Roseapov

Now, this was the path that you, in your conscious mind, had never ever wanted to resort to— but desperation, and a significant portion of your spirits being crushed, pushed you to give in to the temptation of a more lax alternative for financial support.

And well, the company that operates the system seemed to have pretty solid terms of protection and though you didn't quite like the look the woman who was officiating your contract gave you ; you could only suck it up and pray that you'd be picked by some, you don't know, wealthy lady with blond hair and a soft heart instead of a creepy grandpa-aged man.

You did end up getting picked by a blonde, ironically, but the man in question was more confusing than anything.

You'd half-expected for your client to be some middle-aged man who'd drone on about how much his wife annoys him while throwing money at the dozen girls hanging off his arms, but Khaos is anything but.

Respectful, courteous, well-spoken and many other positive adjectives you couldn't help but describe him with. He didn't demand any sexual favors from you, didn't even push slightly when you refused any drinks from him. Rather, he took you on nice dinners, agreed to financially support you and requested you to at least, engage in conversation with him whenever he'd initiate one.

Which was even more suspicious, in your book at least.

You'd been bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he'd reveal his true colors to you, but it never really came. And after picking up bits and pieces of hints from your interactions, you'd realized that the guy was just... really lonely.

“My family... is a bit estranged.” he'd admitted quietly one evening, when you'd finally managed to get the courage to ask him. Turns out scarcity will find its way to even the wealthiest of man, one way or the other.

Propelled by sympathy, you decided to be a bit less rigid and a lot more kinder to Khaos from then on. He, in turn, could find it in himself to be genuinely softer towards you, rather than it being out of politeness. Though his empathy for your situation was nevertheless evident, he knew what it felt like to push against this socio-economic structure with nothing to one's name, for the sake of family, moreover.

And soon, the tense ‘dates’ melted into something far warmer. Quiet touches were soon invited, sincere affection blending into compliments and gifts — it was nearly impossible to guess the dubious nature of your relationship.

Khaos even did your assignments for you, not once, not twice, but thrice when your time together had skipped off too far into the night and you sprang up from the sheets upon remembering you'd completely forgotten (you passed the classes).

One evening, when you were finally able to make it to him, slightly roughed up from the grueling day, an issue was addressed.

“You're late by an hour, moonbeam.” he said lightly, head tilted as he observed your enervated appearance from his seated position. His usually neat golden hair was unusually tousled, as if he had been running his hands through it all day.

“Traffic,” you grumbled, heels clicking against the floor as you maneuvered around his desk to stand right before him.

“And it's a pretty long way from the Grove to here.” you braced a hand against his chest when he guided you to sit on his thigh, his other arm wrapped around your waist, neither of you questioned how easily you'd settled against each other.

At this proximity, you were privy to the details you'd initially missed ; the way the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up to his elbows, how his top two buttons were open and the way the lights glinted off the skin of his collarbones. There was a shadow of tiredness there too, bleeding into those usual sharp navy blue pupils. Dishevelled, but attractive. Far too attractive than he had the right to look.

His hum pulled you out before you could spiral further, his fingers kissed your cheek as they raised to tuck a stray strand of hair away from your eyes. Your chest was pressed against his vest, without even a breath of leeway.

“I could buy you an apartment that's closer to here.” he offered, but there was a glint in his eyes that gave you the suspicion that he wasn't going to listen to a rejection.

Still, you tried, “No, no— that'd be too much!”

“Really?” he adjusted his hold on you, guiding your legs to drape over his lap instead. “From my perspective, it sounds more like ‘sufficient’.” the warmth from his hand seeped into the skin of your thigh.

The apartment in question was at a nice side of the city, not absurdly lavish, but set with all the utilities one would require. And in lieu of having your personal space now, you could finally take the kitty you've had to leave in Castorice's care for months! The best part, undoubtedly.

It wasn't a negotiation you were going to win anyway, and the prospect of having an apartment all too yourself rather than having to share it with someone else, was far too appealing to push against. You did still shoot him a ‘I'll pay you back!’ out of pride, which Khaos just smiled towards.

“I am so sorry! I swear, Mr Whiskers is usually more well-behaved than this!” you panicked, trying to get the cat away from the carnage he'd caused right in front of the front door. Just when you were starting to recover from the guilt of spending Khaos' money, seriously.

Until one day, your cat crashes straight onto and breaks your new neighbor's precious antique vase.

But then, you froze mid-reach, head craning a full 60° to make eye-contact with your new neighbor.

The man tilted his head from behind the stack of five full boxes he was carrying ; silver hair, grey eyes icy enough to send a chill through the air.

Khaslana, as you came to know later, was a student doing his Master's and had moved here from his previous place for the sake of his job. And a far kinder individual than what his appearance suggested, since he hadn't demanded any reimbursement for that antique and even gave treats to your cat.

You squinted. Strange, why did he look oddly familiar?

You'd expected your interactions to end there. But by some twist of fate, your cat had taken a massive liking to him, to the point where he had even tried to jump over your balcony to Khaslana's just to be with the man. And because of your cat, the count of your interactions kept on going up, up and up.

Fifteen minutes meet-ups would spiral into hours, what was supposed to be just playing with Mr. Whiskers would turn into you two chatting about yourselves. Khaslana wasn't really much of a talker, but he never left you hanging for a response or pretend to listen. Soon, the interactions broke the boundary of it just being for Mr. Whiskers ; borrowing salt or sugar, exchanging something you'd cooked, he even fixed your broken faucet one time!

There was also a slag to his shoulders that never seemed to go away, as though he'd experienced something far too heavy to name. You never had the courage to ask him though, since you had a feeling that he wouldn't just tell you that easily. But you remained kind to him nevertheless.

(Something slipped through your notice though, you'd never told him about the fact that you faucet had broken, nor requested help from him.)

When winter came and the holidays rolled around, you were unfortunately not able to go visit your family due to some technical issues. As such, fearing that you might get sad, your dear friend Phainon had decided to invite you over to a dinner with his family. You accepted, since you hadn't gotten many chances to hang out with him as of late — completely unaware of what this meant in Amphoreun culture.

“It's not often we get to come together. But we managed to actually follow through with the plans this time! Don't worry, my brothers are really nice, even if they do look a bit aloof.” Phainon explained, swinging your joined hands lightly as he walked.

“Brothers?” you looked at him incredulously, wondering why after two whole years of knowing each other, he was mentioning the fact that he has brothers just now.

“Yup! Both older than me— but that's kinda obvious, I guess?” he chuckled, his breath casting a small fog in front of his face.

“And you're only telling me now because...?”

Phainon's expression locked up almost comically at that, “I didn't tell you?!” he turned towards you, grasping your hand.

“No...?”

Your friend face-palmed, “My memory failed me again.”

You huffed, not at all surprised by that at this point, “This is why I keep on telling you to get tested for dementia, Phai.”

Phainon gasped like a scandalized noblewoman, fixing you with a mock-indignant look, “I do not have dementia! It's just that—”

Confusion took over your face when he abruptly stopped, head snapping up towards something, “It's just what...?”

Phainon turned back to you, slower this time, lips curved up in a giddy smile. “We're here, partner.”

You're certain you hadn't blinked once from the towering gates of Phainon's home all the way to the inside of the house. You had a hunch that Phainon came from a well-off family, but you never thought it would be at this scale.

Sensing your bewilderment, “Impressed? It wasn't always like this. We owe it all to our big brother.” Phainon said lightly, a dent on his usual enthusiasm.

You gripped the strap of your bag, ignoring the insistent buzz from your phone from within. “Cool.” you admitted as you passed the front door.

You had to blink several times to adjust to the sheer glimmer of the interior, failing to notice the ball of fluff barrelling towards you two in the endeavor.

“Oof— easy boy!” an unrestrained laugh tumbled out of Phainon's lips as the Samoyed charged at him, greeting him in that enthusiastic way only dogs can do.

Ruffling the Samoyed's fluffy coat once, “This is Snowy! The reason why our house is never fur-free!” Phainon introduced, ignoring the indignant yip he got from the dog.

Your mouth formed an ‘O’, “So cute.” you glanced towards Phainon for permission and when he nodded, you patted Snowy. Mr. Whiskers would definitely hiss at you later for this, but for now, you were going to enjoy the feeling of Snowy's soft fur.

“Looks just like you, too.”

Snowy, unexpectedly, pushed himself even closer towards your hand as Phainon giggled, not bothering to deny the resemblance. His cyan eyes twinkled upon noticing how eagerly the dog was leaning towards you, “He's excellent taste.”

“Huh?” you looked up towards him at his absentminded remark, Phainon simply smiled wider.

“Come on, let's go meet the human residents.” he tugged you up by your arm, slipping your fingers between his again.

He led you towards the living room, scanning the empty area, “Strange, where did everyone go...?”

You picked up on the sillage of something cooking, “Maybe, the kitchen...?”

“Oh right! Yes, Khaslana did say he was going to handle the dishes this time.”

Your mind buffered.

“Kha.. Khaslana?”

Phainon glanced back at you, “Hm?” his fingers involuntarily squeezed yours, “Oh! He's the middle brother. He has a degree in being grumpy and strict tastes when it comes to Holiday dinners!”

He chuckled again, eyes scanning over the space once more. “Weird. Khaos was here when I left the house. Did he go to fetch the person he said he wanted us to meet?”

You didn't think it was possible, but you felt your heart drop as soon as that name left Phainon's mouth.

This can't be happening, your breath stuttered, maybe it's another Khaos?? Surely, surely not him? You still had some luck left, right?

You flinch when you feel it again, the buzz of your phone from your bag that you'd ignored all day. Not liking the conclusion your mind arrived at from that, at all.

“Ah, there he is...” Phainon muttered, you felt the primordial urge to sprint out of the scene and you would've, had it not been for the way his grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly.

The click of shoes was far too loud, mocking the pounding of your own heart.

“Oh, you're back—...” all your prayers crumbled as soon as that familiar voice reached your ears. Phainon glanced at you in concern, upon feeling how clammy your hand had gotten.

Just then, another pair of footsteps joined the scene, Khaslana entered while wiping his hands on a towel, promptly freezing in his steps when he took in the sight before him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing for the earth to swallow you whole.

“[Name]?”

“— so, I did the reasonable thing.” A smooth voice was transmitted by the device laying on your bedside table.

“Uhuh? Knowing you, I expect something absurd…” you replied absentmindedly, while looking at your reflection and applying the skincare products that Vil generously forced gifted you.

“Oh?” You froze, hearing the familiar chuckle. A small smile tugged across your lips, pursing at the thought of you being the cause of his joy at the moment.

“Then, pray tell. What do you think I did, hm?” the male's voice continued, breathier and airy now that he finished laughing at your antics.

“Good question… you either ran away, didn't bother showing up, or both. I'm guessing you did go, but once you realized what it was, you immediately left without showing yourself?”

Though he couldn't see you, you tilted your head, anyway.

“Oh my, it seems you've understood me more than I thought. A correct assumption, ya qalbi. I went to the event, though the moment I realized its purpose, I simply feigned illness, no, not really… I left quickly as I came. I simply have much more important matters to attend to, surely they'll understand.”

You blinked once, twice, maybe a third time to make sure you heard it properly. A light scoff escaped your mouth uncontrollably, the sheer absurdity of the situation was to be expected from him. After all, that's what you've known Minhaj for. The random person on the internet who's been evading arrangements left and right, just as much as you'd like to do with taxes and overblots.

“Anddd your list of important matters somehow involve spending time with me? I'm flattered.”

Since the opportunity rose, you weren't one to shy away from it. Well, at first you did, but the flirting banters between you two weren't uncommon. Your conversation partner simply had quite the oiled tongue, making you used to hearing what would've flustered you deeply before.

“Do be.”

Just as you expected. You could almost hear the smirk in his smug voice, as if the lowering of his intonation were to say otherwise.

“It's not everyday I proactively choose to accompany someone, after all…” he trailed off.

“Much more when I'm not even the center of their attention.” His voice was now laced in faux sadness, you could almost imagine the mocking pout he had to achieve the effect.

“Mmm? I told you I'd be doing skincare on the side, you chose to call, anyway. Not my fault I’m too charming for you to resist, ok?” Immediately after saying that, you covered your face in embarrassment. Thank the Sevens this was virtual, otherwise he'd be the one flustering you to death, not that he hadn't yet, but to a higher degree.

AND THANK THE SEVENS YOU WERE ALONE IN YOUR ROOM RIGHT NOW…! If Grim was here and he heard you, he'd give you that stare. The one that makes you contemplate your life choices. The one that has a look of pure and utter disgust, wondering how you could say such cringy words to someone you don't even know.

Well, maybe that's the point… you don't know Minhaj irl. And even if you did, basing from the things he's been telling you, you'd just be another one of the people he's been running away from. Honestly makes you curious about his identity and looks, but you weren't one to pry. After all, you also had secrets of your own to hide.

Oh, wait a minute…

“Oh, I simply must agree, habibti/habibi. Seems as if I've fallen for your charms, how ever will you take responsibility for it?”

Silence.

All after that was silence.

You were zoning out, didn't even process his words. You've been trying to wrack your brain just thinking about your partner's whereabouts.

“Wait, Minhaj… I just realized something.”

“Hm?”

You quickly stood up, leaving the jarring sound of your chair sliding across the floor, the noise it left in its wake sure to be received by the other end of your call. The not-cat has been missing in action ever since you returned. No wonder it's been so quiet… you didn't even notice it since Minhaj kept you preoccupied. Damn your ignorant brain. Broes before hoes, remember? But between him, his smooth voice and arrogant personality though… who could blame you?

