s beautiful in that fairytale way that only storybooks promise.

How can someone, even while asleep, look so utterly tempting?

Why is there a tingling between your legs? And why can’t you feel them? Or rather… why do they feel so wet?

Your heart skips several beats. Holy. Shit.

I slept with Silver. I slept with Silver.

You can’t stop staring at the perfect physique of the man beside you, so muscular, drinking in the view, flashes of the night before returning in blinding white bursts:

Your laughter muffled against his shoulder in the middle of the makeshift dance floor, his voice low but steady whispering sweet things—and something that made your pussy throb, needy and expectant. The warmth of his hand on your waist as he led you to a deserted hallway to devour your mouth right there.

The taste of his lips, sweet and a little shy at first, but no less hungry and full of desire, his tongue sliding into your mouth and both hands gripping your thighs to lift you up and pin you to the wall.

His fingers playing with every button and fold of your clothes, peeling you out of each layer until you were completely exposed for him; the pressure as they slipped inside you and a moan escaped your lips.

His warm, solid body over you, until he sat you on his lap; face to face, your breasts pressed to his chest, your nipples rubbing against his skin as you bounced with each thrust of his hips, his arms holding you tight against him.

Gentle, noble kisses on your cheeks, your shoulders, even your knuckles; kissing you softly, slowly, savoring you and making you feel wanted and loved.

His cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy with ease, not too fast, not too slow, wanting to set a pace that could last all night.

But your moans and pleas for him to go faster—“More, Silver, please, more”—made it a little difficult.

“I’ll give you everything, beautiful, just hold on tight”

And you did; to his shoulders, his arms, even to the sheets themselves when the pace sped up, laying you down on the bed, your legs thrown over his shoulders, the new angle making you cum again and again and again, so easily it was almost ridiculous.

You feel the tingling intensify down low and you shift.

Silver stirs and blinks awake. A few seconds of confusion before he notices your face, your bare shoulders, the way you’re clutching the sheet… adorable.

“Good morning beautiful”

And he says it with the most natural, gentle tone in the world.

“Are you alright?” he squeezes your waist and pulls you a little closer.

Boom, straight to the heart.

For a moment, he hesitates, thinking maybe… maybe, there’s regret in your eyes, maybe even shame.

Finding none, he gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and settles you against his chest; he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You look so beautiful in the morning, I want to wake up like this every day”

A soft kiss on your cheek, then another on your nose, then one more on your neck.

And, to finish, one slow, sweet kiss on your lips—savoring the promise of more in the future.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Anticipation shivers under your skin.

“Don’t stop”

╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌╌╌𖤐☽༓☾𖤐╌╌╌╌

Ace … and ... Deuce

You wake up with the worst hangover of your life—moving is a lost cause and opening your eyes isn’t even an option. You feel like you might throw up at any second and then just go back to sleep.

There’s a pounding behind your eyes, the kind that makes you swear you’ll never drink punch again… never drink punch that’s been tampered with by Ace; hell, you’ll never go to another party again.

You roll over and two things hit you: first, you’re naked, like, obscenely naked; second, someone is snoring rudely right in your ear.

A sharp flash stabs through your skull. You remember being squished from all sides while dancing, multiple hands on your waist, and two pairs of lips on your neck.

Turning left, you see Ace waking up. Looks like the hangover is killing him too. He grabs his head as he sits up, elbow propped on the mattress, lets out a heavy sigh and tries to open his eyes—and they lock with yours.

God knows how, but this bastardly redhead manages to give you the cockiest, most infuriating grin that makes you want to punch him right in the face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty”

“Call me that again and I’ll shove your uniform shoe up your ass, Ace.”

Ace just grins wider and lets out a little laugh… followed by a pained groan as he closes his eyes, keeping the pain under control.

You smack his arm to wipe that smile off his face...and realize he’s just as naked as you.

“Ace… what the hell did you do?”

You blush, covering yourself with the sheets as much as you can, actually, even more. All that’s left is to cover your face and you’d be a mummy.

“Aww, don’t make that face, you’re the one who climbed on top of me after the punch.”

“You’re the one who spiked it!!”

“Didn’t hear you complaining when you were begging us for more—”

You smack him on the head with a pillow; your shrieks and his, plus the loud thump of the pillow, echo through the whole room.

“What the fuck… why are you two so noisy?”

Deuce’s voice sounds from behind you, raspy and just as hungover as you two.

You look at him… he looks at you… his eyes travel down to his own equally naked body… Confusion turns to horror, horror into high-pitched groans.

“What happened? What did we do? Why are we naked?!”

Between the throbbing headache and Deuce’s panicking, you try to remember a little more of this… wild rebellious night.

You remember being with the dynamic duo on the dance floor, Ace whispering dirty promises in your ear, Deuce pulling you closer to him. Then both of them trapping you between them.

Their taste—Ace like candy and mischief, Deuce like cinnamon and adrenaline.

The three of you running through Ramshackle’s halls, stumbling, sometimes collapsing in a tangle of laughs, hands, and feet.

The bed—Sevens, the bed. Sheets scattered everywhere; Ace’s mouth on your neck, Deuce’s trembling hands pulling off your clothes, both fighting over who would take off the last piece.

Spoiler: both of them did it with confident hands before lunging for your lips, your breasts, your legs.

Kisses mixed with laughter, limbs tangled, the chemistry between these two as they made you cume; sloppy at first, then more assured.

The pressure of one sliding between your legs, spreading you open and burying himself deep; the other opening your lips to take him in your mouth. Both working as a team, building a rhythm, admiring how your body adapted to being fucked from both ends.

“Look how we’re breaking you, baby. You’re so wet… I could drown in here,” Ace groaning, rough and loud, grabbing your hair and pushing you down on Deuce’s pelvis with every thrust.

“That’s it, pretty, just like that, don’t stop, swallow it all,” Deuce murmuring as his cock slides down your throat, robbing you of breath for a few delicious seconds.

The way they took turns—one in your pussy, the other in your mouth… but you also remember a sharper pressure at your ass.

The moment when they both wanted to be in your wet pussy together; when one pulled out, the other pushed in, stretching you until you screamed their names, rubbing together inside your softest, most sensitive spot.

The moment you didn’t just cum with both their cocks inside, but, thanks to the pressure and the delicious way they filled you...you squirted, soaking the bed, your belly, and probably Ace’s too.

You moaned, screamed, writhed; the boys turned on by seeing you so free, so full of them, Ace twisting your already-sensitive nipples, Deuce running his tongue over your dripping pussy.

Dizzy flashes of being held in the air, legs around Deuce hips, hands and arms held by Ace, your arms wrapped around his waist too. Each of them fucking you from a different end, watching your tits bounce with every thrust; a mess of spit, sweat, tears, and their cum leaking from both your holes.

The three of you collapsed in bed, panting; Deuce’s arm wrapped around your waist, Ace curled around your chest, fondling your extra-sensitive tit in a playful way—until he switched to gentle caresses. Both seeking your warmth and your touch.

Your breath catches with all the memories. The heat rises not just to your cheeks, but a lot, lot lower.

“I’m never drinking your punch ever again,” Deuce growls, holding his head.

“Don’t you wanna know how good we are at sharing this pretty princess?”

Deuce tosses a pillow at him, but with no force, Ace catches it with one hand, laughing.

The redhead just gets cockier, trapping you in his arms, your back pressed to his chest. You feel his lips leaving little kisses on your nape and cheeks.

Deuce, still hungover and dying of embarrassment, scoots in front of you, wrapping you up with one strong… very strong… arm.

Both of them attack you with twice as many kisses.

♡ You start with the people you're well-acquainted with. Dropping off packages, trying to clean some stuff up, but much to your chagrin — there is one garnet-eyed boy who won’t let you go so easily. Kalim has a penchant for making 2-minute tasks lengthen out into 5-hour hangout sessions, and in truth, most of your income stems from him as well. As a Scarabia resident, you've more chance encountering him. And Jamil, in the stead of your previous devastatingly vague conversaton, is clad in a forever stillness. Like a snake, like a true viper, whatever metaphor you’d like to pin to his name , it’s true he does not trust you one bit. 

