Florence

You’d think that, after spending enough time at Night Raven College, you would stop being surprised by magical disasters.

You would think there would eventually be a point where you could simply wake up, eat breakfast, walk to class, and not have to wonder whether the day would end with someone accidentally summoning a creature, destroying a classroom, or causing an incident so bizarre that future students would probably hear about it as a cautionary tale.

Unfortunately, NRC had a very specific relationship with peace. It didn’t hate peace. No, that would imply peace was important enough to have an opinion.

NRC simply treated peace like a guest who overstayed their welcome. It tolerated it for a few minutes, offered it a seat, and then politely shoved it out the nearest window. So when the morning started off suspiciously normal, you should have known something was wrong.

The birds were chirping. The weather was nice. Nobody had exploded anything before breakfast. A suspicious amount of stability for a school full of teenagers with magical abilities and questionable decision-making skills. The universe was clearly preparing something. And, unfortunately for Riddle Rosehearts, it had chosen him as the main event.

Now, to be fair, Riddle was not exactly someone you expected the universe to prank. Not because he was impossible to annoy. Quite the opposite. Riddle Rosehearts was incredibly easy to annoy. Someone chewing loudly? Annoying. Someone breaking a rule? Annoying. Someone not properly greeting him in the morning? Potentially a disciplinary hearing.

The man had a talent for finding problems. If there was a rule being broken somewhere on campus, Riddle could probably sense it from three buildings away like some kind of extremely well-dressed magical bloodhound.

But embarrassing him? Making him look ridiculous? That was much harder.

Riddle was the Housewarden of Heartslabyul. He was composed, intelligent, intimidating, and always perfectly put together. His uniform was flawless, his posture was perfect, and his expression usually carried the energy of someone who had already prepared a three-page essay explaining why your behavior was unacceptable.

The idea of Riddle Rosehearts losing control of a situation was almost impossible to imagine. Almost. Because the universe had a sense of humor. A terrible one. The kind of humor that would make a comedian look at it and say, "Maybe tone it down a little." 

The incident started with Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade. Which, honestly, should not surprise anyone. If chaos had a customer loyalty program, Ace would probably have enough points for a free drink.

The two first-years were sprinting through Heartslabyul's halls, carrying a stack of papers and a glass container filled with a potion that Deuce had very carefully prepared for class. Very carefully. The kind of carefully that involved double-checking every ingredient, making sure the measurements were correct, and probably whispering a small prayer before handing it over.

Unfortunately, all that careful preparation had one major flaw. It involved Ace Trappola.

"Come on, Deuce! We're going to be late!"

Ace's voice echoed through the hallway as he ran. Deuce followed behind him, looking like he was seconds away from losing his mind.

"We are late because you spent ten minutes arguing with the vending machine!"

"It started it."

"It is a machine!"

"It had an attitude."

"Machines don't have attitudes!"

"You don't know that."

Deuce opened his mouth. Then closed it. Because, unfortunately, arguing with Ace required a level of patience that most humans simply did not possess. It was like trying to convince a cat not to knock something off a table. You could explain. You could reason. You could beg. The cat would still look you directly in the eyes and push the object anyway. Ace was that cat.

And today, the object was apparently a magical potion.

The problem was that Riddle was walking through the hallway at the exact same time. He was simply strolling through Heartslabyul, probably preparing to handle his Housewarden duties, when fate decided that his morning had been too peaceful.

Riddle turned the corner. Ace turned the corner. Deuce turned the corner. Everyone froze. There was that strange little moment right before disaster. That tiny pause where the universe gave everyone involved a chance to understand what was about to happen.

Riddle's eyes widened slightly. Ace's face went pale. Deuce's grip tightened around the potion container. And somewhere, deep within the fabric of reality, something probably laughed. Because no one moved fast enough. 

The collision happened instantly. Ace stumbled forward. Deuce tried to stop. dRiddle barely had time to say, "What are you—" before the potion slipped.

The glass container hit the floor. And every single person nearby watched in horror as the contents exploded upward. Straight toward Riddle.

Now, magical potions were interesting things. They were unpredictable, dramatic, and occasionally seemed to have a personal vendetta against whoever happened to be holding them.

A normal potion accident might cause sparks. A strange smell. Maybe a temporary magical effect. Something inconvenient, but manageable. This potion, however, apparently woke up that morning and decided it wanted to create a story nobody would ever let Riddle forget.

The magic hit him. There was a flash of red light. A burst of energy. A sound like magic itself had just slammed a door. Then silence.

When the light faded, Riddle Rosehearts was gone. And sitting in his place was a tiny red hedgehog. 

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. The hallway became so quiet that you could probably hear a student three floors away making a bad decision.

 The hedgehog blinked. Ace stared. Deuce stared. You stared. Because there was no possible way your brain could process what you were seeing.

Riddle Rosehearts.

The Riddle Rosehearts.

The Housewarden who could make an entire dorm stand at attention with one look. The person who treated rule-breaking like a personal insult from the universe. Was now sitting on the floor looking like an angry, overly decorated pincushion.

The hedgehog looked around. Then slowly looked at Ace.

And somehow, despite not having a human face anymore, managed to communicate an entire paragraph of rage. 

Ace pointed. "Did he just glare at me?"

Deuce immediately looked alarmed. "Don't make him angrier!"

"He's a hedgehog!"

"He's still Riddle!"

"He's tiny!"

The hedgehog puffed up. Actually puffed up.

His little quills rose, and suddenly the hallway contained the world's smallest and most offended Housewarden. You had to admit, it was impressive. You had never seen a hedgehog look like it was preparing to write someone a disciplinary report.

"Okay," Ace said slowly. "That's terrifying."

The hedgehog squeaked. You looked at him. Then at Ace. 

"Yeah, I think he agrees."

The hedgehog looked satisfied. Which was somehow worse. Because now you knew he was still completely himself.

The transformation hadn't changed his personality—it had just made him much smaller. A fact Ace discovered when he made the terrible decision of crouching down and saying, "Aww, come on. You're kind of cute now."

The hedgehog immediately snapped his tiny teeth. Ace pulled his hand back.

"Okay. Less cute."

"Much less cute," Deuce agreed.

Trey arrived shortly afterward. And the moment he saw the scene, he stopped walking. There was a pause. A long pause. The kind of pause someone took when their brain was desperately trying to find a reasonable explanation for something unreasonable.

Then Trey sighed. "I leave for a few minutes."

The hedgehog looked away.

Trey crossed his arms. "Riddle."

The hedgehog squeaked.

"Yes, I know."

Another squeak.

"No, I don't think yelling is going to fix it."

The hedgehog looked offended. 

Trey glanced at you. "He's upset."

"You think?"

The hedgehog squeaked again.

You looked down.

"He says that's obvious."

Trey rubbed his forehead.

"Of course he does."

Eventually, Professor Crewel was called. The diagnosis was, unfortunately, exactly as ridiculous as the situation itself.

The potion had caused a temporary transformation. The antidote could be created. The ingredients were available. The only problem? It would take time. Ten days. Ten days of Riddle Rosehearts being unable to attend classes normally. Ten days of him being unable to properly use magic. Ten days of him having to rely on other people.

The hedgehog looked deeply unhappy about that last part.

Crewel sighed. "Until the antidote is complete, he will need someone to supervise him."

Everyone looked around. Then slowly, inevitably, their eyes landed on you.

You blinked. "...Why am I suddenly involved?"

The hedgehog looked at you. And for a moment, beneath all the frustration and embarrassment, you saw something else: relief.  Because as much as Riddle hated this situation, hated being helpless, and hated that anyone had witnessed this humiliating moment...he trusted you. Which was honestly the strangest part. Not the potion. Not the magic. Not even the fact that the strictest person in Heartslabyul had been transformed into a creature small enough to fit inside a teacup.

No.

The strangest part was that the tiny hedgehog quietly walked over, sat beside your shoe, and waited. Like this was somehow a perfectly reasonable arrangement.

You stared down at him. He stared back. And you realized your day had taken a very unexpected turn. Because apparently, your newest responsibility was taking care of Riddle Rosehearts—who was currently the size of a potato.

A very angry potato with quills.

There were many things Riddle Rosehearts had accepted throughout his life.

He had accepted responsibility. He had accepted the burden of being Housewarden. He had accepted that people were occasionally going to test his patience because apparently some students at NRC were born with an internal desire to see how quickly they could be assigned disciplinary duties. He had even accepted, reluctantly, that not every situation could be solved through proper planning and a strict schedule. 

What he had not accepted was waking up the next morning as a hedgehog. That was where he drew the line. A very small line. A line that, unfortunately, was currently being drawn by a tiny hedgehog paw against the edge of a blanket.

Because apparently, even after the transformation, Riddle's first instinct was still to establish boundaries. Which was impressive.

Most people, after being magically transformed into an entirely different species, would probably experience a brief moment of panic. They might question reality. They might wonder whether they were dreaming. They might even take some time to process the fact that their entire understanding of their own existence had been flipped upside down.

Riddle Rosehearts, however, woke up, looked around, and immediately decided the problem was everyone else's fault.

Honestly?

Very on brand.

You had prepared for many possible outcomes. You had prepared for him to be frightened. You had prepared for him to be frustrated. You had prepared for him to be embarrassed.

What you had not prepared for was the world's smallest Housewarden sitting in the middle of your carefully arranged temporary setup and looking at it with the expression of someone reviewing a questionable dorm renovation.

The nest was, in your opinion, perfectly reasonable. It was comfortable. It was warm. It had a small blanket, a pillow, and enough space for him to move around without feeling trapped.

You had even placed some mini books nearby because, despite his current condition, you had a feeling Riddle would appreciate having something to read.

Apparently, you had underestimated exactly how much pride could fit inside something the size of a teacup.

The hedgehog stared at the nest. Then at you. Then back at the nest. The silence was almost impressive.

"You know," you said, leaning against the table, "for someone who was transformed into a tiny animal yesterday, you're being surprisingly difficult to accommodate."

Riddle's ears twitched. His expression somehow became even more offended. You still weren't sure how he managed that. Hedgehogs did not traditionally have the facial structure required for judgment. Riddle had apparently ignored that limitation.

He walked over to the nest, sniffed it once, and then turned away.

You blinked. "You're not using it?"

The hedgehog refused to look at you. You stared. He continued refusing to look at you.

And then, because the universe clearly enjoyed making you witness things you never thought possible, Riddle walked three steps away, curled up directly on the floor, and closed his eyes.

You stared at him. Then at the perfectly comfortable nest. Then back at him.

"Are you seriously choosing the floor out of spite?"

The hedgehog remained motionless. You narrowed your eyes.

"Riddle."

One ear twitched. Aha. Caught.

The fact that he was pretending not to hear you while very obviously hearing you was possibly the most Riddle thing he had ever done.

"You do realize that nobody is going to think you're less dignified because you sleep somewhere comfortable, right?"

The hedgehog opened one eye. That look. That tiny, unimpressed look.

It was the exact same expression he gave people when they attempted to make excuses after doing something stupid. Like accidentally turning your housewarden into a tiny spiky animal.

Except now it came from an animal that could probably fit inside a teacup. It was difficult to take seriously. Not impossible. Just difficult.

"Fine," you said, holding up your hands. "I won't argue with a hedgehog about his sleeping preferences."

Riddle looked pleased. Which meant he had technically won. A concerning discovery. Because if Riddle could maintain his ability to win arguments while being unable to speak, you had a feeling this was going to become a problem.

The first actual challenge came at breakfast. Or rather, the first challenge came when Riddle discovered that being a hedgehog created a shocking number of inconveniences. 

The biggest one? 

Food.

Not because he couldn't eat. Thankfully, magic had been kind enough to preserve his normal dietary needs. The problem was that everything was now much larger. A normal strawberry was now practically a full-sized meal. A teacup looked less like a cup and more like a swimming pool. A plate looked like an entire landscape.

You had never considered how strange the world must look from a creature that was suddenly much smaller than usual. Everything that had once been ordinary had become inconvenient. And Riddle hated inconvenience. This was perhaps the greatest tragedy of the entire situation. Not the transformation itself. Not the inability to use magic. Not even the fact that Ace had spent the morning laughing so hard that Deuce had to physically drag him away before he made things worse.

No.

The true tragedy was that Riddle Rosehearts had become a victim of everyday objects. The spoon was too large. The chair was too tall. The table was an impossible obstacle. The world had become a collection of things designed specifically to annoy him. You watched as he attempted to climb onto a chair.

Attempted being the important word.

Because Riddle was still Riddle, and Riddle did not give up easily. Unfortunately, determination did not change physics. The first attempt failed. The second attempt failed. The third attempt involved him staring at the chair like he was personally offended by its existence. Because frankly, he was.

You had to turn away for a moment because you were trying very hard not to laugh. Not because it was funny. Obviously. You would never laugh at Riddle. You valued your safety.

But the mental image of one of the most intimidating students at NRC losing an argument with furniture was difficult to ignore.

Eventually, you offered your hand. The hedgehog froze. You waited. Slowly, he looked at your hand. Then at you. Then away.

The message was clear. 

He did not need help. He was perfectly capable. He was absolutely not accepting assistance. A few seconds passed. Then another few seconds. Then, very carefully, Riddle stepped onto your palm. You pretended not to notice the fact that he had silently changed his mind. Because sometimes kindness meant allowing someone to keep the tiny amount of dignity they had left.

Even if that dignity was currently sitting on your hand and pretending this was a completely normal situation.

"See?" you said quietly. "That wasn't so bad."

Riddle immediately looked away. You smiled. There it was. The smallest crack in the wall.

The thing about Riddle was that beneath all the rules and expectations and perfectly maintained composure, there was someone who simply wasn't used to needing help. He had spent so long proving that he could handle everything himself that accepting kindness probably felt stranger than the transformation. Which was saying something. Because the transformation had turned him into a hedgehog. That was a pretty high bar.

By the end of the day, Riddle still refused to admit he liked the arrangements. He refused when you adjusted his blanket. He refused when you moved his teeny-tiny books closer. He refused when you made sure his space was comfortable.

Every single time, he reacted like you were committing some terrible offense. And every single time, he stayed. 

That was the part he probably didn't realize. Riddle could complain all he wanted. He could glare. He could huff. He could act like accepting help was some unbearable inconvenience. But he never actually left.

That evening, when you returned after getting everything ready for the night, you found the nest exactly as you had left it.

Except for one small difference. Riddle was inside it, curled up beneath the blanket. Comfortable, warm, and, most importantly, pretending he had not spent the entire day insisting he wanted nothing to do with it. You stood there quietly. The hedgehog opened one eye.

You looked at him, he looked back. Neither of you said anything.

Then you smiled. "Good choice."

Riddle immediately closed his eye again. The message was obvious. He had not made a choice. He had simply reached the correct conclusion after careful consideration, of course. 

Even as a hedgehog, Riddle Rosehearts was still Riddle Rosehearts. And apparently, even magical transformations couldn't fix being stubborn. Although, you had to admit, watching the world's strictest Housewarden secretly enjoy being taken care of was starting to become one of your favorite things.

Not that you would tell him that—you valued your life.

Mostly.

You discovered two things before noon.

The first was that magical antidotes apparently took an offensively long time to brew, despite living in a school where people could conjure fire from thin air and teleport across campus if they were talented enough. You would think someone, somewhere, had invented a spell called Fix This Immediately. Apparently not. According to Professor Crewel, antidotes required "patience," "proper maturation," and "not rushing delicate magical reactions." Personally, you thought that sounded suspiciously like chemistry trying to justify itself.

The second thing you learned was considerably worse.

News traveled through Night Raven College with the speed and efficiency of a natural disaster.

Nobody knew who had told the first person. Maybe Ace had let something slip. Maybe Deuce had confessed his crimes out of guilt. Maybe Cater had somehow sensed an opportunity for gossip from three dorms away. Whatever the source, the rumor spread across campus with terrifying momentum. By breakfast, students were whispering about Heartslabyul's Housewarden. By lunch, they were confidently describing details that hadn't even happened. By the afternoon, one second-year had somehow become convinced Riddle had transformed into a porcupine, while another insisted he'd become a rabbit with unusually sharp opinions.

You almost wished either version had been true.

Unfortunately, reality was somehow stranger.

Because Riddle Rosehearts—the famously composed, notoriously strict Housewarden whose mere footsteps could reduce first-years to anxious silence—was currently occupying the center of your desk, glaring at a blueberry like it had personally violated the Queen of Hearts' laws.

The blueberry, to its credit, seemed deeply remorseful.

"I know," you sighed, setting a small plate beside him. "You're upset."

Riddle looked at you.

Then at the blueberry.

Then back at you.

The expression was unmistakable.

I am not upset.

You raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because if looks alone could file disciplinary reports, that blueberry would've been sentenced to community service by now."

He huffed—or at least, you assumed he huffed. Hedgehogs, it turned out, weren't especially expressive in the traditional sense. They couldn't sigh dramatically or cross their arms or deliver one of Riddle's famously disappointed lectures. Instead, all of that emotion had to be compressed into tiny ear twitches, narrowed eyes, and the occasional indignant squeak.

Remarkably, it still worked.

You had spent three days with him by this point, and already you could identify at least six different varieties of squeak. There was the annoyed squeak, the offended squeak, the that is objectively incorrect squeak, and the particularly sharp squeak that translated, with surprising accuracy, to Ace Trappola is testing my patience again.

That last one had become increasingly common.

Not because Ace had learned his lesson.

Quite the opposite.

The thing about Ace was that consequences had always functioned more like suggestions than deterrents. Most people, after being bitten by an angry hedgehog once, would decide that perhaps petting said hedgehog was not in their best interests. Ace, however, approached the experience like a scientist committed to repeated experimentation. Perhaps, he reasoned, the first bite had been an anomaly. Surely a second attempt would produce different results.

It did not.

You had watched the entire exchange from approximately three feet away.

Ace had crouched beside your desk with the cautious optimism of someone approaching an unfamiliar cat. "Come on," he'd coaxed. "You know me."

Riddle certainly did.

That was precisely the problem.

The tiny hedgehog had stared at Ace's outstretched hand for exactly two seconds before leaning forward and biting his finger with impressive accuracy. Ace yelped loudly enough to startle a passing third-year, jerked his hand back, and spent the next several minutes insisting the attack had been entirely unprovoked.

You had chosen not to point out that extending one's hand toward an already irritated animal generally counted as provocation.

Riddle, meanwhile, had looked extraordinarily pleased with himself.

You weren't sure whether hedgehogs were physically capable of looking smug.

Apparently they were.

Even more remarkably, Ace attempted it again later that afternoon.

History, unfortunately, repeated itself.

By the fourth bite, Deuce had stopped feeling sympathetic.

"I don't know what you expected," he'd said while Ace dramatically examined a finger that wasn't even bleeding. "He's literally telling you to stop."

"He's a hedgehog."

"He's Riddle."

"I know that."

"No," Deuce had replied with the exhausted certainty of someone speaking to a brick wall, "I really don't think you do."

If nothing else, Riddle's transformation had accomplished something few people thought possible.

It had made Deuce the reasonable one.

That alone probably qualified as a magical phenomenon worthy of academic study.

Which, as fate would have it, was exactly what Azul Ashengrotto wanted.

You should have expected him.

Looking back, there were enough warning signs to qualify as prophecy. Whenever something unusual happened on campus—especially if it involved rare magic, valuable information, or the possibility of gaining an intellectual advantage—Azul had an almost supernatural ability to appear within twenty-four hours. He wasn't omniscient.

He was simply an opportunist with exceptional timing.

You were halfway through reading when there was a polite knock on your door, followed by Azul's impeccably pleasant smile the moment you opened it.

"My apologies for the interruption," he said. "I was hoping I might speak with you for a moment regarding a... rather fascinating rumor."

You already knew where this was going.

"No."

"...I haven't actually asked my question yet."

"You were going to ask to study Riddle."

Azul blinked.

"...Was it that obvious?"

"You brought a notebook."

He glanced down at the leather-bound notebook tucked beneath his arm, then offered an awkward little cough. "In fairness, I bring this almost everywhere."

"Still no."

"I merely wish to observe—"

"No."

"Take a few notes—"

"No."

"I wouldn't even touch—"

"No."

Azul regarded you for a long moment before letting out the kind of sigh reserved for business negotiations that had collapsed before they even began.

"I see."

"You really don't."

"I don't?"

"No."

Because this wasn't about curiosity anymore.

It wasn't even about Riddle.

It was about the increasingly irritating realization that everyone seemed to have forgotten there was an actual person beneath the quills.

Students kept asking to see "the hedgehog."

They wanted photographs.

They wanted stories.

They wanted to know whether he rolled into a ball when startled or whether he liked mealworms or whether hedgehogs hibernated. One particularly enthusiastic student had asked whether Riddle would be interested in participating in the school's Science Club meeting "just this once."

