you LOATHED leona kingscholar.

as if it wasn't enough that his route was as difficult as surviving a day in your old household, his terrifyingly sharp intellgience, masked beneath that reputation of lazyness, prevented you from doing business with his dorm. he did have feelings for yuu, you had observed it, the way his expression softened oh so slightly at their presence, and the way he didn't mind them disturbing his naps.

still, that didn't mean he was as heads over heels as others yet, his route was slow burn torture for someone that just wanted some quick, cheap entertaintments. the gall of his to look down on your precious merchandise when you were attempting to bribe jack with one. it wasn't your fault that he would suffer greatly from his lack of knowledge about his crush. hell, you didn't even force him to join your fan club, but he kept dragging his juniors out of your meetings.

you couldn't do anything against him, for despite your omniscience, he carried the blood of royalty, and his signature spell instilled a sense of caution in you. you had to play it soft with him, like approaching an angry stray cat during the rain. the only difference was that a cat's scratches were nowhere near as annoying to his sloth.

you could see why vil disliked him, although your housewarden generally disliked anyone who didn't pay enough attention to their reputation and appearance, not excluding you. from epel's words, he had dared to rant about you, as though you were the crazy one for staying up late to produce hand-drawn keychains instead of using your magic.

you were more sane than he!

back to the problem beforehand, you were unfortunate enough to land yourself in the infirmary at the same time leona was napping here. and your early tantrum had rudely awakened him. great, very splendid, you were so going to lock yourself in your room and drink yourself to death. maybe with a suicide note that was plastered on your vanity by a stupid yuu-shaped magnet. "yuu's fault", it would spit onto whoever was unlucky enough to find your corpse, assuming you hadn't been left to rot.

"why, my apologies for disturbing your sleep, your royal highness!" smile more, that was rook's advice, so that you would get fewer wrinkles. if only he knew of the obstacles on your flower road. your grip around the pillowcase tightened as electricity sparked from the glares you exchanged with him. there was no way you were going to back down to let him sleep peacefully, especially after such an embarrassing moment that forced you in here in the first place!

"didn't expect the sleazy cat to have etiquette. oh, what should i do? should i lavish you with wealth for your loyalty?" leona smirked, the nerve, after realizing the source of his annoyance: the second-year pomefiore student that had been snooping around with the people of his dorm to drag them into the cultish fan club. he might bear some admiration for yuu to an extent, but he wasn't depraved enough to worship the magicless human. in his eyes, you were a blatant con artist, a tamer version of azul, and the freshmen were stupid enough to be tricked by you. using his authority as the second prince, he enjoyed dangling the promise of gold over your head, noticing the rare moments your eyes would shine at the profit you made.

of course, being the prideful bitches you two were, this was going to be a long and noisy fight in the infirmary. when your feets planted against the floor, prepared to risk it all and jump the damn lion, the door swung open. both of your heads simutaneously turned towards it, and both grimaced at the sight of the ever lustrious vil. he must have rushed over here, you concluded, upon seeing the beads of sweats and the breathless pants followed. he shot a glare at the improper position you were in: parasol in raised arms that you were about to slam leona with it, the white-and-black bow he so carefully did for you was undone without a second thought.

"housewarden....!" you exclaimed nervously, though you returned back to beating the lion beneath you when you heard his snickering. the gall, the audacity, the-

you were dragged back to the bed you previously rested on rudely by vil, all while he signalled for leona to leave the two of you alone. you glared at the second prince, pleading with you not to leave you alone with him, but he had already vanished, as fleeting as the winds that scorched the scalding sands.

as expected, your housewarden scolded you, a lot as he forced you to lay on your stomach, cheeks planted against the pillow, ranting something along with the lines like 'you have never failed to impress me with your capability to reduce yourself to....this.' how did he even know you could only lay on your stomach anyways, you didn't remember telling you anyone about it. that was until you realized, rook hunt, oh, that motherfucker with the horrendous bob (the emphasis was necessary, you lost count of the time that spark of blonde scared the daze out of you) probably stalked you outside your windows and reported the drunken state you always left yourself in.

vil paused his lectures, looking at you with a look you assumed to be pitying you, as though pitying the body that had the misfortune to have such a careless owner. the thought made your teeth grit, bunch of self-centric, snobby, and conventionally attractive men. you were so focused on being seething that you failed to notice the gentle way he fixed up your hair, and the hesitation in wishing you to get better sooner before leaving.

you knew all of those affectionate actions would soon be reserved yuu only; why bother dwelling on them much? after all, it wouldn't be unheard of for him to exceptionally care for those whom he deemed potential. what did he see in you anyways? oh yeah, you troublesome streak of ruining your sleep schedules, possibly. being in his presence made you feel smaller, as though you were still that vulnerable, powerless corporate slave who couldn't do anything but sell your soul away for money.

you hated that.

your game addiction didn't get any better after your transmigration. instead, it got worse, with all the advanced technology here, so outside of dedicating to making yuu-based merchandise (something you… temporarily took a break from! which wouldn't damage your business much, you had many stocks of them already), you would boot up some games you found randomly.

gloomurai: oh, alcoholic_lover is online-

alcoholic_lover: not. a. fucking. word.

yes, you were pissed as hell due to the series of misfortune you experienced, and instead of finding a healthy outlet to express it, you were going to torture your online friends; you just so happened to be idia shroud. you weren't worried much about identity reveal, considering you were a totally different person in the online world, a persona vil would not be so fond of if he could hear you right now.

alcoholic_lover: @gloomurai you otaku weird shit have you grinded for the new set b4 me!?

gloomurai: its not my fault you barely log in and conveiently miss all the events [shrug]

alcoholic_lover: im ditching ur ass hoe wheres @muscle_red anyways????

gloomurai: idk bro also dont abandon me like that are u going to toss the person that help u reach ur current level [sob] [sob]

alcoholic_lover: you faggot FINEEEEE STOPPPP CRYING EWWWWWW

gloomurai: !? are you even allowed to say that

alcoholic_lover: idk bruh im drinking rn lets destroy some bosses b4 i pass out

gloomurai: n u keep calling me weird u drunken normie

alcoholic_lover: sonny i can and will take u down in an irl fight meet me at ########## tomorrow afternoon

gloomurai: WAIT WHAT

alcoholic_lover: U HEARD ME LOUD AND CLEARRRRR

chugging another luxurious bottle of wine while playing a video game absolutely went against vil's teaching, but you desperately needed to get your mind off today's events.

tomorrow, everything would be fine. you would return to being the composed president of the fan club, would sing praises of yuu while shamelessly flaunting your member-exclusive stuff to other insignificant NPCs. you would be offline against, ghosting idia for several weeks before bothering to remember your password.

everything was okay.

everything was fine as long as you did your part right.

gaming night was as boring as always, you thought, when you struggled to return to your bed. how many bottles had you taken? you didn't know, didn't want to. a drunken smile tugged your lips, and a cheerful melody escaped your lips, your eyes making the mistake of staring at the mirror.

you blinked.

it blinked back.

how could one be so...ugly? so deprived of life, so susceptible to breakdowns over trivial things.

what a disgusting creature you were. a parasite that sucked the life out of its host, shamelessly parading a hollow corpse around the campus like it belonged to you, like this cloyingly suffocating body that was a product of love from generations could possibly be home to you. it wasn't a human who stared back at you; it was a poorly made replica of death, uncannily similar to them in every respect. you felt sickly pleased at the information, for the alcoholism had absolved you from the usual feeling of guilt.

you had screamed a lot, didn't you? when you awakened in a bed that wasn't yours, you stared at a face that, though bearing your features, was just not you. your back sank onto the comfortable mattress that was reserved only for one individual, one that you wiped off this world cruelly and silently. your hands around theirs, drowning them in a thick sea of blood until their limbs turned stiff, and no sounds escaped from their lips.

they were so pretty, and there was you, an unwanted and uninvited guest to this corpse. you wondered if you vomited hard enough, would your pathetic soul be poured out from the throat, a wriggling worm puppeting a flesh body. empty bottles piled up in a discreet corner of the room, as the scarlet liquid spilled from your mouth. you should have felt sick, bedridden with the sheer amount of that grape beverage you consumed in one week, but you didn't. like a cockroach that refused to die, even when its head had already been detached from its body, you persisted. like the maggots crawling underneath the carcasses, nourishing on the remnants of life, you absorbed all that was left of this vessel, its health, its wealth, its breath, and soon.

its death.

what a nice thought, you chuckled to yourself as you tossed the bottle aside, letting it roll on the floor.

your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because on the next day, you saw yuu, everywhere. one was normal, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was the sign of you gradually going insane. sure, you two did share some of the same classes, a fact you thoroughly took advantage of for your business, but that didn't mean your vision was always flashed with their uncannily pretty face.

oh well, this did have its benefits, as it allowed you to take more pictures of them up close and polish your crazed declarations of love. you still… avoided close proximity with them, that dread pooling in the pit of your stomach lingered and spiked whenever you saw their face.

perhaps it was because of your position as a 'player', instead of an actual NPC, that you were incapable of perceiving yuu as a human to adore. you were a living, breathing person who had a life, and they were an empty vessel, meant to be taken control of. thinking about their beauty made your negative thoughts go away slightly, as it was one of the few things you could sing praises about. after all, your goal was to keep your parasocial relationship with yuu hollow as possible, no need for character development, hell no!

the meetings returned, with you making more merchandises as a compensation for the sudden cancellation in the previous day. as NPCs went, they were so easily satisfied with artifical discussions and worship. they made you want to vomit, but you persisted, just another day of a background character in NRC.

your solace that day was when you finally found some time to study for the upcoming exams, since you were determined to get into the top 50, for no other reason than adding more to the number of servants azul would have. you were bored enough to do that, yes, and the top 50 in the original game were also a bunch of NPCs anyways.

seems like fate had pitied you enough for you to be alone with your favorite housewarden to blackmail, riddle rosehearts.

"good day, riddle~!" you greeted him joyfully while skipping towards his table, hands holding a long stack of books. his eyes widened at the familiar voice, and the annoyance increased tenfold when you tripped again and caused one of your study materials to land on his face. you were lucky that this was post-OB riddle, who had become less strict, or else a collar would have clasped tightly around your neck.

"YOU INSOLENT-" or maybe not.

"100% DISCOUNT FOR YUU BODY PILLOW!!!!"

in the following hours, you had asked riddle for his help with studying for the upcoming exams. he seemed pleased that at least you had a shred of decency to become a good student. to absolutely no one's surprise, you were more focused on poking his cheeks rather than having to listen to whatever he had to say about the boring history of the school.

"[name] stop-"

"[name]-"

"[NAME]!!!!!" aw, he was always red whenever he was near you!

"i looked away from you for a few hours and this is what you got yourself into!?" was what epel had to say when he saw you being collared on the way to your next class. you whistled with a wink in response to him, so you were completely taken aback when he grabbed you by your bow, forcing you to lean down to him. his hands traced against your collar as your eyes darted to another side to avoid his searching gaze.

"c'mon~! don't be mad! i will treat you to something, okay" you chuckled awkwardly, a bit concerned about the current closeness. this was scarily similar to those cliché romance scenes, but you couldn't bear to push epel away, not when he was one of the few connections that wasn't transactional.

"stupid, dumb, naive, money-hungry...." okay, that was not what friends would say to each other.

and maybe you weren't considering the fact that he had planted a kiss against your cheeks out of the blue. but you were too deep in your thoughts to notice it, other than giving another tease on his way.

game bugs, annoything things that would either disrupt the players' experience or improve it. for your case, it usually would be the latter.

you entered the room where the meeting was supposed to happen, relieved when you saw no one but the looming shadow of you across the wooden board. your dull eyes swept across the windows, hands fidgeted with the back of the collar.

with a click, you saw it fall onto the floor.

twisted wonderland was a polished game, yes, but that didn't exempt it from having bugs, ridiculous ones that helped players speed up the pace of the game.

nullifying riddle's signature spell via breaking in the place you could normally obtain after raising your affection level to three with crowley, what a silly bug that could even take place in the first place.

you looked at the discarded collar in the ground and watched as it glitched into nothing but weird textures.

oh well, you still had to organize a meeting, and the room wouldn't decorate itself!

Deciding to get ahead on your review, you flip open your own study materials. Animal linguistics, potionology, magic history…there was a lot of material to cover. You were just thankful that your boyfriend happened to be a part of one of the smartest dorms on campus. Taking advantage of this fact, you took a peek at the notebook Jade had left open in hopes of seeing some tips for your studies. 

You were expecting to see notes on mice vocabulary, or comments about the Sea Witch’s magic. Instead, your eyes were met with a shocking sight. The first page of the notebook read: Jade Leech’s 10 Year Plan. 

Why would he leave this information laid out on the desk for anyone to see?! Well, you weren’t really just “anyone”, but still. Between respecting Jade’s privacy and your blooming curiosity for what he had written down (especially since the pages were filled to the brim!) you decide that it was his fault for leaving his things out in the open and ultimately distracting you from your studies. So this would be considered…payback? If he didn’t agree with your logic, then you decided to pull out your signature move: girlfriend pout and girlfriend googly eyes to beg for his forgiveness. 

Flipping past the title page, you see the first header of his plan: 

Graduate from Night Raven College, & corner Azul into a business partnership

Hm. Fair enough. It’s inevitable that he’d want to eventually get a bigger share of the business. You snicker at the thought of Azul cowering beneath Jade, though. 

Skipping ahead, you see quite a few pages describing his supposed internship, how much shares he would get from his future company, and even how often he would visit the Coral Sea after graduation. 

After reading through relatively normal Jade stuff, your eyes land on a peculiar point next. 

Stock up on 10000 transformation potions. 

Okaaaaay, that seems a bit extreme… and also, after all this time, Jade still wants to live on land? You didn’t know he liked it up here so much (what you also didn’t know is that you were mainly the reason why).

Moving on, you read another flustering point. On year 5, he beautifully wrote:

Purchase the ring. 

You choke on the air and immediately put a hand to your mouth in case Jade hears you and rushes to the room. You didn’t (totally did) mean to read that, but now you’re a little disappointed that it was written without your name in sight. To be fair, he could’ve just written it as a general thought for whoever he would be dating during that time (and you desperately hope that it’s still you). 

As if to assure you that he has no other eyes for any other person, fish or not, you feel your face heat up as you flip to the next page. 

Be a good husband to the Prefect.

You feel your heart stop on this one, and restrain yourself from shrieking in joy or exploding into a thousand pieces of Jade-shaped confetti, not wanting to mess up his room. Your efforts are at a loss, however, because the man of the hour comes back knocking at the door, tea tray at hand. 

First, the both of you lock eyes. Your guilty look meeting his amused smirk. Second, both of your eyes trail off to the notebook, then back at each other. 

“I’m studying?” you pathetically say, your hand stuck to the notebook working as incriminating evidence that you’ve just peeked at his life’s goals you. 

Smile still intact, he chuckles behind his glove, "Are you sure you yourself know that?" Jade gracefully sets the tray down at his desk and hands you a cup, taking the seat next to you. 

You clumsily try to close the notebook, but his eyes land on the page you’ve stopped at. 

After a beat, he finally speaks, “My dear?” 

“Y-yes, Jade? I’m really so–” 

“Have you looked through page 67? I wish to fine tune the details of our wedding. While marrying near our anniversary may seem ideal, I fear you might catch a cold during our eternity float, considering that it’s close to the cold season.” 

How is he so composed?! You can’t tell if he’s upset or not. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure. I don’t think I reached that part yet…I stopped reading when you said you would catapult Azul back into the Coral Sea if he refused a partnership with you.” Feigning indifference, you finally close the notebook and push it further to his side of the desk, leaning a hand on your cheek to exaggerate your nonchalance. 

“What is with all this talk of Azul?” He gives you his best attempt at a hurt look with a small pout, “I believe we both saw that you had landed on ‘Be a good husband to the Prefect’ instead of ‘Be a good husband to Azul’.” With a little shudder, you see hear his voice straining a bit, and a fraction of his eyebrows twitch for a second. “Is it safe for me to assume that you are rejecting the idea of our marriage, my dear?” 

Though he jests, you can sense a hint of nervousness in his tone. Even though he appears to be completely composed, you know better than to believe what you see. His microexpressions tell you otherwise, and you’ve spent enough time with him to know that he is uneasy. Your eel was so adorable.

“What?! Of course I do! I mean, I just thought that you’d get upset at me for snooping through your things...it was very tempting, you know,” You ignore the fact that he had strategically opened the notebook near your position and looked at him in the eyes, “I’d want nothing more with you.” 

Jade himself feels his little eel heart skip a beat, and lets out a little huff to ease his nerves. At the sound of your confirmation, he puts his hand to his chest yet again and gives you a small bow, “Then I shall look forward to it, my dear Prefect.” 

With a grin and an amused expression etched onto his handsome features, he looks up at you from his bow, “Are you still in the mood for studying? Or perhaps you’d like to flesh out some of the plans with me?” 

Smiling back at him, you reach out to give him a small pinch to his cheek, “Now first, tell me, how in the world are you going to collect 10000 transformation potions?!” 

Extra:

 A few spaces after the marriage plan, Jade jots down a short and sweet list you completely missed: 

He has compiled a detailed list of baby names. Possible choices if your child were to be a boy or a girl, the meanings behind them, and backup options if you were to have your own twins. 

It seems that he has accounted for and is thrilled to have you in his future more than you anticipated.

Deciding to get ahead on your review, you flip open your own study materials. Animal linguistics, potionology, magic history…there was a lot of material to cover. You were just thankful that your boyfriend happened to be a part of one of the smartest dorms on campus. Taking advantage of this fact, you took a peek at the notebook Jade had left open in hopes of seeing some tips for your studies. 

You were expecting to see notes on mice vocabulary, or comments about the Sea Witch’s magic. Instead, your eyes were met with a shocking sight. The first page of the notebook read: Jade Leech’s 10 Year Plan. 

Why would he leave this information laid out on the desk for anyone to see?! Well, you weren’t really just “anyone”, but still. Between respecting Jade’s privacy and your blooming curiosity for what he had written down (especially since the pages were filled to the brim!) you decide that it was his fault for leaving his things out in the open and ultimately distracting you from your studies. So this would be considered…payback? If he didn’t agree with your logic, then you decided to pull out your signature move: girlfriend pout and girlfriend googly eyes to beg for his forgiveness. 

Flipping past the title page, you see the first header of his plan: 

Graduate from Night Raven College, & corner Azul into a business partnership

Hm. Fair enough. It’s inevitable that he’d want to eventually get a bigger share of the business. You snicker at the thought of Azul cowering beneath Jade, though. 

Skipping ahead, you see quite a few pages describing his supposed internship, how much shares he would get from his future company, and even how often he would visit the Coral Sea after graduation. 

After reading through relatively normal Jade stuff, your eyes land on a peculiar point next. 

Stock up on 10000 transformation potions. 

Okaaaaay, that seems a bit extreme… and also, after all this time, Jade still wants to live on land? You didn’t know he liked it up here so much (what you also didn’t know is that you were mainly the reason why).

Moving on, you read another flustering point. On year 5, he beautifully wrote:

Purchase the ring. 

You choke on the air and immediately put a hand to your mouth in case Jade hears you and rushes to the room. You didn’t (totally did) mean to read that, but now you’re a little disappointed that it was written without your name in sight. To be fair, he could’ve just written it as a general thought for whoever he would be dating during that time (and you desperately hope that it’s still you). 

As if to assure you that he has no other eyes for any other person, fish or not, you feel your face heat up as you flip to the next page. 

Be a good husband to the Prefect.

You feel your heart stop on this one, and restrain yourself from shrieking in joy or exploding into a thousand pieces of Jade-shaped confetti, not wanting to mess up his room. Your efforts are at a loss, however, because the man of the hour comes back knocking at the door, tea tray at hand. 

First, the both of you lock eyes. Your guilty look meeting his amused smirk. Second, both of your eyes trail off to the notebook, then back at each other. 

“I’m studying?” you pathetically say, your hand stuck to the notebook working as incriminating evidence that you’ve just peeked at his life’s goals you. 

Smile still intact, he chuckles behind his glove, "Are you sure you yourself know that?" Jade gracefully sets the tray down at his desk and hands you a cup, taking the seat next to you. 

You clumsily try to close the notebook, but his eyes land on the page you’ve stopped at. 

After a beat, he finally speaks, “My dear?” 

“Y-yes, Jade? I’m really so–” 

“Have you looked through page 67? I wish to fine tune the details of our wedding. While marrying near our anniversary may seem ideal, I fear you might catch a cold during our eternity float, considering that it’s close to the cold season.” 

How is he so composed?! You can’t tell if he’s upset or not. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure. I don’t think I reached that part yet…I stopped reading when you said you would catapult Azul back into the Coral Sea if he refused a partnership with you.” Feigning indifference, you finally close the notebook and push it further to his side of the desk, leaning a hand on your cheek to exaggerate your nonchalance. 

“What is with all this talk of Azul?” He gives you his best attempt at a hurt look with a small pout, “I believe we both saw that you had landed on ‘Be a good husband to the Prefect’ instead of ‘Be a good husband to Azul’.” With a little shudder, you see hear his voice straining a bit, and a fraction of his eyebrows twitch for a second. “Is it safe for me to assume that you are rejecting the idea of our marriage, my dear?” 

Though he jests, you can sense a hint of nervousness in his tone. Even though he appears to be completely composed, you know better than to believe what you see. His microexpressions tell you otherwise, and you’ve spent enough time with him to know that he is uneasy. Your eel was so adorable.

“What?! Of course I do! I mean, I just thought that you’d get upset at me for snooping through your things...it was very tempting, you know,” You ignore the fact that he had strategically opened the notebook near your position and looked at him in the eyes, “I’d want nothing more with you.” 

Jade himself feels his little eel heart skip a beat, and lets out a little huff to ease his nerves. At the sound of your confirmation, he puts his hand to his chest yet again and gives you a small bow, “Then I shall look forward to it, my dear Prefect.” 

With a grin and an amused expression etched onto his handsome features, he looks up at you from his bow, “Are you still in the mood for studying? Or perhaps you’d like to flesh out some of the plans with me?” 

Smiling back at him, you reach out to give him a small pinch to his cheek, “Now first, tell me, how in the world are you going to collect 10000 transformation potions?!” 

Extra:

 A few spaces after the marriage plan, Jade jots down a short and sweet list you completely missed: 

He has compiled a detailed list of baby names. Possible choices if your child were to be a boy or a girl, the meanings behind them, and backup options if you were to have your own twins. 

It seems that he has accounted for and is thrilled to have you in his future more than you anticipated.