“My roommate slash son is gone. It's getting late and he's still not here, I have to find him.”

“... Oh.” His reply came rather late, his tone softening with something you can't discern between disappointment or concern, maybe even…jealousy? You shrug it off, unable to pinpoint the exact emotion, nor were you unable to get rid of your delusion.

“Sorry, I'll get back to you later. I need to ask my friends first, he might be there without me knowing.”

You picked up the phone Crowley lent gave you and swiped to the call.

“... Why do you even have to know, anyway?” Though now closer, the voice at the end of the line seemed muffled instead.

“Because he's my friend and roommate…?”

The call ended.

-/-

It's been a few hours since Minhaj’s last message.

Also been a week ever since the incident with Grim presumably going missing, only to find out he's been hiding somewhere in the kitchen, secretly eating a stash of canned tuna that he stole from your marked ones.

The very same duration of your dwindling conversations with your one and only favorite chatmate. The two of you used to chat often, quick paced and lighthearted. Always a message here and there, even in between classes. So much so that your friends often bugged you to tell them who the mystery person was — but how could you, when even you didn't know his true identity?

Nowadays though, it's been rather dry. While he does message back, it's more on to reply rather than to converse. Ever get the feeling that they're only talking to you because you initiated it? Yeah, that.

He didn't outright ghosted you, no. He simply took his time with things. It's driving you insane. Leaving you to relapse like the addict that you are. I mean, maybe you were addicted to his presence.

He doesn't call you anymore, either. Doesn't send random pictures from his day, or memes that lightened his mood. You often wonder what's up with him, but couldn't bring yourself to ask.

Well, what right did you even have?

He wasn't obligated to talk to you in the first place.

As much as you want to confront him, you don't have the same nerve you use to face overblots with, in the face of your feelings.

Despite having only known him for a relatively short time via the internet, nonetheless, you feel very much attached to his presence.

And you could only hope he felt the same with yours.

You've done what you could and made up excuses for him. Maybe he was just busy? He did mention being a leader of some sort. It suited him. He's quite charismatic, smooth and authoritative. At least, from what you could tell. He's influential, most likely a person with power. No wonder arrangements flock to him left and right, no? You feel icky at the thought.

He probably wasn't ignoring you either. It's not like you did anything wrong.

Or did you…?

You think back to your last decent conversation with him. You vaguely recall the two of you having fun and the flirting that followed, and the question he asked you and…

Oh. You never did reply to it, didn't you?

Great. You've lost your chance before even taking it. Then, tonight, you’re planning on getting wasted.

Jokes on you, you will, but not in the way you wanted.

There's no alcoholic beverages in Lilia's farewell party, after all. Just his concoctions and maybe something else…

-/-

It happened fast. In fact, you don't remember much at all — just the screaming, the crying, the panic. The way you felt so disturbed by the unexpected.

Now, here you are, in a dream haze wasteland, running across the ink-filled room where Mickey once stood, desperate to escape.

You held Grim tightly in your arms, incapable of parting knowing that the slightest mishaps of his fire breathing could lead to both of your demise.

For now, it's just you relying on speed, desperately carrying your child's weight through sheer will and adrenaline. Talk about unsolicited heavy lifting.

You felt your body slowly collapsing under pressure, then you felt the slightest shift in the wind. A hand quickly grasped your arm from behind, successfully startling you.

A quiet voice resolutely resounded, calming your tense nerves.

“To those I've met and will someday. Meet in a dream!”

-/-

The first time Minajael opened his eyes, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. So, he blinked a second time, a third, and maybe a fourth.

The castle was exactly as he remembered it to be — the walls a glamorous white filled with markings of cultural heritage. It has always been like that ever since he was a child.

Yet something felt odd.

When he awoke from his slumber, strange as it is as he doesn't recall sleeping here in the first place, the entire area was quiet. Not the deafening quiet, but more of, something-is-very-wrong kind of quiet.

A huge tiger was laying near his bed, a sharp contrast to the color coded ornaments in the room, yet it wasn't such an odd sight. Minajael recognized it as his companion since childhood. It was the only one since he wasn't allowed to… huh?

No, that can't be right.

He looked at the animal in front of him again. It was letting out soft noises, faint snores that tugged at his heartstrings, and yet… it definitely wasn't his only friend, right?

Of course not. Minajael is royalty, he's sure to have socialized with other people befo…

Gasp.

A strangled noise escaped his throat, the feeling of a memory long gone resurfacing in his mind, yet it refuses to be remembered. His head hurts in ways he cannot fathom.

He thinks it's best not to think about it, after all.

-/-

He immediately accepts that something was undoubtedly wrong. The feeling crept into his skin, gnawing at bones, and settling far deep into his soul, yet he lets it flourish.

He doesn't know how much time has passed or if it passed at all, but the commotions outside were indicators of what could've been. Still, he lays in wait. The unknown leaves him with curiosity. He's been missing a lot of things.

And maybe that was the point?

Ever since awakening, things were different, but his core remained unchanged.

The palace was not a strict place (that can't be right?). People come and go (they absolutely shouldn't), some are more than eager to talk to him (he doesn't want to socialize), and his father heeds his words (since when?).

It was an eerie contradiction, with the voice in the back of his head aching in a way that it knew better than to trust what he could see.

He listens to it briefly, letting the (questionable) frequent festivals take place, sparing it not a thought as it occurs right outside his windows. It happens so often, as if he was meant to hear it, as if he was invited. He is.

And during one particular night, where his patience finally snapped, and curiosity finally won over, he wasted not a second, loomed over the balcony and jumped.

As if in slow motion, he saw the vast expanse of what exists beyond the palace, yet as gravity took hold of him, he closed his eyes and braced for impact.

It never came.

The bushes, as itchy but safe they were (not really), remained inches away from his figure. Instead he felt the familiar tickle of silk beneath him. He glanced down and saw the magic carpet keeping him afloat.

This dream would always keep him safe.

Restraint is a word forgotten at this moment. It does not exist in the Scalding Sands’ language.

The earlier faint buzzing of music now becomes louder as it nears him.

It doesn't bother him at all, in fact, he embraces it with his senses.

And so he flies.

-/-

A lot has happened ever since the meeting with Mickey. Heavy truths unfolded, leaving nothing behind but regret in all its wretched glory.

Silver pulled you away, saving you from the clutches of the black goo. You two easily reunited with Sebek, suffered under the harsh terrains of war with Lilia, botchered up the hidden past, and completely fucked up your future plans.

All because Malleus, who you understood overblotted from his unwillingness to be lonely once more, appeared in the general's dream, draped in black and blot as accessories, clearly awaiting for the time the moment of his birth arrived.

It meant meddling, being able to provide a happy ending, a good memory to look forward to — no tears, no sorrow, no regrets, just lies —

Then, everything faded into black once more.

The next time you awoke, the first thing you notice is the temperature. A cool breeze gently caresses your skin, the night shade providing temporary comfort to your dilemma.

This place doesn't seem familiar… or is it?

Sand grazed your body, providing something grounding amidst the confusion. Your eyes swept across the lands, imprinting the scenery into memory, attempting to correlate it with information you've heard prior.

It does nothing to stop the faint ache in your soul. The bare foot that bears the burden of weight stands barely stable, the texture beneath equally foreign.

Though isn't this a dream? You wonder whose it is. The awareness creates hope that you can conjure an appropriate attire for the environment purely from imagination. You were really starting to miss your schoolmates.

In this foreign land with unknown civilization, you could only do so much on your own, after all. You let your feet take the lead.

-/-

So, when the sound of music continued to reverberate across the unexplored fields, the wise option was to follow it and satiate one's curiosity.

A certain prince held onto the magical carpet he sat on — right now, he was free, far and unrestrained. His usual garments were a mess, evident gaps from what usually weren't supposed to be seen. He's sporting an uncharacteristic bright smile on his face, his own melodious tune harmonizing with the songs.

Right now, he wasn't a prince.

Tonight, he is only a man. One with dreams, life, and so much love to give.

The surroundings are a vaguely familiar mess — a crowd of people, the sea of sand, and the markets below. Among the skies where he lingered, Minajael observed the view below. It was everything he ever dreamed of. Everything he ever wanted.

Nothing much, nothing more, just to take part of the mundane joy that others had the privilege of celebrating.

He took one deep breath, and lowered the trajectory of his mount.

Minhaj felt the ground below, and never has it been grounding in more ways than one.

He pressed his foot firmly, memorizing the texture of freedom like a newborn fawn. He released the air he was unknowingly holding, curiously looking at the stalls.

From the corner of his eyes, he spotted someone eye-catching.

It was the start of a fairytale handcrafted by the fae himself.

-/-

You too had made your way towards the source of the commotion. Silver’s reminder that it was necessary to stay near the dreamer resounded resolutely in your head. Except… you don't know anyone here, so far.

Throughout your journey, you realized this must be the land of the Scalding Sands. There wasn't much to base it on, other than Scarabia’s architecture and the duo’s description of the place, though it was mostly Kalim rambling about missing his hometown, and Jamil hating every second of it (with a barely concealed tug of his lips).

You desperately hoped the dream you were in belonged to either of them, because otherwise… you're fucked.

The terrain seemed a bit different compared to what they initially told you, but you quickly assume it's due to the nature of the dream. It seems that the dreamer really wanted to throw a celebration, considering how everywhere was decorated one way or another.

You now desperately hope it was Kalim.

With each step you take, and with the increase of the music's volume, your hope continues to flourish. Only he would dream to throw a party of this caliber, although you're certain he might already have in reality.

If it weren't for the circumstances, you would have loved to stay and appreciate the rich culture of the nation. You'd love to partake in the festival, be draped in appropriate attire and live the night out.

The place was expansive. There was so much space to fall into, and yet something, or rather, someone caught your attention.

Then, your hope was shattered.

The first thing you notice is the carefree expression decorating the man's beautiful face. It fit well with the rest of his features, as if relief was always meant to be his.

The second that draws you in is the pair of mesmerizing brown eyes that glinted with the moonlight. The very orbs in question were currently…looking straight in your direction.

Huh?

Above his head was the white bird that indicated the dream’s owner.

As soon as your hope for Kalim being the dreamer was shattered, it was quickly replaced by something else, as the two of you stared at each other.

-/-

Neither of you should really be doing this.

But it really didn't feel wrong.

Neither of you looked away when it happened. You simply let it be. The pull was there — strong, tantalizing, but never binding. It exists like a soft tug, a reminder of what could be.

So, against your better judgement, as well as his, the two of you inched closer to each other.

As he opens his mouth first, you greedily take in the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, and the face he possesses.

“Gree—” he drew out, but quickly shook his head.

“I'm Minhaj. May I know your name?”

You took his outstretched hand in yours, unwilling to part, even if it was merely for a handshake.

“I…”

You look at him with an awe filled gaze.

Before your expression fell blank.

“I just remembered my friend is missing…”

Poor Grim. You will be missed.

-/-

You don't remember what exactly happened or how much time has passed.

You simply felt more at peace here with Minhaj, than you ever were in your real world or even at NRC.

Granted, this was a dream… so… maybe it's that…?

You're not really sure anymore. There's this inexplicable feeling residing in your chest whenever you think of him. There's always something that flips within your stomach whenever you talk to him. There's an urge to just run up to him whenever you see him.

And yet… It doesn't help that this is a dreamscape. This was a work of fiction, nothing here actually exists in reality.

You carry the burden of the heavy truth.

This was but a dream. Minhaj is a real person. Just what kind of life does he live in reality for his dreams to focus so much on being free?

You weren't quite certain either. You simply felt that there was something to him than meets the eye. He's a mystery, for sure, but in this dream world you call home…he's your mystery.

After your initial meeting, the two of you simply run around together without any end in sight. It was odd for someone as well dressed as him, but it wasn't something you actually considered, especially with your muddled thoughts and rose tinted glasses.

Minhaj was unbelievably pretty, you'll follow him to the ends of the world, end of discussion.

Please and thank you.

Period.

…

Would you really, though? If it were in reality, you'd do so in a heartbeat, but…

The now familiar streets of the Scalding Sands appear in your vision. It seems just as it did yesterday, and the day before that, making you well aware of the illusion you were trapped in.

If this dream could be any more mind muddling than it already is, you're certain you'd forget about the real world and succumb to this instead.

Succumb to the warmth Minhaj brought into your life.

The said man has his arm intertwined with yours, dragging you off into the market. It fills you with a sense of domesticity, one that could never last.

So, you take it, anyway.

The two of you walk together, keeping a pace meant for sightseeing. If there's one thing you notice aside from his pretty face, it's his way of looking at things as if it were the first time he ever saw it.

He always takes in the time to appreciate the fading novelty, treating it as if it were new to his world.

You don't really know. Maybe it is.

So, you take your time alongside him.

As if feeling the rise of your woes, he pauses. He looks at you with a small, fond smile that knocks the air out of your lungs.

He's everything you've ever dreamed of.

Probably because it is a dream, but hey. As long as it works, right?

For a second, you relish in it, wanting more.

For a second, you believe it will work out somehow.

For a second, you let your hopes rise and let yourself fall.

In that second, it comes crashing down, as you spot a familiar furball from the corner of your eyes.

All you do now is hug Minhaj and smile. He doesn't press, and simply returns the gesture.

For that second, it was enough.

-/-

Huff, huff

With a startled gasp, Minajael springs from his bed fast. His eyes widen in disbelief, chest heaving with a rapid up and down. He struggles to gulp the lump forming in his throat.

Beads of sweat trail down his seemingly delicate figure, the moist of his eyes cascading down to his facial features.

A testament to what occurred and what he awoke to.