Gloves brush wood as Jade shifts, mulling your work over his tongue. “My, how cold. And after I went through the trouble of finding you such… plentiful work opportunities.”

You look up, squinting. The eel smiles - surprisingly, a flash of white - sly, sly thing  that could be framed and hung in a museum titled Nothing Is Wrong Here. “Explain."

“Why, merely that you’ve been quite busy as of late. I thought I might… assist.”

Assist, because clearly, your life needed more interference. You turn back to your work, sifting through papers and to do-lists. Much to your dismay, the people at Night Raven latch onto profitable kindness quite viciously. “Yeah, well, don’t.”

“I can’t help but feel it’s a shame. When there are far more… comfortable arrangements available to you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“My poor, poor heart.”

Unease prods at you once more. Jade’s presence thickening, shrouding your esophagus with an intensity just shy of crushing it raw. You shift on the chair, turning so you don’t face the male, legs pressed together in an endeavour of making yourself seem smaller in his mismatched focal point. 

But he notices in an instant. 

“Is something the matter?” He eyes you, before letting his head dip inquisitively. “..Dare I assume, are you mad at me?”

Lest you respond too quickly - against his liking - the weight lifts itself off your table, and in true eel fashion, he slinks and slants behind you just as quickly.You swear you feel an irked muscle pop in your jaw when you realize you’re completely caged — one hand braced against the back of your chair, the other idly toying with a loose sheet of paper you’d been sorting. His smile hasn’t changed, but it’s  closer now.

“Ah,” Jade hums, voice dipping lower, nearer your ear than you’d like. “So I was correct, you’re avoiding me.”

You stiffen, a newfound aridity scouring your throat. “No, I’m just busy, ’s all.”

“Yes,” he agrees easily, as if the word itself amuses him. “So I’ve observed, and yet, you seem to have time for everyone else. I am your Club Leader, after all.”

The paper slips from his fingers, fluttering uselessly back onto the pile you’d been trying to organize for the past fifteen minutes. Knuckling at your lids, you sigh. “Look, Jade. I don’t have time for whatever this is. I’ve got deliveries to finish, and if I don’t—”

“You’ll what?” he asks gently, luxuriating in your falter. “You’ll fall behind? Lose your footing? Fade back into obscurity? So many choices.”

“I’ll get broke and die, then you’ll have to pry my deliveries right out of my cold, dead hands.”

Silence ensues. 

But it doesn’t take much longer for that smile to quirk and coil around your words. He straightens, and his hand moves towards your wrist, a touch so light you almost don’t register it.

“Then allow me to be of use.”

♡ Ouch! You smack him right over the head with a loose sheet of paper that, in truth, delivers zero damage, but it’s enough to momentarily catch him off guard. He blinks out of his stupor, and catches you walking out of the Mountain Lovers club, huffing and puffing. 

♡  But  you  don’t make it very far. Right as you open the door, you’re sure your heart drops straight to your stomach. 

♡ Blue and red, a spade and a heart linger at the sides of a visage you know all too well. Yuu, previously looking at the plaque above the door, stills when they see.. you. They blink, a list clutched in their hand, and suddenly, they’re spluttering, a warmth, a scorching tide gnawing at their face. You’ve no idea what they’re saying, but holy shit, do you have the most doomed luck in Twisted Wonderland? It’s very obvious they can’t keep their eyes off you.. and with the list in their hands, you’ve an inkling they’re picking out clubs with Ace and Deuce trying to assist them. 

♡ What the hell do you do now?

”I..” They breathe, eyeing you up and down. “I... woah.”

Ace groans, and he looks at you with such palpable irritation it’s baffling. “Here we go again. Man, I want to be anywhere but here right now.”

No doubt dragged to this occasion by the Yuu he couldn’t possibly refuse, Deuce remains silent, but his eyes are trained on you, puzzled. He recognizes you, you’re sure. You’ve survived spells, survived Jade, survived academic failure, survived Rook and Vil, and this—this—is what takes you out?

“Uh—hi?” Yuu tries again. The list in their hand crinkles audibly under the pressure of their grip. “You’re— I mean— I saw you earlier— not like saw saw, but— you fell in my lap and.. Um!”

“…you’re blocking my way,” you manage.

Heedless, they chuckle. It’s soft, airy, but at the same time,  a little breathless. Like they didn’t expect you to speak at all, let alone that.

“Right. Sorry. I just..” Their gaze drops, then treks upward to your face again, the latter unpleasantly miffed. “.. I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to see you again. You’re just, so, so.. You have a Magicam  account right? Give me— may I have your user?”

♡ A product of Yuu’s position as the main character. They probably deem you a random NPC, easily subject to their system’s whims and relationship level boosts. Perhaps they think if they throw in a flirty line or two that’ll get you to fluster and fall to their charm, but luckily, you’re just a brokie. And a spud. And a pup. And a nameless club member. You’re many things at once, but you’re not Yuu’s yes-man.

“Uh-huh. You’re still blocking my way.”

Something befalls Yuu’s gaze, quickly shadowed by another hopeful glint in their irises. Their attention travels somewhere behind you, and that’s, in truth, enough of a tell that an eel is lurking real close. 

“Ah. You’ve acquired company.”

”Jade!” Yuu chirps, the aforementioned acknowledging them with a close-eyed nod. Ah, right. Honestly, you think your time here is up. Jade’s head over heels for them, after all. “Oh, wow! How’ve you been? It’s been so, so long since I’ve-”

“Likewise. And.. if I may ask,” Jade opens his eyes. “What brings you here?”

Your lips crimp at that.

Yuu shifts the list in their hands, fingers fidgeting against the edges like it might fly away if they don’t hold it tight enough.

“I was actually—” they start, glancing up at the plaque above the door, then back at you, “—looking into this club.”

…

♡ No. No, absolutely not! This is the only club you deem safe enough. No, no, no. If Yuu enters, that foils all your plans. If Yuu enters, Ace and Deuce too. And if Ace and Deuce enter, then so will all of Yuu’s envious suitors. Jade, you can feel him start to simmer, feel him bend down to Yuu’s demand, feel him rife with joy-

“The Mountain Lovers Club is, regrettably, quite exclusive. I’m afraid you’ll not find an available seat. ”

♡ This is the very first time you’ll admit you could kiss him in gratitude.

Vision skewed and graciously dazed, you peer at the sides of his face --his mien unperturbed.  Ace and Deuce blink with you, but only Yuu verbalizes their confusion. 

“Oh.” They seem shocked, in disbelief. The stagnant pause ends with a meek: “…Really?”

“Yes.” Jade doesn’t miss a beat. “Our activities require a certain… disposition.. that is to say, endurance and compatibility with the environment.”

“—Yes!” You blurt, softening the blow. “Yes, yes it is! It’s also a.. best-friends only thing, if you know what I mean.”

Deuce, having been quiet all this time, finally speaks. “..Are you sure?”  He gestures to the male beside you. “Even he seems shocked you’re best friends.”

♡ Ack! Jade can’t be any more obvious. Pupils dilated, lips slightly ajar, it takes you right back to your proclamation of being best friends. With a  surreptitious nudge to his elbow, you bring him right back into reality, and he quickly masks his shock with an air of contentment. 

”...Yes, you heard them correctly.”

Yuu, however, just blinks again, visibly deflating. “Oh… I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“It isn’t,” Ace mutters under his breath.

They all watch as Jade steps closer. His gloved hand lifts, and before you can even process it all, positions itself upon your shoulder. And before he can process it, you sling an arm around his and reel him right back in, cracking a very wobbly grin. Oh! From this proximity, you think you can feel the tempo of a heart beating oh-so viciously, but you clear your throat and play the part. This is not looking so good. 

“Oh?” he blinks, close to your face, slanting down to match your level. “..I wasn’t aware we’d reached such prestigious heights.”

You tighten your grip. “We have. We totally have.”

“Hm. Then I must apologize,” he says lightly, turning his attention back to the trio. “It seems I’ve been a rather inattentive friend.”

Ace squints. “You don’t even sound convincing.”

“I assure you, I am nothing if not sincere.”

“Cap.”

