A YA Author's Blog

5 You do something reckless and then smile about it You say “relax, I had a plan.” He hears: “I almost died, and I’d do it again, because I’m cute and unstoppable.” That smile? That grin you give when you know exactly what you did and you’re proud of it? That’s why he needs stress meds. And maybe a punching bag with your face on it. (Lovingly.)

6 You casually mention the girl he used to date You say it with a smirk, like it’s just some harmless teenage memory. But he doesn’t see her—he sees you. You, standing in the doorway that day. You, catching him with her, both of them half-undressed. And you looking at him like something cracked between you. Back then, you were off-limits. You were the girl he wasn’t allowed to want. So he wanted someone else. Easier. Safer. And now, years later, you bring it up like it’s nothing—while he’s still trying not to remember how badly he wished it had been you.

7 You weren’t his first kiss—but worse, he wasn’t yours It never comes up. Not out loud. But he remembers. Vividly. The hallway. The way your face lit up. The boy leaning in. You smiling. And Caleb—watching from across the room, fists clenched, jaw tight, playing the role of older brother when his whole body screamed mine. You never talk about it. But he never forgot. Never will. Because that moment should’ve been his—and someone else took it first.

8 You walk away during a fight, or shut down emotionally You call it “space.” He calls it “psychological warfare.” You shut down. He short-circuits. Nothing drives him more insane than trying to fix something while you’re actively ghosting him across the living room. He’d rather you screamed. Threw something. Anything. But this quiet? This distance? That’s the one thing he doesn’t know how to fight.

9 You cry—especially if it’s because of him And then he’s done. Game over. His spine straightens like he’s under military command and his entire soul just went through the paper shredder. You cry, and suddenly he’s the villain. You say “it’s not your fault,” but that doesn’t matter. He’s already rewriting the past and taking full responsibility. And yes, he’ll suffer in complete silence. Like a man.

10 You secretly try to uncover what he’s hiding from you You call it curiosity. He calls it a breach of protocol punishable by full emotional lockdown. You think you’re clever. He thinks you just walked into classified territory barefoot, blindfolded, and with a target on your back. You were never supposed to see that side of his world. And now that you have? He doesn’t know whether to yell, hold you, or lock you in a room with military-grade firewalls and a blanket.

🍎 Top 10 Things That Turn Caleb Into a Complete Fluff-Mess

You wearing his dog tags / uniform shirt / flight jacket Instant puddle. No chance. He sees you in his gear and his brain just... shuts off. All he can think is mine mine mine, and he gets this dumb, soft little smirk like he’s trying so hard not to combust.

You falling asleep on him—especially mid-conversation You’re curled into his side, mumbling something about dinner plans, and then: silence. He looks down, sees you asleep on his chest, and that’s it. Whole day ruined. Cancel all missions. He’s not moving.

You bringing him coffee exactly the way he likes it—without asking That quiet, thoughtful act? Hits him right in the soldier-shaped heart. He doesn’t even know how to process being taken care of, so he stares at the cup like it just proposed to him.

You absentmindedly touching him—fiddling with his fingers, tracing scars, playing with his hair He pretends he doesn’t care. He does. He cares so much he forgets how to breathe. Just turns into a warm, red-eared statue trying not to whimper.

You whispering “I trust you” or “I feel safe with you” in a soft moment Core memory unlocked. He stores that one like sacred intel. Will literally whisper it back to himself at 3 AM when he’s lying awake, missing you. It breaks him in the best way.

You clinging to him in your sleep / pulling him closer without waking up Caleb.exe has stopped functioning. He will lie perfectly still for HOURS if it means not disturbing that moment. Bonus points if you mumble his name while doing it.

You defending him when someone questions his methods or past He’s used to being the shield—not having someone stand in front of him. The second you raise your voice on his behalf? He falls in love with you all over again. Might even cry. Secretly.

You gently helping him out of his gear after a long day Soft hands on his buckles. A kiss to his shoulder. A low “You’re home now.” That’s how you make a Colonel melt. His fingers twitch like he wants to worship the ground you walk on.

You surprising him with something dumb and heartfelt, like a handmade gift or bad sketch of him He acts gruff—says “the hell is this, Pips?”—but then puts it in his locker or keeps it in his chest pocket for missions like it’s sacred treasure. Because it is.

You calling him “baby” / “handsome” / “sweetheart” when he least expects it He acts like it’s annoying. It is not annoying. It turns him into actual butter. If you do it with a teasing smile? He short-circuits. Might drop something. Might combust. Definitely blushes.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne’s Calm Snap Like a Microsurgical Thread

You ignore his instructions when you're sick You had a fever of 102°F. He left explicit care instructions—bed rest, fluids, minimal movement. You, sweating and glassy-eyed, decided this was the perfect time to rearrange the furniture. When he came home and found you dragging a bookshelf across the room “because the light felt wrong,” he genuinely considered sedating you. Not as punishment. As damage control. For both of you.

You order greasy fast food instead of going somewhere “nutritionally viable” He offered to cook. You said no. Twenty minutes later, you’re eating fries from a paper bag while half of it spills on his clean table. You grin. He stares. Not angry at the food. Angry because you rejected his precision, then settled for processed chaos.

You leave wet towels on the floor after every shower He’s not sure when it started. Day three? Day five? But every time he walks into the bathroom and steps into cold, soggy cotton, something in him fractures. You claim you “forget.” He suspects a psychological experiment.

You casually mention spending time with male friends You think it’s harmless. Lunch with Caleb. Training advice from Xavier. You light up when you talk about them—and that’s the problem. Zayne doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t raise a brow. But the sudden over-fixation on his email inbox says everything.

You receive a speeding ticket. Forty miles over the limit. You wave it off like it’s a funny little anecdote. He sits in absolute silence, calculating the stopping distance of your car vs. standard reaction time at that speed. You think he’s judging. He’s actually trying not to scream.

You poke his ass. Specifically, between the cheeks. You call it “affection.” He calls it “emotional terrorism.” He flinches like he’s been electrocuted, whips around with murder in his eyes—and you’re giggling like a gremlin. Later, you regret nothing, but your thighs may beg to differ.

When you diagnose him with internet psychology You’ve read one book on attachment styles and watched three reels about emotional unavailability. Now you’ve decided he has "clinical avoidant tendencies with a hint of fear-based control fixation." He stares at you, deadpan, like he's about to perform your autopsy.

You keep spoiled food in the fridge and expired meds in the cabinet You say “it doesn’t smell that bad” or “maybe it still works.” His eye twitches. His gloves are already on. He’s not even mad at you—he’s mad at entropy. You’ve become its agent.

You watch reality shows. About infidelity. Willingly. You claim it’s “just background noise.” But he walks in and hears someone scream “that’s not even your baby, Kyle!” and your eyes are glued to the screen. His soul briefly leaves his body.

You washed his white lab coat. With your pink unicorn pajamas. It’s not just the color. It’s the betrayal. The symbol of his clinical neutrality now smells like bubblegum and looks like cotton candy. You say it’s cute. He looks personally violated by the washing machine.

🩺 Top 10 Things That Make Zayne Soft Against His Will

You bring him lunch at the hospital He never asks. You just appear—arms full of neatly packed containers, face lit up like this isn’t the third double shift he’s worked this week. He complains about the timing. The smell. The disruption. And then eats every bite with frightening focus. You leave. He stares at the empty container like it’s proof someone still believes he’s human.

You quote him back to himself like a philosopher You remember something he said weeks ago—some throwaway line about time or structure or entropy—and you drop it casually in conversation, like it’s wisdom from an ancient text. He doesn’t know how to react. You turned his logic into poetry, and he’ll never recover from that.

You wear the little seal keychain he made He didn’t think you’d keep it. Let alone turn it into your everyday keychain. But there it is—always with you, worn smooth from touch. You twirl it absentmindedly while talking to him, never noticing the way his gaze lingers. Never realizing how something so small can hit him so hard.

You put a photo of the two of you on his desk It appears one day. No fanfare. Just… there. A moment frozen in light, sitting quietly beside his surgical reports and diagnostic schematics. At first, he moves it to the edge. Then back to center. Now it lives next to his pen. He doesn’t talk about it. But it’s the only object on that desk he wipes clean with his bare hand.

His work shirt smells like you You borrowed it that morning, wore it while dancing around the apartment with wet hair and no real purpose. Hours later, when he pulls it on between rounds, the scent hits him like a loaded memory. He short-circuits mid-button. Everything feels warmer than it should.

You leave your phone with him while you shower No password. No hesitation. You toss it into his lap with a breezy “can you clear out whatever’s making it lag?” and vanish behind steam. He sits there, phone in hand, suddenly trusted with everything. He opens nothing. But the fact that you’d let him? That’s the part that shakes him.

You ask for his opinion on minor discomforts A papercut. A weird freckle. A suspicious sneeze. You hold out your hand, utterly serious, asking what he thinks. It’s laughable. Ridiculous. And it absolutely wrecks him. You could ask a dozen others—but you ask him. Like he’s the one who makes things better.

You’re on top He likes control. Precision. Strategy. But when you climb into his lap, all instinct and fire, hands braced on his chest and lips already parted—his brain stops cooperating. There’s something about you taking the lead that makes him unravel. Quietly. Violently. Completely.

You argue with him about complex theories—and mean it You don’t just nod. You push back. You challenge. You quote sources he hasn’t thought about in years. You spark. You flare. And he watches, fascinated, lips twitching with something dangerously close to pride. No one does this. No one dares. But you? You never flinch.

You whisper “I love you” in your sleep It’s not loud. It’s not even clear. Just a faint breath in the dark, like a dream half-remembered. But he hears it. Every time. And though he never says a word in return—not while you're sleeping—his fingers tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to the only thing that matters.

🎨 Top 10 Things That Make Rafayel Absolutely, Irrevocably Annoyed at You

You told him his painting was “nice” You stood in front of a piece that cost him three sleepless nights, a minor existential crisis, and two broken brushes—and said “Nice.” Just like that. No gasp, no poetry, no tears. He aged five years on the spot. Somewhere in the distance, a violin cried for him.

You dragged him to a cat exhibit You thought it would be cute. Enrichment. A bonding experience. Instead, he spent the entire time perched on edge, eyes darting like prey. You said “they’re just kittens.” He said nothing. He was too busy making sure none of them came closer than ten feet.

You cleaned his studio You thought you were being helpful. But you moved The Pile. The sacred, unholy, perfectly calibrated mess. Now he can’t find his favorite brush, and also he’s deeply offended by how cheerful you looked doing it.

You didn’t reply to his messages for over an hour He sent three texts, one meme, and a “thinking of you 💭” voice note. You replied 67 minutes later with “sry was showering.” By then, he’d already decided you were breaking up with him, joining a cult, or possibly dead. He had a whole monologue planned. And now you’ve ruined it.

You cut your hair He loved your long hair. Adored it. Worshipped it. You showed up with a sharp little bob and said “it’s just hair.” It is not just hair. It is the collapse of a visual era. He’s still adjusting. And by adjusting, he means mourning with wine.

You made fun of his driving You muttered “technically, you were meant to let the tram go first” He muttered “technically, silence is golden.” His driving is instinct. Vibe. Energy. If you didn’t want drama, you shouldn’t have sat in the passenger seat of a man who parallel parks like he’s in a ballet.

You woke him up too early He went to bed at 4 a.m. because inspiration struck. You woke him at 7:12 like it was nothing, and said “you have that interview, remember?” He does remember. He also remembers specifically telling you that if he ever falls asleep before sunrise, you are to let him die peacefully, cancel all earthly obligations, and throw his alarm clock into the ocean where it belongs.

You hid your phone screen when a message came in You were probably teasing. Just being playful. But now he’s spiraling. Who was it? Why the secrecy? What do you have to hide? Congratulations—you’ve just activated his inner opera villain.

You got jealous Which is absurd. He’s the one who invented possessive affection. But you being jealous? That makes him unreasonably indignant. What do you mean you “didn’t like the way that gallery girl looked at him”? Of course she looked. But he didn’t see her. He saw you.

You burned the bacon You say “it’s fine.” He says it’s charcoal. The entire kitchen smells like culinary war crimes. And now he’ll have to burn incense and replant three garden beds to recover emotionally. Who even let you near the stove? Who hurt you? Was it… the bacon?

🎨 Top 10 Ways You Accidentally Turned Rafayel Into a Purring, Love-Drunk Work of Art

You massage his head He’s mid-rant. Arms crossed. Absolutely furious about the lighting in that gallery. And then your fingers slip into his hair—and just like that, the war is over. His entire body melts like he’s been tranquilized. He’ll deny it later, of course. But the way he leans into your hand? Case closed.

You claim him in public It’s an art gala. He’s dressed to ruin people. And then you slip your arm through his, fingers just tight enough to say mine. You smile like a goddess. He pretends he’s unaffected. Inside, he’s writing vows in ten languages and considering printing matching business cards.

You actually listen to his advice He knows he can be dramatic. Unfiltered. Emotionally volatile. But when you sit there, really listening, nodding like his words matter—you destroy him. Suddenly he’s not the chaos. He’s the compass. And that? That’s love.

You share every detail of your day over dinner You talk about everything—the lady at the store, the funny email, the awful latte. You give him your day like a story, like he’s the only one you wanted to tell. He leans in, listens too closely, files away each emotion like a collector of rare art.

You’re always down for his wildest ideas It’s 3 a.m. He wants to hike 2.5 miles along the beach, take a boat to a tiny island, and watch the sunrise with wine. You say “give me five minutes.” And just like that, you become the only person worthy of his wildest, most beautiful chaos.

You let him photograph you Nothing compares. Not awards. Not praise. Nothing rivals the moment you look into his lens—bare, unfiltered, unashamed. Especially when you’re nude, glowing, and laughing like the world doesn’t exist. That’s when he falls in love with you all over again. And again. And again.

You let him choose your dress You come out in the one he picked. Elegant. Perfect. You spin for him. And the way he watches you? Like he made you. Like you’re the gallery and he’s the only one with the key. It’s not fashion. It’s trust. And he adores you for it.

You sing when you don’t know he’s home Wearing socks and earbuds, dancing with a broom, serenading your way through burnt pancakes. You’re off-key. Glorious. Real. And he stands in the doorway, silent, just watching. Because in that moment—you’re not posing. And he’s never loved you more.

You take care of him when he’s sick He has a fever of 99°F and insists he’s fading. You bring tea, stroke his hair, whisper that he’s “very brave.” You don’t mock him. You take his dramatics seriously. He will never forget it. He may also write you into his will.

You join him in the bathtub without asking He’s already halfway submerged, music playing, steam curling in the air—and then you slip in behind him, no warning. You nudge your legs around his hips, hand him your shampoo, and let him wash your hair while you giggle. He tries to act unimpressed. But when he starts kissing your toes? Yeah. You win.

✨ Top 10 Behavioral Anomalies That Triggered Xavier’s Internal Alert System

You break an agreement—even if it's “just a small one” It’s not about control. It’s about structure. You promised. And when you bend the rules—just slightly—he doesn’t react outwardly. No visible shift, no sharp breath. But something behind his eyes goes cold. Because for him, even small deviations mean recalculating everything. And that means risk. To you.

You create drama “just to get a reaction” You push. You poke. You escalate. And he gives you… nothing. No outburst, no flinch. Just that flat, unreadable stare while he mentally exits the room. He doesn’t get angry—he just shuts off the part of himself that wants to stay.

You refuse his protection—on principle You call it independence. He calls it a strategic vulnerability wrapped in pride. He won’t argue. He’ll just be one step farther back the next time, quietly cataloging how to stop caring just enough that it won’t kill him if something happens.

You call him cold—especially when he’s holding himself together for you You see stillness. He feels restraint. You accuse. He remembers what it takes to not become the darker version of himself. If only you knew how much energy it took to stay composed. If only you knew it was for you.

You’re late Five minutes. Ten. No message. No explanation. And his pulse ticks upward—not with impatience, but with pure, trained alertness. He starts looking for signs. Traffic reports. Emergency alerts. By the time you arrive, he’s smiling. But it’s the tight kind. The kind that says never again.

You skip training You’re tired. You had a long day. You say you’ll make it up later. He doesn’t argue. He just recalculates survival probabilities and mentally adds you to the list of people who might die because they were unprepared. And he will blame himself for letting you get soft.

You pull away from his touch when you're angry It’s not the rejection. It’s the meaning behind it. He reaches out—small, careful, calculated—and you shut the door in his face with a single backward step. He doesn’t try again. He doesn’t ask why. But the space you leave behind? It echoes.

You use a photo of Lumiere as a bookmark You think it’s cute. Maybe even sweet. He sees it—and freezes. He’s not jealous. Not exactly. But the idea that you might admire that version more—the legend, the mask, the sharpness—it unsettles something deep. Something he can’t name.

You secretly believe you’re not good enough for him You never say it out loud. But he sees it—in your deflections, your nervous jokes, the way you doubt his love like it’s a glitch. It doesn’t anger him in the usual sense. It just…hurts. Because you’re the only one who never had to earn it.

You throw yourself in front of him during a mission It’s instinct, you say. Split-second decision. You didn’t even think. And that’s the problem. He does. Always. Every variable, every movement, every risk is accounted for—except you breaking formation to protect him. You think it’s brave. He sees it as catastrophic miscalculation. Not because you acted without logic. But because you decided his life was worth more than yours. And that? That’s the one conclusion he refuses to accept.

✨Top 10 Things That Quietly Break Xavier’s Walls and Leave Him Unreasonably Soft About You

When you start reading the same book he’s readingYou don’t announce it. You just show up with the same title, a few chapters behind, and start casually asking questions. He plays it off. But inside? He’s spiraling. Because this—this—is how you speak his language. Silently. Precisely. Together.

When you knock on his door like you’re trying to break it downIt’s loud. Impatient. Inappropriate for the hour. But he knows that knock. That rhythm. That you. You need him. Not his solutions. Him. And somehow, that chaos pounding on his door feels more like home than anything else.

When you hug him from behindYou wrap your arms around his torso mid-task, face pressed between his shoulder blades, palms splayed across his chest like you’re anchoring yourself to something ancient and steady. He stills. Every time. Like someone just whispered a secret to his bones. He never asks why. Never moves away. He just tilts his head slightly—listening, as if your silence said everything he needed to hear.

When you touch his sword (the actual weapon, calm down)He never lets anyone handle it. Not even for cleaning. But your fingers skim the hilt, gentle, curious, reverent. And somehow… it’s okay. You’re not just touching steel. You’re touching him. And he lets you.

When you act like a little girlYou scrunch your nose. Say something ridiculous. Blush like you didn’t mean to. And he watches—utterly disarmed. Because he knows exactly what you want. You want him to carry you. Wrap you up. Keep you safe. And he will—without hesitation.

When you join him on a morning runYou complain. You lag. You swear this is “not your vibe.” But you still show up. Same hour. Same route. And when you match his pace for those few precious minutes? He doesn’t say it—but he’s proud. Painfully proud.

When you share your dreams—and say “we”You’re rambling. Light spilling from your words. Talking about the future, the maybes, the next steps. But you don’t say I. You say we. And that sound? That tiny shift in grammar? It settles deep. Irrevocable. Permanent.

When you make matching braceletsYou say it’s silly. Handmade. Slightly uneven. There’s a charm shaped like a rabbit. He never takes it off. Not in combat. Not in sleep. It rests against his wrist like a pressure point—and grounds him better than anything else.

When you remember his habitsYour shopping list always includes his cinnamon. His brand of shampoo. The exact instant noodles he pretends not to love. You don’t make a show of it. You just know. And that knowing? It destroys him in the softest possible way.

When you trust him completely in bed—even when his darker side surfacesThere’s a moment—quiet, charged—when the softness shifts. He waits. Watches. Braces for resistance. But you don’t pull back. You open your hands. Arch into him. Let him take control without fear. That? That’s what breaks him. Not the pleasure. The trust.

🖤Top 10 Things That Push Sylus Into Maximum Sarcasm and Mildly Homicidal Disapproval

Your outdated, unreliable weapon Yes, he gets it. It’s vintage. It’s “standard issue.” It’s approved by the Hunters Association. Congratulations. That won’t matter when it jams and gets you killed. Every time you return one of the sleek, upgraded firearms he hand-delivers like he’s your personal armory concierge, he has to resist asking if you've already made a draft of your death wish. Alphabetically sorted. With floral headers.

You chew gum—and pop it It’s not the gum. It’s the snap. The sudden, violent pop of sugary air bubbles that hits his trauma response like a trigger. He knows it’s just a noise. His shoulder still twitches. He’s this close to reaching into your mouth and extracting the gum like a gentleman. A very sarcastic, deeply annoyed, half-feral gentleman.

You try to shake your tail (him) You use stealth tech. You block your signal. You go dark. Adorable. You’re forgetting that the very system you’re relying on was developed by his own syndicate. The only person who ever really evades Sylus is Sylus. And maybe the cat that lives under his car. But not you. Never you.

You don’t introduce him as your boyfriend to your old classmates You panicked. He gets that. You called him “a friend.” And now he’s deeply committed to the bit. For the next seven days, every time you said anything, he replied with “Of course, as your friend…” in front of waiters, dealers, and one extremely confused ambassador. You only managed to shut it down by hastily posting a photo of you two with the caption “my boyfriend and the love of my life.” Acceptable recovery. Barely.

You refuse to use his resources His private jet? Untouched. His cars? Collecting dust. His black card? Sitting unused like some kind of insult in your purse. You say you’re “independent.” He says you’re actively offending his entire lifestyle philosophy. Do you have any idea how disrespectful it is to ignore an entire walk-in wardrobe prepared for you in his estate? Honestly, it’s almost admirable. Almost.

You once smoked a cigarette, and he saw it He didn’t say anything. At the time. Just looked at you. Silently. Like someone had drop-kicked a kitten in front of him. He’s not judging. He’s just picturing your lungs in an ashtray. And adding another page to your death wish list.

You speak in riddles and expect him to “get it” You want something—time away, a trip, his attention—but instead of asking, you sigh dramatically and murmur, “It’s fine. I guess some people just don’t want to escape the city with their girlfriends…” He blinks. Slow. Dangerous. “Was that a request, a riddle, or an emotional booby trap?” If you want something from him, Kitten, try using nouns and verbs. Not cryptic guilt puzzles.

