Marina Vanrouge

He loves it when you coddle him, though his pride refuses to admit it out right. Every time you brush his cheek or run your fingers through his hair as he rests his head on your lap, he practically melts into your touch, leaning closer as if he could never get enough. And to be honest? he can’t ever get enough of you.

He has this habit of inserting you into every conversation, effortlessly dropping little compliments about you. “Hm, they do have remarkable talents, even without magic,” he might say, his tone casual but carrying just enough warmth for you to notice. And the moment someone dares point out how soft he gets when it comes to you; He stiffens immediately, voice sharp and defensive. “I am merely acknowledging their dexterity!” he insists. No matter how hard he tries, everyone can see just how fond he truly is of you.

He always insists on having study sessions with you (which are basically just study dates) but it never stays strictly academic for long. Every now and then, he gets a little too needy, glancing up from his notes with those puppy-dog eyes and asking for a kiss or two as a reward for doing well. And once you give him what he wants, he can’t stop there. His voice drops low, almost desperate, as he murmurs, “One more… please?” while his thumb lazily brush over your knuckles, and who are you to deny your boyfriend such a request?

You mention your favorite pastry and flowers once, and before you know it, they start appearing regularly—once a week, sometimes on your desk, sometimes waiting in your room at Ramshackle. Each time, a small note accompanies the treat, written in his impeccable, neat handwriting. It simply reads, ‘Take care of yourself.’ ‘I’m proud of you.’ It’s subtle, quiet, and it’s him—his way of saying ‘I love you’ without actually saying it.

He’s pacing whenever you’re sick. At first, he complains, voice firm but controlled, “How could you be so idiotic as to let yourself get sick—!?,” all while fussing over you, patting your forehead with a warm cloth and making sure you’re as comfortable as possible. After a while, when he thinks you’ve finally drifted off to sleep, he quietly pulls up a chair and sits beside your bed. Fingers gently entwined with yours, he murmurs softly, voice trembling with the barest hint of vulnerability, “...Take care of yourself, I don’t want to lose you.”

He’s always there to remind you to eat on time, and may the sevens help you if you skip a meal. “Surely you are not so foolish as to forgo a meal?” he asks, voice rising slightly before he quickly catches himself. His tone softens, eyes filled with genuine concern. “I’m just merely… worried,” he continues, voice gentle but firm. “Please, ensure you eat on time. Neglecting meals is detrimental to your health.” Beneath the scolding is a tenderness that’s unmistakable.

He’s a total show-off, especially when exams come around. He throws himself into studying, and the moment results come out and he’s among the top 10, he’s practically sprinting straight to you. Trying to act calm, he sips his afternoon tea with that smug grin of his and says, “I’m on top of the charts, per usual,” But then his eyes flick up at you, voice softening with a hint of desperation, “..Don’t I get my reward now?” And you know what that reward is—he’s expecting a kiss, and he doesn’t even try to hide how much he’s looking forward to it.

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

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

"I... I fell asleep."

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

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

"You were sleeping." Again, simply put.

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

"That is correct."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Child of Man?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“… Pardon?” Did you hear that right?

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

“… Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing is hard for me."

"Oh yes, how could I forget."

What a jerk.

"You are grinning."

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

"And if I don't wish to?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is that a compliment or a challenge?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever you say, Hornton."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mind racing, you fell back against your pillow. You breathed out, deep and long. Your chest visibly rises and falls with each exhale. You counted. If your memory was correct, you had around twenty days before you started your period. Give or take. You reached your hands up and pressed your palms against your eyes hard enough until you saw stars. This was going to be rough… but you could do it. Crowley said he’d pay you for your work. Maybe you could sneak into town on a school day and hope and pray it wouldn’t be a long trip. Silently, you cursed the women of the Seven for not making this school co-ed. 

But life goes on, regardless. You had found ways to make do. You are a survivor! And after much digging, you were able to secure a few hand me downs and, even if they were nibbled on by moths and not even your size, they were still better than nothing and the ghosts were apologetic enough for their rambunctious behavior in the beginning that they were able to secure you some dish soap to go along with an old washboard and basin that was tucked away. You quietly thanked whoever previously lived here for leaving those behind and with Grim’s help, you were able to jerryrig something close to a clothesline. Keeping it outside would have obviously been the better choice but you couldn’t take the chance of someone catching a glimpse of your feminine underwear flapping in the wind like some sort of polka dotted beacon. 