Nobody—not even accidentally—asked how he was handling the situation.

Nobody seemed to notice that every curious glance, every amused laugh, every whispered rumor chipped away at whatever dignity he'd managed to preserve.

It bothered you far more than you expected.

Perhaps because you'd spent enough time around him to stop seeing the novelty.

You didn't see a hedgehog anymore. You saw Riddle. A frustrated, embarrassed, stubborn Riddle who hated needing help, hated being treated differently, and hated being the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.

The quills were, in many ways, just an inconvenience.

The humiliation was the real problem.

So, somewhere between telling three first-years to stop trying to peek into your room and physically guiding Ace away from yet another ill-advised petting attempt, you made a decision.

Nobody was touching him.

Nobody.

Not unless Riddle wanted them to.

The rule wasn't officially written anywhere, but you enforced it with surprising enthusiasm. By the end of the day, people had apparently started warning each other before approaching you.

"Don't ask to pet him," someone whispered in the hallway as you walked past. "They get scary."

That felt slightly unfair.

You weren't scary. You were... protective. There was a difference.

Probably.

The distinction became particularly relevant when Ace wandered over once again, armed with the dangerous confidence of someone who had somehow forgotten every previous mistake.

"So," he began, eyeing the tiny hedgehog currently curled beside your notebook, "I've been thinking—"

"That's new."

"...Very funny. Anyway, I think he's starting to warm up to me."

You looked at Ace. Then at Riddle. Then back at Ace.

"...Based on what?"

"I've got a feeling."

Riddle slowly opened one eye.

There was a pause. A long, contemplative pause, during which you were almost certain Riddle was debating whether attempted murder counted as self-defense.

Ace reached out.

You caught his wrist before his hand got anywhere close.

"No touching."

The words left your mouth so automatically that you didn't even think about them.

Ace blinked.

"What?"

"No touching."

"But—"

"No."

He looked genuinely confused. "You're acting like he's dangerous."

You glanced down.

The tiny hedgehog met your eyes, gave one sharp, satisfied little squeak, and settled comfortably against your sleeve as though the matter had been thoroughly resolved.

You smiled despite yourself.

"No," you said quietly. "I'm acting like he gets to decide."

Beside your arm came another tiny squeak. Short. Decisive. Entirely in agreement.

If there was one thing Riddle Rosehearts disliked almost as much as disorder, it was inefficiency.

Unfortunately, becoming six inches tall had turned his entire existence into an elaborate exercise in inefficiency.

It started with the stairs.

Now, stairs are something most people don't consciously think about. You climb them. You descend them. Sometimes you trip over them if you're Ace, but generally speaking, they're just... there. A simple architectural convenience connecting one floor to another.

Unless you're a hedgehog.

Then they're less "architectural convenience" and more "mountain range."

You discovered this when Riddle, determined to prove he was perfectly capable of navigating the dorm without assistance, marched confidently toward the staircase leading to the lounge. His posture—remarkably—still carried all the authority of Heartslabyul's Housewarden. If confidence alone could alter reality, those stairs would've respectfully flattened themselves into a ramp.

Reality, however, had always been rather insensitive to confidence.

Riddle reached the first step.

Stopped.

Looked up.

Then looked... further up.

You followed his gaze. It wasn't dramatic from your perspective. Just another staircase. But from where he stood, each individual step rose above his head like an inconvenient little cliff. The entire staircase stretched upward with the sort of smug inevitability that only inanimate objects seemed capable of possessing.

He looked at the stairs.

The stairs looked exactly the same as they always had.

One of them was clearly winning.

You waited.

He placed one tiny paw on the first step, attempted to climb it, slid backward with considerably less dignity than he would've preferred, and landed neatly back where he'd started. There was no dramatic tumble. No cartoonish rolling. Just a very controlled, very irritated retreat courtesy of gravity.

You very politely looked away.

After a long silence, you crouched beside him and held out your hand. "Need a lift?"

Riddle immediately looked offended.

You nodded. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to."

He made another attempt.

It went exactly as well as the first.

A third followed.

Marginally worse.

Eventually, after what could only be described as an intense internal debate between pride and practicality, Riddle stepped onto your palm with the unmistakable air of someone accepting assistance under formal protest. You didn't comment. You simply carried him upstairs while he stared resolutely ahead, pretending this was an entirely tactical decision and not a concession.

Some victories weren't worth acknowledging aloud.

This was one of them.

The stairs, unfortunately, were only the beginning.

Desks proved equally problematic.

You hadn't realized how absurdly tall classroom furniture actually was until Riddle attempted to climb onto your desk during Professor Trein's lecture. From your perspective, it was an ordinary wooden surface. From his, it might as well have been the walls of an ancient fortress.

He circled the desk once.

Twice.

Examined each leg as though searching for structural weaknesses.

Then, with all the determination of someone refusing to admit defeat, he attempted to climb.

For approximately four seconds, it looked promising.

On the fifth, gravity voiced its disagreement.

You caught him before he reached the floor.

The tiny hedgehog landed in your hands, looked up at you for one brief moment, then immediately looked away again as though the entire incident had been someone else's fault.

You placed him gently on the desk.

He climbed onto your notebook with all the composure of someone who had intended that outcome from the beginning.

Of course he had.

Doors, however, were impossible to negotiate through sheer confidence.

There simply wasn't a dignified way around the fact that door handles had been designed with people in mind and not magically transformed hedgehogs experiencing an identity crisis.

The first time Riddle tried opening one himself, you found him standing on his hind legs with both tiny paws pressed stubbornly against the surface. He pushed.

Nothing happened.

He pushed harder.

The door remained unmoved, carrying on with the profound indifference unique to large wooden objects and bureaucracy.

You stood there for several seconds, quietly observing the battle between one extraordinarily determined hedgehog and a standard dormitory door.

The door seemed remarkably unconcerned.

Eventually, Riddle stopped pushing, slowly turned his head toward you, and stared.

It wasn't a pleading look—Riddle Rosehearts would never plead.

It was closer to... reluctant acknowledgment that the situation required outside intervention.

You opened the door.

He walked through it immediately, somehow managing to make it look as though you had merely been slow to perform an obvious task.

"You know," you mused as you followed behind him, "for someone who can't reach doorknobs by a mile, you're still incredibly bossy."

He answered with a tiny, indignant squeak that sounded suspiciously like a formal objection.

Everyone kept forgetting just how small he actually was.

Not maliciously.

Just... absentmindedly.

You nearly had a heart attack the first time it happened.

You'd been reorganizing your bag before class while Riddle explored your room with the serious concentration of an inspector evaluating questionable living conditions. You looked away for perhaps ten seconds—fifteen at most—to retrieve a textbook.

When you looked back...

He was gone.

Your blood ran cold.

You searched beneath the bed.

Under the desk.

Inside every corner of the room that a tiny hedgehog could conceivably fit into. You were halfway through imagining the deeply unpleasant conversation you'd have to explain to Trey—"I'm terribly sorry, but I seem to have misplaced your Housewarden"—when you felt the faintest shift of weight against your side.

You looked down.

There, nestled comfortably inside the front pocket of your oversized hoodie, sat Riddle.

He looked up at you.

You looked down at him.

"...How long have you been in there?"

He blinked once.

Entirely unhelpful.

You sighed, resisting the urge to laugh. "You know, most people announce themselves before climbing into someone else's pocket."

Riddle curled up a little more comfortably.

Apparently, he disagreed.

After that, it simply... became a habit.

Not intentionally.

Neither of you ever discussed it.

But whenever you walked longer distances across campus, there was a fair chance you'd glance down to find a tiny crimson hedgehog peering over the edge of your hoodie pocket like an unusually judgmental travel companion. Students occasionally did double takes as you passed, though most had learned by now that asking questions generally resulted in you politely refusing to answer them.

Riddle, for his part, seemed perfectly content to let them wonder.

It certainly beat walking.

The real surprise came during Professor Trein's history lecture.

Trein's classes had a peculiar effect on students. Not because they were boring—quite the opposite, actually—but because his voice possessed the same calming qualities as steady rainfall against a window. Even students who desperately wanted to stay awake occasionally found themselves blinking a little slower than usual.

Apparently, the effect extended to hedgehogs.

Riddle had started the lesson tucked safely inside the loose sleeve of your uniform, having climbed in there while you were arranging your notes. At the time, you hadn't thought much of it. The sleeve was warm, quiet, and hidden from curious eyes.

Halfway through the lecture, however, you noticed something unusual.

Silence.

Not ordinary silence.

Riddle silence.

No tiny movements.

No subtle shifting.

No occasional indignant squeaks every time Ace glanced in your direction from across the room.

Very carefully, without disturbing the lecture, you lowered your gaze toward your sleeve.

Curled against your forearm, tucked into the fabric as though it had been made specifically for him, Riddle was asleep.

Completely asleep.

His tiny paws were folded beneath him, his quills had relaxed, and every trace of the tension he'd carried since the transformation had quietly disappeared.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him look so... peaceful.

It struck you then that this wasn't really about convenience anymore.

Yes, your pocket was warm. Your sleeve was comfortable. Your hands were easier than climbing stairs.

But Riddle wasn't choosing those places because they were practical. He was choosing them because they were yours.

The realization settled over you with surprising gentleness.

Three days ago, he wouldn't have willingly accepted your help.

Now, without even thinking about it, he climbed into your pocket whenever you left the room, waited patiently for you to lift him onto desks he couldn't reach, and fell asleep against your arm in the middle of class without the slightest hint of hesitation.

Trust, you realized, rarely announced itself.

Sometimes it simply appeared one quiet afternoon, disguised as a tiny hedgehog sleeping soundly inside your sleeve.

People liked to say trust was built through grand gestures. Dramatic rescues. Heartfelt confessions. Life-changing moments where orchestras probably started playing in the background despite there being absolutely no logical explanation for the sudden appearance of violins.

Personally, you thought that was nonsense.

Trust, real trust, wasn't built in one spectacular moment.

It was built in hundreds of tiny ones.

The sort that didn't seem important while they were happening.

The sort you only noticed after they had quietly become routine.

For example, every morning now began with you checking the little nest beside your bed.

Not because you were worried anymore.

The first few mornings, perhaps. You'd woken up half convinced Riddle had escaped during the night in a stubborn attempt to prove he didn't need supervision. Considering his personality, it hadn't been an unreasonable concern.

Instead, every morning you found exactly the same thing.

A very small hedgehog.

Usually still asleep.

Occasionally pretending not to be.

The first few times you'd reached over to check whether he was awake, one tiny eye would crack open just enough to confirm your presence before closing again. You hadn't commented on it. Neither had he. Somewhere along the way, however, the routine changed. Now he no longer bothered pretending to be asleep. He simply looked up as you approached, gave the faintest twitch of one ear, and waited patiently while you got ready for the day.

It wasn't much.

Just a quiet acknowledgment that another morning had started.

Somehow, it became your favorite part of the day.

The rest followed naturally.

You discovered, almost entirely by accident, that hedgehog quills required occasional brushing. Crewel had mentioned it offhand while explaining a few details about caring for magically transformed animals, and you had expected the experience to end with Riddle glaring at the brush until it gave up out of sheer intimidation.

Instead, he'd merely watched you with obvious suspicion while you held up the tiny brush you'd borrowed from the school nurse.

"I'm not asking because I think you'd enjoy it," you explained, kneeling beside him. "I'm asking because apparently it's good for you."

Riddle regarded the brush as though personally evaluating its qualifications.

You waited.

Eventually, after an extraordinarily long silence that probably qualified as a formal negotiation, he turned around and sat with his back toward you.

Permission granted.

Very conditionally.

You smiled to yourself before carefully running the brush through his quills.

At first, he stayed perfectly rigid.

Every muscle seemed locked in place, as though relaxing would somehow constitute surrender.

Then, gradually, almost imperceptibly, the tension began to disappear. His quills settled beneath the gentle strokes, and his tiny shoulders loosened just enough that you wondered whether he'd realized it himself.

You wisely chose not to mention it.

Some victories were best left unannounced.

Reading together became another habit.

Well.

Technically, you read.

Riddle couldn't exactly hold a book anymore.

The first evening had begun because you'd caught him staring rather mournfully at one of the novels stacked beside your desk. It wasn't difficult to guess what he was thinking. Books had always been one of his favorite ways to spend a quiet evening, and suddenly something as ordinary as turning a page had become an impossible task.

So you'd picked up the book, settled against the headboard, and started reading aloud.

At first, you'd assumed he wasn't interested.

He'd remained curled beside the pillow with his eyes closed for nearly the entire first chapter.

Then you'd stopped to get a glass of water.

Immediately, one eye opened.

You laughed.

"So you were listening."

He closed it again.

Of course.

After that, reading simply became part of the evening. Sometimes he'd lie beside your leg. Sometimes he'd curl against the blanket near your elbow. Occasionally he'd appear to fall asleep halfway through a chapter, only to open his eyes the moment you skipped a paragraph as a test.

Apparently, being transformed into a hedgehog had not diminished his commitment to proper literary accuracy.

Another thing you learned was that Riddle had developed a suspicious fondness for strawberries.

Not surprising, ractualy.

He'd always liked them.

The only difference now was that a single strawberry had become proportionally enormous.

You found yourself bringing one back almost every afternoon after classes. At first, you told yourself it was simply practical. They were easy to prepare, healthy enough, and considerably more manageable than some of the larger fruit sold on campus.

By the fifth consecutive day, however, practicality had become a rather flimsy excuse.

"You've spoiled him."

The observation came from Trey, who had stopped by to check on Riddle after club activities. He watched with poorly concealed amusement as you carefully cut a strawberry into smaller pieces before setting the plate down beside the tiny hedgehog.

"I have not."

"You buy strawberries every day."

"They're convenient."

"Mhm."

"They are."

Trey's smile widened just enough to become suspicious.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"I was."

Riddle, who had ignored the conversation entirely in favor of investigating the strawberry slices, seemed thoroughly unconcerned with the debate.

Probably because he was busy eating the evidence.

Days settled into an easy rhythm after that.

You studied.

He studied with you, in his own way.

Sometimes he sat beside your textbooks, occasionally wandering across the pages as though inspecting your notes for factual inaccuracies. Other times he'd simply remain nearby, content to exist in the same quiet space while you worked through assignments.

Conversation wasn't necessary.

Neither was constant activity.

The silence had become... comfortable.

It wasn't until nearly a week after the accident that you noticed the strangest change of all.

You'd returned from class later than usual after helping another student with an assignment. The dorm was unusually quiet when you opened the door, and for a brief moment you wondered whether Riddle had fallen asleep.

Then you heard it.

Tiny footsteps.

Rapid ones.

Before you'd even finished stepping inside, a familiar crimson blur appeared from the opposite side of the room, hurried across the floor as quickly as four tiny legs could manage, and came to an abrupt stop beside your shoes.

Riddle looked up at you expectantly.

You looked down at him.

"...Hello."

He gave one small squeak.

You crouched, unable to hide your smile. "Were you waiting?"

He immediately looked away.

Interesting.

The next day, it happened again.

So did the day after that.

Eventually, you realized it wasn't coincidence.

He'd learned your footsteps.

The dorm halls were never truly silent. Students came and went at all hours, conversations drifted through open windows, and footsteps echoed constantly against polished floors. Yet somehow, among all that noise, Riddle had learned to distinguish yours from everyone else's.

Every afternoon, without fail, the moment he heard you approaching, he'd make his way to the door.

Not because he was anxious.

Certainly not.

That would imply he'd missed you.

An utterly ridiculous notion.

You mentioned the observation exactly once.

"You always know when I'm coming back."

Riddle froze halfway through eating another strawberry.

"You run over every time I get here."

He continued eating with remarkable concentration.

You folded your arms.

"...Did you miss me?"

The tiny hedgehog looked up just long enough to give you the most unimpressed stare he could manage before deliberately nudging the plate of strawberries with one paw.

Ah.

Of course.

Food.

That was the reason.

Not companionship.

Not familiarity.

Certainly not because he'd grown accustomed to your presence.

He simply recognized the sound of the person most likely to arrive carrying strawberries.

Entirely logical.

Perfectly reasonable.

You hummed thoughtfully.

"So if I came back empty-handed..."

Riddle stopped chewing.

Very slowly, he looked up. You couldn't help laughing.

"Don't worry," you said, reaching over to gently scratch behind one tiny ear. "I know."

He didn't pull away. Not immediately, anyway.

He merely tolerated the affection for another few seconds before remembering he was supposed to have standards, giving one quiet, indignant squeak, and returning his full attention to the strawberry.

You smiled to yourself.

He could insist it was about the food all he liked. Though the way he ran to the door every afternoon suggested otherwise.

Riddle Rosehearts had always believed words mattered.

Of course they mattered.

Rules were written with words.

Promises were made with words.

Apologies, gratitude, encouragement, criticism—all of them depended on language. Words gave shape to thoughts that otherwise remained trapped inside someone's mind, inaccessible to everyone else.

They were necessary.

Or at least...

He had always assumed they were.

Being transformed into a hedgehog was proving surprisingly inconvenient for that belief.

Not because he had nothing to say.

Quite the opposite.

His problem was that he had far too much to say.

Every day seemed to present another conversation he desperately wanted to have with you, only for his carefully constructed thoughts to emerge as varying degrees of squeak.

It was infuriating.

Take this morning, for example.

You'd woken earlier than usual after staying up late studying for an upcoming exam. Riddle had noticed the dark circles beneath your eyes immediately. He'd watched you yawn into your sleeve while trying to prepare breakfast one-handed because the other was busy making sure his little plate didn't slide off the table.

You looked tired.

Exhausted, really.

He wanted to tell you that you didn't have to fuss over him every waking moment. That if you wanted to sleep another hour, he would survive. That he appreciated everything you'd already done and hated the thought that you were neglecting yourself because of him.

Instead...

"Squeak."

You glanced over your shoulder while slicing strawberries.

"Hm?"

He tried again.

Squeak.

You smiled.

"Oh, good morning."

That wasn't even remotely close.

The words had been perfectly clear in his head.

You're overworking yourself.

Please get more sleep.

I'm sorry for causing so much trouble.

Apparently, somewhere between his brain and his mouth, all of that had translated into one tiny squeak.

Language, he decided bitterly, had betrayed him.

The same thing happened throughout the day.

You held the door open for him since you knew perfectly well he couldn't reach the handle, nor had the body mass to push a door open.

He wanted to say thank you.

Squeak.

You carefully lifted him onto your desk before Professor Trein's lecture began.

He wanted to apologize for constantly needing your help.

Squeak.

You absentmindedly reached over during class and brushed a thumb between his ears while listening to the lecture.

His entire body went still.

Not because he disliked it.

Quite the opposite.

It had become one of those quiet little habits that neither of you acknowledged anymore. You'd started doing it absentmindedly while reading one evening, and somehow it had simply... stayed. Every so often, usually when you were concentrating on something else, your hand would drift toward him almost automatically.

It was oddly comforting.

He wanted to tell you that.

Instead...

"Squeak."

You glanced down from your notes.

"...You want another blueberry?"

Riddle stared at you.

Then slowly looked at the blueberries sitting beside him.

Then back at you.

Squeak...

You slid another blueberry onto the little plate.

"There you go."

He looked at the fruit for several long seconds.

The blueberry looked innocent enough—entirely undeserving of becoming the unfortunate victim of his frustration.

With all the dignity he could still salvage, Riddle ate it anyway. 

Perhaps the blueberry wasn't at fault. Perhaps communication itself was.

It became almost comical after a while.

You'd smile at him. He'd want to tell you that your smile had become his favorite part of the day.

"Squeak."

You'd bring him another strawberry. He'd want to tell you that you really didn't need to keep doing this every afternoon.

"Squeak."

You'd spend an hour reading while he rested beside your arm, and he'd want to tell you that hearing your voice somehow made the room feel quieter instead of louder.

"Squeak."

It was deeply unfair. Riddle Rosehearts had once been capable of delivering speeches that left entire dormitories standing at attention.

Now he couldn't even say thank you.

One evening, after you'd fallen asleep at your desk with an unfinished assignment still open beneath your head, he simply watched you.

The candle had almost burned out. Drool had began slipping down your chin.

One hand still rested near the edge of the desk where you'd absentmindedly left it after making sure he was comfortable for the night.

He knew you were tired because of him.

You'd never complained. Never once suggested that looking after him was inconvenient. If anything, you'd somehow made the entire arrangement feel... ordinary. As though caring for a magically transformed Housewarden was simply another item on your daily schedule between classes and homework.

You deserved better than a squeak.

Carefully, Riddle climbed onto your wrist.

The movement was enough to make you stir slightly, blinking awake with the slow confusion of someone who had accidentally fallen asleep without meaning to.

"...Riddle?"

He looked up at you.

There were so many things he wanted to say.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

You don't have to keep sacrificing your time for me.

You've been kinder than I deserve.

You're important to me.