♡ It’s the type you’d  imagine a tourist’s spot like Foothill Town would harbor, and honestly, how you even managed to land a job here is unfathomable. You can still recall the swathe of pity in the interviewer’s eyes when you told him you were an orphan, homeless, and overqualified (you have experience in washing Scarabian dishes). Manipulating situations through pity isn't beneath you. Frankly, you're surprised it keeps working. Truly, do you look that pitiful?

♡ You did get the job at Crisp n’ dips as well, but . . . you turned it down, for very obvious reasons.

♡ Anyhow, no need to dwell on that. What matters more is that you have your first, official job, and you can’t risk getting fired because the busboy (a certain hyena) can’t stop plotting with you. You don’t even want to know why the laws of this universe deemed you two a fit, working pair, and by what sheer misfortune you two work at the same diner: as if having him share a class with you wasn't enough. It reminds you of a certain assertion, the devil couldn't reach you, so he sent Ruggie Bucchi to do the job. ​​​​​​He looks a little goofy clad in work attire, but he’s still that same kid who tries to cop a look at your answers.

“Bucchi—”

“Just slip into Azul's office, look through his contracts, find the one with Vil's name on it, and get out before anybody notices—”

“Bucchi.”

“Easy enough—”

“Bucchi!” 

Snapping out of hysteria, he looks at you, saucer-eyed, ears slapping the side of his head in alarm. Heaving a sigh of great disdain, you turn to him, hoping he can see the look on your face past the mound of fur concealing it. “Go back inside, and clean the tables— whatever is it that you do, please.” 

♡ Oh! He seems amused. You want to punch him. It’s already hot in the mascot costume you’re wearing. Yes— that’s right. They picked you to be a mascot, wallowing in scorching perspiration and struggling to support yourself with spasmodic breaths. Unfortunately, your costume's permanent stitched-on smile sends the opposite message—  it only seems to buttress the smirk he throws your way, and by God, you want to reach in and stuff him in the suit. It’s not like you can take it off, too. You’d done that after a particularly stifling endeavor, and had someone recognize you by the name Magicam Hunchback alone. 

♡ Hmm . . . you wonder if Vil ever took that post down. Obviously not, judging from the speed of verbal recognition thrown your way. Perhaps it was because of your ill-fated nerves you hadn’t asked him to— you can’t help it, can you? Not when the lilac of his pupils drink you in and have you standing on the cusps of edged needles. He’s beautiful, above you, far more competent than you’ll ever be. It’s only natural he deems your futile requests a hassle to deal with... so if people were still theorizing about you being a soft launch and your tutor being involved with you in a relationship, why wouldn’t he take it down? It’s like he wants you to suffer just because you don’t knuckle under his demands. 

♡ People talking about you, it doesn’t get out of your head, never does. They definitely make him laugh. Oh, great, thank you. How did bro pull Vil? You never wanted to. They must have a GREAT personality. You’d argue with that, but let it go— after all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned from arguing and making amends with someone who compares you to an uncooked potato: is that it’s fruitless. 

♡  . . . Ah,  that  reminds  you!  Speaking of doom, it  reminds you of the man responsible for half your mounting problems. You need to remember to tune in for today’s study session. He’s made it clear he won’t take your escapades lightly anymore.. and with Rook always carrying a thrashing, less composed version of you over his shoulder, you’d rather not risk the humiliation. 

“..Seriously?”

“Huh?”

“Yer eyebags got eyebags.”

Ruggie's voice brings you out of your self-induced conspiracy. Peeling your lids open, you turn to look at the hyena. Through the spotty lens of your mask, you can only see half of his face, but you very well know it’s steeped in curiosity. Especially when he looks at the slip in your hand— or..paw.

“Is that a doctor's prescription? You catch a disease?”

“No, it’s Vil’s handwriting.”

There’s silence 

Raising his hands in surrender, he yields,  with  a low whistle following the interval. “Y'know what? My bad. Would've rather heard it was terminal.”

“Tell me about it.” A press of your brows has your lips curving down. No matter how you shape it, your mind keeps sinking to the dilemma at hand. Why did Vil want you in his club? “I doubt Vil would let me go unscathed if he caught me saying this, but it really is tiring having to deal with him.”

Ruggie, no matter how little credit you give him (a pittance, really) catches on to your sombre tone. It’s only natural he does. You can’t find it within yourself to fake your emotions, or put up a façade when every two seconds there’s a little kid giving you a gummy smile and planting themselves beside you for a picture. Rocking on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets, he treads very, very carefully. You get the gist he knows what’s up, that this is the most fun he’s had all year round. 

“...Y'know.” He avoids eye contact, lest you send another invisible scowl his way. “Usually when rich people start offering ya opportunities...”

There’s a moment’s pause before he deigns you a glance. A chameleon-like ability where the hues of his irises shift from to blue to gray. 

“They’re investin’.”

You thump your head against a wall and startle a couple of children. 

“Think about it! Nobody spends this much effort on somebody unless they're plannin’ on getting something back.”  He insists, waving his hands in your face as if to stop you before you actually bash your head in the wall and die. He’d lose his job if you did.  “Ya really think world-wide supermodel, hotshot Vil Schoenheit would deign a simpleton like you a glance?" He tilts his head. “People like you n’ me don’t get that luxury, and you still don’t get it through your head, do ya? You really are a goody-goody.”

♡ There’s no reason for Ruggie to do this. Really? Subtly coerce you into drowning yourself beneath waters and digging your own grave? The Ruggie Bucchi you know wouldn’t dare risk that, and you’re sure, on the assumption of yours that the Savana overblot has passed, that he’d know this better than ever. 

♡ Unless . .

he’s intentionally trying to get you into trouble?

You sneak a glance at him. No matter how much of a layabout he may seem, he excels at his job, leaving tables spick and span and finishing it off with a swift assist to the waiters. When he talks, occupied, those twin canines protrude. You mustn’t forget why you want to stay away from them. They don’t keep your safety in their minds.

Twisted Hearts is a game about villains. 

♡ Right! You don’t know Bucchi, really, you don’t. You know about the territorial hyena from the cringe-fest that is Twisted Hearts, but him in reality, you don’t. Does he know about Yuu and you? You wouldn’t put it past him. You don’t even know if Yuu and him are acquainted, if he’s head over heels just like the others, if he would really go that far as to intentionally lead you astray. He can smell you, can’t he? He is a beastman. Would he? One look at his smirk tells you the truth clear and fair. Who knows how to lurk in the shadows and contort their movements from afar the best, other than you, of course?​​​​

♡ You may have let Kalim get to you, you may have dampened Jamil’s suspicion, but that doesn’t make them your friends. They are not your friends. If they find out Yuu’s inner workings, they’ll make your life miserable, would they not? Because that’s what they are. 

♡ Characters bound to destroy the world for their one and only. And in no universe, no matter how much Yuu deems it true, are you anyone’s muse. 

“Mummy, look!” A finger juts out in your direction. “A rabbit!”

This is humiliating. 

♡ Heaving another sigh of despondence, you try to peer at the crowd. Taking up all the seats are customers immersed in idle chitter-chatter and fussy children. In a way, it looks no different from your world,if you ignore the obvious dissimilarities in their comportment and physical characteristics. One customer has ears bigger than their head — what type of beastman is that? One looks like a run-of-the-mill average Joe. One has teal hair, striped with black, and the other . . 

♡ Wait, what?

♡ . . Teal hair? You blink a few times to enhance what you’re seeing. You’re staring at the back of a person’s head. Into a haircut that’s all too familiar. Is that . . Jade? 

♡ Yeah! There’s Yuu. Sitting opposite him. They’ve managed to find your job location, or not, perhaps they’re both here on an excursion. A very one-sided excursion where the latter is trying to ignore the eel’s prodding and probing, any sane eye can see Jade is annoying them, and he just seems so lively. In a way, a manner he never took up when he was with you, a manner which differs so far from his formality. He seems full of energy here, so entranced — you suppose you aren’t capable of overpowering Yuu in this regard. It seems as if their charm is irresistible. 

♡ But then they get up. And you have this unbearable urge to get the eel alone and atleast share a word or two with him.  Yuu pays, clearly, and they’re leaving, another dot in the mass of a thousand. Surely, this isn’t what he’s been doing all this time? Frolicking around with Yuu? Your tormentor? How original.

Before you know it, a rabbit paw catches his sleeve. It's.. well, a bit worn out. Not something you’d expect Jade to wear, but his name comes out nonetheless.

“.. Jade?”

When he turns—

you realize that is not Jade.

♡ Floyd Leech?! 

♡ How doomed are you?! How did you even let it slip past you that Jade has his other half? You’re extremely lucky you’re still clad in your little rabbit costume, because you don't think you can ever stand the notion of him  copping a look at your face and recognizing you on campus. You go rigid entirely, words on the precipice of your tongue and perishing right after as his eyes, half-lidded and bored, languidly rove over your probably ridiculous button eyes. Extricating your hand just as it latched on, you stand in place. 

♡ . . . You also make sure to give him a little wave. Just in case he takes your silence into suspicious account.

“Huh?” The nasally voice is accompanied with the slow stretch of a pointy smile. “And who’re you—”

“Floyd!”

♡ Whatever attention he had on you gets wiped off in a millisecond, and he slinks back towards Yuu almost obediently. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Opps are everywhere.

♡Oh, shoot! You totally forgot today was the day of the most dreaded examination: midterms. 

♡ And that’s not an atypical thing, really. You’ve never focused on those, that’s how you get your grades to amount to a forgettable pittance, but today is especially dreadful because in the midst of ‘fixing up' your bedhead, Vil had spent the better part of twenty minutes reminding you he expected nothing short of excellence. You can understand his expectations, after all, he'd spent months drilling the material into your skull, whether you welcomed it or not.So with a smile that stretched a little too tightly over your lips, you assured him you would. And you’re sure if this world were any more unbelievable, you’d have a big, fat paper slapped on your back with the words liar.

♡ Specifically because you’re stuck on the first question. You kept skimming through the sheet trying to find a question you’d at least know about, before realizing you’d reached the end of the paper — and you can just imagine that scowl on his face. You can remember him droning on about this same problem, but your memory’s waterlogged, and no amount of scourging can pluck that itch free. .  What an exemplary upperclassman you are!

 ♡ It’s also not just because of Vil, it’s also because this is the start of book three, and if your notion goes according to plan, then Ace, Deuce, and Grim will all grow little sea mementos on their head—with Yuu left to save their friends from their own stupidity. It’s quite laughable, really. That part keeps distracting you. 

“A bold answer.”

♡ Professor Trein has made ten rounds to your table, and has stood above you for the better half of  it as you both stare at a blank page. Whenever you write out the answer, it elicits a disapproving hum, and you’re forced to wipe it out. In the end, you just make do with a solid guess, and turn your paper in, chewing down your uncertainty and following the tide of students as they make their exit. 

♡ The rest of the day resumes.

♡ After a tiring study session with Vil, you attempt to trudge back to your dorm. Your mind’s hazy, misty, and through the dense, foggy plumage shrouding Night Raven, you struggle to keep up. It doesn’t help your brain is, much to your resistance, actively trying to memorize thirteen pages of alchemy at the same time, so when you see more than three figures up ahead — or atleast the shape of them — you uncharacteristically pay them no heed. Big mistake.

♡ Oh, shit! Your suspicions that someone had noticed Yuu's sudden interest in you are confirmed sooner than expected. Namely, when a handful of Savanaclaw students corner you on Main Street and decide a confrontation is a perfectly respectable substitute for magic. You’re no stranger to conflict, but you’re not a connoisseur of handling them too, per se — so imagine your surprise when you’re boxed in by the most ripped beastmen known to man.  They give Savanaclaw its name, it seems, and promptly remind you to never engage with the dorm again. Because . . . it doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t done anything wrong, what reason do they even have to resort to violence? 

♡ Unless . .  someone called them in? Ruggie doesn’t strike you the type to do that, neither does Leona (or does he? He was never your favorite) so perhaps you’re just haplessly grasping at straws and hoping your little theories land. Either way, the group doesn’t give you any room to argue. Grabbing your collar, reeling you in by the shoulders, whatnot. The typical bunch of Savanaclaw knuckleheads, really, so that accomplishes one more goal of yours: physical pain.  You don’t know which part of your body hurts, it's everywhere. 

“We’ve heard of ya” One of them snickers. It’s a hideous sound, you think, one that makes you stare past them amid the aridity of your throat. 

“.. You have?”

“You deaf or somethin’? That’s what he just said.”

♡ Quick! Think of something! Damn you, Vil. If he hadn’t plagued your mind with textbook material, perhaps you’d conjure one of the typical tricks you have up your sleeve. It then occurs to you, you don’t even have any experience in the fighting department. How are you even supposed to defend yourself? You watch as they quite literally empty the contents of your bag, bric-a-brac and stationery descending on the ground in cacophonous waves. It’s clear no one is around the area this time, all except—

“Hey, can you guys please move aside?”

♡ Deuce Spade! And . . . who’s  that?

Someone’s behind him, but your focus remains on him. “I need to get to Mr. Sam’s shop. You’re blocking the way.”

“Mr.Sam’s shop?” A rowdy beastman chuckles. “Why?”

“.. I need to get some parchment.” Deuce’s eyes narrow, spade crinkling and belying his skepticism beneath. “I’m going to send a letter home.”

♡ Except . . . he seems wary of you. Not just you, all of you. Does he even know you’re the one that’s being wronged here?  There’s someone behind him, someone you’ve never seen before, but something about them rings a bell of recognition within you.

♡ The contours of their face, the way they stand tight-lipped, they have a good couple of inches over Deuce — their hair is quite messy, jutting out in sleep-mussed strands as if they rolled out of bed, yet giving the impression it’s styled like that on purpose, curling around their face. Their face is steeped in staid indifference, they don’t spare a single glance towards the delinquents, yet amid their unsolicited questions, it treks towards you. 

♡ Who is that? Your heart squeezes in on itself. Your lip’s worn between your teeth as you feel them comb through your concealed stature, languidly traversing each and every part of your figure. It makes you feel uncomfortable, it makes your privacy feel impinged upon and paraded for their perusal. . .it feels as if the mere sight of you is being drunk in.  Who is that? They look familiar, overly familiar, too familiar. 

♡ That’s Yuu?

Your eyes are nailed open, pinned wide by incredulity. You don’t know why, but your heart bursts in little staccatos. There’s a little, stray strand at the side of their head, and dare you say, it’s styled exactly like the Leech twins. 

♡ No way. No way! They actually did it. They changed themselves because you poured your heart out at some blasted library! But . . what about their height? Even their face seems different. Makeup? Heels? Now they’re accompanying Deuce, staring at you, because no matter how much you could’ve told them you like someone who couldn’t give a single care in the world about you, they can’t help themselves. It’s like they need to stare at you.  Just what the hell is wrong with them? Do they really think you’ll topple over by their feet just because they did a little something new with their face or hair?

“Well, look what the prefect dragged in.” The Savanaclaw knucklehead jeers. “Deuce? Ain’t you supposed to be runnin’ your ass off at the track club and sucking up to your professors? Piss off, and take your little wuss with ya.”

Deuce looks on the cusp of letting his face devolve into pure fury. You can’t help but think it’s not that serious, but upon watching the tremor of his lips, you reconsider. The prefect and he have been pals since the beginning, and they must’ve fought tooth and nail beside each other. It’s only natural they have that kind of relationship, palpable in the way he pushes them behind him. Oh, wow. Shielding them with his body? Ground-breaking.

“Yuu, get behind me.. I’m only asking you this once, alright?” His brows press as he takes his attention to the group. You can’t help but feel as if he doesn’t remember you.  “Step aside. We’re not here to pick a fight, so please move out of the way.”

Yuu obliges, shuffling, though you’d argue that’s because they’re too busy staring at you, gauging your face for a reaction. A reaction on the change. A reaction on anything.

The Savanaclaw bastard mulls it over. “Hm.” Then he cranes his neck head-on. “Nah. Can’t say the same for us.”

♡ That’s all it takes for a punch.

♡ The sound is loud on skin. You don’t even know who threw it, but somewhere amid the jabs, punches are flying. Punches are flying in every wayward direction. Punches are flying . . . at you? The last thing you see is a Spade, and then your entire vision gets tilted, harshly. You’re spinning, why are you spinning?

♡ You realize a second too late when the air is knocked out of you. Did you just get punched by Deuce Spade?! 

♡ A solid right hook to your rib and you fall to the ground in blinding pain, it’s like he straight up tore something out of you. A half-choked scream evades and amid the tussling bodies, you see Yuu staring at you. They make no move to rush to you— but the pain is unbearable, and you clench the space over your ribs. Pain shoots up in your cheek when someone tumbles over you, dust kicks up everywhere. 

It's clear everyone’s getting their ass handed to them.

You lay sprawled on the ground alongside some ugly Savanaclaw bastard. Grunts follow. Glaring at him, you seethe. “This is all your fault.”

“... Sorry, man.”

And with that, stars burst in your vision.

♡ You wake up in the infirmary. 

♡   It takes you a while to come to.

♡ Your vision is, at first, incredibly spotty, and for the dots to ebb away, requires you to keep on blinking. Blinking requires strain, and strain requires more pain which you don’t deign to verbalize.  There’s no question that you were brought here by someone, a student, even. No lights have been turned on, you’re left in the quiet chalice of moonlight streaming in from windows and the growing pain on the plush of your cheek -- it’s past curfew, and no one is in the office, not even the Savanaclaw mutts. Shuffling, you realize a blanket’s draped over your shoulders, and a poorly-attached.. bandage on your skin which flutters away. 

♡ . . What a bummer! You  got  your  ribcage  and cheek beat in? You should’ve known to jump out of the way, especially since you know more about Deuce than anyone in the room! You must’ve really underestimated his relationship with Yuu. Because Book Three is coming around, it should be even stronger than before, considering they’ve dealt with two overblots. Strangely though, Yuu in Twisted Hearts was never quiet when he’d been forced to take to his fists. In fact — the dialogue options all centred around de-escalating the situation. 

♡ . . Seems like you really messed with their head after the library incident. Thought it should offer you some comfort, it has icy shards of reluctance roving over your spine. If the time might come where you’ll be coerced into interacting with Adeuce again.. then you’d have to book it immediately. Yuu’s made it clear they’ll stop at nothing, especially since they’ve changed their appearance. 

“You’re awake.”

♡ .. 

♡ ..What? 

♡ ​​​​​Ack! What the heck?!

♡ You flinch, blinking once more, and look around the room for the source of the voice. 

♡ There's an apparition at the foot of the bed. No, there’s a person standing there, a person you’ve never met before, you can tell. The pitch of their voice,  the dialogue.. it’s all unfamiliar and..

It’s Yuu. 

♡ The room glistens once.

Or.. it looks like Yuu. 

It looks like Yuu, but with the way they’re dressed and carrying themselves, they look like J̸A̸D̸E̸. They don’t look like themselves, and how long had they been standing there, watching you mull everything over on your tongue? Back at Main Street, you’d skimmed over their new looks, but now, having given the luxury of time, you’re taking it all in and realize that they’re trying to impersonate him. The man, who you, in the heat of the moment, had called best friend. ​​​​​​

Your heart quickens. How did you not notice it before?​​​​​​

Beams of silvered incandescence fall in stripes upon their face, and you realize their eyes have been morphed into a different shape, their lips a different colour, their height now towering over you...  What? How’s that even possible? How come no one noticed it at Main Street? Had they always looked like that? No— that’s not right. There is something completely wrong and yet has eluded everyone. Even the Savanaclaw brutes recognized them as the prefect, where you, someone who’s been flanked by said prefect, erred in the recognition at first. 

“.. Yuu?” 

J̸A̸D̸E̸, they look like. J̸A̸D̸E̸, the manner they carry themselves. They drink in the battered and bruised visage you’re clad in, and with that ̷J̷̷A̷̷D̷̷E̷’̷S̷ ̷G̷̷R̷̷I̷̷N̷  playing on the softer curve of their lips, their J̸A̸D̸E̸’S̸ H̸E̸A̸D̸ lolls towards you. Y꙰U꙰U꙰     J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰   Y꙰UJ꙰J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰

“Forgive me.” Upon receiving a pointed brow from you, h҉e҉  chuckles. “I was under the impression that reunions between companions of a certain familiarity were typically accompanied by some gesture of goodwill. A hug, if I recall correctly.”

They’re speaking like him. A roulette of personalities before it clicks into one concrete thing. You’re not even looking at their face anymore, your hands are wound around the softer bedsheet and your lips are restless welts between your teeth. What do you even do in this situation? Yuu, somehow, against all odds, has boxed you in an infirmary. It terrifies you, but, audaciously, you chew down the quiver of your face and school it into a calmer one. 

“Yuu.” 

You can’t see their eyes, but you know they widen around your utterance of their name. Quickly, before you can even process it, they cover the distance between you too. It has you jerking back against the wall, biting back a hiss at the strong contract. —They’re in front of you. They’re looking at you. What have you even done to deserve this?

“Yes?” Your eyes hesitantly climb upward. 

“.. Can you leave?”

They look like you’ve just said something befuddling. Quirking a brow and adorned in that same expression as you, they question. “.. Why? You’re hurt, aren’t you? It’d be unwise of me to leave you to your own devices.” Their eyes glister. They’re yellow now. A color oh-so familiar. “Oh, speaking of you being hurt, I apologize on behalf of Deuce. He really..”

Your hands. Their hands. They meld them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but theirs are denuded of any temperature, even as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket. There’s a pit amassing in your stomach, gnawing at you, a massive blackhole of dread. It's everywhere, coagulating in the confines of your throat, even your ears and rigid body. You won't look them in the eyes, even as they give your hands a squeeze of confirmation, as if to ascertain you’re actually there. 

“.. He really angered me, you see.” Nails delve into the plush of your skin, before releasing it in a portrait of half-moons. “Oh, but enough of him. May I talk to you?”

—As if you’re real. 

Are you real? You can still hear their voice in the back of your mind. 

♡ No, no, no. You want to scream at them, but you’re afraid it’ll only escalate the situation. 

“.. Okay.” You tread carefully. “We’ll talk. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll talk to you all you want—” 

“—Just leave. I’m hurt.”

♡ It’s like they can't bear the thought of not listening to you. 

♡ Nodding, you watch them exit the room, the door closing. And just like that, you hide beneath the covers, not wanting to lament on what the fuck just happened! Squeezing your eyes shut, you don’t breathe until you're certain their footsteps have diminished into nothingness. 

“Spud!”

You jerk awake. 

♡ Dampness amasses upon your waterline before slivers of it stream down and onto your open palm. You’re sat upright, and the face of your tutor, Vil Schoenheit, should not offer you so much relief, but the bottled up chrysalis of your heart, the thumping staccatos of your pulse, all join to let out the happiest sigh you’ve ever breathed. You’re in the nurse’s office, you have not moved places, but Yuu is not here anymore. They’ve left. 