And once again, whether you like it or not, life goes on. With the oversized clothing and some clever acting, you were able to pass as being a pretty enough boy that making friends with your local idiot duo was a piece of cake. They were nice enough and didn’t question any of your slip ups and only really made a comment on it when they noticed how pretty the other freshman from Pomefiore was and even then…

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that a Pomefiore student looks so girly.” Ace thought out loud before reaching for his fork and waving it over at you. “I mean, look at this guy. He might not be as feminine, but he’s still awfully pretty for a guy.”

Should… should you be offended?

Deuce hummed as if he hadn’t noticed before. You’re starting to feel offended?! “Now that you mention it, I guess?” He looked you up and down and, noticing the dark look on your face and mistaking it for you being embarrassed, blushed and hurriedly apologized, “Not that I think you’re not manly or anything! You’re super cool!”

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” You grit your teeth, eyebrows narrowed as you stuck a fork full of lunch meat into your mouth. At least you were good at pretending to be man enough that these two idiots hadn’t noticed anything. You weren’t sure how convincing your disguise was considering that one Savanaclaw guy had given you a weird look that one time you stepped on his tail… but at least with these two dorks and the rest of Heartslabyul, you passed enough that nobody said anything. 

Life has been pretty good. You have friends, get almost unlimited snacks courtesy of your connections with a certain baker, and get to party once a week with said friends at their dorm since, per Riddle, you were practically an honorary guest after his overblot. In fact, Riddle even gave you your own outfit! You very well couldn’t wear their uniform, he had reasoned, and it had been so long since someone had taken up this position, that he was practically beside himself in excitement at the thought of you donning the costume of the White Queen, the apparent sibling of the Queen of Hearts and local monarch. It was a lovely thing and, even with the fact you had to take it upon yourself to learn how to bind your chest, you were still excited to wear it. It was a frilly and lacy thing, much fancier than anything you had worn since coming here.

Every time you passed it, hanging there along the clothesline, you could feel your heart skip a beat in excitement. 

It was a pretty sight as it stood out against your other delicates. Today was a wash day and so all your dirty clothes had been freshly cleaned, leaving you donning a bedsheet like it was some kind of fancy dress worn by a runaway mermaid. You were grateful you had remembered what you learned in Greek history class as it had made DIY’ing up a toga easy. You were just about to pat yourself on the back for a job well done and start making yourself and Grim some dinner when you heard the familiar sound of the front door of Ramshackle being open and slammed shut. 

“Can you believe it! I almost got collared again! You’d think Riddle had learned to chill out a bit more after the last time he blew a gasket but—”

You squeaked in horror. Of course, now of all times, Ace just had to have gotten himself in trouble and he just had to make Ramshackle his first stop! You frantically ran back to the main room, tripping on your bedsheet dress all the way as you desperately tried to save your secret.

“Wait! Ace! Don’t come any closer!” You shrieked, voice high pitched and frantic. You couldn’t even try to lower your voice in your panic. Ace let out an equally loud shriek as you barreled past him, your arms outstretched to grab at least your undergarments to hide your shame but the universe just wasn’t on your side as your foot made contact with the hem of your dress, toppling you and your clothesline over in a feat of horrid gravity. A loud crash was the only sound that filled the room as you laid there on the dusty floor, still clothed if a little worse for wear, but with the offending garments laid flat and clearly for Ace to stare in horror at. You felt a deep shame form in your chest as you quickly reached out and snagged your bra away, tucking it tight against your chest. Your heart thundered in your ears as you quickly opened your mouth to try and defend yourself.

“Ace—”

“You’re a girl.” 

“Yes, but please, I—”

“I thought you were a boy.” The boy grimaced, obviously struggling to keep eye contact as he turned away.

“I know, I didn’t want to lie to you, Ace, but please think about it from my perspective.”