You suggest another woman would be “perfect for him” It’s a joke. Offhand. Barely a breath. But your voice wavers—just slightly—and that ruins it. He doesn’t want her. He doesn’t want options. He wants you. And now, thanks to your charming lapse in self-worth, he has to waste the rest of the evening reminding you that this face, this power, this entire empire already belongs to someone. Guess who.

You sneak up on him You never mean to. But somehow, you're always the one person who slips past every alarm, every trained instinct, and ends up whispering behind him when his brain is still in kill mode. It takes everything in him to not react on pure reflex. You think it’s cute. He thinks it’s potentially catastrophic.

You don’t believe him when he says he’s fine Yes, he’s bleeding. Yes, his shirt is soaked. But he said “it’s a scratch,” and when he says that—he means it. His body heals like a myth. Your worried face? It makes something in him ache. Because the real wound isn’t on him—it’s in you, for thinking he’s anything less than unbreakable.

🖤 Top 10 Things That Make Sylus Dangerously Soft for You (And Yes, He’s Keeping Score)

When you finally spend his money It started with coffee. Small. Harmless. But the alert hit his phone and, for a moment, he genuinely wondered if his card had been stolen—until he saw your name. And something in him shifted. Not because of the cost. Please. He could buy the city it was brewed in. No, it was the fact you used it. You. Willingly. Now? You’re bolder—little dresses, shoes, jewelry you don’t need. And every time you do, he rewards it like you just proved you understand the assignment: what's his, is already yours.

When you give orders to his men like you're the boss You don’t ask. You instruct. Calm, certain, completely in charge. One of his men hesitates—just once—while you’re directing them to rescue a terrified kitten stuck in a tree. Sylus doesn’t interfere. He just watches, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his mouth as armed professionals scramble to obey you like you're the patron saint of lost animals. Somewhere in his mind, he’s already fitted you for a crown. With tiny cat ears.

When you secretly pet Mephisto The mechanical raven used to drive you insane. Now? You’re sneaking him treats and absentminded scratches under the jaw. Sylus sees it. Says nothing. But deep down, he knows: if you’ve accepted the bird—you’ve accepted all of him. And that’s lethal. To him.

When you make him a playlist You never explain them. Just send a link and say nothing. But he listens—every time. Alone. In his car. In the bath. Eyes closed, calculating your every choice like it’s encrypted intel. Each track? A hint. A mood. A coded message from you to him. He doesn’t ask for them. He just waits for the next one. And when it arrives, he treats it like gospel.

When you leave a trail of chaos in his car Your hair on the seat. Your gum wrappers in the cup holder. The seat so close to the wheel he practically has to fold in half. And the music? A full-volume love ballad ready to ambush his eardrums at ignition. It's obnoxious. It’s inconvenient. It’s perfect. His life, now featuring you.

When you eat from his plate You swore you weren’t hungry. You said “no carbs this week.” And now? You’re stealing fries from his hand and dipping into his steak sauce like it’s your birthright. He doesn’t stop you. He just watches you chew with that look that says: mine. forever.

When you talk and talk and talk Something happens. You spiral. Words spill. Thoughts tangle. You’re not even aware you’re rambling—but he is. He listens to everything. Stores it all. Because there’s something magical about your voice when it’s unfiltered. You don’t realize it, but he falls a little harder every time you forget to censor yourself.

When you crawl into his lap while he’s working He’s in the middle of paperwork. Calculating things. Dangerous things. And suddenly—you. Right there. Knees on either side, arms around his neck, like the world’s most beautiful interruption. He tells himself he needs to finish. But his hands are already on your hips.

When you call and ask for help A jar. A stuck zipper. A ride. It doesn’t matter. You’re a trained hunter—you’ve faced things with claws, fangs, and no name. But you still call him. Because you want him. And that? That wrecks him in ways he’ll never admit. He’s already on his way before you hang up.

Your uncle, the King, though you have called him Father for as long as you remember, forbade it. 

The sea is no place for you, he said, the same words he has said every year since you were old enough to ask why Mei and the other children were permitted to play on the shore and you were not. It is the same careful refusal delivered with a tenderness that almost masked the fear beneath it.

You were only three years old when the sea took your parents.

Your real Father, the King's younger brother, had been dispatched on a diplomatic mission to the southern kingdoms. Your mother sailed with him, as she always did, because they were the sort of couple who did not do anything apart. 

They left you in the palace with your nursemaid and your cousin Mei, who was six and who held your hand at the harbor and said, They will come back. They always come back.

They did not come back.

The ship went down in a storm three days out of port. 

No survivors. No wreckage. 

The sea swallowed them whole and offered nothing in return, not a plank, not a ribbon, not a body to bury. Your uncle closed the ports for a week of mourning and then closed them around you for the rest of your life.

You do not remember your parents. 

You have a miniature portrait of them that you keep in a locket, and sometimes you study their faces and try to find yourself in them, the shape of their jaws, the set of their brows, the curve of their lips.

People say you have your Mother’s eyes. 

You would not know.

All you know is that the King and Queen took you in without hesitation. 

They gave you their name, their home, their love. 

They raised you alongside Mei, and if there was ever a difference in affection between their daughter by blood and their daughter by grief, you never felt it. 

The Queen braids your hair the same way she braids Mei's. The King reads to you at night from the same book of fairy tales you loved. When you are ill, they sit at your bedside and refuse to leave until you recover.

They love you. 

You have never doubted this.

But they are afraid. 

The guilt of your parents' death, the mission the King himself ordered, the ship he chose, the sea he sent his brother into, has hardened into something immovable, a conclusion that lives in the marrow of their bones. 

The sea takes what they love. 

The sea took the King’s only brother and his wife. 

The sea will not take you too.

And so you are kept from the water.

The beach below the palace cliffs is forbidden. 

The harbor is off-limits without an escort of no fewer than four guards.

You are not taught to swim. 

You are not permitted on boats. 

When the court sails for summer holidays, you remain behind with your tutors and your books and the loneliness of a girl watching from a window while everyone she loves disappears over the horizon.

And yet.

And yet. 

You love the sea.

You love it the way a caged bird loves the sky. 

You love the sound of it, the smell of it, the way the light changes when the tide shifts. 

You sneak to the cliffs when your maids and guards are not watching and stand at the edge, letting the wind pull at your hair, breathing in salt air like you are starved of it.

The sea killed your parents. 

You know this. 

You understand deeply why your uncle prohibits you from stepping close to it.

But the sea does not feel like death to you. 

It feels like home. 

Like something vast and ancient is calling your name in a language you almost, almost, remember.

So when Mei's birthday celebration is held on the royal vessel this year, and you are told, as always, to remain at the palace, you do something you have never done before.

You disobey.

You slip aboard in the chaos of departure, hidden among the servants, dressed in a servant’s garb you have stolen from one of your maids, carrying crates of wine and garlands of flowers. 

You tuck yourself below deck and wait until the ship is too far from shore to turn back, and then you creep up the stairs because you want to see the stars over open water, because you want to watch your cousin dance, because you are young and foolish and the sea has been singing to you your entire life and tonight, for the first time, you are close enough to answer.

The sea is not singing tonight. 

The sea is hungry.

The wave that takes you is enormous, a wall of black water that crashes over the railing and sweeps you off your feet like you are nothing. 

You hear screaming, Mei's voice, sharp with terror, calling your name, and then the ocean closes over your head and the world becomes dark and cold and silent.

You fight. 

You kick and claw toward what you think is the surface, but the current is too strong, pulling you deeper, spinning you until you cannot tell up from down. 

Your lungs burn. Your limbs grow heavy. 

The cold seeps into your bones, and you think, with the strange calm of someone who is drowning that this is how you die. 

The same sea. 

The same way. 

Just like your birth parents.

And then, hands.

Not human hands. 

The fingers are too long, the grip too strong, and there is something strange about the skin, smooth as pearl, cool as the water itself. 

They wrap around your waist and pull you upward with a force that defies the current, and suddenly you are breaking the surface, gasping, choking on salt water, alive.

You can barely see through the rain and spray, but you see him.

Blue eyes. 

That is the first thing. 

Eyes that glow, luminous and unearthly, the deep blue against the darkness brought by the storm. They pierce the storm like twin flames, too bright to be human and too vivid to be real. Hair that clings to his face in wet strands. and a face that is startlingly beautiful and otherworldly.

And below his waist are not legs. 

A tail. 

Scales that shimmer between deep blue and iridescent pink, catching the fractured light of the storm, the blue dominant and dazzling, shifting to rose at the edges like the sky at the last moment before nightfall.

Lemurian.

The word surfaces through the haze of panic and cold. 

The sea people. 

The ones your tutors said were legends, fairy tales told to children who asked too many questions about the deep sea.

He is no legend. 

He is warm where the sea is cold, solid where the water is relentless, and he holds you against his chest as he swims toward a rocky outcropping barely visible through the storm. 

His tail cuts through the water with effortless power, and you cling to him because he is the only safe thing in a world that has become chaos.

When he reaches the rocks, he lifts you onto the flat surface with a gentleness that surprises you. Your fingers scrape against stone as you pull yourself up, coughing water, shaking so hard your teeth rattle.

And then he sings.

It is not a song you can name or describe. 

It is not a melody that belongs to any instrument or language you know. 

It is something older, a sound that seems to come from the ocean itself, haunting and achingly beautiful. It wraps around you like warmth and the cold recedes.

The terror of your almost drowning recedes. 

Everything recedes except the sound of his voice and the blue of his eyes.

You reach for him. 

Your trembling hand finds his cheek and he goes still. 

The singing stops. 

He stares at you with those impossible eyes, and his expression shifts into tenderness.

His hand comes up to cover yours, his palm warm against the cold of your skin.

"You are safe," he says, and his voice is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. Low and melodic, with an accent you cannot place."I will not let you drown."

You want to speak. 

You want to tell him your name, ask his, and understand how this is possible. 

That a creature from legend is holding your hand on a rock in the middle of a storm. 

But the exhaustion is pulling you under, and the last thing you see before you lose consciousness is his face, haloed by lightning, and the worry in his glowing blue eyes.

When you wake, it is already morning. 

The storm has passed. 

You are on a beach, alone. 

Your cousin's search party finds you an hour later.

Mei weeps when she sees you, she holds you so tightly you think your ribs might crack, and she says over and over, "I thought I had lost you. I thought the sea took you."

The King's face when they carry you home is something you will never forget. 

There is no anger, not yet, but he wears a face of a man who has already buried his brother to the ocean and has just, for one terrible night, believed it also took his brother's child, his daughter, as well.

He holds you and does not speak for a very long time.

"Someone saved me in the water," you tell him, your voice still raw from salt water. "Someone pulled me out."

"Who?"

You do not know how to explain, so you just shake your head and let the servants wrap you in blankets and carry you home.

You never tell anyone the truth, but you never forget his face. 

His voice. 

The warmth of his hand against yours.

You are fifteen years old, and you are already in love with someone who does not know your name.

Three years pass.

You grow up in the shadow of your cousin's presence. 

Mei is the crown princess of Linkon, smart and beautiful and destined for a political marriage that will secure and strengthen the kingdom. 

You are the younger, quieter ward and the less remarkable princess, content to spend your days in the palace library or walking the cliffs above the sea.

Always the sea. 

The King's restrictions tightened after the night of the storm. 

Guards are now posted at the cliff paths, the beach gate locked, stern lectures delivered by a desperate man who cannot lose another person he loves to the water. 

But you find your ways. 

A window seat that faces the ocean. 

A tower room where the sound of the waves carries on the wind. 

The cliffs, when you can slip past your guards and maids who are always, always watching.

You are drawn to it in a way you cannot explain, standing at the edge of the rocks and staring into the water as though if you look hard enough, you might catch a flash of iridescent scales beneath the surface.

You never do.

You never see him again after that night.

You paint him sometimes. 

In the privacy of your chambers, with watercolors that can never quite capture the luminous quality of his eyes or the way his voice made you feel. 

The paintings are hidden beneath a loose floorboard in your closet like love letters no one will ever read.

Mei's heart, meanwhile, belongs to someone entirely unsuitable.

Caleb has been a friend to both of you since childhood. 

A boy who grew into a soldier, who climbed the military ranks with the same stubborn determination he once used to climb the palace walls on a dare. 

He is tall and broad-shouldered, with purple eyes that are warm when he is laughing and fierce when he is protecting someone he loves. 

He is now the youngest general in Linkon's history, and he is hopelessly in love with your cousin.

The feeling is mutual, though neither of them will admit it.

You watch them dance around each other. 

Mei's blush when Caleb offers his arm, Caleb's distance when he remembers his rank is not suited for a princess. 

Your uncle has made it clear that Mei's marriage will serve the kingdom, not her heart. 

You ache for them. 

The quiet tragedy of loving someone who is right there, close enough to touch, but separated by difference in status.

You understand that ache better than anyone.

You are not betrothed to anyone, which suits you fine. 

The suitors who have expressed interest in the King's ward have been met with your disinterest because how can you consider marrying someone when your heart already belongs to a creature you met once, in a storm, three years ago?

Foolish, you tell yourself. 

He is not coming back. 

He probably does not even remember you.

But you remember him, every night, before you sleep, you close your eyes and hear his voice. 

You are safe. I will not let you drown.

And then, on a morning in late spring, everything changes.

The guards find him on the beach below the palace cliffs.

You hear about it from a servant. A breathless maid who comes running into the library where you are reading, her eyes wide.

"Your Highness! They have found a man on the shore! He is injured, and he cannot speak, and Princess Mei is with him —"

You are on your feet before she finishes the sentence.

You run. 

Through the corridors, down the winding stone stairs that lead to the beach, your heart hammering with a ferocity that has nothing to do with the adrenaline of running, because you know. 

Before you even see him, you already know who it was.

The beach is crowded with guards and servants clustering around a figure lying on the sand. 

Mei is kneeling beside him, her hand on his shoulder, speaking in the gentle voice she uses when she is trying to calm you when you are scared as a child. 

You push through the crowd and your world stops.

It is him.

You immediately recognize his blue eyes.

They do not glow now as they were in the storm, but still that impossible shade, but now the deep blue is threaded with soft pink at the bottom, half-open and dazed with pain. 

His face is exactly as you remember, beautiful and otherworldly. His hair is longer now, tangled with sand. He is wearing nothing but a length of fabric someone must have wrapped around his waist.

And he has legs.

Where his tail should be are legs, long and pale and trembling, as though they are new to him and he never used them before. 

They are scraped raw, bleeding, and he keeps looking down at them with an expression of both pain and bewilderment.

Your heart stops, you know what he has done.

You have scoured every book in the library about him and his people after that night.

Lemurians do not have legs if they will it.

The stories you found spoke of sea witches and bargains.

What did you pay, you think, staring at him, your heart sinking. What did you sacrifice to come here? 

"He washed up an hour ago," the captain of the guard is telling your uncle. "No identification, no clothing. He also appears to be mute."

Mute. 

Your stomach drops. 

His voice, that beautiful voice that sang the cold out of your bones?

It is now gone. 

The sea witch must have taken his voice, the thing that you have treasured the most, in exchange for legs. 

"He was reaching for me when the guards arrived," Mei says softly. "As though he recognized me and as though he was trying to tell me something."

Your chest tightens sharply you cannot breathe.

He thinks it was Mei. 

The realization crashes over you like a wave. 

He thinks Mei was the one he saved that night.

He came here for her.

Not you. 

He does not remember you.

But it makes a terrible kind of sense. 

Mei was on the ship that night because it was her birthday.

If he saw the royal vessel, if he knew a Princess of Linkon was aboard, of course he would assume it was Mei.

Not the unremarkable ward who should not have been on the ship at all and was not even supposed to be near the water.

You know you should say something. 

You should step forward and say, it was me. 

You open your mouth.

And then he looks at Mei with those blue-pink eyes full of desperate relief and reaches for her hand.

Mei takes it.

You close your mouth.

You do not say anything.

You are eighteen years old and your heart is quietly breaking and no one even notices.

They bring him into the palace. 

Your uncle is reluctant, but Mei insists.

"He is hurt and needs care. We cannot simply leave him on the beach."

So he is given a room in the guest quarters. 

You watch from a distance as he learns to walk on legs that do not know how to hold him, stumbling, falling, catching himself on walls and doorframes with the frustrated grace of a creature built for water and now forced to navigate land.

He writes his name on parchment the first day they give him ink.

Rafayel.

The name settles into your chest.

You have spent three years loving someone whose name you did not know, and now that you have it, it makes everything worse. 

He is real and present.

He is walking the corridors of your home, and he does not know you exist.

That is not entirely true. 

He knows you are the King's ward, Mei's younger cousin. When you are introduced, he bows politely, and when his eyes meet yours there is nothing. 

There is no recognition in his blue-pink eyes, just the courteous blankness of a stranger who is forced to meet someone new.

You smile and curtsy and say, "Welcome to Linkon, Rafayel." 

Your voice does not shake, and you are proud of that.

He writes, Thank you, Your Highness. You are very kind.

Kind. 

The word tastes like ash.

Rafayel becomes a fixture in the palace. 

He is charming without his voice, expressive and warm, communicating through notes and gestures and a smile that he easily wins over the court.

And he paints. 

Your uncle gives him a studio, and the canvases he produces are extraordinary. 

Seascapes in colors so vivid they seem to move, portraits that capture the subjects better than any artist in Linkon could. 

He paints Mei the most.

You try not to look at those paintings. 

You fail.

Mei, for her part, is gentle with him. 

She visits his studio, brings him tea, and sits with him while he works. 

She treats him with the compassion she shows everyone, genuine and warm and without pretense.

She does love him.

You can see that clearly, even if Rafayel cannot.

Mei loves Caleb. 

You see it in the way her eyes follow him across the training yard, in the way her laughter changes pitch when he is nearby, in the way she touches the small apple-shaped pendant he gave her for her last birthday, a private gesture she does not know you have noticed.

Caleb loves her back. 

You see it in the way he stands slightly too close at formal dinners, in the way his voice softens when he says her name, in the way he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching, with a devotion so naked it makes your chest ache.

But your uncle has been negotiating a political marriage for Mei. 

A duke from the Eastern kingdom, an alliance that would secure Linkon's borders. 

Caleb's rank, however elevated, is not enough. 

A general is not a duke, and for a crown princess like Mei, love is not leverage.

Rafayel sees none of this. 

Rafayel sees only Mei, the woman he crossed an ocean for, gave up his voice for, sacrificed everything to find.

And you see only him.

You discover the truth about the sea witch's bargain by accident.

You are in the library late one night, unable to sleep, when you find a book about Lemurian folklore left open on a reading table. 

The pages are marked with small notes in Rafayel's handwriting. He has been researching his own curse.

The passage he has marked reads:

The sea witch's bargain is thus: a voice for legs, the ocean for the land. The transformation is maintained by the bond that is formed the moment a Lemurian's lifeforce intertwines with a human's. To break the bargain and restore what was taken, the Lemurian must receive a true love's kiss from the one with whom they bonded. If the kiss does not come before the third moon after he arrives on land, the Lemurian will dissolve into seafoam, lost to both worlds forever.

Your hands shake so violently the book nearly slips from your grasp.

The one with whom they bonded.

That is you. 

In the water, in the storm, when he held you and sang and your hand touched his face, your bond with him was formed.

His lifeforce is intertwined with yours, not Mei's.

He needs your kiss to survive. 

Not Mei's. 

Yours.

And he does not know.

You sink into the nearest chair, your mind racing. 

You could tell him. 

You could go to his room right now and tell him. 

But if you tell him, will he kiss you out of desperation to survive or will he kiss you because of the bond? 

Will you have to live knowing the only reason his lips touched yours was because he had no other choice?

You want him to choose you because he remembers you, not because a curse demands it.

So you close the book, return it where you found it, and go back to your room and cry until dawn.

You do not say a word, but you keep reseaching.

You return to the library every night after that. 

When the palace sleeps, you are awake, pulling every text about Lemurians from the shelves, cross-referencing myths with the scraps of writing from scholars who treated the sea folk as more than legend.

It takes you eleven days to find an alternative.

The passage is in an old text, so old the pages are brittle and the ink has faded to brown. 

It is written in an archaic dialect that takes you hours to translate, hunched over a dictionary by candlelight, your eyes burning, your hands stiff with cold.

There exists a second path to sever the sea witch's bond. If the bonded human willingly offers their heart, sacrificed in the place where the witch resides, the bond dissolves. The Lemurian is freed, their voice restored, their form their own to choose, the human perishes.

You read it three times.

Four. 

Five.

The human perishes.

Your vision blurs. 

You press your fist against your mouth to stop the sob that wants to come out.

You could save him, but not with a kiss he does not want to give you. 

Not by humiliating yourself, by forcing a reveal that would make him look at you with guilt instead of love. 

If he has not find this part of the bargain, then you could save him without him ever knowing it was you who has bonded with.

He would get his voice back. 

He would be alive and free. 

He could stay on land or return to the sea, whichever he chose. 

He could love Mei or not love Mei on his own terms, without a curse dictating the shape of his life.

All it would cost is your heart.

All it would cost is your life.

You close the book. 

Your hands are steady now, they should not be. 

You should be shaking and falling apart.

But instead there is a strange, terrible calm settling over you, the calm of someone who has been drowning all her life and has finally found the will to stop fighting the current.

This is how it was always going to end, you think. 

He saved your life in the water, now you save his. 

It is that simple. 

The grief is not.

You have nineteen days until the third moon.

Nineteen days to find the sea witch. 

Nineteen days to say goodbye to everyone you love without alerting them of your plan.

You begin with Mei.

Your cousin finds you in the garden the next morning, which is unusual, you are not a morning person, and the garden is Mei's domain, not yours. 

She raises an eyebrow when she sees you sitting on the stone bench by the roses.

"You are up early."

"I could not sleep." You pat the bench beside you. "Sit with me?"

Mei sits, studying your face carefully, brows furrowing as she tries to read what you are thinking.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I just… I wanted to tell you something."

You take her hands, holding them tightly and memorizing the shape of her fingers.