His throat tightened with the effort.

"Squeak."

Your expression softened immediately.

"Oh."

You reached over, gently scooping him into your hands before standing and stretching your stiff shoulders.

"I know."

Riddle blinked.

You... knew?

"I've been studying for too long." You smiled sheepishly. "You're probably telling me to take a break, aren't you?"

He froze.

That...

That wasn't what he'd intended. Not exactly.

But...

You weren't entirely wrong either.

You carried him over to the bed before settling against the headboard, allowing him to curl comfortably in your lap while you closed the textbook with a tired sigh.

"I guess you're right," you murmured. "The homework can wait another half hour."

Your fingers gently brushed along his quills.

Not absentmindedly this time. Deliberately. Slowly.

"You've gotten really good at telling me things without words."

Riddle looked up at you.

Had he? He thought back over the past week.

The way you'd learned the difference between his impatient squeaks and his content ones The way you could somehow tell when he wanted to be left alone and when he wanted to stay close. The way you'd stopped offering help every single time and instead waited, giving him the chance to decide for himself.

You'd learned him. Not the language.

Him.

Perhaps... that was different. Perhaps that was enough.

He nestled a little closer without really thinking about it. Your hand paused for only a second before resuming its gentle rhythm through his quills.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to.

For someone who had always believed words were the foundation of every meaningful relationship, Riddle found himself confronted with an unexpected possibility.

Maybe words weren't what mattered most. Maybe being understood did.

And somewhere between the strawberries, the quiet evenings spent reading together, the warm hoodie pocket, and the familiar footsteps that always announced your return, you had learned to understand him anyway.

The announcement came on a Thursday.

Not dramatically.

There were no fanfares. No magical fireworks. No triumphant declaration echoing through the halls proclaiming that salvation was at hand. Professor Crewel simply stopped you after class, adjusted one of his gloves, and informed you that the antidote was nearly complete.

"One ingredient remains," he explained. "It's rare enough to be irritating, but not impossible to acquire. Assuming everything proceeds according to schedule, your little patient should be back to normal within a day or two."

Within a day or two.

The words settled warmly in your chest before you even realized it.

"Really?"

Crewel nodded. "Really."

You smiled so brightly it was almost embarrassing.

"That's wonderful."

"It is."

"It really is."

"It certainly beats carrying a Housewarden around in your hoodie."

"...I liked the hoodie."

Crewel gave you a look.

You coughed.

"I mean—the antidote. The antidote is wonderful."

By the time you returned to Heartslabyul, everyone seemed to know.

Trey looked visibly relieved.

Cater declared that this called for a celebration before immediately remembering Riddle would probably assign him chores for using the word celebration too enthusiastically.

Deuce smiled with the quiet satisfaction of someone genuinely happy that things were finally returning to normal.

Ace, meanwhile, dramatically mourned the impending loss of what he called "Pocket Riddle," earning himself a glare so withering that it somehow transcended species. (Of course, even as a hedgehog, Riddle remained capable of making Ace regret existing.)

Some talents simply couldn't be transformed away.

Everyone was happy.

Everyone.

Except Riddle.

He listened from your shoulder while the others talked around him, discussing how nice it would be to have Heartslabyul's Housewarden back, how relieved everyone must be, how quickly things would return to normal.

Normal.

It was a comforting word. It was supposed to be.

For days, it had been all he wanted. He had dreamed about it. Thought about it. Counted the mornings until the antidote would finally be finished.

Normal meant speaking again.

It meant attending classes without hiding in your sleeve. It meant opening his own doors. Walking beside you instead of being carried. Doing his own work. Standing at eye level with everyone else.

Normal.

He had wanted it so badly. So...

Why did his stomach feel so strangely heavy?

The answer arrived before he was ready for it.

That evening, you sat on your bed with another book balanced across your knees while Riddle rested beside your leg, exactly as he had every night for the past week. The room was quiet except for your voice, steadily reading another chapter while the late afternoon sunlight filtered through the curtains.

Nothing unusual, nothing remarkable.

Just another evening.

Then, completely uninvited, a thought slipped into his mind.

This won't happen anymore.

The sentence landed with startling force.

He frowned.

Of course it wouldn't.

Once he returned to normal, there would hardly be room for him beside your leg while you read. He would simply... sit in a chair.

Like a normal person.

The realization should have been reassuring. Instead, it left an odd sort of emptiness behind.

His gaze drifted toward your sleeve. He'd slept there yesterday during Professor Trein's lecture.

He wouldn't fit anymore. His eyes moved to the oversized hoodie hanging from the chair near your desk.

No more pocket rides between classes. No more hearing your heartbeat through the fabric whenever you walked. No more absentmindedly peeking over the edge while you scolded Ace for asking if he wanted to try "hedgehog enrichment activities."

His attention wandered to your hand. Without thinking, your fingers had drifted toward him again, gently smoothing one thumb over his quills while you continued reading aloud.

You hadn't even noticed you were doing it. You probably wouldn't once he was human again.

Why would you? People didn't absentmindedly brush another person's hair every few pages.

Well... most people didn't.

The room suddenly felt much quieter. He had spent so long mourning everything he'd lost that he hadn't realized he'd been quietly gaining things too.

Small things. Embarrassing things. Comfortable things.

He had grown used to falling asleep beside you without worrying about appearances. He had grown used to waiting for your footsteps every afternoon. He had grown used to climbing into your pocket whenever the walk back from class felt too long. He had grown used to your voice filling the room in the evenings. He had grown used...

to you.

The realization was almost enough to make him stop breathing.

No. Not almost.

It did.

Because returning to normal didn't just mean recovering what he'd lost.

It also meant giving all of that back.

No more shoulder rides. No more quietly curling up against your arm while you studied. No more waking to the sound of you turning pages beside him. No more instinctively running to the door every afternoon because he knew you'd be home.

No more tugging on your pant leg whenever the stairs looked too tall.

He would be Riddle Rosehearts again.

Housewarden. Student. Responsible. Composed. Perfectly capable.

He would no longer need you.

The thought hurt far more than it should have.

You turned another page before glancing down, noticing that he'd gone unusually still.

"Hm?"

Riddle looked up.

Your smile appeared almost immediately.

"There you are."

Such ordinary words.

You said them every time you noticed him watching you.

Every time you found him waiting by the door. Every time he climbed into your sleeve or settled beside your notebook.

There you are.

As though you always expected him to be close. As though he belonged there. Without really thinking, he walked across the blanket until he reached your hand.

You paused your reading immediately.

"What is it?"

He couldn't answer. At least not properly.

He simply rested one tiny paw against your thumb. You looked at him for a long moment before your expression softened into something impossibly gentle.

"Oh."

You closed the book without a hint of annoyance.

"Wanna stay here for a bit?"

He did.

More than anything.

So he answered the only way he could.

"Squeak."

You smiled. "I figured."

Carefully, you lifted him into your lap, where he instinctively curled against you with the ease of someone repeating a habit he'd practiced dozens of times. Your hand returned to gently brushing through his quills.

Outside, the dorm buzzed with excitement.

The antidote was almost finished.

Everyone was celebrating. Everyone believed the difficult part was finally over.

Only Riddle knew the truth.

Somewhere in between the quiet evenings, the shared books, the strawberries, the familiar footsteps, and the warmth of your hands, he had accidentally built a little life he wasn't ready to lose.

Riddle Rosehearts found himself hoping tomorrow wouldn't come quite so quickly.

The antidote was finished.

Those words should have brought relief.

They should have felt like the ending of a problem that had stretched on far longer than anyone expected. After days of uncertainty, after the strange routine that had formed around a very irritated hedgehog, after everyone had adjusted to a reality where Heartslabyul's Housewarden required assistance reaching furniture, the solution had finally arrived.

Professor Crewel held up the small vial with the same confidence someone might have while presenting the answer to a very annoying puzzle.

"The final ingredient reacted properly," he announced. "The potion is stable. By tomorrow morning, Riddle Rosehearts should be restored to his original form."

Everyone celebrated.

And they had every right to.

Trey looked relieved in the way only someone who had been quietly worrying for days could look relieved. Cater immediately started talking about how strange it would be to have a normal-sized Riddle again, though he wisely avoided using the phrase "normal-sized" within Riddle's hearing distance.

Deuce was simply happy.

Ace, despite claiming he would miss "Pocket Riddle," was probably the most relieved out of everyone because his fingers could finally return to a state where they weren't constantly threatened by a tiny creature with a surprisingly strong sense of justice.

The entire dorm felt lighter. Everyone was excited. Everyone was ready for tomorrow. Except you. And, judging by the way Riddle sat quietly in your hands while everyone else talked around him, he wasn't ready either.

Neither of you said anything about it.

That was the strange part. There were moments when Riddle could be incredibly stubborn. Moments when he could argue for twenty minutes about a rule, a schedule, or the proper way to arrange a dorm activity. But this? This was different. Neither of you wanted to acknowledge that there was a final evening waiting for you. Because saying it out loud would make it real. So instead, you did what you had done every other night. You sat together. You read. You let the room become quiet.

Except tonight, the silence felt different. It carried a weight neither of you knew how to name.

Riddle rested beside you as you held the book open, but he wasn't really listening to the story anymore. Not because it wasn't interesting. Not because he disliked your voice. Quite the opposite. He was trying to memorize it. The rhythm. The softness.

The way you paused slightly when you reached parts you found funny. The little changes in your tone when you became invested in what you were reading. Tomorrow, he would be able to hear you normally again. But somehow, that thought didn't make it easier.

You eventually closed the book. Not because you were finished. Because you couldn't focus anymore.

For a while, you simply looked down at him. The tiny hedgehog who had somehow managed to completely disrupt your life in the strangest way possible. You smiled faintly.

"You know..."

Riddle looked up.

"I don't think I ever told you this."

His attention sharpened.

You shifted slightly, resting your hand beside him. "At first, I thought this whole thing was going to be a disaster."

That earned a tiny offended squeak. You laughed quietly.

"Okay, okay. I know. You were also suffering."

Another squeak.

"You were."

You gently brushed your thumb along his quills.

"But..." Your smile softened. "I think I'm actually going to miss this."

Riddle froze. You continued before you could lose the courage.

"I'm going to miss you being here."

The words were quiet. Honest.

"I'll miss you sitting beside me while I study. I'll miss you following me around. I'll miss you sleeping in my sleeve during class and pretending you didn't do it because you were tired."

Riddle looked away. Because, unfortunately, he knew exactly what you meant.

"I'll miss carrying you around." A tiny pause. "I'll miss you running to the door when you hear me coming back."

His heart tightened. That one hurt. Because you noticed. You noticed everything.

"You know, I thought it was cute."

Riddle immediately looked back.

Cute.

The word was humiliating enough when people used it jokingly. Hearing it from you was somehow worse. Or better. He couldn't decide.

"You were so serious all the time," you continued, smiling. "Even as a hedgehog, you still somehow acted like you were in charge of the entire dorm."

A small squeak escaped him.

You laughed. "See? Exactly like that."

Your fingers moved gently through his quills again.

"But..."

The smile faded into something softer.

"I think I might miss you the most."

Riddle stopped moving entirely. Not the hedgehog. Not the situation.

Him.

You missed him. Not because he was entertaining. Not because the transformation had been strange. Not because it had been amusing watching him lose arguments with stairs and doors.

You missed him.

"I know it's ridiculous," you whispered. "It's been such a short time."

It wasn't ridiculous. Not to him. Not anymore.

"But somewhere along the way, you just became part of my routine. You became someone I looked for. Someone I wanted to come back to."

The world seemed to narrow. There were no dorm noises. No distant conversations. No reminders that tomorrow would change everything. Just your voice. Just your hands. Just him.

"I think..."

You hesitated. And for the first time all evening, Riddle saw uncertainty on your face.

"I think I might have fallen for you."

Every thought in his mind stopped. 

If he had been human, maybe he would have said something. Maybe he would have laughed in disbelief. Maybe he would have turned red and struggled to find the proper response. Maybe he would have finally told you everything he had been trying to say for days.

Thank you.

I'm sorry.

You're important to me.

I care about you.

More than I should.

More than I expected.

Instead, he could only stare because the one moment he had needed words the most he had none.

He had spent his entire life believing words were powerful because they allowed people to express what was inside them. Now he understood the cruelty of not having them. Because he had so much to say. And all he could offer was a tiny, helpless squeak.

You didn't seem disappointed. That somehow made it worse.

You simply smiled sadly.

"I know." Your hands lifted him carefully. "You don't have to answer."

But he wanted to. More than anything.

He wanted to tell you that he had fallen too. He wanted to tell you had become the one place where he didn't have to be perfect. He wanted to tell you that he was terrified of losing this—that becoming human again no longer felt like freedom.

It felt like leaving.

But all he could do was curl into your palms. So he did as though if he moved too quickly, the moment would disappear.

Your fingers curled gently around him. Warm. Safe. Familiar.

And eventually, despite everything he wanted to say, exhaustion won.

The last thing Riddle felt before sleep took him was your hand resting protectively around him. The last thing he heard was your quiet voice.

"Goodnight, Riddle."

How he wished he could answer. How he wished he could tell you everything.

Though, maybe you already knew.

Morning arrived far too quickly.

That was the first thing Riddle thought.

The second thing he thought was that, for once, he wasn't entirely sure he wanted it to.

Which was absurd.

Completely absurd.

He had spent days waiting for the antidote. Days wanting his normal body back. Days frustrated by the limitations of being a hedgehog. He had missed holding a pen properly, walking without assistance, reaching things without requiring someone else to lift him, and speaking actual words instead of relying on increasingly complicated variations of squeaking.

Returning to normal was supposed to be a relief.

And it was.

It was.

Mostly.

The transformation itself ended quickly.

There was no dramatic flash of light that shook the room or magical explosion that sent everyone running for cover. Professor Crewel's antidote worked exactly as intended, which was probably for the best considering the alternative involved explaining to the entire school why Heartslabyul's Housewarden had somehow become a hedgehog twice.

One moment, you were holding a tiny creature who had spent the past several days developing a very strong opinion about strawberries.

The next...

Riddle Rosehearts was sitting there.

Human.

His hands were his own again. His voice was his own again. His magic was his own again. Everything that had been taken from him had returned. Everyone was relieved. Everyone was happy. Trey immediately checked that he was alright. Cater started talking about how strange it was seeing him "normal-sized" again and wisely stopped when Riddle gave him a warning look. Deuce looked genuinely relieved. Ace, after confirming that he could no longer be bitten by a tiny but terrifying hedgehog, declared the situation a success.

Riddle barely heard any of it. Because the first thing he did after standing up was look at you. And the second thing he did was request a private conversation.

Naturally, this caused immediate suspicion. Not from you. From everyone else.

Cater looked like he had just discovered the world's most interesting piece of gossip. Trey looked amused. Ace looked one second away from making a comment he would absolutely regret.

Riddle, thankfully, noticed.

"If anyone has anything to say," he began, his usual authority already returning, "they may keep it to themselves."

Everyone immediately became very interested in anything that was not happening in front of them. A miracle.

You followed him somewhere quieter.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Which was strange. Because now he could. Now he had all the words he had been missing. And somehow, that almost made things harder.

You were the first one to break the silence.

"So..." You looked away. "About last night."

Riddle immediately understood. The realization crossed his face so quickly that you almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Because it was admittedly a little funny seeing the same person who could command an entire dorm become completely helpless when confronted with an emotional conversation.

"I just..." You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly. "I wanted to apologize."

Riddle blinked. "Apologize?"

"For saying all those things." A pause. "To hedgehog you."

His expression slowly changed.

"You mean..."

You became increasingly embarrassed.

"I didn't know if you remembered."

Silence.

"You thought I didn't?"

You looked back at him. "I mean... I wasn't sure. I figured maybe the transformation affected your memory or something."

Riddle stared. Then his expression softened. "I remember every single word."

The silence afterward was immediate. Because suddenly there was no hiding behind the excuse of the transformation.

No pretending those words had only existed because he had been smaller. No pretending those feelings belonged only to a strange situation. Riddle remembered.

Everything.

From your voice. To your hands. To your confession. To the way you had told him you would miss him. To the way you had said you had fallen for him.

And now he could finally answer.

"...Then," he said quietly, "I'd like to answer now."

You froze. Riddle reached for your hand—a simple gesture—something he had been unable to do properly for days. But somehow, it felt more meaningful than any grand declaration could have been.

"I spent a great deal of time believing words were the only way people could truly understand one another."

His fingers gently closed around yours.

"I was wrong."

You looked at him.

"When I was unable to speak, you understood me anyway."

His expression softened.

"You learned what I meant without needing me to explain."

A small smile appeared.

"Which was rather inconvenient, considering how much I wanted to explain."

You laughed quietly.

Riddle looked away for a moment, slightly embarrassed. Then he looked back.

"I love you as well."

Simple, direct. and entirely Riddle. Somehow, that made it perfect.

"I believe," he continued, his cheeks beginning to turn slightly pink, "that I began feeling this way before I was willing to admit it. The transformation simply removed my ability to avoid the obvious."

You smiled. "Being a hedgehog forced you to realize your feelings?"

"That is not how I would phrase it."

"But it's accurate."

"...Perhaps."

For someone who had once been so determined to maintain complete control over every aspect of his life, Riddle seemed strangely comfortable admitting that something had surprised him.

That something had changed him. That someone had.

~

Later that day, when everyone had gathered again, the subject of the transformation inevitably returned.

Because of course it did. NRC students had many talents. Though, respecting someone's privacy was not always one of them.

"So," Ace said, leaning back in his chair with the grin of someone about to ask a question he knew would annoy someone, "do you miss being a hedgehog?"

Riddle immediately answered.

"No."

Everyone nodded.

Understandable. Expected.

Then he paused and everyone noticed.

A dangerous silence filled the room.

"...Although."

Every person present turned toward him.

Riddle seemed to realize, far too late, that he had continued speaking.

"The shoulder rides were..."

He hesitated.

"...acceptable."

There was a moment of complete silence.

Then the room exploded.

Ace laughed so hard he nearly fell over. Cater immediately declared that he needed to remember this forever. Deuce tried very hard not to laugh and failed. Even Trey couldn't hide his amusement.

Riddle went scarlet. "I fail to see what is amusing."

That only made everyone laugh harder.

You, however, simply smiled. Because you remembered the tiny hedgehog who had pretended he didn't enjoy being carried. The one who had acted like accepting help was a personal insult. The one who had fallen asleep in your sleeve and run to the door whenever he heard you coming.

"You know," you said, still smiling, "I can still carry you if you want."

The room went silent. Riddle froze. Slowly, very slowly, his face turned even redder.

"No."

A pause.

Everyone watched. Riddle looked away.

"...Perhaps..."

Another pause.

"...Occasionally."

The laughter started again. Riddle immediately regretted everything. But you only squeezed his hand. 

Despite his embarrassment, despite the teasing, despite the fact that he would absolutely deny it if asked...he didn't let go.

You're pretty sure Professor Crewel is out to get you.

Which would be a shame, really, because somewhere in between the unruly sparks and explosions that would leave you with half an eyebrow if you weren't too careful, you had actually come to like his class. History had been too much of a struggle to pick up---because, let's be honest, you're way overdue for a 'twisted wonderland history for dummies' crash course---and flying? Forget it.

Except maybe the class didn't seem to like you nearly as much.

Because with one casual flick of the wrist from your stupidly well-dressed professor, you were faced with the ONE thing that could dash your fragile, naively misplaced dreams of surviving until the weekend could take you into its loving arms.

Partner. Project.

Your forehead meets the cool surface of your desk just as the first collective shouts of protests echo through the classroom. Maybe it'll work out, you think, until you finally find the courage to pick your head up and scope out a potential partner and find that your choices are woefully limited.

Ace, the smug bastard, is halfway out of his chair and already linking his arm around Epel's with the lack of shame only someone like him could flaunt. You almost feel bad for the poor Pomefiore student, but you couldn't blame Ace for finding what looks to be the easy way out. Potions were kind of their thing.

And Deuce.. well, at least he has the decency to meet your gaze and shoot you an apologetic look while he's on his way out the door with Jack. Traitor.

Fine. That's cool, really. You need to branch out, anyway. It could be a good bonding opportunity, right? A chance for you to meet some new people, learn some new faces. Even if you really like the old ones. It's whatever.

The problem, you're starting to realize, is that everyone else seems to have already made their choice.

And you, squinting in barely concealed desperation through the sea of moving students, land on what looks like the one person you can see that isn't already paired up.

Oh, no.

There, sitting ram-rod straight with what looks to be like all of his muscles fully tensed in a way that cannot be natural, is Sebek Zigvolt.

Briefly, you consider just marching up to Professor Crewel and lying straight through your teeth. No, Professor, I really couldn't find a partner. Would your grade like it? Not in the slightest---you like the class, but that doesn't mean you're particularly good at it---BUT, your grade for your sanity? That alone might make it a worthy trade-off.