You watched anxiously as, instead of responding, Ace threw himself on to the couch, his arms covering his eyes like he didn’t want to even look at you. Distraught, you hurried over to him, your blood rushing in your ears. “Please, Ace—” You could feel tears beginning to dot the corner of your eyes. You weren’t even scared of him telling anyone, you were more afraid of the thought of him wanting nothing to do with you after this. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, I just…”

“You’re a girl and I told you we should sleep in the same bed together!” Ace let out a loud whine, like this was the most important thing on his mind, and kicked his feet around like an embarrassed toddler. From behind his hands, you could see a dark flush coloring his ears. You felt your shoulders stiffen, obviously caught off guard at his reaction while you leaned over the armrest and watched as the blush quickly moved from his ears to his neck.

“Is… that all you're upset about?”

“Yes!” He pulled himself up on the couch to glare at you, his scarlet eyes narrowing, “Of course I’m upset about that! You must’ve thought I was some weirdo or something! Augh!” He threw himself back against the couch again but instead of hiding his face, he only glared up at the ceiling like it had personally offended him. 

You took a few steps closer, one slow step after another. You couldn’t help but let out a shy giggle at the embarrassed look on his face, “So you’re not… mad at me?”

Ace’s eyes rolled to the back of his head as he let out a loud snort, “It’s complicated. How about you get me a fancy lunch from the cafeteria to make up for this emotional torment?”

You smiled as Ace turned over to face you, his gaze harsh but softened by the red flush still present on his cheeks. The moment he saw your expression, he rolled his eyes.

“So, like, what. Does anyone else know? Surely, you’d have to have told Crowley what’s up by now.”

“Oh, uh….” You started, eyes immediately finding the fireplace much more interesting then Ace’s expression, “about that.”

Ace immediatly shot up, “You didn’t tell him?!”

You crossed your arms and huffed, “When would I have had time? When the Mirror told me I was magicless? Or maybe I should’ve spoken up when Grim set Kalim’s butt on fire during the entrance ceremony!” You jerked your thumb in the direction to the front door, “Or perhaps when he dumped me here! Alone!”

Ace let out a harsh breath and looked away, returning his eyes back to the cieling. You could tell he was thinking of what to say so you both sat there in silence, the only sound in the dorm being the sound of Grim snoring from down the hall. Ace rubbed his forehead, like the action would help.

“Alright, fine. It’s not that much different than before. You’re just uh… ”

“A girl,” you finished for him.

“Yeah, that.” Ace laughed, “A girl.”

“Listen,” You turned as Ace pulled himself back up to face you. He leaned forward and gestured for you to follow. You did, mirroring him. “No matter what, you’re still my friend so don’t sweat it too much and if anything happens,” Ace reached towards you. His hand seemed to almost cup your warm cheek and for a moment, you felt an involuntary throb beat against your chest. Until you felt a firm and harsh tug on your ear, his fingers gripping your lobe as if trying to tear it off, “Don’t be stupid!!”

You hissed, hands immediately finding his shoulders to push him away, “Ace! You ass!” 

Not much changed after Ace had discovered your secret. He still treated you like you were a man although sometimes you could, if you paid attention, find him angling his body a little closer towards yours whenever a rowdy student or two would pass in the hallway or at lunch. He would play it off whenever you gave him a subtle raised eyebrow and would just wink in response. He probably thought he looked so cool. Deuce had even begun to catch on to this as well and he had quickly taken on the role of Guard Dog #2.

“Are these two bothering you?” He would roll his shoulder, as if preparing for a fight. The two offending students nearly jumped out of their skin when he pulled up beside you, arms crossed across his chest.

“No, Deuce. I’m fine!” You reassured him, touched. Even if he only knew you as magicless, the girly side of you couldn’t help but feel blessed to have befriended such a good guy. You mentally promised yourself to buy him a snack later at the cafeteria.

As you, Deuce, and Ace walked to your next class together, Deuce was the first to speak up. “Ah! That’s right! You’ve got a special job in the Unbirthday party tomorrow, right? Have you practiced your parts and made sure the costume fit?”