"You should be with Caleb."

Mei goes still. 

"What?"

"I know you love him. I have known for years, and he loves you. Everyone can see it except Father, who refuses to look." You squeeze her hands. "Do not let the political marriage happen. Fight for what you want, Mei. You deserve to be happy."

Your cousin stares at you, her eyes filling with tears. 

"Where is this coming from?"

"It is coming from someone who does not want you to waste the love you have." Your voice cracks. "Promise me. Promise me you will fight for him."

"I…" Mei blinks, the tears spilling over. "I promise, but you are frightening me. Why are you speaking like this?"

"I am not frightened. I am merely… clear, about some things." You smile, and it is the gentlest lie you have ever told. "I love you, Mei, more than anything. I need you to know that."

"I love you too." Mei pulls you into a tight hug. "You are being strange, and it worries me."

"I am always strange."

"True." She laughs wetly. "But this is a different kind of strange."

You hold her for a long time, breathing in the scent of her hair, memorizing carefully as part of your memory that you will carry into the dark.

You spend the next week quietly putting your affairs in order. 

You write letters and hide them in places they will eventually be found. 

One for Mei in her favorite book, one for your Father and Mother in the book of fairytales they read to you as a child, one for Caleb folded into the scabbard of his sword. 

You finish your watercolor paintings and leave them stacked neatly beneath the loose floorboard where you have always kept them. 

Dozens of paintings of blue eyes and iridescent scales and the silhouette of a boy in a storm.

You request access to a small boat, telling the King that you want to paint seascapes from the water.

It is an unusual request, more than unusual, given your Father’s lifelong prohibition, but you frame it carefully. 

You are eighteen now, you point out.

Old enough to make your own peace with the ocean that took your parents. 

Old enough, you say, with a smile that hides everything, to stop being afraid.

Your Father’s face is torn when you ask. 

He looks at you, the way he does sometimes when the light catches your face at an angle that reminds him of his brother, and you see the war behind his eyes. 

The guilt and the fear.

He knows that he cannot keep you caged forever, so he grants the request. 

He warns you to take guards.

You will not take guards, but you agree, because agreeing is safer than arguing. 

You cannot give your plan away. 

You cannot reveal that you are a dead girl walking through the last days of her life, smiling at everyone, eating meals she cannot taste, sleeping in a bed she will never return to.

The last few days of your life are the loneliest days you have ever experienced. 

And you have been lonely for a very long time.

On the fifteenth day before the third moon, you visit Rafayel's studio.

You have avoided this room since he arrived. 

The smell of paint and linseed oil, the sight of his hands moving across canvas, the particular way he tilts his head when he is concentrating. 

All of it is too much. 

Too close, too real.

But you need to see him one last time. 

Not from across a dinner table or the opposite end of a corridor, up close. 

In the place where he is most himself.

He is painting when you enter. 

Another seascape, waves crashing against rocks under a stormy sky. 

The colors are violent and beautiful, and you recognize the scene immediately. 

It is the night of the storm. 

The night he saved you.

He looks up when you knock on the open door, and surprise flickers across his face. 

You have never visited him here before. 

He gestures you in warmly and reaches for a parchment.

Your Highness, this is a pleasant surprise.

"Please," you say. "No titles, not today."

He looks at you curiously, but nods.

You walk around the studio, looking at his paintings, every one of them is extraordinary. 

They are all raw and emotional and full of a longing so palpable you can almost taste it. 

You stop at the storm painting, your throat tight.

"This is beautiful," you say. "The storm, it looks so real."

I painted it from memory, the night I saved her in the water.

Her. 

Not you. 

Her.

"The person you saved," you say carefully. "Do you remember much about that night?"

He is quiet for a moment, his pen hovering over the paper, then he writes slowly.

I remember the feel of her hand on my face, cold and trembling. I remember singing for her. I remember the way she looked at me.

You have to turn away. 

You pretend to examine another painting, blinking hard, willing the tears back.

"That must have been a powerful moment," you manage.

It was the moment I knew I would find her. No matter what it cost.

No matter what it cost.

You turn back to him. 

He is watching you with an expression you cannot decipher.

Curiosity, perhaps, or confusion. 

"May I ask you something?" you say.

He nods.

"Was it worth it, leaving and giving up everything you knew? For someone who might not… who might not feel the same way?"

He does not hesitate.

Yes, a thousand times yes. Even if she never loves me, even if I become nothing, I would do it all again.

You give him a sad smile.

"She is lucky," you say. "This girl that you saved, even if she does not know it. She is the luckiest person in the world."

He looks confused by your words.

Are you all well, Your Highness?

"I am fine," you say, and you leave before he can see the tears fall.

You find the sea witch on the twelfth day.

It is not the dramatic confrontation the stories describe. 

There is no cave of bones, no garden of corals, no monstrous creature wreathed in smoke and malice, welcoming you to her lair.

The sea witch is just a woman who looks ancient and weary, sitting on a rock at the edge of a tidal pool in a cove three hours south of the palace.

She is waiting for you. 

You know this because she speaks before you even say a word.

"The other one," she says, and her voice is like the sound of shells being ground by waves, musical and rough at the same time. "The one from the water, I was wondering when you would come."

"You knew about me."

"Of course I knew. When I made the bargain with the boy, I could feel the bond where it led, who it held, you, little princess, not the pretty older cousin." She tilts her head, studying you with eyes that are pale and depthless, like tide pools reflecting an empty sky. "He does not know, does he?"

"No."

"And you do not intend to tell him."

"No."

The witch is quiet for a moment. 

Then she laughs with a sadness that surprises you.

"You humans," she murmurs. "So fragile and stubborn. He came to me begging for legs so he could find the girl he saved, and you come to me ready to die so he will never have to know she was you." She shakes her head. "Two sides of the same fool's coin."

"Will you do it?" Your voice does not shake, you are proud of that. "My heart for his freedom, that is the alternative, I read it."

"I can do it," the witch says. "But you need to understand what you are offering. It is not merely your life, child. Your heart, the very thing that bound you together. When I take it, the bond dissolves, his voice returns. His legs become his own again, no longer tethered to the curse. He will be free."

"And I will be dead."

"Yes." The witch's pale eyes hold yours. "But not immediately, you will have until the tide turns. A few hours, perhaps. Enough time to walk back to shore, enough time to be somewhere familiar."

Somewhere familiar, the beach below the cliffs. 

The same beach where they found Rafayel. The same part of the beach where your Mei found you three years ago.

The irony of it is so perfect it makes you want to laugh.

"There is one more thing," the witch says. "The wound, where I take the heart, no human eye will see it. The magic will seal your flesh. To anyone who looks, you will seem untouched. As though you simply lay down on the sand and stopped breathing."

"But?"

"But a Lemurian will see it. Their eyes were made for magic, you see. If the boy finds you, he will see the wound. He will see what has happened." She pauses. "And he will know."

Your stomach drops. 

"Know what?"

"That someone loved him enough to cut out their own heart so he could live."

The words hang in the salt air between you.

"So he will he know it was me?"

"That depends," the witch says, "on whether he is paying attention."

You close your eyes, it is too late to go back now.

You have already decided to end everything here.

The wind is cold off the water, and you can hear the sea moving beneath the rocks, and somewhere in the distance, a bird is calling out across the waves.

"Do it," you say.

The witch rises from her rock.

She is shorter than you expected. 

She smells of brine and something older, something that has no name in any human language. Her hands, when she places them on your chest, are gentle and impossibly strong.

"You are brave," she says quietly. "Stupid, but brave."

"Is there a difference?"

"Not usually."

The pain is —

You expected agony. 

What you get is something worse, a pulling, slow and unyielding, like a thread being drawn from a tapestry, and the tapestry is you, and the thread is every moment you have ever loved him. 

The storm. 

The singing. 

The rock. 

His eyes. 

His hands. 

The paintings you hid under the floorboard. 

The three years of silence and longing and watching from the shadows.

The sea witch pulls it all out, and it takes the shape of your heart, and your heart takes the shape of a small, iridescent scale.

The deep, shimmering blue of his tail, edged with the faintest blush of pink.

It is the color of his tail.

The witch holds it up to the light. 

It catches the sun like a jewel, like a tear, like the last note of a song that will never be sung again.

"Beautiful," she murmurs. "They always are, the hearts that love the hardest."

She closes her fist around it. 

The scale dissolves into light, and the light sinks into the sea, and somewhere miles away, in a palace on a cliff a man who has been silent for weeks opens his mouth and makes a sound.

You feel it happen. 

You feel the bond sever, like a rope cut with a blade and then you feel nothing at all where your heart used to be. 

No pain. 

No grief. 

Just a hollow so vast and quiet it makes the ocean look small.

"The tide turns in four hours," the witch says. "You should go."

The walk back takes longer than the walk there.

Your legs are heavy. 

Your body knows what has been taken from it, even if the wound is invisible and you cannot see it, even if you look the same as you did this morning when you woke and dressed and walked out of the palace for the last time.

You are dying. 

You are dying slowly but gently, the way a candle dies when the wax runs out. The flame is still there, still burning, but with nothing left to feed it.

You make it to the beach below the palace cliffs just as the sun begins to set.

You take off your shoes and walk barefoot to the water's edge, letting the waves lap at your feet. 

The cold feels distant.

Everything feels distant now, as though you are watching yourself from very far away.

You sit down, then you lie down, your hair fanning across the warm sand, your face turned toward the sea.

The sky above you is beautiful, painted in shades of gold and blue and deep, burning orange, like one of Rafayel's canvases come to life. 

You stare at it and think that this is the last beautiful thing you will ever see before you die.

You are not afraid, you thought you would be. 

You thought the end would come with fear, with regret, with the desperation to live, but instead you only felt peace.

You have done the thing you came to do. 

You have paid the price. 

Rafayel is free.

You close your eyes.

The last thing you hear is the sound of the waves, and beneath them, so faint you might be imagining it, the echo of a song you heard once in a storm, when you were fifteen and drowning and a boy with blue eyes held you and promised you were safe.

You are safe. I will not let you drown.

Forgive me, you think. I could not keep you from drowning either, but I could keep you from disappearing. I hope that is enough.

I hope I was enough.

The tide turns.

The waves reach for you, gentle as his hands were he saved you from the storm. 

You let them.

His voice comes back like a tide.

He is in his studio when it happens, standing before the storm painting, brush in hand, adding details from memory that grow sharper by the day instead of fading away. 

One moment, there is nothing. 

The silence that has been his prison for weeks, the maddening absence of sound in his throat. 

The next moment, a broken gasp comes from his throat.

Then a sound, that sounds primal, a mix of shock and relief and confusion.

“What —?”

His own voice, raw and not quite what it was before, but it is his. 

He immediately drops the brush and a hand goes to his throat. He speaks again, testing. 

"How —"

The curse is broken. 

He can feel it. 

The severing of the bond that has been wound tight around his chest since the day he crawled onto this beach. 

The sea witch's magic is unraveling. 

His legs no longer ache with the wrongness of transformation. His body feels, for the first time since leaving the water, as though it belongs to him again.

But the bond…

His hand goes to his chest, the bond is gone.

He feels its absence like a phantom limb, the severed thread that once connected him to the person he saved in the storm, the invisible tether that has been pulling him toward Mei since the day he arrived. 

He stops.

Except… it was never pulling him toward Mei, was it? 

He sees that now, the sudden clarity after the curse broke, like a fog lifting away to reveal a landscape he should have recognized all along.

The bond was never pointed at Mei.

It was pointed at the girl who stood in the shadows. 

The one who walked the cliffs. 

The one who came to his studio and asked if it was worth it, and smiled at him with such sadness that he could not sleep afterward, could not paint, could not do anything but stare at the ceiling and try to understand why your face kept replacing Mei's every time he closed his eyes.

The King's ward. 

The quiet one.

It was you.

The night of the storm. 

The hand on his face. 

Small. Cold. Trembling. 

Not a woman's hand. 

You were fifteen then, like he was. 

Mei was eighteen. 

He has been looking at the wrong person for weeks. 

Painting the wrong portrait. 

Writing love notes to the wrong woman. 

When the right one has been there the entire time, watching from doorways and shadows, smiling your quiet smile, carrying a secret so heavy it should have crushed you.

He needs to find you. 

Now. 

He needs to tell you…

But wait. 

If the curse is broken… If the bond is severed…

The book said the only ways to break it were a true love's kiss or…

Or

The blood drains from his face.

He runs.

He checks your chambers first. 

Empty. 

The bed is made, the curtains drawn, and there is a neatness to the space that feels final, like the person tidying is preparing for a journey with no return.

He feels the pull to your wardrobe.

He opens it, pulls up the loose floorboard he has accidentally seen you glance at in one of the rare moments he passed by your chambers.

Paintings.

Dozens of them. 

In watercolors, small and delicate, layered carefully between sheets and sheets of parchment. 

He pulls them out with shaking hands and lays them across the bed, and he gasps sharply.

They are all of him.

Him in the water, tail and all, holding a girl against his chest while the storm rages in the sea.

Him singing on the rocks, his face lit by lightning, his eyes glowing blue with that otherworldly light that you have captured perfectly.

Him from the back, looking out at the sea, the line of his shoulders painted with an intimacy that speaks of someone who has memorized his every angle. 

Him peacefully sleeping in a chair in the studio, when did you see that? 

How many times did you stand in his doorway watching, while he dreamed of another person?

The earliest paintings are crude, the work of a fifteen-year-old girl with more passion than technique. But they grow more skilled as the years progress, and the most recent ones, painted since his arrival at the palace, are heartbreaking in their accuracy. 

You have captured the exact shade of his eyes, the blue, the mix of pink.

The exact curve of his mouth when he smiles.

The exact expression he makes when he looks at Mei.

There is one painting at the bottom of the stack that breaks him.

You have painted yourself from behind, standing on the cliffs, looking out at the sea. 

You are alone and the wind is pulling at your hair, and the sea stretches out before you, and in the water below the cliffs, barely visible, a flash of iridescent blue, a tail, a shadow, a memory of him.

You titled it, in small, careful letters at the bottom corner:

Waiting.

He gathers the paintings against his chest. 

He is shaking so hard they rattle against each other. 

He needs to find you. 

He needs to —

Mei appears in the doorway.

"Where is she?" His voice is cracked and barely functional. 

It does not matter. The words work. 

"Rafayel? Your voice — you can speak? How —" She stops, seeing his face and sees the paintings. "What are those?"

“Where is your cousin?" He repeats, desperately this time, ignoring her question.

"I do not know. She left this morning. She said she was going to paint by the water —"

He is past Mei before she finishes the sentence. 

He hears her calling after him, hears Caleb's voice too, the general must have been nearby, but he does not stop. 

He cannot stop.

He runs through the palace and down the stairs to the beach, and his legs carry him perfectly for the first time since he crawled out of the sea. 

He does not stumble nor fall.

The curse is broken and his body is his own, and the irony of it is that he is finally free and the freedom may have been bought and paid for by your own life.

He reaches the beach.

The guards are already there.

They found you at the water's edge.

You are lying on the sand, your hair spread around you like seaweed, your face turned toward the sea. 

You look peaceful, and like you are just sleeping, but you are no longer breathing.

There is no wound, no blood, no indication if you were drowned. Nothing.

The guards are confused, they do not know and do not see it, but Rafayel does.

His eyes, Lemurian eyes, made for magic, see what human eyes cannot. 

He sees the wound.

It is not a cut or tear but a hollow in your chest where your heart should be, glowing faintly with the residue of sea witch’s magic.

And in the center of the hollow, where your heart was supposed to be, a single scale, small and iridescent. It is the deep, shimmering blue of his tail edged with the faintest blush of pink.

It is all that is left of your heart.

The part of you that loved him, the part that bonded you to him, transformed by magic into the only shape it knew how to take.

His own scales.

His. 

He drops to his knees beside you.

His hands find your face, cold now, so so cold, and he cradles it the way you must have cradled his once, on a rock in the middle of a storm, when you were both fifteen and he sang the cold from your bones.

The sound that comes from him is not human.

It is Lemurian. 

A keen, a wail, a sound that comes from the deepest part of the ocean where the water is black and the pressure would crush anything that did not belong there. 

It is a sound of grief so deep that it makes the waves pull back from the shore, as if the sea itself is flinching.

Mei arrives. 

Then Caleb, running, his hand on his sword as if he can fight whatever did this. 

Then the King, the Queen, servants, guards, all of them pouring onto the beach like a wave, and the sound they make when they see you is nothing compared to the sound still tearing itself from Rafayel's throat.

"What happened to her?" Caleb's voice is steel. He is kneeling on the other side of your body, his hand on your shoulder, his face carved from granite. "There is no wound. There is nothing. How —"

"There is a wound," he says, and his voice breaks on every syllable. "You cannot see it. Only I can."

He looks at Mei. 

His vision is blurred with tears, but he can see her clearly enough. 

Her shattered expression, the way she is gripping Caleb's arm so hard her knuckles are white, the way she is looking at your body with an expression of incomprehensible horror.

"It was her," he says. "In the water. The night of the storm. It was never you, Mei. It was her. She was the one I saved. She was the one I bonded to. She was the one I loved. She has known the entire time."

Mei's face crumbles. 

"What?"

"The curse. The sea witch's bargain. A kiss from the bonded one, or —" He chokes on the words. "Or the bonded one's heart given willingly. She found the sea witch. She traded her heart to break my curse. And she never… she never said a word. She never told me it was her. She let me believe… she let me chase after you while she…"

He cannot finish. 

He presses his forehead against yours, cold against cold, the living against the dead, and he cries.

The King makes a sound.

It is a small, quiet sound. 

The grief of a Father losing his child.

He had made a promise to protect you from the very thing that killed your birth parents.

He kept you from the water your entire life, and the water took you anyway. 

Not by storm. 

Not by the sea. 

By love.

The Queen catches him when his knees buckle.

Mei is on her knees in the sand, sobbing, and Caleb has his arms around her.

Rafayel lifts his head. 

His hand moves to the hollow in your chest, the wound only he can see, and he touches the scale. 

The blue scale that is all that remains of your heart.

It is warm. 

Against the cold of your body, against the cold of the sand and the sea and the dying light, the scale is warm.

He picks it up with trembling fingers. 

It is small enough to fit in his palm, light as a feather, luminous as a star. 

The color shifts as he holds it, blue to pink, pink to blue, and it seems to pulse, faintly, like the echo of a heartbeat. 

Your heartbeat.

He closes his fist around it and brings it to his lips.

"I would have chosen you," he whispers, "If I had known. I would have chosen you."

But you cannot hear him.

Not anymore.

The sea witch was right. 

The hearts that love the hardest are always the most beautiful.

And the most easily broken.

They bury you on the cliff above the sea.

Not in the royal crypts beneath the palace, where the dead of the royal family are laid in marble and forgotten. 

On the cliff. 

In the open air, where the wind smells of salt and the waves can be heard crashing against the rocks below, ceaseless and eternal and indifferent.

Rafayel insists, and Mei agrees with him.

Your uncle, who has been hollowed out by grief into a shell of the stern king he used to be, does not argue. 

He stands at the edge of the cliff and stares at the sea with the expression of a man who has spent fifteen years building a wall against the tide and has learned, at last, that the tide does not care.

It will take and take and take.

The grave is marked with a simple stone. 

No title. 

No epitaph. 

Just the view of the ocean, stretching out to the horizon, the same view you loved, the same view you stood and stared at for three years, waiting for something that was already there.

Mei stands at the grave for a long time after the ceremony. Caleb stands beside her, his hand in her. 

The two of them are finally together because you pushed Mei toward him in the garden, because you wrote it in the letter she found in her book. 

Let yourself love him. Do not be like me, do not be afraid.

She found the letter the morning after they found your body. 

She read it and screamed so loudly the servants thought someone else had died.

Caleb holds her and lets her cry into his chest.

"She knew," he says. "When she came to me last week and asked me to look after you. She knew she was not coming back."

Mei shakes her head, tears streaming. 

"She told me to fight for you. That was her farewell. And I did not… I did not even realize…"

"You could not have known."

"I should have. She was my sister," Mei's voice breaks."I should have seen it."

But no one saw it. 

You, who spent your entire life being protected but overlooked, used that invisibility one last time, to do the one thing no one could stop because no one was watching.

Rafayel does not attend the funeral.

He is on the beach. 

The same beach where they found him. 

The same beach where they found you.

He is sitting in the sand at the water's edge, the blue scale in his palm, and he is talking to the sea.

He does not sing, not anymore.

His voice is back but no longer the way it was before the curse. 

It is rougher and thinner now. 

The sea witch gave him his voice but kept its beauty, a final cruelty or perhaps a mercy. 

The most beautiful parts of his voice are gone, just as the most beautiful part of your heart is gone, and perhaps that is the balance the witch intended all along.

He talks to the sea because he cannot talk to you.

"I remember clearly now," he says, his voice cracking. "The storm, finding you half-drowned. I remember how I brought you to the surface. Your face. I remember the exact feeling of your hand on my cheek."

The waves lap at his feet.

"I do not understand how I forgot, how I confused you with your cousin. You do not even look anything alike. You do not feel anything alike." He laughs bitterly. "The sea witch's magic. It must have clouded my memory, made forget you."

He opens his fist and looks at the scale. 

It catches the light, pulsing softly.

"I saw your paintings," he whispers. "Dozens of them. Three years, you waited for me and you never said a word, and when I arrived here looking for the wrong woman, you just…stepped aside. You watched me court her. You watched me write her love letters and paint her portrait and make a fool of myself, and you said nothing."

His voice breaks completely. He bows his head, pressing the scale against his forehead.

"You brave girl. I would have kissed you and meant it. If you had told me… if I had known.. I would have looked at your face and known it was you, and everything after that would have been different, you would have been alive. The bond was pulling me toward you the entire time. Every time I felt confused, every time I looked at Mei and something felt wrong, that was you. The bond was trying to show me what the sea witch’s curse was hiding."

He lifts his head. 

"I would have chosen you," he says to the sea. "I need you to know that. Wherever you are, whatever comes after, I would have chosen you."

The sea does not answer.

The sea never answers.

END.