But all it takes is one second.

You glance back for one second while you're in the middle of shoving your textbook back into your bag to walk up to Crewel and do just that, when you catch the almost imperceptible flicker of his eye. And with a sudden lurch of pity you realize Sebek's waiting, with his hands clenched tight against his lap and a small frown tugging at the corner of his lips, for a partner.

Sebek Zigvolt is loud. He's boisterous, and critical, and always has something to say about the way you hold yourself, or dress, or speak, or even exist. In fact, you're pretty sure your eardrums are still ringing from the start of class, when Ace had unfortunately bumped into his shoulder on the way inside, and you don't think you've even heard Sebek refer to you as anything besides 'human'.

But the Sebek you're looking at now, silently nestled between the rows of people chattering excitedly, looks vaguely resigned. Like he knows the outcome already, and you know---oh, you know. It sounds stupid. It probably is, and if you ever voice the thought out loud you're pretty sure your friends would march you straight into the nurse's infirmary to check for potential head injuries, but you can't help but think he looks meek.

Apparently, it also only takes you one second to change your mind and march straight across the classroom with a vengeance, slamming your palms down flat on Sebek's desk with a little too much force than was necessary.

"Let's be partners," you insist, scrounging up as much willpower as you can to fix him with a glare so determined that you dare him to refuse. Because you know that if you don't, you'll crack with even the first hint of a refusal and resign yourself to twice the work just like that.

The quiet look of surprise that paints his face morphs into confusion, then, with a furrow of his brow, into offense. It looks a little too practiced to be natural, you think. Especially with the way he doesn't seem to even have a retort to back it up, mouth opening and closing and entirely uncooperative with the alarms you assume are going off inside his head at the thought of a mere, magic-less human making demands of him.

Then, after a few seconds, he sits up even straighter with resolve, and the smug, competitive smirk that spreads across his face is kind of maybe starting to make you regret this entire thing.

"Very well."

His response is surprisingly... cordial for what you were expecting. Maybe you'd just caught him off guard with the whole super loud proclamation in front of basically half the class thing. Or maybe this won't be so bad.

"Of course you would want to partner with someone as skilled with alchemy as I. But do not expect me to pull your weight for you, human."

Internally, you sigh and curse yourself and your stupid, bleeding heart.

"Are you stupid?" Is the first thing out of Ace's mouth when you see him the next day in the cafeteria. "Dude, he's gonna eat you alive. Do any of us look like we have premature funeral money?"

"Shut. Up." You hiss through gritted teeth, about two seconds from sinking as low as you could into your blazer in embarrassment. "I didn't have a choice, obviously!"

Deuce, looking like he'd much rather be anywhere but here, pats your shoulder in the most useless reassuring gesture you've ever seen.

"Well, at least he usually gets pretty high marks, right? Maybe it'll help your grade. That's a plus, right?"

"Oh, sure," Ace rolls his eyes, pointing his fork in your direction. "Is that before or after our oh-so-genius prefect gets roped into shining Malleus's boots--GAH!"

Thank god for Deuce and his inability to pull his punches.

With some time to finally think for yourself (you've long since learned to tune out the sounds of your friends' fighting), you couldn't deny they were kind of right. Sure, every encounter you've had thus-far with the fae first year had been civil at best, but at some point he had evolved into a tentative inclusion to your little group of ragtag mages. It wouldn't be that hard to get on his good side and snag a few extra points for yourself on the way, would it?

A loud slam against the table reverberates to your right, jolting you out of your thoughts with all the grace of a rather angry elephant. The thin blanket of surprise that falls over the table is enough to pause the two still-squabbling Heartslabyul students, and you swear there's an audible creak coming from your neck when you slowly turn to glance in the direction of the noise.

Ah. It's no surprise really, only one person could be responsible, but that doesn't mean it's not a shock to the three of you to see Sebek stiffly sliding into the chair next to you as if he was forced (the truth might've been closer than you expected, if that familiar snicker around the corner were anything to go off of). It wasn't the first time he'd hung around the edges of your lively bunch, but he was usually more of an exasperated observer than any real participant in your shenanigans.

He clears his throat, stiffly nodding in your direction in greeting before turning his focus back to his plate. Was that steak and yogurt? On second thought, maybe you didn't want to know. At least he doesn't notice the scathing glare you send across the table to Ace, who's not doing the best job at stifling a cackle behind his glove. Does he want to ruin your chances of finishing this project alive?

"Heyyyy, Sebek," is your awful attempt at making conversation, but the awkwardness that hangs in the air and the drawn out confusion that tinges your words isn't lost on you. Thank the seven that Grim is off pestering who-knows-who for their extra food, or he'd be writing checks that you couldn't cash and causing damages that you couldn't socially afford.

You practically rush out an invitation to Ramshackle in the poor man's direction, barely stopping for breath throughout and drooping closer and closer toward the table as your lungs deflated. Just bite the bullet and get it done.

He pauses, hunched over his plate with his fork half-way raised to his lips. It's all you can do to hope that he heard you the first time, because you really didn't have the dignity to repeat your blunder a second time in front of the prying eyes across from you.

"Hm."

Only a grunt of affirmation in response. But hey, that's all you needed, right? Bite the bullet. Survive.

Then, his lips parted as if he were busy mulling over something to add, you realize Ace's earlier words might have actually been a warning with some merit. He has fangs. How hadn't you noticed them before?

Bite the bullet? More like bite the human if you were unlucky. You'd never realized just how primed Sebek was built to rip you to shreds if he wanted, and now you were experiencing everything up close as if for the first time. Just sitting down next to you, he practically towered over the table, and even all of the regality the Diasomnia dorm uniform had---and buckles, why so many buckles?---seemed to stretch against the just-barely visible strain of corded muscle where his sleeve ended.

And then he leans closer.

This is it. You're going to die, right in front of your sad, half-eaten poor excuse of a sandwich. His mouth closes, then opens again, and it's like staring down the maw of a monster ready to swallow you whole. You've half a mind to just offer up your jugular and make things easy and quick when he finally speaks, entirely too loudly for being this close and looking like it's a physical pain not to say anything.

"Your uniform is buttoned up entirely wrong. It is utterly embarrassing."

This time, even Deuce can't contain his surprised bark of laughter.

Neither of them see it coming when you promptly throw your half-empty cup their way, either.

Sebek doesn't do group projects.

Why should he? It's much easier to handle things on his own, to glide through his courses without the added dead weight holding him down. He knows he's good, because he's worked to be good. Every moment that he'd studied until the brink of exhaustion, every hour spent ignoring the ever-increasing soreness spreading through his body like the plague as he leveraged swing against swing against the battered training dummy in the dorm that had seen much better centuries days.

So it's a surprise, even to him, when he finds himself staring down the magic-less prefect of Ramshackle on the opposite end of his desk, glaring at him with all the defiance of a baby fawn.

If things went his way, he was content to simply wait for his chance to be dismissed; Crewel had long-since given up on forcing him into assigned groups, especially after the last attempt had resulted in his largest cauldron cleanly broken in half in a scuffle that Sebek had not started but quickly put an end to. It would've been a much better usage of his time to take care of everything himself, without worrying about moving parts and lower intellect.

But pride is a traitorous, fickle thing.

He has to swallow down his own croak of surprise when he agrees, his tongue falling vice to his constant issue of speaking before he even has the chance to think. With two simple words of agreement, he's sealed his fate. Sebek was the source of many forms of irritation, he'd been informed of such, but he was never one to go back on his word. It would reflect oh-so-poorly on those that he aspired to rise to the height of.

He's not sure, even hours later when he's retreated back to the familiar stone walls of the dorm he called his home, why he said yes. Every possible explanation seems to float just out of reach in his mind no matter how desperately he reaches, like lily pads on water. He's self-aware enough to realize why it benefits him, of course, to show off the superior intellect of Briar Valley to the inferior. Ego boosts were something he coveted amidst the competitive sea of students around him regardless of whence it came.

For a fleeting moment, he considers that maybe it's because of your circumstances. That he'd taken pity on you. Clueless, confused, clumsy you and the benevolent knight who'd ignored your shortcomings and risen to the occasion to puff out his chest and prove himself.

It all begins to sound eerily like a fairytale he'd heard a few times in his youth.

The wood of the common-room table cracks under his clenched grip.

"---so nice that you're starting to make some friends, you know! Really, I'd been starting to worry about your reclusive habits. Constant stress isn't good for you."

Lilia's excited rambling brings him back to the situation at hand, and he can't help the exasperated sigh that pushes past his lips and the embarrassed fluster that begins to grow under his collar.

"It's just a project," Sebek mumbles, uncharacteristically quiet under the scrutiny of the older fae. Was it truly such a big deal?

"Oh, don't be so shy, young man!" He's not. "Have you thought about what you're going to bring? It's important to be a good guest, you know." He hasn't. "Don't worry, dear boy. I know the perfect treats to make." He's worrying. That's the worst idea he's ever heard.

It's a practical project in alchemy, yet it feels like he's about to be sent off as an ambassador with a peace offering to bridge the gap between two warring kingdoms.

Honestly, that would probably be less stressful than what he's doing now, which was desperately trying to thwart Lilia's assassination attempt in the form of scones.

Crewel would have a lot of questions for him if you died on him halfway through the project, that's all.

All things considered, you really thought things were going to be worse.

The first day was a little awkward, sure, but you hadn't quite expected to open the door and see Sebek dumping half of the contents of a picnic basket into your shrubbery (favors courtesy of Lilia, he'd explained, and added that he added some things that were actually edible.)

It turns out that for all of his bravado, Sebek was strangely palatable when you were alone.

He's still rigid in his own way, but he'd slowly been warming up to your presence the longer you'd worked. Like domesticating a wild animal, you'd noted to yourself one day in amusement. He didn't tense up anymore when you'd leaned over his shoulder to peer at his notes, and similarly, you'd stopped bracing for sudden death when he'd scoff and (rather gently) nudge you back with a firm finger to the forehead when you insisted on watching the portable cauldron up close.

At least, that's how it was most of the time.

The project called for two components: a demonstration, and a written portion explaining the historical evolution of the concoction you had chosen. You'd hoped to gain some brownie points with him when you'd suggested at the start that you cover something that involved a few ingredients from Briar Valley; to your credit, it had the intended effect, and you'd watched in a strangely endeared state as he rambled about your options for about fifteen minutes. It was a win-win situation for you, he'd probably end up doing most of the work in his eagerness and you'd get the chance to consult with some of the most seemingly-untouchable persons on campus when you finally convinced him to ask the heads of Diasomnia for their input.

But any progress you'd made with warming up to the half-fae seemed to backslide as soon as you'd end up anywhere near his dorm members. You distinctly remember waving to his housewarden, who you'd actually had quite a few pleasant conversations with around Ramshackle (unbeknownst to Sebek, of course, who would probably have burst more than a few blood vessels with the knowledge), and then being promptly picked up and moved so that Sebek could place himself in-between you two. Like you were someone to be wary of.

It kinda stung, if you were honest. You were no stranger, but you couldn't say that you didn't quite understand. The hierarchy in Diasomnia was much, much different than the rest of campus; even what they sought to emulate, the spirit of nobility, set a precedent even without the crown prince of Briar Valley's presence. He had expectations to meet, with or without you there, and it was a rough reminder of the fact that this whole thing, whatever you could even call it, was temporary.

He didn't seem to question it when you, voice strained, asked if you could work on the next few sessions at Ramshackle, instead.

"Wait, there's a difference between crushed and powdered? Seriously?"

Lord Malleus preserve him, you were even more hopeless than he thought.

Not that he truly minded in most cases. You were formidably skilled in the writing portion, he had to admit, and he wouldn't admit how he'd puff his chest out and basically preen when you'd look so impressed when he supplemented the most basic of arcane knowledge.

But when it came to the actual alchemical demonstration? It was all he could do to keep you from blowing up Ramshackle every time his back was turned.

"Yes," Sebek pinches the bridge of his nose and tries not to sound too exasperated---he still couldn't get that kicked puppy look you gave him the first time out of his head. "Powdered is more potent in smaller quantities. Refined. Crushed is what we nee-"

He barely has time to react before he looks over from where he'd been so dutifully preparing the proper protective gear and sees an entire. vial. of powdered mugwort tip into the cauldron; he's bounding over with a shout of your name---not 'human', not 'prefect'----before either of you can even properly process what's about to happen, hands landing on your shoulders to whirl you around and press you firmly into the broad groove of his chest.

Just a single moment later, a loud pop echoes through your living room.

You're almost afraid to look up and see the damage, eyes squeezed shut and nestled so securely into his taller frame that you're starting to wonder, in the midst of your adrenaline, how you've ever felt safe anywhere else. But you need to breathe eventually, and the booming slam of Sebek's heart against his ribcage echoes so concerningly in your ears that you're expecting to pull back and see something you're not prepared for.

And you're right, you weren't. In a way that's so entirely unexpected and raw that even years of preparation wouldn't have mattered.

Because when you start to pull back, eyes wide and frantic and the ghost of a loud and worried exclamation on your tongue, Sebek is already looking at you.

The fallout didn't look too bad, leaving just a light sheen of pink powder covering his face from where he'd taken the brunt of the damage. An easy enough fix, with a wet rag or two and a much-needed lecture on ingredient safety.

But the lecture never comes. It's like a fragile moment suspended in time, and he looks just as worried as you do. Hunched over, so unlike his rigid and proud posture he's seemed to have perfected, round pupils searching every inch of you for even the slightest bit of injury--

Wait, round?

You exhale, heart fluttering halfway up your throat.

Sebek's pupils, usually narrowed into perceptive, slightly intimidating slits, are dilated.

You're still forcing your brain to restart and swallowing down the lump in your throat when he finally deems you unharmed, and his exhale of relief blows a small puff of powder onto your own nose. His grip on your shoulders finally relents, but his hands don't move from their perch as he all but deflates, pressing his forehead against your shoulder as he attempts to match your stuttered breathing. That'll stain, you think, desperate to face anything but this moment, so intense that you think you'd much rather be choking on the powder than the uncertainty of it all.

"... Sebek, I'm sorr-"

"Don't."

That shuts you up real quickly.

It doesn't seem like he really knows what to say, either, because you wait and wait and yet.. nothing. Neither of you are really sure how to progress from here, so you find a moment in the silence to tilt your head and study him.

For the second time in his presence, you truly think you're dying.

But for some reason, dying feels much different this time around.

"Sebek," you whisper, and you realize that your fists are still clenched between you two, trembling. Was that from fear, or something else? You're not quite sure when the line started to blur this much. The huff he gives you in response isn't much help, either.

So you steel yourself, uncurling your shaky fingers and letting them find rest on the folded fabric of the front of his uniform, clutching him like a lifeline even after the imminent danger has come to pass.

"I think it really brings out your eyebrows."

A beat passes.

"What?"

And just like that, the moment eases, tension broken like a stone through the surface of a pond. He pulls back and rises, giving you an unobstructed view of the furrow between his brows and the utterly lost expression on his face. You don't offer him much in explanation, just that utterly infuriating grin that spreads across your face so easily that for once he doesn't object to his own wandering gaze down to your lips.

"The pink." You hum, and your eyes are flitting over his face like you're appraising him and sevens why is it so hot in here. All at once, all too quickly your hands are on him, gently brushing the excess powder off of his cheeks with a cupping motion that's entirely too intimate for his poor heart that's damn near bursting. "It goes well with green."

He tries, he really does, not to think about it. Not to think about how strangely affectionate your gaze is, not to think about the way you're the one cradling him so carefully as if he hadn't just proved to you just what he was capable of. If he doesn't think about that, then maybe he won't have to think about the way he's curled over you still, heaving adrenaline and labored breathing intermingling with yours in the pocket of space between your lips that's both too small and not small enough.

Sebek's one weakness is not thinking. It makes him rash, it rubs people the wrong way, it gets him into trouble. He knows that. He knows you've come to know that, along with the rest of him.

That's probably why neither of you are too surprised when he breathes your name out in a whisper, and in the next moment his lips are on yours.

He's wondering how he's lasted this long without it.

You're wondering if Malleus would smite you if he knew what you've made of his retainer.

Preparations for the project had continued, as life did, but there was something simmering under the surface. And it wasn't that cursed cauldron.

Sebek found himself tagging along with your group more, under the pretense of 'assessing your threat to Lord Malleus' (he'd dropped that excuse by the third time he'd fallen into step with you all in the hallway). Ace and Deuce were still sending you sympathetic looks when he wasn't looking, but even they could tell that apparently an unlikely partnership had blossomed there. Ace had even grumbled into your ear one day, a reddened welt in the shape of a palm barely visible under the painted heart on his face, asking how the hell your group was working out and his wasn't. He wasn't too satisfied when you laughed and rolled your eyes, flicking him in the forehead to earn your personal space back.

That truth was for you two alone.

But honestly? You weren't even sure what this 'truth' was.

The day of that little pink mishap had definitely opened some doors you didn't even know were there, but you never officially agreed to anything. And you certainly didn't let anything on in public.

Which is fine. You get it.

Sebek has his duties and expectations. In fact, it almost seems like he's doubled down on them since then, and you didn't miss the way his eyes seemed to silently search for yours in a room as if he couldn't rest until he'd found you. He wouldn't falter or move from his vigilant perch, but you could never miss the subtle upwards curve of his lip when your eyes would meet, one fang barely peeking through.

So yeah, you figured from the start that whatever you had would probably be better off if you didn't show it in public.

But did he really have to act like you couldn't even be friends?

If things looked awkward between the two of you in the beginning, they must look absolutely abhorrent now. At least you were both on equally floundering terms at the start; you had the excuse of time and unfamiliarity. Now, weeks later, he couldn't even sit next to you without seeming like he'd combust any second. It would be kind of endearing, if he had any shame about tracking you down in the hallway only thirty minutes later and dragging you into a hidden alcove behind a tapestry nearby.

You'd come to learn quite quickly that pretty much everything you'd thought about Sebek in the beginning was true, in a roundabout way. For one, you're worried he might actually swallow you whole one of these days.

That kiss you shared, all relief and trouble breathing and slightly tasting of herbs, was the first of many that night. And almost every day after. He was insatiable when it came to you, finding every opportunity to steal you away in the quiet moments and attack your lips with the same vigor he used in every inch of his training. It was a part of his training, he considered, to familiarize himself with every physical and emotional inch of you.

It wasn't the first time you'd found yourself in this specific situation, either, cornered up against the wall with smooth, cold stone on your back and the only-mildly-warmer press of Sebek's chest flat against yours to cage you in and shield you from view. Not that that had ever been a problem in the past; nobody quite seemed to know of this spot, and you're sure he probably had some elaborate fake argument ready to bark out at the slightest threat of discovery if someone found you two alone.

You didn't mind, you'd tell yourself. It was hard to, anyway, with how reverent he'd gaze down at you every time, pupils blown wide and a violent shudder jolting down his spine and arching him further into you when you'd so little as run your fingertips through his wildly styled hair.

You had him in the moments in-between, like the comfort of whistling air through the rickety window panes of your own dilapidated dorm. He would choose you each time he had a passing moment, and that was enough. You were sure of it.

Later, your hands accidentally brush together while you're all walking together to the school store. Sebek recoils like he's been burned, making a show of brushing off his gloves on the neatly ironed sleeves of his uniform. The heat that blooms through your face, this time, is from embarrassment.

"You want to.. set me up?" You squint, pointedly tilting your head from where you lay across the couch.

You'd been deep in thought, staring up at the ceiling beams, when you'd been interrupted by the very unceremonious entrance of Ace and Deuce; in itself this wasn't unusual, but you were pretty surprised to see that they'd even managed to drag Epel and Jack into whatever they were planning, too. Even Grim was there, although he didn't seem to be paying much attention to the situation at hand, busying himself with scooping out the last traces of tuna from the can he'd clearly been bribed with.

Deuce nods. Jack pretends he's not invested.

Ace and Epel practically yank you off the couch in their exasperation. You pretend not to notice the smidge of pink dust that flies into the air from the upholstery.

"Dude, it's getting embarrassing at this point," Ace groans, abruptly dropping your arm and sending you a none-too-sheepish grin when it thuds loudly against the floor. "It's clear you've got a thing for him, and it's making me super nauseous seeing it, so.."

"Waitwaitwait- What?" You don't even bother to move from the floor, flat on your back and glancing up at the group behind you. "For who?

Upside-down-Epel fixes you with a glare, leaning over you with such vigor it looks more like he's about to begrudgingly spill the secrets of the universe to you.

"Quit 'yer bellyachin', ain't it obvious? You're head over heels for the big croco-fuck, ain'tcha?"

You freeze, and although you must look like a limp, lifeless fish, you manage to flop yourself upright into a sitting position from the floor. They're going to help you confess... to Sebek? Awesome. Totally figured it out, way to go detective team.