He puts a hand to his head, another being clenched around his fist. A desperate attempt in gaining composure, yet ultimately failing, as tears escape him in the end.

He doesn't stop, doesn't speak, doesn't let himself completely fall off.

Thoughts quickly fly in his head, the reality beaming upon him. It was all a dream, he realized.

With one heavy regretful breath, he removes the hand covering his head, letting his eyes dart around his room.

Everything remains as it did before he slept. Nothing had changed within his room in Dunasmina, except himself.

He allows himself another moment of silence and spiteful acceptance, before reaching out to check his phone.

Confusion swells within his mind, wondering why the date has yet to change, when he already spent a lifetime with another in his dreams.

Speaking of…

Who was that?

His hope rises once more.

-/-

It was uneventful in Night Raven College for a change. Times like these make you remember certain things — it's rare and it's dreadful.

It's leaving you listless without anything to do. Something about the temporary peace is screaming deafeningly despite the physical silence: something will go wrong soon.

But of course, situational awareness can only help prepare for so much, especially since there wasn't any hint prior to it.

Much more when it involves resident cheapskate, Crowley.

You and Jamil internally winced simultaneously upon hearing the headmage’s announcement for an emergency meeting. All housewardens, their vices, and the Ramshackle prefect were required to join. Great. You're certain you'll just be added weight or the one pulling it all up physically, since, of course, you were magicless. Imagine attending a prestigious arcane school without magic.

Better yet, imagine attending another prestigious arcane school as a magicless exchange student. Well, you don't have to. You already got as much of a near death experience with Rollo.

You only have Crowley to thank for that.

It's overwhelming, honestly. Things have just gotten to settle down, it's already been one incident after the other. No one's really getting a break. Poor you.

With the entire island plunged into a dreamy chaos last time, and yet having exams proceed as planned, there's really no such thing as mercy in NRC.

You're about to find out what no mercy actually is.

“Now, I'm sure everyone is curious and excited for the reason we called you here today.” The crow put a hand on his mask, seemingly contemplating. To you, the gesture only looked demonic. For everyone else? Just as much.

You hold your breath, awaiting the bullshit that will eventually be spewn out in a matter of seconds, or minutes if he decides to drawl it out.

“Ahem, in consideration of the incidents that occurred and for my dear students, I alongside our… mm, friendly local arcane school, headmaster Ambrose of the Royal Sword Academy, have decided to host a collaborative school event.” He pauses.

You already know what he'll say next.

“Aren't I so magnanimous?”

Aarghhh, so much for rest. You can already hear the others complaining internally.

“Ugh.”

Nevermind, you're certain you just heard Leona actually groan. Kudos to him for having the nerve to express himself. Yay to self expression.

You wonder, when will this nightmare ever end?

The dreams were much better than this…

-/-

As part of the event management team, it is your duty to ensure that it will be done successfully.

Not for you to be standing ogle eyed, probably plotting to team up with the rival school, and in distress when you find out one crucial detail.

“You mean you're in here, right now? Are you serious?” You gaped out, one hand holding your phone near your ears, the other tightly clutching a clipboard. Now, that one's under your mercy, for sure.

“Since when have I ever lied to you, hm?”

Oh, you missed that voice.

Ever since you returned from the dream, your memory has been a foggy haze. There was nothing much to comfort you, when there's a lingering sense of loss in the pit of your stomach.

Fortunately, you had Minhaj, your trusty online friend, who happened to share the same name with the one you fell in love with in a dream.

The two of you have started talking more often again. Turns out, contrary to your overthinking, he was only busy, leading to dry out conversations prior to Malleus’ overblot.

You found comfort in his presence. His voice was soothing, gentle and familiar. There was something else you couldn't quite pinpoint, but you attributed it to your senses readjusting to reality.

As much as you're attached to your dear friend, the hollow gap in your chest tells you what else you've been missing.

Probably a hand to hold. A beautiful face to stare at.

“Ever since you learned how to lie to me!” You reply, adjusting your grip on your device.

“Which is never, habibi/habibti.” You could almost hear his teasing smile.

“Uhuh… so, what's the plan? We leave it up to fate?” You look up towards the sky, the very same one that reminds you of the one you flew to with your Minhaj. Silently, you cross your fingers.

“Hm, how about this. I'll describe what I'm wearing right now, and you do too. This way, we'll be able to identify each other, if we ever meet by chance, but if not, then it simply wasn't meant to be,” his voice is laced in faux disappointment at the end of his sentence, but you heed no mind.

You already know how Minhaj is. It's already a blessing he even decided to humor you and risk revealing his identity. He doesn't even need to, considering you're just online friends.

And maybe that's why you're longing for something more.

“I'm wearing…” The words came out before you could stop yourself.

You hear a slight pause in the background, followed by a short chuckle.

“Actually… it seems, I already found you.”

“What-?”

You feel a light tap on your back, urging you to move in that direction.

A familiar sight embellishes your eyes, yet something is different from what you remember.

A man with a very attractive face, soul-sucking brown eyes, tan skin, and smug smile looks at you as if you were an interesting specimen.

Yet his smile drops as quickly as it came.

“You're—”

Realization dawns on you. Your eyes widen in recognition, an unpermitted gasp exits your lips. He does the same, mimicking your flabbergasted expression.

This was your Minhaj. With a kept hairstyle, secured clothing, and a contradicting aura from the dream.

Yet he remains as captivating as ever.

You reach out to hug him.

You are as beautiful as the day I lost you.

Still there’s no time to make good on whatever that observation means in the grand scheme of things, because your friends look like they’re three ragged breaths away from passing out. Or dying. Whichever comes first. The other Savanaclaw goons cheer as your ‘team’ gets their figurative asses kicked, as you go from hesitant cheerleader to hesitant team medic before exhaustion claims one of them. 

You fling your off blazer to you use it to fan them, and as the brutes in the bleachers continue their cheers as you start to really pity whoever goes up against Team Savanaclaw. Especially if they turn up anything like poor Grim after one match. Your poor roommate is making noises like he’s going to cough up a lung with his panting. 

Meanwhile, your more human friends are coming to the same conclusion as you did. 

“No way…. We didn’t… score once!” Ace reasons as he huffs and puffs from flat on his back. 

“There’s not a single weak link in their defensive line!” Deuce thinks aloud from where he’s panting on his knees, completely winded.

“Listen, Leona, sweetheart…” Cater tries to reason, breathless. “ Everyone knows you’re a SpellDrive legend, you know we can’t compete against you.” 

You can’t help but agree with Cater there. The only other good news that came out of this is that you considered that if two of the three fallen are athletes, maybe using whatever workout routine Leona and Ruggie had might be a good thing for potential running away plans. You should probably ask Vargas about it later- 

Wait a damn second. Why haven’t you spoken to Vargas this whole time?!  He’s NRC’s PE teacher of course he would absolutely know which students are so great at SpellDrive that they’d be targeted and also which teams were so bad they would need to cheat. You are absolutely going to talk to him about this later. 

At least once you get Ace, Deuce, Cater and Grim on their feet and back to their dorms to lie down that is…

“C’mon guys.” You say, trying to encourage, trying to help them all back to their feet so you can flee with your tails between your legs and forget this ever happened. “You all did your best and that’s all that matters, let's go.” 

You’re mid helping Ace stand up again when Leona opens his mouth, “What’s that? You givin’ up already?” prompting you to let go of Ace and sending him back to the ground in a cloud of sand simply out of pure resentment.

You’re mid-mantra to keep yourself from completely snapping today when Ruggie continues Leona’s deeply infuriating taunt. His laugh is like a hyena, which might be what the beast part of beastman might be for him now that you think about it, “Where’d all that swagger go!” You’ll excuse it because your current beef is exclusively with the arrogant lion allowing all this right now. 

As if to piss you off even further, another wave of jeers from the dumb jocks you bumped into earlier makes your eyebrow twitch from anger. 

It is sheer willpower that you don’t punch something.  “No! Enough! Stop this!” Your yell is loud enough to shut the jeering entourage of goons, so you can maybe get things back on track and away from needless violence. You step between your group and Leona and Ruggie, just trying to amend this situation so everyone can just leave and go their separate ways. “How is this any different from just beating them up, you-?!”

“Oi!” Leona calls out, but it feels that for some odd reason that he isn’t referring to you. “On your feet, herbivores. We’re having a rematch.” Is he ignoring you? Did stepping on his tail one time scramble his brain or something? Does he just want to take out his pent up frustration on Ace, Deuce and Cater or something!? Either way, it’s just making you that much more furious. 

“No. You are not having a rematch so you can keep hurting them!” You argue. Whatever the reason why Leona is so deadset on beating the ever-living crap out of your friends, you don’t know it but you don’t intend on letting it happen. “And if you want a rewatch so badly then I’m playing too!” 

The second you say that there are immediate objections. 

“_______,” Ace interjects, back on his feet and pulling you out of this argument, “ I don’t care how much the crap is kicked out of me, I’m not letting you get hurt!” 

“I genuinely don’t care about getting hurt, I want to get even.” You stress, deadpan and completely serious.

“TBH, _______. The last time you tried to do this, you had your face smashed in…” Cater’s usual peppiness is gone, his seriousness sending a chill down your spine as you distinctly remember that night you’d heard it last. 

You can hear Deuce mutter something under his breath, “If Prefect really wants to, I’m fine with ki-”Ace elbows Deuce mid-sentence, sending Deuce careening into the sand before he accidentally lets something slip like they don’t want you to know about. It’s a shame you already know what he means…

“So maybe you leave this to us, if we have to, yeah?” Cater continues, his voice now overly cheery and saccharine. It’s unnerving.

Still, the very last thing you want is to be seen as fragile and if you don’t get a single avenue to vent your frustrations you will quite literally lose it. “I’m not as delicate as you think I am, guys.” You reassure them, though you can’t tell for sure whether or not they even buy it. For all you know, they’re going to end up hauling you off the field for your safety while taking the lashing you dragged them into. Regardless, you’re not backing down.  “If the lion wants a rematch, then I’m playing and that’s final.”

“Oh, really?”Leona asks, accepting your challenge, tossing the SpellDrive discus at your feet as if he was giving a couple weaklings a handicap. You feel your cheeks get hotter as that smug face of his gets even more smug. Or is it some sort of interest? Your irritation is hindering your judgement, you can’t tell. “Prove it.” 

You grab the- Wait, that’s actually really heavy. How do people throw this around like it weighs nothing? -Whatever, “Oh, I will.  I don’t care how shit at this I am, I will take you down even if I die trying.”

At some point during your slow descent into rage and/or madness, Ruggie has stopped looking cocky from his earlier victory against some newbs and looks genuinely very interested in your sudden aggressiveness.  “Shyeheehee, this I gotta see!”

You wonder why but whether what Ruggie said is mocking you or not, you’re not backing down regardless. “I’ll do my best to impress you.” you respond curt, ready to start this thing so you can heal your hurt pride but…

But then you notice something. 

It’s so short that it’s a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment. But you could raise your hand to the sky and spare with full confidence that despite Ruggie siding with Leona this entire time, you’re absolutely positive that Leona glared at him right after that response. But that would be strange there’s no way that this is happening again-

But then Leona opens his stupid mouth. “Are we going to have our little rematch herbivore, or are you going to keep chattin’ because you’re too much of a coward to go against a real predator?” 

What…

What the hell did he mean by that? Actually, nevermind.

You roll up your shirt sleeves, ready to play until you draw blood, his or yours- you don’t care; gripping that SpellDrive discus like you’re ready to throw through his head. In your adrenaline fueled rage, you find it’s now surprisingly light. It better not be when you throw it at- “You want a rematch!? I’ll play against you alone if I have to but I’ll give you a fucking-”

“What’s goin’ on here?”

And then you’re interrupted. Again. Wonderful.

 At this point, you’re going to die from the sheer volume of anger bubbling within. Please, let something let you hit a jerk in the face with no additional bloodshed or any unfortunate consequences.  

“Oh, it’s you…” It’s Jack. Nice for him to pop up right before you throw your hat in the ring to wipe Leona’s smug look off his face. Who cares if you failed in progess, it still would have been fucking funny. You don’t understand why the seemingly lone wolf would bother with intervening when he clearly wanted nothing to do with you half an hour ago. 

Whatever the reason he’s here, Jack’s arrival seemed to tense the mood somehow, especially since he looks very outraged at the current scene before him. “Is kicking a bunch of rookies around supposed to be fun?”

And with that like a wet blanket at a party, the smugness from Leona, the eagerness of Ruggie and your own semi-bloodlust all pretty much immediately collapse, and all are replaced with disinterest, irritation and for you, some confusion.

Hadn’t Jack wanted nothing to do with you and your help just a while ago? So why speak up in an effort to ‘protect’ you when there’s nothing you have done for him? 

Of course, there is one reason why someone would care that much about a total stranger unique to this world, but the chance of that happening to you again would have to be impossible… 

Right…? The chance of that happening a seventh time…

“Wow…Check out the wannabe hero of justice.” Ruggie says sarcastically, but his tone makes it less of a light hearted jab and more like an intentional mean-spirited dig. It’s like he’s a little, though ‘little’ feels like a bit of an understatement, miffed about Jack interrupting. “Standing up for the downtrodden, how woefully admirable.”

“I’m just saying this is a disgusting spectacle and I don’t wanna have to see it.” Jack argues, but for you that sounds like a pretty lamish excuse. It’s not like the match had been quick, or quiet. If it really bothered Jack so bad seeing them beat your team so easily, why didn’t he intervene or say something earlier. Why is it just when you were getting involved….?

And now that you think about it… You might not be the only one to find this encounter so strange.