Deuce, still frowning, crosses his arms. “If you’re really best friends, then it shouldn’t be hard to answer a few questions.”

.... Oh, dear. 

♡ Turns out, you and Jade, two peas in a pod, know nothing about each other. In truth, he was never your favorite character in the Twisted Hearts series -- and so you’d never pay heed to his personal character tabs, but having to face this reality is humiliating, to say the least... and that is to say, this guy is clueless. 

“What’s their name?”

“...Ah.”

“What do you mean by ‘Ah’? Their name is Ah?”

“I was under the impression that such formalities were unnecessary between close companions.”

“Haha, yeah, we’re just, like, on a first-name basis.”

♡ Yuu has a lot of questions to ask. 

“What’s their favorite thing about you?”

“Oh..”

”Ah..”

”Er— after you.”

“No, no. I insist. After you.”

“I insist more.”

  Ace looks ready to walk into traffic.

“I REALLY like his personality.”

“Do you now?” Jade echoes, the glister in his eyes lifting up his dazed bid at a smile. 

“Mhm. You’re so.. eel-like. Heh.”

“…Eel-like.”

“Yeah, like—uh—adaptable? Slippery? Good in social situations?”

“How kind,” he says, once he recovers, eyes glinting. “Then I suppose I should return the sentiment.”

Oh no.

“You are,” he begins, looking directly at you now, “remarkably persistent.”

“…That’s not—”

“And quite entertaining,” he continues smoothly. The rest watch the spectacle in both shared puzzlement and horror. “In a way that is… difficult to replicate.”

Your face heats. “That’s also not—”

“And,” he adds, softer now, “surprisingly honest, when it matters.”

♡ Having enough, Ace tells the others to hurry off before you two actually start making out. Yuu, however, follows his remark only with a tentative stride, glancing back at the now intertwined hands of you and the eel. You really are close, huh? It baffled them, up until now, they’d never heard of you.

♡ You.. however. 

♡ You’re thinking just how.. profitable keeping Jade Leech around is.  

♡ Someone’s been stealing your stuff.

♡ The thought is inevitable just as you make a routine count-down of all your belongings. You’re three numbers down, and you’re beginning to dread everything. (Though, you can’t help but scowl at the thought. Seriously, what good would it do to them to steal a half-chewed pencil, of all things? That freak..)

♡ The suspect is pretty clear to you, but you have an inkling there’s more to this.

♡ In order to dissuade yourself from the very large problem at hand, you tend to your mounting list of customers. In Pomefiore, you’re supposed to drop off a package, no doubt related to cosmetics. In Savanaclaw, something related to workout equipment. In Heartslabyul, you’re supposed to walk someone’s pet.. mouse. You skip over Octavinelle and Jade’s very evident handwriting - (a scheme to catch your presence.) And Scarabia...

♡ Gulp.

“You’re here!!”

Though, you’ve only met Kalim a couple of times, (more so because his gifted pile of adornments was endless), he still has the gall to beam  at you like you’ve laid out the desert stars yourself. Hands folding upon yours and bringing you forward, conversely, he watches you shrink into your collar.  “You didn’t tell me you were coming today! Jamil—did you know they were coming today?”

“Um.. I live here.”

From somewhere behind him, air whistles through Jamil’s teeth.  “No.” His eyes flick to the package in your hands, then swiftly back to your awkward stance. 

“You’re here for a delivery,” Jamil says. 

“Yeah. I was just gonna—”

“Stay for lunch!”

♡ And thus, today marks the day you’ve sold your soul for food, of all things. Seated and gently trapped, a decade’s worth of food presents itself before you, and the aromas effused gnaw at your senses, tempting. Spices, drinks, whatnot.  Kalim keeps piling more onto your plate like he’s trying to win a competition you didn’t agree to join. Though, as much as you feel Jamil’s opposition to you, he isn’t afraid to litter your already dazed mind with a maelstrom of questions. You wonder what it may be, the cause of his vehemence. Maybe because of the injury incident? Maybe because your presence results in greater work for him? Whatever it is, you dabble.

“Try this one! Oh—and this—Jamil made it!”

“Kalim,” Jamil cuts in, voice smooth, “they can serve themselves.”

“They don’t take enough!”

“They won’t starve in the five seconds it takes to decide.” Jamil directs his gaze to you, trying to oh-so vigorously ignore the fact you’re stuffing things into your mouth like you’ve been starved since your birth. It’s quite strange. Here in Scarabia, food is never a scarcity. “You’ve been taking on more work lately.”

You try to play it off. “Just… saving up.”

“For what.”

Your lashes dip. “Just in case.”

Jamil tilts his head slightly. “In case of what.”

God, he doesn’t let anything go, does he?

“In case I need it,” you mutter, poking at your food.

“If you need money, you can just ask me.” Kalim butts in. 

They don’t miss the sliver of light - suited to an opportunist - glistering in your irises. You think to yourself for  a moment, mulling it over your tongue. Was it really that easy? Had you really been prolonging your misery for nothing? Whirling your head towards Kalim, you hope you don’t come off as too eager. This could be your chance! “...Really? You’d do that?”

Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kalim, please. You are not funding every person who steps into this dorm.”

“I’m not.. Just them!”

“—But I really, really need it, Ka— Housewarden.”  Correcting yourself, pulling a clump of lashes down towards your woebegone gaze and overstretched lips, you extend a faltering hand to the white-haired boy. “I’ve been working so hard lately..” Only for one day, but you twist around the hurdle. “And it’s just not enough.”

Needless to say, his expression melts. As it should, who are you if not committed?

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn't important. But now, I fear I soon may..” You clench your heart over your chest. “Perish.”

Silence stretches around your words, intercepted only by Jamil’s very blunt, accusatory finger.

“You’re eating.” He remarks. 

You shove another bite into your mouth. Taste bursts sharp and savoury. “Who’s to say? This could be my last meal.”

“What?” Kalim blinks, horror dawning upon sun-kissed features. “Huh—”

”Yes.”

“Yes. Yes, let’s all acknowledge the very real threat of starvation currently occurring at this table, of all places.”

Your hand stretches a little further toward Kalim, fingers trembling just enough to sell it. “…Please?”

The speed with which he latches onto your hand - warm, buoyant and unabashed - does not catch you off guard. You relish in it, if only for a moment. “Yes! Of course I will! Besides, it’s my duty as your housewarden to look after you!” White shines in his smile. “Right, Jamil?”

The latter counts down to a number that only exists in his mind. Exhaling, he comes to a standstill. “...Within reason.”

“Yes!” Kalim lights up instantly, squeezing your hand with verve. Your fingers twitch in his grasp when you reciprocate. “See? It’s settled!”

“I knew you’d understand,” you try a smile. “You’re really, really kind. I’m glad to have you as my Housewarden.”

Kalim beams like you’ve handed him the world. 

“Of course I am!” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in existence. “And you don’t have to work so hard, you know? You can just come to me!”

Jamil’s eye twitches.

“That’s what I’m concerned about.” You huff a quiet laugh, glancing down at your plate, now ludicrously full, courtesy of Kalim’s earlier enthusiasm. “…It’s not like I hate working.”

That much is true.

“It’s just…” You pause, poking lightly at the edge of your dish. Poisonous spumes of memories; heels, scales, a classroom - make you lodge your lip between your teeth as you forage for the right words. You didn’t hate working. Working had become a part of your routine, you’d worked endlessly to evade, elude and ignore. You just don’t like it when..

 “I’d rather not owe anyone anything.”

The words slip out before you can dress them up. Jamil stills at the variation in tone, but Kalim slants his head, thinking over it. 

“Oh,” he says softly, and just like that, the energy shifts. “Well,” Kalim continues, thumb brushing lightly over the back of your hand without thinking, “then don’t think of it like that.”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you owe me,” he says, as if the idea itself is ridiculous. “Think of it like… I’m helping my friend. Yeah, that’s it! You have other friends, right? I’m sure they don’t do all that stuff just to put you in some sort of debt!”  At the growing sombre wave over your expression, he gawks. ”You do have other friends, right?” 

♡ Right. An heir. Your friend. The two don’t match.

“Yeah!” You blurt before he can offer himself. “Yeah, I have one.. Uh, it’s.. his name is Jade!”