While Deuce looked at you with something akin to a puppy like excitement, Ace turned his head to the side in embarrassment, still a little sore from the big reveal but otherwise said nothing. Ace was surprisingly good at keeping secrets, having assured you of his silence almost immediately and you trusted him. He might be a huge pain in the ass, but Ace was a true friend.

“I have practiced the lines, Riddle made sure of it!” You laughed, “I think he was more excited than I was! But I could use some extra practice if you two wanted to help me out before the real thing.” You smiled. “We can even make a study session out of it!”

Ace drummed his fingers on his thigh, an obvious look of disinterest on his face while Deuce on the other hand, always eager to find any excuse to make studying more fun, pumped his fist in agreement, “That sounds great! I could really use some help with some of Trein’s lessons and you’ve always done super well in that class!” 

“Alright, nerds.” Ace butt in, his arm snaking itself around Deuce’s shoulder, pulling him in, “We can have a little study sesh to help out the Prefect on one condition.” He lifted up a finger and poked his fellow dormmate on the cheek, “Deuce, you gotta be the one to ask Trey to make us some desserts.”

Deuce nearly bit Ace’s finger as it reached forward to poke again but Ace was quick on the withdrawl, “Why’s it gotta be me?”

Ace pulled away and grinned, jamming his hands into his uniform pockets, “Because…” He shared a look with you and Grim, “Not it.”

“Not it.” You echoed and Grim wasn’t far behind, “Not it!”

Deuce’s head whipped from each of you, a look of betrayal evident on his face. You shrugged and smiled and Grim chuckled loudly, “I’m sure Trey will be more willing to loan snacks for your sake then Ace’s.” You tried to reassure him but Deuce only groaned, his head lolling forward. 

Later that afternoon, you all, as agreed, met up in Ramshackle. Deuce came in with his arms full of tarts and other delicacies while Ace swung his recycled bag on his arm, the familiar sound of soda swishing around in plastic emanating from the bag. You waved them in, study guides already out and prepared for the four of you. 

“I’m starving!” Ace whined, practically throwing his contribution on top of the counter, Deuce was quick to make a small dive for the soda that was teetering too close to the edge, “I can’t think on an empty stomach!”

“Maybe we should eat first?” Deuce offered, a sheepish smile quickly replacing the once annoyed glare as he turned away from Ace to look at you, “Isn’t it a thing to uh… not think too hard when hungry?"

You had never heard that before but you could feel the grips of hunger twist your stomach in small knots. The smell and the sight of the strawberry tard on the counter was enough for you to relent. You nodded hastily, already nearly gliding across the kitchen to take another long whiff. The smell of strawberries was nearly to die for. Grim was, of course, the first one to dig in. 

“Let me go!” Grim cried as you held him back by the ribbon, his little paws nearly making biscuits in the air, “I’m becoming ravenous! A beast!”

Deuce on the other hand was quiet. the knife used to cut the tart was a mess and bits of red filling were dripping on the counter. He looked embarrassed.

“Deuce, what the heck did you do to the tart?” Ace leaned over his shoulder and groaned. Deuce glared, an embarrassed blush covering his ears.

“It’s harder than it looks!” he huffed, “Trey makes it look so easy so I thought—”

“It’s fine!” You were quick to reassure him, clapping him on the shoulder. He gave you a relieved look. “It’s just a tart anyways!”

Grim on the other hand was not so forgiving, “I don’t care WHAT shape my tart is, I just want the biggest piece! So hand it over!”

It took longer then you would’ve liked to start eating with how playfully antagonistic Ace was to Deuce and as always, he was an easy target but after a few fake punches and hollering, you four had finally managed to make yourselves comfortable in Ramshackle’s living room. You and Grim had taken your place as hosts on the worn out couch and the two boys had dragged themselves some sort of furniture to use as makeshift chairs. 

As soon as your fork full of tart met with your tongue, you couldn’t help but let out a delighted squeal. It hit the exact spot you’ve been craving the past week! The tartness of the strawberries mixed with the sweetness of the powdered sugar and pastry was just what you needed. You all dug in, too hungry to even try to feign conversation, and the pastry shell soon became a war zone.