༄ tag list: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @kingraspberry12-blog

Your first four dress attempts already lie discarded on the bathroom floor in a shimmery heap of defeat. You tug at the bodice, press a hand over your waist, tilt your head, add the black, elbow-length gloves that pair with it, fiddle with your hair to make it fall around your face differently.

Nothing helps.

The reflection continues to stare back in judgment. You, a statue of frustration and half-pinned hair, brows pinched, eyes dim.

The door opens behind you.

“Almost ready, sweetie?” Sylus’ smooth voice echoes in the tiled room.

You meet his gaze in the mirror and see he’s leaning against the door frame, his red shirt buttoned only three-quarters of the way up, his camel-colored jacket draped loosely around his shoulders. Handsome and confident. Effortlessly put together. He always is.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” You force a smile, drop your hands from your sides. “Maybe you should just go without me. I can stay at the base tonight, play that new game with Luke.”

He hums low, crossing the room in a few unhurried strides until he’s behind you, his reflection standing tall and determined while yours seems to shrink and pale in comparison. “I'm afraid that won’t do tonight." He bumps his chin into the crown of your head playfully. “They’ll be expecting their biggest donor.”

“Exactly," you affirm with a small shrug. “That’s why you should go.”

Sylus’ lips curve with a secret smile. “Hm, no. See, that’s the problem.” He reaches out and gently strokes a loose lock of hair near your temple, focusing his gaze on the strands. “The donation was anonymous, but their 'mysterious benefactor' has made you his stand-in, kitten.”

Your mouth opens, closes. “You… What?”

"Well.. there's no way Skye the humble fruit vendor would be chosen as the stand-in for someone who's sponsored an entire wing of Linkon's newest museum."

"Sylus!"

“Don’t look at me like that,” he chides gently, brushing a finger along the seam of your satin glove. “You signed the papers.”

“You didn't let me read the papers!”

He pauses for a few seconds, then meets your eyes again with a mischievous grin. “Oops."

Sylus steps back a bit as you turn away from the mirror, exhaling through your nose as your frustration builds again. The frustration isn't at him, really, but at the ache in your chest and the memory of your drab, out-of-place reflection. “This dress doesn’t belong on me.” The words spill out before you can swallow them. “None of them do. I’ve tried four so far, and I still look—”

“Like yourself,” Sylus finishes quietly. The amusement from before has been wiped from his face; this time, his smile is affectionate, sincere.

“Exactly,” you mutter, spreading your arms out and dropping them at your sides. “That’s the problem.”

Sylus pauses at your words, tilts his head back in surprise, and looks you over. It's a slow and deliberate perusal. Lingering on every detail of you from your wrists to your collarbone and even your shoulders and ears, before his study ends at your eyes.

You're captivated by the heat in them, turning the dark scarlet irises into the red of molten lava. Just as you prepare for him to say something seductive, some double entendre that would leave you blushing and bashful and take your mind off your worries, if only for a few minutes, Sylus reaches out to brush a thumb along your jaw, holds up his pointer finger, and strides out of the bathroom.

You blink at the doorway. “Sylus?”

No answer. Just the fading sound of his footsteps down the hall.

You sigh, reaching for your phone. The screen lights up with a notification about the event and reminds you just how little time you have left.

If people are going to be looking at you tonight because of the donation, because of him, maybe you could at least make the most of it by distracting them all with some makeup. A darker eye, maybe, something bold. You lean toward the mirror, sweeping shadow across your lids, focusing on the small, controlled motions instead of the gnawing anxiety in your chest.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel composed again. Until you see him reappear in the mirror.

Sylus stands in the doorway, hands full. Velvet boxes of various colours, shapes, and sizes, rest in his palms and even between his fingers. Without a word he walks up behind you and starts setting them down. His arms come up on either side of you to open one, two, three… until there are at least a dozen jewelry boxes open and gleaming in front of you.

You blink, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight. “What are you doing? What is all this?”

Your gaze lands on a necklace of pearls, each orb the size of your fingertip, surrounded by a halo of small diamonds. You hover a hand over it, afraid you'll soil its value with just your touch. “I can’t-”

“You can, kitten,” he interrupts, abrupt and assertive, picking up the necklace that had just caught your eye and laying it gently across your throat.

"Sylus, this-"

“This,” he says, talking right over you as he clasps it at your nape, “was acquired from the vault of an embezzler in Skyhaven." He rubs a finger over the clasp as the cold kiss of the pearls settles against your skin. “They’re worth about five hundred thousand Linkon gold. Maybe more now that I've determined these are Lemurian pearls.”

You swallow, eyes wide in the mirror.

He reaches for another box, revealing a diamond bracelet shaped like a constellation of stars. “This was a thank you gift," he murmurs, sliding the delicate strand over your glove, his lowered head brushing the apple of his cheek against yours. "For stealing a few priceless artifacts from Chansia."

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze in the mirror. “You stole them?”

“And gave them back." He nods, lips curving. “To their rightful owners. An island off the coast.”

The next box holds an intricate ring of interlocking platinum vines. “From a black market auction in the N109 Zone. Nearly started a riot getting it.” He slides it over your middle finger, letting his lips oh so casually brush against your open neck. “Probably worth more than all of Linkon's museums combined.”

He keeps going. Another necklace from the usurper of a small country in the north. A hairpin carved from meteoric crystal. A small brooch shaped like a snowflake from Snowcrest. Each piece comes with a story that's dangerous, wicked, and yet still shaped by Sylus' unique sense of altruism.

By the time he’s done, you’re dripping in treasures, and your reflection in the mirror looks like a painting of a royal in a gallery. The emerald silk of your dress glimmers beneath cascades of silver, diamond, and pearl.

You're draped in the kind of beauty you associate with artwork, not people.

Through it all, Sylus has continued to stand behind you, inlaying you with some of the world's most beautiful and sought-after jewelry like a live model. His touches are soft and reassuring, knuckles grazing your arms, lips pressing kisses into your hair, collarbone, the shell of your ear.

"That's strange." His hands come to rest lightly on your shoulders, voice wavering and raspy. "These all look much more dull than I remember.”

You lean back, your back meeting his chest as the words catch you off guard. He’s watching you, really watching you, the rubies in his eyes bright and alive.

“Everything you wear belongs on you,” he continues, quiet but firm. “Because you belong anywhere you choose to be. Even in a room full of ignorant people, trying to measure your worth by what’s on your body.” He leans closer as if imparting a secret, his palm sliding over your waist. “Let them try. They’ll never get close.”

He pauses then, studying your reflection with something soft and affectionate curling at the corner of his mouth. “Want to know which of these jewels is the best treasure I’ve ever gotten?”

You're caught between laughter and disbelief. “Which one?”

He takes your gloved hand, turns it over gently, and presses his lips to the top of a ring gleaming there, the gesture elegant, almost courtly. But when he looks up again, his eyes catch yours in the mirror, and he leans in, lips brushing your temple with a feather-light kiss as he whispers, “This one.”

The words melt into you, and you almost forget to breathe for a moment around the lump that's formed in your throat. His reflection, close and steady behind you, anchors you there.

“Take them off, and you’d still have the same eyes,” he murmurs after a beat. “The same voice. The same stubborn, so very human heart that somehow deemed me worthy of holding it.”

You laugh softly, a little watery, and shake your head. “Only sometimes.”

His smile deepens. “Then let me make the most of one of those rare occasions then. Don't hide yourself from the world tonight.”

His hands settle at your waist. “Now. Look.”

You do.

The person staring back doesn’t look lost anymore. They look… determined. Powerful. Even a little… intimidating. The emerald dress suddenly makes sense, like it was waiting for this exact moment to come alive.

Sylus meets your gaze through the reflection. “You see it now, don’t you?”

“See what?”

“That there’s nothing I could put on you,” he says with a voice like smoke, “that could ever make you worth more than you already are.”

And when he turns your head to slot his lips against yours, you believe him.

Dustin’s hunched over the coffee table, surrounded by a chaotic sprawl of college brochures and flyers, each one more colorful and ambitious than the last. They’re fanned out like a deck of dreams—MIT, Caltech, Harvard, Stanford, even a few local schools tucked in the corners like afterthoughts.

You stretch your legs out, brushing his with your toes. “So,” you say, “what college you thinking, Henderson?”

Dustin didn’t even look up, just kept flipping through a glossy pamphlet with a photo of a futuristic lab on the cover. “Well, obviously MIT is the goal,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “But if not, I’d settle for like… Harvard.”

Steve, lounging in the armchair with a soda can balanced on his knee, let out a sharp scoff. “Oh, he’d settle for Harvard,” he repeated, eyebrows shooting up. “Listen to this guy.”

You smirked, leaning back in your chair. “God forbid he ends up somewhere mediocre like, I don’t know, Yale.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, I have options.”

“Yeah, you’ve got options,” Steve said, gesturing with his soda. “Like, ‘Do I want to be a genius at the best tech school in the country, or do I want to slum it at a little place called Harvard?’”

Dustin grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Hey, I’ve got a lot to offer. Brains, charm, a killer D&D campaign record…”

“Don’t forget humility,” you added, deadpan.

Dustin shrugs “I just hope I can go to college y’know, with everything going on here” Steve sits up “hey you’re going to college” he says pointing at the boy

Dustin blinked, caught off guard by the sudden conviction in Steve’s voice. “I mean, yeah, that’s the plan, but—”

“No buts,” Steve cut in. “You’re too smart not to. I don’t care if the world’s ending or if that mind flayer thing comes back riding a demogorgon, you’re going to college. And you’re not settling for Harvard either you’re going to MIT”

Dustin scoffs “alright Steve”

You smiled, watching the exchange from across the table. “He’s right, Dust. You’re not just smart—you’re brilliant. And brave. And annoying as hell, but that’s beside the point.”

Dustin looked between the two of you, his mouth twitching into a reluctant grin. “You guys are so embarrassing.”

Steve smirked. “Yeah, well, get used to it. We’re gonna be the loudest ones at your graduation. I’m bringing a foghorn.”

You gasped, eyes lighting up with sudden inspiration. “We should get matching MIT sweaters!”

“oh no no no!” Dusting protests

“oh yes!” Steve agrees

Dustin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “You two are going to ruin my life.”

It shifted again, dusting was gone and so was the peaceful air. The door rattled violently on its hinges, claws scraping against the other side like nails on a chalkboard. The demogorgons were close—too close. You could hear their snarling breaths, the wet, guttural sounds of something not meant to exist in this world. The lights flickered overhead, casting long, twitching shadows across the concrete floor.

You and Steve were backed into the far corner of the room, crouched low behind an overturned metal table. His chest rose and fell in sharp, shallow breaths, blood smeared across his temple, his bat nowhere in sight. Your hands trembled as you gripped the crowbar you’d found, knuckles white, heart pounding so loud it drowned out everything else.

“Steve,” you whispered, barely audible over the screeching outside. “If we don’t make it out of this one—”

“Don’t say that,” he snapped, sharper than you expected. His eyes met yours, wide and wild, but burning with something fierce. “Don’t you dare say that.”

You swallowed hard. “Steve—”

“I’m not kidding,” he said, voice cracking as he leaned in closer, like he could shield you with his body alone. “You’re gonna live a long, happy life, Y/N. You’re gonna die in your bed when you’re over eighty years old, peacefully, surrounded by grandkids and ugly knit blankets and a dog that snores louder than I do.”

You blinked, stunned by the sudden flood of certainty in his voice. “It’s okay—” you tried, voice trembling, reaching for something steady in the chaos.

But Steve snapped, louder than you’d ever heard him. “It’s not fucking okay!” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “We’re not dying in this shithole!”

The room shook again, dust raining from the ceiling as another demogorgon slammed into the door. The hinges groaned, metal warping under the pressure. You flinched, but Steve didn’t move. He stood there, chest heaving, eyes locked on the door like he could hold it back with sheer will.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Steve—”

“No,” he said, turning to you, voice still shaking but steadier now. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the grime and sweat clinging to your skin. “You don’t get to give up. Not here. Not now. You hear me?”

You nodded fiercely, the fear in your chest cracking wide open into something raw and real. “Yes,” you breathed. “Yes. I love you.”

his smile broke through, soft and aching and so full of everything he’d never said out loud.

“I love you too,” he whispered, forehead pressing gently to yours. “And I’m gonna keep on loving you. Till we’re old and gray, yeah? You and me. Front porch. Rocking chairs. Bad coffee. The whole thing.”

You let out a shaky laugh, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You promise?”

He nodded, voice thick. “I promise”

They burst through the door in a blur of claws and teeth and shrieking hunger.

Steve barely had time to shove you behind him before the first demogorgon lunged. He scratched at Steve chest and he fell back against the wall falling onconcious

Then the floor gave out.

A deafening crack split the air as the ground beneath you buckled swallowing you whole.

When Steve came to, it was with a gasp, lungs burning, head pounding. He was lying on cold stone, the air damp and heavy with rot. The only light came from a flickering overhead bulb, swinging lazily like a pendulum.

He sat up too fast, pain lancing through his skull and his chest. “Y/N?” he croaked, voice hoarse.

Silence.

He scrambled to his feet, heart hammering, eyes scanning the room. The overturned table was still there. The broken door hung off its hinges. Blood smeared the floor in long, chaotic streaks.

But you were gone.

“Y/N!?” he shouted, louder now, panic rising in his throat like bile. “Y/N!”

No answer.

Just the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls, mocking him.

He staggered forward, calling your name again and again, each time more desperate than the last. But the room remained heartbreakingly, impossibly empty.

And for the first time since he met you, Steve Harrington felt truly alone.

“Steve!”

Robin’s voice cut through the haze like a lifeline, sharp and desperate. She stumbled into the ruined room, blood on her hands, hair matted with sweat and ash. “Oh my god, Steve—thank god you’re alive!” She dropped to her knees beside him, grabbing his shoulders, eyes scanning him for injuries.

“We took him out—I think- or at least we injured him bad! Nancy shot him a bunch of times and—!”

She stopped.

Because Steve wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t even really seeing her.

He was on his knees, trembling, eyes locked on the empty space where you should’ve been. His lips were parted, breath coming in shallow gasps

Robin’s voice softened.

“Steve where’s y/n?”

He turned to her slowly, and that’s when she saw it—the devastation carved into every line of his face. His eyes were glassy, wide, like he was still trying to wake up from a nightmare that hadn’t ended. A sob tore from his chest before he could stop it. He clamped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late.

The sound echoed through the broken room, raw and ragged and full of something ancient and unbearable.

“Shit,” Robin whispered, the word barely making it past the lump in her throat. Her eyes welled, and then the tears came fast, hot and silent, streaking down her dirt-smeared cheeks. Her voice cracked under the weight of it all, under the truth she didn’t want to believe but couldn’t ignore.

She wrapped her arms around Steve tightly, like she could hold him together with her own body. He didn’t resist. He couldn’t. He just collapsed into her, shaking, his face buried in her shoulder, the sobs tearing out of him like they’d been waiting for permission.

That’s how Nancy found them.

She stepped into the ruined room, flashlight beam cutting through the dust and debris. Her boots crunched over broken glass and splintered wood. She didn’t have to ask. She didn’t have to hear it.

She saw Steve—on his knees, clinging to Robin like a man drowning. She saw the blood on the floor, the empty space where you should’ve been. She saw the way Robin’s shoulders shook with silent grief.

And she knew. You were dead.

But you weren’t you were standing right there now, tears rolling down your own cheeks as you watched everything finally coming together. You weren’t born here. You weren’t even supposed to be here

You shot up. And once again you were back in that house. You laid on the couch now Henry, sat on the chair next to you “ah good, you’re awake. You made quite the tumble there darling”

After

His followers knew you two were dating before Riddle did when a selfie popped up immediately after he confessed his feelings and asked you out, both of you still blushing, with #hardlaunch in the captions

He still takes pictures of and with his other friends, but for every one for them there's two of you

Dates, sleepovers, unbirthday parties, Kalim's parties, club meetings, sports events, he has a picture with you at and for every occasion

While he never mentions it to you, you catch on pretty quick that he's just a little upset about his tagged pictures, or the lack thereof, and quickly fix that

Before long his tagged is filled with pictures from your page, and you get a lot of candids. What can you say? He's very cammable.

Your favorite picture you got of him was at Ramshackle during a sleepover. His hair down, in his pajamas, lounging in your bed, the soft glow of your bedside lamp across his face. He wasn't using his usual bubbly personable mask, but he was still smiling softly at the camera, having caught you just before you took the picture.

His favorite picture is the two of you at Sage Island beach. He'd set up the camera on a tripod out of the water to take a burst of pictures while the two of you waded in the surf, his arms over your shoulders kissing your cheek, your arms around his waist while you laughed, a large wave cresting behind you. The draw back of this wonderful picture was that the following four pictures were of the two of you getting knocked over by the wave, popping out of the water, and laughing and running hand in hand towards the camera before you could get knocked down again. He still loves the other pictures in that burst, but the first one is by far his favorite

Ace Trappola

399 followers

Before

Before we start I'm gonna need yall to love Ace a lot more than you do, this is my BOY

He's a menace though. Most of his pictures are of something actively going awry that he thinks is funny

You chasing after Grim when he tries to skip out on class, a selfie with Deuce when he's having his existential crisis about eggs, Sebek scolding Grim and Epel about something, and so on.

His tagged photos are filled by you, Deuce, Cater (obviously), and Floyd in the Basketball Club. Though, the ones from Floyd are mostly just him in the background waiting for Floyd to start the chaos

He is so obvious about his crush on you before the two of you get together, and it shows in his posts.

He manages to catch more pictures of you during moments he thinks are funny, but there's also just a lot of selfies with you? In the cafeteria, middle of class taken from under the desk, at Ramshackle, in his and Deuce's room at Heartslabyul, at basketball games, etc.

And they're all decent pictures? Like they're just selfies with you, no tricks, no making you look bad, just him taking pictures with you. Which is his downfall.

Most everyone catches on to his crush on you long before you two get together, it's actually kind of embarrassing

After

Everyone following along on his page and in his daily life breathes a sigh of relief, about damn time

The pictures don't change because they don't really need to? The two of you already looked fairly coupley before, the most that changes is that you're closer together.

An arm around the waist here, a head on the shoulder there, a few kisses on the cheek. Otherwise, the pictures don't really change much

His favorite was one he took during an unbirthday party, the two of you had snuck away into the rose maze to get some time to yourselves. The backdrop of roses in a nice little sun spot, your head resting on his shoulder with your eyes closed, his cheek resting against your head, little smiles on either of your faces... it just makes his heart flutter a little every time he sees it. Not that he would tell anyone that.

Deuce Spade

543 followers

Before

He actually has a lot of old pictures from his delinquent days, he says they're there to remind him to be better than he was

Once he gets to NRC he doesn't post much until he actually becomes friends with you, Ace, and Grim

When he's comfortable enough with the group, he'll occasionally do group selfies at hangout sessions

A lot of them are of you and Ace on either side of him and Grim hanging off your shoulder

He got one at a movie night, everyone in a pile constructed of pillows and blankets and cushions in front of the couch, all of your limbs kind of folding around each other's, you and Grim seemingly entranced by the TV and Ace looking up from his phone to hold up a peace sign

Once you all started making more friends, particularly with the other freshmen, they occasionally started showing up in the pictures. Him and Jack before a track meet, everyone eating lunch together when you became friends with Epel, playing video games at Ramshackle with Ortho

His tagged photos are mostly from you and Ace, of course, with a few from NRC official from Track Club meets sprinkled in

After

If you don't know what to look for, you'd think the only thing that changed was that the two of you started hanging out by yourselves more often

A majority of his pictures with you just look like two friends enjoying each others company

But there were some that made the two of you look more like a couple, coordinating outfits for date night, you wearing his track jacket before a meet, what truly solidified it was the coordinating outfits you wore for the White Rabbit Fest in Clock Town, leaning your heads against each other and making a heart with your hands. Mostly your idea, but he thought it was cute.

If you peeked at his tagged photos, however, it was a lot more clear that the two of you were dating just based on yours and Ace's pictures

Your selfies made the two of you look more like a couple than his ever did

And Ace is a menace. He caught more than a few pictures when the two of you try to sneak off together, hand in hand. He caught one in the botanical garden, you throwing one of your shoes at him while Deuce blushed furiously having been caught kissing under a tree.

Jack Howl

97 followers

Before

There isn't much on here. Writing these, I think I've come to the conclusion that the Savanaclaw boys don't really care much about Magicam

His tagged pictures are mostly from NRC official of track meets before he becomes friends with you. Then it's filled with selfies from Deuce, group pictures with the other freshmen, a few selfies with Epel

He'll very rarely post his own pictures of the freshmen group, usually when they come out for his and Deuce's track meets

After

There's still not much here

He has one picture with you, you're on his back, wearing his track jacket, cheering him on as he's doing laps on the Spelldrive field for training

He's another one where the good shit comes in the tagged photos, and they're mostly from you

There is one, however, that Deuce took during a Ramshackle hang out. You're sitting on the couch with Jack on the floor in front of you, leaning back against the couch between your legs, chuckling at something Ace said as you braid his hair. You were smiling at whatever Ace was saying too, but your eyes were locked on Jack's hair in your hands. He mostly likes that photo because it reminds him how gentle your hands are

Epel Felmier

18 followers

Before

He doesn't have an account until he makes friends with the other freshmen and Deuce asks for his account so he can tag him in a picture

Once he gets one, he doesn't post anything. He knows the response is just going to be people calling him cute or telling him that he looks like a girl

But he has many tagged photos from his friends, in the freshmen group, a couple selfies from you, some candids of you, Grim, and Ace closely watching him do an apple carving, some candids of him, Deuce, and Ace scheming that you took

There's also quite a few pictures that someone went back and tagged him in from NRC official from Spelldrive matches which he loved, he looked so cool in all of them!