"Guys," you start, an exasperated protest on the tip of your tongue, when Deuce crouches by your side, brows slotted together in concern.

"He looks at you a lot, you know. When you're not looking. I think he likes you too."

You're too wrapped up in wondering when the hell Deuce suddenly became a romance sap to dwell on the fact they think you're moping because of some silly, unspoken crush (even if it's technically partly true), and Deuce must see the absolute confusion on your face, because he awkwardly rubs the back of his head and nods towards the others.

"At least, that's what Jack says. I don't know."

The wolf beastman bristles at that, ignoring the embarrassed fluster of his face with a loud clear of his throat.

"There's a campus event coming up," he offers, clearly taking pity on you. "You probably wouldn't have heard of it yet, but it's an open festival that the school hosts. Very... popular with young couples."

Huh. That actually didn't sound like an awful idea.

"Plus, if it turns out your feelings are horribly misguided and he's absolutely repulsed by the thought of you liking him, you can just say you meant it in like a friend group way," Ace's words of support are anything but, and you throw your hands up in protest. "What? Just covering your bases, you know you were thinking it."

Running a hand down your face, you groan and lean back onto the couch. They had a point, as much as the risk of it buzzed through your nerves just thinking about it. It was a pretty solid plan; they could feel like they've put all the pieces of the puzzle together, and you could finally figure out what the hell was even going on between you two.

"Fine," you sigh, standing up for the first time since this impromptu meeting started.

Grim offers to help set the mood.

You make a deal with Ace the same night to keep Grim as far away as possible. He is not, as he claims, a 'true romance expert'.

In hindsight, you probably should have chosen a better time.

But you don't really do well under social pressure, and the four pairs of thumbs ups just barely hidden around the corner were enough to encourage you to just get this over with so you could go home and take a break for the first time in a week.

Morning classes had just let out for the day, which gave you about ten minutes of time to guarantee that you'd find him before he found you, and he'd pull you aside so desperately that you'd forget about this whole thing and just let him.

No. You wouldn't let that happen, not with how much energy you've spent worrying about the same thing over and over again. How you'd practically been brooding like a Victorian-era widow every night at the uncertainty of it all, pacing back and forth to the point you think you've worn down the floorboards in certain spots.

You've worked yourself up so much that as soon as you see that familiar envoy of black-and-green uniforms you don't even think before you spring into action. You march your way up, right up to the literal prince of the fae (Around the corner, Ace hesitantly has the headmage on speed dial, just in case) and tell him, very bluntly, that you need to borrow one of his retainers.

Malleus tilts his head in appraisal, eyes sparkling with amusement.

You wait one second. Three. You're not reduced to ash yet, so you guess that's permission enough. Sebek doesn't even have the time to blubber out the usual loud proclamation in the prince's defense before you've got his arm in a vice grip, dragging him a little ways away. Out of the corner of your eye, you can barely see Lilia ushering the two remaining students out of the area with a knowing grin.

"HUMAN! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF TH-" "WILLYOUGOTOTHEFESTIVALWITHME-"

You pause. Because now you're 'human', again. Of course you are. This isn't the privacy of your dorm, after all.

He pauses. Clearly, he hadn't expected that to be what was so urgently in need of attention. It looks like someone's frozen him in time, fist raised in indignation and only half-heartedly clenched in the air.

There's an awkward cough around the corner. You wince.

Just like that, it's like life is breathed into the air again, for better or worse.

"That silly festival," he starts off, slow and stilted, as if trying to regain his footing with the conversation, although it's hard to miss how he spits the word out with a venom that has you reeling back in shock. "Is nothing more than one of mankind's excuses to slack off."

Yet you push through, willing the ice currently forming in your veins to melt just enough that you didn't feel like you were actively decomposing. That's fine. With everything else that came with him, you understand---or maybe it's because you don't understand, that you try so hard to see his point of view. That lingering, festering feeling that even within your most personal of relationships you're still an outsider to this world who could never hope to understand something as silly as love.

"I just thought that if," you exhale, hoping he doesn't quite notice the shakiness of it, "if you end up going, that you might want to see some of it together."

You don't see the twitch of his gloved fingers itching to clasp yours. You don't notice the way his bottom lip pales with the pressure of his teeth, dangerously close to splitting skin with the pressure.

What you do end up seeing is the way his gaze falters, flickering behind you and back, where you know he knows that there's people waiting.

And ultimately, all he knows how to do is save face.

"As if I'd want anything to do with pointless human indulgence."

Anything to do with you. That's what you take away from this. That even now, he's posturing for an imaginary audience that may or may not be there.

Maybe it's the fact that it's in public. Or maybe you're done pretending that you understand. You don't know, but there's a lot of things these days that you're not quite sure of anymore.

Sebek, still standing rooted to the same spot he was when you'd silently turned heel and left mere minutes ago, is one of them.

"Honestly, Sebek. I really thought you were getting better at this friend thing." Lilia sighs, shaking his head as if this were as casual a disappointment as a vending machine getting stuck and stealing a favorite candy bar.

Somehow, that makes Sebek want to stand up even straighter, and he's already standing at precise attention in the middle of the Diasomnia common room. Although no one's quite looking directly at him---Malleus had wandered off not too shortly after their return, and Silver... well, Silver was asleep on the couch, like always---he still somehow feels like he's under extreme scrutiny. Perhaps it's the lingering sting of the hurt in your gaze earlier; it had settled into the backs of his eyelids like an insistent pain, as if his subconscious wasn't willing to let him forget.

"I am." He croaks, although his voice wavers even in his own defense. "The prefect and I are not friends." As if that admission makes it any better.

"You're not?" Lilia's response is oddly casual for the revelation, although the hum of consideration that soon follows reveals why---he'd assumed the opposite. "Did they not like the gifts you brought? I knew you'd need a little extra nudge, of course, but I didn't think I'd have to hold your hand the entire way!"

Sebek had grown used to the amused, vaguely condescending croon of Lilia's voice in moments like these, but that doesn't help the way it settles deep into his bones like poison eating away at him from the inside. How did he even begin to clear this up in a way that didn't make him sound like the worst person ever?

Sevens, what is he even thinking for? He knows he is, right now. He wouldn't allow himself the luxury of being vague, not when he'd been anything but in his very public rejection of you.

"You misunderstand," He pauses, his throat so dry that even swallowing seems to hurt in the moment. It's a struggle, to find a way to define it in a way that doesn't feel vile, to put a name to it so openly. He didn't have the right to do so, not now. "We are... courting?"

Sebek's defensive tone fizzles out.

The resounding SMACK that permeates the air brings it right back.

Sebek didn't even see him rise, but there in front of him stood Silver with a hand still raised, his long-time rival. The one person that he'd never been able to see eye-to-eye with. The fact that the very thing they're agreeing on right now is the fact that he's very much fucked things up scares him with the severity of it all.

He doesn't even find it in himself to retaliate, doesn't press the smooth coldness of his glove against his still-stinging cheek to soothe the pain. He just.. stares. For once, he's speechless.

"You should go fix that." Is all Silver loftily offers as explanation, and it's so oddly out of place and fitting for the situation at hand considering how much fire he'd met him with just a moment before that Sebek doesn't even have the words to argue, just turns and leaves the room in a daze to figure out how to do just that.

Silver's asleep on the couch again before Lilia can get a word in afterwards.

"Ah, young love is so fickle."

It's oddly peaceful at Ramshackle, if you don't count the endless stream of notifications blowing up your phone. Or the howling wind and rain outside. Or Grim's loud snoring drifting down the stairs.

You hadn't looked back when you'd given up and went home just a few hours earlier. Hadn't spared a word to your friends, the masterminds of it all, despite how desperately they had clamored over each other to ask you a million questions and assure you, probably, that they thought it would've gone so much better than it had.

You weren't mad. At least, not at them. You just couldn't find the energy to do much else except wrap yourself up on the couch and stare blankly into the fireplace, so you hadn't quite opened up any of their text messages yet. Maybe that's a tomorrow morning thing.

That is, if you've made sense of anything at all by then. You kind of expected to cry, or scream, or throw things, or lash out. Anything that manifested as physical proof of the aching hurt that spread throughout your rib cage and settled against your lungs with constricting fury. And yet? Nothing. You were exhausted, crushed by the weight of being proven right.

It'll probably hit you like a truck later, you're vaguely aware. But nothing quite feels real at the moment, something you're willing to take advantage of for the time being until you inevitably blow all your thaumarks on ice cream and chips tomorrow.

Then, barely audible through the sounds of the storm just past your door, you hear a knock. Unobtrusive and strangely patient for this weather at first, but quickly ramping up with a frantic intensity that has you sighing and getting up from your current love (the couch) to go begrudgingly answer the door, still wrapped up in the biggest and least-scratchiest blanket you have.

You don't really know who you're expecting to see when you open the door. Maybe Ace, who'd never met a social cue in his life that he couldn't ignore, or Jack, who'd given you the idea of the festival in the first place and probably felt responsible for how sideways it went.

Certainly not a very disheveled, soaked down to the bone Sebek Zigvolt, fist still raised in the air and somehow looking very, very surprised and relieved to see that you are, in fact, still here at Ramshackle. That you hadn't magically found a way to return home out of sheer retaliation against his utter stupidity.

You don't even have the time to retreat further into the blanket still wrapped around you before he's practically launching himself at your feet. It's nothing like what you're used to, nothing like the usual selfish sprawl of his fingers against the warmth of your skin. He's firm, unrelenting in his grip as if to prove you're actually in front of him, you're real, even as you squirm in his hold.

"Sebek, you're freezing!" And it really wasn't an exaggeration. He's dripping water all over your floor, all over you, yet he seems to be preoccupied with little more than smushing his face as far into the side of your neck as he can go before he's able to merge with you entirely. You start to backtrack, leading him with you and closer to the fire little by little. Still, he does little to help you out in the transport, and it's a struggle to all but drag the man.

"I'm sorry." He hisses through clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut, but you know the exact moment he opens them; you can feel the damp flutter of his eyelashes against your neck before he pulls away and looks at you with the most pleading look you've ever seen on him. Like he's waiting for you to tell him to leave, to never return, and he'd do it in a heartbeat if it made you happy. Even if he had to claw his own fingers raw through the dirt to follow through with what his mind couldn't bear to.

This is not the look of the rigid knight with something to prove. This, it hits you like a stake to the heart, is the face of a desperate man with something, finally, in his life that he risks losing before he's even had it.

Once again, it's his eyes that clue you in to a very important realization.

Sebek, you realize, the man who just marched his way over to your dorm in the middle of a thunderstorm without so much as thinking of casting a wind-blocking spell, the one currently sapping all your warmth from you in his insistence to be close to you, the one that stood outside your door in the rain for who knows how long,

is a crocodilic fae.

At the time, you'd been vaguely aware of the similarities. Taken by the novelty of the little things, like the way the only accessible stripe of skin peeking out from his glove was always just-barely cooler in temperature when you'd wrap your fingers around his wrist. Laughter bubbling up through your chest when he'd seem to nuzzle his cheek against yours like he hadn't realized he'd been leaning into your warmth, or the coy smile pulled taut against your lips with each gentle scrape of his fangs over your skin.

Now, it takes all you have not to succumb to your weak knees when you realize just how cold the rain had left him, and how he hadn't spared it so much as a thought in his effort to get to you. Even now, when it looks like it's taking all of his willpower just to keep his arms wrapped firmly around you, he powers through it in silence like there's no question of it being any other way.

There's a soft mutter of protest from him when you finally managed to wrestle him in front of the fire, but he doesn't fight you on the way you wrap your now-slightly-damp blanket around the two of you and guide him to his knees next to you.

"You hurt me," you whisper, smoothing a hand over his forehead to properly see him through the wet strands plastered flush against his skin. With his hair like this, he looked younger. Boyish and walking into this just as blind as you were.

"I know." Sebek croaks, leaning into your touch like it could give him all the answers, like it was the only thing that could help him think clearly.

"I don't expect to be first," and maybe the bitter cold seeping into your bones is finally starting to get to you, mixing with the deep pit of dread in your stomach that had been crashing over you in waves all night, because when you speak you can't even begin to slow the quiet sobs that trickle out after. "I just wanted to be an option."

Somehow, something inside of him is still barely held together enough to break at the tremor in your voice.

"You," he gasps for air, cradling the back of your head with icy fingertips that shake just enough to match how you sound, "are the only option."

You're not quite sure where the sobs racking your chest end and his begin, and you're definitely not sure of just when you'd somehow fallen asleep leaning against each other on a heap in the floor, all tangled limbs and fabric and desperate hearts.

When you wake in the morning, you've somehow made it onto the couch; you're pressed between him and the cushions, Sebek's back turned toward the direction of the door as if he had taken it upon himself to be your only line of defense while you slept.

The next day, you're deep in a heated discussion with your friends about the ethics of bribing ancient spirits to write essays for you when two powerful hands land firm against your shoulders. You don't even need to crane your head up to see who it is, posture relaxing with ease and leaning readily back into the touch.

There's a brief flash of light green on the edge of your vision, and a slightly stiff, but lingering kiss pressed just underneath your ear.

Ace shrieks. You're pretty sure you hear glass shattering.

Yeah, you'd definitely have to thank Professor Crewel later.

Maybe a gift basket.

•••

Hand in hand, Malleus and you entered the backyard of a ruined building, the location of the date he had asked you out on yesterday. You had made sure to keep everything a secret from Crewel, but you couldn't help but glance around the area every now and then, fearing that your strict adoptive father had managed to find out nonetheless.

At least Malleus seemed at ease, more so than he usually was. He noticed your anxiety and sought to calm you down by cupping your cheek with his other free hand and tilt your face back to him. Once your gazes met again, you exhaled in apology and smiled up at him meekly. "Today's night sky is really pretty, Malleus," you said, laughing softly.

Malleus hummed but shook his head. "Not as pretty as you are."

The two grown men hiding behind one of the crumbling columns peeked out from behind their hiding place, one glaring at Malleus while the other stared at the building, aloof as ever. The professor looked at you two with angry eyes, muttering protests under his breath when he saw how close you stood to the dragon fae — did you forget the times where Crewel had lectured you about always keeping a one metre distance to other boys?!

Crewel's fingers pressed against the marble of the column as his stare remained fixated on you and your lover boy. "How cheesy..." Crewel rolled his eyes before ducking behind the column again at the way you let your nervous gaze wander across the area again. Pressing his back against the column, Crewel turned to Crowley. "He could have come up with something else— Dire, are you paying attention?"

Crowley wasn't focused on Malleus and you at all and instead found the ruined building behind you much more fascinating. Rubbing his chin, he looked the ivy-covered walls up and down. "The building really is run-down," he whispered to himself, deep in thought. "I should really either bar down the entrance or renovate it... but oh well! I'll just let (Y/n) and Grim do it! That saves money and—"

Crewel let out an exasperated sigh at the incompetence of his boss — this wasn't the reason the two of them had come here for! The headmaster had his priorities set wrong; he should care less about that ruined building and more about the danger of losing his daughter to a possessive and maniacal dragon fae.

Grabbing the headmaster by his shoulders, Crewel glared at him and let out an intimidating snarl. "No, you won't do that or else your father rights will be forever gone, Dire," he barked quietly, like he always did when disciplining his dogs during alchemy class. None of them proved to be as hard to discipline as this incompetent headmaster of a crow. "Do you want that? Lose her?"

"N-No!" Crowley cried out, finally having come to his senses again. "Just let me be (Y/n)'s father! That's all I want!"

Crewel hummed in satisfaction, but the suspicious frown on his face never really left. "Being (Y/n)'s father is a privilege that comes with responsibilities," he explained, glaring at Crowley with narrowed eyes. "And you're the far opposite from responsible, but you can prove yourself tonight."

Before Crowley could speak up to defend his dignity — who knew if he even had any — Malleus' voice cut through the cold night air, saying, "(Y/n), I think I need to tell you something—"

Crowley and Crewel tensed upon hearing those words. The latter peeked out from behind the column again, finding you two holding hands, your fingers laced intricately; that made him panic. "Oh no— we need to do something..." Crewel muttered, his breath hitching. Crowley in return immediately grabbed a pebble from the floor and threw it at the ruined building. When the rock collided with the wall, you immediately jumped away from Malleus out of surprise. Crewel sighed in relief and shot Crowley a smile. "Good job, Dire!

"Ack! What was that—?!" you cried out, shaking. "A monster?"

Malleus looked at you, concerned. "Don't worry, my treasure," he muttered as he stepped closer to you and enveloped your trembling form in his arms, shielding you from the darkness and the cold — and from any monsters lurking around the area. You placed your hands on his chest and looked up at him with glossy eyes. He returned a smile. "I will protect you. Just stay close to me, alright?"

Crewel hissed curses under his breath upon seeing the outcome of Crowley's action — how the tables had turned. "You idiot of a crow," Crewel muttered while wacking poor Crowley over the head.

You giggled while resting your head on his shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh as you eased into his embrace. "Malleus, you're so strong and handsome..." you blurted out, only for you to shoot up upon realising what you just had said. Covering your mouth with your left hand, you looked up at him with embarrassed eyes. "Oh— I shouldn't have said that!"

Crowley let out a little sob at the sight of you having left your father's nest. "They grow up so quickly..." he muttered while blowing his nose with a handkerchief.

"Shut up!" Crewel hissed, incredibly angered by the sight of you getting all touchy with Malleus. He gritted his teeth when the fae placed a hand on your cheek to guide your face up to his own. Crewel, panicking, turned to a sobbing Crowley. "We need to do something before we lose her forever to that dragon—"

Suddenly, someone fell down from a tree, more like hanging upside down with his eyes playfully glaring at the two adults. Crowley almost screamed upon seeing the Diasomnia vice dorm leader appear in such a frightening fashion, but Crewel could clasp his hand over Crowley's mouth just in time. Lilia let out a small giggle as he asked, "And why would you want to do anything like that~?"

"Vanrouge?" Crewel asked with narrowed eyes, begrudgingly letting go of Crowley when the headmaster bit into his palm. "What are you doing out here at this hour?"

Lilia shrugged ambiguously as he floated down, his feet finally hitting the ground. "Making sure my boy gets a girlfriend," he replied smoothly, grinning from ear to ear while crossing his arms. "And you?"

Crowley laughed at the coincidence before explaining, "We're here preventing that—"

"Dire, why must you tell Vanrouge about our plans?!" Crewel interrupted the headmaster before he could spill every detail of their plan to the enigmatic student. Once again, Crowley received another wack on the head. "You idiot!"

Crowley let out a few groans as he rubbed his head. "Oh, wasn't I supposed to?"

Before Crowley and Crewel could start fighting, Lilia jumped in between them to point at Malleus and you in the near distance. "With all due respect, please hold your tongue—" Lilia said in excitement, quivering happily as he energetically pointed at you two. "They're kissing!"

"How beautiful!" Crowley cried out, the tears running down his cheeks anew at the beautiful sight. "Hand me a handkerchief, please, Vanrouge." Lilia obeyed happily and absent-mindedly handed his headmaster what he asked for. Crowley dabbled with it on his cheeks while letting out shrieks and cries.

Crewel buried his face in his hands and wept for his failure. "I wouldn't have failed if I hadn't brought you along, Dire."

Far away from the three males that caused a loud commotion, Malleus and you still stood enveloped in one another's arms. Your head resting on his chest, your eyes were trained on the three spies that were thinking themselves slick and stealthy. "They're loud," you muttered and clicked your tongue.

These thoughts kept spiraling in your head from the second Crowley told you the news while you debated how you were supposed to tell your friends that you likely weren't ever going to see them again. How you were supposed to tell Jade... How were you supposed to tell Jade? He'd always been able to see straight through you, always able to tell when something was off and almost always able to fix it before you even said it out loud. How were you supposed to tell the one person who understood you so perfectly-- sometimes better than you knew yourself-- that you were leaving and probably never coming back? You weren't ready to face it yet. Despite the undertones, Crowley had given you time, and you were going to take as much of it as you could.

For the first few days, you tried to just play it cool and act normal, but Jade could tell something was off. He always could. You may as well have been an open book to him, all your problems laid out on the pages bolded and underlined. He knew there was something wrong, but for once, he couldn't figure out what it was. You could tell by the way he looked at you, the question behind his eyes as tried to look for the answers in yours. But you weren't ready yet. He watched as you started to shy away from him. It was the little things at first; avoiding eye contact when you were alone which lead to too much eye contact when you realized what you were doing, the way your fingers twitched when he reached for your hand, as if you wanted to pull it away before he could grab hold, the way you held onto him a little tighter and a little longer whenever he had his arms around you. He could see all the signs, plain as day, but the answer still eluded him. He could garner nothing from your friends, there were no hints at Ramshackle. He hated not knowing, but assumed you would tell him when you were ready. But after the first few days, you started to pull away more. You stopped going to the Mostro Lounge to see him during his shifts, you were going out of your way to avoid him after classes let out by following Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul instead, you'd even called to cancel a date the two of you had set up a month prior. You were so easy to read, so why couldn't he figure this out?