“Vil!” 

♡ You chew the word back down when you see the surprise on his face.

♡ You don’t know if it is because you’ve never once willingly uttered his name so.. joyfully, or because he’s wondering why, on the name of the Sevens, are you here. Judging from the way he’s in his Dorm Uniform, you must have taken him out of Pomefiore for this occasion, but beneath the gloam, he really does look like a cherub, an angel, more so because his face is tenfold embellished, softened and glamorous — not a day goes by where he doesn’t look gorgeous. Your  guardian  angel,  you’d describe him as, if you were a completely different breed of yourself, and if the circumstances were different, and if..well, you get the gist.

“..”

For the briefest of moments, more surprise fractures his impeccable composure. It vanishes just as quickly.

"Well." He smooths a nonexistent crease from the sleeve of his uniform.His lilac eyes sweep over your face with unsettling precision.  "That is certainly the most enthusiastic greeting I've ever received from you....Should I assume you've suffered another concussion?"

You hastily scrub at your face and wince.  The valleys of your palm glisten, giving you away.  “..No.”

"You've been crying." At your prolonged silence, he shakes his head.  “You have no need to verify it, I have eyes."

He doesn’t prod for more. Instead, he crosses the room with measured steps until he stands beside the infirmary bed, crossing his arms. 

"The physician informed me you were rendered unconscious after an altercation. Really? I leave you unattended for one afternoon and somehow you manage to involve yourself in physical violence."

“...It wasn't on purpose.”

“I would certainly hope not.” His thumb lightly catches your chin before you can recoil. He angles your face toward the light. “...Though judging by the state of your cheek, I can see bruising, and here I was under the impression you merely enjoyed collecting eye bags."

Letting you extricate yourself from his nitid hold, he eyes you, brows knitting close at your reluctance. “Did the nightmare concern your altercation?”

.. Was it a nightmare?

“..No.”

“Someone else, then.”

“...Yeah.”

He studies you long enough that you begin wondering if there's something written across your forehead.

“Who?”

“I dunno.”

He turns away, sighing. 

“I've discovered that people disclose the truth more readily when they cease believing they're being interrogated.” He glances back over one shoulder. “So I will ask you again another day.”

“Did you call me spud to wake me up?”

The question is airy, quick but elicits a soft sigh from him, stopping him in his tracks. When he whirls around, heels clacking against the tiles, there's a curvature to his lips, but not of pride.  As if almost conveying he’s got you  figured out, that you aren’t as elusive as you’d deem yourself. The sort of expression worn by someone who's finally finished assembling the last piece of a puzzle.

“So that is what's troubling you.” You stiffen, and he hums, folding his arms. “I suppose I can indulge your curiosity. After all, it would have been rather inconvenient to recommend you for Film Research while referring to you as 'that spud from Scarabia.”

Your stomach drops.

“Naturally, I sought out your student record.”

♡ Horror dawns upon you. It's then you realize of course there should be a school record of the person's body you’ve been transmigrated into. 

“Only to discover...” His smile thins. “...that you seemingly don't have one.”

♡ . .   

“Quite an impressive feat, really. Every student admitted to Night Raven College leaves behind paperwork. Enrollment records. Academic reports. Disciplinary files, in some unfortunate cases.” His gaze settles on you. “You, however, appeared to have vanished from the school's archives altogether. It was terribly inefficient.”

He brushes an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

“Fortunately, Housewarden Al-Asim proved considerably more cooperative. I simply requested whatever documentation Scarabia had on you.” His eyes soften into something almost miserable. “..As you can imagine, my efforts did not bear fruit.”

♡ You don’t answer.  Kalim knows your name. That day, at the infirmary, you'd given him it willingly, but it surprises you that he didn’t give it away. Did he even remember it? He has more than thirty siblings and he knows all of them by name, allegedly. It should be habit by now.. (Still, amid the sheer terror that Vil just implied he’s going to take you out of Mountain Lovers and place you into Film Research instead, you feel warmth in your heart). 

Presently, you school your expression, letting your gaze trek upward into the purple inferno that’s Vil. So, Ruggie wasn’t lying when he said Vil had been to Octavinelle. He must’ve struck a deal with Azul, Azul must’ve gotten Jade to comply, and Jade must’ve agreed.  “I don’t want to join your club, Vil. I respect you as my tutor—”

“Do you? That’s certainly shocking.”

“But I can’t accept this.”

"No,"  You don’t know what you were expecting, but the degree of his calm, it infuriates you no more than it riddles  you with confusion   “You won't accept it. There's a difference, and a rather important one.”

He covers the distance between you and purple inundates your vision, the purple of his dress, plaguing the ground. Though you’re loathe to admit it, his composure is far more formidable than outright anger, and subconsciously, you sink deeper into the blanket fortress you’ve built around yourself. Cool antiseptic against the interior of your skin, it grounds you until your eyes are inevitably forced to dwell into the reign of his eyes. 

"Acceptance, if you’d give it some thought, would mean consideration followed by a conclusion. You, however, as I’ve said before, have made a habit of refusing opportunities before you've even afforded them a glance.”

“Because they're opportunities I don't want.” You curl, coil, and do everything to shield your face from his. Detestable, you can tell it irks him so, so much. “I don’t want them. I don’t want to be put into the spotlight, I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want any of this!”

It shames you. Puts you to shame more and more and more. Sentences you to a perpetual embarrassment, because here you are reduced to tearful, loud hysteria, and Vil has not once raised his voice at you. He peers at you the same, a petulant toddler in his eyes. Why? Why can he never see you as something more than that?

“Are they?”

“—Yes!”

“Or are they merely opportunities that require you to become something more?” A long nail scrapes the cloth and suddenly, the blanket is taken away from you. You gasp involuntarily,  crisp air meets the bare of your skin and your mouth falls shut, given the luxury of seeing his face clearly. You don’t mull it over too long for his liking, and he scowls.  Deep and unforgiving. “Tell me, have you once attended Film Research?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to any of its members?”

“..No.”

“Then by what merit have you deemed it unsuitable?”

“...Because...”

It is a strange, trance-like, curse-like bubble you’re in. Words seep from your mouth and into the fracture of the air much too fast, for a moment you’re inclined to believe he’s used his signature spell on you. Has he? Can he even do that? You hate him.

“...Because Mountain Lovers leaves me alone. I want peace. I don’t want people looking at me.”

Vil lets out a slow, almost imperceptible breath.

“There it is. You've convinced yourself you don't deserve them to. You are under the absurd impression that remaining invisible somehow absolves you of responsibility." His tone remains maddeningly even. "If no one knows your name, they cannot burden you. If no one notices your work, they cannot expect more of you. If no one grows attached, they cannot disappoint you." He tilts his head. “...It's a remarkably comfortable philosophy.”

His eyes narrow just slightly.

“It is also cowardice, and if there is anything I despise more than sloth, it is precisely—”

Lilac. 

“Cowardice.”

Even through the crescendo of his stare, you feel as though you can’t let him leave just yet. 

“Wait, Vil!”  He stops, and you lower your head in shame.

“.. Can you at least walk me back? To Scarabia?”

♡ You are a coward!

♡ A smarting, throbbing pain pulses throughout your body, you hiss and seethe and sputter into Scarabia’s lounge, where the night sky, buttressed by noctilucent stars on liquefied ink, bubbles and takes you into its breezy arms. You arrive quite late, at a time where everyone has surely returned to their rooms and tuned in for the night, but this is not your first rodeo and definitely not your first time breaking curfew. You’re more so grappling with the fact that Deuce Spade, the seemingly, oh-so loyal companion, has thrown a solid right hook to your rib and now you’re most likely crippled. . .  and that Vil has, without mercy, sentenced you to a lifetime of Film Research.

♡ You hiss again. You’d very well seen dialogues regarding how others would describe his strength as unexpected, but you didn’t really expect you to be the example.

♡ You'd been so convinced the stolen items had something to do with Jade, or Y҉I҉U҉U҉—or perhaps the usual mound of unrequited love. But now, you’re re-considering where you really stand. Had it been done out of malice? The characters have shown they've no qualm with hurting you, and clearly, this implies they’d stoop to more . .  . . violent methods, if needed.  Crisp air only burns the welts on your skin, you’re glad no one’s here to see you reduced to such a state. 

♡ Except the viper! Isn’t that just so peachy?

♡ He knuckles at his lids three times before letting his face pucker into a ball of confusion and drawn brows. Donning his sleepwear, his hair meanders loose, and his skin’s rid of gold, the same as you’d seen on him the night before. Stumbling, toppling over your own tongue in a drawl, you don’t realize the burn of air is whisked away with the sensation of someone tugging at your uniform and setting you down on the ottoman.

“Do I even bother?” He questions. Your head is low, dipped. A swab of cotton pounces at your face, a pitter-patter following the motion of his fingers.  Do I even bother asking you what happened, because you and I both know you never speak the truth? And how did you even get Schoenheit to walk you to Scarabia? With a finger pressed along your ribs, he prods. “Tell me when.”

♡ Gah! Everything is happening so fast, you can’t even process it. How can you when the one guy who’s so steeped in loathing is staring back at you, after you’ve just had a mental acceptance regarding their partiality to violence?

“When.”

“I haven’t even touched the bruise yet.”

Luckily for him, you’re pretty dazed after the encounter. 

“Wheehee... My bad.” A puddle of emotions twist your face into a frown as you lament. “Do you know they didn’t even use spells? It was a bare-knuckled fight!”

“Shh. Follow my finger.”

“You’re holding up two.”

“Only one.” Lolling his head skyward, his lips press down into a thin line of.. irritation. Even when you’re crumpled, he eyes you warily. There is always something in those eyes of his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have taken it lightly. But you don’t, because the way he peers down at you, it’s almost literal. You beneath him, the natural order.   “..  I thought you avoided attention, so why provoke Savanaclaw?”

You have a strong aversion to small talk, especially when Jamil is on the receiving end. “Really generous to assume they need a reason for beating me up.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s true,” Without any need to continue conversation, he still keeps on probing for more. It’s quite laughable, isn’t it? He never struck you as the type to willingly engage in chatter with you, even now, his face is strained. How fun, knowing you’ve inconvenienced him.  “Still, I would’ve thought you the type to  at least defend yourself.”

You perch your cheek on your hand. “You thought wrong.”

“Clearly,” Pausing against your temple, the cotton is cool, even while littered with grime. “Why?”

“Why you thought wrong? Well, clearly, it’s a skill iss—”

“Why? You've had opportunities. If people insist on handing you those, why keep on refusing them? Even your own Housewarden likes you.”

You grimace. “I wouldn't phrase it like that.”

“You've earned Leech's attention.”

“I'd rather give it back.”

“Vil Schoenheit has practically dragged you into his orbit. He accompanied you just now to your dorm, didn’t he?”

Now, there’s an ugly bruise on your face and it’s not one he can touch and see, he can feel. Your lips pull into an elegiac little frown, and your eyes glaze over in mourning.

“I'd also, definitely rather give that back.”

His fingers still.

“...Why? Most students spend years trying to be noticed, and you spend every waking moment making sure no one remembers you.”

♡ Not this conversation! Looks like you’re at a bit of a standstill, but that entertains the thought: looks who’s talking. Pot, meet kettle, isn’t that what he does, in a sense, in a far more different sense? You don’t know how to reply to that, because Jamil is very clearly, very not  passively, explaining the obvious. Even the way he looks at you now is complicated, denuded of emotion that can be gauged. You merely purse your lips in lieu of a response, and avoid his gaze, like you’ve always done. 

“Can we please talk about something else?”

There’s a pressure on your palm. An accidental, harsh pull, and with a sigh, he tells you; “I can never understand you. Oh, well, it’s done.”

You blearily blink up at him. “It’s done?”

“The bandaging.”

He was bandaging you up this entire time? Oh, so that’s why he was so atypically immersed in your conversation.

Leaning back and scourging the contents of his work, which in actuality is just a linen strip of white shrouding your palms and the bare of your arm, he hums. It’s a non-committal, little thing that’s whisked away beneath the empyrean domain, blues and purplish-black lairs of twilight, cast back into the likeness of his eyes. He’s staring at you again. Waiting for, well, something. Something you’re clearly not willing to give. 

“Thank you.” Clearing your throat, its dryness is gone. In the heat of Scarabia, only you feel its cold fangs nip at your skin. When you retract your gaze, you realize, shit. Had you been looking at him? “.. Aren’t you going to leave?”

He raises a brow. 

“It may have slipped your mind that I’m your Vice Housewarden.” His arms are now folded. “In any case, you should be the one heading to bed.”

♡ Say less. You really don’t want this unsolicited thing to escalate, so you verbalize your agreement with a hum, and attempt to leave him be. The keyword here is attempt— and the trigger word here is Yuu. 

“After all, I imagine Yuu must be waiting for you tomorrow.”

A chill goes up your spine.

♡ You fall back down. Why? Because a tremor shot up your legs and now you’re that same crumpled mess you were in the library. 

♡ Ugh! Great! Another Yuu-thing to worry about. You really wish they stopped getting on your case. The incident at the infirmary still hasn’t left your mind.. Y꙰U꙰U꙰’S꙰ face staring you down. Why’s Jamil looking at you like that? With a shadow cast over his usually staid face? It unsettles you no more than it terrifies you, how have you messed up this bad? Quick, think of something! It’s time you set the record straight once and for all.

“You don’t have to worry,” hands morphed into fists in your lap, you think he feels you avoiding his gaze. “I know.. your— ahem, affections lie with Yuu. I would never personally get in your way, Vice Housewarden.” Heaving a shuddering breath, you stand up. “I’ve too much respect for you in that regard.”

♡ Uh. . why’s he looking at you like that? Brows raised, lips on the verge of shooting up into an amused smirk. 

“Hm? Affections? Where did that come from? I don’t recall bringing that up.”

♡ .. . . For your next trick you’ll need a gun and a shovel to dig your grave. Really? 

“—It's obvious.” You amend. “The way you look at them.”

“When did you see me looking at them?”

Uhh..  “When didn’t I see you looking at them?”

“There’s  no point in puerile assumptions, really.” There it is again. That clipped, clear tone. Lids rolling over charcoal finality, he folds his arms again, and once more, his hair curtains his face in a blanket of shadows. “I’m a boring guy to be around. One who doesn’t know his way around the latest trends or media. What could Yuu possibly gain from sparing me time? They’re an odd one, no more than you.”

♡ Jack of all trades, master of none! 

♡ He’s trying to dissuade you from it, the reality of what he feels, and if you were any less of a connoisseur at combing through facial expressions (which really is just obtained foresight from Twisted Hearts), you’d have believed him. But you don’t, not even for a second — in a  sense, you believe he thinks he’s gotten you off his trail, that he’s outsmarted you.  You don’t want to pester him for more, try to steer his belief, or attempt to relate to him. Truth is, you always see that smile of his whenever the prefect is mentioned, that tug on his hood, and the glint in his eyes. He lives up to his name. A viper, camouflaged in plain sight. 

♡ He must mistake you for a dumb one, or maybe he doesn’t. You think he doesn’t, not at all — perhaps he’s waiting for you to make that one mistake and sink in the hole you’ve been digging for yourself. 

”Come on,” Your voice nags his attention. “..Boring guy? You've been trying really hard not to laugh all this time— especially when you were patching me up.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his head lists gently towards the side. 

“I looked awful, I know. You can admit it.”  Pitter-patter, there goes your footfall, away from Jamil as you angle your body towards the one place you can find rest. You can’t see his face, but you don’t think of anything else other than his signature composure. That’s bad. “It’s way better to tell me you think I’m miserable up-front than going behind my back and keeping it to yourself.”

That’s bad. It’s bad. Jamil is willingly making conversation with you. This is bad. You need to set him towards a different path.

♡ Reaching your room, you catch someone peeking at you through a half-open crack in the door, Scarabia Student B! Nosy, curious, wondering why you and his Vice Housewarden were in that lounge. Without greeting him, you slam your door shut.

♡ Finally! The end of a tiring day. 

♡ Unfortunately, rest does not easy. 

♡ In the murkiness of your room, lit only by the pearly eye outside, you comb through the space. It’s barren, of course — your shelves, though, are lined with . . . accessories. 

♡ One  of  the  most  shiny  things  you  own,  is  of  course,  a  bracelet! Gifted  to  you  by none  other  than  Kalim. Your journal is by its side. There’s  also  a little  mushroom  encased  in  glass  you’d  discovered  on  your  bygone  hikes  with  Jade. You’d  never  noticed  that  before. . . it  only  now  reminds  you  just  how  many  of  your  little  trinkets  you’ve  left  back  in  the  Mountain  Lovers  club,  they  must  be  catching  dust  by  now. Should  you  drop  a  visit  tomorrow  to  pick  them  up?    You don’t know how  you’ll handle seeing him. 

♡ Climbing out of bed, you pick it up! There’s a little slip of paper plastered on the pane: Amanita verna (Destroying angels). 

♡ It seems familiar. A swathe of white is all it is, steeped in the colour from head to toe.. You remember it! That’s the same mushroom you’d encountered on your first hike, the same one you told him not to eat. It’s almost strange how he’s kept it all this time — and really, in glass? What if its toxins are airborne? When did he even give this to you?

♡ Shuffling back to bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, well, a new day awaits you. 

♡ Wake up! Sometimes you get reminded why Kalim is unfit to be a Housewarden. Under the pretense of something important, he’d woken you up and led you to Scarabia’s kitchen. You’d, at first, thought he just called you for breakfast, but one glance at the time gave the numbers 4 : 50 AM away. Under no circumstances, in any universe, would you be willing to wake up at dawn’s peak, except this one. There are few things in this world worth waking before sunrise for. An emergency. A natural disaster. Perhaps the Second Coming. 

♡ Turns out, he’s trying to arrange a party to commemorate the end of midterms, but Jamil’s chagrin is hindering his plans. A dorm-wide party to ‘boost everyone's spirits?’ it makes sense why Jamil has vetoed the idea outright.You can’t understand why this party would be a hit, considering that it takes place a day before midterm results would mean everyone is too preoccupied with stress or fatigue to ruminate on it, but oh, well, you’re far past arguing with your Housewarden. If the goal is ensuring everyone fails together, it’ll certainly work. 

♡ You have no desire to help him out, because for one, you’re fatigued beyond measure, going against  Jamil would warrant only doom — and finally, you don't trust him in the kitchen. There’s a reason why Jamil’s restricted his access to fire and anything flammable. (Though, even if it were to occur, can’t he use his unique magic?)

♡  All in all, you’re a bit surprised to see Kalim’s eagerness, so much so he’s completely overlooked what Jamil would think of him. The latter wouldn’t cook, in spite of his demands, so the boy’s brought it upon himself to do the task instead, only, for some reason, he needs your help, not the help of hundreds of other Scarabian students that would befit the skill. This has all the makings of a disaster.

“I wanna throw everybody a surprise party after classes!” He throws his hands up, relenting. The light emanating from his face alone makes yours crimp. “I think it’ll make everyone less nervous before the midterm results are announced. So? What do you think?”

“The truth or a lie?” At the persistence of his smile, you mutter. “I think it'll make everyone fail midterms, Housewarden.”

“Really? Then we’ll just have it after.” He seems surprised. Was he expecting you to agree with him? If he really insists on your companionship, then it’s only natural you come out of your shell and tell him the bare-faced truth. Though the tinge of it makes you feel the tiniest bit woozy. “Everyone in Scarabia’s studying all the time, they deserve something fun, don’t they?”

“.. Yeah.” Air whistles through your teeth as you set your eyes straight on the cutlery. “They do. I think that’s very considerate of you, Housewarden.” And that, in all honesty, is not a lie.

♡ He begins rummaging through cupboards with alarming enthusiasm!  Bowls, plates, three ladles, a whisk. Somehow, a watermelon, and a flour bag half his size. He turns to you and asks you what you both should make, and you relinquish the decision to him. You help him out with whatever he’s making with the watered-down dough — slicing melons into bits and focusing way too much on avoiding the knife’s end, and whenever he asks for something, you put yourself to the task and provide. 

♡ It’s only natural, though, that his need for conversation overwhelms him. 

”Hey,” he smiles at you. “Now that you mention it, you never brought Jade over to Scarabia!”

You never mentioned it, but okay. The question makes you pause.. Jade. The real Jade, not the one you thought you saw. Crimson, fruity rivulets skim over the ridges and valleys of your palm as you pretend to ruminate it over, but you end up conceding the real answer to him regardless.

“I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

♡ That makes him pause! 

♡ He seems shocked, truly. Eyes saucer-wide and lips parted, but then again, you expected it to be subsumed beneath the weight of his optimism. Even when he has no idea  why Jade’s left you alone, he still makes an effort to alleviate your mood. After all, that’s the impression you left for him to feast on, that you were lonely, on the verge of dying and in dire need of help. For once, the kitchen falls quiet save for the gentle simmer of something forgotten on the stove.

“..Really?”

“Really.”

Kalim blinks once. “..Did you two have a fight?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what happened?”

“ ..Nothing.” Your head lolls over your shoulder. Tongue curling over soundless words, words you’re not even sure why you’re deigning him the brunt of, coalesce. “Nothing needs to have happened, Kalim. Sometimes people just stop talking, and that’s a  part of life. They don’t need to have disagreements.”

He’s frowning at you, you can tell from your periphery, a bona fide frown that’s not at all the moue he wears when Jamil refuses to indulge one of his whims. A genuine one whose likeness is casted back into the nitid curve of your knife, as you twirl it around and around.  "I make it pretty easy."

"How?"

“I avoid them. Hide. Run away. Occasionally pretend not to hear them. Sometimes I literally climb out windows.” A tiny smile tugs at your lips. “I'm kind of difficult to be friends with.”

♡ Kalim doesn't smile back. Instead, he sets the mixing bowl down with a dull clink!

“I don't think that's true! You just listed a bunch of things you do.”

Something warm engulfs your hand. Your hands. His hands. He melds them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but his are even warmer as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket — but it’s not at all like Yuu’s grip. It's gentler, it’s genuine, and it’s kind. You won't look him in the eyes, even as he gives your hands a squeeze of reassurance. “Not who you are. You're nice. You always help me when I ask. You help clean. You always thank the ghosts after they serve you lunch. You're just scared people won’t like you— and tell you what—”

He’s beaming at you now. “Sometimes Jamil ignores me for days. Sometimes he tells me I'm impossible, but we always end up talking the next day! So you..” A thumb juts out from your interlinked... pinkies? Had he made a subconscious promise?  “Should talk to Jade.”

♡ You stare at him. . Yours and Jamil’s situation is very different, and the dynamic these two share bears no similarity to Jade and yours. If anything, you have no obligation to make amends with the eel, but still, you make do with a shuddering nod. 