After

He may post a picture or two with you very occasionally, it's usually a mirror selfie with his arm wrapped around your waist and your arms resting on his shoulder before a date, very stereotypical couple pictures

Surprisingly enough, it's actually Vil who gets the good pictures. He doesn't post them, however, he just sends them to you to do with as you please

You post them all

His tagged is full of pictures of the two of you, trying to sneak around the library holding hands, him carrying your stuff through the halls, chatting over tea at Pomefiore, and plenty from Spelldrive matches

Deuce got one of you helping Epel train, knees on his feet as he did sit-ups, NRC official got one before a match of you kissing him on the cheek for good luck

His favorite, though, was one Jade had gotten of the two of you while you were all in Harveston for the sled race. It was during the party the night before the race, the two of you were dancing to the music the others were providing looking like you were having the time of your lives in each others arms as he spun you around

Silver Vanrouge

73 followers

Before

He made an account with the full intention of using it, even posted a picture with Lilia within an hour of making it. Then he fell asleep, and when he woke up he had duties to attend to, training to do, schoolwork

He ended up forgetting about it within a week

That doesn't stop him from getting tagged in pictures, however, and Lilia is more than happy to tag him in every photo.

Asleep somewhere nice, asleep somewhere not so nice, during Equestrian Club meetings, around Diasomnia with Malleus

Kalim also has a bunch of tagged pictures of him, mostly from parties but there are also a few selfies from the rare times that they actually get to hang out by themselves

I think Kalim actually got the first picture of you and Silver together at one of his parties when a couple birds came and landed on the banister next to the two of you, you chuckling behind your hand as Silver spoke to the birds

After

He only remembers he has this account after the two of you start dating, posting a picture of the two of you laying on your backs in a sun spot under a tree, pinkies linked between you

After this photo, he forgets about the app again for awhile.

Lilia is immensely proud of his son for, as Lilia put it, "pulling out of his league." The comment made you cackle, but he and Malleus didn't exactly get it. He meant it as a joke and refused to explain.

As a result, Lilia grabs all the pictures he can for his own account, and it feels very much like a dad taking pictures of his son and his date before prom but it's before every single date. You thought you could sneak out before Lilia could get a picture? Think again.

And for every outfit picture Lilia took of the two of you, there were at least two from Kalim. Remember how I said Kalim posts the things he likes? He loves that the two of you are dating, he and Lilia are battling it out for the title of your biggest supporter

When Silver remembers he has an account again, he takes a look through his tagged photos. He has two favorites, one from either of them.

His favorite from Lilia is from an Equestrian Club meeting, very much an action shot of the two of you riding his horse, your arms wrapped around his waist, both of you beaming. It made him feel very much like a prince whisking away the love of his life.

His favorite from Kalim is of the two of you sitting on a banister watching a fireworks display that Scarabia was putting on. It's a picture from behind the two of you, silhouetted in the fireworks, your head leaned over onto his shoulder, hands held between you

Sebek Zigvolt

6 followers

Before

Why would he use this? What is the purpose? It's a pointless distraction!

Lilia ended up making one for him, privated, just following him, Malleus, and Silver

He doesn't check it often, and he doesn't post anything, he still doesn't see the need or appeal.

But once he becomes friends with the other freshmen, his tagged pictures start filling up more than just the ones he gets from Lilia and being in the Equestrian Club

There's plenty of pictures from Ace of him scolding another student for talking bad about Malleus, eating lunch with his friends from Deuce, him being pulled into group pictures by you during the freshmen hangouts at Ramshackle

He doesn't post anything, but he does like looking through the pictures his friends post every now and then

After

Still doesn't post anything, why do people think he needs to share his life with the internet? What is a hard launch??

When Lilia explains how he uses the app, keeping his account private and thinking of it more like a photo album, something clicks.

There's suddenly many candids of you. Half the time you didn't know he took a picture until he tags you in it. Lilia finds this hilarious.

You reading on the other side of the room, helping him during training, chatting with Malleus over tea, crouching down to examine a group of flowers while on a walk, he loves getting pictures of you when you aren't paying attention, he says it feels more authentic

His tagged photos start changing too. Lilia gets a lot of candids. The two of you getting ready to go on dates, together or Sebek by himself, him introducing you to the horses at the stables, your head on his shoulder while he reads on the couch

There's one photo of the two of you walking out of an assembly in your ceremonial robes, him with a proud smile on his face as he speaks to you and you looking at him like there was no one else in the world at that moment. He doesn't tell anyone, but he gets the photo printed and keeps it on his desk under Malleus's portrait

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

Housewardens + Jamil :: Vice Housewardens

Trey Clover

You were curled up in the corner of the library, a rare moment of peace. With your knees tucked up and your face buried in a book, you looked like the picture of innocence.

Trey had been searching for you, thinking maybe you’d like to help him test the new tart he’d baked. He spotted you tucked away in the back of the room and approached quietly, not wanting to disturb you.

That is… until he noticed just what you were reading. The title was subtle, but the words on the page he glimpsed?

Not so much.

Trey blinked. “His lips grazed her neck, hands trailing lower as her breath hitched”

You turned the page, your face glowing red, clearly engrossed. He couldn’t help the amused smile creeping onto his face. He leaned in behind you, voice low and teasing. “Didn’t think you were into that kind of books.”

You jumped like you’d been electrocuted, snapping the book shut with a loud slap. You spun to face him, your expression pure panic, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “T-Trey! I…It’s not! I mean! I was just—!”

He chuckled softly. His tone was warm, not mocking. “Relax. I’m not judging. You’re allowed to have your little ‘me time.’”

You whimpered something unintelligible, covering your face with both hands. “It’s just fiction!” you squeaked, your voice muffled.

Trey knelt beside you, his voice lower now, more sincere. “Hey, no need to be embarrassed. I think it’s fine.”

He gently tugged one hand away from your face so he could see your eyes. “It’s not a big deal. And if you want maybe you can share with me what was in it.”

You squeaked again, flustered beyond belief, and Trey just laughed, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

Cater Diamond

It was just supposed to be a quiet afternoon.

You’d stolen away to the lounge in Heartslabyul, nestled on the velvet couch with a book you definitely wouldn’t be reading in public otherwise.

Something with a swoony, scandalous plot. Way steamier than your usual shy self would admit to anyone, not even your boyfriend.

Especially not your boyfriend Cater.

Cater, who always called you "cutie" and “babe” who flirted like it was his second language. He’d probably tease you to death if he knew what kind of thoughts your quiet little head was entertaining.

Unluckily…or maybe luckily, he found you. He wasn’t even trying to sneak up on you. He just wanted to see what you were up to. But when he rounded the corner and saw the very red look on your face, and that suspicious title peeking out, he paused.And read.

“His hand slid beneath the hem of her gown…” Cater let out a low whistle.

You froze.

“Whoa~ spicy! Didn’t know you were into this kinda stuff.”

You jolted, slamming the book shut so fast it puffed up dust. You turned to him, wide eyed and trembling like a deer caught in headlights. “I-I was just! It’s fiction! I swear I didn’t mean!”

“Oh my Seven, you're so cute when you're flustered!” he laughed, moving to flop onto the couch next to you. “Seriously, you always act so shy around me, but here you are reading stuff that would make me blush.”

You hid your face in your hands with a groan. “Please forget this happened…”

“Forget? Babe, no way!” he teased, sliding closer, propping his head on your shoulder with a grin. “Now I’ve gotta know… were you picturing me as the scandalous male lead?”

Your ears burned.

He smirked. “That’s a yes~”

Still, when he saw your shoulders trembling and realized you were actually overwhelmed, his teasing softened.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, nudging your arm gently. “I’m just messin’ with you, okay? You can like whatever you like. Honestly? I think it’s kinda hot that my shy little cutie has a naughty side.”

You peeked at him through your fingers. “Really…?”

He winked, grinning. “Totally. But now I’m gonna be wondering what else you’ve been keeping to yourself~”

Leona Kingscholar

It was hot and quiet in the botanical garden, a perfect place to be alone. You were curled beneath the shade of a tree, nose buried in a very suggestive book you’d smuggled from the library's restricted romance section.

You hadn’t meant to fall so deep into it, but the tension, the slow burn, the scandalous way the hero whispered things to the heroine… your face was burning, heart pounding as you clutched the pages like your life depended on it.

You didn’t notice the rustle of leaves behind you. Didn’t hear Leona’s lazy footsteps. He'd been napping nearby and had woken up when he heard you mumbling to yourself. He stretched, followed the sound, and then... froze when he saw what you were reading.

He tilted his head, ears twitching slightly as he narrowed his eyes and read a few lines over your shoulder. “She gasped as his hand traveled downward, lips brushing the edge of…”

You didn’t even notice him until he snorted.

Loudly.

“Oi. You always get this worked up over books, herbivore?”

You shrieked, practically launching the book into orbit as you turned to find Leona towering over you, smirking down like a lion who had cornered his prey. “L-Leona! How long?! I-I didn’t know you were!”

“Long enough.” His tail flicked with clear amusement as he plucked the fallen book from the ground, flipping through it lazily. “Hah. Didn't know you liked stuff like this. You always look like you'd faint if someone touched your hand.”

“It’s just fiction!” you squeaked, covering your face. “It’s just... for fun…”

He stared at you. Then knelt in front of you.

“You were imagining someone?” he said, voice low and gravelly. “Anyone I know?” He smirked at you, already knowing the answer.

You whimpered. He smirked wider. “You’ve got guts, hiding this little spicy side from me.”

You peeked at him between your fingers. “That’s embarrassing…”

“Tch. Why would it be?” He leaned in, brushing his knuckles under your chin. “Honestly, kinda sexy that you’ve been holding out on me.”

Your face flushed deep red. “Leona!”

“Relax. I won’t tease you too much,” he added, lips curling. “But don’t think I’m letting this go. Next time you want spice…” He tapped the cover of the book. “Come find me instead.”

Your heart nearly exploded.

Vil Schoenheit

You thought you were alone in the library, a quiet, unused wing where no one ever went unless they were researching obscure potion books or beauty rituals from centuries past.

Perfect.

You curled up with a spicy romance novel tucked between your fingers. It was one of those sultry, decadent ones, flowery prose, forbidden kisses, and breathless touches behind closed doors. Totally uncharacteristic for someone as bashful as you, especially when your boyfriend was Vil Schoenheit.

Beautiful. Regal. Composed.

You’d die if he knew what you were reading. And naturally, fate decided to murder you on the spot.

“What on Twisted Earth are you hiding behind your sleeve?”

You gasped and sat bolt upright, clutching the book to your chest as if it were a lifeline. Vil stood in the doorway, arms folded, golden hair gleaming. His eyes narrowed calculating, curious.

“Nothing!” you said way too quickly.

He arched a perfectly shaped brow. “That didn’t sound suspicious at all.”

Before you could escape, Vil had crossed the room in long, graceful strides. He plucked the book gently from your hands before you could stop him.

He read the title.

Then a passage.

And then...

“‘His fingertips danced along her thigh, lighting fires in their wake…’”

He paused.

Then looked at you.

Slowly.

His expression unreadable. “...This is what you’re reading in secret?”

“I-it’s not like that! I just… I thought it was interesting! Just curious! It’s fiction!” you stammered, cheeks hotter than lava.

He exhaled through his nose, almost like a sigh. “Sweet potato…”

He stepped closer and sat beside you, brushing your hair aside so he could look directly into your eyes. “You’re allowed to explore your desires. You don’t have to hide them from me. You can read whatever you want. I won’t gonna judge you.”

You blinked, unsure if he was teasing or serious. “Really?”

“Really.” His hand found yours, cool and elegant, lacing your fingers together.

Rook Hunt

The woods behind Ramshackle were your secret sanctuary.Quiet. Breezy. Peaceful. Also far away from prying eyes.

Or so you thought.

You were lounging beneath a tree, sunlight warming your skin as you held your book close to your chest. One of those romance novels. The kind that dripped with stolen kisses, wandering hands, and unspoken, breathless tension.

Your heart thumped in time with the quickening pace of the words. You’d been rereading the same spicy scene twice over, where the mysterious hunter cornered the heroine, eyes smoldering, hands braced beside her head, whispering things that made you squirm.

It was a little embarrassing. Especially since you were dating Rook, actual hunter and professional swooner. If he knew what you were reading, he’d never let you live it down.

Which was unfortunate. Because he was literally behind you. Leaning in. Reading over your shoulder.

“‘His mouth traced the edge of her throat, voice low and dangerous…’” A voice repeated smoothly.

You jolted violently, flinging the book into the bushes.

“Mon dieu!” Rook exclaimed dramatically, catching the book mid air. “Such thrilling prose! Such evocative language! Quelle passion!”

Your entire body went rigid. “R-Rook! H-how long have you…?!”

“Long enough to fall deeply in love with the way your eyes sparkled while you read,” he cooed, spinning the book in his hands like it was a rose. “How curious! You never told me you enjoyed such spicy literature, ma chère.”

You curled into yourself like a dying star, face burning. “I—I just thought it was interesting, I swear! Just curiosity!”

He smiled,soft and knowing. “Ah, but fantasies reveal the hungers of the soul~”

He leaned in, his voice velvet smooth. “Does your heart beat so quickly because of the book… or because I am near?”

You nearly choked on your tongue. “I… I don’t know…”

He tilted his head, eyes dancing with delight. And then…He pouted.

“Oh, mon trésor… to think you’d keep such delicious curiosities from me.” He sighed, pressing the book to his chest like a love letter. “Are you perhaps afraid I would judge you? Or worse… feel jealous of this fictional rogue?”

Your jaw dropped.“Y-You’re jealous? Of a book character?!”

“Mais oui~” he said dramatically. “I am your beloved, non? And yet it is he who kisses your thoughts in secret.”

Your embarrassment turned into shy laughter. “Rook, you’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous in love~” He pulled you to your feet and kissed your knuckles with flair. “Next time, we read such tempting tales together. And if you desire a rogue with a sharp tongue and wandering hands… I volunteer myself.”

Your heart sputtered in your chest.

And the book? He kept it.

Tucked it into his coat like a prized treasure.

Idia Shroud

You’d never meant for anyone to find out. Especially not Idia.

But your weakness for spicy, blush worthy romance book had gotten the better of you during a late night reading binge in Ignihyde’s lounge. He said he’d be “holed up in his room grinding a raid boss,” so you figured you had the entire common room to yourself. Other students usually sleep or doing their own stuff in their own room in these hours.

You were wrong.

Dead wrong.

You’d barely gotten to the scene… the scene where the shy academic girl finally snapped, pushed her love interest against the wall, and proceeded to say things that would make a most naughty person blush…

When you heard a sudden noise behind you. A gasp. A panicked flutter of fingers. And the unmistakable screech of a social reclused nerd malfunctioning.

“WH-WHAT—?!”

You turned around so fast the book went flying off your lap. There, standing frozen like he’d just walked in on a murder scene, was Idia. His hair sparked bright pink. His eyes were the size of dinner plates.

“Y-You’re reading—!! That’s—!?! AND HERE???”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again. “It’s just a book,” you mumbled, face heating up.

“J-just a book?! That book is trending on like, ten different forums for being highly unhinged! There's a whole thread about that chapter. T-there's fanart! Why would you—how do you—ARE YOU OKAY?!”

You blinked. “…Are you okay?” You raised an eyebrow.

“NO???” He looked like he might combust on the spot. “I—I mean… it’s fine! You’re allowed to read whatever you want! It’s not like I’m gonna judge you! Like pfff romantic tension and, uh, aggressive make outs are, y’know, common themes in the genre… not that I read them! I mean I do! But not like that! Wait. NO! I mean—!!”

You couldn’t help it. You started laughing. Which only made him spiral more.

“You’re laughing?? At me?? After I just caught you reading Borderline 18+ Shoujo Heat Level literature??”

“You’re adorable,” you giggled, wiping a tear from your eye. “Idia, I didn’t think you’d freak out more than I did.”

He sputtered. His hair pulsed pink. “I’m not adorable! I’m—! I’m the brooding shut in NPC with a secret SSR drop rate! You… you don’t just call people like me adorable!!”

You took a step closer and poked his cheek. “So... you weren’t grossed out?”

“Wha—NO?! Grossed out?! Do you know how lucky I feel that you’re into stuff like that?! That you’re even into romance at all and not just some perfectly untouchable goddess who reads obscure philosophy books and judges me??”

You stared.

He froze.

“...That came out weird,” he mumbled, covering his face.

“I think it came out honest.”

He peeked between his fingers. “You’re seriously not mad because I walked in on you imagining yourself kissing that smoldering male lead guy?”

“Only if you imagine yourself as the smoldering lead instead.”

He made a noise like a dying talking plushie. “I’m gonna short circuit. I’m actually gonna melt. This is it. This is the end of the Shroud bloodline.”

You chuckled and sat beside him, nudging his side. “You know… I wouldn’t mind if you stole a few lines from that book.”

He peeked again. “...W-what lines?”

You whispered one of the racier ones directly in his ear. And then he screamed.

Ortho came bursting in two seconds later thinking there was an actual emergency.

Malleus Draconia

You had no intention of anyone seeing what you were reading. Especially not Malleus, crown prince of Briar Valley, and the person who is your most sweetest lover.

The book in question? A highly detailed fantasy romance novel filled with steamy, near poetic prose, swoon worthy scenes, and a mysterious, immortal prince who just so happened to bear a striking resemblance to someone you knew.

You were curled up beneath the window of Ramshackle’s common room, knees pulled up, so engrossed in your book you didn’t even hear the signature crackle that preceded his arrival.

“Child of man,” his voice came smooth, just above your head. “There you are.”

You yelped, slamming the book shut and shoving it under the nearest pillow like a guilty teenager caught by a parent.

Too late… He had already seen it.

“You seem… startled,” he said with a tilt of his head, glowing eyes curious.

“Nope! Nope! Totally fine!” you said, voice about two octaves too high. “Didn’t see you there! Hahah… how long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to wonder what could possibly make you so flustered,” he said, stepping closer.

You could feel the ancient power rolling off him like fog. He looked down at the pillow hiding your book like he could see through it with a glance. Honestly, he probably could.

“You were smiling as you read,” he said softly, “and your heart was racing.”

You turned into a human tomato. “Malleus…I…”

He knelt in front of you, one hand gently brushing your cheek. His expression wasn’t teasing or mocking. It was… curious. Gentle. Just slightly amused.

“Tell me,” he said, “what tale had you so captivated?”

You looked away. “It’s nothing. Just a dumb book.”

“I do not believe it is dumb if it moved you so.” He reached beneath the pillow and plucked it up. With one elegant movement, he held the book in his hand, running his fingers across the cover like it was something sacred.

Then he opened it. And landed directly on the scene. The scene where the immortal prince backed the heroine against a marble wall and whispered that she was the only warmth he’d ever known in a thousand winters of solitude.

“...Ah.” Malleus blinked. A long pause.

Then slowly, a smile tugged at his lips. “So this is what stirs your heart.”

You panicked. “Wait! Malleus… it’s not like that! I just like the writing… it’s not like I’m thinking about…”

His eyes glowed, and you immediately regretted your choice of words.

“...You think of me” he repeated, voice dangerously quiet.

“I mean. Maybe. A little...”

He chuckled, deep and velvety. “I did wonder why you can’t look at me when Im slightly closer or why your cheeks warmed whenever I offered you my arm.” His thumb stroked along the edge of the page, and he looked up at you from beneath his lashes. “Now I see… You long for affection. Intimacy. The brush of lips in candlelight. The weight of a hand at your back.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it. Then opened it again. He’s your boyfriend! You shouldn’t be so nervous about that! “I… uh…maybe? Yes? I don’t know! It’s just fiction!”

He snapped the book shut and leaned forward until your noses nearly touched. “It does not have to remain fiction.”

Your breath hitched. “Malleus…”

“If you wished me to hold you as he does her… to speak those words to you… you only need to ask.”

Your brain short circuited. All you could do was sit there, speechless, as the most powerful fae in Twisted Wonderland looked at you like you were his moon and stars.

“You are far more beautiful than this character,” he murmured, brushing a stray hair from your face. “And your heart beats far louder than any page.”

You were still stammering when he pressed a soft, chaste kiss to your forehead.

“Let me court you,” he whispered. “Not as a prince. But as your beloved.”

You nodded. You think you nodded. Frankly, you were too stunned to know for sure.

All you knew was that your book was forgotten, and now you were living something better.

Lilia Vanrouge

You should’ve known better than to read that kind of book in public. But Ramshackle was quiet that day, the fireplace was crackling, Grim had gone off to chase ghosts or snacks (you weren’t sure which), and you were sure no one would just drop in unannounced.

So there you were face buried in a novel, curled up with a blanket, absolutely enthralled by the scene you were reading.

The heroine had just been pinned to a wall by the mysterious, older vampire. You didn’t even realize you’d been holding your breath until…

“Oho~ What have we here?”

Your heart leapt from your chest. “W-Wha—Lilia?!”

You scrambled to hide the book under your blanket as the red eyed fae floated down with a grin sharp enough to pierce through the fabric.

He touched down silently in front of you, arms folded behind his back, head tilted like a curious cat. “Now, now, don’t be shy. I believe I caught a glimpse of a very… bold sentence.”

“You saw nothing!” you squeaked, cheeks blazing red. “It’s just… it’s not even that… I mean it’s a romance novel, yes, but it’s tasteful!”

Lilia chuckled, plucking the corner of the book from under your blanket. You tried to hold it down with your weight.

He merely arched a brow. “You wound me,” he said with a fake offense. “After everything I’ve lived through, do you really think I haven’t read a few scandalous things in my time?”

You pursed your lips. “Doesn’t mean you should read mine!”

“But you were enjoying it so much,” he cooed, circling you like a hungry cat.

“Your little sighs. Your flushed cheeks. The way your eyes widened at certain words…” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Was it the vampire that got you flustered?”

“I—I don’t! It’s not like that!”

“Oh?” His fangs glinted. “Even if he was pale, ancient, charming, full of dark secrets… and had a taste for innocent hearts?”

You were dying. “Stop! You’re making it worse!”

Lilia smirked and gently tugged the book from your grip. He turned a few pages and hummed at the contents.

“Ah, this part… where he runs his hand up her thigh and whispers he could devour her whole…” He looked at you with a sly grin. “Now, that’s good writing.”

You let out a strangled noise.

“I didn’t expect you to be the naughty type” he said, crouching to meet your gaze. “You’ve always been so polite around me. Always so flustered when I tease.”

You swallowed hard.