“...” Because Leona’s oddly quiet. He’s gone from cocky and smug to clear disinterest.  “Well, thanks. Now you've ruined all our fun.” What is happening?

You notice it again. That same kind of animosity that you saw for a split second with Ruggie just barely veiled under disinterest just barely longer than the first time. Like deeply-restrained anger is piling on top of itself and being harder to completely restrain. It makes you think, Leona is the dorm head if he wanted to continue the game with no regard to Jack he could but weirdly he’s not doing that. 

Sure, being called out might have been a shot to his pride, but this feels odd. Call it a hunch but this feels really similar to when you thought you saw him give Ruggie that same look just a few minutes ago. If it’s not pride being hurt, was your earlier suspicion… more right than you realized? 

Your thoughts are broken by one of the dumb jocks opening their mouths. “Whoa, Jack. You DO realize who you’re talking to, right? You’re actin’ damn high and mighty for a first year!” 

You don’t want to have to agree with one of those headstrong losers, but he kind of is right for the situation. You barely know Jack and Jack barely knows you, why risk his reputation with his dorm over a stranger. That theory milling in your head is starting to seem like less of a theory and more of the truth. 

But whatever Jack’s real intent for intervening is, he’s standing by it.  “If you’re gonna play the upperclassmen card, you oughta act the part.”

While the jock fumes at the disrespect, Leona ‘praises’,“Pretty bold, fresh meat. I guess I can respect that.” Though, you have a feeling that when he said respect he really meant the opposite-“All right, I’m bored now.”

Huh? “Wait, what!? Seriously?” All that nonsense of wanting a rematch only to just let it go that fast? Now, you’re just confused. 

“Running up the score against you chumps ain’t accomplishin’ a thing.” You severely doubt that. Like this whole song and dance didn’t start because he liked doing that. “Let’s go Ruggie.” 

“Do we have to?” Despite his agreeing with Leona this entire time, Ruggie objects. And you’re sure it’s not from being confused. 

Leona freezes mid-turn to leave, pausing to glare at Ruggie into compliance. Ruggie hesitates for a second, meeting your eyes for a second before answering “Fine, fine. Yeesh.”

Well, that was surprisingly anti-climatic, if you ignored your working theories on the weird behaviors of the three you’d interacted with today. Eh, never look a gift horse and all that, you probably would have gotten your pride hurt at the very least. 

No matter what your suspicion or curiosity, you’re no less grateful. “Thanks, I guess, Jack…”

“Whatever, I didn’t do it to save your asses.” You sincerely doubt that.

You hold your gaze with him for a moment, Jack doesn’t look away, y’know despite wanting ‘nothing’ to do with you, and neither do you for your own piece of mind, you might as well test it, just to be sure. “Be safe, Jack.” You call back, smiling gently. 

Jack avoids your gaze, partially confirming your theory.  “Like I said, you’ve got no reason to be worried about me. Now get lost.” 

You shrug, but don’t push him any further, you’re not going to call him out in front of the people that could maybe be his unknowing rivals.

“I’m drenched in mud over here!” Speaking of, Ace finishes complaining as he drapes his arm over your shoulder, ever so subtly tugging you out of reach of Jack. “Let’s just call it a day and go home.”

You shrug, scraping some of the mud and dirt from Grim’s fur, as he actively complains “Yeah, I’m getting pretty hungry over here!” seemingly recovering from his hard loss. You laugh light-heartedly.  At least this over without any real consequences-

“Hey, _______.” Before you could get your hopes too high, Cater’s voice breaks your thoughts. His voice is way too solemn for your liking. “I get that you really like to throw yourself in harm’s way. I get it ig, but seriously… Stop doing that.”

You feel your heart skip a beat in renewed panic. “S-sorry, I… I just got carried away…” You stammer out trying to reason, but that paltry excuse doesn’t seem to work as you watch the grimace on Cater’s face darken. 

“Kay…” Cater responds flatly, and you can only hope that whatever maelstrom is brewing in his head won’t impact your future. Ever.

Your hope of that being where the conversation ending dies about as fast as it came, as Ace raises his own opinion. 

“Y’know, I know you want to ‘have your own space’ and all that.” Ace says like it’s a weird thing for someone to want their own personal space, autonomy and privacy especially considering this world’s standards, “I mean seriously, this is what the fifth time? It makes me wonder what you do when I’m-...” Ace hesitates, glancing  before correcting, “ -When we’re not around. Maybe I should stick around more….” His serious tone sends a chill down your spine. Maybe he’s a little right, you might be starting to tow the line too much.

You can feel that ever-present unease ferment in your stomach. Ace isn’t wrong either, how many times have you ended up in a mess that either got you into a dangerous situation or into a shitty situation that almost got your butt kicked. Your first encounter with Leona, Riddle’s entire overblot and you suddenly not breathing anymore when you were  unconscious for whatever reason, the multiple misadventures with the delinquents ending in either bloodshed or bruised egos that led to bloodshed… of course they would have noticed. 

And why wouldn’t it bother them? This world's obsession with one true love bullshit meant that your safety and health probably meant more to them than their own lives. Which when you think about Ace’s original objection earlier, makes your situation that much more dire. ‘How great would it be for them to care less.’ You find yourself thinking, ‘I get that my life to them is that fragile, but I am definitely not….’

You swallow, roughly, feeling your heart beating in the back of your throat. But maybe they’re right too and you are that fragile. You flinch away from them sometimes, you panic when you hear them say certain things. You feel stress and fear, despair and anger so much more easily now, what if that spells your downfall too? If they see you becoming more and more troubled, will they inevitably reach the conclusion that you need to be protected from that too?

Your silence must be very telling because Deuce tries to soothe whatever evident discomfort or worries you may have, “Prefect, we’re not going to hurt you or anything like that, we just think we should spend more time with you, that’s all.” Deuce finishes with a ‘comforting’ smile but you already have a feeling that’s just not to ‘worry’ you any further. 

You’re not really sure about how to respond to this, because yeah, you could say that you were going to be fine and press on that till the conversation faded into awkward silence. Because you still remember what you discovered back when you first arrived, no matter how much they tried to smother your fears they were all sorted in Hearslaybul because they were all to some extent controlling. It didn’t matter the speed, the desire to control you hung in the air with all the subtlety of a noose and you didn’t want to provoke it that much further. But you didn’t really know how to do that…

But, apparently, Grim does. “ Myeh… Why are we still talking….I’m starving over here!” He whines, petulant and crabby. Normally you’d associate Grim’s usual hangry induced whining as him being hungry, bored and not at all interested in reading the room but this feels a little bit different somehow.

Ace interrupts Grim’s spiel, “What we’re talking about is kinda important, Grim. Can’t you wait like 5 min-” 

But Grim doesn’t, “I don’t care! I’m tired and muddy and _______ is already going to drag me somewhere else today before I get to have my tuna!” It’s basically a tantrum but you clue together what he’s really doing, openly distracting away from the conversation by being an extraordinary nuisance. While you notice the slight dig because yes, you are going to drag him somewhere else today. You make a quick mental promise to give Grim some of the good tuna for dinner tonight as an apology. 

“Actually…” You interject, with Grim dramatically feeding the excuse with a long groan. “I have to meet up with Vargas to talk to him about something, and if you guys remember last time…” Last time involved, Ace and Deuce coming with you to your bi-weekly training with Vargas, Vargas asking you if you actually wanted them there, you avoiding answering the question, and then the slightly-humorous slow descent into exhaustion thanks to Vargas trying as hard as possible to literally make them drop from fatigue. “...maybe you guys should get some rest instead, gotta rest before we continue investigating tomorrow.” 

An odd silence follows, as if this entire song and dance really did the opposite. Whatever suspicions any of them have any objections, even from Cater, who’s been watching you this entire time with a mildly severely concerning look. As if spelling some form of disaster for your future. Eventually, your excuses will bear no weight, innate desire will take over one day or is that day sooner than you expect. 

While some of the unease remains, you seriously need to see Vargas later today, no better way to vent all this nervousness and frustration than having him teach you how to punch it out.  But still, you wish learning how to be physically tough would teach you how to be mentally tough too.

A little later in Savanaclaw… 

Normally when a group of herbivores get, figuratively, mauled, the lion in charge would be in a good mood resting on their laurels. Sure, the lion received a smidge of a blow to his ego from a lone wolf, but one would assume the lion does not concern himself with the wolf’s opinion. 

Key word being normally. Honestly, Ruggie knew better than to piss off his meal ticket but seeing that ‘proud’ lion pouting on his bed like a cranky cub was a pretty new experience. “I know you hate seein’ all the lovey dovey crap more than anyone, but this is weird even for you.” 

In the little over a year he’d known Leona, Ruggie learnt there was only one thing that Leona Kingscholar hated as much as the Fae Lizard Prince of Diasomnia they were planning to take down, and surprisingly it was literally anyone finding and fawning over their darlings. 

It’s not like Ruggie didn’t know why. If you were from the Sunset Savannah, you knew the reason why. Everyone from the fanciest of palaces to the poorest of slums knew, and the whole dorm, at least not the month-old fresh meat, knew not to  ‘relocate’ their darling if the dorm head was around. He can’t really blame Leona for it either, it’s like being made to slowly starve to death while watching everyone else get to savor their fill. 

Even so, it does not make the scene before Ruggie any less pathetic, “Seriously, if he pissed you off that badly, just drop him from our team.”

Leona doesn’t respond, to which Ruggie shrugs it off. “Eh, whatever, it blows that Jack and those Heartslabyul twits are so protective of _______, she’d at least be an actual challenge to play against.”

Again, Leona doesn’t say anything, though Ruggie can hear him making the growl-like sound he either makes when he’s annoyed or asleep. 

Whichever it really is, it doesn’t matter because Ruggie ignores it. “Would be nice to just get rid of them”, It would have been amazing, wouldn’t it? To see that anger you had released on the field where he could chase you and feel the full extent of your anger and raw emotion, to see more of that you instead of the you that those spoiled idiots who think that darlings are too fragile for a simple game of Spelldrive. 

Back home, even in the slums they’d throw rocks at each other and no one would even wince if a darling kid got hit. Albeit it took longer for them to get sorted because barely any one wanted to come there, but no one batted an eye if a darling wanted to play. Only the pricks from outside the Savannah really threw fits about that sort of thing, wanting darlings to be treated like glass.

Jack wasn’t from the Sunset Savannah either, like most of the other Savanaclaw students, so he probably believed that same bullshit of them being a pile of glass instead of someone who could tear someone’s head off if you pissed them off enough. Whatever beef _____ had with Leona aside, if Jack hadn’t intervened he would have seen it. Could that be because of… if it was… Ruggie can feel his fangs itch to feel skin break underneath them, “Eh, if he keeps playing with his food, he’s going to lose it-”

A vicious snarl breaks through the Ruggie’s spoken thoughts, as someone clearly got tired of being reminded of a certain someone. “Oi, Ruggie.” Leona interrupts, the snarl still evident in his voice. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Alright, alright.” Ruggie relents, best not poke the sleeping lion. Anymore at least. 

“Tch…” Leona scoffs, seemingly disinterested as his anger seemingly dissolves, “Talking about _____-  …the herbivore is a waste of time. We still have work to do.” There was one more target before they kill the king in a week’s time. Leona didn’t need one of the most crucial parts of his plan to be distracted by the shivers of first love.

Whilst being reminded that Leona would never be allowed to enjoy it himself.

“Aye aye, boss.” Ruggie replies, all the better for him anyway. He can ponder the reason for your sudden presence in his thoughts while he strikes the Scarabia vice-dorm head off the hit list. 

The hyena beastman leaves, also leaving Leona to his own turmoil. “Heh… How unlucky am I...” Leona laughs dryly, speaking as if the universe would answer. 

It doesn’t matter how ‘different’ the process of realising your darling is for everyone, he knows the situation uncomfortably well, the draw of a scent unlike anything you’d ever experienced, the supernatural attraction that gnaws on instinct and sends your thoughts driven to one fine point, it’s all the same no matter how many people say it’s unique. Of fucking course, of all things to deal with, the crux of his plan to ‘turn the world upside down’, not one but two of the important parts of it just so happen to have the herbivore be their darling. 

And even worse-

Leona drags his claw-like nails over his scar, fingers itching to dig into it and claw the reminder free from his face. It’s been years since it’s healed over and hurts more than anything no matter how much he wants to forget it. He grinds his teeth together, a growl emanating from his throat. “You were already wrong once. Forget about it,” he grits out.

But why does this time feel so different, more right. He can’t forget how endearing your anger was, and how he wanted to play against you solely because then with your anger, your attention would be solely on him. 

But the gnawing sense of jealousy returns, fueled by resurging fury. It’s not like it matters in the scheme of things, no matter how much he wants, no, craves, even if this time feels more right, he’ll still never get to have what he’s always wanted. 

Drip

Drip

Drip

A couple hours later…

“Come on, kid! You can do better than that!” Vargas encourages after your umpteenth strike. You nod and make a yell before throwing another punch against the target pad Vargas held. 

Vargas had been training you in self-defense for a little under three weeks now and it was going very well. If you excluded the fatigue in your legs from an hour of struggling to keep up with Vargas for nine laps around the campus, you were taking it like a lioness to her hunt. 

Plus, you are getting better at pulling punches now. Leona, better not cross you again.

“Man…haa…” You pant between strikes, huffing as you pull your fists back for more, “This is…great for getting…haa…your anger out…” 

“I haven’t seen this kind of energy in a while, ______!” Vargas makes a laugh, loud and hearty.“What’s got you so fired up?” 

“Some jerks from Savanaclaw…!” You answer before giving a sharp jab into the padding, “who think just because they’re carnivores… they get to push everyone around…!” And three more in quick succession. 