“See? You’re smiling!”

“I’m not.”

♡ The new day is horrendous because you find yourself back at the Mountain Lovers club, against all odds. 

♡ Right before sending you off, Kalim gave you a small task. He wanted you to send out the invitation cards to multiple students, seeing as you’d taken on multiple jobs with the same nature. One of the names you instantly recognized, Silver. You agreed, but made your way to your old club, hoping you wouldn’t catch Jade in the process. 

♡ Only now you’re clearly trying to hide from someone, because the eel is right there. 

♡ Honestly, if you’re being honest, you hadn’t expected Jade to be in the Mountain Lovers Club, the most expected thing of him. You’d at least think he has a knack for camouflage, with the way he’s completely eluded your senses these past few days— or months. So imagine the consecutive, twelve heart attacks you get when you catch the prowling figure in the corner, situated where he always is since the day you stumbled into the room.

“Would it be impertinent of me to assume you’re trying to hide from me?”

♡ Ack! It’s been such a while you’ve seen Jade that it almost feels surreal. A husband returning from war, as you’d first put it during your departure in the earlier phase of your.. parasitic relationship, but now you’re not so sure anymore. What does it feel like?

♡  . . . He’s caught you dead in your rights amid your prancing, and even ensconced within your reluctance, you sneak an itsy-bitsy glance at him. Your gaze is confined to his self-same face, one that remains unchanged though you’ve spent so many days apart. His comportment  is exactly as you remember it — suave and placid — and somehow, that's what makes seeing him so strange. Yours has changed, has it not? You’ve been dealing with Yuu, Scarabia, Ruggie, Vil . . 

♡ Ridiculous. Leech is standing five paces away from you. 

♡ What do you even say? You don’t want to probe at him, ask him where he’s been, ask him about Vil. It’s entirely possible he was occupied with the semester, with Mostro Lounge, his hikes, or whatever his slippery mind latched onto. Showing that much eagerness would definitely corrode the image you’ve been trying to build, right? Though, him disappearing right after that cheek memento seems too odd to be a  coincidence, and you know it isn’t, you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, for his own sake.

So, you just heave a sigh, and let your eyes trail to the room. 

“..You've always had a  talent for assumptions.”

“Have I?”

“You've assumed correctly enough times for it to become annoying.”

"How flattering.” He hums, accepting the correction. It irks you. “I’m relieved to see your wit survived my absence. I was riddled with fear, you see.” With a gloved hand on his chest, he sniffles. “How you could possibly survive without my interference.”

♡ Ugh! He expected otherwise. Sure, you had a bit of a tussle with the withdrawals, but you did just fine without him. Sure, you can see him grinning slyly at you, his words but a harmless jab.

“I considered several possibilities.” He keeps on going, eyes transfixed on the arrays of . . truth be told, an entire ecosystem of wildlife. The emanating light casts an azure glow on his face, and you find  veils of lashes covering the glint in his eyes.  “That you would continue avoiding the Mountain Lovers Club indefinitely, or that you had simply forgotten where it was, and I did entertain the notion that one of  Schoenheit’s extracurricular endeavors had finally succeeded in claiming you. Dare I say, you're even starting to resemble him in speech.”

You pale at the implications. “You're hilarious.”

“So I've been told.” That smirk may as well be a cathedral of pointed arcs, ripping past his lips as he places a gloved hand on his chin. 

There’s that usual silence, enveloping you. You try to let your attention fixate on something else to avoid the strain of conversation, somehow it feels foreign to you.

But then he breaks it.

Unfortunately. 

“But of course, horrible as I may be, I couldn’t possibly leave my best friend to fend for themselves.”

♡ Ouch! You nearly topple over a display and break the glass. 

“..Best friends?” You cough.  “That sounds inaccurate.”

Ah, right. You had mentioned that, hadn’t you? Back when Yuu kept on pestering you, and you found no better alternative than to pin that label onto the one person you would never find yourself making friends with. His smile neither grows nor diminishes, remaining suspended in that infuriating middle ground where every word he utters sounds like the conclusion to a joke only he understands.

“I see. Then perhaps I’ve been reading the situation incorrectly.”

♡ You don’t get it too twisted. For what it’s worth, you know Jade doesn’t actually consider you a companion. In actuality, he doesn’t appear to find the idea of physical contact or friendship  too appealing as demonstrated from your botched cheek kiss, the embarrassment of which you mentally recoil from — so he makes do with throwing little jests at you. Perhaps he indulges himself in your micro-expressions, the way you school them, or the sneer you send his way. It’s a wicked game, but really, you’re not all that irked. In a way, you can proceed with your plan. The keeping-Jade-Leech-near-you plan. It worked before, he wards people off perfectly, doesn’t he?

♡ You.. just have to remain interesting enough. To his eyes, that is. You need to keep his curiosity at its apogee. The question at hand is: how do you do that?

“Incorrectly?” Your voice, brought into the moment.  It’s only now you realize that the both of you aren’t even looking at each other except for stolen glances eluding the other’s attention. Back to back, the two of you stare into opposing sides of a display. This can’t get any stiffer. “Usually, when a best friend disappears, they inform the other beforehand. An explanation, if you’ve ever heard of it.”

There’s silence. 

You can just see the surprise coloring his face. In tinges of blue, white, green— the sea, spumes of it contorted into  a release. Not a soft one, a milder, more slippery one.

“..I hadn't realized an explanation was expected.”

Something flickers across his face. You see it in the glass, the likeness of his it casts back at you when he moves his head to stare. It's gone so quickly you wonder if the light had merely shifted beneath the leaves overhead. Like a tinge of intrigue rejuvenated. You wonder what is so haplessly appealing about you?

“Then allow me to apologize.”

♡ The next moment, he’s offering you his arm, and you take it without hesitation. He’s had you close, and there he is,  leading you to.. where? You don’t question it, but along the way, he deigns you a glance down.

“Perhaps I was too presumptuous.”

You don’t. “... What’s this about now?”

His eyes grow a tad bit darker, but then he grins again and you frown.  "I had thought the interval of our separation might warrant another display of affection, to put it modestly..."

♡ You go still. 

♡ Jade picks up on it, giving you a questioning hum. It’s gone as soon as it inspissates, and you trudge forward to the destination.

♡   . . . 

♡ The cafeteria is loud, loud, loud! It feels foreign, because you spend most of your time secluded in your dorm, eating lunch junk where no one can see you. Apparently, the ghost chefs hired at said place were once five star connoisseurs, and you’d be nothing but dumb if you missed out on a chance you never had the luxury of in your past life... which goes to say: you aren’t exactly sure how to take him bringing you to the cafeteria, of all places.​​​​

“Can you go and get that sandwich for me?” Ouch, where are your manners? Eating with your mouth full? You mutter again just in case. “The one.. ugh, what’s it called? The one with the uhh—​​​​​the green thing?”

“Brazenly telling me to do your bidding,” even in the hubbub of an area this packed, he manages to embody that properness immaculately. “Heh, heh, heh,” you ignore that diabolical laugh. “Now, does it not disturb you we may not be as close as you think?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, mindfully chewing his question over. . . Of course, you’re never one to deem yourself of greater amity in his eyes, that’d be ludicrous to assume, but if you don’t play your cards right and act like they’re unstable, you feel like you won't be getting too far. ​​​​​

“..I don't know,” you admit after swallowing. There is no taste, you notice. “You haven't poisoned me yet.” ​​​​​​

Jade stills. There’s a glint in those eyes of his, it vanishes as soon as  he gives you room to ponder on your own spoken words. Why would that be your first thought? It works, though, because he prods.

“Is that your metric for friendship?”

“It’s a decent start.”

“You are very forgiving.” A chuckle sounds. “And if I refuse?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” heaving a sigh, you prop your chin on your hands woefully. “.. I would have to get it myself.. but it would’ve been really nice if you did it for me.”

“What do I receive in return?”

“I don’t know,” you drag a hand down your face. “I’ll decide when you get me my burger.”

“Did you not say you wanted a sandwich?”

“What's the difference?.. Fine. I have nineteen thaumarks you can probably barter for a mushroom pen or something.”

♡ You can tell Jade has to physically stop himself from appearing amused, because this little Scarabia NPC is genuinely trying to negotiate with their entire, non-existent wallet! Nevertheless, he doesn’t torment you more. Instead, he brings back the sandwich you wanted — and gods, it does look like the most appetizing thing on Earth. Without sparing it any mercy, you shove the thing into your mouth and disregard the question present in his eyes. 

“Forgive me for probing, but the manner with which you’re.. eating that sandwich..” His eyes widen the slightest bit. “I would assume this is the first time you’ve been given the opportunity.”

“You’re one to talk. Have you eaten anything other than Destroying angels?”

♡ Aha! Shock paints his face! 

♡ He is quick to mask it up, but even in that staid composure there appears to be something he wants to say to you, present in the still contemplation of his lips. Then, when you lean closer, he blinks back into reality. 

“What a predictable question,” he chuckles, his familiar close-eyed smile settling back into place. “If you truly wish to know, my palate has had the fortune of wandering rather extensively. I'd argue cuisine tells one far more about a culture than history books ever could. A nation's fears, its prosperity, the produce its soil permits... all of it finds its way onto a plate.”

You hastily clamp your lips shut. Perhaps egging him to go on a tangent wasn’t the best course of action.

“Take sandwiches, for instance. They're deceptively ordinary. Bread is rarely chosen at random. A dense rye carries fillings quite differently from an airy milk loaf, while sourdough lends enough acidity that one must consider the sharpness of the accompanying vegetables. Even the order in which ingredients are layered determines whether one tastes the meat first, the herbs first... or simply a regrettable mouthful of sauce.”

“Uh—”

“Mushrooms are especially remarkable in that regard. Their flavour changes so dramatically depending on the variety and preparation. A delicate sauté brings out an earthy sweetness, whereas roasting deepens their savoriness entirely. Some are wonderful folded into cream sauces, others are best left almost untouched. They're... surprisingly expressive ingredients.”

By the time he’s finished his prating, you’ve already downed everything at the table. Food’s shadow coils in the corners of your mouth as you relish in the aftertaste, but it’s a bit hard to do so, especially when the eel is eyeing you all the while. Tongue swiping across the back of your teeth, you emit a false cough and look towards him. You don’t even know what it is he’s eating, and you don’t question it. 

“For a second, I thought we weren’t talking about food anymore.” You quip, glancing at him. Hm, strange. Why’s he looking at you like he wants to pounce—

♡ He shoves a spoonful of food into your mouth!

​​​​“Did you taste the basil?” Utensil remaining untouched, he pours his attention onto you. The back of your palm bolsters your coughs as you try to get the shock out of your system, setting him straight with a mean glare. The sudden action combined with your little injury has you sure he just knocked a tooth out or something. 

“What the fu—” You massage your throat, immediately unsealing your lips to take a look at your mouth. No teeth knocked out, thankfully.  “You little..”

Open-mouthed, you think over his question. “There was basil?”

“..Hm.”

“I didn’t even taste it.”

“..Hm.”

“Is there usually basil in this?”

“Hm.”

His lackluster responses make you look at him.

♡ . .  . Strange how he’s looking at you back like that. 

♡ You blink at him. He’s staring at you like you just slapped a bucket of water over him. He only snaps out of it when you wave a hand over his face and seal your lips into a questioning line, eliciting an atypical.. gulp from him. 

”I apologize.” He closes his eyes. “What were you saying?”

“There was basil in this?”

Raising his fork, the prongs glister beneath the light, sliding along the curvature of its gaps. 

"There was. If I was where you’re sitting, I’d taste it quite deftly.. Simply because,” he muses and muses.

Stab! 

Prongs are embedded into a slab of food, guillotined by steel before your eyes and shredded open into rivulets like juice. Soundlessly directing your attention to those eyes, twins of olive-brown and gold nailed down with mirth, he croons.

“..My family always believed a meal ought to be savored rather than conquered.”

There is silence crowding the contest of eye contact. 

You excuse yourself shortly.

It’s time for your next class.

♡ Malleus Draconia and Cater Diamond are standing right fucking next to you. 

♡ The sentence is melodramatic, because for someone of such a high-sounding prestige, they’ve been confined to the space of the botanical garden's verdant grounds. When does one ever get the chance to utter that? Two complete opposites standing next to one another, and oh, there’s you too, trying not to drown in your own ill-fitting, misshapen lab uniform, but chances are they don't notice, because the heir to Briar Valley is completely soaked right now!

“What's going on here, Diamond? Why is water spraying at me out of nowhere?”

♡ Yikes. Even his voice is intimidating enough to make your spine stiffen. You're practically shivering in your boots.

♡ ...No, no. Pull yourself together. Trying to sneak past him now would only invite unwanted attention. All you have to do is what everyone else at Night Raven College seems to manage effortlessly: avert your eyes, keep your head down, and scurry off before the future king notices your existence. The campus had already written the script for interactions with Malleus Draconia years ago! Fear him. Avoid him. Pretend you have somewhere else to be! 

​​​​​​♡ It had only just struck the end of Alchemy, and you'd wandered into the subtropical section of the greenhouse to collect the specimen you'd been cultivating. Stumbling into... this... certainly hadn't been part of the itinerary. Then again, they were your schoolmates. Running into them shouldn't have been surprising. (Oh, it’s only surprising because you’ve completely isolated yourself from Yuu now. Avoiding them, never lingering long enough. Something within you ceases to exit when your mind wanders back to the infirmary. Was that real? Have you gone mad?)

“It's the sprinkler system.” You don't even need to look to picture Cater's grin. “They use it for irrigation. Whole zone's got a timer that mimics subtropical rainfall. Guess nobody gave you the tour.”

“Artificial rain...” Malleus repeats, almost thoughtfully.

A gloved hand reaches into the downpour. Water gathers upon his fingertips before dripping back into the beds of foliage below. “How curious. Humans truly do possess peculiar methods of tending their gardens.”

♡ You'd like to point out that the future king of Briar Valley is currently discovering... sprinklers, but you enjoy living. Besides, everyone has gaps in their knowledge. You, for one, still don't know why Professor Trein insists on carrying Lucius into class when the cat has never once demonstrated academic aptitude. Quietly, you crouch beside one of the planter boxes. Your herb should be... there! Perfect!

♡ Nearly uprooting the entire planter, you make a beeline towards the exit! Phew, you survived that. Now you have to suffer through the remainder of your classes. 

♡ Soon enough, most of them are over, and the midterm results are to be announced very, very soon. Before that, you adhere to your job as the Night Raven mailperson. It’d be wise of you to get the job done before there’s a herd gathering, and Kalim’s voice is already etched onto your mind by the time you’re carrying the letters. 

♡ Sifting through hundreds of parchments, you realize three of them belong to.. Diasomnia residents. There’s an anonymous love letter, Kalim’s invitation card, and a letter from home! You should be able to catch them on campus if you hurry — because you’ll have to delay your plans if they're in their respective dormitories. It also makes you lament on why you even agreed to deliver the invitation card to Silver, of all people, but you have to thank Kalim for his help some way. This just happened to be the easiest. Chances are you’ll find him drowning in sleep. Can’t be that hard. 

♡ It takes you a while to find him. The hallways are brimming with people. 

♡ True to your deduction, there he is, eyes slid down in respite and chest rising with ebbs and falls. Though you don’t look at his face that long, he's still dressed in his labwear. This should be easy enough— but quickening footfalls of other students have you sifting hastily through the bag — and you pluck out the card, tucking it into his pocket. He shuffles in his sleep, lips parted, murmuring something, but you’re already running off like your hands have caught fire. . . and they may as well have. 

♡ — Because halfway up the staircase, you realize the card is still in your hand. 

. . . . ?

You blink, turning it over. It’s Kalim’s invitation card. And— Diasomnia, right there. And.. there's the letter from home. And—

♡ The fucking love letter!

♡ You’re sprinting back, nearly toppling over the staircase. You gave him the love letter! A few students eye you— no, no, no — you feel stressed tears prick at your eyes when you see Silver’s resting place devoid of any presence. He’s gone! (With the love letter still in his pocket!)

♡  . . . By the time you return, huffing and puffing, you’re frowning. How the hell did you mess that up?  Fortunately, Jade’s already there, waiting for you. Arm in arm, you walk.

“Do I need to assume?”

“No.”

♡ It’s no biggie, you think. You’ll just catch him at a later time, or have someone retrieve the letter for you. Out of every love interest, Silver should be the most compliant. You just need to focus on something else. 

♡ A tide of students, the same as before. They’re all circling what looks to be the board, and some of them part when they catch the eel’s look. There’s a rush. A stampede. Midterm results are here. Bodies are released and ejected like someone kicked open an anthill, and through the writhing masses, you catch sight of . . Yuu. Grim, Ace, and Deuce. The furball’s pointing up at the listed names, and perpetual horror slashes everyone’s faces into two. What makes you uncertain, though, is that the prefect also looks horrified. 

Why do they look horrified?

Your answer comes in the form of an anemone ripping out of their hair. 

—Anemone in the prefect’s hair. 

Why the FUCK does Yuu also have an anemone?!

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♡ It’s the type you’d  imagine a tourist’s spot like Foothill Town would harbor, and honestly, how you even managed to land a job here is unfathomable. You can still recall the swathe of pity in the interviewer’s eyes when you told him you were an orphan, homeless, and overqualified (you have experience in washing Scarabian dishes). Manipulating situations through pity isn't beneath you. Frankly, you're surprised it keeps working. Truly, do you look that pitiful?

♡ You did get the job at Crisp n’ dips as well, but . . . you turned it down, for very obvious reasons.

♡ Anyhow, no need to dwell on that. What matters more is that you have your first, official job, and you can’t risk getting fired because the busboy (a certain hyena) can’t stop plotting with you. You don’t even want to know why the laws of this universe deemed you two a fit, working pair, and by what sheer misfortune you two work at the same diner: as if having him share a class with you wasn't enough. It reminds you of a certain assertion, the devil couldn't reach you, so he sent Ruggie Bucchi to do the job. ​​​​​​He looks a little goofy clad in work attire, but he’s still that same kid who tries to cop a look at your answers.

“Bucchi—”

“Just slip into Azul's office, look through his contracts, find the one with Vil's name on it, and get out before anybody notices—”

“Bucchi.”

“Easy enough—”

“Bucchi!” 

Snapping out of hysteria, he looks at you, saucer-eyed, ears slapping the side of his head in alarm. Heaving a sigh of great disdain, you turn to him, hoping he can see the look on your face past the mound of fur concealing it. “Go back inside, and clean the tables— whatever is it that you do, please.” 

♡ Oh! He seems amused. You want to punch him. It’s already hot in the mascot costume you’re wearing. Yes— that’s right. They picked you to be a mascot, wallowing in scorching perspiration and struggling to support yourself with spasmodic breaths. Unfortunately, your costume's permanent stitched-on smile sends the opposite message—  it only seems to buttress the smirk he throws your way, and by God, you want to reach in and stuff him in the suit. It’s not like you can take it off, too. You’d done that after a particularly stifling endeavor, and had someone recognize you by the name Magicam Hunchback alone. 

♡ Hmm . . . you wonder if Vil ever took that post down. Obviously not, judging from the speed of verbal recognition thrown your way. Perhaps it was because of your ill-fated nerves you hadn’t asked him to— you can’t help it, can you? Not when the lilac of his pupils drink you in and have you standing on the cusps of edged needles. He’s beautiful, above you, far more competent than you’ll ever be. It’s only natural he deems your futile requests a hassle to deal with... so if people were still theorizing about you being a soft launch and your tutor being involved with you in a relationship, why wouldn’t he take it down? It’s like he wants you to suffer just because you don’t knuckle under his demands. 

♡ People talking about you, it doesn’t get out of your head, never does. They definitely make him laugh. Oh, great, thank you. How did bro pull Vil? You never wanted to. They must have a GREAT personality. You’d argue with that, but let it go— after all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned from arguing and making amends with someone who compares you to an uncooked potato: is that it’s fruitless. 

♡  . . . Ah,  that  reminds  you!  Speaking of doom, it  reminds you of the man responsible for half your mounting problems. You need to remember to tune in for today’s study session. He’s made it clear he won’t take your escapades lightly anymore.. and with Rook always carrying a thrashing, less composed version of you over his shoulder, you’d rather not risk the humiliation. 

“..Seriously?”

“Huh?”

“Yer eyebags got eyebags.”

Ruggie's voice brings you out of your self-induced conspiracy. Peeling your lids open, you turn to look at the hyena. Through the spotty lens of your mask, you can only see half of his face, but you very well know it’s steeped in curiosity. Especially when he looks at the slip in your hand— or..paw.

“Is that a doctor's prescription? You catch a disease?”

“No, it’s Vil’s handwriting.”

There’s silence 

Raising his hands in surrender, he yields,  with  a low whistle following the interval. “Y'know what? My bad. Would've rather heard it was terminal.”

“Tell me about it.” A press of your brows has your lips curving down. No matter how you shape it, your mind keeps sinking to the dilemma at hand. Why did Vil want you in his club? “I doubt Vil would let me go unscathed if he caught me saying this, but it really is tiring having to deal with him.”

Ruggie, no matter how little credit you give him (a pittance, really) catches on to your sombre tone. It’s only natural he does. You can’t find it within yourself to fake your emotions, or put up a façade when every two seconds there’s a little kid giving you a gummy smile and planting themselves beside you for a picture. Rocking on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets, he treads very, very carefully. You get the gist he knows what’s up, that this is the most fun he’s had all year round. 

“...Y'know.” He avoids eye contact, lest you send another invisible scowl his way. “Usually when rich people start offering ya opportunities...”

There’s a moment’s pause before he deigns you a glance. A chameleon-like ability where the hues of his irises shift from to blue to gray. 

“They’re investin’.”

You thump your head against a wall and startle a couple of children. 

“Think about it! Nobody spends this much effort on somebody unless they're plannin’ on getting something back.”  He insists, waving his hands in your face as if to stop you before you actually bash your head in the wall and die. He’d lose his job if you did.  “Ya really think world-wide supermodel, hotshot Vil Schoenheit would deign a simpleton like you a glance?" He tilts his head. “People like you n’ me don’t get that luxury, and you still don’t get it through your head, do ya? You really are a goody-goody.”

♡ There’s no reason for Ruggie to do this. Really? Subtly coerce you into drowning yourself beneath waters and digging your own grave? The Ruggie Bucchi you know wouldn’t dare risk that, and you’re sure, on the assumption of yours that the Savana overblot has passed, that he’d know this better than ever. 

♡ Unless . .

he’s intentionally trying to get you into trouble?