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a purr. “Is that what you want from me? To pin you against the wall and whispered sweet, dark promises?”

“Lilia!!”

His laughter rang out, melodious and full of mischief. But then, just as you were ready to flee the room forever, his expression softened.

“You know,” he said, brushing a hand against your cheek, “you never have to be ashamed of what you want. Especially with me.”

Your eyes widened.

“I mean it,” he continued. “If you desire sweetness, I will give it. If you desire passion, I have centuries of experience. If you simply want to be held and kissed like those pages describe…”

He kissed your forehead. “Then say the word, my dear.”

Your heart thudded.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak. So instead… you reached out and held his hand. And he smiled.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

..............................................................................................................................

Heartslaybul

Riddle used to really badly want a key collection. Something something about hearing that every door is leading to an opportunity you can unlock if you work for it. Took it too literal as a little kid. Still thinks antique keys are cool as fuck

Trey used to have a fascination with ants because his mom was able to smell them, and of course, growing up in a bakery they would have been a bit of a concern. So sometimes he would just go and sit and watch an ant hill for hours, claiming that he was making sure none were getting in the shop but uh he was really just watching them

Despite his own accent, and the one his mum made him use, Cater would pick up other people's accent like a sponge when he was little; thankfully little kids thought it was cool, not that he was trying to offend them (haha also a psychological survival trait to try and blend in as quickly as possible in a new environment and since we know he moved around a lot---) (lol I actually forgot to make a post about this I've only yapped about it on DC)

Deuce used to love blowing and getting raspberries when he was little because he could feel them rather than hear them

When Ace was Little Little he stuck a toy cat up his nose, followed by a firetruck, followed by a fireman. Yes it took a hospital visit. Yes this is based on a clip I saw from house m.d Yes it was his brother who took him, shut up

Savannaclaw

Leona desensitized his hands when he was younger because his coping mechanism for frustration was physical training. He wanted to be the best general the royal army ever had and if he could feel no pain in his hands like his great great grandpa he would achieve that goal, at least in his mind. (He would fist fight trees basically, after he was done his basic training with the current general)

Ruggie didn't speak to anyone except his grandma until he was about 5/6 years old; mostly because he had been taught that listening is less likely to get you in the bad sort of trouble than talking would, especially in the neighbourhood he grew up in

Jack used to sleep on his dad's tail, to the point he COULDN'T fall asleep unless he was hugging his dad's tail. Luckily his dad doesn't get excited too easily but this lasted until he was about 7 years old

Octavinelle

Azul loved getting ready with his mum in the morning, and before she had to go to work. He would often come to her with like a strand of seaweed or clams or coral so she could give him a cute hairstyle. He wouldn't be caught dead wearing them to school unfortunately, but he loved those moments with his mom.

Floyd used to collect shark teeth off the sea floor, at least. for a short time. After The Incident he decided to collect sand dollars instead to slide under Jade's 'door' while he was recovering

Jade first liked mushrooms because he thought the tops of them looked a little bit like sand dollars :) but also once he recovered he started collecting shark teeth from the sea floor and made a knife out of one as a silent thank you to Floyd - not because he thought he needed it, but just because it looked cool

Scarabia

Kalim used to have a horrible skin picking and nail biting habit; not out of anxiety but pure boredom from living under highly protected circumstances for a little while (also iykyk what this lead to)

Jamil had a mild allergy to mango, but still ate it anyways because he thought the tingly feeling was normal for mango.

Pomefiore

Vil used to make his barbies their own outfits; he would request fabric scraps from his designers to do so so they could match, and often brought a matching barbie with him onto sets and talk shows

Rook had bangs so long they covered his eyes; without having anyone reliable to ask for help, he used to use mud to slick it back out of his face

Epel 'refused' to lose any of his teeth in any other way than by biting an apple. Tooth fell out at school? He kept it a secret until lunch and put the tooth In His Apple. Tooth fell out at home? He would deny it, run to the orchard and grab an apple just to stick his tooth in it. Even now he says he lost all his teeth by biting an apple OTL

Ignihyde

Idia (as an only child) used to make 'potions' out of his moms bathroom supplies BUT they were always organized by use. So skincare products would get mixed together, hair products would get mixed together, dental products would get mixed together because in his mind, when his parents put everything together, it made the product better than it did originally

Ortho used to hide in vents OTL he would unscrew vents (which he did so by stealing his moms multitool on her belt) crawl inside and hold the vent cover in place until he could pop out and scare someone (usually his dad)

Diasomnia

Malleus was really bad at singing, I mean just awful. Like birds are dropping from the sky, magic mirrors want to shatter themselves and Lilia would even make him stop by offering him ice cream :skull: he did get voice lessons, but he was very huffy about them because he 'didnt need to get better if he was already the best'

Lilia as a teen would make dolls for fae orphans, but never told anybody about it out of embarrassment

Silver would often fall asleep with an animal he somehow managed to smuggle into the cabin from outside. If Lilia ever tried to take it, (even for the benefit of the animal), Silver would pull the biggest saddest puppy dog eyes you ever did see and Lilia had no military training for that OTL

Sebek used to eat his food by twisting his head and shaking his arms in opposite directions to tear it apart because of Croco instincts (can't deathroll, can try though).

Faculty

Crowley once got his entire fist stuck in his mouth

All of the cats Trein had growing up were named after famous religious figures that he grew up with

Crewel used to restore cars a lot, before he picked up his more glam style. His first car was a 1972 Chevy Nova that he managed to buy and soupe up after working two summer jobs since he was 14.

Vargas had a highschool sweetheart that he never got the chance to confess to. He still has the love letter in a shoebox somewhere. (hopeless romantic Vargas is so canon to me guys you don't understand)

Sam has never lost a card game since he was 9. His dad used to show him allllll the ways to cheat and fudge the deck in his favour, but also developed his skill. As of right now he's also banned from the local casino

Others

Che'nya was legally missing for 48 hours as a child because he went invisible, and decided the back of an unmarked van and a bunch of weird dudes acting strangely was paw-fect for an adventure. He ended up making them think their house was haunted before finding his way back home completely unharmed. The police and his parents didn't notice he was home until he asked for help opening a yogurt tube OTL

Jack Hearts had an obsession with learning how to fly, and accidentally incited panic in his parents several times after thinking a pile of leaves would be enough to cushion his jump from the second story of their house.

Falena had a really bad phase of making a popping noise as a stim. It had started off as a joke to mildly annoy Leona but he ended up annoying himself too

Cheka likes wearing his moms heels because he feels really small and thinks he should be taller

Najma had a HUGE sweet tooth. Sometimes, if Jamil could manage it, he would slip desserts from Kalim's testing tray (after he had tested them) to her and promise to learn to make them if she really enjoyed them. Also, unlike her brother, Najma has always been a disaster in the kitchen

Marja used to tap all sorts of trees to make syrups out of them. During the off season for apples, she would make lollipops out of them to sell door to door to neighbours. She was trying to save up for a dog (a border collie specifically)

Mama Shroud used to go scuba diving regularly (she's sooo Aussie in my head) and wanted to become a marine biologist before she really discovered engineering; which only happened when she had to think on the fly for one of her friends air tanks malfunctioning.

Papa Shroud loved to annoy his big sister LMAO he loved fake crying to get her in trouble and make her play with him

Ms. Hades (who I HC as Papa Shroud's sister) used to love doing her makeup, and would sometimes wrangle her younger brother into being her guinea pig for new styles

Maleanor used to flirt by asking other noble boys if they wanted to butt heads like rams with her OTL for some reason they all said no…

Baul was in cello lessons when he was little. He hated them. His mother commissioned a piece to have his disgruntled face and little outfit immortalized forever

Rollo used to buy little oils/perfumes so he and his brother could have the same smell on their respective handkerchiefs. His brother's favourite was sandalwood.

OCS

Vizzie loved pomegranates because she thought they made her look like a vampire when she ate them

Xenos used to throw fish at people from under the water when he was bored

Aspen would go up to random people to show them how he was double jointed in the wrists OTL

Danya's comfort item was his late father's ushanka

-------------------------------------------------------

If you want to read more about how I hc their families, I have two headcanon posts here and here and specifically about their guardians here

If you want some more Kid Silliness, I've got hcs here and here ANNND here

If you want to check out something else, I've got my masterlist here

And if you made it all the way here, thank you for reading!!

----------------------------------------------------

The doors were flung open with a loud thud, revealing a red-head in a suit. Much to your surprise, Riddle isn't burning red with a fiery rage and threatening to have everyone's head off. He's stomping towards you and your supposed groom, fist clenched as he throws out an arm out of anger. He doesn't seem too angry, but determined.

"ENOUGH! SHE WILL BE COMING BACK TO NIGHT RAVEN COLLEGE WITH ME NOW."

Okay, maybe you were wrong about him not being angry.

His voice echoes throughout the entire cathedral, followed by several flinches at his sheer volume. Immediately, the crowd by the rows inch back a bit further as he continues to march forward, ignoring the guards that seemed to hesitate to approach him. Pierce raises a brow, almost annoyed rather than fearful of this disturbance.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding. You see, the Prefect is going to be married to me. You can sort out your affairs after the ceremony is over." Well, that didn't seem to help one bit, judging by how Riddle seemed to fume even further at this statement.

The housewarden comes to a halt, sucking in a sharp breath to calm his temper. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to frighten you.

He breathes out your name, sending a stutter through your heart.

"Do you truly want to marry this man?"

It almost makes you swoon, the way Riddle looks at you so earnestly as he asks for some affirmation. Had it been any other scenario, you would've taken your time to bore your eyes into his and study his expression. Instead, you shake your head wildly, racing down the aisle until you have hidden yourself behind him.

Riddle has the nerve to smirk at the shocked Prince. "And here, I thought princes had a code of conduct when it came to their ladies." He turned back to you with an assuring look. "I'll take you home, Prefect."

Truly, Riddle had no intentions of playing around. He had only one objective, to get you out of here. Just as he turns around to escort you out of the cathedral, a pair of guards had blocked the exit.

"No, I cannot let you leave!" Pierce cried out, ready to give chase. "Prefect, please! Give me a chance. You cannot possibly be ready to leave me for... this guy!"

Riddle's eye twitches as he cranes himself to look at the prince. "You have some nerve!" He clicks out, clenching his fists once more. Everyone feels the cathedral heat up, those closer to the aisles feeling beads of sweat form upon their temples. Even as you looked at Riddle so gently, a part of you was somewhat grateful that he was sticking up for you.

Just as his top was about to blow, you muster the will to tug on Riddle's sleeve. As quickly as his reddened face came, it disappears when he glances back at your soft expression. Huffing out a heavy sigh, Riddle clicks his tongue and marches towards the exit.

"Let's be on our way, Prefect. We shouldn't waste our precious time on these trifles."

Needless to say, no one really wanted to test the housewarden's patience as he escorted you out of that Cathedral. Riddle certainly doesn't waste time hoisting you onto his horse and galloping away, not giving the prince a second to try and retrieve you.

He grumbles about the entire ordeal, mostly questioning the absolute ridicule of the marriage. What kind of prince thinks he can get away with it? Riddle is certain to send a complain to Royal Sword Academy regarding their lessons on conduct if no one tries to stop him.

You could easily see Night Raven College from afar as you peeked from behind his tuft of red hair. Riddle is still rambling, a preferable alternative to losing his temper entirely. "That ruffian dares to marry you and has yet to learn your name! How uncouth!" He spat in absolute distaste, and he finds comfort in the way you giggle in agreement.

Riddle doesn't seem to take note of the way your arms are crossed around his middle, or maybe he does, and just chooses not to let his blush show. He cleared his throat, gripping the reigns a bit tighter. "You will find better suitors, Prefect. Just promise me that he wouldn't be so impulsive as that Prince."

TREY CLOVER

"Can you drive any faster, Deuce? No, I don't think we're late. Better safe than sorry! ... Suit, check. Speech, check. Myself, check. I've got everything in order, but... hah, I'd expect to do this type of thing a few years down the line, let alone object at a wedding at all. At least, it's the Prefect's wedding... That's such a weird thing to conceptualize at this point in time."

He really didn't have to be so dramatic about the entire thing, but Trey is really going all-out for this objection. Really, all he's done is seen movies where someone objects at a wedding and while he knows its entirely fictional, our boy here has to drive the point home; no one is marrying the Prefect today.

So that explains why he even bothered to dress up and rehearse a speech throughout the entire ride to the cathedral. He has Heartslabyul helping him out to secure an escape for you in case things went awry. Sure, Trey's Unique Magic won't come in handy but he's good with his words, and is relatively charismatic. He's earned that title of Vice Housewarden, after all.

All that preparation flies out the window when he sees you down the aisle, however.

"Trey?"

He's blinking profusely, almost flustered himself by how radiant you looked in that wedding dress. For a moment, Trey swears that he's had some sort of tunnel vision when all he seems to see is you. It strikes some envy in him when he reminds himself that this wasn't his wedding, and this wouldn't be yours either.

"Prefect..." Trey breathed out, struggling to recall the damn script he was supposed to follow. They are lost, just as he found himself lost in your sparkling gaze.

Screw the script, he was just going to have to wing this one.

He narrows his eyes onto the shocked prince, taking steps down that long carpet. "I've come to bring you back to Night Raven College."

Pierce raises a brow, glancing back at you and the intruder with suspicion. "On what grounds?" He questions snidely, uncertain of what to make of this new character. "If it is for anything trivial, then you may bother the Prefect later. You are obstructing a ceremony here, sir."

You recognize that dangerous glint behind Trey's eyes, and it only serves to make your heart race. Trey simply smirks, hiding away his hesitant exterior with a haughty farce. "I am afraid it cannot wait. I cannot allow the Prefect to be married without saying my piece."

He doesn't exactly know where all his bravado was coming from, but if he had to confess his feelings to you now, then so be it.

Trey looks at you, flashing a gentle yet sheepish smile. "Prefect, I fell for you. Hook, line, and sinker." You let out a dramatic gasp along with the onlookers, allowing a hand to fly to your parted lips. "I have harbored those feelings for a long time now, and I cannot bring myself to see you married without letting my heart be known."

Swallowing to himself, Trey's expression falters slightly, falling into one of softness. "Prefect, it is your happiness that I desire. No matter what happens, I will support your choice."

He didn't exactly have to tell you twice, not when you hurry yourself over to his side and latch onto his arm. You didn't have to feed his ego like that, but it isn't as if Trey had any room to complain.

Pierce is angered by the sight, glaring daggers at Trey with such envy and animosity. "Prefect, are you really leaving me on the altar?" As if to subtly annoy the prince even further, Trey hooks an arm around your waist and pivots you to turn. "It seems to be so, Prince Pierce. I fear that your beautiful bride will be stolen on this lovely afternoon."

You do not miss the way Trey smirks at your flustered expression. Just as he continues to walk you to the exit, you gritted your teeth at him. "Don't say such things!" You tell him as the heat rises to your cheeks. You hear him hum at your ear, followed by the slight press of his fingers on your hip.

"Why shouldn't I? You look beautiful in this dress," Trey murmurs in your ear, pushing the cathedral door open with his hand. "And I suppose that the prince hasn't coaxed this expression out of you. I almost feel sorry for him, that he never got the chance to see how lovely you are when you are putty in my hands."

Trey doesn't stop teasing you, even once you are back in Night Raven College. He wouldn't stop complimenting you either, aiming to have you as red as possible. He just can't help it. It's probably the high he got from confessing his feelings to you, or maybe it's the part where you're unsure if he was being sincere or not. Regardless, it was fun seeing you get all flustered because of him.

You are seated by the Heartslabyul's kitchen counter, snacking on some quick treats that Trey had prepared for you. He claims that it was a consolation for the fact you never got to taste your own wedding cake. Still clad in your grand wedding dress, you couldn't exactly care any less about the crumbs soiling the skirts. "You're no prince charming, Trey." You mentioned mid-bite, eyes glancing at the vice-housewarden who was seated across from you.

"What makes you say that?" He asks you with a slight smile, resting his chin on his palm as he shamelessly bored his gaze into yours.

You snort, rolling your eyes at his seemingly sweet disposition. "Prince Charmings don't tease the girls that they like until they're as red as Riddle." You huffed, digging your fork into the pastry. "You cruel man! You haven't stopped ever since you stole me from the prince!"

Trey chuckles, and you cannot keep yourself from gulping as he leaves his seat, sauntering towards you like a lion would his prey. "Oh? I suppose that I am no Prince Charming. I'm not a pure white knight either. If you think I am being cruel, I won't stop you, sweetheart."

Your heart stutters as he slides a finger underneath your chin, tilting your head so that your forced to look his way. Trey smiles at you, eyes twinkling with absolute mischief. "I highly doubt Prince Charmings steal kisses from their crushes either. For you, I will be kind. May I, sweetheart? I do not need your shoe size to know my feelings for you, at least."

CATER DIAMOND

"Gah, it just refreshed! They've just gotten past the walking part! Deuce, shortcut on your left! Sorry, I'm switching tabs between maps and the livestream! Prefect looks is such a cutie in that dress, it makes me so envious of the prince! Oh well, she really looks like she doesn't wanna be there anyways. I'm coming Prefect! I'll save you!"

There's just this image of Cater clinging onto Deuce on a blastcycle, raising his phone up for a signal as they attempt to maneuver their way through the streets. Everything just happened in such a rush, and Cater's scrambling to get to you. He isn't like Trey who bothers to prepare, but if anything, Cater will ramp up the dramatics to the maximum.

His real goal is just to get you out by any means necessary, and more preferably, without violence. So Cater will do what he does best; make a grand spectacle of the entire thing until the prince is forced to abdicate. Worst case scenario, he's going to drag you out the door and shove you onto the damn blastcycle.

If he has to play the part of your real paramour, then he hopes you'll forgive him. He's got the suit and the desperate look on his face ready to go!

Your jaw goes slack at the way Cater makes a dramatic run for the aisle, somewhat unused to that stricken expression on his face. You're almost concerned for him with the way he grips his knees, attempting to keep his balance as his eyes zone in onto yours.

"Prefect, you can't marry him!" It's too out of character of Cater, and you know better than to think he'd ever be this undone in public. "Is this what you really want?!" Before you could even reply, Pierce cuts in with a slight glare.

"And who are you to talk to my bride like that?" It is then when you catch wind of that mischievous glint in Cater's eye as he throws out his arm dramatically.

"I am the Prefect's sweetheart! Who are you to take my girlfriend like that?"

You have never heard the cathedral go so silent. You are utterly speechless, lips parted with absolute surprise. Clearly, judging by the way sweat had begun to form on the side of Cater's temple, you cannot help but think that this was all improv on his half.

Pierce turns to look at you, almost stricken by the ginger's declaration. "Prefect, is that true?" His voice trembles with fear. "Is that truly your... sweetheart?"

A part of you feels a bit sorry for what you were about to do, but you had to remind yourself that you had been dragged into a wedding on the same day you met this prince.

You are running now, sprinting to Cater's side as you clutch his hand in your own. Turning back to the scandalized prince, you nod firmly, playing along with the farce. "We've been dating for a long time now! And I'm in love with him!" You declare, sending gasps throughout the entire cathedral.

You glance up at Cater, mustering a smile across your features. "You came to save me!" He's almost surprised by the way you cling onto him even harder, but it only serves to sell the act even further. Cater smiles in return, holding you closely. "I'd never let you go, cutie. I love you too much to let you leap into the arms of another man."

Maybe the act is too good, too calculated. That is exactly what goes through your head as Pierce raises a brow in suspicion, narrowing his eyes onto the pair as if attempting to spot a mistake. "Is that so?" He murmurs until he crosses his arms, disbelief on his skeptical expression.

"Prove it."

Cater and you freeze up simultaneously, heads turning to glance at one another. He looked so caught off guard by Pierce's demand, and there's so many eyes on you both.

"You're both longtime sweethearts, right? I wouldn't want to split apart such a happy couple..."

Cater is staring at you, attempting to read your expression. It's difficult, especially when you look at him as your gaze gets even more glossy. He wouldn't want to do anything you didn't want to, and he's already readying himself to sprint out the door with you in tow.

"Prefect, you don't have to—mmph!"

You wasted no time in snaking your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against him with such boldness. He could feel you pour all your wants and longings into the kiss, the plush of your soft lips melding into his own. How could he not deny you his own affections, not as he cups your cheeks with his slender fingers and presses back against you.

He dares to go even further, pulling back for a slight gasp of air before diving back into you. Much to his delight, you aren't pulling away either, choosing to even entangle your fingers into his hair for leverage.

Then you hear a groan from the prince, followed by his pleas for you two to stop this display. It seems that he got the point now, at least.

Even as both of you exit the cathedral, Cater still maintains the image that he was your boyfriend. You don't exactly protest, and even then, it didn't seem to different to the way Cater had been treating you as a friend. He is still as clingy as ever, closing the physical proximities by having you hang onto his arm.

And you best believe he's snapping as much photos of you to commemorate the event. He's already updating his MagiCam account on his success, not to mention the pretty girl on his arm.

"Cater, what are you doing?" You asked, unable to hide the grin on your face as Cater sets up his camera against the tire of the blastcycle. You could see yourselves on the reflection of the device, followed by the grand beauty of the cathedral behind you both. He grins at you as he shifts at your side.

"What? It isn't everyday a cutie like you gets to look like a bride. We got the perfect backdrop!" He sings, sliding an arm around your waist as he strikes for a pose. You follow his lead, matching his energy with each shot.

"Careful! People are going to think we're dating for real!"

Cater smirks at you, leaning in closely to your ear with a sickeningly sweet tease. "Wanna make it official then, cutie? Can't have any random princes asking for your hand, not when you're dating me." He is not stranger to the way you blush, letting out a chuckle at the sight.

"Aw, cutie! Are you still thinking about the kiss? I didn't think you would be so bold about it." Pressing a quick peck on the cheek, he rests his chin on your head as he prepares for another pose. "Don't worry. CayCay's gonna initiate it next time!"

DEUCE SPADE

"Grim, which way?! I can't see the GPS! ... Don't I just have to go in there and yell 'I object'? It looks easy! I'll say it then drag Prefect out of there... Ha?! I need to prove that I have a good reason to get her out? Fine! I don't care, the Prefect needs me!"