As easy as it was for Jade to read you, it was even easier for Floyd to read Jade. Perks of being with someone since birth. He knew something was up between the two of you from the first stray eye twitch. So he watched. He watched Jade's reactions as you started to pull further and further away, watched his brother slowly unraveling with worry. Not enough for most people to notice, but Floyd saw. He saw the weird, lost look in his eyes before he could slap on that usual neutral smile and the disappointment on his face after another shift that you didn't show up in the middle of. Floyd wanted to believe you two would work it out on your own, but it was really getting on his nerves. So when Jade actually zoned out during a meeting about the lounge, Floyd finally lost it.

"Just go talk to Shrimpy already!" Floyd groaned loudly, draping himself dramatically over the couch. "You're killing the mood!"

"I apologize, I wasn't aware that my relationship troubles were interfering with your good time." Jade shot back with a sarcastic smile on his face. "I assure you, I will endeavor to think quieter thoughts as to not ruin your day."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Floyd is right." Azul sighed from his desk, Floyd giving him a shit eating grin that was promptly ignored. "You've been off your game for well over a week now, I think it's high time to cut the dramatics and go confront the problem."

Jade's tense smile thinned as his eye started twitching again. "And how do you propose I confront a problem that I have no knowledge of and haven't been informed about?"

"What, they haven't told you what's wrong?" Azul asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"They haven't told me that there is anything wrong."

"So then why are you just moping about it?" Floyd grumbled. "Go ask! I dunno if Shrimpy bites, but they ain't gonna bite harder than I am if you don't get your shit together!"

Jade scoffed, but bit his tongue. He knew he was being silly about it, just wishing that you would come forward with your worries on your own when it was becoming more and more clear that you had no intention of doing so. Not without a nudge. There was also a small part of him that worried that you'd disagreed with something he'd done and were afraid to talk to him about it. Afraid of him. He usually delighted in people having a healthy fear of him, but you? The idea that you could be afraid of him hurt more than he cared to admit. Floyd was right, he had to go talk to you. He didn't want to corner you, but there seemed to be no other way to be alone with you anymore.

He waited another day to put his plan into action. It was hardly a plan, to be perfectly honest. Jade had watched you follow Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul after class again, and went to Ramshackle to wait for you to come back. He didn't know what else to do. Hours ticked by, a pot of tea long cold and he could swear he had dug grooves into the floor from all the pacing he'd done by the time you returned home. He stopped in front of the fireplace as he heard the door open, followed by a loud and long sigh before you headed towards the lounge. You froze when you turned the corner and saw him standing there, his ever present smile still on his face but it looked forced. You shuffled in place for a moment before entering the lounge to drop your bag on the couch, not looking at him.

"Hey Jade." You said, clearing your throat to try to get rid of the strain behind your voice. "What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same." He'd been debating how to approach the topic while he was waiting for you, not sure if it was better to be blunt or to ease into it. The heat of the moment ultimately made the decision for him.

"What do you mean...?"

"We don't need to play this game, darling, I've barely seen you in a week."

"I've been busy..." It was a weak argument on your part, and you knew it. You couldn't look up at him, eyes glued to the floorboards as you lied through your teeth. You weren't ready yet.

"You've been busy before, this is not that." He took a couple tentative steps towards you, like he was trying not to scare you off. "Please, talk to me. I only wish to help."

You weren't ready yet. "I don't think you can..."

"I'd like to try."

The abnormally soft tone to his voice is what finally pushed you over the edge. Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them, a massive lump in your throat cutting off any defense you could try to form in a pitiful whimper as you did your best to just not start sobbing. Jade was in front of you in two steps, gathering you up tenderly in his arms as you desperately tried to wipe away the tears before your face could become overrun. You weren't ready yet, but you were out of time. Crowley had pulled you aside a few times already asking for your decision, getting more and more impatient with each visit.

"Crowley found a way for me to go h-home." You managed to choke out around the sobs in your throat. You felt Jade tense up for a moment before some invisible tension was lifted off of him, making him relax against you with a light chuckle.

"Oh, darling, is that all?"

You paused for a second at the audacity of the question, as if all your worries meant nothing. "What do you mean, is that all?!" You bit out, smacking his chest and taking a step back. "I'm going home! I'll never... I'll never get to see you again..."

He frowned, blinking in confusion for a second before reaching out and wiping a stream of tears off your face. "You've... already decided then?"

"What?"

"You said Crowley found you a way home, not that he was forcing you to take it," he explained, "meaning you have a choice to stay or go."

"I..." You hesitated with a sniffle. He was right, you did have a choice, but... "I don't belong here, Jade. I was never supposed to be here."

"But you are." He cut in quickly before you could go on, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "You are here, whether you were "supposed" to be or not." He pulled you back in against his chest, one hand carding through your hair and the other tight against your back. "I often feel I don't belong on land, but I am here. I have found purpose on land, I've found hobbies and interests and love on land, even feeling that I don't belong." The determination in his voice made you cry a little harder. "Just because I am out of place does not mean I don't want to be here... Do you want to be here?"

You nodded into his chest, snaking your arms around his waist. "I just don't know if I should be." You admitted, no louder than a whisper.

"That is something only you can decide." He muttered into your hair before pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Whatever you decide, I will respect it... but if I may be a bit selfish?" You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes as he gave you a sad but hopeful smile, pressing one hand to your cheek again. "I would prefer it if you stayed."

You didn't have to say it out loud, he could see the answer behind your eyes. You were always so easy to read.

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

Ortho, being the innocent and oblivious boy he was, sheepishly rubbed his back as he shrugged. "I don't know another (Y/n)." Idia ignored the boy as he carefully undid the ribbon ontop and pulled up the lid to reveal amazing-smelling chocolate cookies. Ortho snickered mischievously as he snatched the box right out of his brother's trembling hands. "Ah, and since you don't want the cookies... I'll just have to eat them myself—"

"Silly robot. Give them to me!" Idia hissed like a feral cat as he swiped the box right out of the boy's hands. Cradling them close to his chest like these cookies were his children, he glared at Ortho playfully. "You can't eat cookies!"

Ortho let out an amused giggle. "I was just joking~" he cooed as he bent over his brother's shoulders to get a look at the cookies you had baked for Idia. The robot tilted his head to the side, smiling when he saw his brother smile happily. "The cookies look delicious."

Idia hummed as he carefully plucked one out of the batch and took an eager bite out of it. "They are delicious..." he whispered as his eyes fluttered close, signalling that he just had transcended into another dimension.

Ortho merely laughed at his brother's antics as he sat down on the desk, watching his brother curiously. "(Y/n) is pretty kind, isn't she?" he asked, grinning when he noticed Idia's pale cheeks grow a slightly embarrassed red.

Idia hummed vigorously, the cookies giving him energy he usually never had. Smiling in a way that showed off his sharp teeth, he exclaimed, "Of course she is! She has a super high kindness stat, only her cuteness stat is higher..." A longing look flashed across his eyes, and once again, the tips of his hair flickered in a way that showed he was highly touched by your kind gesture.

It had been weeks since he had invited you over for a gaming session, and he thought you had forgotten about him already when he kind of started ignoring you. Why he started to avoid you? He was growing a crush on you, and being in your presence just reminded him of how you would never love him back because — well, that's just how Idia's mind works.

Ortho hummed, snapping his brother out of his trance. "How about you make her something, too? Since she was so kind to bake you cookies."

"Oh?" Idia perked up curiously and began to stare at his brother with a growing grin on his lips. Soon, that typical evil gremlin grin appeared on his lips, and he clasped his hands together. "You look like you're up to something, Ortho."

Ortho let out a cheerful giggle as he not so innocently asked, "You know how Hades kept Persephone bound to him in the old myths and legends?"

Idia rolled his eyes at his brother's question, continuing to munch on some more of the delicious cookies you had baked him. "Of course I know. He gave her six pomegranate seeds to eat," he said while chewing. Still, that scheming-look never disappeared from Ortho's face, and soon, realisation dawned upon the older brother. Swallowing, Idia jumped up from his chair in excitement once again. "Are you suggesting— are you suggesting that I act like Hades and give her pomegranate seeds to eat so she'll have to stay with me?"

Ortho clapped his hands together proudly. "Indeed!"

Idia hummed in agreement, stroking his chin, deep in thought. He never remembered making his brother so smart, but he sure was proud of him. Exhaling, Idia muttered, "I mean... Hades was a pretty cool guy—" Throwing the last piece of cookie into his mouth, Idia clasped his hands together. "Alright, I've made up my mind! Wanna help me make pomegranate candy, Ortho?"

"Of course!"

•••

"Did he like my cookies, Ortho?" you asked as the robot boy led you down the corridors of the Ignihyde dorm, your destination being your friend Idia's room.

It had been exactly one day already ever since you had asked Ortho to deliver your cookies to Idia, and you definitely didn't expect a following invitation the next time you met Ortho. It's been long since the dorm leader had invited you over; ever since a few weeks, he had begun to act weirdly, always avoiding you whenever he possibly could.

You had wondered if he was alright; so, after weeks of hearing nothing from him, you had asked his cheerful brother to deliver him a batch of your cookies he used to love. And it seemed like your plan was working if you were being invited over again! To say you were ecstatic was an understatement.

Ortho nodded vigorously as he grabbed you by your hand to drag you along even quicker. "Yes! He was so touched by the gesture that he made something for you, too!"

"Oh, he didn't have to!" you exclaimed as you tried your best to not trip over your own feet. Yet, a smile crept onto your face, and your heartbeat quickened. "That's so nice of Idia."

"Right? Big Brother is so nice," Ortho chirped, his eyes closed in utter delight. Once you reached your destination, you were very much out of breath while Ortho looked completely unfazed. Ignoring your heavy breathing, the boy knocked against the door with an excited bounce to his moves. "Hello? Idia, I bring you (Y/n)!"

You laughed when you heard a lamp crashing to the floor from the other side of the door. Ortho snickered along, and you shot one another an amused glance as you waited for Idia to open the door.

Finally, the door was pulled open, but only to reveal a shy pair of two eyes reminding you of liquid gold. Idia looked like he wanted nothing more than to slam the door close again when he caught a glimpse of you standing on his doorstep. Yet, he took one deep breath before pulling the door open completely for you to enter.

You shot him a thankful smile whilst you walked past him. Your eyes drifted across the room, wondering if a lot had changed throughout the weeks you hadn't been in here. And to be frank, not much had changed; you could still see the empty bags of chips he had stuffed under his bed in a hurry to clean up — ah, just like usually.

Taking a deep breath, you finally turned around to look at the inhabitant of the room. "Hello, Idia!" you chirped, causing the boy to jump like a criminal caught in the act. You furrowed your eyebrow when he tensed up and slowly turned around to face you. "How are you?"

Idia tried to keep his anxiety under control as he led you over to his desk, gesturing you to sit down in his fancy gaming chair. You happily did so, albeit with surprise on your face since he usually never let anyone take up his throne.

Idia, rubbing his neck sheepishly, replied with a few stutters here and there, "I-I'm fine, thanks for asking." Silence occupied his room afterwards; you didn't really mind it, but Idia felt like he would die of awkwardness if he didn't somehow say something. So, a little bit helpless, he finally raised his gaze to look you in the eyes. "Uhm... how are you?"

A smile appeared on your face as your eyes finally met. "I'm good myself!" Your smile grew even wider as you tilted your head to the side curiously. There still was a question you needed to ask that couldn't be pushed down for later any longer. So, deciding that now was the time, you casually remarked, "I was super shocked when you invited me over."

Idia froze at your words, a thousand thoughts flashing across his mind in less than a few seconds. "Was it not appropriate?" he asked slowly, wringing his hands together with an embarrassed frown on his face. A shudder ran down his back as you eyed him like a hawk — when in truth, you were just worried by his nervous behaviour.

You shook your head and extended a hand to put it on his shoulder. The gesture caused the tips of his hair to flicker slightly, and a blush made its way to his face. "No, actually, it's been a long time since you've had me over in your room," you said softly, as to not startle him. "You've just been so busy lately, and I didn't want to disturb you."

Idia flinched when he noticed the slightly hurt shimmer in your eyes. Immediately raising his hands to wave them around to further support his words, he yelled out, "A-Ah no! You're always welcome!" The amusement in your eyes made him calm down, soon, and be slightly be embarrassed, too. Gulping down the fear stuck in his throat, he finally grabbed a box openly laying on his desk and held it out to you. "As an apology, I've made you some candy. Gummies with pomegranate flavour."

Your eyes lit up as you eagerly took the box out of his hands. His fingers slightly brushed against yours as the exchange took place, and Idia felt like he was melting into a puddle at your slightest touch ghosting over his skin.

"Really? Thanks so much!" You flashed him a smile whilst popping the lid off to find teardrop-shaped gummies in an enchanting colour of deep red neatly placed inside. Your jaw fell down at the sheer craftsmanship of these sweets. Looking up at Idia, you marvelled, "They look amazing."

"It's pomegranate flavour—" he explained, unable to help a grin to form on his lips. The anticipation taking over his mind so suddenly caused the shyness to go away, and he became a lot more confident as he urged you to eat one. "Go on, try one! Or six!"

You hummed and took one out of the little box, raising it into the air to let the ceiling lamp's light shine through. Idia watched impatiently as you observed the treats he had made for you; an evil gremlin grin made its way to his lips at the thought of you not knowing what you were about to get yourself into. You where his Persephone, indeed.

"Hm! They do look delicious." Finally, you popped the very first gummy into your mouth, chewing on it curiously and letting the flavour coat your taste buds. After you swallowed, you exclaimed, "And they taste wonderful!"

Idia clasped his hands together, watching you from behind his intertwined fingers as you ate gummy candy after gummy candy. He was happily counting each piece you devoured with a bright smile on your face.

Once you finally reached your sixth one, Idia let out the laughter he had tried to push down so hard. "Hehe—"

You were about to plop another gummy candy in your mouth, but stopped when you laid eyes on his suspicious grin. Furrowing your eyebrows, you threw the sixth one into your mouth. "You have that evil grin on your face, Idia," you commented, growing slightly suspicious when he stalked closer to you with a satisfied shimmer in his eyes. "Is something the matter?"

Idia took a deep breath as he nodded with energy unmatched for his usually so tired self. "Since you've already eaten five or so, I guess I can tell you of my genius plan." Your gaze remained confused, not understanding too much of his mad blabbering. Idia rolled his eyes while he asked, "Do you know the myth of Hades and Persephone? How he gave her six pomegranate seeds to keep her bound to him?"

Your eyes lit up. "Oh yeah. I know that one."

Idia hummed as he let his fingertips run across your cheek, startling you slightly. He seemed like a completely different person; but fret not, it was just the excitement of you spending time with him getting to his head.

"And well, since you just ate the food I offered to you, you'll have to stay with me for..." He tapped his chin with his unoccupied hand. "You ate six gummies, that means six months!"

Quirking an eyebrow at his rather overcomplicated yet adorable plan, you found it hard not to break out into laughter. Instead, you casually popped another gummy candy into your mouth. "Okay, cool," you muttered as you shot him an unbothered smile.

Idia's eyes widened as he bolted away from you out of surprise. "Why are you still eating more?" he yelled, watching you like you were a mad woman. "Now you have to stay seven months with me—"

You found his growing despair amusing when you ate in the eight gummy candy that afternoon. "Oh, they're delicious." Shooting him a mischievous smile, you added a quick, "And I don't mind spending time with you."

Idia's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "You don't mind?"

You shook your head as you rose to your feet to approach him. He inched away from you, afraid of your invincibility against his little scheme he had thought out and planned so carefully. Soon, he stood there with his back pressed against the wall.

Idia feared for the worst, yet all you did was plant the empty box of gummy candies into his hands. "No, you're really fun to talk to! And playing games with you is super fun," you said as you put your hands on his, causing his cheeks to flame up. "So, do you have more of these gummies?"

"Lilia, Silver!" You almost jumped when the penetrating and shrill voice reached your ears, wincing and covering your poor ear with your free hand. Malleus furrowed his eyebrows in worry and pulled you closer to him after turning around to sense the presence of his three retainers. "I think I heard them over here!"

"Oh no— they're coming to catch us again, Mal-Mal!" you cried out helplessly. "What should we do?"

Malleus puffed his chest out, suddenly effortlessly adopting the role of the perfect leader. Your attention lay purely on him as he put his other hand on his hip and exclaimed, "Don't worry, I'll protect you." His words caused you to giggle and bury your face in the fabric of his jacket to conceal your bashful embarrassment in form of a blush. There was no time left to waste as he dragged you forward by your hand, causing you to stumble slightly. "Let's go hide behind this bush!"

"You're so smart, Mal-Mal!" you muttered, your voice as quiet as possible despite your excitement, as you followed him like a lost puppy.

A large smile appeared on the boy's face, and he rubbed his neck sheepishly at your compliment. "Oh, I'm not— but if you say so..." he trailed off in an attempt to appear humble despite craving more praise and attention. Just as you were about to affirm your compliment, he turned around to you and put his pale index finger to his lips. "Now, hush!"

Just as you two vanished behind a large bush, three students rounded the corner to the courtyard, their eyes roaming the place for the two children that had just escaped their reach. Sebek was breathless, his hands resting on his knees while his chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. Silver yawned and trailed after his junior in a slow pace, only followed by Lilia, who was carrying around a camera with him, always on guard.

"Sebek, I'm getting tired of all this running around..." Silver muttered and began peeling off the wrapper of some chocolate-coffee candy he held in his hands. As he popped the treat into his mouth and began chewing slowly, he rolled his eyes at the sight of Sebek running around like a headless chicken. "I'm sure they'll come back to the Diasomnia dorm once they've had their little adventures..."

Sebek immediately stopped in his tracks to shoot the human the most intimidating glare he could muster, but the second-year wasn't easily threatened and merely kept on chewing calmly. "Silver, how dare you say that? What if something happens to the young master?!" he cried out and turned to the bat fae searching the nearby bushes for their targets. "Lilia, you surely see my reasoning, do you not?"

Lilia perked up and shot Sebek a sheepish smile. "Well, I'm just here to snap a few pictures once we manage to find them," he murmured as he trailed back to the two students in the centre of the courtyard. "But you're chasing them away with your screaming, dear Sebek."

Just as Sebek was about to reply with an offended frown on his face and an apology ready to be voiced, his pointed ears perked up, and his pupils grew until they almost covered his entire irides. "Wait." Almost as if he turned into a robot, he slowly set foot before foot and wandered off like a mindless zombie. "I know where they are. My young-master-senses are tingling..."

Silver slapped himself. "Oh Sebek..."

Yet, Sebek ignored his two fellow dorm-mates as he led the way to what he thought was the location of his young master. Silver and Lilia followed wordlessly after exchanging a funny glance with one another. And much to their surprise, they indeed found the two children standing under a gazebo after having waded through a sea of bushes and greenery. Sebek threw his hands into the air triumphantly and yelled out, "They're right—"

"Hush, Sebek!" Lilia hissed angrily while clamping his hand over Sebek's mouth. "Do not let them know we're here!"

Malleus had suggested that you two take a little break in the beautiful and intricate gazebo that you had stumbled upon, thinking it was the perfect time to finally tell you what he always wanted to say. It was now or never as he held your hands in his, his grasp soft yet desperate, and looked you deeply in the eyes — as if he was gazing right into your soul.

"(Y/n)," he whispered coarsely, "I really really like you."

The innocent smile on your lips didn't waver as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "I like you, too, Malleus!" you replied, laughing happily. Malleus appeared relieved and delighted, but that quickly changed when your eyes fluttered open again and you continued. "You're my bestest friend here in Twisted Wonderland!"

Malleus' smile immediately slipped off his face, now replaced by a sheepish frown. A sigh escaped his lips, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. "No, no... I don't just like you as a friend..." he muttered shyly, all the while avoiding direct eye-contact. "I like you— more than a friend would."

"Oh..." Your eyes soon lit up in realisation. Once you understood what he meant, you got onto your toes and carefully pressed your lips against his pale cheek. Your gesture caused a soft gasp to escape his lips, and his hand immediately shot up to touch the place where your lips had met his skin. Giggling, you tilted your head to the side. "Like that?"

"Indeed—" he stuttered out, a silly smile on his lips. "Like that."

You immediately shot forward and wrapped your arms around him. With how he was one head taller than you, you had no other option but to rest your head against his shoulder and happily cry out, "Oh, you love me, Mal-Mal!" He eagerly wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose in your (E/c) hair, exhaling in delight. His eyes fluttered open again when your mischievous snickers reached his pointy ears. "I love you, too."

Malleus couldn't believe what you had just said. "You do?"