You sneak a glance at him. No matter how much of a layabout he may seem, he excels at his job, leaving tables spick and span and finishing it off with a swift assist to the waiters. When he talks, occupied, those twin canines protrude. You mustn’t forget why you want to stay away from them. They don’t keep your safety in their minds.

Twisted Hearts is a game about villains. 

♡ Right! You don’t know Bucchi, really, you don’t. You know about the territorial hyena from the cringe-fest that is Twisted Hearts, but him in reality, you don’t. Does he know about Yuu and you? You wouldn’t put it past him. You don’t even know if Yuu and him are acquainted, if he’s head over heels just like the others, if he would really go that far as to intentionally lead you astray. He can smell you, can’t he? He is a beastman. Would he? One look at his smirk tells you the truth clear and fair. Who knows how to lurk in the shadows and contort their movements from afar the best, other than you, of course?​​​​

♡ You may have let Kalim get to you, you may have dampened Jamil’s suspicion, but that doesn’t make them your friends. They are not your friends. If they find out Yuu’s inner workings, they’ll make your life miserable, would they not? Because that’s what they are. 

♡ Characters bound to destroy the world for their one and only. And in no universe, no matter how much Yuu deems it true, are you anyone’s muse. 

“Mummy, look!” A finger juts out in your direction. “A rabbit!”

This is humiliating. 

♡ Heaving another sigh of despondence, you try to peer at the crowd. Taking up all the seats are customers immersed in idle chitter-chatter and fussy children. In a way, it looks no different from your world,if you ignore the obvious dissimilarities in their comportment and physical characteristics. One customer has ears bigger than their head — what type of beastman is that? One looks like a run-of-the-mill average Joe. One has teal hair, striped with black, and the other . . 

♡ Wait, what?

♡ . . Teal hair? You blink a few times to enhance what you’re seeing. You’re staring at the back of a person’s head. Into a haircut that’s all too familiar. Is that . . Jade? 

♡ Yeah! There’s Yuu. Sitting opposite him. They’ve managed to find your job location, or not, perhaps they’re both here on an excursion. A very one-sided excursion where the latter is trying to ignore the eel’s prodding and probing, any sane eye can see Jade is annoying them, and he just seems so lively. In a way, a manner he never took up when he was with you, a manner which differs so far from his formality. He seems full of energy here, so entranced — you suppose you aren’t capable of overpowering Yuu in this regard. It seems as if their charm is irresistible. 

♡ But then they get up. And you have this unbearable urge to get the eel alone and atleast share a word or two with him.  Yuu pays, clearly, and they’re leaving, another dot in the mass of a thousand. Surely, this isn’t what he’s been doing all this time? Frolicking around with Yuu? Your tormentor? How original.

Before you know it, a rabbit paw catches his sleeve. It's.. well, a bit worn out. Not something you’d expect Jade to wear, but his name comes out nonetheless.

“.. Jade?”

When he turns—

you realize that is not Jade.

♡ Floyd Leech?! 

♡ How doomed are you?! How did you even let it slip past you that Jade has his other half? You’re extremely lucky you’re still clad in your little rabbit costume, because you don't think you can ever stand the notion of him  copping a look at your face and recognizing you on campus. You go rigid entirely, words on the precipice of your tongue and perishing right after as his eyes, half-lidded and bored, languidly rove over your probably ridiculous button eyes. Extricating your hand just as it latched on, you stand in place. 

♡ . . . You also make sure to give him a little wave. Just in case he takes your silence into suspicious account.

“Huh?” The nasally voice is accompanied with the slow stretch of a pointy smile. “And who’re you—”

“Floyd!”

♡ Whatever attention he had on you gets wiped off in a millisecond, and he slinks back towards Yuu almost obediently. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Opps are everywhere.

♡Oh, shoot! You totally forgot today was the day of the most dreaded examination: midterms. 

♡ And that’s not an atypical thing, really. You’ve never focused on those, that’s how you get your grades to amount to a forgettable pittance, but today is especially dreadful because in the midst of ‘fixing up' your bedhead, Vil had spent the better part of twenty minutes reminding you he expected nothing short of excellence. You can understand his expectations, after all, he'd spent months drilling the material into your skull, whether you welcomed it or not.So with a smile that stretched a little too tightly over your lips, you assured him you would. And you’re sure if this world were any more unbelievable, you’d have a big, fat paper slapped on your back with the words liar.

♡ Specifically because you’re stuck on the first question. You kept skimming through the sheet trying to find a question you’d at least know about, before realizing you’d reached the end of the paper — and you can just imagine that scowl on his face. You can remember him droning on about this same problem, but your memory’s waterlogged, and no amount of scourging can pluck that itch free. .  What an exemplary upperclassman you are!

 ♡ It’s also not just because of Vil, it’s also because this is the start of book three, and if your notion goes according to plan, then Ace, Deuce, and Grim will all grow little sea mementos on their head—with Yuu left to save their friends from their own stupidity. It’s quite laughable, really. That part keeps distracting you. 

“A bold answer.”

♡ Professor Trein has made ten rounds to your table, and has stood above you for the better half of  it as you both stare at a blank page. Whenever you write out the answer, it elicits a disapproving hum, and you’re forced to wipe it out. In the end, you just make do with a solid guess, and turn your paper in, chewing down your uncertainty and following the tide of students as they make their exit. 

♡ The rest of the day resumes.

♡ After a tiring study session with Vil, you attempt to trudge back to your dorm. Your mind’s hazy, misty, and through the dense, foggy plumage shrouding Night Raven, you struggle to keep up. It doesn’t help your brain is, much to your resistance, actively trying to memorize thirteen pages of alchemy at the same time, so when you see more than three figures up ahead — or atleast the shape of them — you uncharacteristically pay them no heed. Big mistake.

♡ Oh, shit! Your suspicions that someone had noticed Yuu's sudden interest in you are confirmed sooner than expected. Namely, when a handful of Savanaclaw students corner you on Main Street and decide a confrontation is a perfectly respectable substitute for magic. You’re no stranger to conflict, but you’re not a connoisseur of handling them too, per se — so imagine your surprise when you’re boxed in by the most ripped beastmen known to man.  They give Savanaclaw its name, it seems, and promptly remind you to never engage with the dorm again. Because . . . it doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t done anything wrong, what reason do they even have to resort to violence? 

♡ Unless . .  someone called them in? Ruggie doesn’t strike you the type to do that, neither does Leona (or does he? He was never your favorite) so perhaps you’re just haplessly grasping at straws and hoping your little theories land. Either way, the group doesn’t give you any room to argue. Grabbing your collar, reeling you in by the shoulders, whatnot. The typical bunch of Savanaclaw knuckleheads, really, so that accomplishes one more goal of yours: physical pain.  You don’t know which part of your body hurts, it's everywhere. 

“We’ve heard of ya” One of them snickers. It’s a hideous sound, you think, one that makes you stare past them amid the aridity of your throat. 

“.. You have?”

“You deaf or somethin’? That’s what he just said.”

♡ Quick! Think of something! Damn you, Vil. If he hadn’t plagued your mind with textbook material, perhaps you’d conjure one of the typical tricks you have up your sleeve. It then occurs to you, you don’t even have any experience in the fighting department. How are you even supposed to defend yourself? You watch as they quite literally empty the contents of your bag, bric-a-brac and stationery descending on the ground in cacophonous waves. It’s clear no one is around the area this time, all except—

“Hey, can you guys please move aside?”

♡ Deuce Spade! And . . . who’s  that?

Someone’s behind him, but your focus remains on him. “I need to get to Mr. Sam’s shop. You’re blocking the way.”

“Mr.Sam’s shop?” A rowdy beastman chuckles. “Why?”

“.. I need to get some parchment.” Deuce’s eyes narrow, spade crinkling and belying his skepticism beneath. “I’m going to send a letter home.”

♡ Except . . . he seems wary of you. Not just you, all of you. Does he even know you’re the one that’s being wronged here?  There’s someone behind him, someone you’ve never seen before, but something about them rings a bell of recognition within you.

♡ The contours of their face, the way they stand tight-lipped, they have a good couple of inches over Deuce — their hair is quite messy, jutting out in sleep-mussed strands as if they rolled out of bed, yet giving the impression it’s styled like that on purpose, curling around their face. Their face is steeped in staid indifference, they don’t spare a single glance towards the delinquents, yet amid their unsolicited questions, it treks towards you. 

♡ Who is that? Your heart squeezes in on itself. Your lip’s worn between your teeth as you feel them comb through your concealed stature, languidly traversing each and every part of your figure. It makes you feel uncomfortable, it makes your privacy feel impinged upon and paraded for their perusal. . .it feels as if the mere sight of you is being drunk in.  Who is that? They look familiar, overly familiar, too familiar. 

♡ That’s Yuu?

Your eyes are nailed open, pinned wide by incredulity. You don’t know why, but your heart bursts in little staccatos. There’s a little, stray strand at the side of their head, and dare you say, it’s styled exactly like the Leech twins. 

♡ No way. No way! They actually did it. They changed themselves because you poured your heart out at some blasted library! But . . what about their height? Even their face seems different. Makeup? Heels? Now they’re accompanying Deuce, staring at you, because no matter how much you could’ve told them you like someone who couldn’t give a single care in the world about you, they can’t help themselves. It’s like they need to stare at you.  Just what the hell is wrong with them? Do they really think you’ll topple over by their feet just because they did a little something new with their face or hair?

“Well, look what the prefect dragged in.” The Savanaclaw knucklehead jeers. “Deuce? Ain’t you supposed to be runnin’ your ass off at the track club and sucking up to your professors? Piss off, and take your little wuss with ya.”

Deuce looks on the cusp of letting his face devolve into pure fury. You can’t help but think it’s not that serious, but upon watching the tremor of his lips, you reconsider. The prefect and he have been pals since the beginning, and they must’ve fought tooth and nail beside each other. It’s only natural they have that kind of relationship, palpable in the way he pushes them behind him. Oh, wow. Shielding them with his body? Ground-breaking.

“Yuu, get behind me.. I’m only asking you this once, alright?” His brows press as he takes his attention to the group. You can’t help but feel as if he doesn’t remember you.  “Step aside. We’re not here to pick a fight, so please move out of the way.”

Yuu obliges, shuffling, though you’d argue that’s because they’re too busy staring at you, gauging your face for a reaction. A reaction on the change. A reaction on anything.

The Savanaclaw bastard mulls it over. “Hm.” Then he cranes his neck head-on. “Nah. Can’t say the same for us.”

♡ That’s all it takes for a punch.

♡ The sound is loud on skin. You don’t even know who threw it, but somewhere amid the jabs, punches are flying. Punches are flying in every wayward direction. Punches are flying . . . at you? The last thing you see is a Spade, and then your entire vision gets tilted, harshly. You’re spinning, why are you spinning?

♡ You realize a second too late when the air is knocked out of you. Did you just get punched by Deuce Spade?! 

♡ A solid right hook to your rib and you fall to the ground in blinding pain, it’s like he straight up tore something out of you. A half-choked scream evades and amid the tussling bodies, you see Yuu staring at you. They make no move to rush to you— but the pain is unbearable, and you clench the space over your ribs. Pain shoots up in your cheek when someone tumbles over you, dust kicks up everywhere. 

It's clear everyone’s getting their ass handed to them.

You lay sprawled on the ground alongside some ugly Savanaclaw bastard. Grunts follow. Glaring at him, you seethe. “This is all your fault.”

“... Sorry, man.”

And with that, stars burst in your vision.

♡ You wake up in the infirmary. 

♡   It takes you a while to come to.

♡ Your vision is, at first, incredibly spotty, and for the dots to ebb away, requires you to keep on blinking. Blinking requires strain, and strain requires more pain which you don’t deign to verbalize.  There’s no question that you were brought here by someone, a student, even. No lights have been turned on, you’re left in the quiet chalice of moonlight streaming in from windows and the growing pain on the plush of your cheek -- it’s past curfew, and no one is in the office, not even the Savanaclaw mutts. Shuffling, you realize a blanket’s draped over your shoulders, and a poorly-attached.. bandage on your skin which flutters away. 

♡ . . What a bummer! You  got  your  ribcage  and cheek beat in? You should’ve known to jump out of the way, especially since you know more about Deuce than anyone in the room! You must’ve really underestimated his relationship with Yuu. Because Book Three is coming around, it should be even stronger than before, considering they’ve dealt with two overblots. Strangely though, Yuu in Twisted Hearts was never quiet when he’d been forced to take to his fists. In fact — the dialogue options all centred around de-escalating the situation. 

♡ . . Seems like you really messed with their head after the library incident. Thought it should offer you some comfort, it has icy shards of reluctance roving over your spine. If the time might come where you’ll be coerced into interacting with Adeuce again.. then you’d have to book it immediately. Yuu’s made it clear they’ll stop at nothing, especially since they’ve changed their appearance. 

“You’re awake.”

♡ .. 

♡ ..What? 

♡ ​​​​​Ack! What the heck?!

♡ You flinch, blinking once more, and look around the room for the source of the voice. 

♡ There's an apparition at the foot of the bed. No, there’s a person standing there, a person you’ve never met before, you can tell. The pitch of their voice,  the dialogue.. it’s all unfamiliar and..

It’s Yuu. 

♡ The room glistens once.

Or.. it looks like Yuu. 

It looks like Yuu, but with the way they’re dressed and carrying themselves, they look like J̸A̸D̸E̸. They don’t look like themselves, and how long had they been standing there, watching you mull everything over on your tongue? Back at Main Street, you’d skimmed over their new looks, but now, having given the luxury of time, you’re taking it all in and realize that they’re trying to impersonate him. The man, who you, in the heat of the moment, had called best friend. ​​​​​​

Your heart quickens. How did you not notice it before?​​​​​​

Beams of silvered incandescence fall in stripes upon their face, and you realize their eyes have been morphed into a different shape, their lips a different colour, their height now towering over you...  What? How’s that even possible? How come no one noticed it at Main Street? Had they always looked like that? No— that’s not right. There is something completely wrong and yet has eluded everyone. Even the Savanaclaw brutes recognized them as the prefect, where you, someone who’s been flanked by said prefect, erred in the recognition at first. 

“.. Yuu?” 

J̸A̸D̸E̸, they look like. J̸A̸D̸E̸, the manner they carry themselves. They drink in the battered and bruised visage you’re clad in, and with that ̷J̷̷A̷̷D̷̷E̷’̷S̷ ̷G̷̷R̷̷I̷̷N̷  playing on the softer curve of their lips, their J̸A̸D̸E̸’S̸ H̸E̸A̸D̸ lolls towards you. Y꙰U꙰U꙰     J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰   Y꙰UJ꙰J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰

“Forgive me.” Upon receiving a pointed brow from you, h҉e҉  chuckles. “I was under the impression that reunions between companions of a certain familiarity were typically accompanied by some gesture of goodwill. A hug, if I recall correctly.”

They’re speaking like him. A roulette of personalities before it clicks into one concrete thing. You’re not even looking at their face anymore, your hands are wound around the softer bedsheet and your lips are restless welts between your teeth. What do you even do in this situation? Yuu, somehow, against all odds, has boxed you in an infirmary. It terrifies you, but, audaciously, you chew down the quiver of your face and school it into a calmer one. 

“Yuu.” 

You can’t see their eyes, but you know they widen around your utterance of their name. Quickly, before you can even process it, they cover the distance between you too. It has you jerking back against the wall, biting back a hiss at the strong contract. —They’re in front of you. They’re looking at you. What have you even done to deserve this?

“Yes?” Your eyes hesitantly climb upward. 

“.. Can you leave?”

They look like you’ve just said something befuddling. Quirking a brow and adorned in that same expression as you, they question. “.. Why? You’re hurt, aren’t you? It’d be unwise of me to leave you to your own devices.” Their eyes glister. They’re yellow now. A color oh-so familiar. “Oh, speaking of you being hurt, I apologize on behalf of Deuce. He really..”

Your hands. Their hands. They meld them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but theirs are denuded of any temperature, even as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket. There’s a pit amassing in your stomach, gnawing at you, a massive blackhole of dread. It's everywhere, coagulating in the confines of your throat, even your ears and rigid body. You won't look them in the eyes, even as they give your hands a squeeze of confirmation, as if to ascertain you’re actually there. 

“.. He really angered me, you see.” Nails delve into the plush of your skin, before releasing it in a portrait of half-moons. “Oh, but enough of him. May I talk to you?”

—As if you’re real. 

Are you real? You can still hear their voice in the back of your mind. 

♡ No, no, no. You want to scream at them, but you’re afraid it’ll only escalate the situation. 

“.. Okay.” You tread carefully. “We’ll talk. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll talk to you all you want—” 

“—Just leave. I’m hurt.”

♡ It’s like they can't bear the thought of not listening to you. 

♡ Nodding, you watch them exit the room, the door closing. And just like that, you hide beneath the covers, not wanting to lament on what the fuck just happened! Squeezing your eyes shut, you don’t breathe until you're certain their footsteps have diminished into nothingness. 

“Spud!”

You jerk awake. 

♡ Dampness amasses upon your waterline before slivers of it stream down and onto your open palm. You’re sat upright, and the face of your tutor, Vil Schoenheit, should not offer you so much relief, but the bottled up chrysalis of your heart, the thumping staccatos of your pulse, all join to let out the happiest sigh you’ve ever breathed. You’re in the nurse’s office, you have not moved places, but Yuu is not here anymore. They’ve left. 

“Vil!” 

♡ You chew the word back down when you see the surprise on his face.

♡ You don’t know if it is because you’ve never once willingly uttered his name so.. joyfully, or because he’s wondering why, on the name of the Sevens, are you here. Judging from the way he’s in his Dorm Uniform, you must have taken him out of Pomefiore for this occasion, but beneath the gloam, he really does look like a cherub, an angel, more so because his face is tenfold embellished, softened and glamorous — not a day goes by where he doesn’t look gorgeous. Your  guardian  angel,  you’d describe him as, if you were a completely different breed of yourself, and if the circumstances were different, and if..well, you get the gist.

“..”

For the briefest of moments, more surprise fractures his impeccable composure. It vanishes just as quickly.

"Well." He smooths a nonexistent crease from the sleeve of his uniform.His lilac eyes sweep over your face with unsettling precision.  "That is certainly the most enthusiastic greeting I've ever received from you....Should I assume you've suffered another concussion?"

You hastily scrub at your face and wince.  The valleys of your palm glisten, giving you away.  “..No.”

"You've been crying." At your prolonged silence, he shakes his head.  “You have no need to verify it, I have eyes."

He doesn’t prod for more. Instead, he crosses the room with measured steps until he stands beside the infirmary bed, crossing his arms. 

"The physician informed me you were rendered unconscious after an altercation. Really? I leave you unattended for one afternoon and somehow you manage to involve yourself in physical violence."

“...It wasn't on purpose.”

“I would certainly hope not.” His thumb lightly catches your chin before you can recoil. He angles your face toward the light. “...Though judging by the state of your cheek, I can see bruising, and here I was under the impression you merely enjoyed collecting eye bags."

Letting you extricate yourself from his nitid hold, he eyes you, brows knitting close at your reluctance. “Did the nightmare concern your altercation?”

.. Was it a nightmare?

“..No.”

“Someone else, then.”

“...Yeah.”

He studies you long enough that you begin wondering if there's something written across your forehead.

“Who?”

“I dunno.”

He turns away, sighing. 

“I've discovered that people disclose the truth more readily when they cease believing they're being interrogated.” He glances back over one shoulder. “So I will ask you again another day.”

“Did you call me spud to wake me up?”

The question is airy, quick but elicits a soft sigh from him, stopping him in his tracks. When he whirls around, heels clacking against the tiles, there's a curvature to his lips, but not of pride.  As if almost conveying he’s got you  figured out, that you aren’t as elusive as you’d deem yourself. The sort of expression worn by someone who's finally finished assembling the last piece of a puzzle.

“So that is what's troubling you.” You stiffen, and he hums, folding his arms. “I suppose I can indulge your curiosity. After all, it would have been rather inconvenient to recommend you for Film Research while referring to you as 'that spud from Scarabia.”

Your stomach drops.

“Naturally, I sought out your student record.”

♡ Horror dawns upon you. It's then you realize of course there should be a school record of the person's body you’ve been transmigrated into. 

“Only to discover...” His smile thins. “...that you seemingly don't have one.”

♡ . .   

“Quite an impressive feat, really. Every student admitted to Night Raven College leaves behind paperwork. Enrollment records. Academic reports. Disciplinary files, in some unfortunate cases.” His gaze settles on you. “You, however, appeared to have vanished from the school's archives altogether. It was terribly inefficient.”

He brushes an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.

“Fortunately, Housewarden Al-Asim proved considerably more cooperative. I simply requested whatever documentation Scarabia had on you.” His eyes soften into something almost miserable. “..As you can imagine, my efforts did not bear fruit.”

♡ You don’t answer.  Kalim knows your name. That day, at the infirmary, you'd given him it willingly, but it surprises you that he didn’t give it away. Did he even remember it? He has more than thirty siblings and he knows all of them by name, allegedly. It should be habit by now.. (Still, amid the sheer terror that Vil just implied he’s going to take you out of Mountain Lovers and place you into Film Research instead, you feel warmth in your heart). 

Presently, you school your expression, letting your gaze trek upward into the purple inferno that’s Vil. So, Ruggie wasn’t lying when he said Vil had been to Octavinelle. He must’ve struck a deal with Azul, Azul must’ve gotten Jade to comply, and Jade must’ve agreed.  “I don’t want to join your club, Vil. I respect you as my tutor—”

“Do you? That’s certainly shocking.”

“But I can’t accept this.”

"No,"  You don’t know what you were expecting, but the degree of his calm, it infuriates you no more than it riddles  you with confusion   “You won't accept it. There's a difference, and a rather important one.”

He covers the distance between you and purple inundates your vision, the purple of his dress, plaguing the ground. Though you’re loathe to admit it, his composure is far more formidable than outright anger, and subconsciously, you sink deeper into the blanket fortress you’ve built around yourself. Cool antiseptic against the interior of your skin, it grounds you until your eyes are inevitably forced to dwell into the reign of his eyes. 

"Acceptance, if you’d give it some thought, would mean consideration followed by a conclusion. You, however, as I’ve said before, have made a habit of refusing opportunities before you've even afforded them a glance.”

“Because they're opportunities I don't want.” You curl, coil, and do everything to shield your face from his. Detestable, you can tell it irks him so, so much. “I don’t want them. I don’t want to be put into the spotlight, I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want any of this!”

It shames you. Puts you to shame more and more and more. Sentences you to a perpetual embarrassment, because here you are reduced to tearful, loud hysteria, and Vil has not once raised his voice at you. He peers at you the same, a petulant toddler in his eyes. Why? Why can he never see you as something more than that?

“Are they?”

“—Yes!”