“Jade? Jade Leech?” He stares, before laughing quite heartily. “I know him! Hey, bring him over next time. Oh, I’ll even invite Yuu!”

Imperceptibly - just a tincture of change - you latch onto the pleasant change of thought pooling over Jamil’s unfairly pretty face, like a starving man. He was going to atleast try to mitigate Kalim’s suggestions, but the mere mention of the prefect has him chewing down his words, and when he partially turns his face to the side, the fabric of his hood conceals  warmth and a shy-tipped smile.

 “..Hm.” His eyes sparkle. “I suppose we can-”

“So,” you shovel three bites into your mouth now. “Where’s my money?”

“...On the condition we exclude you from such occasions.”

♡ Scarabia’s Number One loser turns to the side and wilts, but not before catching the bare of a chuckle whispering through the snake’s teeth. 

♡ Ouch! You’ve never dealt with classes amiably, and since then it’s devolved into some sort of a love-hate relationship. You’re not in the wrong here, of course. In your defense, the only thing you know about Astronomy are the zodiac signs. (..Or were they related to astrology? Oh, well, whatever). Animal Languages, Humanities, whatnot, they all are just as unbearable to you as Potionology, and your backbencher self can only retain so much of magical knowledge. 

♡ Needless to say, it’s a surprise to hear Professor Crewel start the day with a hint relayed over upcoming exams. You don’t care much about them, you know just enough to pass and stay out of any leaderboard lest you garner unwarranted attention (a plan you're failing at, at the moment). With Vil as your tutor, you think you’ve secured a solid position in the future.. Though, a  bit too solid for your liking. You might have to deliberately get a few stuff wrong in order to not  be the centre of praise, but just enough to qualify as average and not earn yourself an office tongue-lashing. Haha..

♡ Ah, right. Speaking of Vil, you’ve been granted the luxury of not being his focal point for now. Not so much, atleast. He seems much too preoccupied with the Pomefiore students under his lead, and for once, you’ve some time to yourself.. Hm, actually, you haven't interacted much since he got ahold of you in the classroom. No matter. It’s all tightrope walk, really. Unfortunately, you’re starting to suspect someone’s shaking the rope.

“You’ve been getting better.”

♡ Huh? You pause, pen hovering awkwardly over parchment. The voice beside you is unfamiliar yet not entirely so. Turning slightly, you’re met with the face of—ah. Right. Scarabia Student B. A reliable constant in your classes, someone who exists in that peculiar space of always there, never noticed - much like you. 

“…I have?” you reply, qurking a brow. 

“Mhm. ” He  perks up. “Potionology, especially! You used to look like you were about to pass out.. Sorry, no offense, but did you take Ashengrotto up on one of his offers?”

“None taken.” Your pen dances in the open spaces of your fingers. “Ashengrotto? No.”

“Oh.” He seems confused, much to your dismay. It only invites more conversation. “I figured as much. You don’t seem like the type to.. jump on the bandwagon like everyone else. All my dorm-mates are egging me on to strike a contract with him.”

Our dorm-mates. 

♡ Hm. You recall Jade’s previous allusions to you doing the same. Rule Number One: never make a deal, never be in debt.

“Also,” He prods. “Are you okay?”

♡ Oops! In order to placate your rapidly growing heartbeat and the perspiration streaming beneath your clothes, you’ve resorted to chewing at your nails - not realizing how weird that may seem. You can’t blame yourself. You’re just trying to.. prepare yourself for what you’re about to do - it takes will, courage and audacity, for some reason you have all three of those no matter how mild.

♡  You hum noncommittally then gulp nervously,  turning back to your notes, though your handwriting grows just a tad bit more jagged... But since you’ve incited conversation, you see how this story goes. 

 “You’ve also been… around more,” he adds as an afterthought. A sideways glance is all it takes for you to see the glister in his eyes - rendering your pen motionless. You’ve been writing nothing but nonsensical sentences, atleast to his mind, again and again, for the pursuit of I’m busy, let me be. But in actuality, this is all a part of one of the most well-crafted plans you have up your sleeve (one that’s not torn up from the several wildlife you’ve encountered on your hikes).  What to do, how to, what-ifs.  

♡ What if Scarabia Student B thinks ill of you after seeing the stuff you’re writing? Oh, well. You know beggars can’t be choosers - in the sheer chaos of your life, this is one of the risks you’re going to choose, even if it foils the sole thing you’re living for. 

“…Around?” 

“Yeah. Scarabia, obviously. But I’ve seen you near Octavinelle too. And Pomefiore! Vil Schoenheit’s tutoring you right? Everyone’s talking about how lucky you are.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s.. That’s really  not good, you think. In the stead of a frown, you give a light, airy laugh. 

 “If you’re trying to get into a different dorm’s good graces,” Scarabia Student B continues, “you should be careful.”

♡  You sink slightly into your seat, exhaling through your nose. So much for subtlety. You’d thought your little job-hopping routine was clever, a way to slip between cracks and stay just out of reach. But cracks, it seems, still run deep. 

♡  At the front, Professor Crewel snaps his pointer against the board.

“Eyes forward, pups. Some of you seem far too comfortable drifting.”

♡ When you lean back, you forget one thing: your life is terribly, inevitably, and terminally out of your hands.

“Psst!”

“I’m not giving you the answers, Bucchi.”

♡ Or not. When you mask your words in vitriol, Ruggie Bucchi - your classmate, trying so hard just to cop a look at your notes, though you’re not even in a pop quiz, deflates.  Rule Number Two: never give anyone the answer to anything.

Finally! Class zooms by quite swiftly, and when the students stream like little, vexing ants in a disparate gaze, you’re quick to scramble for your belongings and exit. Jade, as always, waits for you at the edge, and upon seeing you near him - practiced hand upon his chest - 

♡ Allows his mind to draw a blank. 

♡ Huh?

♡ Are you really holding his hand?

The barrier of his gloves  may seperate the sensation of fingers entwining, but he’s sure, no, certain you’ve enjoined hands. His gaze dips - to see the spectacle, so thoughtfully, so carelessly, so eagerly slotted against his like it’s always been there. 

“I told you not to wait for me,” Your usual grumble sounds loud today. “Whatever. Thank you, though.”

Like it’s natural. 

“Jade.” You deadpan. Ah, you really were on a first name basis. “Did you short-circuit? Hellooo?”

”Not at all.” His reply is immediate, and so is the suave upturn of his lips as he regards you. Fully reciprocating your hold, he hums as if he hadn't just pondered over your dynamic in the span of a heartbeat. “I was merely considering something.”

“Yeah, well, consider walking.”

You tug him forward, and he complies, seamlessly weaving in the newfound hubbub of the halls. Students pass, chatter ebbs and flows, yet it all feels even more distant to him now, for the sole reason you still haven’t relinquished your hold. You get weird, inquisitive glances from passerbys, and when you still don’t let your grip slacken, he realizes, all the more entertained, that this is intentional. 

“So,” you eye him. “You don’t have anything to do, right?”

“For you?” He replies smoothly. “I always find myself remarkably available.”

“Good, then walk me to my dorm. Actually, no, my room.”

“My, my.. I certainly wasn’t aware we’d grown this close.”

“Don’t you dare.” Whirling around a corner, you narrowly dodge a group of unsuspecting, giggling freshies. They all disperse when they see the eel willingly trail after, hand in hand, Jackpot. You were on the mark with your little analogy. “I’m skipping my remaining classes, ‘is all.”

Jade has a strange, numb, faraway look in his eyes as he talks. If you were any smarter, you’d compare his mental state to a giggling schoolgirl, feet kicking high up in the air and all. “Oh? Even if Vargas will have your head for it?”

“What am I to do?” You grouch, he can never get tired of it,  surprisingly. “I have so many jobs I need to pick up. So many deliveries, packages, dorms. My next job..”

“Where might that be?”

“Nowhere near Octavinelle.” You make a face at him. “I’ll have you know your handwriting is very identifiable, you’re not slick.” 

A soft laugh escapes him, a lie so gentle it almost feels true. ”Very well, then. I shall behave.”