"I do!"

"Then how about we get married?" he asked excitedly, his eyes as bright as the sun above you was. He once again grabbed your hands and ran his thumbs over the back of your hands, unable to keep calm and silent any longer. "We'll be husband and wife, king and queen—"

"I'd love to marry you, Mal-Mal!" you replied eagerly. With a large smile on your lips, you pointed to the back raven that sat perched on the railing of the gazebo, watching you with curious golden eyes. "The raven here can be the priest."

"And these squirrels," he added, "can be our guests."

"Then let's do it!"

With you two so distracted and enamoured with one another, you didn't realise that a certain bat fae sat crouched behind the bush next to the gazebo. Lilia couldn't help but snicker to himself as he proudly exclaimed, "Do you take (Y/n) as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

Malleus nodded with a red and warm face. "Yes, I do."

Lilia hummed and clasped his hands together. "And do you take Malleus as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

"Sure, sure!" you yelled out, a carefree smile on your lips.

Lilia was giddy with excitement, having to cover his mouth with his hands in fear that he would accidentally laugh and wheeze too loudly. "I now pronounce you husband and wife," he pressed out between giggles. "You may kiss the bride— on the cheek, of course."

This time, it was Malleus that eagerly leant forward and pressed a shy kiss to your cheek, causing you to giggle sheepishly. When he straightened his back again, he looked down at you with a fond smile on his lips. "Now we are husband and wife! Nothing shall part us any longer, my treasure."

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, too. "Let's be together forever, Mal-Mal!"

Sebek stood out in the open, dumbfounded. "...what do we tell them once they're back to normal?" he asked fearfully.

"Lilia, Silver!" You almost jumped when the penetrating and shrill voice reached your ears, wincing and covering your poor ear with your free hand. Malleus furrowed his eyebrows in worry and pulled you closer to him after turning around to sense the presence of his three retainers. "I think I heard them over here!"

"Oh no— they're coming to catch us again, Mal-Mal!" you cried out helplessly. "What should we do?"

Malleus puffed his chest out, suddenly effortlessly adopting the role of the perfect leader. Your attention lay purely on him as he put his other hand on his hip and exclaimed, "Don't worry, I'll protect you." His words caused you to giggle and bury your face in the fabric of his jacket to conceal your bashful embarrassment in form of a blush. There was no time left to waste as he dragged you forward by your hand, causing you to stumble slightly. "Let's go hide behind this bush!"

"You're so smart, Mal-Mal!" you muttered, your voice as quiet as possible despite your excitement, as you followed him like a lost puppy.

A large smile appeared on the boy's face, and he rubbed his neck sheepishly at your compliment. "Oh, I'm not— but if you say so..." he trailed off in an attempt to appear humble despite craving more praise and attention. Just as you were about to affirm your compliment, he turned around to you and put his pale index finger to his lips. "Now, hush!"

Just as you two vanished behind a large bush, three students rounded the corner to the courtyard, their eyes roaming the place for the two children that had just escaped their reach. Sebek was breathless, his hands resting on his knees while his chest rose and fell in an uneven rhythm. Silver yawned and trailed after his junior in a slow pace, only followed by Lilia, who was carrying around a camera with him, always on guard.

"Sebek, I'm getting tired of all this running around..." Silver muttered and began peeling off the wrapper of some chocolate-coffee candy he held in his hands. As he popped the treat into his mouth and began chewing slowly, he rolled his eyes at the sight of Sebek running around like a headless chicken. "I'm sure they'll come back to the Diasomnia dorm once they've had their little adventures..."

Sebek immediately stopped in his tracks to shoot the human the most intimidating glare he could muster, but the second-year wasn't easily threatened and merely kept on chewing calmly. "Silver, how dare you say that? What if something happens to the young master?!" he cried out and turned to the bat fae searching the nearby bushes for their targets. "Lilia, you surely see my reasoning, do you not?"

Lilia perked up and shot Sebek a sheepish smile. "Well, I'm just here to snap a few pictures once we manage to find them," he murmured as he trailed back to the two students in the centre of the courtyard. "But you're chasing them away with your screaming, dear Sebek."

Just as Sebek was about to reply with an offended frown on his face and an apology ready to be voiced, his pointed ears perked up, and his pupils grew until they almost covered his entire irides. "Wait." Almost as if he turned into a robot, he slowly set foot before foot and wandered off like a mindless zombie. "I know where they are. My young-master-senses are tingling..."

Silver slapped himself. "Oh Sebek..."

Yet, Sebek ignored his two fellow dorm-mates as he led the way to what he thought was the location of his young master. Silver and Lilia followed wordlessly after exchanging a funny glance with one another. And much to their surprise, they indeed found the two children standing under a gazebo after having waded through a sea of bushes and greenery. Sebek threw his hands into the air triumphantly and yelled out, "They're right—"

"Hush, Sebek!" Lilia hissed angrily while clamping his hand over Sebek's mouth. "Do not let them know we're here!"

Malleus had suggested that you two take a little break in the beautiful and intricate gazebo that you had stumbled upon, thinking it was the perfect time to finally tell you what he always wanted to say. It was now or never as he held your hands in his, his grasp soft yet desperate, and looked you deeply in the eyes — as if he was gazing right into your soul.

"(Y/n)," he whispered coarsely, "I really really like you."

The innocent smile on your lips didn't waver as you gave his hands a gentle squeeze. "I like you, too, Malleus!" you replied, laughing happily. Malleus appeared relieved and delighted, but that quickly changed when your eyes fluttered open again and you continued. "You're my bestest friend here in Twisted Wonderland!"

Malleus' smile immediately slipped off his face, now replaced by a sheepish frown. A sigh escaped his lips, causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. "No, no... I don't just like you as a friend..." he muttered shyly, all the while avoiding direct eye-contact. "I like you— more than a friend would."

"Oh..." Your eyes soon lit up in realisation. Once you understood what he meant, you got onto your toes and carefully pressed your lips against his pale cheek. Your gesture caused a soft gasp to escape his lips, and his hand immediately shot up to touch the place where your lips had met his skin. Giggling, you tilted your head to the side. "Like that?"

"Indeed—" he stuttered out, a silly smile on his lips. "Like that."

You immediately shot forward and wrapped your arms around him. With how he was one head taller than you, you had no other option but to rest your head against his shoulder and happily cry out, "Oh, you love me, Mal-Mal!" He eagerly wrapped his arms around you and buried his nose in your (E/c) hair, exhaling in delight. His eyes fluttered open again when your mischievous snickers reached his pointy ears. "I love you, too."

Malleus couldn't believe what you had just said. "You do?"

"I do!"

"Then how about we get married?" he asked excitedly, his eyes as bright as the sun above you was. He once again grabbed your hands and ran his thumbs over the back of your hands, unable to keep calm and silent any longer. "We'll be husband and wife, king and queen—"

"I'd love to marry you, Mal-Mal!" you replied eagerly. With a large smile on your lips, you pointed to the back raven that sat perched on the railing of the gazebo, watching you with curious golden eyes. "The raven here can be the priest."

"And these squirrels," he added, "can be our guests."

"Then let's do it!"

With you two so distracted and enamoured with one another, you didn't realise that a certain bat fae sat crouched behind the bush next to the gazebo. Lilia couldn't help but snicker to himself as he proudly exclaimed, "Do you take (Y/n) as your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

Malleus nodded with a red and warm face. "Yes, I do."

Lilia hummed and clasped his hands together. "And do you take Malleus as your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish until death do you part?"

"Sure, sure!" you yelled out, a carefree smile on your lips.

Lilia was giddy with excitement, having to cover his mouth with his hands in fear that he would accidentally laugh and wheeze too loudly. "I now pronounce you husband and wife," he pressed out between giggles. "You may kiss the bride— on the cheek, of course."

This time, it was Malleus that eagerly leant forward and pressed a shy kiss to your cheek, causing you to giggle sheepishly. When he straightened his back again, he looked down at you with a fond smile on his lips. "Now we are husband and wife! Nothing shall part us any longer, my treasure."

You nodded and pressed a kiss to his cheek, too. "Let's be together forever, Mal-Mal!"

Sebek stood out in the open, dumbfounded. "...what do we tell them once they're back to normal?" he asked fearfully.

Still, he needs more.

Needs to be able to take refuge in the comfort of your warmth. Always a safe harbour in a sea of otherwise harsh terrain in his criminal life. Your soft words and kind eyes. An untrained medical student with more raw talent than half the nurses in Tokyo, and who only drabbles in the shallows of your gifts to heal and help.

Your head shakes in disapproval. Still, there's a smile on your lips, and so Mikey knows that you're not actually annoyed at his silent insistence. Pausing for a moment, your bottom lip rolls indecisively between your teeth.

Then, you move. Fingers flit up his chest, and the hem of his black shirt falls again. They trail teasingly across the fabric covering his skin, drawing soft patterns of spirals and twists. And then, with soft insistence, you tap the underside of his chin with your index finger. Those hollow onyx eyes like black holes that could destroy an entire galaxy, rise to meet yours.

"You should rest," you tell him softly.

He guides you closer. Your knees hit the edge of the bed, and then - despite your protests - you are atop his lap, knees pressed at either side of his hips. Mikey's hands slide around your body to rest on the small of your back. He can feel the warmth of your skin under your simple blue dress. Can sense how your breathing hitches slightly, increasing as the muscles in his arms bunch, and then he rolls.

You are guided down underneath him, hair fanned upon the mattress.

"Mikey," you warn - fingers pressing lightly against his chest. "No. You should get some sleep."

His lips brush over yours. "I don't want to."

Despite it all, that makes you laugh softly. He can feel the vibrations. How they pass from his chest to yours. The soft sounds of your voice are warm and reassuring. Your breath tickles his cheek - gentle and sweet. It breaks something in him.

He lowers once more, and his mouth captures yours in a firmer kiss. Yoyr hand pressed warning against his strong torso relents, and reaches up. It curls around the front of his black shirt. Then, you're pulling him closer and leaning up into the embrace.

Your body feels so very human under his. Your breathing is deeper. More hoarse. He can feel the increased beat of your heart as you tug at his shirt. He rises to pull it off without a second thought.

Gentle hands trace the scars along his stomach. They're twisted. Marred deep into the flesh. As carved and rigid as rockface. Your eyes fill with sadness and sympathy as you drink them in - just as they do each time that you catch sight of his old wounds. It only makes him softer further.

You're much different to the others of this world.

He once asked if you ever wanted to go to overseas; to learn true medical technology under the tutelage of the world's best doctors. You'd only laughed, and asked who would tend to him if you were to leave.

No. You don't crave knowledge or power. You barely seem to crave anything. Except in moments like this, when your pupils are blown and Mikey knows that you crave him.

A short growl leaves his lips. Calloused hands disappear under the skirt of your dress, and his fingers guide the undergarments down your legs. Outside, a cold breeze shakes the window shutters. You shiver - but not entirely from the cold. Void-like eyes burning, Mikey lowers himself between your legs. His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip hungrily.

A cry bursts from within as he lowers to lick a firm strip up your bare cunt. Your fingers grasp wildly. Tangling in his silver hair and tugging at the roots as you strain, while Mikey's hands wrap around your thighs to hold you down. He presses in further. Nose pushed against you, and the touch sends bolts of electric pleasure tingling through your veins.

He teases your clit with firm licks that delve within. His mouth purses around your cunt - sucking and lapping. Those slitted pupils fix on your face as you moan and arch against him, riding the twists and delves of his confident tongue.

Mikey hums under his breath again - low and pleased, and continues to play through the increasing wetness of your folds. Your own arousal is coming quicker. It's tart on his tongue, and spills down his chin. Still, the Bonten leader can't quite get enough.

His cock throbs inside of his pants. Already, it's rapidly, almost painfully hard. The type of ache that can only be sheathed by a merciless plough inside of your hot cunt. Still, Mikey is just enough of a gentleman to hold back until you've come first.

He chases you there in a way that is both fervent and unyielding. His burning tongue pushes in and out of your cunt - savouring the taste and the noises that you make - before swirling so playfully against the exposed bundle of nerves at your center.

The sensations are delicious. Building and building. Driving you higher, until you shattered onto him with a wavering keen.

Only then does Mikey moves upward.

Slick shines upon his chin, and his dark eyes flare before welding his mouth against your own. Your arms wrap around his shoulders. His hands lower to fumble with the catch of his belt, pushing down his black pants. The thick swell of his cock throbs as he wraps a hand around it - pumping once in preparation.

Still draped upon the bed below, a smile twists your lips at the sight. Your legs spread further in invitation. He can see your cunt ready for him. How it glistens with a mix of his saliva and your arousal. The sight makes his throat draw tight. But it reels him in too, makes him tingle as if an enemy was near, and Mikey lowers once more with haste, but this time so that his face is level with your own.

Your hips lock around his pale waist. His right forearm braces beside your head, just as his left tightly grips the curve of your hip. There's a wet smear as the head of his cock trails up your inner thigh. But then, Mikey's swollen tip lines up at the heated entrance to your cunt. He hovers above, savouring the way that you try to move your hips down - desperate to gain the friction.

"Do you want it?" he murmurs, revelling in the teasing.

"Yes" Your voice is distorted when you answer. Breathy and high-pitched. "Fuck, Mikey. Please."

His lips twist into a snarl. Those dark eyes flare. Your toes curl as he pushes in, rough shoulder jarring against your chest, and his angular face burying in the crook of your neck. His cock spears through you. Hard. Insistent, and utterly unyielding. It has your fingers rake down his back. Nails inward, and almost claws as they leave raised lines in his skin.

He doesn't pause.

Why would he?

After all, Mikey knows how you like it by now.

Knows that you might be the sweet little medic of Bonten with a smile like sunlight and a voice gentle enough to heal his wounded men, but you are different in these moments. Not so innocent. More needy and demanding - insatiable for his body and the swift fit of his leaking cock.

The rhythm of his hips is hard. Fast. Merciless as his mouth hungrily seeks out yours while he rams you into the bed. The drag of his cock sends firey tremors through your folds. It's hard to think past the motions. How swiftly he fills and unfills you, alongside the many grunts that hitch from his chest.

Springs groan within the mattress. The headboard begins to thud against the wall.

His kiss is a hungry clash of teeth and tongue. Below, Mikey can feel how sweat warms your skin as you fight to hold on. A normal human can't match Invincible Mikey's pace. You let him lead now. Maybe you'll climb atop him when the soft light of the morning sun rises and take him at your own leisure - just as a morning treat.

But for now, there's naught to do except let Mikey take you. He buries himself inside. So deep within that you can feel the dull throb of pain as he pounds through your core. It's enough to warp every torn breath into a ragged cry. They hitch in your lungs with ease drag of his throbbing cock.

The wound upon his side finally starts to ache. It's a dull, radiating pain - enhanced by the tear of your carefully applied stitches.

Yet, Mikey grits his teeth and hurries on. Continuing to pound steadily. Burying himself right into your core until your fingers ache from how tight you clutch him and you're dimly afraid that your bed will break.

Each stroke of his hips is just as even and rough as the last. The thrusts boil the simmering heat gathering in the pit of your stomach. Has you whimpering as he continues to fill you sharply, and to pull it taut. The headboard thunders against the wall now. Striking with such force that one could swear that a storm is here.

It overwhelms you. Shatters rational thought and leaves you with only the feral urge to sink your teeth into the blade of his shoulder and rock back against him harder. Your cunt throbs as you just know that you'll be so very sore tomorrow.

And then, one hard push of his length against just the right spot has you crying out as you hurtle over the edge.

The sounds that you make has his remaining semblance of composure flee. The way that you tighten around him makes his cock pulse achingly. It's too much. All of it. Your face, the growing pain in his side, and your needy whines as you come undone - flexing tightly around him.

He held you tight, fucking you even through your spasms. Your cunt fluttered around him, squeezing and pulling him in deeper each time he thrusts, and he was unsure of how much longer he could possibly last.

"Mikey! —s’too much," you gasped, your whole body left trembling.

It topples his control right over the edge, and Mikey can't hold back any longer. He spurts - releasing inside of you with a low, reverberating groan.

You're holding on to him just as firmly as he is. Allowing him to fill you up while you hold him close to your chest and then letting him relax and take a breath following. It's not the like the Invincible Mikey requires a long time to recover (This is common knowledge between the two of you).

A groan leaves his lips as he finally draws back, hovering above. Your gentle hand smooths back strands of white hair from his brow, and a wry smile twists your lips. Those warm, familiar eyes regard him fondly. It's a soft look. More affectionate and fond than he is used to often receiving.

It fades slightly as your gaze flickers away - a sudden thought visibly passing over your eyes.

"When do you need to go?" you ask, low and a little despondent. But you understand it a lot. A leader of a criminal organization is packed full of responsibilities. Negotiations and missions here and over there. Left and right.

The smirk he gives in response is knowing. "Not for another few days." It's nice to know that you'll miss him. He pauses then, just for a few moments. "That is, as long as you'll let me remain here a little longer to warm your bed."

You laugh at that. Teasing fingers reach up to playfully pluck at the necklace matching yours hanging from his chest. "Of course." You snag the pendant - grip wrapping around it firmly, and tug him down for another heated kiss. "We've got to make sure that your wounds have time to heal, after all."

And for a little while, Mikey forgets it all.

ʚ⁺˖↪ LEONA

Doesn’t even offer a surprised blink when you ask him. Instead, he simply motions you to lie on top of him on his bed, no further explanations given. Not very sure of what he has in mind but eager to find out, you make yourself comfortable on top, a folded leg on either side of him. Leona doesn’t offer anything more than a small grunt, and soon enough, you feel his hand land on the small of your back to angle your torso closer to his face. You brace the fall by quickly supporting yourself with your forearms against his pillow, but he had positioned you in a way that your chest was at level with his head. “How do you expect me to suck on your tits if you don’t come closer?” He’s so annoying, but you don’t linger too much on the thought because he hooks his fingers beneath your shirt and rolls it up, bunching it on top of your breasts. At the clear absence of a bra, Leona sends you an amused glance as he pinches a nipple between his fingers and rolls it. “You were eager for this to happen, weren’t you?” “Please, I know you’ll enjoy it as much.” Leona’s hand encloses around a breast, almost purring at the softness, before his tongue drags upwards in slow motion, your nub becoming taut from the stimulation. Without letting go of you, he opens his mouth wide to taste more than just your nipple, tongue tracing around the areola and savoring you. Soon, he finds himself seeking more, growing greedy and sucking at the sensitive spot—not covert enough in how he keeps teasing you with his fangs each time he draws your nipple into his warm mouth, slathering more and more saliva the longer it goes.

ʚ⁺˖↪ JAMIL

Lips in a straight line and impassive eyes—Jamil’s expression hasn’t changed since you brought this up. However, the longer you look at him, expecting him to say something, you see his cheeks taint with a reddish hue. When you try to take a better look at him, he faces away and pretends to need to do something before retaking the conversation. He doesn’t get far with that little ploy, though, as you’re familiar with his tactics. He’s another one that needs a gentle push in these endeavors. Not because he’s timid (although there’s some level of unease given his limited experience with intimacy) but more so because of his tendency to hold back his desires. Nevertheless, it’s not too difficult to get him to plop on the velvety cushioning of his bed. At first, Jamil allows you to take the lead when you get on top of him and kiss him with the intention of alluring him. In some way, he’s like a cat that tolerates your advances as long as it’s within his terms yet the moment you tiptoe out of it, he readjusts the dynamic. Jamil’s rather sensual without meaning to in the way he caresses your body. His intention is to maintain a degree of self-control by first sliding his hands from your hips to your sides, lips pressing into the side of your neck. His lips are soft against the tender skin, taking his time to descend upon the exposed areas by your shirt. Ever the observant, Jamil considers that your enjoyment of him taking his time with you is a plus even if this gentleness comes from another intention. While garnering your reaction, his thumbs brush the sides of your breasts. “You might lose balance if you keep writhing like that.” “It’s hard not to when you’re touching me like this, you know?” His mouth is still attached to your skin when his hands snake under your clothes, feathering the tips of his fingers along your waist until his thumbs end up brushing your nipples. Despite it being a faint touch, it was enough to garner a breathless reaction from you, rewarding you with another trail of his fingers on them. Jamil massages them with upwards and downwards motions, alternating with circular caresses. It reaches a point you can’t hold it back any longer, and you take it into your hands to undo the buttons of your shirt, urging him to do something about the dizzying ache. Jamil’s aware of the speeding thrum of his heart at the sight but remains collected on the outside. His eyes are closed once again when he leans closer to you, lips fluttering down your collarbone and in the direction of the center of your chest, where he prefers to nuzzle his face while both hands get to work. He maps the overall shape of your breasts with his palms, the softness, and any textured blemishes that stand out to his digits. Once he’s had enough of it, then he latches onto that taut nub that has been standing for attention.