From his spot beside you, Grim let out a huge belch and patted his rotund belly, a look of absolute bliss on his face. Deuce and Ace weren’t too far behind. So much for studying. You eyed the nearly spotless pan still left on your table. The sweet desire of lazing around clung to you but you didn’t listen. With a sluggish pace, you pulled yourself up and reached for what was left of the tart. You had intended to throw it in the sink and wash it later, but a harsh intake of breath from behind you was quick to steal your attention. 

“Uhhh, Prefect?” Deuce blinked, his hand slowly raising to point at you, “Did you sit on a piece of your tart?”

Confused, you reached back. And you felt it. A wet spot.

Your face visibly paled. With a shaking hand, you looked. That was not the red of a strawberry. That was the red of blood. Deuce could see you were becoming visibly upset and made to reach forward, “Hey, it’s ok! I’m sure we can wash it out!”

Ace, shaken out of his food coma, was quick to act, “Ahaha, yeah! That’s right! It’s not a big deal!” His laugh was forced as he watched you shake. A small hiccup escaped you and you sniffled back a sob. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to have a few more days, right? Did you miscalculate? Did it come early? You had been having so much fun with your new friends that you had entirely forgotten. Your period.

“Hey,” Deuce’s soft voice was enough for you to look up and the worried expression he gave you was almost enough to make you burst into tears, “It’s just some tart, alright?” Deuce looked down and frantically patted his pant pockets before pulling out a handkerchief, handing it to you, “It is just some tart, right?”

You took his offering and pressed it against your cheek, a rush of emotions flooding you. Oh geez, since you acknowledged it, your period was making you Feel Things.

“It’s fine, Deuce, I’m sure they’re just embarrassed or—” Ace awkwardly butt in, trying to save face.

But you interrupted him. “It’s not just a tart,” you sniffled, big tears rolling down your face, “I’m on my period.”

Deuce’s hand that had started rubbing comforting circles on to your back abruptly stopped as he blinked at you with wide eyes. He blinked. Again and again.

“Pardon?” He croaked out, his voice high pitched and strained, “Your… your period…?”

Ace let out a loud groan and slapped his forehead. The cat was out of the bag. “You’re really letting Deuce know you’re a girl?”

“All I said was that I was on my period! For all he knew, I could’ve been a boy with a period!” You defended yourself, nearly throwing the tin at his stupid orange head. 

“Ace knew?” Deuce’s voice was quiet, his shocked expression slowly falling, “Ace knew but not me?” He looked hurt. 

“Oh, Deuce.” You gasped, “Please don’t be upset! Ace wasn’t even supposed to know either!” You reached forward, hesitantly sliding your hands to fold over his. He tensed, visibly upset, but as soon as your hands touched his, he returned your gaze. Deuce looked even more upset then when those delinquents broke the dozen eggs and you were the cause of it. 

“Did— did you not trust me?”

“No, Deuce, no… that’s not it at all.” You reassured him.

Ace popped his head on his knuckles as he watched. “Don’t get your pant—” 

You glared at him.

“Pants. I was going to say pants! In a twist, Deucey. I just found out a week ago because I nearly walked into their bra hanging off a string.”

“I’m going to kick your ass, Ace.” Deuce gritted out, his brow twitching violently. Ace grinned, noticing the change in his demeanor. He could work with that.

“Yeah,” Ace crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back, deciding that the funniest choice to get Deuce out his slump was to rage bait him, “It was a cute one too! Had one of those little bows on it.”

You flushed darkly and inched back, your arms hurriedly reaching up to hide your chest as you gaped at him. Was he really going there!? Ace snickered at your expression and as he was moving to get a load of Deuce’s face, he was suddenly interrupted by the feeling of metal meeting his face.

“Ow! Did you just throw the tart tin at me!” Ace shrieked, 

“I’m going to kick your ass!” Deuce hollered from his spot above him, hands raised high in the air, tin pan in hand. Ace gaped at him, wide eyed, before immediately turning to you,

“P-Prefect! You’re going to help me, aren’t you?!”

You turned away, instead finding the sight of a food coma’d Grim much more interesting. He was even making sleeping biscuits on the pillow he was sleeping on. How cute.