“Hey, fix your form, kid.” You nod before making the correction, as Vargas continues talking, “A lot of them are trouble makers. Fun to chase around though.” You don’t know what he means by that,  “And good at SpellDrive.”

“Speaking of SpellDrive…!” You plant one more hit and pause. “I’ve been meaning to ask. You’re the school’s coach so… have you noticed any players getting hurt? Or suddenly not showing up because of an injury?”

Vargas pauses in thought for a second, “Not really, there hasn’t been much practice with the inter-drom tournament in a few days.” Pensive thought shifts to playful intrigue, as he asks, “And since when do you care about SpellDrive? It’s not like you can play?”

“J..Just curious?” You try, laughing nervously.

Vargas doesn’t believe you thought, “Really, _______? You can trust your Uncle Vargas. What’s got you so interested?” His tone suddenly becomes serious. “Is it a boy?” 

“NO! No! I, uh…” You quickly deny, feeling your cheeks flush, no way could that be it at least not now… “Crowley has me investigating some ‘accidents’ the students on the SpellDrive team rosters have been having. The injuries are bad enough we think someone might be trying to rig the game in their favor.”

“Oh, is that it? Why didn’t you just say so?” A good question actually, but unimportant. Regardless, Vargas seems to believe you. He continues, his tone still warm and light-hearted, “But seriously, if someone does tell me and I’ll have them cut.”

Automatically you ask, “Literally or figuratively?”

“Unless you really want to know, kid. I’ll never tell.” Vargas explains, before laughing as it was a joke. Maybe it was but knowing this world, he might not be. Right now that’s not important. Plus, you might need to cash in on that one day so best not say anything. 

“So could you tell me about some of the teams?” You say to steer this conversation back on topic, “So I can get an idea on any potential targets?”

“Eh, why not. If Crowley’s not going to do his job, I might as well help you do yours.” Vargas shrugs, “Back to your training, kid. And any dorm you have in mind?”

You resume your stance, briefly imagining Leona’s punchable face on the target. An idea hits you, “How about Savanaclaw? I saw them play today. And they seem pretty good.” 

“I don’t think you have to worry about them, ______. They’ve been the first out of the game for the past two years.” Wait, what!?

“What?!” You baulk, surprised. You were no expert but that seemed bizarre, from what you saw earlier… “ Isn’t that weird though? They’re the athletic dorm aren’t they, it’s a little weird they aren’t even in the top 3…” 

“It is weird.” Vargas agrees, “Most of the school’s team is from Savanaclaw, hell, Kingscholar’s the captain. But since Draconia joined two years ago they haven’t scored even one goal.” 

“O…kay…” Honestly, if you heard or knew about that earlier, you probably would have done the very mean thing of rubbing it in. But that now seemed surprising. For them to be out in the first round, it would probably make them the furthest thing from competition. 

Ironically, it makes more sense for them to be…. “What about the other dorms? What can you tell me about the dorm that Draconia guy is from?” 

Vargas obliges, “ If I could get more of them on the SpellDrive team I would, maybe with one of them on NRC’s team we can finally beat RSA. Winning without even using magic isn't an easy feat y’know.”

“Really…” You mutter, before returning to your punches, occasionally asking about each dorm between blows.  Knowing what you did now, it made a little more sense that the students you’d bumped into earlier were so weird about keeping to themselves. If they were trying to make sure they won this time, that itself explains that but if it wasn’t….

Savanaclaw would be more likely to want to cheat if they’ve lost that badly twice. And would be more likely to target a dorm like Diasomnia if they could win that easily…

Your thoughts are interrupted by the skin on your knuckles splitting open from a particularly hard strike. You hiss, pulling your hand back to find rubbed-raw skin on split knuckles. 

“You okay, kid?” 

“I’m fine,” you answer, gently rubbing your knuckles, “ Nothing a bandaid won’t fix..”

“Nope. I’m taking you to the nurse.” Vargas announces. And isn’t that a little much? You have half a boxful in Ramshackle that’d do the job, even if you found a ton of dust-bunnies with it. 

“I-Isn’t that a little much?”

“No. Why?” 

Because at best it is a drop or two of blood, it’s not like you’re actually dying of blood loss here. Maybe it’s something you’re just not getting. Like that protective stuff from earlier. “Because you don’t have to-”

“Let’s get you patched up.” You technically could do it yourself, but what’s the harm of Vargas handling it. It’s the size of a small coin at best, nothing to actually worry about. What could possibly go wrong from this ordeal. 

You press your finger hard against the exposed skin, before muttering to yourself, “Let’s not say those things, Me, we’ll come to regret it…”

“...Well, I’m not technically regretting it, Grim, all I did was forget something and the worst thing that came of that is having to walk back here.” You argue for the umpteenth time. 

“Meh henchman… We’ve been runnin’ around all day and now we hadta walk all the way back…” Grim whines from his limp noodle state on your shoulder, still sore from the SpellDrive match from earlier. “My everything still hurts, henchmannnnnn." 

“Too much to not sneak into the cafeteria to score some leftovers?” Your suggestion makes Grim perk up like he got hit with a second wind. 

“Why didn’tya say that earlier henchman?! C’mon,  Let’s get a move on!” You laugh fondly at him scampering back to the nurse’s office. 

As for how you got here, well, you’re not regretting saying those cursed words just yet. Your minor injuries were patched up by Vargas, even though you could handled it just fine by yourself, but that’s probably not important and because of how close it was to nightfall, he walked you back to Ramshackle and that was supposed to be the end of that.

Until you realized you forgot your blazer at the nurse’s office and had to walk all the way back. Whoops. 

It’s not like you could leave it there. It didn’t matter if it was a tad sweaty or not, you didn’t need a certain hunter finding it and doing unholy things to it. For fear of the horrors it would encounter if that happened, and the fact that you only have so many clothes, you had to go back while the sun was still setting and night hadn’t just fallen yet. 

Of course you ‘sort of’ dragged Grim along for the ride but hey, it was just a grab and go with a snack run promised afterward, so if the curse of those words was going to strike you down they hadn’t completely screwed you over just yet. 

“Ah… There it is.” You say, grabbing your blazer with no issue. This is all going stunningly well. “Alright, let’s see if the cafeteria ghosts have anything to give us.” 

“Yeah! Free food-” Before Grim finish his celebratory cheer, the nurses office door opens with a loud *BAM*. You can hear a quieter “Meh… this always happens…” before your attention is completely taken by the new guy.

Who is… is bleeding…from his right arm….. ”Oh fuck.”

“Myahh!?!” Grim’s shriek of shock just compliments the now-roaring sound of blood in your ears from adrenaline. 

“Are you okay!?” Dumb question, you’ll admit, since the guy’s blood is actively decorating the tile. But whoever’s out there should cut you some slack, this is still pretty new to you. Even if it is kind of your fault this is even happening. You and your stupid big fat mouth.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it.” He answers nonchalantly like he wasn’t bleeding through the brand-new emergency exit in his arm. Motioning to his arm, he continues,“This doesn’t involve you,” before pulling a first-aid kit out of one of the cabinets. 

“O-Ok, sure, but you look like you need a hospital. O-Or a doctor!” 

“I’m fine.” His tone sounded more annoyed at you for your concern and panic than being concerned for his own freaking arm wound. You didn’t even know how anyone could be so calm and non-chalant about something that runs the length of his forearm if the giant bloodstain on his sleeve is anything to go off and hell only knows how deep.

“You’re clearly not!” You push, still shocked that how calm he is over this, “Seriously how are you not worried-”

“This isn’t the first time this has happened and the more you keep disturbing me, the longer I won’t be able to take care of it.” The hell does that mean- Nevermind.  “You don’t need to care about this, it’s nothing you need to worry about.”

You can’t understand how someone can be so a-okay with refusing help when he looks like he clearly needs it but screw that. 

You’re not a doctor, but you can tell that everything is not fine as much as this guy wants to say it is. Watching him open the first aid kit, you can see his left uninjured hand shake slightly as he takes things out of it. Call it an educated guess, but something tells you that isn’t his dominant hand and that combined with blood loss could be a dangerous combination. 

“I don’t think you can take care of it,” You object again, now feeling very stubborn if it means this total stranger is okay. “Look, I’m no professional but I can see your hands are shaking and I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to fix it.” You advance, tentatively reaching out to his injured arm, “ Please, let me help you.”

For a split-second there’s a hint of contemplation before he curtly says, as if getting more annoyed  by your attempts of aid. “No.”I know you think that you’re being helpful but you’re not-” 

“I’m not taking no for an answer.” You cut him off holding your ground, your hand moving to grip his injured one hoping you held with enough pressure to stop the bleeding that much more. He hisses in response, but you don’t let up hoping whatever pleading look on your face is enough to win him over because frankly after having your help denied earlier thanks to someone else being hopelessly stubborn, you’re not going to let yet another person risk their life because of some misguided machismo. Now, you’re going to be the stubborn one, but at least you’ll be a little polite about it. Gently, you push, hoping your grip on his arm keeps him bleeding any more, “Just let me help you.”

Maybe it was you standing your ground or maybe the pleading look on your face did it, but eventually he relents albeit reluctantly, “Fine.” He says finally, “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

“Uh…No…” You answer a little meekly. Still, you’re determined to help and  “Can you maybe tell me what to do? Since you already know, you could just tell me how. I’m pretty good at following orders.” 

Jamil sighs, irked but he doesn’t refuse you. Which is good because you can feel his blood slicking your hand. 

And that’s how your ‘hands-on’ lesson in stitching- yes, stitching, it was that bad and that deep -up wounds came to be. Was it deeply uncomfortable watching a complete stranger hiss from pain occasionally as you stitch him up like an amateur but at least his wound is clotting now. Small victories. 

“Can’t believe you’re doing this. We could have left the guy to do it himself…” And Grim’s complaining. Small losses, you suppose.

“Yeah, Yeah. Shut it, Grim, I’ll make it up to you later.” You retort, returning your attention to your haphazard attempt suturing a wound closed and asking shyly, “How am I doing?” 

Now that everything’s calmer you can actually take in the stranger you strong-armed into letting you help him, and like pretty much everyone you had a pleasure- or displeasure more frequently- he is attractive. Long dark brown hair, steel grey eyes, and clearly the patience of a saint for even putting up with you, his blazer’s ribbon is Scarabia red just like Kalim’s. Now that you’re calmer, you can’t help but think you’re supposed to know him. 

But that doesn’t really matter right now, as he inspects your handiwork carefully, as you stare at him expectantly. After a few long moments with you hanging onto the silence waiting for a positive answer, he finally answers, “ You’re doing fine enough.” The adequate praise makes you beam, at least no one will be dying today. 

“I know I kind of jumped the gun earlier. I’m sorry about that, I just-” Have some trauma over people getting injured because of your actions and desperately want to stop others from getting hurt? Want to protect people who seem to refuse it when you are just trying your best because you’re afraid of being the reason for harm. You smile amiable as you finish another row of stitches. “Want to be helpful? I’m ________, by the way.” 

“I already know who you are, ________.” He says with an unreadable expression like he was discussing the weather and not saying something that sends your heart rate into the stratosphere. 

“....What.” The smile drops instantly as you nearly fumble the needle in your now-shaking hands. You can feel your heart jump with the speed of a wild jack-rabbit. You’re about 99% positive you’ve never met this guy before. “H-How did you…” 

Probably because of the panic that’s forming on your face. “Right, you still don’t know who I am. The name’s Jamil Viper, I’m the Vice Dorm Head of Scarabia. I’m…” He hesitates for a very long time before finishing, “...Kalim’s friend.”

“Jamil, as in… Kalim’s best friend?” Albeit a lot more apathetic considering your now-gone panic but that’s at least believable. You haven’t met Jamil face to face before this, but knowing Kalim it makes sense he would tell Jamil about you. That’s not so bad, you suppose. 

Jamil, again, hesitates for some reason, before answering. “...Yeah.” 

You don’t know why he’s doing that, but this is not your monkeys and not your circus. And frankly, as far as you’re concerned, you’re not on the market for any more monkeys. 

“Ah. Well, that’s a relief,” Considering how much Kalim talked about him whenever you two hung out, then it made a decent amount of sense that he’d know about you. As long as your situation doesn’t turn out to be the worst kept secret at NRC, then there’s nothing for you to worry about. 

But you have to admit, compared to Kalim’s energetic eccentricity. He’s a lot more… mellow. It’s a little surprising that they’re best friends, but hey you barely have a grasp of how relationships work here to begin with. “No offense, but you don’t seem like how Kalim describes you. It’s different…”

You quickly realise how weird that sounds, “A-A good different! Not the weird different kind.”

Jamil raises an eyebrow, curiosity peaking. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“I kinda thought you’d be a lot like him.” You explain, turning your attention back to the work you were doing on his arm, “Don't get me wrong, I like Kalim a lot, he’s really sweet and all, he’s just a little too high energy to handle all the time.  It’s nice to know that he has someone more calm to balance him out.” 

“Sorry if that seems weird, but I mean it as a good thing. I sure need more people like that in my life.” You say with a smile. If you were honest, you needed more calm people to hang out without risking your life. You could only hold out hope that saying that out loud wasn’t causing a finger to curl on the monkey’s paw. 

You look up from your work, seeking some validation that your stitching wasn’t mutilating his arm in the process, and can’t help but notice a hint of a smile on his face. It’s a nice smile, one that feels oddly comforting.

But his mood sours a second later. You can see it as it happens too, as that small smile turns into nothing tinged with an unknown emotion for an unknown reason. From this close you can see his brows furrow just slightly, despite the fact you’d just complimented him. Was something wrong?