“Or are they merely opportunities that require you to become something more?” A long nail scrapes the cloth and suddenly, the blanket is taken away from you. You gasp involuntarily,  crisp air meets the bare of your skin and your mouth falls shut, given the luxury of seeing his face clearly. You don’t mull it over too long for his liking, and he scowls.  Deep and unforgiving. “Tell me, have you once attended Film Research?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken to any of its members?”

“..No.”

“Then by what merit have you deemed it unsuitable?”

“...Because...”

It is a strange, trance-like, curse-like bubble you’re in. Words seep from your mouth and into the fracture of the air much too fast, for a moment you’re inclined to believe he’s used his signature spell on you. Has he? Can he even do that? You hate him.

“...Because Mountain Lovers leaves me alone. I want peace. I don’t want people looking at me.”

Vil lets out a slow, almost imperceptible breath.

“There it is. You've convinced yourself you don't deserve them to. You are under the absurd impression that remaining invisible somehow absolves you of responsibility." His tone remains maddeningly even. "If no one knows your name, they cannot burden you. If no one notices your work, they cannot expect more of you. If no one grows attached, they cannot disappoint you." He tilts his head. “...It's a remarkably comfortable philosophy.”

His eyes narrow just slightly.

“It is also cowardice, and if there is anything I despise more than sloth, it is precisely—”

Lilac. 

“Cowardice.”

Even through the crescendo of his stare, you feel as though you can’t let him leave just yet. 

“Wait, Vil!”  He stops, and you lower your head in shame.

“.. Can you at least walk me back? To Scarabia?”

♡ You are a coward!

♡ A smarting, throbbing pain pulses throughout your body, you hiss and seethe and sputter into Scarabia’s lounge, where the night sky, buttressed by noctilucent stars on liquefied ink, bubbles and takes you into its breezy arms. You arrive quite late, at a time where everyone has surely returned to their rooms and tuned in for the night, but this is not your first rodeo and definitely not your first time breaking curfew. You’re more so grappling with the fact that Deuce Spade, the seemingly, oh-so loyal companion, has thrown a solid right hook to your rib and now you’re most likely crippled. . .  and that Vil has, without mercy, sentenced you to a lifetime of Film Research.

♡ You hiss again. You’d very well seen dialogues regarding how others would describe his strength as unexpected, but you didn’t really expect you to be the example.

♡ You'd been so convinced the stolen items had something to do with Jade, or Y҉I҉U҉U҉—or perhaps the usual mound of unrequited love. But now, you’re re-considering where you really stand. Had it been done out of malice? The characters have shown they've no qualm with hurting you, and clearly, this implies they’d stoop to more . .  . . violent methods, if needed.  Crisp air only burns the welts on your skin, you’re glad no one’s here to see you reduced to such a state. 

♡ Except the viper! Isn’t that just so peachy?

♡ He knuckles at his lids three times before letting his face pucker into a ball of confusion and drawn brows. Donning his sleepwear, his hair meanders loose, and his skin’s rid of gold, the same as you’d seen on him the night before. Stumbling, toppling over your own tongue in a drawl, you don’t realize the burn of air is whisked away with the sensation of someone tugging at your uniform and setting you down on the ottoman.

“Do I even bother?” He questions. Your head is low, dipped. A swab of cotton pounces at your face, a pitter-patter following the motion of his fingers.  Do I even bother asking you what happened, because you and I both know you never speak the truth? And how did you even get Schoenheit to walk you to Scarabia? With a finger pressed along your ribs, he prods. “Tell me when.”

♡ Gah! Everything is happening so fast, you can’t even process it. How can you when the one guy who’s so steeped in loathing is staring back at you, after you’ve just had a mental acceptance regarding their partiality to violence?

“When.”

“I haven’t even touched the bruise yet.”

Luckily for him, you’re pretty dazed after the encounter. 

“Wheehee... My bad.” A puddle of emotions twist your face into a frown as you lament. “Do you know they didn’t even use spells? It was a bare-knuckled fight!”

“Shh. Follow my finger.”

“You’re holding up two.”

“Only one.” Lolling his head skyward, his lips press down into a thin line of.. irritation. Even when you’re crumpled, he eyes you warily. There is always something in those eyes of his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have taken it lightly. But you don’t, because the way he peers down at you, it’s almost literal. You beneath him, the natural order.   “..  I thought you avoided attention, so why provoke Savanaclaw?”

You have a strong aversion to small talk, especially when Jamil is on the receiving end. “Really generous to assume they need a reason for beating me up.”

“Hm. I suppose that’s true,” Without any need to continue conversation, he still keeps on probing for more. It’s quite laughable, isn’t it? He never struck you as the type to willingly engage in chatter with you, even now, his face is strained. How fun, knowing you’ve inconvenienced him.  “Still, I would’ve thought you the type to  at least defend yourself.”

You perch your cheek on your hand. “You thought wrong.”

“Clearly,” Pausing against your temple, the cotton is cool, even while littered with grime. “Why?”

“Why you thought wrong? Well, clearly, it’s a skill iss—”

“Why? You've had opportunities. If people insist on handing you those, why keep on refusing them? Even your own Housewarden likes you.”

You grimace. “I wouldn't phrase it like that.”

“You've earned Leech's attention.”

“I'd rather give it back.”

“Vil Schoenheit has practically dragged you into his orbit. He accompanied you just now to your dorm, didn’t he?”

Now, there’s an ugly bruise on your face and it’s not one he can touch and see, he can feel. Your lips pull into an elegiac little frown, and your eyes glaze over in mourning.

“I'd also, definitely rather give that back.”

His fingers still.

“...Why? Most students spend years trying to be noticed, and you spend every waking moment making sure no one remembers you.”

♡ Not this conversation! Looks like you’re at a bit of a standstill, but that entertains the thought: looks who’s talking. Pot, meet kettle, isn’t that what he does, in a sense, in a far more different sense? You don’t know how to reply to that, because Jamil is very clearly, very not  passively, explaining the obvious. Even the way he looks at you now is complicated, denuded of emotion that can be gauged. You merely purse your lips in lieu of a response, and avoid his gaze, like you’ve always done. 

“Can we please talk about something else?”

There’s a pressure on your palm. An accidental, harsh pull, and with a sigh, he tells you; “I can never understand you. Oh, well, it’s done.”

You blearily blink up at him. “It’s done?”

“The bandaging.”

He was bandaging you up this entire time? Oh, so that’s why he was so atypically immersed in your conversation.

Leaning back and scourging the contents of his work, which in actuality is just a linen strip of white shrouding your palms and the bare of your arm, he hums. It’s a non-committal, little thing that’s whisked away beneath the empyrean domain, blues and purplish-black lairs of twilight, cast back into the likeness of his eyes. He’s staring at you again. Waiting for, well, something. Something you’re clearly not willing to give. 

“Thank you.” Clearing your throat, its dryness is gone. In the heat of Scarabia, only you feel its cold fangs nip at your skin. When you retract your gaze, you realize, shit. Had you been looking at him? “.. Aren’t you going to leave?”

He raises a brow. 

“It may have slipped your mind that I’m your Vice Housewarden.” His arms are now folded. “In any case, you should be the one heading to bed.”

♡ Say less. You really don’t want this unsolicited thing to escalate, so you verbalize your agreement with a hum, and attempt to leave him be. The keyword here is attempt— and the trigger word here is Yuu. 

“After all, I imagine Yuu must be waiting for you tomorrow.”

A chill goes up your spine.

♡ You fall back down. Why? Because a tremor shot up your legs and now you’re that same crumpled mess you were in the library. 

♡ Ugh! Great! Another Yuu-thing to worry about. You really wish they stopped getting on your case. The incident at the infirmary still hasn’t left your mind.. Y꙰U꙰U꙰’S꙰ face staring you down. Why’s Jamil looking at you like that? With a shadow cast over his usually staid face? It unsettles you no more than it terrifies you, how have you messed up this bad? Quick, think of something! It’s time you set the record straight once and for all.

“You don’t have to worry,” hands morphed into fists in your lap, you think he feels you avoiding his gaze. “I know.. your— ahem, affections lie with Yuu. I would never personally get in your way, Vice Housewarden.” Heaving a shuddering breath, you stand up. “I’ve too much respect for you in that regard.”

♡ Uh. . why’s he looking at you like that? Brows raised, lips on the verge of shooting up into an amused smirk. 

“Hm? Affections? Where did that come from? I don’t recall bringing that up.”

♡ .. . . For your next trick you’ll need a gun and a shovel to dig your grave. Really? 

“—It's obvious.” You amend. “The way you look at them.”

“When did you see me looking at them?”

Uhh..  “When didn’t I see you looking at them?”

“There’s  no point in puerile assumptions, really.” There it is again. That clipped, clear tone. Lids rolling over charcoal finality, he folds his arms again, and once more, his hair curtains his face in a blanket of shadows. “I’m a boring guy to be around. One who doesn’t know his way around the latest trends or media. What could Yuu possibly gain from sparing me time? They’re an odd one, no more than you.”

♡ Jack of all trades, master of none! 

♡ He’s trying to dissuade you from it, the reality of what he feels, and if you were any less of a connoisseur at combing through facial expressions (which really is just obtained foresight from Twisted Hearts), you’d have believed him. But you don’t, not even for a second — in a  sense, you believe he thinks he’s gotten you off his trail, that he’s outsmarted you.  You don’t want to pester him for more, try to steer his belief, or attempt to relate to him. Truth is, you always see that smile of his whenever the prefect is mentioned, that tug on his hood, and the glint in his eyes. He lives up to his name. A viper, camouflaged in plain sight. 

♡ He must mistake you for a dumb one, or maybe he doesn’t. You think he doesn’t, not at all — perhaps he’s waiting for you to make that one mistake and sink in the hole you’ve been digging for yourself. 

”Come on,” Your voice nags his attention. “..Boring guy? You've been trying really hard not to laugh all this time— especially when you were patching me up.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his head lists gently towards the side. 

“I looked awful, I know. You can admit it.”  Pitter-patter, there goes your footfall, away from Jamil as you angle your body towards the one place you can find rest. You can’t see his face, but you don’t think of anything else other than his signature composure. That’s bad. “It’s way better to tell me you think I’m miserable up-front than going behind my back and keeping it to yourself.”

That’s bad. It’s bad. Jamil is willingly making conversation with you. This is bad. You need to set him towards a different path.

♡ Reaching your room, you catch someone peeking at you through a half-open crack in the door, Scarabia Student B! Nosy, curious, wondering why you and his Vice Housewarden were in that lounge. Without greeting him, you slam your door shut.

♡ Finally! The end of a tiring day. 

♡ Unfortunately, rest does not easy. 

♡ In the murkiness of your room, lit only by the pearly eye outside, you comb through the space. It’s barren, of course — your shelves, though, are lined with . . . accessories. 

♡ One  of  the  most  shiny  things  you  own,  is  of  course,  a  bracelet! Gifted  to  you  by none  other  than  Kalim. Your journal is by its side. There’s  also  a little  mushroom  encased  in  glass  you’d  discovered  on  your  bygone  hikes  with  Jade. You’d  never  noticed  that  before. . . it  only  now  reminds  you  just  how  many  of  your  little  trinkets  you’ve  left  back  in  the  Mountain  Lovers  club,  they  must  be  catching  dust  by  now. Should  you  drop  a  visit  tomorrow  to  pick  them  up?    You don’t know how  you’ll handle seeing him. 

♡ Climbing out of bed, you pick it up! There’s a little slip of paper plastered on the pane: Amanita verna (Destroying angels). 

♡ It seems familiar. A swathe of white is all it is, steeped in the colour from head to toe.. You remember it! That’s the same mushroom you’d encountered on your first hike, the same one you told him not to eat. It’s almost strange how he’s kept it all this time — and really, in glass? What if its toxins are airborne? When did he even give this to you?

♡ Shuffling back to bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, well, a new day awaits you. 

♡ Wake up! Sometimes you get reminded why Kalim is unfit to be a Housewarden. Under the pretense of something important, he’d woken you up and led you to Scarabia’s kitchen. You’d, at first, thought he just called you for breakfast, but one glance at the time gave the numbers 4 : 50 AM away. Under no circumstances, in any universe, would you be willing to wake up at dawn’s peak, except this one. There are few things in this world worth waking before sunrise for. An emergency. A natural disaster. Perhaps the Second Coming. 

♡ Turns out, he’s trying to arrange a party to commemorate the end of midterms, but Jamil’s chagrin is hindering his plans. A dorm-wide party to ‘boost everyone's spirits?’ it makes sense why Jamil has vetoed the idea outright.You can’t understand why this party would be a hit, considering that it takes place a day before midterm results would mean everyone is too preoccupied with stress or fatigue to ruminate on it, but oh, well, you’re far past arguing with your Housewarden. If the goal is ensuring everyone fails together, it’ll certainly work. 

♡ You have no desire to help him out, because for one, you’re fatigued beyond measure, going against  Jamil would warrant only doom — and finally, you don't trust him in the kitchen. There’s a reason why Jamil’s restricted his access to fire and anything flammable. (Though, even if it were to occur, can’t he use his unique magic?)

♡  All in all, you’re a bit surprised to see Kalim’s eagerness, so much so he’s completely overlooked what Jamil would think of him. The latter wouldn’t cook, in spite of his demands, so the boy’s brought it upon himself to do the task instead, only, for some reason, he needs your help, not the help of hundreds of other Scarabian students that would befit the skill. This has all the makings of a disaster.

“I wanna throw everybody a surprise party after classes!” He throws his hands up, relenting. The light emanating from his face alone makes yours crimp. “I think it’ll make everyone less nervous before the midterm results are announced. So? What do you think?”

“The truth or a lie?” At the persistence of his smile, you mutter. “I think it'll make everyone fail midterms, Housewarden.”

“Really? Then we’ll just have it after.” He seems surprised. Was he expecting you to agree with him? If he really insists on your companionship, then it’s only natural you come out of your shell and tell him the bare-faced truth. Though the tinge of it makes you feel the tiniest bit woozy. “Everyone in Scarabia’s studying all the time, they deserve something fun, don’t they?”

“.. Yeah.” Air whistles through your teeth as you set your eyes straight on the cutlery. “They do. I think that’s very considerate of you, Housewarden.” And that, in all honesty, is not a lie.

♡ He begins rummaging through cupboards with alarming enthusiasm!  Bowls, plates, three ladles, a whisk. Somehow, a watermelon, and a flour bag half his size. He turns to you and asks you what you both should make, and you relinquish the decision to him. You help him out with whatever he’s making with the watered-down dough — slicing melons into bits and focusing way too much on avoiding the knife’s end, and whenever he asks for something, you put yourself to the task and provide. 

♡ It’s only natural, though, that his need for conversation overwhelms him. 

”Hey,” he smiles at you. “Now that you mention it, you never brought Jade over to Scarabia!”

You never mentioned it, but okay. The question makes you pause.. Jade. The real Jade, not the one you thought you saw. Crimson, fruity rivulets skim over the ridges and valleys of your palm as you pretend to ruminate it over, but you end up conceding the real answer to him regardless.

“I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”

♡ That makes him pause! 

♡ He seems shocked, truly. Eyes saucer-wide and lips parted, but then again, you expected it to be subsumed beneath the weight of his optimism. Even when he has no idea  why Jade’s left you alone, he still makes an effort to alleviate your mood. After all, that’s the impression you left for him to feast on, that you were lonely, on the verge of dying and in dire need of help. For once, the kitchen falls quiet save for the gentle simmer of something forgotten on the stove.

“..Really?”

“Really.”

Kalim blinks once. “..Did you two have a fight?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what happened?”

“ ..Nothing.” Your head lolls over your shoulder. Tongue curling over soundless words, words you’re not even sure why you’re deigning him the brunt of, coalesce. “Nothing needs to have happened, Kalim. Sometimes people just stop talking, and that’s a  part of life. They don’t need to have disagreements.”

He’s frowning at you, you can tell from your periphery, a bona fide frown that’s not at all the moue he wears when Jamil refuses to indulge one of his whims. A genuine one whose likeness is casted back into the nitid curve of your knife, as you twirl it around and around.  "I make it pretty easy."

"How?"

“I avoid them. Hide. Run away. Occasionally pretend not to hear them. Sometimes I literally climb out windows.” A tiny smile tugs at your lips. “I'm kind of difficult to be friends with.”

♡ Kalim doesn't smile back. Instead, he sets the mixing bowl down with a dull clink!

“I don't think that's true! You just listed a bunch of things you do.”

Something warm engulfs your hand. Your hands. His hands. He melds them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but his are even warmer as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket — but it’s not at all like Yuu’s grip. It's gentler, it’s genuine, and it’s kind. You won't look him in the eyes, even as he gives your hands a squeeze of reassurance. “Not who you are. You're nice. You always help me when I ask. You help clean. You always thank the ghosts after they serve you lunch. You're just scared people won’t like you— and tell you what—”

He’s beaming at you now. “Sometimes Jamil ignores me for days. Sometimes he tells me I'm impossible, but we always end up talking the next day! So you..” A thumb juts out from your interlinked... pinkies? Had he made a subconscious promise?  “Should talk to Jade.”

♡ You stare at him. . Yours and Jamil’s situation is very different, and the dynamic these two share bears no similarity to Jade and yours. If anything, you have no obligation to make amends with the eel, but still, you make do with a shuddering nod. 

“See? You’re smiling!”

“I’m not.”

♡ The new day is horrendous because you find yourself back at the Mountain Lovers club, against all odds. 

♡ Right before sending you off, Kalim gave you a small task. He wanted you to send out the invitation cards to multiple students, seeing as you’d taken on multiple jobs with the same nature. One of the names you instantly recognized, Silver. You agreed, but made your way to your old club, hoping you wouldn’t catch Jade in the process. 

♡ Only now you’re clearly trying to hide from someone, because the eel is right there. 

♡ Honestly, if you’re being honest, you hadn’t expected Jade to be in the Mountain Lovers Club, the most expected thing of him. You’d at least think he has a knack for camouflage, with the way he’s completely eluded your senses these past few days— or months. So imagine the consecutive, twelve heart attacks you get when you catch the prowling figure in the corner, situated where he always is since the day you stumbled into the room.

“Would it be impertinent of me to assume you’re trying to hide from me?”

♡ Ack! It’s been such a while you’ve seen Jade that it almost feels surreal. A husband returning from war, as you’d first put it during your departure in the earlier phase of your.. parasitic relationship, but now you’re not so sure anymore. What does it feel like?

♡  . . . He’s caught you dead in your rights amid your prancing, and even ensconced within your reluctance, you sneak an itsy-bitsy glance at him. Your gaze is confined to his self-same face, one that remains unchanged though you’ve spent so many days apart. His comportment  is exactly as you remember it — suave and placid — and somehow, that's what makes seeing him so strange. Yours has changed, has it not? You’ve been dealing with Yuu, Scarabia, Ruggie, Vil . . 

♡ Ridiculous. Leech is standing five paces away from you. 

♡ What do you even say? You don’t want to probe at him, ask him where he’s been, ask him about Vil. It’s entirely possible he was occupied with the semester, with Mostro Lounge, his hikes, or whatever his slippery mind latched onto. Showing that much eagerness would definitely corrode the image you’ve been trying to build, right? Though, him disappearing right after that cheek memento seems too odd to be a  coincidence, and you know it isn’t, you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, for his own sake.

So, you just heave a sigh, and let your eyes trail to the room. 

“..You've always had a  talent for assumptions.”

“Have I?”

“You've assumed correctly enough times for it to become annoying.”

"How flattering.” He hums, accepting the correction. It irks you. “I’m relieved to see your wit survived my absence. I was riddled with fear, you see.” With a gloved hand on his chest, he sniffles. “How you could possibly survive without my interference.”

♡ Ugh! He expected otherwise. Sure, you had a bit of a tussle with the withdrawals, but you did just fine without him. Sure, you can see him grinning slyly at you, his words but a harmless jab.

“I considered several possibilities.” He keeps on going, eyes transfixed on the arrays of . . truth be told, an entire ecosystem of wildlife. The emanating light casts an azure glow on his face, and you find  veils of lashes covering the glint in his eyes.  “That you would continue avoiding the Mountain Lovers Club indefinitely, or that you had simply forgotten where it was, and I did entertain the notion that one of  Schoenheit’s extracurricular endeavors had finally succeeded in claiming you. Dare I say, you're even starting to resemble him in speech.”

You pale at the implications. “You're hilarious.”

“So I've been told.” That smirk may as well be a cathedral of pointed arcs, ripping past his lips as he places a gloved hand on his chin. 

There’s that usual silence, enveloping you. You try to let your attention fixate on something else to avoid the strain of conversation, somehow it feels foreign to you.

But then he breaks it.

Unfortunately. 

“But of course, horrible as I may be, I couldn’t possibly leave my best friend to fend for themselves.”

♡ Ouch! You nearly topple over a display and break the glass. 

“..Best friends?” You cough.  “That sounds inaccurate.”

Ah, right. You had mentioned that, hadn’t you? Back when Yuu kept on pestering you, and you found no better alternative than to pin that label onto the one person you would never find yourself making friends with. His smile neither grows nor diminishes, remaining suspended in that infuriating middle ground where every word he utters sounds like the conclusion to a joke only he understands.

“I see. Then perhaps I’ve been reading the situation incorrectly.”

♡ You don’t get it too twisted. For what it’s worth, you know Jade doesn’t actually consider you a companion. In actuality, he doesn’t appear to find the idea of physical contact or friendship  too appealing as demonstrated from your botched cheek kiss, the embarrassment of which you mentally recoil from — so he makes do with throwing little jests at you. Perhaps he indulges himself in your micro-expressions, the way you school them, or the sneer you send his way. It’s a wicked game, but really, you’re not all that irked. In a way, you can proceed with your plan. The keeping-Jade-Leech-near-you plan. It worked before, he wards people off perfectly, doesn’t he?

♡ You.. just have to remain interesting enough. To his eyes, that is. You need to keep his curiosity at its apogee. The question at hand is: how do you do that?

“Incorrectly?” Your voice, brought into the moment.  It’s only now you realize that the both of you aren’t even looking at each other except for stolen glances eluding the other’s attention. Back to back, the two of you stare into opposing sides of a display. This can’t get any stiffer. “Usually, when a best friend disappears, they inform the other beforehand. An explanation, if you’ve ever heard of it.”

There’s silence. 

You can just see the surprise coloring his face. In tinges of blue, white, green— the sea, spumes of it contorted into  a release. Not a soft one, a milder, more slippery one.

“..I hadn't realized an explanation was expected.”

Something flickers across his face. You see it in the glass, the likeness of his it casts back at you when he moves his head to stare. It's gone so quickly you wonder if the light had merely shifted beneath the leaves overhead. Like a tinge of intrigue rejuvenated. You wonder what is so haplessly appealing about you?