Possibly the closest we will get to a legit Prince Charming. Perhaps Deuce is a bit on the rugged side, but he's possibly one of the most earnest and noble students from Night Raven College. He cares about you more than he cares about getting his feelings across, but that is not to say he won't be honest about it either in this confrontation.

He's not exactly sure on how to break up the ceremony. Grim and Ace are coaching him through what to say, and admittedly, the process seems too complicated. All he knows is that he has to run through those doors and convince the prince to not marry the Prefect by any means necessary.

"Deuce!"

He is the one to always come running at the sound of your name. Deuce had been someone you trusted during your stay here in Twisted Wonderland, and you never seemed to stop and think about just how attached that boy was to you. Sure, you held him closely as a friend and held affections for him, but the way he sprinted towards you was a testament to how much he cared.

"Prefect!" You are racing to meet him halfway, launching yourself into his chest. He catches you barreling into his suit, immediately wrapping his arms around you in a protective manner. Then he takes you by the soldiers, looking down at you with such concern and worry. "Are you hurt? Are you okay?" He fusses, earning a shy smile from you.

"I'm okay, Deuce. I'm okay."

"And what is the meaning of this?"

Catching sight of the infuriated prince, Deuce beckons you to stand behind him. Cerulean eyes narrow onto the groom with animosity, accompanied by the way his hands are itching towards his wand. "I can't let you marry her. The Prefect will be returning to Night Raven College with me." You can sense the nervousness in his tone, but Deuce remains firm in his words.

Pierce's eye twitches, and he scoffed in disbelief at Deuce's protective display. "I am afraid that cannot be possible. I am marrying the Prefect, and that is final." Clicking his tongue, Pierce rolls his eyes and holds out his hand for you to take. "Come, darling. I am not surprised that you have garnered the affections of an admirer, but I fancy you more than this one ever could."

Something in Deuce snaps as he lets out a cry.

"But I love her!"

You stiffen against his back, taken by surprise by Deuce's sudden confession. And the boy glares, and it almost so painful for Pierce to keep his stare, not when there was so much conviction and certainty behind Deuce's voice.

"I've loved her longer than you have, and known her much longer than that!" His voice cracks underneath the emotional turmoil bubbling within him. "Did you even stop to consider what she wants? Did you wonder if this wedding would make her happy in the first place?!"

You take note of how Deuce's fists are clenched pale, how his breaths had suddenly grown haggard. With a soft expression, you curl yourself onto his back, arms hugging him from behind in an attempt to placate him. His body stiffens against your hold, but he reaches to clasp your hands onto his own.

He is just thankful that you aren't seeing the way his eyes had begun to water at the thought of losing you entirely. "So please," He chokes out, expression twisted with a sort of agony.

"Please don't force her to marry you. She deserves so much more than that."

Thanks to the waterworks that Deuce had caused, the wedding was called off. There was just no way that the prince could marry you after Deuce poured his heart out to deter him from wedding you.

It's almost sweet, the way that Deuce lifts you onto the blastcycle and fixes the helmet onto your head. He encourages you to hold onto him tightly as he speeds away from the cathedral, all the more determined to settle you back into NRC.

By the time he's dropped you off at the Ramshackle Dorm, only then does he take the time to bask in how radiant you appeared in a wedding dress. Thinking about his crush in a wedding dress had never crossed Deuce's mind before, but this definitely gave him something to ponder about for the next couple of nights.

You are handing him the helmet, a shy smile surfacing across your features. "Thank you for saving me from that awful wedding." Deuce clears his throat, shifting his gaze as he takes the helmet from your grasp. "I didn't want you to do something you weren't willing to. It just isn't right."

He doesn't realize just how dry his throat as gotten when he cannot bring himself to keep his thoughts to himself. "I love you. I really do, and I wish I said it at a better time." He swallows to himself, letting the embarrassment burn into the back of his head as he recalls his declaration. It was only natural that 'like' would turn into 'love' after being your close confidant for this long, pining quietly during the months spent with you.

You cannot exactly blame him either, not when his feelings were entirely reciprocated. You shift on the balls of your heel, biting onto your lower lip.

And in a swift motion, you lean in to press a chaste kiss against Deuce's warm cheek. You pull away to bask upon the stunned expression on his face, only to give him a shy smile of your own.

"Would you be down to try confessing again tomorrow?"

ACE TRAPPOLA

"BAHAHAHAHA! THERE'S NO WAY THE PREFECT IS GETTING MARRIED. WHO WOULD EVER WANNA MARRY THE PREFECT? PFFFFT, GRIM, YOU'RE SERIOUSLY PULLING MY LEG HERE. YOU EVEN BROUGHT ME A FAKE INVITATION! AIN'T NO WAY THAT SHE— Oh... Wait, really? The wedding is happening right now? ... Oh."

Ace thought you were just messing him again for that one time he said that no one would ever be interested in you. He simply said that to discourage you from trying to pursue a relationship with anyone else, but he didn't mean for you to prove him wrong like that! He never believes Grim until Deuce, Riddle, and the rest of Heartslabyul receive invitations to a wedding that was meant to start in 3 hours.

This is the absolute worst time to be in denial about his feelings. The Prefect wearing a wedding gown is one thing, but another is the fact that the groom is some pompous prince from Royal Sword Academy. Does that guy seriously think he was your type? No way! Ace knows you better than anyone on this campus, so this guy can buzz off!

A part of him did think that you were serious about marrying this stranger. In all fairness, Crowley's allowance pales in comparison to whatever Mr. Money-Bags had over there. He wouldn't blame you if you were marrying the guy for money.

Still, the last thing he wants is for you to be whisked away to who knows where. Ace would never see you again, and as embarrassing as it sounds, he did get very attached to you. Yes, a part of him wants to keep you to himself, but he also values your autonomy here. And if he knew you that well, he knows that you wouldn't want to be married off like this.

"Prefect, I'm here to pick you up."

You are actually surprised by how princely Ace looked in that moment. Dressed in a suit befitting a groom, you could help but feel your breath stolen away once his scarlet eyes were pinned onto yours. You could have been fooled then, and perhaps, Ace did turn into a prince as he marched down the aisle with his arm outstretched for you to take.

Ace never realizes the way a victorious smile creeps onto his face when you break out into a grin, taking the skirt of your dress as you make run for it. The crowd gasps as you crashed into Ace's chest, and he does not hesitate to take a protective stance in front of you. With a haughty laugh, he smirks at the baffled prince. "Who are you?!"

The redhead's arm wraps around your waist, pressing your body closer to his own. "Sorry about that, but I'll be taking your bride indefinitely! Trust me, you'll be severely disappointed after spending one good day with her!" He snickered, much to your horrified expression. You lightly smack at his chest, glaring at him with that pout that he adores so much.

"Hey!" You whine, and Ace simply beams at the prince who hesitantly steps forward. The redhead snorts, rolling his eyes at the crowd that are offended at his immature display. "I'm doing you a great favor here! If you kissed those lips, she'll turn into an ugly green ogre by sunset!"

"HEY!"

Pierce's eyebrows are furrowed as he looks at you, as if pleading for you to return to his arms. "You'd best return her, boy. We can settle this maturely." Ace does not like the way that these bodyguards are eyeing him, shifting closer and closer as he backed you both towards the venue entrance. He never falters, and neither does that shit-eating grin on his face.

"Sorry, buddy. The clock's struck midnight and all your magic tricks are fading!" He barks. Now, he knows that an escape must be made. The last thing he wants is to have another Eliza-episode. He looks down at you with a wide grin, clasping you arm with a firm squeeze.

Ace sneaks into his pocket, still looking at you. "You know something, Charmant? Maybe not all the magic has gone yet." His hand reveals the Ace of Cards, and it is immediately thrown up into the air.

As the card reached its peak in height, a burst of smoke filled the air, obscuring the magician and yourself from view.

You don't exactly need a signal to start running when your feet began moving on their own, dashing towards the door followed by the Ace's laugh and the prince's demand for guards.

Ace has no white horse, but he has Deuce with his blastcycle! Who knows how the three of you managed to fit on that bike, but you made it work! The guards couldn't exactly catch up in their cars, not when Deuce was dodging vehicles left and right to make this escape. Ace did take one final look back, sticking his tongue out at the defeated prince before you all disappeared around the corner.

Ace gives you his shoes, despite how oversized they may be. You complained about those glass shoes on you, and to 'shut you up', he's given you his runners.

When you make it back to Night Raven College and all the adrenaline has died down, Ace stays by your side the entire time when you explain the entire situation to Crewel and Crowley. He acts so nonchalant about things, even as you both walk all over the campus like groom and bride.

It's a rather odd sight; you in your wedding gown, and Ace right next to you as you both sit on the bench by the Great Seven's statues. Students wandering about at night had given both of you puzzled stares, but no one is ever surprised when they realize it's you and Ace, however.

"Wow, Prefect. Not even a thank you?" He glances at your slightly annoyed expression, throwing his hands up defensively in response. "I was kidding about the ogre stuff! Really!"

You could only roll your eyes at his words, huffing as you crossed your arms across your chest. When you refuse to speak, Ace sticks out his lower lip into a pout as he leans his head onto your shoulder. "Come on, don't be like that. Are you actually that upset about it?"

There is no response from you, not even a glance as your nose is turned away from him. Then Ace sighs, practically clambering over your lap just so that you are forced to look at him. "Prefeeeect, I said I was sorry! What? Do I have to kiss you to make me apology authentic?"

Only then do you look back at him with a raised brow, almost expectant. Ace blinks with surprise, a slight blush creeping to his ears. "For real? You're serious?" He exclaimed, much to your agitation. You sigh even louder as you shove him off your lap, hastily getting up to your feet to leave him behind.

"Wait! Prefect, I said wait!" You feel a hand on your wrist, twirling you back to face the redhead. Ace bites onto his lower lip, unable to keep the red from flooding his cheeks. "I really just said all that mean stuff to get the prince off your back, you know? I didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

And when he sees that smirk creeping up onto your features, he groans as he leans in closely into your space.

"Now look at what you've done! You had me all panicked over what?" You feel his breath tickling your lips, followed by the way his hands crawl up your neck to cradle your jaw.

“Aether signal tracking successful.” Ortho announces. “We have arrived at the designated coordinates.”

You, Grim, Silver, Sebek, Ortho, Azul, Jack, Ruggie and Idia’s tablet reach the next dream and you land back in the Sunrise City, the capital of Sunset Savanna, just like in Ruggie's dream.

Checking on everyone after dream crossing, Ruggie was fine, and everyone else looked fine with the exception of Azul, who was feeling dizzy and sick. Silver suggests you all get some rest and get some cool drinks to recover. Ruggie says that, because he's the only guy familiar with the area, he would grab some bottles of water or tea from one of the shops nearby, and Jack offers to help him carry everything.

However, that's when they notice something strange. That was supposed to be the busiest and most crowded part of the capital, but... there was less foot traffic, fewer cars, no stalls at all, and every place that sells drinks had its shutters drawn.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” Ruggie approaches someone to try to find out what was going on. “Could I ask you something?”

“Yes?” the lady says, but as soon as she looks at Ruggie: “Eep, a hyena!”

“What? A hyena?!” Another person is startled too. “There's no food left here! Please, just go away!”

They all ran into their homes and locked the doors. Ruggie assures you all that he did nothing wrong. The city is clearly more desolated than it was in Ruggie's dream. You talk for a bit, wondering what kind of dream would Leona be having. You decide to go to the royal palace, since Leona was one of the princes of Sunset Savanna there was a good chance of finding him there. After making sure Azul felt better and was ready to walk, he stood up and you all changed into your school uniforms. You were about to start walking towards the palace when you heard someone saying your name.

“King/Queen (Y/N)?” A child calls you, weakly.

You turn around and see a little beastchild looking at you with sad and begging eyes. When she sees your face, recognizing you, a smile appears and she run to you to hug your legs.

“Please, your majesty! Do something!” The beastchild begs you, crying and sobbing. “We are so hungry...” the child's tummy rumbles. “Make King Leona give our food back. Please!”

You didn't know what to do, there was so much information and it was such a sad sight. At that moment, the child's mother comes to you and grabs the child, taking her from your legs.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Highness.” The lady tells you, also with sadness in her eyes. “We know you can't do anything.” She doesn't say this in an accusatory way, but as if you were in the same situation. “We know you're trying your best. We know... the herds have moved on.” She looked at you differently when she said this last sentence, as if it meant something more. She bows to you. “Have a safe return home, Your Grace.” The beastwomen turns to leave with the child in her arms.

“Okay, now that the crisis is over...” Ruggie begins by saying calmly. “KING/QUEEN (Y/N)?!” He shouts in disbelief. “King Leona?! Bring back their food? What the heck just happened?!”

“We can discuss this on the way.” Sebek says. “We have to get to that palace AND FAST!”

You all head to the palace while deciphering what you heard from the beast child and the beast woman. The child called Leona king and both she and her mother called you king/queen and your highness. The only explanation was that you were married to Leona in that dream. When they reached this conclusion, everyone looked at each other, especially Jack, Ruggie, Azul and Ortho.

“Leona...?” Azul said with a smile slowly forming as he was holding back. “Leona Kingscholar? In love with a herbivore?” He wasn't making fun of you, he was just quoting Leona himself. “To the point of... hehe, dreaming that he is... married to them?... ha haha HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

He started laughing, but he wasn't the only one, Ortho was laughing too and even Ruggie. That even caught Idia's attention, who had been distracted until that moment doing research.

“I can't believe it!” Idia says through the tablet, with that mocking voice that he certainly wouldn't have the courage to use in front of Leona. “The big, imposing, Oresama type macho man whose romantic interest is the poor, weak, isekaied person with a soft heart?! HAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, my diaphragm is starting to hurt, hahaha!”

“Man, not even I was even expecting this!” Ruggie says. “But I KNEW something was up! Shyeheehee.”

Only Jack, Sebek and Silver weren't laughing. Quite the contrary, they seemed to be respectfully silent. Jack even seemed to want to smile a little, not a mocking smile, but because he thought that this could be one of the parts of Leona that he admired. Both he and Sebek positioned themselves in such a way as to create a barrier between you, in front of them, and the others who were laughing behind them.

Arriving at the royal palace's front entrance, you didn't encounter a single guard. Ruggie says that normally the lionesses have the whole place locked down tight. Which must mean that something was definitely up in the royal palace.

“Knowing that would give me reservations about simply walking in through the front door.” Azul says. “But since we are in the company of Your Majesty (Y/N)...” He smiles.

You then hear some strange laughter. Quite scary ones. After so many dreams, your team members automatically form in front of you to protect you when things like this happen. Jack and Sebek were now between you and the laughing people.

“Well, well, well. What have we got here?” A hyena beastman says, accompanied by others like him and all wearing the same type of what looked like a traditional guard’s or fighter's outfit.

“Hmm, I dunno.” Another hyena beastman says. “What do you think?”

“These guys couldn't be more obviously delinquent if they tried.” Jack comments. “Are they actually guardsmen?”

“They're dressed in the uniform of the Sunset Warriors, the king's personal team of guardians...” Ruggie explains.

“Wait...” Azul thinks to himself. “If they are the king's personal guardians, then... (Y/N).” He turns to you. “If you truly are part of the royal family, then these brutes will listen to you. They have to listen to you. Try to talk to them, but with confidence, this is very important. Remember, you are the King/Queen.” He smiles smugly.

You gather your courage and take a few steps forward, passing by the boys who were between you and the royal guards.

“Hehehehe! Looks like one of you is eager to be our dinner. Dyah hah hah!”

“I order you to let us pass!” You demand. “Me and my guests!”

“Oh yeah? And who do you think you... wait... you...” They smell the air to better understand your scent and finally be sure. “HEEEP! Y-y-y-your Majesty! We didn't know. W-we thought they were trespassers!”

“PLEASE FORGIVE US!” Everyone bows to you.

You say you forgive them for now and that now that they know who you and the others are they will let you pass... right?

“Hum... We are very sorry, Your Highness, but...” they didn't seem that sorry, a little smile even began to form on their faces. “King Leona ordered us not to let anyone in with you. No matter who it was.”

“What?! Why?”

“Oh, we don't question him, your highness. If it's something between you two, we would never intrude hehehe.”

One of them, who appears to be the leader, pulls you by the hand and hands you over to two other guards. As gently as possible for someone who is pulling you against your will.

“Take them inside!” He orders them. “We'll send the unwelcome guests away.”

And so the guards take you by the arms almost like a prisoner, but with much more care so as not to hurt you.

Once you passed through the doors, you had no more reason to fight against the guards. So they released you and escorted you down the hallway until you crossed paths with someone else.

“Ah, your highness. Welcome back.” An old man with blue and white hair and beard, wearing round glasses greets you with a genuine smile. “How was your walk? Hmm? Are those new clothes? I don't think I've ever seen you in them. But please, don't get me wrong, they look very good on you.”

The guards tell him that they found you outside with foreigners, and they even make up a story that they saved you from them, who were trying to kidnap you during your walk. During this, you hear them calling the old man Neji/Kifaji. As soon as you start saying that part was a lie, the old man automatically believes you.

“Cease you absurdity!” Neji/Kifaji scolds the guards. “I know what orders King Leona gave you. *sigh* You can leave King/Queen (Y/N) with me. You may go back to your posts now.”

The guards nod and turn to leave. However, you notice that they don't seem to have as much respect for Neji/Kifaji as they probably should.

“You were saying that the guards were lying about the foreigners wanting to kidnap you.” He returns to the subject calmly and in an understanding tone. “But you said it was true that you were with a group of people. Do you mind if I ask who they were?”

You tell him that they were your friends and he smiles sadly.

“Friends of yours? Well, it would be a pleasure to welcome them and see you enjoying yourself...” The smile fades, giving way to a slight frown. “If it weren't for your husband's paranoia.”

“Paranoia? Are you talking about that order not to let anyone in with me?”

“That is just the most recent one. I wonder how he knew your friends were coming. Either way... *sigh* I'm deeply sorry, Your Majesty. I believe this was not the life you imagined when you married Prince Leona. Being a king/queen of a country in ruins and without food to feed its people.”

This reminds you of that beastchild who recognized you and hugged you, asking you to help them have food again. You tell him this and it made him decide to go and have a talk with Leona again, to  try to put some sense in his head once more. But not right now. He'll do it later, after he helps you prepare your royal clothes for you to change into. After all, those black clothes must be very hot in Sunset Savanna, no?

You change into a beautiful suit/dress (whatever you prefer) and only after you're ready do you realize that Neji/Kifaji took advantage of you changing clothes to go and have that conversation with Leona.

You follow the voices until you find the two in the throne room, but you don't go in yet. Instead, you stay in a hidden corner, listening.

“Your majesty, you are the only one who can save this kingdom now.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The former king succumbed to illness after many long years, then His Highness Falena and his family were lost in as unexpected accident...”

“Don't bring that up.” You see Leona, wearing an elegant brown suit with gold necklaces and rings. His hair looked different too, his bangs pulled back. “That was a tragedy.” You also see for a moment the dreamer's silver bird around his head. “Not only did we lose my brother, but we even lost little Cheka... Just remembering it makes me want to cry.”

It's hard to decipher if he's just saying it for the sake of it, or if his words are sincere and he's hiding his true feelings with his disinterested attitude.

“Yes, and you became king in the midst of that tragedy and turmoil.”

“Grudgingly. I never wanted the crown.”

“‘I will work through my grief and push onward to the dawn of a new era.’” Neji/Kifaji reminds Leona. “‘I will work hand in hand with my people for peace and prosperity, paving the way to a glorious future.’ That was what you said in your coronation day. Did you mean a single word of that?”

“Excuse me?” Leona says, still unbothered. “I kept my word and paved the way to the future, didn't I?”

Basically, Leona did what he promised, but literally. He pushed through rapid development over the warning of experts and the objections of his people. The plant life has withered, the water's polluted, the wildlife has vanished and there is nothing left to eat or drink. This makes Leona say that he is not like his father and brother, that he would never cater to fools that cling to outdated traditions and customs.

“Your Majesty, you speak too harshly.” Neji/Kifaji says. “The development plan you envisioned was revolutionary, I'll grant you that. But it was out of touch with reality. It simply wasn't possible to implement that plan in the nation we lived in.”

Leona is silent for a second, thinking about what he just said.

“Yes, my plan itself was perfect. Who was it that ruined that perfect plan? The incompetent citizens, that's who. Who are they to complain nonstop when they have no chops of their own?”

“Your Majesty, they're people, not pawns. They vary wildly in capabilities and personalities. They act of their own volition. As king, you should have accepted that and worked with them.”

“What? Why would I work with incompetent idiots? You must be joking. I did everything I said I would. the rest of you better figure it out from here. The last thing I need is to go around cleaning up after idiots.”

Neji/Kifaji accuses Leona of abdicating all responsibility but he defends himself by presumptuously saying that he only offers his leadership to those capable of perfectly carrying out his ideals.

“I've had enough of incompetent fools.”

“You keep speaking of incompetence...” Neji/Kifaji proceeds. “But have you ever recognized a single person other that yourself as competent?!”

Leona doesn't respond.

“Not even your own spouse?”

“What did you say?” Leona gets angry again, but this time it's different.

“Your spouse.” Neji/Kifaji repeats. “Do you also see them as one of your chess pieces? Present just to serve you?”

“Hm he he. Indeed, they are also one of my pieces.” He smirks. “But you're mistaken if you think I only have pawns around me.”

“Oh, yes?” Neji/Kifaji smils slightly, for the first time. “Are they really your queen on this board?”

“Who else would I marry if not a true queen?” Leona smiles smugly.

“Heh heh. The Queen is the most powerful piece in chess. More powerful even than the King itself... is that how you truly see (Y/N)?” He smirks at Leona.

“That would be stretching it too far. Don't put words in my mouth. And Neji/Kifaji... ” The smirk disappeared and Leona glared threatening at him. “If you dare to insinuate that again... I'll fry you up right at the spot and make you be served as our next meal.”

At that moment, they and you hear a commotion outside the palace. You look out the window nearest you and see a crowd complaining that there is nothing left for them there, not even food.