♡ The journey to the Hall of Mirrors is easy and slow-paced, and in no time are you standing outside your room, bidding Jade adieu, or atleast the form of it you think would max out your stats. Scarabia’s numbers at this time are limited, considering they’re all very big on their grades and whatnot - so that buys you some time to do the unthinkable-

”I must admit-" He drawls on with his usual background yapping..

- the very core of your plan, the one you’ve mentally steeling yourself for, the one you’ve been rehearsing in the mirror for-

“Seeing you take such liberties to-”

♡ The next time Jade opens his eyes, he is sure of one thing. The ephemeral sensation of you coaxing yourself up and pecking his cheek happened, and this time there’s no barrier to try and think otherwise. 

Rule Number Three - keep your enemies far away, and Jade closer than ever.

♡ The next time you open your eyes, you’re very sure he just malfunctioned, gloved hand perched upon his cheek incredulously. Blinking, once, twice, doing nothing to remedy the touch -

”You..”

“Anyways,”  You shimmy inside before he can get a word in. “See you later.”

The door slams shut in his bleary-eyed, wobbling face. 

♡  For the next few days, you’re inclined into believing you just messed up whatever chance you had at salvation...because surprisingly, Jade’s stood. you. up.

♡ Surely, as a fellow second year, he must have as many responsibilities  as  you, and you surely don’t doubt that bit at all. Mostro Lounge must be another factor, and if Azul's really getting around to those contracts as per Student B’s words, then he must be more packed than ever. Still, you can’t imagine any other universe where you’d get withdrawal symptoms from the fact the eel no longer waits for you after class, nor does he come by to your ever-growing hike sessions. That foils the plan of no-attention, sure, but you sure as hell don’t want to go to Octavinelle just to bring him back, you’d be a fool to. Still, now, things have actually reverted back to the way you wanted them to - with you on your lonesome. 

♡ Not entirely on your lonesome, though. Vil is still a hindrance. Sometimes, he does manage to make some time for you, much to your dismay. And when you pivot and bolt away, one French-speaking hunter is always there to mitigate the problem. It’s always embarrassing watching people wonder why a grown student is thrashing around and screaming like a toddler whilst being dragged off by a Vice Housewarden… 

♡ Ouch. That sets it. You’ve no clue how to proceed now. 

♡ You can easily bypass Scarabia attention by sneaking awày and coming in late, past curfew. Pomefiore is inevitable, and so is Octavinelle, and ultimately, with Crewel’s insistence on you growing a backbone and learning how to actually fare well with academics, you’ve slowly and gradually reached one, final dead end. 

A Pomefiore dead end. All your encounters go somewhat like this.

“I take it you’ve learned better than to run from me, spud.” Silky blonde, pale purple wisps and perfume pool in your sight. Vil Schoenheit can see you preparing to run.

Surprisingly, and regretfully,  you  turn. Even outside of Pomefiore’s halls, he looks like he belongs on a stage rather than a school corridor.

“I  wasn’t  running.” 

“You  were  given  a  rare   opportunity,”  he  says, voice lowering. “Do  you  know  how  many  would  beg  for  the kind  of  guidance  I’ve  offered  you?”

He doesn’t like you groaning.“ Ughhh.. Fine. I’m lucky, I get it, okay? Now, if you’d just-”

“No, you don’t.”

Before you follow through with your plan and take to your heels, an icy hand grasps your chin, directing your gaze towards an even more vexed one. And despite yourself, a pesky chill dances up your spine — days have passed, and you’ve still yet to overcome the outlandish feeling of discomfort you get from him.  With pursed lips do you shrink, but with just a lone tap on them alone, you’re compelled into relaxing them and entertaining Vil’s caprices. 

Exhaling softly, he seems almost disappointed, brows sloping. “You’re inconsistent, spud. Your potential fluctuates wildly. One day you perform adequately, the next you sabotage yourself with careless mistakes. Deliberate mediocrity is still a choice, and a poor one.”

When you avert your gaze,  the sheer, bona fide pressure of long nails — albeit unintentional —  sinks deep enough to incite a hiss from you. 

“I’m aware you’re trying not to stand out.. but why,” A tap and your cheeks are practically smushed together.  “would that ever be something to strive for?

♡ Oh! Vil doesn’t even know the half of it.  How you’re just a background character, how you know wreckage and would do anything not to be part of it, how you’d do anything in your power to just stay away and never be perceived again, how every single line of the script has slowly been crumbling ever since you’d made a flimsy little mistake, how he doesn’t even exist.  You could go on and on, but truly,  what would he know? 

A downturn, a slope of your lips is what you give him instead of an answer, and in return you hear another soft sigh of exhaustion. 

 “Oh, sevens..”  he adds with his voice dipping just slightly, “instead of refining what you’ve been given, you choose to squander it.”

“I’m not squandering anything.”

“Then what would you call it?” he shoots back smoothly. “Intentionally answering incorrectly? Slouching through assignments you are clearly capable of completing? Do you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“...Oh.”

♡ Commences the never-ending loop of Pomefiore halls, stacked deadlines, and a huge bunch of books. It's quite laughable, to say the least, out of all your potential encounters, Vil is truly the only one who makes you uncomfortable enough to consider bolting away

♡  .. though you can never remember why. 

♡  “Psst...”

“No.. No.. I.. ” You slur and forget to thank him— whoever that was— for bringing you out of your reverie. Up front, class resumes, Professor Trein talking about something indecipherable. “I added the right ingredients, Vil, I did... ”

A giggle makes you sit up straight. Oh. It’s Ruggie. “Ugh, shut up. I’m not giving you the answer.”

♡ You’re not even sure why the hyena hasn’t gotten the hint yet.  Struggle’s part of the hustle?

“Dang,” you feel him slouch just as you underline three unimportant words three times, lips cinched tight into your perpetual grimce. Your eyes are still hazy, mind squirming, but you manage. “You didn’t even hesitate. How’dja know for sure I was gonna ask for the answers? Kind of rude, y’know?”

Head lolling over your shoulders, you don’t spare him a single glance. “That’s all you do.”

“Wow," Ruggie Bucchi, perhaps even more of an opportunist than you - leans back against his chair, clicking his tongue when you point him out for the millionth time today. He’s always had a knack for trying to cop a look at your notes, or at seemingly whatever your hands were occupied with at the moment. In return, he gets nothing, but as established, the struggle is part of the hustle. “That hurts a little, y’know? I thought we had something special.”

Good grief... “No, we don’t. Please NEVER entertain that thought ever again.”

♡ You’re already packing your things up lest he grows a little too curious and  deftly snatches  them away from you. When the bell rings, you’re already rushing out the door, seamlessly weaving in with the quintessential crowd and letting bodies obscure you from view. 

♡ But unfortunately, a grab at your sleeve halts you in your advance. Ack!

“Wait!”

♡ Not Ruggie. Not Jade. Not Kalim...  huh? Oh, yeah. You get it now. 

♡ Yuu stares at you with tenfold the adoration they once had, lips warming into a bright smile, white showing when you shoot them a questioning glance. Encapsulating your hand fully, they lean forward for you to hear them over the hubbub and you barely make the effort to crane your ears. It’s a fact they can’t read the room. Do you blame them, though? Debatable. It’s inevitable after all that attention and validation. Though.. the way it feels like they were standing right outside your class gives you momentary chills. ( that spot’s taken and you can only handle so much.)

“Sorry,” their grip loosens. “I just— we didn’t get to talk much earlier. You left so early, and Jade..” Teeth nearly mauling their lip, they shrug away the thought. “Nevermind. That isn’t what I came here for!”

“..What did you come here for?”

“You.”

♡ The entire world hears you groan.

Trey thinks of all the times you’ve called him a pushover (affectionate). As if that isn’t the pot calling the kettle black. How could you look him in the eye for four years and tell him to be more open, when you’ve been allowing an entire campus call you by the wrong name? Is he really the laid back one in this relationship here? God it’s ‘the girl with the green ribbon’ story all over again. When was he going to find out, when you’re both senile in a nursing home?

“Your name is … nice?" He adjusts his glasses slightly, if not a bit awkward. "I don’t know how I’m supposed to react in this situation. Just give me a second. Maybe sixty.”