“Um…” You finish the last few stitches on his arm, feeling some awkwardness set in as quickly as the silence does, “ It was nice to meet you, given our shared friendship with Kalim and all.“ You say, trying to dissolve the awkwardness. 

“Right…” He says, apathetic. Maybe you said something wrong. Might as well not pry. 

Oh wait, before you forget. “Uh, if you mind me asking, what happened to your arm?”

Now that you’re thinking about it an injury like this would have to have been caused by someone attacking them or something self-inflicted because no one would just slice their arm open that deep for no reason. Considering everything you’d seen today, it would make sense for it to be whoever is sabotaging the other teams players. 

“I was in the kitchen cooking, and the knife got away from me. That’s all.”

“How…?” That can’t be what happened though, if he was right handed then it made no sense that he’d cut himself while holding the knife that did the stabbing. “...Is that even possible? No offense, but that can’t be how that happened?”

“It was just an accident, nothing you need to worry about.” Jamil doesn’t clarify even further. Maybe it’s an attempt at getting away from you, something about what you said earlier killed his mood. Well, that and considering you kind of literally and metaphorically twisted his arm into doing this. 

“Okay then…” You respond, choosing not to push on this any further as you tie off the gauze and finish treating his injury. “There, all done.”

You watch him inspect your handiwork, the silence impeccably awkward as you stare holes into him as he does. Eventually he finally answers, “It'll hold up fine. You did a good job, _________.”

You sigh in relief at least he won’t bleed to death because of you, that’s a small win for today. Albeit, you probably said something that upset him earlier even if you were being massively pushy when you thought about it. That slight guilt pushes you to apologize, “Sorry about kind of strong-arming you into it. I hope your arm heals quickly.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.” Jamil answers, assuaging some of your worries.  “And thanks, ______.”

You beam. Despite the awkwardness from earlier, that wasn’t so bad. So far two people you’ve met from Scarabia seem to be pretty pleasant interacting with you so far. That’s gotta be a new record. 

Now to get through the rest of the day. Hopefully, nothing goes wrong- 

You gotta stop doing that.

With you out of sight, the pleasantness vanishes.

“Of all the people in the world…” He mutters under his breath, the genuine white-hot rage he’d fought to smother finally bubbling to the surface. “It just had to be you, ______.”

Jamil had been sitting next to him, when he was told what finding his darling was supposed to be like. A rush of emotions that will make it feel like the rest of the world will just fall away, leaving just him and the darling he was meant for. 

He’d felt it when you complimented him, he’d felt it when you smiled at him.

It was something he’d long awaited to finally have something that was his own, something that he would never have to give up so Kalim could have it and continue living life without getting his ‘precious’ feelings hurt. 

And now, like a miserable twist of fate, the one thing he’d waited to call his own. The darling he spent years awaiting, to cherish knowing that nothing and no one could take it away from him just so happened to be you, Kalim’s darling who he wouldn’t stop rambling about. 

Is this a twisted punishment for the quiet judgement he’d given you before he met you. Jamil would go back in time to slap himself and stop it if that would undo this. 

He’d only just managed to smother his rage, into that carefully crafted mask of indifference so he didn’t snap right there and then. Rather not destroy your opinion of him immediately because of his desire to be free of that parasite. 

Jamil clenches his fists, feeling the pain of the wound that had unknowingly brought you together helping bring him to reality. He takes a deep breath. Then another. Then five more and that does it. For now.

Like always, Jamil buries it. It won’t matter eventually, soon he will be able to have that parasite stuck to him for just a moment. Ironically, his plan will take care of two birds with one stone. 

Jamil can be patient. Like a snake in the grass. 

That Night….

You can’t sleep. 

One would think after hours of running up and down, investigating the SpellDrive ‘accidents’, screwing around with the Savanaclaw students, meeting and helping Jamil earlier today and your consistent lack of sleep schedule, you would crash the second you hit your mattress. But no matter how much you tossed and turned, you just can’t relax.

Sadly, tonight you’re the only one, as Grim is too busy owning a SpellDrive tournament in his dreams. “Mm… Didja see that… Totally wrecked ‘em with that power shot…”He mutters in his sleep, and you can’t help but envy him a little bit, something was keeping you from sleeping, you just couldn’t place what.

You sigh in resignation, nudging Grim off and slipping out from under the covers. Maybe some fresh air would help?

Normally, you wouldn’t leave the safety of Ramshackle for just any reason at night but that feeling gnawing at your chest made you shove your trepidation aside. You just needed to get out and clear your head. You’d be fine, five minutes couldn’t hurt and it’s not like anyone would be here at this time of night, you think hoping that you aren’t jinxing yourself.

So you left Ramshackle, just for a little walk…

Just for a little while. It’d be okay…

Outside Ramshackle is peaceful in a way that feels weird. It’s weird how the night can be so peaceful when you feel so restless. The leaves are being plucked from trees and besides the howl of the wind and chatter of cicadas, the world sounds so quiet. Even the stars feel too serene, twinkling as if the world below isn’t so bizarre. 

“Wow, it’s gotten really cold…” You murmur, shivering against the autumn breeze and hug your pajamas tighter around your body. It's hard to believe it’s winter will be here soon- 

You freeze, the thought making your eyes water and a hard lump form in your throat.

Right now it’s October, you’ve been away from your home universe for over a month and a half, and even despite all the horrible things you learned after that you were trying your damndest not to think about, your heart feels so heavy with homesickness. 

You fight helplessly against your sorrow, but once that dam opened it wasn’t closing anytime soon. You wonder about your home, the place you lived and the people you had seen. Did they know you were missing? Could they even fathom the kind of world you’d been sent too? Were they worried?

Would you even see anything from home again?

Your eyes burn as you fight the tears, “I wonder if- when I’ll be able to get home….” Despite your immediate correction, you can feel that nagging voice of doubt worming its way into your thoughts. 

What if you never got home?

So far all you learnt was evidence to the contrary, with everything you learnt from meeting Winston and Crowley’s efforts, or lack there of, yielding no fruit. What if you were stuck here forever, and you were holding onto an impossible wish? What would your life be like?

A part of you doesn’t want to imagine it, but sadly you do anyway. 

No matter how much you’d like to, you can’t forget the moments where the darker side of your friends really slipped through. The murderous rage that you’d seen on Ace’s and Deuce’s faces that chilled you to your bones, would they be like that if you completely rejected them or if someone showed interest in you in a more normal way? Or would they wear the casual smiles they usually did, Ace smirking mischievously or Deuce smiling gently as they did something downright deplorable in their pursuit of you, acting like their normal selves as you quaked with fear. 

And it wasn't just them either. 

Would Riddle being less strict mean nothing when it came to you, would he become as terrifying as the Queen of Hearts was to Winston, with you being terrified of breaking even the slightest rule to spare yourself punishment. Or would he continue trying to loosen up just for you, only to become the tyrant he used to be to keep others away from you, not just now but in the future if he went so far as to kidnap you.

You haven’t forgotten Trey drugging all those times. Would he keep you drugged all weak and docile for the sake of keeping you safe forever until you died. Could he drug you with something worse? You don’t even want to know what other horrible drugs could have been made for people like you, would Trey give those to you just so he could play house with you forever.

Cater was a lot harder to read his true intentions, what life would be if you took you and your love years from now, but you were more worried about the horror in your present. His clones terrified you in general. He would probably make escaping nigh impossible, let alone getting away from him before he had you. You didn’t want to think of the terror you’d feel being hauled out of Ramshackle in the hands of his who knows how many clones. 

And how could you forget Chenya. Could you be asleep in your bed one night and wake up in RSA with him done with playing the long game. Or is he just watching you right now with the intent to scoop you or worse observe your mental health decline long enough where you’ll run to open arms no questions asked. You wish you had some sort of inkling, 

Speaking of eccentrics, there was still Rook, considering he wanted to chase you for the rest of your life at the expense of your sanity and well being. You already felt like prey experiencing this nonsense, to feel like that forever would be a hellish curse.

What would they do to you, you don’t even want to imagine. Would they break you till you loved them, till you were just like Winston broken into loving them for the sake of protecting your peace of mind? Would they do worse, all because they ‘love’ you so much?

Would you ever be okay with it? Would you somehow accept this world as home, and see the love they gave you as normal one day if you stayed stuck here? You wish you knew what the future held, just for some peace of mind. 

You hastily wipe the tears you feel burning in your eyes. With all that’s happened and the fear still looming from all that could,  you don’t think you’d ever been more frightened, or more lonely…

“What I’d give for someone to take this awful feeling away.” You mutter as you slump against one of the railings of Ramshackle’s busted porch only for something to catch your eye. “Huh?”

Something, or multiple somethings, sparkle as they float through the air. Your despair melts in confusion, stepping away from the remaining safety of Ramshackle to investigate. “It’s cold to be fireflies…” You reason, catching one in the palm of your hand only to gasp as it makes contact with your skin.

It’s a spark, as in fire, but it doesn’t burn your skin or hurt in the slightest. Instead it gives you a comforting warmth that spreads through the rest of you. Somehow…. that strange turmoil in your head and heart feels… gone…

You feel strangely… at peace.

So at peace that when you hear the sound of footsteps, the sound of a stranger coming in your direction, your response isn’t fear or apprehension but tranquil curiosity.

“Hm? Who’s that over there?” The voice of a stranger makes you turn to face him as if it alone left you spellbound. You let out a tiny gasp as you take in his appearance left equally stunned and bewitched.

There are a lot of words you could use to describe the ‘man’ in front of you, but if you had to choose a single one, it would be ethereal. The stranger before you has to be the tallest man you’ve met so far. The most notable feature has to be his horns, which are as dark as the night around you and gleam under the moonlight. He's beautiful too, like you’d imagine a fairy from a childhood story book. 

It’s almost like something out of fantasy, a thought that would normally make you spiral, someone seemingly normal and irrelevant as you meeting a tall, handsome supernatural being under the light of the moon. 

Normally, if you’d felt like you did less than a minute ago, you would have been a ball of nerves and adrenaline at a complete stranger walking through your yard, but still you don’t react that way. As if whatever you felt, magic or something else entirely, is keeping you serene, speechless and oddly curious. 

Whoever you’ve met seems to share your feeling in the latter, “Well, this is a surprise. A child of man, are you?”

Unwittingly, you don’t respond, still fixated on the green yellow armband on his sleeve. Was he a Diasomnia member? You’ve only met three of its residents before, but you’re positive that it wasn’t this one. Sparing another glance at his horns, you’re pretty sure you would remember meeting someone with horns like his.

“Who… are you?” You don’t mean to sound as blunt as you did, but quite frankly you’re awestruck at such an imposing figure.

It seems that feeling is shared because as soon as those words leave your lips, the horned stranger looks just as stunned as you currently are. “Who am I…? You truly don’t know who I am?” He asks, as if genuinely shocked that you didn’t know who he was.

Though, he does recover faster than you did, his confusion morphing into an amused smirk, “Interesting. May I have your name?” 

For some reason, that specific wording doesn’t sit well with you, but it doesn’t bother you enough to not answer. “My name is ______. I’m Ramshackle’s prefect.”

“______…” He repeats with an odd interest in his voice as he tests it out. But that interest is weird in a way you can’t place. Not like when you were still getting used to the weird way this world works, like when you met Cater for the first time, but strange. “An unusual name, to be sure.” 

“I am…” He pauses mid-sentence. Despite his surprise that you didn’t know his name, he really seems hesitant to give it to you. You wonder why. “No, nevermind. I’d rather you remain unaware.”

That takes you by surprise for a second time. “Huh? Why?”

“It’s for your own benefit, I assure you.” While you’re about to disagree, once you think about it a little bit you realise it’s probably for the best. You fear the day where having friends won’t be a luxury you can have for fear of their safety, not yours.  

He continues, his tone pleasant. “Instead I will permit you to call me a name of your choosing.” before turning to one of warning, “Although you may one day regret it…” 

You doubt that would be the case, while it got off to a ‘unique’ start, this was a pretty okay first impression. This guy is a little weird, but so is this school and honestly this whole world. If this guy was anything like this conversation, a little odd but otherwise pleasant, you don’t yet see how this could end badly. Perhaps the reason why is that strangely soothing feeling still flowling through your veins, perhaps it is making your current judgement very clouded…

“But alas…If you have taken up residence here, then this abandoned dorm is no longer ‘abandoned’. Pity.” He seems to think aloud, which is oddly surprising. Not to be vain or anything but it genuinely feels like a shock to not have a nightly encounter that has some bad implications on your future. “I shall have to find some other ruins for my next nocturnal constitutional. Farewell.” 

You mildly wave goodbye, expecting him to walk away only for him to vanish in a bright spark of light, taking with him the soft glow of fireflies. “He’s gone…?” You mutter, met with nothing but silence as you’re actually alone. 

That…

That… single-handedly might be the most normal and non-stressful conversation you’ve had in a really long time. And the guy literally just teleported away. If anything, he seemed more upset with the fact the ruins he liked walking by at night were actually occupied rather than concerned with you. That is a surprisingly big relief that the stranger you happen to see outside your house isn’t interested in you, something that feels very strange to think considering everything.

That strange cozy feeling you got still persists, having scared the chill from your bones, and now that the stranger is gone you can’t help but feel a little sleepy. You let out a long yawn, feeling your eyes get heavy. You should probably go back inside and get some sleep. 

You head back inside, stopping only to lock Ramshackle’s door when the thought hits you, for the first time since meeting that guy. 