“And I thought things were bad under Falena!” You see Ruggie saying among the crowd. “This is so much worse!” The other protestors agree. “But it doesn't have to be! Give the leadership to King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“We want King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)! King/Queen (Y/N)!”

“Buncha loudmouths idiots...” Leona complains. “This is a monarchy, not a democracy. They'd have to get rid of me first. Heh, as if.” He turns to Neji/Kifaji. “Speaking of which, where is (Y/N)?”

“I left them to change their clothes before coming here, Your Majesty.”

“Change clothes? Did they go for a walk again? What have they been up to?”

“That is unknown to me. They returned safe and sound, that's the only thing that concerns me.”

“Liar! You are covering for them... Well, the people are calling for them.” He smirks. “You better go get them.”

“There is no need.” You say, finally entering the throne room and revealing yourself dressed in your royal attire. “I’m here.”

The people continue to protest.

“Ugh... so annoying. How's a guy supposed to nap like this? Get out there and make them pipe down, Neji/Kifaji. Part of a grand chamberlain's job is ensuring their kings/king and queen can live in comfort. I'll do as I see fit. After all, I am still the king.” He smirks.

“Yes, sire. You are still the king.”

“Now get outta here. You're bothering me.”

He withdraws to obey his king's orders.

“And you come with me.” Leona tells you. “We need to talk and that's impossible here with so much noise.”

He walks to the exit of the throne room, into the hallway, and you follow him.

Leona takes you to a large and luxurious living room. You can no longer hear the protests, and when he closes the doors, it seems like a relaxing silence invades the space.

Leona sighs with relief and slumps his shoulders, then he walks to one of the sofas and collapses onto it. Sitting, not lying down. Then he looks at you lazily and beckons you with his finger to sit next to him.

You do so, and as he had his arms stretched out over the backrest, he puts one of them around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. You thought he would complain to you about the protestors but... He stays silent, just hugging you with one arm while you rest your head on his chest.

“Did you hear?” He finally says after some time, in a worn out tone. “They want you.”

You don't say anything. You don't even know what to say. He looks so much more exhausted than before he walked through that door.

“I know about your rebels.” He says without changing his tone.

“My rebels?”

“The herds have moved on...” He quotes, the same phrase that the mother of that beastchild told you. “It’s your secret phrase. To recognize each other. You created a group against me.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” You straightened up with no difficulty, since he didn't even try to stop you. “Why would I do such a thing?”

“You heard them.” He looks at you with disdain. “They want you to lead them. To take the throne.” He leans toward you like a predator stalking its prey. “To take my place.”

“That's what they want. Why would I want it?”

He pauses and remains in thoughtful silence for a second.

“Why did you want to marry me?” He asks you without emotion in his voice.

“What? I-”

“You were the one who asked me to be your boyfriend, and then to marry you... You appeared here, coming from nowhere, alone, lost and with nothing, not even magic.” He gets closer and closer, speaking through growls, making you slide across the sofa. “We sheltered you in our palace to help you and what have you done?” The pull of your clothes on the sofa fabric doesn't allow you to move very far, and you end up lying down with him on top of you with threatening eyes and teeths. “You made me fall in love with you, marry you, to then steal my throne!”

“Don't be stupid!” You tell him without fear. “Why the heck would I want your throne?! Especially now. Do I look like I want to clean up your mess?”

His face remains frighteningly angry and he growls at you, but you don't seem the least bit concerned anymore. He brings his face close to yours as if he wants to bite you, but then he simply lies down with his head on your chest.

“Heh heh, it was more fun messing with you in the beginning.” He returned to his lazy, laid-back tone in less then a second. “I know why these people are protesting to have you as their ruler.”

“You do?”

He doesn't answer you right away, he just whispers after a few seconds.

“You’re the Queen.”

“What?” You really weren't sure you heard correctly.

He rises, stretching his arms, but still on top of you. His gaze has changed. It's calm, and you might even risk calling it loving.

“You’re the Queen.” He repeats. “That's what I told Neji/Kifaji. The most powerful piece in chess.” The trace of the smile he had disappears and he sighs. “Stronger than the King itself.”

He gets off of you and sits back down on the couch. He gives you his hand to help you sit down next to him too.

“Of course they like you.” He gets up and starts walking to a window. “I'm the guy who left them without food, without water, who destroyed their home.” He stops in front of the window, looking at the dark landscape. “And you're the kind person who listens to them, who comforts them, who wants the best for them.” He wasn't speaking for himself, he was speaking out what he believed his subjects thought. “The poor, golden-hearted herbivore who's trapped with the tyrant.” He smirks. “Heh heh heh. I wouldn't even be surprised if you were completely clueless about what's going on with these protests.” The next words he whispers so you don't hear. “You always had a way of bringing people together... Stronger than the king himself...”

While he was talking at the window with you still on the sofa, you received a message. Leona didn't notice, and when you looked, it was a message from Idia telling you not to try to wake Leona up alone because it could be dangerous for you while you were away from the rest of the group. They would return to the palace again the next day with a plan. Until then, you should just try to stay safe.

He turns away while yawning loudly and you quickly put your phone back away.

“I'm tired. I need a nap.”

He walks towards you, sits on the sofa where you are, a little away, turns around and lies down with his head in your lap and eyes closed. He opens one of his eyes to look at you and smirks.

“You still get flustered by this? Heh heh. Cute... What? It's not like you have anythin’ better to do, right?”

He closes his eye again and relaxes. You look at his ears and decide to take a chance and pet them like you would a cat. And he doesn't complain, quite the opposite, he smiles slightly without opening his eyes and melts at your touch. After a moment, he turns to hug your waist and continue sleeping.

Before dinnertime, Leona separates from you. You start to get hungry and go looking for him or Neji/Kifaji and he is the one you find in one of the corridors. He greets you with a smile, but sighs when you ask him about dinner.

“My apologies, your majesty, but there is no more food in the palace. No meat or vegetables. Not even water.”

That was really worrying and then you remember to ask about Leona.

“King Leona walked away from you as dinner time approached? *Sigh* He probably didn't have the courage to face you. Seeing his spouse hungry and unable to provide them with food... Not even his pride can handle so much.”

“Watch your beak!” A voice suddenly said behind you.

You turn around, neither of you even heard Leona approaching. He had one hand in his pocket and in the other a brown bag that he threw to Neji/Kifaji.

“You know what to do with it.” He turns and walks away without saying anything else.

“Yes, sire.” Neji/Kifaji still responds. He looks inside the bag. “Bread?” He puts his hand inside and takes out another smaller bag. He smells it. “And I think ithis is cheese. How did he...?” He then looks at you and smiles weakly. “Well... at least he's looking out for someone. Come, your majesty, I will prepare dinner for you.”

“What about Leona?” You ask. “And you?”

“King Leona never liked people worrying about him.” He says and then looks at you with another small smile. “And you don't need to worry about me. You're very kind, but... you know I don't need it.”

“What do you mean?”

“We both know this is a dream, your majesty.” He says calmly as you walk through a door into the kitchen and starts preparing your cheese sandwich. “You have nothing to fear. Beings like me have a duty to make the dreamer have happy dreams... but you must have already realized that Leona Kingscholar is making our job practically impossible.”

He finishes your sandwich and puts it on a plate. He asked you to go to the dining room so you could eat at the table. You go through another door and there's a beautiful dining room with a long table and luxurious chairs. You sit alone and he places the plate in front of you. He stands next to you.

“We must eliminate everyone and everything that might wake him up, that is true.” He keeps explaining to you. “But... He is making this a nightmare no matter our efforts. You were, until now, the only person or even thing that managed to lessen his anguish during all this time. The way he created me, from all the memories of the real Neji/Kifaji, does not allow me to continue with my duty to keep him asleep. No matter how hard I try to convince him that he can actually do something to improve this situation, it's useless. There is only one way to make him happy.” He looks at you with certainty. “He needs to wake up. And have you with him when he does.”

When night came, Neji/Kifaji told you that you had the option of sleeping in a bedroom alone if you wanted. He could tell Leona that you didn't feel well enough to sleep with him.

But if you choose to sleep in the same room and bed as Leona, you will enter the room alone as well, lie down on the bed and fall asleep from waiting for him.

You wake up a little later because you feel an arm around your waist and someone behind you. Having seen and heard Leona sleeping so many times, you quickly confirmed that it was him simply by the way he yawned. He pulls you closer and you feel his chest on your back and his breath for a moment on your neck.

If you decide to turn around and look at him, you'll see him looking at you with his green eyes half-closed and with that eyeshine in the middle of a darkness that was only not total due to the weak glow of the moon that entered the room.

“What?” He says lazily and in a deep voice. “You don't look disappointed that I woke you up.” He smirks.

Seeing the way you were looking at him, he pulls you closer again, rubs his nose against yours and only then kisses your lips softly but lovingly. If you allow it, you will make out until you fall asleep in each other's arms.

He was the one who fell asleep first, but you were the one who woke up first.

After a moment of enjoying the sight of Leona sleeping beside you, you try to get up. But as soon as you sit down on the bed and swing your legs out, you feel his arm around your waist, preventing you from getting up.

You caress his cheek or ears and tell him you two should get up. You just hear him mumble and feel him slowly pulling you closer. It is then that you hear a knock on the door and Neji/Kifaji announcing it is time to get up. This makes Leona mumble less satisfied than before.

You two get up and get dressed. When you thought you were both ready, you turned to head for the door but Leona speaks up.

“You sure you're ready?” Leona asks you with a somewhat judgmental look.

You look at your clothes and even look in the mirror again. You genuinely don't know what could be wrong.

“Well, if you think everythin's fine...” he shrugs and walks calmly to the door.

You grab his arm and ask him what you were missing. He doesn't answer you, he just smiles, amused by your frustration. Until you finally order him to tell you what he was talking about.

“Hahahah! Okay, okay. Please, don't attack me. You're such a scary herbivore. Hahahaha!” He mocks you, but then he grabs your cheeks with one hand and kisses your lips passionately and playfully. “Such bad manners for a royalty.” He says with a smirk after the kiss. “Don't even give a proper good morning to their own husband. Maybe you need more etiquette lessons.”

As soon as you arrived at the throne room, you immediately heard the protests of the citizens outside.

“Tch... what now?” Leona says. All traces of good mood he had was gone. “Lately it's been ridiculously noisy. Hey, Neji/Kifaji! You there?”

“You called, sire?”

Leona says that you two are hungry and he orders Neji/Kifaji to bring you food, but he says that there is no food and the two of them start arguing about there being nothing in the castle, much less outside, to eat. They argue as usual until Neji/Kifaji sighs and says:

“I never would have had to suffer such demands under Falena.”

This seemed to be a trigger, because as soon as he finished the sentence Leona jumped towards him and grabbed him by the collar, practically strangling him.

“Don't utter that name!” He threatens him, but Neji/Kifaji isn’t intimidated at all. “In case you've forgotten, that name reminds me of my sorrow all over again. Never, ever mention it in my presence.”

You hear the sound of magic and sand begins to swirl around you like a storm.

“Urgh...! Hahaha... Are you serious about eating me for lunch? Oh, you wouldn't want me. I'd be so tough and gamey and...”

“Leona, NO! Stop it!”

You try to stop him, grabbing one of his arms, but he instinctively throws you back, making you fall and crash against the throne's stairs. As soon as he realizes what he just did, he turns to look at you, regretful, but without letting go of Neji/Kifaji. However, soon after the look of regret gives way to one of anger.

“YOU IDIOT! You think you can save anyone by gettin’ in the middle of a fight, weak as you are?! Learn self-preservation and don't meddle in my affairs again!”

“Unca, nooo!” A child said as the door opened with a bang.

You see a huge white wolf attacking Leona, making him let go of Neji/Kifaji, and only after the shock do you realize it's Jack and the child is...

“Cheka?!” Leona says in disbelief. “No, you're dead.”

Cheka and Neji/Kifaji exchange a few words and both he and you notice that Cheka's voice sounds strange. Meanwhile, Jack gets off Leona and approaches you to help you get up with his snout.

“Why, cheka, I'm a little surprised to see you... alive.” It was obvious that Leona already knew that this wasn’t the real Cheka, or at least not the Cheka from his dream. “Your roaring's improved some.” He smiles smugly.

“You're being mean to all our subjects and Neji/Kifaji. you're a bad king, Unca. This is my kingdom to rule. Step down, Unca.”

“Oh, yes... I would, but there's one little problem with that.” A sandstorm forms again and Leona prepares to attack. “I'm not handin' over the throne to some pipsqueak pretender!”

He attacks Cheka and he breaks down into glitches. He destroyed a hologram. The sandstorm creates a whirlwind that pulls three other people into the throne room: Ruggie, Ortho, and Grim.

“A hyena kid? I've been lookin' out for you hyenas, and this is how you repay me? You bring out a fake Cheka and act like you're revolutionaries? Hah, now that's funny.” He grabs Ruggie. “Treason against the crown is punishable by death. Hope you're prepared to face the consequences.”

You get fed up with all this! Leona prepares to use his signature spell on Ruggie, but you run up to them and get between them.

“ENOUGH!” You shout in his face and suddenly the sandstorm dissipates. “Stop this, Leona! This was supposed to be a dream and you single-handedly turned it into a nightmare!” You grab him by the collar and he finally lets go of Ruggie. “Why do you do this to yourself?! If you're so smart, how come you haven't realized this is a dream? That it's all an illusion?”

“What?! What are you talking about? Are you crazy?” Now he was also arguing with you angrily.

“You are being deceived by Malleus right now! You are losing to a lizard you idiot! Just wake up already!”

The dream begins to distort and Leona moves away from you because of the headaches. But at that moment, a group of guards enter the throne room to protect Leona. Several of them attack you all right away, but Neji/Kifaji uses fire magic to protect you. You fight the guards and as soon as the battle ends you realize that Leona has disappeared.

The world had stopped distorting and Leona had just escaped the palace with some of the guards. Meanwhile, they managed to convince Leona that you had let yourself to be brainwashed by opponents of his regime.

“I understand the stupid subjects,” He mutters just to himself, trying hard not to let the guards hear him. “I even understand Neji/Kifaji... but...” Neither you nor anyone else would ever see this, but despite his expression of wrath, he was trying hard not to shed tears. “...them... (Y/N)... my own spouse?!... Why? Why them too?! Why you too?!...” His throat hurt from holding back the tears. “For better... for worse... to love and to cherish... I DIDN'T LIE! WHY DID YOU?!” He finally explodes in anger and roars.

“Your Majesty, I'm so glad you're safe.” The guards who intercepted you the day before run to meet their king. “Things are looking pretty dicey right now. We should find somewhere to lie low for a while.”

“Ah, you guys... At least YOU won't turn your back on me.”

“Heh heh... That's right, Majesty.” Darkness surrounds them all, the ground turns into black goop and the same happens to the NPCs' skin. “We're your only true friends. And everyone else is your true enemy. Even the ones you think you love. We'll turn the world upside-down as many times as it takes. Yes, as many times as it takes...”

Leona lets himself be swallowed by the darkness and shortly after you all arrive and jump into the black goop after him.

You all end up at Savanaclaw, more specifically, at the Spelldrive Stadium in their dorm.

“Oh, what a terrible tragedy.” Leona was wearing his dorm uniform again. “Who could have foreseen panicked crowds charging right into Diasomnia's procession of players? Much less trampling THE Malleus Draconia along with all their other competitors?” He smiles smugly. “But we must all rise to the occasion and triumph in this spelldrive tournament. It's what he'd want. Right?”

“So, in this scenario where the Savanaclaw students succeeded in sabotaging Malleus in the spelldrive tournament?” Jack asks.

“Looks that way.” Ruggie confirms. “Seems like this is happening just before the tournament starts.”

You guys talk about that dream and Leona, and Ruggie and Jack say that Leona is the type of person who's never satisfied. Probably no matter what he achieves, whether in real life or in the dream, he'd get bored quickly and lauch right into the next thing to complain about. However, both Ruggie and Jack conclude this with a smile.

“This version of Leona Kingscholar has recollections of his life at school.” Ortho says. “That means it's possible to make him aware of clashes with reality and deliver a mental jolt.”

“And most of the people involved in the spelldrive tournament are right here.” Ruggie complements. “How's about we put on a show?”

Meanwhile, Leona was talking about their next game being against Octavinelle and commenting that they were such small fry they could beat them blindfolded. Azul appears, along with Silver and Sebek who reveal that they, Malleus, and the other Diasomnia students are all fine and in condition to play in the tournament. And all thanks to Azul. Confronted by Leona, Azul just says with a smirk that he signed a more favorable contract, a basic good business practice.

“What in blazes...?” His dream begins to distort. “Why am I getting déjà vu from this? Hrgh!"

“Leona?” The Ruggie with inky black skin asks. “What's wrong?”

“He's waking up from a dream.” The real Ruggie arrives along with Jack.

“Two Ruggies?” Leona looks from one Ruggie to the other. “And, a dream...? Agh! What is this? My head...!”

Leona begins to remember what happened that day, including the colar that Riddle put around his neck and him saying that he would never become king no matter how hard he tries.

The darkness begins to do their job of trying to protect Leona and keep him asleep, so you attack them. After defeating the NPCs and them dissolving into black goop, Jack and Ruggie tell Leona to remember who he really is and then the dream breaks.

Leona wakes up as always, complaining, this time about him not remembering that whole ridiculous plot, your scraggly faces not being the first things he wanted to see when he opens his eyes and asking Jack not to yell in his ear.

“I got a delicate constitution, y'know. You should wake me up more gently.”

“You star grumbling the moment you wake up...” Ruggie says. “That's the Leona I know, shyeheehee!”

“Hey, Ruggie. You've got some explaining to do. What's going- ?!”

The earth begins to shake and the ground is covered in black goop. The dream was collapsing. You all prepare to escape the dream, when you are caught in the darkness and begin to be pulled in.

“(Y/N)!” Everyone shouts.

Grim automatically jumps towards you, but Leona stops him by grabbing him by the bow around his neck. Grim rants at him as if he's stopping him from saving your life, and for a second, his snout looked a lot like it did when he attacked you the night before he was taken to S.T.Y.X.

“You idiot!” Leona says, seriously. “You think (Y/N) wants you to go down with them?!”

He throws Grim for Jack to catch and rushes to you. He first grabs one of your arms, then holds you by the torso, wrapping his arms around your waist. Although this causes him to be trapped in the darkness as well.

“Rgh! This isn't just your weight. There's a powerful tug... Ah, crud. Guess you can't win 'em all...”

“What? What are you going to do?!” You ask, afraid he'll leave you.

He brings his face close to yours and looks you deeply in the eyes.

“Win this one for me, my Queen.” then he turns his face away from you. “JACK! CATCH!”

He pulls you out of the darkness and makes you fly until you land in Jack and Silver's arms. The last thing you see is Leona sinking into the darkness with a smirk. Since he was the dreamer, he still had a chance to save himself, but you didn't, so you all left the dream, whether you wanted to or not.

When you return to Leona's dream, you are back in the devastated, gray Sunset Savanna of the beginning of his dream. But regardless, you, Jack and Ruggie were just happy to see him safe and sound, and him wearing the Savanaclaw uniform showed that he was still awake.

“I never thought I'd see Leona of all people dive into darkness on someone else's behalf.” Azul says with a smirk. “Could this be the power of love?” He was holding back laughter.

“How brave for someone who can be dehydrated at a touch to open his mouth like that.” Leona replied with his own smirk.

“I can see why you're housewarden of Savanaclaw. That was an incredible show of bravery.”

“Yeah, yeah...” Leona shrugs it off and turns to you. “You. We need to talk. Come with me.” He starts walking away from the others. “If someone follows us, won't get out of this dream alive.” He says without stopping walking or turning to look at any of them.

You follow him to a huge rock where the others can no longer see or hear you. He leans against the rock and crosses his arms, casually.

“I remember everything.” He says, impassively and looking you in the eyes. “I was dreaming that we were married.” He analyzes your facial expression, but it doesn't take a genius to know what your little smile means. He smirks. “You didn't need to sleep with me, you know?”

You can't hide how flustered you are.

“He gave you a choice, didn't he?” Leona continues, with that smug smile. “You could have gone to sleep in another room...” He pushes himself off the rock and starts walking around you. “...But as soon as I went to bed...” He stops behind you and whispers in your ear. “...I find you there.”

You turn to face him with a smug grin of your own.

“Well, you didn't mind that either.”

“Why would I?” He takes a few steps forward, slowly, making you take a few steps back too. “I was dreaming that I was your husband...” Your back meets the huge rock and he leans with his forearm next to your head, bringing his face close to yours. “You think I wouldn't want to sleep with my spouse too?”

He looks from your eyes to your lips, but then he looks to one of your shoulders as if he's actually looking behind you. The smile slowly fades and he straightens up.

“I'm sorry.” He says, simply and with that neutral expression.

“What?”

“When I pushed you. You fell against the stairs...” For the first time, he looks away from you. “I'm sorry.” He repeated in a low tone but with genuine regret, at least for his standards.

You say it's okay, that he wasn't being completely himself and that he was going through a complicated situation. You've visited enough dreams to know that the dreamer doesn't necessarily act like themselves in their dreams.

“You can't use that excuse from now on.” He tells you, determinedly. “You can accept that dream as an isolated experience. But if something like that happens again, you won't give me excuses. You'll leave! No looking back. Understood?” He orders you.

You agree with a smile. That was his way of caring about you and protecting you. But with a smirk you ask if that means you can ask him for something to make up for what he did.

“Hm?” He smirks back. “What you mean? You just admitted that I was a victim too. I was going through a difficult situation and wasn't being myself. Your words. Forgiving me in this context was the least you could do for your crush.”

“Oh yeah? I came here to save you, and I even made your dream less of a nightmare for a moment. YOUR crush should get a reward for that at least. It would only be fair.”

“Wasn't that night reward enough?”

“Y-you weren't being yourself. I want a reward from the real Leona.”

“Hehe. Fine. If my Queen insists.”

He holds you by the waist, pulls you towards him and kisses your lips, hungrily. He slowly pushes you with his body to bring you back against the large rock behind you, without taking his lips off yours.