“Then allow me to apologize.”

♡ The next moment, he’s offering you his arm, and you take it without hesitation. He’s had you close, and there he is,  leading you to.. where? You don’t question it, but along the way, he deigns you a glance down.

“Perhaps I was too presumptuous.”

You don’t. “... What’s this about now?”

His eyes grow a tad bit darker, but then he grins again and you frown.  "I had thought the interval of our separation might warrant another display of affection, to put it modestly..."

♡ You go still. 

♡ Jade picks up on it, giving you a questioning hum. It’s gone as soon as it inspissates, and you trudge forward to the destination.

♡   . . . 

♡ The cafeteria is loud, loud, loud! It feels foreign, because you spend most of your time secluded in your dorm, eating lunch junk where no one can see you. Apparently, the ghost chefs hired at said place were once five star connoisseurs, and you’d be nothing but dumb if you missed out on a chance you never had the luxury of in your past life... which goes to say: you aren’t exactly sure how to take him bringing you to the cafeteria, of all places.​​​​

“Can you go and get that sandwich for me?” Ouch, where are your manners? Eating with your mouth full? You mutter again just in case. “The one.. ugh, what’s it called? The one with the uhh—​​​​​the green thing?”

“Brazenly telling me to do your bidding,” even in the hubbub of an area this packed, he manages to embody that properness immaculately. “Heh, heh, heh,” you ignore that diabolical laugh. “Now, does it not disturb you we may not be as close as you think?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, mindfully chewing his question over. . . Of course, you’re never one to deem yourself of greater amity in his eyes, that’d be ludicrous to assume, but if you don’t play your cards right and act like they’re unstable, you feel like you won't be getting too far. ​​​​​

“..I don't know,” you admit after swallowing. There is no taste, you notice. “You haven't poisoned me yet.” ​​​​​​

Jade stills. There’s a glint in those eyes of his, it vanishes as soon as  he gives you room to ponder on your own spoken words. Why would that be your first thought? It works, though, because he prods.

“Is that your metric for friendship?”

“It’s a decent start.”

“You are very forgiving.” A chuckle sounds. “And if I refuse?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” heaving a sigh, you prop your chin on your hands woefully. “.. I would have to get it myself.. but it would’ve been really nice if you did it for me.”

“What do I receive in return?”

“I don’t know,” you drag a hand down your face. “I’ll decide when you get me my burger.”

“Did you not say you wanted a sandwich?”

“What's the difference?.. Fine. I have nineteen thaumarks you can probably barter for a mushroom pen or something.”

♡ You can tell Jade has to physically stop himself from appearing amused, because this little Scarabia NPC is genuinely trying to negotiate with their entire, non-existent wallet! Nevertheless, he doesn’t torment you more. Instead, he brings back the sandwich you wanted — and gods, it does look like the most appetizing thing on Earth. Without sparing it any mercy, you shove the thing into your mouth and disregard the question present in his eyes. 

“Forgive me for probing, but the manner with which you’re.. eating that sandwich..” His eyes widen the slightest bit. “I would assume this is the first time you’ve been given the opportunity.”

“You’re one to talk. Have you eaten anything other than Destroying angels?”

♡ Aha! Shock paints his face! 

♡ He is quick to mask it up, but even in that staid composure there appears to be something he wants to say to you, present in the still contemplation of his lips. Then, when you lean closer, he blinks back into reality. 

“What a predictable question,” he chuckles, his familiar close-eyed smile settling back into place. “If you truly wish to know, my palate has had the fortune of wandering rather extensively. I'd argue cuisine tells one far more about a culture than history books ever could. A nation's fears, its prosperity, the produce its soil permits... all of it finds its way onto a plate.”

You hastily clamp your lips shut. Perhaps egging him to go on a tangent wasn’t the best course of action.

“Take sandwiches, for instance. They're deceptively ordinary. Bread is rarely chosen at random. A dense rye carries fillings quite differently from an airy milk loaf, while sourdough lends enough acidity that one must consider the sharpness of the accompanying vegetables. Even the order in which ingredients are layered determines whether one tastes the meat first, the herbs first... or simply a regrettable mouthful of sauce.”

“Uh—”

“Mushrooms are especially remarkable in that regard. Their flavour changes so dramatically depending on the variety and preparation. A delicate sauté brings out an earthy sweetness, whereas roasting deepens their savoriness entirely. Some are wonderful folded into cream sauces, others are best left almost untouched. They're... surprisingly expressive ingredients.”

By the time he’s finished his prating, you’ve already downed everything at the table. Food’s shadow coils in the corners of your mouth as you relish in the aftertaste, but it’s a bit hard to do so, especially when the eel is eyeing you all the while. Tongue swiping across the back of your teeth, you emit a false cough and look towards him. You don’t even know what it is he’s eating, and you don’t question it. 

“For a second, I thought we weren’t talking about food anymore.” You quip, glancing at him. Hm, strange. Why’s he looking at you like he wants to pounce—

♡ He shoves a spoonful of food into your mouth!

​​​​“Did you taste the basil?” Utensil remaining untouched, he pours his attention onto you. The back of your palm bolsters your coughs as you try to get the shock out of your system, setting him straight with a mean glare. The sudden action combined with your little injury has you sure he just knocked a tooth out or something. 

“What the fu—” You massage your throat, immediately unsealing your lips to take a look at your mouth. No teeth knocked out, thankfully.  “You little..”

Open-mouthed, you think over his question. “There was basil?”

“..Hm.”

“I didn’t even taste it.”

“..Hm.”

“Is there usually basil in this?”

“Hm.”

His lackluster responses make you look at him.

♡ . .  . Strange how he’s looking at you back like that. 

♡ You blink at him. He’s staring at you like you just slapped a bucket of water over him. He only snaps out of it when you wave a hand over his face and seal your lips into a questioning line, eliciting an atypical.. gulp from him. 

”I apologize.” He closes his eyes. “What were you saying?”

“There was basil in this?”

Raising his fork, the prongs glister beneath the light, sliding along the curvature of its gaps. 

"There was. If I was where you’re sitting, I’d taste it quite deftly.. Simply because,” he muses and muses.

Stab! 

Prongs are embedded into a slab of food, guillotined by steel before your eyes and shredded open into rivulets like juice. Soundlessly directing your attention to those eyes, twins of olive-brown and gold nailed down with mirth, he croons.

“..My family always believed a meal ought to be savored rather than conquered.”

There is silence crowding the contest of eye contact. 

You excuse yourself shortly.

It’s time for your next class.

♡ Malleus Draconia and Cater Diamond are standing right fucking next to you. 

♡ The sentence is melodramatic, because for someone of such a high-sounding prestige, they’ve been confined to the space of the botanical garden's verdant grounds. When does one ever get the chance to utter that? Two complete opposites standing next to one another, and oh, there’s you too, trying not to drown in your own ill-fitting, misshapen lab uniform, but chances are they don't notice, because the heir to Briar Valley is completely soaked right now!

“What's going on here, Diamond? Why is water spraying at me out of nowhere?”

♡ Yikes. Even his voice is intimidating enough to make your spine stiffen. You're practically shivering in your boots.

♡ ...No, no. Pull yourself together. Trying to sneak past him now would only invite unwanted attention. All you have to do is what everyone else at Night Raven College seems to manage effortlessly: avert your eyes, keep your head down, and scurry off before the future king notices your existence. The campus had already written the script for interactions with Malleus Draconia years ago! Fear him. Avoid him. Pretend you have somewhere else to be! 

​​​​​​♡ It had only just struck the end of Alchemy, and you'd wandered into the subtropical section of the greenhouse to collect the specimen you'd been cultivating. Stumbling into... this... certainly hadn't been part of the itinerary. Then again, they were your schoolmates. Running into them shouldn't have been surprising. (Oh, it’s only surprising because you’ve completely isolated yourself from Yuu now. Avoiding them, never lingering long enough. Something within you ceases to exit when your mind wanders back to the infirmary. Was that real? Have you gone mad?)

“It's the sprinkler system.” You don't even need to look to picture Cater's grin. “They use it for irrigation. Whole zone's got a timer that mimics subtropical rainfall. Guess nobody gave you the tour.”

“Artificial rain...” Malleus repeats, almost thoughtfully.

A gloved hand reaches into the downpour. Water gathers upon his fingertips before dripping back into the beds of foliage below. “How curious. Humans truly do possess peculiar methods of tending their gardens.”

♡ You'd like to point out that the future king of Briar Valley is currently discovering... sprinklers, but you enjoy living. Besides, everyone has gaps in their knowledge. You, for one, still don't know why Professor Trein insists on carrying Lucius into class when the cat has never once demonstrated academic aptitude. Quietly, you crouch beside one of the planter boxes. Your herb should be... there! Perfect!

♡ Nearly uprooting the entire planter, you make a beeline towards the exit! Phew, you survived that. Now you have to suffer through the remainder of your classes. 

♡ Soon enough, most of them are over, and the midterm results are to be announced very, very soon. Before that, you adhere to your job as the Night Raven mailperson. It’d be wise of you to get the job done before there’s a herd gathering, and Kalim’s voice is already etched onto your mind by the time you’re carrying the letters. 

♡ Sifting through hundreds of parchments, you realize three of them belong to.. Diasomnia residents. There’s an anonymous love letter, Kalim’s invitation card, and a letter from home! You should be able to catch them on campus if you hurry — because you’ll have to delay your plans if they're in their respective dormitories. It also makes you lament on why you even agreed to deliver the invitation card to Silver, of all people, but you have to thank Kalim for his help some way. This just happened to be the easiest. Chances are you’ll find him drowning in sleep. Can’t be that hard. 

♡ It takes you a while to find him. The hallways are brimming with people. 

♡ True to your deduction, there he is, eyes slid down in respite and chest rising with ebbs and falls. Though you don’t look at his face that long, he's still dressed in his labwear. This should be easy enough— but quickening footfalls of other students have you sifting hastily through the bag — and you pluck out the card, tucking it into his pocket. He shuffles in his sleep, lips parted, murmuring something, but you’re already running off like your hands have caught fire. . . and they may as well have. 

♡ — Because halfway up the staircase, you realize the card is still in your hand. 

. . . . ?

You blink, turning it over. It’s Kalim’s invitation card. And— Diasomnia, right there. And.. there's the letter from home. And—

♡ The fucking love letter!

♡ You’re sprinting back, nearly toppling over the staircase. You gave him the love letter! A few students eye you— no, no, no — you feel stressed tears prick at your eyes when you see Silver’s resting place devoid of any presence. He’s gone! (With the love letter still in his pocket!)

♡  . . . By the time you return, huffing and puffing, you’re frowning. How the hell did you mess that up?  Fortunately, Jade’s already there, waiting for you. Arm in arm, you walk.

“Do I need to assume?”

“No.”

♡ It’s no biggie, you think. You’ll just catch him at a later time, or have someone retrieve the letter for you. Out of every love interest, Silver should be the most compliant. You just need to focus on something else. 

♡ A tide of students, the same as before. They’re all circling what looks to be the board, and some of them part when they catch the eel’s look. There’s a rush. A stampede. Midterm results are here. Bodies are released and ejected like someone kicked open an anthill, and through the writhing masses, you catch sight of . . Yuu. Grim, Ace, and Deuce. The furball’s pointing up at the listed names, and perpetual horror slashes everyone’s faces into two. What makes you uncertain, though, is that the prefect also looks horrified. 

Why do they look horrified?

Your answer comes in the form of an anemone ripping out of their hair. 

—Anemone in the prefect’s hair. 

Why the FUCK does Yuu also have an anemone?!

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sincerelyruu @tsubito @jokesterreality @gloomuraaii @eepydeepysleepy66 @k3lbug @fanofkrauser @peter-the-pan @16-shieanne-16 @danna001 @littlepotaaatosimp

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@lennyadinonerd @thespiderinyourroom @quiet-place-for-thoughts @00hellohello00 @alheli1994-blog @domeofquietdreams @mspurpl3 @yumuramma

​​​​​​You want to forget everything!  For some, the thought is jarring, to be deprived of things they love and letting them plunge into a fog. No one wants to forget where their soul resides, where  their life began, but for you — it's mercy. You remember every loop, your first, your second, your third and the calamitous demise always waiting for you to succumb, waiting with open arms, waiting, waiting, waiting. You don't know why you keep getting killed, murdered, forced to accept that you won't ever make it far. You've done everything, you gave it your all, and in one loop, you even managed to isolate yourself to the point you were certain no one had ever heard of you. And yet, that sliver of survival slipped through your fingers, mist-thin clouds of whatever facinorous hope you'd salvaged seeping into the hands of those who trailed after your footfalls like a dog.

You remember all of it.

Sometimes it was a runt, hyena-ears bristling, letting it be known to you it was just business. Full- rimmed glasses baking you a poisoned tart, then reveling in the way blue blossomed across your lips. A long, fastidious coat locking you in a contract then letting his carnivorous goons feast on your flesh for a “breach of terms.”

There is no joy in being a villainess. None to you.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

As if on instinct, your hands shoot up to slake off-kilter strands of your hair.

It is then you turn and behold your Housewarden, who in all his glory, stands as beautiful as ever. The Beautiful Tyrant! (You’d earned that achievement when, in one loop, he’d poisoned you and you, subsequently, had his polish-laden heel shoved into your mouth. Yuck! Turns out, choosing to seek out Neige as a means of safety is not a solid choice when you’re one of Vil’s most trusted companions.) The sleeves of your uniform, presently, scrub the dip of your cheeks subconsciously, trying to look for tearful remnants.  As ostensibly lax as he may seem with you, Vil has never set aside his keen eye. Even for you.

It pains you that you can’t look him in the eyes for more than a second. You can never get used to it. You can never get used to him.

“I was simply going out on a morning walk, Vil.” You choose your next words very carefully. There is a lot of time left for orientation. “I happened to indulge in one too many sweets yesterday evening, so I thought it best to compensate before orientation begins. Fresh air, a little exercise... it seems irresponsible to neglect either after such poor discipline.” Eyes climbing onto his face, your lips dwindle at his narrowed mien. It reminds you of so, so many things, but the pinpricks built of ice, dancing on your skin, are fruitless — because his expression is unmoving. He cannot see you past his own constructed, yes-man version of you.

“.. Unless, of course, you were looking for me?”

In every loop, one of the first things you’ve done is try to make amends with everyone, even if you lack a mean streak. Watering down certain words, assisting underclassmen with mundane tasks, it’s gotten so usual you’d think it was your forte, or that you were simply a suck-up. In actuality, that tactic never worked. Though it may help delay the inevitable, there’s never been substantial progress in being kind. You are the villainess after all, silly. It doesn’t matter what you do. The system will always have you do tasks and quests that besmirch whatever reputation you’ve built up, because by the natural logic, you are a horrible person. Even if you are not.

It’s also true you have no ability to set a  respawn point, as people would put it. If you die, you die, and you wind up back in your bed with it being your default rebirth. You can die by anything. Though the majority of death-related participants are people, you once died because your swimming skill was at level zero. Cue the trauma for bystanders. 

“Nothing of the sort.” He sighs, folding his arms, hands and nails polished. They’ve been on your neck multiple times, in multiple loops, in more ways than one. “You're rarely awake before sunrise unless circumstances demand it. Seeing you wandering the dormitory halls of your own accord is... unexpected.”

You rip your gaze away before it starts delving into more brutal memories.  “..Is that your way of complimenting me?”

“No. It is my way of observing you." The response arrives without hesitation, there’s an infinitesimal curve to his lips now. He is quite fond of you, no mattter how you perceive it. “Whether you choose to interpret observation as praise is entirely your own affair.”

 His gaze drifts from your face to your shoes. Blonde-lilac, veil-akin lashes flutter at the haphazard cesspool that are the strings of your shoes, and a frown pulls at his face. You find it funny, how little of a concern it is and how big he makes it. “..Your laces are uneven. The right loop is smaller than the left by nearly an inch. I refuse to have one of Pomefiore's students representing this dorm looking as though they dressed themselves in complete darkness. Fix them immediately.”

A mental sigh it is that you heave. Imperceptibly, your molars grind in vexation, jaw clenched. “.. Yes, Housewarden.”

The villainess, as established, is one of Vil’s closest companions. By that nature alone, she is the protagonist’s most formidable foe, simply because of a thing so minute as her place in Night Raven. She is not just a placeholder, though. You've found she has plenty of friends and hobbies she seeks comfort in during her leisure — though most of them are NOT pleasurable for you at all. Seriously, sitting somewhere and watching birds all day? You guess, bro. When the time comes and someone’s not trying to strangle you every few minutes, you guess you can partake in those psychotic pastimes too. She’s also a pretty strong academic rival, and has solid grades, catering to her Housewarden’s immense pleasure. 

She’s also in Film Research, which is why doom branches off and spills into the tapestry of your life. 

After you’ve extricated yourself from a kneel and finally fixed those laces up, you stand, only for him to steel you with a thoughtful stare. He looks especially gorgeous in the morning, where sweet slivers limn the contours of his face and piece him together like an angel from above. Unfortunately, this is also the man that’s murdered you more than fifty times, so you need to water the praise down a little. Snapping your neck, poisoning you, the bar even reaches drugging.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” he raises a hand in that signature style, closing his eyes in rumination. You hum, an instinctual compliance rooted deep within you. “I expect the Film Research Club to receive a considerable number of applications following today's orientation. I have little desire to sort through crumpled forms submitted by overeager, uncooked potatoes after they've been sitting unattended for hours, so,”—

He unpeels them and sets you straight with a nullifying, all-encompassing lilac. “I would like you to receive prospective members in my stead should the orientation ceremony delay me.”

Quest Unlocked!

At exactly orientation's conclusion, you will make your way towards Film Research and look after any potential members. 

A quest right off the bat? That’s a record if you’ve ever heard one.

“You are familiar with my standards.”

“...Yes.”

“I'll choose to interpret that as confidence rather than insolence.”

“..Probably for the best.”

“See that every application is filed alphabetically.”

“No folded corners.”

“Of course.”

“No ink stains.”

“Naturally.”

“No fingerprints.”

“..I'll try my hardest to keep my human condition from interfering.”

Vil deigns you a smile of satisfaction. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, but it leaves you blind. From acrimony, from loathing, from instinctual admiration, who knows? “I knew I could rely on you. Move along now.”

You've heard those exact words in over three hundred loops, and sometimes they were the last kind thing he'd ever say to you. 

You’ve learned to avoid certain places as the doomed die-er. One time, a gargoyle shattered and fell on your head — that place still leaves you imagining phantom blood. What you’ve not learned to avoid, though, is dreadful orientation, because no matter how many times you attempt to convince Vil you’ve a tummyache or the headmage that your family’s requesting you to return home, it’s all in vain. 

It always starts at orientation, actually, with Grim wreaking havoc and Yuu stumbling into the hall. The first thing you can bring a change to is Grim, and that’s exactly why you’re in Mr. Sam’s shop. Maybe a little trap? A toy mouse he can get distracted by before you take him up into your arms and try to lessen the damage he causes? Fish Jerky? Catnip? You don't fight the current. You throw a stick into it and hope it changes where the ripples go. Especially since Trey Clover is already at the shop before you.

“My little imp!” Sam greets you with open arms. It results in, much to your chagrin, the plume of green turning around to regard you with full-rimmed glasses. Clover etched onto his cheek, he eyes you curiously. You’ve gotten that look before, and you return it, because how come the Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul is here at whatever-o-clock-in-the-morning? “Back for a peculiar purchase, I assume.”

“Hi, Sam!” Momentarily, you drop the formal tone you adorn when with Vil. At least it earns a booming laugh from the shopkeeper. Looking at Trey, you dip your head. “Hello to you too, Clover.”

The vice housewarden returns the greeting just as easily, with his eyes trekking towards you. “Morning. Didn’t expect to see anyone shopping this early.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You could.” An ephemeral smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lifts a paper bag, crammed with flour, butter, sugar, the typical stuff. “I just needed to restock a few things before classes get hectic and Heartslabyul gets busy with the freshmen. And you?”

“Cat toy.”

Trey looks confused, justifiably. “For a cat?”

There's an all-encompassing urge to roll your eyes skyward and let out a long-suffering sigh, but in its stead you hum politely. “Well, certainly not for myself, Clover.”

Cheeks morphed pink, he lets you go. You turn your attention to Sam as he question you of your next odd purchase.

Oh, Sam. If only you knew. 

​​​​​​You want to forget everything!  For some, the thought is jarring, to be deprived of things they love and letting them plunge into a fog. No one wants to forget where their soul resides, where  their life began, but for you — it's mercy. You remember every loop, your first, your second, your third and the calamitous demise always waiting for you to succumb, waiting with open arms, waiting, waiting, waiting. You don't know why you keep getting killed, murdered, forced to accept that you won't ever make it far. You've done everything, you gave it your all, and in one loop, you even managed to isolate yourself to the point you were certain no one had ever heard of you. And yet, that sliver of survival slipped through your fingers, mist-thin clouds of whatever facinorous hope you'd salvaged seeping into the hands of those who trailed after your footfalls like a dog.

You remember all of it.

Sometimes it was a runt, hyena-ears bristling, letting it be known to you it was just business. Full- rimmed glasses baking you a poisoned tart, then reveling in the way blue blossomed across your lips. A long, fastidious coat locking you in a contract then letting his carnivorous goons feast on your flesh for a “breach of terms.”

There is no joy in being a villainess. None to you.

“And just where do you think you’re going?”

As if on instinct, your hands shoot up to slake off-kilter strands of your hair.

It is then you turn and behold your Housewarden, who in all his glory, stands as beautiful as ever. The Beautiful Tyrant! (You’d earned that achievement when, in one loop, he’d poisoned you and you, subsequently, had his polish-laden heel shoved into your mouth. Yuck! Turns out, choosing to seek out Neige as a means of safety is not a solid choice when you’re one of Vil’s most trusted companions.) The sleeves of your uniform, presently, scrub the dip of your cheeks subconsciously, trying to look for tearful remnants.  As ostensibly lax as he may seem with you, Vil has never set aside his keen eye. Even for you.

It pains you that you can’t look him in the eyes for more than a second. You can never get used to it. You can never get used to him.

“I was simply going out on a morning walk, Vil.” You choose your next words very carefully. There is a lot of time left for orientation. “I happened to indulge in one too many sweets yesterday evening, so I thought it best to compensate before orientation begins. Fresh air, a little exercise... it seems irresponsible to neglect either after such poor discipline.” Eyes climbing onto his face, your lips dwindle at his narrowed mien. It reminds you of so, so many things, but the pinpricks built of ice, dancing on your skin, are fruitless — because his expression is unmoving. He cannot see you past his own constructed, yes-man version of you.