Deuce is stuck remembering all the times he’s doodled your name in the margines of his notebook. He feels a bit slighted, did you not trust him? Did you think he wouldn’t believe you if you told him the truth? What’s he going to tell his mom? It already took a hour to convince her that ‘Yuu’ was your actual name and not some sick joke. You made him a liar! Dylla is not going to let him live this down. It’s 100% being mentioned to every party guest at your wedding and in her speech too.

“I already told my mom your name was Yuu!" He groans loudly, genuinely distressed "Do you know how hard that was to explain? Stop — stop laughing damn it! She is never going to forget this!”

Ace. Who doesn’t care. You’re ‘Yuu’. It’s what he’s called you these past four years and what he’ll keep calling you until the day you die. If you had a problem with it, you should’ve correct him before. Sorry, not sorry (secretly a bit miffed). Jokes aside — he takes absolutely no time getting over it and just mashes the names together into a nickname that sounds new levels of wrong. That becomes your permanent title.

“You just let me look stupid all this time, huh?” He clicks his tongue. “That’s messed up. So…do I get to pick now, or are we pitching names in magnets on the fridge like you’re a newborn? ‘Cause I’m cool with either.”

Leona is drifting through every thought he has ever had about you for the past for years. Your name spoken in his dreams, stuck on his tongue each time he watched you walk away. Etched in his eyelids and written in the red glow when sun blinds him awake in the morning. Spoken from his chest during moments of binding intimacy. All those moments now tainted by that damned Crow. He’s pissed you never once corrected him. Out of spite, you lose name privileges for an entire day. That old title of ‘herbivore’ coming back after a three year drought. In truth, he’s just buying a bit of time to figure himself out. Even though you’re the one who let him, calling you by the wrong name is a disrespect he cannot believe you allowed an entire campus get away with.

“Tch. So all this time, you let everyone get your name wrong and just sat there. If it bothered you, you should’ve said something.” He clicks his tongue, looking away. “You know what? Fine. Don’t make me out as the idiot for taking you at your word, herbivore.”

Ruggie writes your name on a piece of notebook paper and clips it to your collar. Makes sure to do it in the biggest red marker he can find too, so people know exactly what they’re seeing. He’s got secrets, yeah. Sure. Not from you though. Did you seriously expect him to take one look at that file and let it go? Do you have any idea how important it is to have your documents right (or at least convincing forgeries)? Never-mind that you’ve had him write home to his Grandma about you with the wrong name. For four years. She’s actually going to kill him for this. You are aware that hyena households are matriarchal, right?

“You know how hard it is to keep paperwork straight?” He taps the file against your head like it is obvious. “If you were gonna be all mysterious, you could’ve picked a better time. Sheesh. Gran's gonna have my tail for this...”

Jack can’t stop staring. His whole body went stiff and he forgot that it was just supposed to be a subtle glance over your shoulder. Now there’s this hunk of meat breathing down your neck, looming there like the words will change if he stares hard enough — because how. How do you go four years with someone and not tell them your real name? He feels even worse once you tell him the reason why you let everyone call you ‘Yuu’.

“…Oh.” His ears twitch, and his terse expression softens when you explain why you didn’t correct anyone. “So that’s why, huh.” A pause. “I get why you did it, but I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me sooner. We could've set the record straight together. as a team.”

Azul dumps all your name-tags out on his desk for prime viewing. Mostro Lounge. Sams. Student ID. Newspaper Club ID. He does the same for all your old documentations. Train tickets, movie stubs, class schedules, etc. Don’t ask why he has these. Definitely not because they’re the only proof that you exist. Anyways. What do they all say? Oh, ‘Yuu’? And what is your name? Ha. Ha ha. Ha ha ha. Never-mind that you could’ve used this to cheese him out of a contract. He can’t believe you’ve held such an Ace up your sleeve and did not use it once.

“Fascinating. You had the perfect loophole and chose not to exploit it.” He exhales, somewhere between impressed and irritated. “I don’t know whether to applaud your restraint or question your judgment.”

Jade just found out your dirty little secret. He always had an inkling that you were hiding something from him. Yet the sense he got was unlike that of debtors intentionally fabricating stories. To him, a name is but a string of letters. Although this is good to know for when binding matters are concerned.

“I had wondered what you were withholding.” Jade chuckles into his closed fist. “But I must admit, I did not expect it to be something so straightforward.”

Floyd gets your last name and then instantly forgets it. Kidding! Does it really matter, when your last name is going to be ‘Leech’ anyway? For a long time he assumed you didn’t have one and was already content with sharing. Your first name is interesting. He thinks Crowley sucks for making an entire campus call you by somethin’ you’re not…but to Floyd, you’re always going to be ‘Shrimpy’. (He uses your given name often later on. Azul is Azul. Jade is Jade. When the time comes, you will be yourself too.)

“Hehe, that’s so weird. I thought you just didn’t have one, like a stray or somethin’.” Floyd grins, leaning closer. “Your last name’s gonna be Leech soon anyway, so who cares?”

Kalim feels guilty. Like the kind of guilt that gets passed down six generations. Despite his large family, he's made an effort to learn the names of all his siblings and cousins. Yet he's been addressing the literal love of his life as a pronoun?! You might think it's hilarious but this sweet summer child has an existential crisis. Naturally he'll laugh it off if you do, but it's like he's 16 again and there are important things about the people he cares about flying over his head. For the next week, expect him to overuse your name. Although, he is a bit sad. He's called you 'Yuu' for so long and he can't exactly forget how much love was poured into each time he spoke it. He still calls you Yuu sometimes out of habit, catches himself, then laughs it off, switching back and forth without much care.

“Wait—so I’ve just been calling you the wrong name this whole time?!” He laughs, a little too loud to sound natural. “No way — say it again, we can start over! Hi, I'm Kalim 'Al Asim. It's nice to meet you!”

Jamil is wondering how you've managed to survive this long. He knows for a fact that you've been to the doctor. Mainly because it was his butt seated in the waiting room with the same six shoddy pop-songs stuck on loop for two hours. Pure torture but necessary since you apparently had to be forced there. So just...why didn't you correct him when filling out forms back then? Better yet, why didn't you correct him at literally any point in time? It's been four years. Even if you were apprehensive at first for very valid reasons....seriously? This is how he finds out? He's honestly impressed you can keep a secret, considering you text him about eggshells in your cake or when someone sneezed a fart during class. Someone...help him.

“Four years.” He exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll tell me every minor detail of your life, but this is what you decide to keep to yourself?”

Epel does a spit take. You’ll need to request a new, laminated copy, alongside a change of shirt. This one’s been drenched in apple juice and crumpled from when he all but snatched the papers from your hands. Subtly be damned — you mean to tell him he’s been simpering and whimpering over the wrong name for four long years? What if he got it tattooed on his blastcycle?! Or carved into a ring box, huh?! Ah. No. He wasn’t going to do that. Forget everything he just said! Hells…if he wasn’t close to graduating too, he’d take the detention just to tell Crowley off. How the heck could you let this sort of thing go!

“What do you mean that ain’t your real name?!” He coughs, then wipes at the mess on his shirt with a horrified look. “Hells, I knew Crowley was negligent, but this is ridiculous. You’re lucky I’m tryin’ not to get detention, else I ought to go have a word with 'im myself."

Rook cannot believe there was something about you that he did not know. He resigned the knowledge of your last name to time and convenience — but to mistake your first? The revelation is both a thrilling miracle and an utter travesty! The mere thought that you haven’t spoken your own name in four years? Oh, you know his heart is shattered when not a word of purple prose escapes him. Yet he cannot sulk. No. The name ‘Yuu’ is still so special. It is the name that dots every love letter, every thought, every passion that has consumed him for four years. He welcomes your birth name as the dawn of a new era, seeing you as a vibrant blossom finally in bloom within Twisted Wonderland.

"Je te vois, mon cher, and yet there was still a part of you I had not known.” He closes his eyes for a moment, almost savoring the revelation. “A secret so intimate, so tenderly kept, and now at last revealed to the one who adores every facet of you.”