“Why didn’t I panic?” As much as you like the idea of normal interaction, normal interaction didn't find you that easily since coming here. If it had been anyone else, like a certain hunter, were to meet you after dark, you probably would have ran back inside and hid with Grim and a kitchen knife under your bed. But with that guy you just felt mystified, talking with him like it was nothing. 

“Well to be fair, things could be a lot worse.” You don’t want to focus on it any longer. If anything, all that worrisome thinking might shake the half-asleep feeling and you’ll be exhausted tomorrow. Whatever he did, he helped you out a little bit and basically might be the reason you sleep tonight. With no reason to dwell on it further as you crawl back into bed, snuggling up to Grim. Unintentional or not, it was nice of that stranger to grant your wish.  

Who knows, some people here might not be that dangerous after all. 

So remember when you freaked out about being surrounded by wild, extremely carnivorous animals in your dream about two dreams ago?

“AHH!” Well, you kind of panicked and scrambled for the jagged stone walls forgetting you were invisible when you passed through the mirror. If anyone wants to blame you, they weren’t the ones surrounded by A TON of hyenas. You’re not taking any chances with a species that preferred to disembowel their prey alive.

Now here’s a question, could a hyena-beastman do that- actually, you thought about it for two seconds more and you’re not continuing that train of thought. With your luck, it might become a reality. 

Never minding that original thought again, you take in the scene before you. After all, the reason you’re here is because you’ve got something you have to see.

<The world is about to be turned upside down. A shining era is near>  Scar proclaims from his ledge high above.

<And where do we fit in?> Someone in the crowd yells.

<Just listen.>

<We’re going to take out Mufasa AND his son.> The amount of contempt that Scar doesn’t even bother to disguise for both Mufasa and Simba as he speaks sparks an idea in your head. If your memory serves you well, the reason Simba had to die in the original story was because he got in Scar’s way in the line of succession, but with how this world worked, something about his anger right now makes it feel like Simba’s entire existence is more of a personal vendetta than a threat being taken care of. Maybe if you’re lucky, you could warn Sarabi about it soon…. <And then I  will be KING!>

<All right! Long Live the King!> The badlands fill with the cackling of the hyenas, cheering over their plans of regicide. You can only hope that whoever the SpellDrive saboteur is, you can only hope that they’re not going to go as far as murder over a silly game. But besides that, you don’t really see how else this is going to affect your love life here as you watch the hyenas celebrate their future assassination attempt. You’ve got nothing better to do, but wait until your dream fizzles out into that static that marks your return to the waking world.

So you wait. 

And wait.

“Okay, clearly not time to wake up yet…” You mutter, scanning the walls for anything out of the ordinary. Was there something else you were meant to see? 

Finding nothing, you spy your mirror embedded in the rock walls. Maybe something is broken and you have to take matters into your own hands?

Placing your hand onto the glass, it ripples around your hand before you feel yourself being pulled through it a second time tonight. Instinctively, you close your eyes as you hear the cackling of the hyenas morph into the soft noise of wind moving through tall grass. Opening your eyes, you find yourself back at Pride Rock and despite all the Grey, you can tell it’s daytime. 

“That’s weird.” You think aloud but shrug off. Since it might be the morning after, then you had sufficient time to warn Sarabi, whether she accepts it or not.

You look around the rock formation only to find it oddly void of lions and honestly a mess, the grasses have been torn up, scratches are carved into the stones, and it’s way too quiet for your nerves. You jump down from one of the rock ledges, finding a grotesque pile of animal bones just tossed around, mauled clean of flesh and even chewed. 

“Eww.” You step away from the grey dream-blood staining the ground as you feel your stomach turn, and keep searching for some sign of life anywhere on this rock. “Something definitely happened here.”

While that realization fills you with dread, you’re immediately flooded with relief when you see a figure of bright yellow in a clearing amongst all the pale grey. You don’t need to guess who it is, “Sarabi!” You call out, running up to her. 

But it’s only after you say that do you notice something is off. While you admit that her hostility last time was pretty justified, she doesn’t become immediately alert of an unknown danger, ready to rip to pieces with claws or teeth. Instead she just stands there and looks a bit sad. “Sarabi?” 

<Hello, ________.> She answers, her voice much too soft. <I wasn’t expecting to see you again.>

“Um, me too… I guess.” Something about this feels so odd, but you need to at least say what you have to say before it's too late. “I know this might be a bad time… but you need to seriously consider the dangers here, Scar is planning to kill Mufasa and Simba. I know you are sure that nothing will happen to them, but I just want you to be prepared.”

<Oh…> Instead of reacting with shock or disbelief, that’s all she says. Her eyes filled with what can only be grief as she continues, <I’m afraid it’s too late for that…>

“What?”

<Come with me.> Sarabi leads you out of the clearing into a lower cavern, illuminated only by light slipping through cracks and what you see makes you immediately understand. 

Walking through the mirror had passed time farther than you realized, because Mufasa’s dead body is lying on the stone floor, unmoving and unbreathing, as two lionesses place wildflowers around the corpse of their king. “Oh…”

<Mwamini, Abla. Leave us> Sarabi commands before sitting next to her dead husband. The two of them bow their heads respectfully before leaving.

As they walk past you, you can hear them say, <What does she mean by us? It’s just her and the- >

<Don’t. The two loved each other more than anything, let her grieve however she needs.>

Whether she heard it or not, Sarabi doesn’t pay it any mind. You watch as she bumps heads lovingly for a long while, the pain of grief evident on her face. You sit next to her and for a few moments share that moment of mourning with her. 

After a long time, you ask, “What happened?” A selfish question honestly, you already know exactly what happened that led to Mufasa’s demise, but for your own selfish self-preservation, you need to know if anything changed. 

Sarabi remains silent for a few more tense seconds that feel like they last years, before answering, <He said that Simba was practicing his roar in the gorge. It frightened the wildebeests into a stampede and…they…> Her voice cracks from what can only be heartache.

“You don’t have to say anything else.” You interrupt hoping to spare her any more despair, "I'm so sorry for your loss-”

<Spare me.> She pulls away from Mufasa, and stares you dead in the eye. <I’ve heard enough of that already. When we met a few days ago, you came to warn me about the future and while I didn’t believe it before, I have reason to now. Scar was the one to tell us they were dead and how they died, and thanks to you I know not to believe a word he says so tell me, is Simba alive?>

“Are you completely positive you want me to tell you?” Normally, you wouldn’t hesitate to do the right thing and give a grieving widow some hope, but after Winston and Alice… “Because the last time I tried to help someone like this, I ended up completely wrong and the person I thought would live ended up dying horribly. I wouldn’t want to give you false hope.”

<I don’t care about that!> Desperation oozes from Sarabi’s words, as if hearing whatever you could say would soothe her pain, <I just need to know if there’s a chance that my cub is okay.>

“...” As much as you don’t want, as much as you don’t want to risk the chance that the future is completely wrong, the very least you can do is this. “...Fine. Simba is alive, he’s with some other animals that’ll look after him.” Sarabi sighs in relief and some of her grief seems to disappear knowing that Simba is okay, but you can tell that all that’s happened has shaken her a little. “Just know that I don’t know for sure whether or not he’ll come back safe and sound, the future I know doesn’t exactly match everything that is going on now.” 

<Regardless…> Sarabi replies, looking forlornly at Mufasa’s remains, <Right now, it’s enough knowing he’s safe. Whether he comes back here or not, at least I haven’t lost all of my family. At least I can still be hopeful for something.>

You can’t help but find that strange.

Even despite the fact that she’s literally sitting right next to the ice-cold remains of the lion she genuinely loved, you can’t understand how she manages to even talk about hope. You’d seen genuine anguish and sorrow on her face since you got here and her optimism even if she’s trying to stay strong feels foreign to you. Especially since the situation itself, losing her mate, potentially never seeing her cub again and being left in a kingdom reigned by someone who’s obsessed with her should feel so hopeless.

“How do you even do that?” One of your thoughts slips out but once it does, like a bottle uncapped, it all comes pouring out, “I-I don’t know how you deal with it. My life got turned upside down like yours did, and you seem to be more put-together than me.” 

Sarabi pulls away from Mufasa once more, her eyes widen with surprise, <I’m surprised you think that.>

“I’m serious, too. How do you do it? How do you stay strong against all this… shit and be so calm?” By comparison you’ve been struggling under the weight of hopelessness, and she seems strangely positive for a situation that is equally hopeless. 

<I…> Sarabi hesitates, but you can hear the hoarse sound of unshed tears in the back off her throat <I’m not calm, but this isn’t the first time I’ve gone through something like this.> 

“What do you mean?” You ask, feeling a sudden pang of fear for your own imminent future. 

<When I was younger, I lost the pack I was raised in, my family and my friends. All I had left was my aide, Zazu, and worse I was being followed by another pride that wanted to dispose of us both. I didn’t have time to cry or hide, or even process just how sad and afraid I was of everything. The situation was always too dangerous and I was always too vulnerable.> 

<By the time, it was over. I had met Mufasa, and fallen in love with him. We’d found our new home here and started building a new pride. By then, I finally was able to cry and release all the pain I’d been forced to bury, and I realised that if I’d fallen apart like before hand I probably wouldn’t have gotten where I was, safe, happy… newly in love…> Sarabi glances at Mufasa once more, gazing longing at what’s left of him before sighing sadly as if remembering the sunnier days they spent together, before getting back on topic, <When I realised that, you could say I made a philosophy.>

“A philosophy?”

<A queen cannot cry till it’s over.> Sarabi explains,  <No matter how pain or heart ache I experience, I won’t show any of it or let myself crumble underneath its weight, I have to grit and bear it till the end, regardless of how good or bad that ending is.>

“That doesn’t sound all that healthy.” To bottle up all that grief, anger, fear and pain couldn’t possibly be something healthy to do, not in the slightest. 

<Maybe. Maybe not.> She replies, <Either way, it worked.>

“And you’re sure you’ll be able to keep this up?” You can’t help but worry for her, she’s worse off than when she started now. “Even if Simba manages to make it back, with Scar around you’ll have to do that for a really long time. Especially since, he probably thinks he has you all to himself now.”

<I’m not sure. And certainly doesn’t help that I’m still stumped that he still has feelings for me after all this time. Especially feelings that would push him to try to kill Mufasa and Simba over it.> Sarabi stands up, starting to pace as she loses herself to her thoughts. After a while, she looks at you again and asks <I never saw him as a romantic partner, not for any fault of his own back then, and Mufasa never did anything to sway my decision so do you know? Do you know what could have pushed him to act this way?>

Now that’s something you want to know. “I wish I knew.”

Sarabi sighs, now frustrated. <This makes no sense.>

You can’t help but sympathise, “The way it looks, it’s not supposed to make sense”

<I wish it did->

<My, my…> Footsteps fill the lower cavern, along with the chilling snickering of the hyenas flanking Scar.  Instinctively, you shrink back as Sarabi's face hardens into what can only be forced apathy as her husband’s murderer approaches, a victorious smirk clear on his face.  <Whatever has got you talking to a corpse, Sarabi?> Scar quips, sparing only an uninterested glance at his brother’s, and his victim’s, body.

Sarabi, likely following her philosophy, doesn’t show him any of her interest, <What are you doing here and why have you brought your hyenas to my husband’s gravesite.>

<Tsk, tsk~ > Scar ‘chastises’ her playfully. As he speaks, he moves in closer to which Sarabi immediately recoils away from her mate’s murderer.  In spite of that, he continues, <Mind your temper, dear Sarabi. We are to get along with the hyenas, remember?> 

<Yeah!> One of the hyenas that arrived with Scar pipes up, <Gotta be nice, your majesty- > Sarabi growls, loud enough to scare them into shutting up before they lose their throat. 

Once the hyena wisely cowers in favor of not angering her further, Sarabi returns her attention to Scar. <Do not call me that, Scar. Why are you here?> 

<I tire from all the work of ruling- >

<Odd, considering you’ve barely done anything…> You can hear Sarabi mutter under her breath. Is the only thing he really cares about Sarabi then? If that’s the case the throne he was ‘after’ seems more like an added bonus. 

<So I’ve come to pay my ‘respects’ and check up on my poor widowed sister-in-law. Though, I suppose you’re no longer my sister-in-law now…> You can see Sarabi wince from the reminder, <It must be difficult to move on from such a tragedy, both your husband and son gone from one foul swoop.>, and just how much Scar seems to enjoy the fact both of the two most important people in Sarabi’s life are gone, and no longer a bother to him. 

<You should watch your own tongue, Scar.> Sarabi fires back, <And do not assume the worst for my son, and your future king. As long as his body remains undiscovered, there is a chance he’s still alive>

The hyenas start their cackling all over again, tickled into hysterics what they probably assume is Sarabi being stuck in denial. Scar glares them into silence this time, and from here,  you can tell Sarabi’s words have upset him. <Surely you know that the king’s murderer cannot become king- > Sarabi quietly scoffs in response to that, <And now that I think about, without Mufasa and with my ascension to the throne, you technically are no longer the Queen> 

The hyenas cackle louder, and you’re impressed that Sarabi is putting up with this as her position is threatened. Instead she bluntly asks, <What is your point?>

Scar’s smirk returns, <Only a proposal, dear Sarabi. Become my Queen.>

What? Did he really just-

<No.> Sarabi bluntly declines, before the tension in her voice drops to that of a growl<And do not dare propose to me in front of my dead husband!> It’s the only time she’s raised her voice since this conversation between them has started. And for good fucking reason to literally propose in front of her mate, dead or alive, has to be a faux paus of some ordeal. 