ʚ⁺˖↪ MALLEUS

You cried out his name like a prayer as he gave you the meanest backshots.

He was bullying his fat cock into you and you were enjoying it every bit. Tears started streaming down your eyes “A-Alyosha…! Oh God, Oh Godddd…Ahhhh!” You babbled.

“Fuckkkk, just shut up and take it…” Alyosha couldn’t see half of your face cause it was pressed down onto the wooden table but by the Archons, he was obsessed with the way your eyes were rolling to the back, it was so lewd that he made it his mission to fuck you more.

He let out a breathy chuckle “You feel me in there? Feel my cock in your fucking stomach?” 

His hand slapped your ass, leaving a red mark on it. Your eyes shot wide open “Fuck, fuck, fuckkkkk…Alyoshaaa!” You stared out the window, thinking how foggy and hot the cabin was compared to the cold weather Snezhnaya always had.

You pray to the Tsaritsa that no one can hear you.

𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐧𝐞𝐮𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐫. Aroura eyes have shut, squeezing shut as he gasps and whines beneath you. It's only your mouth, yet he's losing himself. He's got an arm tossed over his eyes, shielding him from the sight of your head bobbing and your spit dripping down his dick with the rest of his fluids.

He's sobbing, gasping for air, and bucking his hips, driven by his own confused instinct to just hurry up and cum. "Yuu," He calls, his voice pitching into another whine as he finally takes in the sight of you sitting on his chest, grinding your clothed cunt on whatever it can catch. "Please, let me..."

He's lost, hesitant to even touch you while you put him right on the edge of squealing when your tongue drags along the side of his shaft in juuust the right way to have him bucking his hips up. He can hear you gag when the tip hits the deepest part of your mouth, threatening to invade your pretty throat, but the sight of your cunt throbbing tells him that it's not nearly as big of a problem as he thinks it is.

"You're killing me." He mutters as he finally sets his hands on your hips and drags you to his mouth. "How can you tell me you want my babies and then just... fuck..." His words trail off when he finally gets himself a taste of the slick that's basically pouring out of you and forming a puddle in the dip between his pecs. Without putting too much thought to it, Silver pushes his tongue from his mouth, making such an obscene sound before pressing it flat to your hole.

The squeal that escapes you does not escape him, and he's quick to pick up on what you like, simply following what gets you louder, what makes you shake more, until he's gotten you to forget sucking his dick in favor of just enjoying the feeling beneath you.

Silver doesn't care about being forgotten, smelling you so up close and personally, tasting your arousal, getting to eat you out through the soaked fabric of your panties has him more than stimulated enough to last him a while. "Sil," You whimper, causing him to glance up and meet your teary eyes. "You can't just... mmph... don't stop."

Him? Stop? Are you kidding? He's having the time of his life, dragging you onto his face, hooking his arms around your thighs, holding you down while you grind your needy cunt along with his frankly sloppy ministrations. You can feel how sticky you've become, and every moment has you getting closer and closer, your voice growing louder and more pitched until you sputter and whine with the knot in your stomach snapping.

Silver listens to the way you whine his name, he feels your nails digging into his chest, and he just greedily slurps up whatever drips into his mouth. After several ragged breaths from yourself, your ears pick up on the sound of him talking once more. "Again?" He murmurs, lips brushing on your sensitive sex and breath fanned warm. "I wanna taste it without your clothes this time."

That first one damn near killed you, so of course you're parting from him with a whine and pulling down your panties. The sight of you, every bit of you, has him flushed and needy.

Whatever remains of your clothes are quickly taken off and tossed aside, carelessly forgotten on the floor to make way for the way you crawl back onto Silver. Admittedly, you wanted to just ride him, but his strong hands pull you by your hips until you're right back where you started. The only difference is that you face him properly, letting him make eye contact with you as he introduces himself with another flat press of his tongue.

He takes delight in the sight of your beautiful eyes rolling back into their sockets and your lips parting to release the first new wave of your beautiful moans. Dragging up, up, up, to your clit, Silvers tongue is replaced by his lips wrapping around the bud. You keen at the feeling of him sucking gently, even flicking the swelling bud with the tip of his tongue until you're bucking against his face and crying out.

"I thought you were a virgin!" You whine, and he pulls away, breathless as he replies "I am." and returns right back to his work like he was a homeless man offered to be paid a king's wage for the low, low effort of eating you out like it was his life's purpose.

You don't bother to question the why and just settle with accepting the mind-numbing bliss of being able to just sit on someone's face. Your chest rises and falls, but your gaze never leaves his, not until you're yet again slipping into the sweet hold of an orgasm.

If not for you physically pulling away from him, Silver would have simply continued on as he was. He whines when you do, brows furrowing and strong arms trying to hold you in place, but you shush him and pull away just enough to slide down his muscular body. You have no doubts that he could easily overpower you now that you get to see the extent of this warm, pale flesh you're craving to sink your teeth into.

"How long?" You murmur as you lean down, your breast squishing on his broad chest as you settle yourself on top of him. "Huh?" He grunts back, causing a faint giggle to form on your lips. "Until you fall asleep," You reply. "How long?"

Silver grunts in annoyance at being asked. He dislikes it, but the honest truth was that he was on the verge of passing out. You can see it in the way he fights telling you, his honesty warring with his pride until you lean in and close the gap for him. The taste of your juices, arousal and cum, mixed with his spit has you shuddering. With your kiss giving him a new spike of energy, Silver choses his first action by wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I love you." He murmurs as you pull away. "I love you too." You muse back.

While you have him occupied by another kiss, you reach one hand down, catching his still-hard dick and guiding it to your waiting cunt. Oh, how you've been eagerly awaiting this, the stretch of his cock filling you, the fullness you knew you'd get from him. "Oh!" You gasp, your breath hitching as you hunch your back and pull away from him. You're suddenly grateful for the prep work you've been doing in your dorm room over the last few days.

He's big, at least big enough to have you feeling fuller than you expected to be. But you love it, of course you do. "Yuu," Silver gasps, his own chest heaving as he sits up. He's barely holding it together, flushed and sweating, trembling as he tried not to thrust up into you. "Let me, please, I'll handle it."

For a moment, you don't think much of it. It's that moment he takes to gently brush his hand behind your ear and guide you down to his pillows. He's slow with you, watching every little reaction as he instinctively pulls your legs up onto his shoulders.

How you still believe he's a virgin, you don't know. That fact doesn't matter when he's hunched over you, tears in his eyes and grunts falling from him as easily as you sing when he begins to move. Slow at first, a careful drag out, and a roll back in, until he's figured you out. "Silver." You call, and he's responding immediately. "Ya?"

"Kiss me?"

"Yah... yeah, I mean, yeah."

Silver hadn't realized what he'd done, and that told you that he was actually serious about being a virgin. He leaned down, kissing you just like he would any other time, only to have you gasp and turn into a mess because he folded you in half in the process. "Ah, sorry." He sputtered, guilt quickly forming until you shake your head and drag him right back down.

Suddenly his guilt melts, turning into a firmer response as he picks up his pace to a blissfully mind-numbing rut you barely cling to your sanity because of. Your hands find his back, hooking under his arms the same way he'd been holding your thighs when eating you out. Silver barely seems to respond, merely grunting against your lips.

"Yuu, you're gonna hurt me." He mumbles, your only warning, which you thankfully have the sanity to respond to. "'m sorry!" The sound of your voice, a cry that is simply too beautiful to ignore has Silver in a chokehold. Those teary eyes, meeting his as he shifts just enough to fuck you a little harder, you have him whipped, now thrusting with abandon while you start egging him on just enough to remind you that you're currently in heat.

You're begging, telling him how close you are to cumming and sobbing about how much you wanna be a mama, how much you want his babies, promising to be a good little mate when he knows damn well it could very well ruin his life.

"You're a menace." He sighs, eyes closing as the knot settling into the base of his spine threatens to unravel with every word you say. He needs to shut you up, so he's right back to kissing you, but you respond with teeth. It's a shock, one that has him gasping and which you pounce on. Your tongue is in his mouth, dragging along his own and causing obscene little schlurps between the both of you.

"Cumming." Silver manages, though only barely when you keep chasing him every time he seeks air. "Inside!" You grunt back, unmoored by how demanding you sound. Silver merely whines back, his resolve to disobey as weak as his argument. "I'll get you pregnant."

"Good!" You huff, brows furrowing as you shift your legs to wrap around his waist, only to lock them and force him to stay buried inside you. Silver's head throws back while you wrap your arms around his neck, damn near making you look like a koala clinging to a branch.

Silver is rapidly losing it, echoing a pathetic little "'m cummin," like it's a mantra. You're right there with him, losing your mind while you lock him in balls deep and swallow every drop of his cum into your greedy womb. Silver's shaking, sobs wracking his body as he digs his hands into the sheets to keep from grabbing you too hard. You, on the other hand, are not satisfied for long.

"Again."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Did I stutter?"

"We just came."

"Is that a no?"

"Well... no."

─☆: .☽ . :☆─

Slowly chipping away at these drafts and requests lol. I am currently trying to maintain a 5-post-per-day momentum, so this is number one on day three. XD

Also, it turns out that I was, in fact, ovulating over the last two days.

Thank you for reading.

"Slow down?" He looked down at you in concern, letting go of your hand to carefully inspect the place on your head that you were holding. "Oh, was I walking too fast?" he asked. As if he was afraid of hurting you, he gently removed your hand to see if you were hurt. A frown snuck its way to his lips when you removed your wrist from his grip.

You shot him a sheepish smile that did well at consoling his heart. "Yeah, I have really short legs, so keeping up with your fast pace is a chore—" you explained, huffing and puffing while he only shot you an amused smile. Crossing your arms, you kept your gaze trained forward at Malleus' chest to relax your neck. "I really wish I was taller..."

"Oh, don't be all sad now," he cooed as he reached out to pat your head affectionately. Your cheeks grew red, and you began to smile at how nice your friend's gesture felt — that was until a smug grin appeared on his lips. "I prefer you being this small, anyway. It makes me feel more powerful, not as if I wasn't powerful to begin with."

"Malleus!" you cried out, ducking to evade his hand. "That's not making it any better..."

Grinning, he bent down so that his face was on your height. His glowing orbs kept you frozen in your moves. "I was just joking, little treasure. Although— Lilia once did tell me to work on my sense of humour..." he replied, tapping his chin with a slender finger before returning to his full height again. "Hmm... can I try another joke?"

Rolling your eyes playfully, you murmured, "Go ahead, sir comedian." Your arms crossed, you waited expectantly for what he would do next.

Malleus mentally ran through the jokes he had memorised from that book Lilia had gifted him a few decades ago. He hummed once he found just the right one. Clearing his throat, he shot you a sly smile. "Hey, Snow White called and asked when you were coming home." Once he finished, he kept his eyes trained on your face, waiting for a reaction. "What do you think?" He began to grow a little bit anxious when you silently furrowed your eyebrows.

Scratching your head, you slowly mumbled, "I don't think I understa—" You stopped dead in your tracks once realisation befell you like a cold bucket of water splashed right into your face. What came next, Malleus didn't expect: You wrapped your arms around his torso, and pressed your face into his chest. Muffled cries and laughter reached his ears as he gazed down to find you hugging him. "M-Malleus! You little genius!"

Surprise soon morphed into amusement as he wrapped one arm around your shoulders while the other one came to run through your hair. "Dear, are you alright?" he cooed, enjoying your sudden embrace.

It was hard to speak for you, but you managed to remove your face from his chest to wheeze out, "Snow White... calling for me because I'm a dwarf, pfff—" Your face disappeared back into his shirt as quickly as it had appeared. You kept on crying and laughing, and Malleus simply kept smiling.

Satisfied with your reaction, he kept patting your head as if you were a child. "Oh, my humour was a success—? I mean, of course it was a success!" Grinning smugly from ear to ear, he relished in the way you held him close to you. "Did you expect anything less from a fae prince?"

Wiping tears from your eyes, you pulled away to grab him by his wrist to resume your way to the library. "L-Let's just go to the library—"

"So, the book I need is around here..." you mumbled more to yourself than to Malleus as your gaze kept switching between the list in your hand and the gigantic bookshelf. Humming, your eyes darted left to right every time you finished looking through a row without the book in question inside. Your friend simply continued watching your concentrated expression, relishing in it. "Somewhere up there."

You got onto your toes, only for it to become glaringly obvious that you would never be able to reach the book you desired. Grinning, Malleus did a big side-step, so that he stood right behind you. Putting one hand to your waist — which evoked a gasp from your lips — he easily raised his other arm to tug the book out from the shelf.

"Do you want this, little treasure?" he asked as he stepped away from you again, dangling the book in the air in a certain height where you couldn't reach it. He playfully lowered and raised the book, watching in amusement as your eyes followed the object you wanted as if in a daze. "It's rude to not answer if I ask you a question, dear."

"Yes," you exclaimed as you snapped out of your trance. "Give it to me, please."

"If you ask me so nicely—" Malleus licked his lips playfully. "I couldn't possibly refuse you," he finished slyly as he finally felt merciful enough to lower the book to a height from where you could finally grab it. Snatching it from his fingers, you added it to the growing pile of books in your arms.

"Thanks! You're the best—" you chirped as you shot him a little wink before returning to walking down the isles, leaving Malleus a little bit disappointed after he had hoped things to go a step further. Inspecting the shelves a little bit farther down from the isle, you rubbed your chin. "...where's the one about potions... There it is!" Your gaze turned over to Malleus, who was trotting over to you with an annoyed frown on his lips. "Could you grab it for me?"

"Here you go," he mumbled as he grabbed the book from the tall shelf, handing it over to you. Somehow, you were so busy with inspecting the cover that you didn't notice that he was in a sour mood. This had been going on for almost an hour now! You walking around and asking him to grab random books from high shelves. You didn't even talk or look at him much, somehow much more excited for the books than him.

"Hmm... thanks, Malleus!" Adding it to the pile in your arms, you pointed to the book right next to the now empty space. "Could you also get me the one right to it?"

"Yes..." he trailed off as he nonchalantly did as you asked. Just as you were about to walk away again, he put a hand onto your shoulder to stop you. "But (Y/n), can I ask you something?"

"Of course!" Little did you expect him to grab the stack of books out of your hands and put them onto the table left to you. You were about to open your mouth to question what he was doing since your list of needed books was still quite long, but decided against it when you noticed just how sad his expression really was.

"You're just using me to get the books on the higher shelves you can't reach, aren't you?" Malleus asked, getting straight to the point. He narrowed his eyes when you started squirming like a guilty criminal under his glowering gaze.

"Well— uh..." you trailed off, a little bit embarrassed. "Kinda?"

Malleus sighed as he rubbed his temples in disappointment. "I don't mind helping you out... but I was looking actually forward to spending time with you because I thought you liked me," he explained, growing quieter the more he went on. Your heart sank at the way the corners of his lips seemed so heavy, drooping down with every passing second. Exhaling, he didn't dare to look into your eyes. "Maybe I just read the signs wrong?"

Furrowing your eyebrows, you had to get onto your toes to put a hand onto his shoulder. "I do like you, Malleus! I'm sorry for making you feel like I'm using you. It's just impossible for me to reach the higher shelves on my own—" you explained, wishing he would look you in the eyes like he always did. Never had you seen the great fae prince been so shy and sad. "Okay, so... how about you get me five more books and then we stop all of this to relax at some table?"

"Great!" Malleus immediately perked up again, staring into your eyes with such intensity that you were taken aback. He looked as if he had never been sad in the first place — oh, what a great actor he was. You pouted upon realising that you had been tricked by a fae. Flashing you a toothy grin that showed off his fangs, Malleus smoothly cooed, "Actually, I don't mind helping you — that is if you ask me nicely~"

Quirking an eyebrow, you decided to go along with it; for helping you out so much, he deserved it. "Wait, you want me to beg?"

Whistling an innocent tune, Malleus stared you dead into the eyes, challenging you. "Oh, did I say that?" he asked, trailing off smugly.

Laughing, you got onto your knees and pressed your hands against one another as if praying to some sort of god. You struggled to remember that pretentious title Sebek always told you to use for his young master. "Oh great Malleus Draconia-sama! Would you be so gracious and kind to lend me a hand, for I am too short to reach the higher shelves?" you exclaimed, sighing dramatically as you lowered your gaze to his shoes. "I'll give you anything should you help me, oh great Malleus Draconia-sama!"

Malleus looked very satisfied when you rose to your feet again, dusting off your knees. His hand shot forward to gently tilt your chin up, so that you had no choice but to look into his glowing eyes. "I shall be nice and help you out then, short one," he drawled, grinning.

"I appreciate that!" Smiling, you removed your face from his grip and returned to the stack of books that Malleus had earlier placed onto the nearby table. He appeared right next to you in a flash, leaning against the furniture with crossed arms. You shot him a little side-glance. "Since when are you so cheeky though..."

"Oh, there's some sides of me you don't know yet," he remarked with a haughty chuckle.

"Tsk..."

Wrapping his arms around you from the side, Malleus put his chin on top of your head — and even then he had to bend down slightly. You giggled slightly, playfully swatting his hands away that tightened around your waist the more you struggled. "It is quite advantageous to me that you're so short." His words caused a smile to appear on your lips, and you were about to thank him for his comforting words until he cooed, "Makes you look so helpless."

Gasping, you twirled around so that you could face him; sadly, your small height caused your face to be smothered into his chest instead. "Helpless?!" you yelled, albeit muffled, as you thrashed around. "I'm not—"

"Who just begged me for help?" he asked as he pressed a kiss to your scalp.

Ceasing your struggles, you simply uttered, "I hate you."

Merely chuckling, he asked in a sing-song voice, "I hate you~?"

"...oh great Malleus Draconia-sama..." you added, sighing with a little smile.

"That's better," he whispered as he removed his arms from around your waist, causing your unexpectant self to stumble back and almost land on your behind. His hand shot out with inhuman reflexes to wrap itself around your wrist, allowing you to regain your balance in the last minute. He merely chuckled when you glared at him. "Just joking, of course."

"Hmpf." You ripped your wrist out of his hold, and crossed your arms.

"Aww, come on." Malleus stalked closer to you again, tilting his head in a way that made you realise how you simply couldn't be angry at your precious dragon. "I'm just saying that you shouldn't be sad because of your height. It makes you much more precious and adorable and precious and charming and—"

"Malleus!" you exclaimed with red cheeks.

"I'm just speaking the truth." His teasing grin soon turned more serious as he searched for your gaze, and eventually found it. Gazing deeply into your eyes, he explained, "Your size makes it easy for other people to prey on you, but I won't let them, little treasure. If there are people who want to hurt you, your big dragon will be there to protect you."

His words caused you to giggle and swoon. "Malleus, have I ever told you how much I love you?"

The dragon fae visibly tensed as he gazed at you with wide eyes, wondering if he was misinterpreting things again. "...as friends or more than friends?" he asked with a shaky voice, desperately hoping that this wasn't just some sort of dream or illusion.

Laughing, you took one of his hands into yours, covering it with your smaller hands. "Duh, of course as more than friends! I meant it on a more romantic level," you explained shyly, evading his piercing stare. "I... can understand if that confession was kind of sudden — especially since I just used you for getting books from high shelves. But... do you accept my feelings?"

Malleus felt like fainting right then and there. This is the very moment he had practiced so hard for with Lilia! Finally — finally, his beloved had confessed her feelings to him! He felt overjoyed, so much that he simply wanted to whisk you away to some tower, and never let you go again. Despite his darkening thoughts, he replied, "Yes, my little treasure. I love you, too." His other hand extended to cover yours. Exhaling in relief, you shot him a shy smile. Suddenly, a little chuckle escaped Malleus' lips. "Well, all this talk about your height made me realise that I have another short people joke."

Malleus' announcement changed the mood to something more airy and light-hearted again. "Oh? Tell me!" you said giddily.

Smiling at your excitement, he took a deep breath before beginning, "The joke goes the following: 'Must be tough needing a step stool to kiss your boyfriend.'"

A mischievous spark appeared in your (E/c) eyes before you smugly smiled up at him. "Oh well—" You stepped a little bit closer to him. Grinning, you confidently exclaimed, "I can just jump!"

Malleus quirked an eyebrow in utter amusement. "That doesn't work—" He was shut up when you planted your hands onto his shoulders, and jumped up to shortly press your lips against his — careful not to use too much force to prevent the collision from being painful. Malleus closed his eyes instinctively when he felt your lips smashing upon his for just a brief time. "Alright, maybe it does work," he admitted when he noticed you removing your hands from his shoulders again. When his eyes fluttering open, insatiable hunger was revealed to you. "Now give me another kiss. I'm a greedy dragon."

Sticking your tongue out at him, you quickly rounded the corner to go hide in some other isle of the vast library. The pile of books on the table lay there forgotten. "Catch me if you can!" was the last thing the fae heard before you vanished from his sight.