Vil loses his decorum for a brief moment. The documents are plucked from your hands, his unoccupied one grasps your bicep so that you don’t just run off on him. He points to the nearest chair and makes you sit while he skims through all of NRC’s paperwork. Your personal details are not his business and Vil is all for privacy…but he honestly has no idea what you were thinking. You do understand that you have the right to stand up for yourself, yes? Even if you wished to keep being called ‘Yuu’ — which based on your story, he assumes is false, did you not think to tell your lover? It seems a discussion about confidence is due…and an aspirin. Maybe two.

“Even if you tolerated it, why would you not correct me?” His eyes narrow slightly. “Confidence is not optional, especially when it concerns your own identity.”

Idia short circuits. His palms are moister than they get after a 24hr code jam. Not even the time crunch of a same-day deadline can get him like this. He really is the worst boyfriend in existence. Not only did it take years for you to receive proper documentation — y’know, proof of your existence so you can’t just go ‘poof’ on him someday? But to be called something like ‘Yuu’ which he is realizing in real time is just ‘You’. Wow. That’s so messed up. Why are you with him? Why didn’t you correct him? Why didn’t he think to check your stats before? Holy shit. Keyboard smash in his chest and everything.

“W-Wait—so ‘Yuu’ is literally just… ‘you’?” He stares at you like his brain just blue-screened. “How did I not catch that? I’ve min-maxed entire RPGs but couldn’t fact-check my own relationship? — god, what is wrong with me?!”

Malleus wanes as if his entire world has been flipped upside down. You were his first friend. His first and last love. Yet he cannot be remiss with you for holding your name close to your heart. He did the same when you first met, after all. Except Malleus’ ruse lasted some months while yours has held strong this entire relationship. Malleus cannot believe he’s been completely in the dark for four years. What bothers him most is that you may have gone forever without sharing this with him. Names are bonding for fae. Did you intend to bind yourself to his one day, but not allow him to do the same? Don’t bother checking the weather forecast. A monsoon is on the way with three days of heavy rain.

“Ah… I see.” He studies you with a look steady, almost aching. “Your name is not a small thing, child of man. It is a part of you, and I wish I had been worthy of cherishing it sooner.. You need not fear giving it to me now. Whether you are called by the name this world gave you or the one you were born with, I will always know exactly who stands before me.”

Lilia plays it in good fun. Anytime someone asks after ‘Yuu’, he plays dumb. Even if you’re right there. One of his little students asks about his partner? Oh, sorry dearie. They’re not around anymore but have you met my new sweetheart? Then he introduces you by your given name, and suddenly you have to explain to a class of five year olds that their teacher is a jerk who will not be getting the lunch you’ve come to drop off. Lilia’s another one who doesn’t hold himself too harshly for not knowing. Names hold power, yes. Although he’s begun to accept that one such as ‘Vanrouge’ can be desired, even though it is stained in unfathomable amounts of blood. He is just waiting for you to accept it.

“If it makes you feel better, I shall pretend to be scandalized for your sake.” He grins, utterly delighted. “But between us, dearie? I rather like that I can get to know you all over again.”

Sebek deems this as a betrayal. You could point out to him that for the first year you both spent together, he hardly used your name at all. You corrected him for calling you ‘human’ countless times back then and yet he never listened until reality slapped him in the face. Even now he still relapses on occasion, to which he apologizes. Except that reminder would only serve to upset him further. Sebek expects you to hold him at the highest regard. Even if the entire world calls you ‘Yuu’ and you were okay with it, as your partner it is his responsibility to ensure you are not just satisfied, but comfortable. Uplifted. Your name is your legacy. Wear it with pride.

“You should have corrected everyone immediately!” He’s already halfway to pacing. “No, do not look at me like that. This is a matter of honor, as your true name is part of your dignity. You will not be forced to wear a name that is not yours if I have anything to say about it."

Silver is overcome with a deep sense of melancholy. For most of his life, he went without a last name. Which is why seeing ‘Vanrougue’ written next to his person is still an adjustment. A fond one, but an adjustment nonetheless. Yet this overwhelming sensation is actually attributed to the fact that with the name ‘Vanrouge,’ it was like the world finally recognized him. He wonders how you must have felt to be given a new name in a new place and thrust into this new life. ‘Yuu’ is just one piece of who you are. He wants to know the person behind your true name. To see all of you.

Jamil warned everyone that the festival would attract visitors and tourists, and he especially warned Grim and Malleus to be careful not to get lost, but who would have thought you of all people would be the one lost amidst the crowds?

You bite your inner cheek and push yourself to your tippytoes, trying your best once again to spot your friends in the crowds—hoping and seeking to find Malleus’ familiar curved horns, or Cater’s sweet orange locks, or even Grimmy’s blue flames but nothing familiar catches your eyes. After a few more minutes of searching fruitlessly, you decided to seek shelter from the beating sun, fanning yourself with the fabrics of your headpiece.

Truly, the sun really is relentless in the country of the Scalding Sands. It’s different back in Night Raven College where the quiet sunlight would curl through the curtainless windows of Ramshackle, kissing gold on the thin dusts that float in the lobby or when it would bake softly on Grim’s grey fur that had you burying your nose and inhaling the sunburnt scent of it on his belly until your companion starts pushing his paw to your cheek and calling you weird. A pearl of sweat beads down your forehead and you retreat into what seems like a market tucked beneath a shade, away from the grueling heat and boisterous crowds of the bazaar.

You did not have time to worry, not when your eyes chased after the marketplace in wonderment. Splayed across vendor stalls were intricate furniture, golden potteries, carpets. You approached a table, leaning down to run your finger on the ceramics. You must've been distracted, because the next thing you felt was a warm presence by your side and laying a palm on your lower back—straightening you.

“Goodness, didn't your parents teach you to watch over your valuables carefully especially during throngs of festivals?”

You spin your head. Teal was the first thing that catches your eye, then chestnut brown hair that falls beneath the person’s headpiece.

Jamil…? Your mind staggers before you trace your gaze over his features. No, this is not Jamil. He’s wearing teal and blue, and his eyes are nothing like those familiar serpentine ones that belonged to your schoolmate. This person’s eyes are softer, but more tantalizing. Almonds like a feline.

“...Excuse me?” You say between your surprise, and the person beside you glances behind for a mere moment. You watch the way his peacock earring jingle as he turns his head.

“Someone was eyeing that wallet you had in your pockets.” Those rich-colored eyes return to you. “Zahab Market is known for pickpockets, be careful next time.”

You blink once, twice, then realization sinks into you. Your hand immediately pats your wallet, “Oh, thank you for letting me know...”

Instead of a response, the person gazes at you with quiet intensity. His eyes flicker to the curves of your face then down your attire, you try not to flush underneath his avid scrutiny, taking a couple of steps back. “May I help you, is something wrong?”

“You’re…not a local, are you?”

You tilt your head at his question before shaking your head. The handsome stranger hums softly, as if thinking. “So you're a tourist? How odd.”

Your brows furrow, “Yeah I am, why are you asking?”

“I would have recognized a pretty face like yours if you're one of the children from affluent families here in Silk City.”

“What, pretty face—?” Before you can sputter out your sentence, you feel him reach down to pinch the fabric of your attire, gently tugging on it for emphasis. “Silk clothes like these don't come by often, they're expensive and the ones you're wearing now feel like top-quality.” He takes a moment to eye the pattern on your sleeve, running his thumb on it—almost missing the dark pinch in his thick brows.

“This is the first time I've seen an embroidery like this…probably for this year’s Fireworks Festival, but the style is uncannily similar to the Asims.” he looks at you then, his brown eyes almost golden under the light if you stare at it long enough. “...Are you connected with them?”

A honeyed tension pours between the two of you despite the hustle and bustle that flurried around. He’s very sharp, you muse to yourself. And very well-versed, he sounds so cocksure but it’s muted beneath his elegant tone and warm voice…who is this?

You think carefully of how you wanted to answer him, “Kalim Al-Asim is my upperclassman. He invited me to his home city for the Fireworks festival. He allowed me to use these clothes as well. If that's what you're wondering, I didn't steal it.”

“Apologies, I didn't mean to sound accusing but…” The stranger sighs and the tension drops. “That definitely sounds like something he would do alright.”