“.. Unless, of course, you were looking for me?”

In every loop, one of the first things you’ve done is try to make amends with everyone, even if you lack a mean streak. Watering down certain words, assisting underclassmen with mundane tasks, it’s gotten so usual you’d think it was your forte, or that you were simply a suck-up. In actuality, that tactic never worked. Though it may help delay the inevitable, there’s never been substantial progress in being kind. You are the villainess after all, silly. It doesn’t matter what you do. The system will always have you do tasks and quests that besmirch whatever reputation you’ve built up, because by the natural logic, you are a horrible person. Even if you are not.

It’s also true you have no ability to set a  respawn point, as people would put it. If you die, you die, and you wind up back in your bed with it being your default rebirth. You can die by anything. Though the majority of death-related participants are people, you once died because your swimming skill was at level zero. Cue the trauma for bystanders. 

“Nothing of the sort.” He sighs, folding his arms, hands and nails polished. They’ve been on your neck multiple times, in multiple loops, in more ways than one. “You're rarely awake before sunrise unless circumstances demand it. Seeing you wandering the dormitory halls of your own accord is... unexpected.”

You rip your gaze away before it starts delving into more brutal memories.  “..Is that your way of complimenting me?”

“No. It is my way of observing you." The response arrives without hesitation, there’s an infinitesimal curve to his lips now. He is quite fond of you, no mattter how you perceive it. “Whether you choose to interpret observation as praise is entirely your own affair.”

 His gaze drifts from your face to your shoes. Blonde-lilac, veil-akin lashes flutter at the haphazard cesspool that are the strings of your shoes, and a frown pulls at his face. You find it funny, how little of a concern it is and how big he makes it. “..Your laces are uneven. The right loop is smaller than the left by nearly an inch. I refuse to have one of Pomefiore's students representing this dorm looking as though they dressed themselves in complete darkness. Fix them immediately.”

A mental sigh it is that you heave. Imperceptibly, your molars grind in vexation, jaw clenched. “.. Yes, Housewarden.”

The villainess, as established, is one of Vil’s closest companions. By that nature alone, she is the protagonist’s most formidable foe, simply because of a thing so minute as her place in Night Raven. She is not just a placeholder, though. You've found she has plenty of friends and hobbies she seeks comfort in during her leisure — though most of them are NOT pleasurable for you at all. Seriously, sitting somewhere and watching birds all day? You guess, bro. When the time comes and someone’s not trying to strangle you every few minutes, you guess you can partake in those psychotic pastimes too. She’s also a pretty strong academic rival, and has solid grades, catering to her Housewarden’s immense pleasure. 

She’s also in Film Research, which is why doom branches off and spills into the tapestry of your life. 

After you’ve extricated yourself from a kneel and finally fixed those laces up, you stand, only for him to steel you with a thoughtful stare. He looks especially gorgeous in the morning, where sweet slivers limn the contours of his face and piece him together like an angel from above. Unfortunately, this is also the man that’s murdered you more than fifty times, so you need to water the praise down a little. Snapping your neck, poisoning you, the bar even reaches drugging.

“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” he raises a hand in that signature style, closing his eyes in rumination. You hum, an instinctual compliance rooted deep within you. “I expect the Film Research Club to receive a considerable number of applications following today's orientation. I have little desire to sort through crumpled forms submitted by overeager, uncooked potatoes after they've been sitting unattended for hours, so,”—

He unpeels them and sets you straight with a nullifying, all-encompassing lilac. “I would like you to receive prospective members in my stead should the orientation ceremony delay me.”

Quest Unlocked!

At exactly orientation's conclusion, you will make your way towards Film Research and look after any potential members. 

A quest right off the bat? That’s a record if you’ve ever heard one.

“You are familiar with my standards.”

“...Yes.”

“I'll choose to interpret that as confidence rather than insolence.”

“..Probably for the best.”

“See that every application is filed alphabetically.”

“No folded corners.”

“Of course.”

“No ink stains.”

“Naturally.”

“No fingerprints.”

“..I'll try my hardest to keep my human condition from interfering.”

Vil deigns you a smile of satisfaction. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, but it leaves you blind. From acrimony, from loathing, from instinctual admiration, who knows? “I knew I could rely on you. Move along now.”

You've heard those exact words in over three hundred loops, and sometimes they were the last kind thing he'd ever say to you. 

You’ve learned to avoid certain places as the doomed die-er. One time, a gargoyle shattered and fell on your head — that place still leaves you imagining phantom blood. What you’ve not learned to avoid, though, is dreadful orientation, because no matter how many times you attempt to convince Vil you’ve a tummyache or the headmage that your family’s requesting you to return home, it’s all in vain. 

It always starts at orientation, actually, with Grim wreaking havoc and Yuu stumbling into the hall. The first thing you can bring a change to is Grim, and that’s exactly why you’re in Mr. Sam’s shop. Maybe a little trap? A toy mouse he can get distracted by before you take him up into your arms and try to lessen the damage he causes? Fish Jerky? Catnip? You don't fight the current. You throw a stick into it and hope it changes where the ripples go. Especially since Trey Clover is already at the shop before you.

“My little imp!” Sam greets you with open arms. It results in, much to your chagrin, the plume of green turning around to regard you with full-rimmed glasses. Clover etched onto his cheek, he eyes you curiously. You’ve gotten that look before, and you return it, because how come the Vice Housewarden of Heartslabyul is here at whatever-o-clock-in-the-morning? “Back for a peculiar purchase, I assume.”

“Hi, Sam!” Momentarily, you drop the formal tone you adorn when with Vil. At least it earns a booming laugh from the shopkeeper. Looking at Trey, you dip your head. “Hello to you too, Clover.”

The vice housewarden returns the greeting just as easily, with his eyes trekking towards you. “Morning. Didn’t expect to see anyone shopping this early.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You could.” An ephemeral smile tugs at the corner of his mouth as he lifts a paper bag, crammed with flour, butter, sugar, the typical stuff. “I just needed to restock a few things before classes get hectic and Heartslabyul gets busy with the freshmen. And you?”

“Cat toy.”

Trey looks confused, justifiably. “For a cat?”

There's an all-encompassing urge to roll your eyes skyward and let out a long-suffering sigh, but in its stead you hum politely. “Well, certainly not for myself, Clover.”

Cheeks morphed pink, he lets you go. You turn your attention to Sam as he question you of your next odd purchase.

Oh, Sam. If only you knew. 

Sure, the world building seemed intimidating. Overblots, dark romance, whatnot . . but you just wanted an itsy-bitsy piece of the guilty pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t everyday you stumbled upon a game with ridiculously well-crafted and deep characters, after all.

Well . . . now you have no purpose whatsoever, and you mean that in a philosophical sense. Before Yuu, the story goes as follows. You, the nameless villainess, were the only girl in Night Raven, naturally, somewhere in the developer's office, someone decided the pinnacle of storytelling was making two girls hate each other's guts.  It’s a concept you don’t like, even more so when all the odds are stacked against you, and sometimes it even gets tiring, because the pre-determined  dialogue and choices set for Yuu give them a somewhat timid appearance. Grow a backbone! There is an insane power imbalance, you see — and of course they’re going to need extra protection from all their knights in shining armor.

The greatest odd against you, however, is the dorm that’s been chosen for you. 

Knock, knock, knock!

Knuckles drumming against the door, you are roused from your sleep. Bright, lambent sunlight seeps in from the windows, the peak wherein your room’s inundated with a glow so much like a cherub’s tear, attacking your eyes and reminding you, you have no business being up at the ass crack at dawn.

Unless . .  

Title Unlocked — Headless Maiden.

You died! Riddle wanted it to be off with your head. Shame he took it so literally. 

You died again.

You recoil. Images. Images are what you see. A gaggle of memories flooding your brain, crimson’s brutish spread meandering down the crucible of your throat in sprays. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And it still hurts, a burn so real you realize a scream thrashes at the apex of your tongue until it blurs into a half-choked sob of misery, where your hands are coaxed towards your esophagus, trying to alleviate the sharp phantom’s touch. You have sprung upright, and the bed creaking beneath the sudden weight reminds you someone is still knocking at your door, the door to your room, the room where you’ve died so many times..

The room that’s now stripped of everything. 

Everything is white, as is every respawn. Every single trinket, achievement or personal belonging has now been reset, making you stare at a swathe of the sort of white you’d find in hospitals or an asylum’s padded room. No!  You’d worked so hard at Crisp ‘n dips trying to afford that one lipstick, and now it’s all gone. Every single thing you’d worked your bones off for are nowhere to be seen, thrown into the system’s savage bin, and once again, you suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling over, they truly spare you no pity. 

“Miss?”

Miss. That’s what they call you here. Miss, because you have no name attached to you. Shuffling off your bed and realizing just how enervated you must look, you slowly open the door, peaking through the gap. 

Luckily, it’s just a second year. 

“Housewarden Schoenheit wants everyone to be up and ready. Take a shower, trim your nails, iron your orientation robes.. And—er..”

“And make sure not a single strand is overlooked.”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Your respawn point is orientation. Well, before it. Due to such unadulterated generosity, you are given a few hours of respite before all hell breaks loose and takes you up into its flames. 

A few hours. 

Sure, the world building seemed intimidating. Overblots, dark romance, whatnot . . but you just wanted an itsy-bitsy piece of the guilty pleasure, nothing more, nothing less. It wasn’t everyday you stumbled upon a game with ridiculously well-crafted and deep characters, after all.

Well . . . now you have no purpose whatsoever, and you mean that in a philosophical sense. Before Yuu, the story goes as follows. You, the nameless villainess, were the only girl in Night Raven, naturally, somewhere in the developer's office, someone decided the pinnacle of storytelling was making two girls hate each other's guts.  It’s a concept you don’t like, even more so when all the odds are stacked against you, and sometimes it even gets tiring, because the pre-determined  dialogue and choices set for Yuu give them a somewhat timid appearance. Grow a backbone! There is an insane power imbalance, you see — and of course they’re going to need extra protection from all their knights in shining armor.

The greatest odd against you, however, is the dorm that’s been chosen for you. 

Knock, knock, knock!

Knuckles drumming against the door, you are roused from your sleep. Bright, lambent sunlight seeps in from the windows, the peak wherein your room’s inundated with a glow so much like a cherub’s tear, attacking your eyes and reminding you, you have no business being up at the ass crack at dawn.

Unless . .  

Title Unlocked — Headless Maiden.

You died! Riddle wanted it to be off with your head. Shame he took it so literally. 

You died again.

You recoil. Images. Images are what you see. A gaggle of memories flooding your brain, crimson’s brutish spread meandering down the crucible of your throat in sprays. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it hurt. And it still hurts, a burn so real you realize a scream thrashes at the apex of your tongue until it blurs into a half-choked sob of misery, where your hands are coaxed towards your esophagus, trying to alleviate the sharp phantom’s touch. You have sprung upright, and the bed creaking beneath the sudden weight reminds you someone is still knocking at your door, the door to your room, the room where you’ve died so many times..

The room that’s now stripped of everything. 

Everything is white, as is every respawn. Every single trinket, achievement or personal belonging has now been reset, making you stare at a swathe of the sort of white you’d find in hospitals or an asylum’s padded room. No!  You’d worked so hard at Crisp ‘n dips trying to afford that one lipstick, and now it’s all gone. Every single thing you’d worked your bones off for are nowhere to be seen, thrown into the system’s savage bin, and once again, you suppress a bitter laugh from bubbling over, they truly spare you no pity. 

“Miss?”

Miss. That’s what they call you here. Miss, because you have no name attached to you. Shuffling off your bed and realizing just how enervated you must look, you slowly open the door, peaking through the gap. 

Luckily, it’s just a second year. 

“Housewarden Schoenheit wants everyone to be up and ready. Take a shower, trim your nails, iron your orientation robes.. And—er..”

“And make sure not a single strand is overlooked.”

“Yes, that’s right!”

Your respawn point is orientation. Well, before it. Due to such unadulterated generosity, you are given a few hours of respite before all hell breaks loose and takes you up into its flames. 

A few hours. 

“I’m not creepy for doing this.” IDIA begins to hype himself as he starts to boot up the CCTV feed. “Yeah, I’m not creepy. I’m just looking out for them. Sevens know they need someone doing that. That normie’s got way too many death flags… They could keel over and die at any moment. That’s why I’m helping them out… Yeah, yeah.” Idia starts laughing to himself as the feed finally loads. “Heehee, aren’t I such a good person?”

Changing from screens of gray static to multiple angles of Ramshackle’s halls and rooms, Idia can’t help the creepy little grin that spreads on his face as he begins perusing through the feeds. The kitchen was empty… oh, a ghost in the foyer… then there’s Grim idling on the sofa with his forked tail flicking back and forth… Heehee, so precious. He takes a screenshot before moving on.

Then finally, there was your— Huh? Idia frowns to himself when he sees the feed of your bedroom still on that gray static. What the hell? He had just checked on it last night (b– because magickless people could easily die in their sleep, y’know?!), so what was going on?! He brings up the logs to check the situation, muttering curses to himself.

“Mic test~” A familiar voice suddenly rings through his headphones, making him jump in his seat. He can feel— no, he can hear his heart racing in his ribcage as he stares at the screen with wide eyes. Of course, he knows that voice. There’s easily a thousand hours of audio logs in his desktop recording that angelic, stupid, gorgeous, grating, and wonderful pitch and tone. He’s fallen asleep to clipped audios of that voice telling him—

“I~ di~ a~ ♡” The gray static finally turns to black, then you pull back to reveal your coy face staring down at him from the other side of the screen. “When are you gonna man up and start looking at me for real? I’m tired of putting shows for you every night.”

Sh– Shows?! He thinks back to all the times you’ve stretched and moaned to yourself in private, sometimes even making him think if actual people were so seductive even by themselves. Those breathy sighs you let out, too lewd that you could almost mistake them for… well. The tips of Idia’s hair flare red as he breathes heavily at your image.

“Idia?” You pout, tilting your head at the CCTV. “C’mon, I know there’s a mic in these things. Don’t leave me hanging…”

There’s a resounding silence in your room, and you impatiently watch the camera’s red light blinking at you like a shifty eye for a few seconds. Then you hear it, the slightest whisper from a crackling mic, “I– I’ll be there. In a few secs. Uh, um, yeah.” He adorably squeaks out that last syllable. “Yeah, w– wait for me.”

Fine, you think as you plop down on the bed with a triumphant grin. What’s a few more minutes, anyway? This is nothing compared to the time when you pretended to be asleep while he installed the cameras, physically gripping the sheets as you stopped yourself from pouncing on him.

Typically, when one is being held captive in a mysterious castle, they often lash out. Even someone far removed from typical human cues such as MALLEUS knows this, and as such was willing to be patient for as long as it takes you to settle down in your new quarters and lot in life.

Instead, all he gets is an enthusiastic kiss on the lips the moment he walks into your room. Not that he’s complaining, for he eagerly returned the kiss and more as soon as you were on him, but he had to pull away to give you an incredulous once-over (and a quick break! Who knew humans could go on for so long without air?). “Dearest?” He says to your cheerful expression, placing a hand on your forehead to check. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” You ask, wrapping your arms even tighter around his neck. You smile up at him so beautifully that one would have mistaken this as your honeymoon instead of having iron shackles on your feet. “This is what lovers do! Oh, Mall,” you giggle, pressing another quick kiss on his cheeks. “Have you never kissed before? Your inexperience is so cute!”

Inex—? No, wait, that shouldn’t be his first concern. Lovers? When just yesterday he was so sure you were ignorant of his feelings, so he had to take drastic measures such as, but not limited to: tricking you into taking a walk with him, knocking you out with a sleep spell, teleporting you to a heavily guarded room in his castle. “Did you—? Have you known all this time?”

“Have I known, he says!” You exclaim, finally letting go of him to put two hands on your blushy cheeks. You giggle to yourself as you reminisce. “Oh, with how intently you stare at me all the time, who wouldn’t have known? And don’t get me started on that cute pouty thing you do whenever I don’t pay attention to you, or how the skies get a little darker every time you see me with another man. Honestly!” You sigh dreamily. “I was almost getting impatient!”

No longer the scary and brooding captor that he thought himself to be, Malleus’ expression looks befuddled as you continue to daydream. “I was all like, ‘when is he gonna pop the question?’ I thought you were gonna do it last time but then—!” You spread your arms out, gesturing to the room around you. “I wake up to see my leg chained to that bedpost and a view of Briar Valley!”

“And that’s—” Malleus lets you cling to his arm as the gears continue to turn in his head. “You are absolutely fine with that?”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, Mally, men these days don’t know what grand acts of love are! All they do is wait around and think being nonchalant is cool when you have a literal lover, but that’s not what loving is! Now this—” You shake your ankle with the iron shackle, making the chains jangle. “You went through all the trouble of kidnapping me. That’s more than any of my stupid exes could do!”

“Now before you suddenly summon lightning,” you begin, easing his face towards you with your fingers on your chin. Under the green flickering of the candlelights, Malleus feels himself melting at the sultry gaze you’re giving him as you guide him further into the room. “Come here, Malleus. I’ll make it all up to you ♡”

LEONA isn’t exactly known for his patience, and even less so when he has to deal with the stupid herbivores surrounding you. He knows you must be aware of this sentiment somehow, with the way you shoot nervous glances his way whenever he’s in the vicinity of you and your stupid group of friends. Today, he yawns and gets ready for a busy day. You should really praise him for how he’s bending over backwards just to make you his.

He lies in wait all day, akin to a predator locking onto its target and only biding its time. He takes his time watching you from afar, if only to finally catch you alone and in his arms. And would you look at that— looks like your fateful capture would be where you both first met. Just a few steps into the greenhouse, and he immediately pins you on the grassy area behind the bushes. His brown hair sweeps over your face as he looks down at you with foreboding green eyes and a lazy smirk.

You squeak out his name, trying to hide your face with your books. He huffs. “You have some nerve, herbivore, making me hunt you down all day. You already know that I don’t like the stink of other men on you, so why’d you have to be so fucking stubborn, hm?” He leans in and sniffs at your nape. There is that mature sweetness of yours, and then there’s the acrid smell of those teenage boys. He pulls back with a grimace. “Fuck, that stinks. How’re you gonna make this up to me?”

He waits for your response, but all you seem to be doing is looking up at him with wide and shaky eyes. Damn, did he really scare you stiff? He frowns and cocks his head at you. “Oi, answer. Or should I make you?”

“I…” You start, saliva laying heavy on your tongue as you swallow your dry throat. “I was just…” He raises a brow at you.

You suddenly flush red and hug your books even closer to your chest. “Y– You’re so… c– close to me! I’m sorry, I– I can’t think straight when I’ve literally got you inches from my face. And you’ve got a scary new look that I…” You swallow again. “C– Can I get my camera out? Can you make that expression for me again?” Your tone suddenly pinches to be a bit too desperate. “Please?”

He stares down at you with wide eyes before throwing himself to your side and laughing in bewilderment on the grass. “That’s your— haha, reaction?” You think he’s so handsome with the teeth-wide grin that you’re almost tempted to whip out your camera and start snapping away. You control yourself. “Big bad lion corners you in a place where no one can see, and your first instinct is to take photos?”

“But I—! I like you!” You protest, sitting up to look down at him. His ears flicker in satisfaction at hearing that, but he continues to play cool. “I just… It’s hard not to be around them. They’re my friends! But I– I like you too!”

“And my face, it seems,” he snorts. He props himself up on his arm and looks at you, tail waving lazily behind him. “How many pictures of me do you got on that camera?”

“682,” you say immediately, gaze so blank it could belong to a psychopath’s. Then you catch yourself and blush again. “I– I mean…!”

Leona ruminates over the number and huffs in dissatisfaction. “A bit lower than I expected,” he hums. “C’mon, herbivore, to celebrate our mutual feelings, I’ll let you take some more.” And Leona gets to see you whip your camera out in record time with that dreadfully blank face again, quickly putting those lenses into use.

“ — just a normal voice-transforming potion, I assure you.” AZUL sits across you with his usual slimy grin, chin on his clasped hands like a typical villain. “Aside from the intended effect of turning your voice slightly higher, you will experience little to minimal side effects.”

You stare blankly at the glittering pink liquid swirling in the vial before you. On your visit to Mostro Lounge, Azul had immediately requested (seized you by the arm) your presence and brought you into the office. Now, you were currently on his sofa watching pink mist burst into a heart from this so-called voice-transforming potion of his. 

Turning your blank gaze to Azul, you see him squirm under your long gaze. For a dude who lied just as easy as breathing, he sure was being hella obvious. But no matter. If a pretty boy like him asked you to do something, then all you had to say was ‘yes sir!’ and gulp the entire thing down. Which is exactly what you did, and Azul eagerly watched your face for any sort of reaction.

A few minutes pass, and it was becoming increasingly clear that nothing would wipe that stupid vacant look on your face. The disappointment on Azul’s face was palpable. Shifting in your seat, you reach out for the vial and bring it to your nose. Sweet like a sugar cookie… definitely not the voice-transforming potion you’ve been taught in Alchemy. 

“Potions that attempt to regulate emotions usually depend on the feelings of the drinker, you know,” you offhandedly tell him, setting down the vial.

“I know that!” He snaps, before his eyes widen and he immediately composes himself. He sends you another slimy grin. “I mean… I don’t know what you’re talking about! Clearly something must be wrong with my potion, ahahaha…”

“Love potions don’t work if they’re already obsessed with you.”

Azul looks so taken aback that the glasses on his face comically tilt. You continue. “I mean, I thought that was obvious. I’m always going along with your plans even if I’m not from Octavinelle. And you don’t give me anything in return, but I’m always giving you what you want. Well, not that you don’t give me anything in return—” You’re rambling now, drawing Azul’s stupefied stare, but nothing’s stopping you now. “— That smirk you do when you’re really pleased with yourself is so hot, so I just let it be. And I’m always trailing after you because goddamn you always look hot in those slacks. So I dunno what you thought would happ—”

“Stop stop stop stop!” Azul holds up a gloved palm to your face, pretending to duck and massage his temples just to hide his steadily reddening face. “What— What are you talking about…?! I just thought you were a—”

“Sucker?” You offer, not looking the slightest bit offended. That wasn’t the word he was going to use, but if you were to say it… “Yeah, I am. I’m like a real sucker for you. You’re super hot when you’re doing shady shit and super cute when you actually act decent.” What were with these backhanded comments…? “I’m kinda obsessed with you.”

“Y– You are…?” Azul’s eyes are now shining as he hesitantly meets your gaze. And to think he took the extra pains of gathering all those ingredients just for a stupid love potion! “All this time, you…?”

“I even keep the collection of transactions we’ve had with me,” you say, deadpan. “Your signature is so effin cute. Wanna see?”