“Pardon me, do you know Kalim?” You immediately shake your head, “No actually, better question, what's your name?”

The stranger is taken aback by your inquiry, then the softest quirk of his lips as he smiles at you.

“You don't know me.” His tone is more of a statement laced in amusement than a question, and you can see how your words piqued him.

You purse your lips, crossing your arms. “Should I be aware of someone high-handed like you?”

He lifts a brow then, a hearty laugh spilling down his mouth at your accusation. It's weird. Really, really weird because for some reason, you're reacting to his laugh. The way he almost had his shoulders fold over, the sound a mixture of breathy and something rich, it fits the rasp cradle of his tone. When he’s finished, he leans close to you but not close enough to disturb your bubble—or what remains of your tucked dignity.

Playfulness sparks in his eyes, “High-handed, me? I—”

You both tense when you hear voices. From behind you, the familiar cry and wail of Grim reaches your ears as he shouts for you. And in front of you were a series of panicked calls,

“Your highness? Are you here—?”

The stranger beside you clicks his tongue, it draws your attention back, watching a thin sheen of annoyance draw over the playfulness that once plagued his expression. Though his face distracts you, you try to also make sense of the situation; Familiarity in his tone when he talks about Kalim, proficient about the expensive silks and styles of the Asims, knowing families of the city, your highness…is he rich too?

But before you can arrive at a perfect conclusion, he turns towards you. “Hey, are you good at running away?”

The sudden question throws you off but you nod your head, “I guess? Why are you asking me that—”

He reaches out his hands towards you, all and every syllable piling on your tongue falls flat. You look at his outstretched hand, then let your eyes crawl up his arm, his teal capelet, neck then at his face where his hardened expression had loosen then into something genuine, something exciting with a hint of ribboned defiance.

“I still haven't answered you and well, I'm in a bit of a bind so we might have to run somewhere else in order for us to talk properly like this, are you in?”

You hesitate a second, and he notices. The mischief that flavored his brown eyes rich had softened into something sweet and ripe.

“Then, do you trust me?” He asked, a slight tilt to his head, his peacock earrings following the movement. You blink at him before laying your palm across his—you feel his callousness against your skin, the deftness of fingers as he curls it around your own and tugs you to your feet. You’re not quite sure what came over you when you took his hand, you should’ve returned to your companions than follow a stranger but seeing the way his smile stretches across his face is really contagious.

Ten minutes later after running through the markets’ corners, ducking into open doors and flying down and up stairs, climbing a ladder—the stranger finally releases your hand and you almost crumple to the floor in heaps of silk clothes and sweat and exhaustion, catching your breath heavily.

You shouldn’t have trusted him. That arrogant and haughty and handsome—no, cease the notion. You fell for his cocky little flattery so easily, Grimmy would be so—

You see his outstretched hand fall over your vision, once you catch your breath you look up at his face.

And instantly your eyes narrow. He doesn’t even look the least bit tired, he was the one that ran expertly through the crowds, tugging you close and hoisting you by the waist through narrow gaps. Just how athletic is he?

“You okay?” He asked, then an apologetic smile flashes on his face seeing you. “Sorry, I went a bit overboard there.”

“You think?” Instead of accepting his hand, you sat down. A momentary silence fills the room, all except for your labored breaths and distant chatters and music, it’s enough to ease the fracas in your heart.

Seconds bleed before you hear fabrics shuffling. Then, bending on one knee he presses something cold on your cheek. You open your eyes and he stretches out a piece of cut fruit on his palm. You catch his eye and he looks at you intently, “I bought some sliced silky melons from Camel Bazaar a few minutes ago as snacks. Here, take it. I’d feel bad if you passed out because of me.”

You take his offer, “How charming of you…”

“Minhaj.”

You intertwine your gaze with his.

“Minhaj, what’s that?”

He smiles, “well uh, just call me that for now.”

You try not to look at him sourly. You told him who you were, accepted his offer to run till your lungs are close to collapsing and he’s giving you a name that’s not even his?

“That’s not your real name, is it?”

He cocks his head over his shoulders, walks over to the edge and pats the space next to him. “Where’s the fun in that? Now come, I still have more fruits I can share with you.”

At this point, you decided not to argue with him. When you settled beside Minhaj, the view before you had stars dancing in your eyes. No wonder why it felt like you were climbing endless flights of stairs, the view before you is enough to span across the bazaar from here, with its colorful roofs and bustling people down below. Palm trees and canal roads and elephants with bits and bobs flurry the streets, making you smile at how beautiful Silk City truly is.

You were too busy looking at the scene and snacking on sliced fruits you almost missed the way Minhaj closely admired you from the corner of your eye, his palms on his cheek.

This time though, you feel your cheeks flushing hot. “Is something on my face?”

“Yeah.” He points at the edge of your lip. “Right there—no, a little bit more…yeah, there.”

You swipe away at the piece and try to fan away your embarrassment, heat furnacing your cheeks in red.

You hear Minhaj chuckle, “you’re a messy eater, huh?”

“Normally no…” you mentally blame Grimmy and his glutinous manners influencing you, but then turn back towards Minhaj and still see him smiling at you.

“Is there still fruit on my face?”

He shakes his head, “no but…” he eats a slice as well, his stare not leaving yours, as if challenging you on something you haven’t quite realized yet.

“Do you know the significance of silky melons in Silk City?”

You thought about it briefly; Jamil had explained about the melons with a story, then it hit you then, his words.

Over time, people started saying that if you shared one of these melons with someone, your friendship or romance would last forever…

Your head whipped to Minhaj so quickly he had to stifle his own laugh at your reactions.

You open your mouth, press your lips close then part it again, flustered. “Are you trying to imply something here?”

“Relax, I was just joking. You’re rather fun to tease, you know.” Minhaj shakes his head, “Besides, I’m your upperclassman too. Just not in the same school as you or Kalim.”

You perk up, “so I'm guessing your family’s also rich like Kalim?”

He turns to look at the view before him, “Something like that. I’ll tell you who I am though, or what my real name is when we meet again. So for now…”

His arm lays flat beside your thigh and he leans in close again, tapping a sliced fruit to your lips and grinning,

“Keep our first little meeting a secret till I see you again, yeah?”

You hold the fruit, watching as the warmth on his skin brushes your fingertips when he pulls away. You frown, “you’re rather sure we would meet again. I’m not from the Scalding Sands, so who knows when I'll ever have the chance to come back and see you if ever.”

Minhaj simply smiles at you, brown eyes crinkling in the corners. “The melons mean something, and well, we’ll just have to see.”

The promise floats between the two of you until you both finish the melons and bid each other farewell, he immediately spins around before your friends could catch a glimpse of him. The festival continues and you’re half disappointed you don’t see the familiar teal amongst the crowd during the Fireworks festival, and eventually you’d forgotten about the whimsical encounter with the playful stranger from the Scalding Sands, returning back to Night Raven College and its usual stubborn students and history classes and magic concepts and whiny Grimmy and life-altering overblot encounters.

That is until the Inter-school tournament between Night Raven and Royal sword came.

Ace was pressing down and poking at your still evident bed head and you try to swat his hand away from your hair. You feel Grim plop on your lap and shushing you all as they announced the one’s competing from the Royal Sword Academy,

Receiving the Radiant light of the true princess’ wisdom, Dunasmina Dorm!

You’ve huffed and wrapped your arms around Grim as he huddled close to your touch getting comfy, unknowingly furrowing your brows at the dorm being announced. After all, that color teal seemed rather familiar to you but you can’t quite put a finger on it yet…

“Minajael Tealrajah everyone!” The announcer cries and for a moment, the hum and roar of the studio goes dead silent.

The familiar teal, that smug smile, those rich brown eyes, dark hair…

“Minhaj?”

Grim cranes his head up to look at you quizzically, “huh? Whaddya say? Minja wha—hmph!”

Grim’s question ends in a choke and sputter as you accidentally squeezed him tight to your chest, the realization and familiarity of the player competing clicking in your brain.

That carefree boy from Silk City’s markets Minhaj is a Royal Sword Academy student, but not only that but a prince?!