But despite that Scar continues, <Oh but I’m serious. I hate to depose one of the most important members of the fallen king’s pride, especially one I’ve always held affections for.> 

As if spurred by your earlier conversation, you can see cracks in the stoic, disinterested mask Sarabi’s been wearing appear as Sarabi asks, <But why me? It’s been so many, many years since I’ve been married, much less committed to Mufasa. Out of all the people, you could pick to rule as your queen, there must be someone else in the Pride who you might be more capable of being your mate and wife than I am.>

In a normal setting, albeit lions wouldn’t be talking if this was a normal setting, he or anyone like him would understand, some small naive part of you hopes that he would understand and respect that. But what you actually expected is what you got, <Oh, Sarabi. I’ve always loved you for years down to the moment we met, if Mufasa hadn’t intervened and ruined everything-!> Scar goes from growling as he vents his fury at his fallen brother only to pause and continue with only the threatening edge, <Now that he is gone, I will have all that I am owed, including you Sarabi. The one I loved ever since I’ve laid eyes on you. So will you be mine, Sarabi, like you were always meant to?>

‘So nothing’s different…’ You find yourself muttering after watching this conversation like you had that SpellDrive smackdown earlier. One thing always remains the same so far, in both this ‘past’ and in your present, and that is that what decides whether or not someone earns a stalker, a murder or both as a love interest is just instinct. There has to be something else to it, how else can you figure out how to avoid it?!

But what does that mean for Sarabi, you can’t help but think, was this going to happen regardless of what she did? There had to be something, a way out or an argument that would break through whatever manic delusions brought this on what caused all this and why was it affecting you, Winston and her? “Is her only choice just to say yes and hope?”

You end up muttering that last part outloud, to which you curse at yourself for your foolishness. Only Sarabi’s ear twitches sensing that only she heard, but from what she says after a bout of hesitant silence, silence occasionally interrupted by the hyena’s heckling, she says a very reluctant, <Fine.> grinded out through gritted teeth as she fights to keep her composure.

Much to Scar’s pride, if the grin on his face is anything to go by. 

The hyenas do their cackling again, louder and more , as they witness the Lioness Queen’s submission. Sarabi does a better job at biting her tongue than you would have as she curtly dismisses herself with as much passive aggressive politeness as she can muster, <You’ll have to excuse me, Scar- >

<Please, Sarabi. Call me by name~ >

<Forgive me, Taka.> She corrects herself, her fangs grinding together from deep seated rage, <I shall need to hunt with the others so that we may feast over this ‘exciting’ union.> Sarabi presses her head against Mufasa’s one last time before leaving, before glancing one last time past Scar back at you and giving you only one of the slightest nods, and pushing past those annoying, heckling hyenas back outside. 

And Scar looks as satisfied as Grim does when he gets into the food without your permission, or rather the cat that ate the canary. 

Once Sarabi’s gone, however, the smug, punchable satisfaction that reminds you eerily of Leona’s dissolves completely. Just as one the hyenas, which you assume to be their leader asks, <Hey Scar, we are you so obsessed with making that stuck up b- > That swear dies on her tongue from the blood-curdling snarl that Scar lets out, as she scrambles to correct herself, <...uh, I mean the Ex-Queen queen again.>

<Yeah.>  Another pipes up. <I mean, no offense but it looks like she kinda hates you, Right Ed?>. ‘Ed’ doesn’t really make any intelligible words, but the point is still made. If anything it’s a shock to you that anyone would call him out on this incredibly horrible thing to do someone you claim to love much less a grieving widow-

<ENOUGH!> Your thought process is interrupted by Scar’s booming roar,  <This is none of your business. In fact if I recall correctly, aren’t you yet to find that little runt?!>

You watch the hyenas stammer over pathetic lies and excuses, but Scar doesn’t seem to believe them. If your memory served you well for once, Scar had accepted whatever they said about Simba being dead but unreachable. If this is happening, then it can only mean that something, and possibly the future along with it, has changed. And likely not for the better. Something about Scar’s hatred of Simba this time seems more… extreme. 

<Uh, d-don’t worry about it boss! We’ll find that brat.>

<Hurry up. The sooner you find that runt’s remains, the sooner she will finally be mine> Scar commands, <Just as she was meant to be> 

Scar’s attention suddenly shifts to the remains of the dead Mufasa, the wildflowers gathered around them now seem more like the dressings of a feast. 

Scar looks over at Mufasa’s remains before chuckling, <Look at my dear brother, after taking so much from me, the throne I deserved, my kingdom and my queen, you lie here dead like a feast fit for a king>

A cruel smirk forms on his face. <Get rid of him.> 

You feel your dream fade to nothing just seconds after, but the sound and visage of hyenas sinking their jaws into the dead king's flesh and dragging him off to devour the cold remains sticks in your mind as you return to the waking world…

You wake up with a small gasp, the familiar feeling of Grim’s best sleep kicks digging into your ribs. For a few seconds, you lie there and try to process what you’d just seen. 

But you don’t focus on the corpse desecration still fresh in your head even if it stays there longer than you want, or the little you learned on yanderes, or the sheer hatred Scar seemed to have for his poor nephew; you remember what Sarabi had said to you. 

“Maybe Sarabi’s philosophy might help me out?” You think aloud, staring at the mirror hanging on your wall. If it gave her the ability to stick through the hardest bits without fear, despair or anger, maybe it could do the same for you. If there’s one thing you needed to do, it was not to be freaking over at the slightest thing.

Maybe it would help….

“Hey, _______?” 

“Hm? What’s up Grim?” You ask as the two of you walk down Main Street, his question snapping you out of your dream-related thoughts.

“Did you go somewhere last night? I got up to warm up some milk. I was gonna see if you wanted some but you weren’t there?”

“Aww, that was nice of you,” You coo before laughing at Grim’s resulting embarrassment and complaints. It’s nice seeing him care about you, in a completely normal way might you add. “I went on a walk to clear my head, but come to think about it…. I met someone in our yard.” 

“Agh! Again?! Did that guy you were complaining about come by our house again?” Grim asks, exasperated. You’d told him about Rook’s random late night ‘visits’, Grim has even told you he’s 99% positive he’s seen him inside when getting a midnight snack. It creeps him out just as much as it creeps you out. 

 “No,  it was someone else.” You recount the whole encounter to Grim, but you do leave out that weird soothing feeling you’d felt in ‘the stranger’s’ presence. For all you know it’s fatigue catching up to you and not anything worth sharing. 

“Huh. A weird dude with horns? Did the guy have a name?”

“He said I was better off not knowing…” You hope you hadn’t accidentally walked yourself into meeting a really bad guy, especially knowing your terrible luck. Though, he seemed nice enough. “I guess I could come up with a nickname.”

“Ooh! Let me pick it! Howsabout…” Grim hesitates for a moment to build some suspense, “ ‘Tsunotaro’!” 

…As in ‘Horned.. Man….?’

“Tsunotaro..?” You test it out, and honestly it is a little silly and kind of cute, but he- Tsunotaro said he wasn’t going to be coming back now that Ramshackle was occupied. Aw well, there’s no harm in calling him a silly little nickname. “I guess that works.”

“If Tsunotaro’s a student, who knows when we run into him? If we do, you gotta introduce me.” 

“Just please don’t call him ‘Tsunotaro’ to his face if you do. We’re not exactly the most popular people on campus.” Well, you are but not by any fault of your own. Seriously, who expects to travel to another universe where magic exists and get, what the count again, 7 yanderes in a month? “At least there’s one thing this investigation is doing, it's making us accidentally encounter and potentially piss off every one we meet.”

“______! Grimmy!” Speaking of your current popularity... “Morning!”

“Hey, Cater -Um?!”  You go from starting to greet Cater and Riddle, only for your heart to starting jumping like a rabid jackrabbit as Riddle approaches much more than you were expecting. “Hey Riddle- Is something wrong?”

“Hm. I believe that your tie is crooked?”

What does that have to do with being so close to you right now? “Huh? Is it?”

“Here, allow me>” Instinctively you freeze, allowing Riddle to fix your tie without interruption. If it wasn’t for you freezing you probably would have flinched from the feeling of his bare, doesn’t he usually wear gloves though?, fingers on your neck. Given Riddle’s love of the rules, in a normal situation you would have assumed this is just a kind gesture, but something about the rare stutters in his speech of the importance of proper attire make you wonder if your tie was even crooked in the first place. 

And despite your best efforts, the trauma of that night is a raw bleeding wound on your psyche that sends your mind to that warped dark place that makes this, something that should feel so simple, feel so stressful. 

But you remember what you’d heard from Sarabi in your dream, ‘A queen cannot cry till it’s over.’ as in suck it up and deal with it until you can scream out your frustrations into your pillow later. So you force yourself to breathe as steadily as possible and as Riddle finishes straightening your tie. “There. All better.”

And then you screwed up. Maybe it was the awkwardness of making eye contact with Riddle once he’d finished, the awkwardness of him not backing up despite him being done or something else, but after an awkwardness makes you flinch and trigger your stupid fight or flight instinct and reach out to push him away from you. 

‘Shit, play it off!’ You imagine yourself taking a deep breath for courage as you swallow that lump of panic wedged in your throat, you take both his hands into yours, let as warm of a smile as you can muster cross your face and say, “Thank you, Riddle. I really appreciate it!” 

You don’t how ‘genuinely’ happy the smile you gave looked but it seemed to do the job., as you watch a soft flush appear on Riddle’s face. “I-It was no trouble.”

Much to your eternal gratitude, because how would you survive without him, Grim switches the topic, “So where’s Ace and Deuce?”

“ADeucey are on flamingo duty.” You bury a tiny yelp when you hear Cater’s voice behind, startling close behind you but you can bear it a little longer. Still for someone so loud and hard to miss, it’s surprising that he can sneak around so quietly. “They had some FOMO, but hey rules are rules.” 

Ok, you might be a little dumb sometimes but you’re not dumb enough to believe that. Knowing Ace and Deuce they would have wrapped it up and ran all the way to meet you at Ramshackle without you even noticing they were late. Something tells you that someone is keeping them held up on purpose. You also try not to think about the human that might be mixed into those feed pellets, you still haven’t told Grim about that yet.

“It’s as Cater said, in accordance with rule 249, it’s their turn to wear pink clothes and feed the flamingos.” Knowing that every rule the Queen of Hearts made was made with Winston in mind, as depressing as his situation was, it’s a little nice. Maybe Winston had never seen flamingos in person before Wonderland and thought dressing up as them would make them like him. Kind of sweet to think about, y’know if you ignore all the crap that came after. 

“Hey, no offense, Riddle… but why would you assign that to them? Like, aren't they really sore after the butt kicking Savanaclaw gave our investigation team yesterday?” You know for a fact those flamingos can get pretty cranky too, and not ‘annoyed’ cranky,  like ‘scratching and plucking your eyes out’ cranky. Which better not be a result of the human in their diets, you’d probably never go near them again

“Chores have to be done regardless, ______.  Rules are still rules, after all.” Riddle answers, which would have been a decent enough answer if he hadn’t continued.  “Though, it would be unfortunate if something were to happen.” He finishes, sounding a little too satisfied talking about your friends potentially losing an eye. 

Oh. Oh. he did it on purpose. Could that have been him getting back at them for being able to go with you yesterday or just plain old jealousy with an added touch of bloodthirst. Maybe you should start considering-

“Though speaking of something unfortunate happening, there’s been another incident last night, _______?”

“Myah!? Really!?”

“Another?!” Wasn’t the tournament literally next week? Whoever was doing all this really wanted to wipe out as many playing members as fast as possible. Even if the players could recover enough to play, they wouldn’t be able to play to their fullest, at that rate. “What happened?”

“According to the portrait who witnessed it, the victim was a sophomore from Scarabia.” Cater explains, “His name is Jamil Viper, It appears the accident happened in the kitchen.”

“Wait, Jamil Viper? I met that guy yesterday. Probably right after he got attacked- Hang on, I patched and he didn’t even tell me about his accident?!” Whether it was manly misguided machismo or something else, you can’t help but be annoyed knowing you could have cracked this case wide open yesterday and saved yourself all the extra work. You still can’t make heads or tails over why he didn’t tell you what really happened when you asked yesterday.

You’re so distracted on the why, that  you can’t even notice the slowly darkening look both Cater and Riddle are getting from your unintentional confession of patching up someone else’s wounds

“We coulda solved this case yesterday!” Grim joins you in your exasperation,” And then we would have caught whoever’s behind it and I could play in the tournament!” You roll your eyes and sigh. Never change, Grim. 

But back on topic, it should be breakfast time in the cafeteria now and you were planning on checking up on him, anyways. Might as well go and demand an answer…

And demand is exactly what you did. 

“Hey, Jamil!” You call out as soon as you get into the cafeteria, marching straight up to the table with the only two people from Scarabia you know.  “Oh. One sec. Hi, Kalim, nice to see you again.” You wave politely at your friend before recentering your focus back on Jamil before he can greet you back. “Jamil, why didn’t you tell me you were in a suspicious accident?!”

“It’s great to see you too, ______!” Kalim exclaims before you can get your answers out of Jamil. You’re used to his sunny, energetic nature by now but seeing it side by side with Jamil’s more aloof composure. Again, another reason leaving you wondering how  they’re best friends but you suppose that’s not your business. “But, ________,when did you meet Jamil?

Oh right, Kalim had planned to invite you to Sarabia to meet Jamil once he’d been less busy after the tournament-

“That’s something I would like to know.” Riddle interjects. You kind of forgot he and Cater were with you.

“I met him a couple weeks back because Grim decided to be a food thief,” You explain,  “Besides I’m not around you guys all the time, I have other friends.” 

“Right.” Riddle answers, sounding ever so slightly like he has an issue with that. You tell yourself not to pay attention to it, you’ll worry about it in the privacy of your room later. 

“FYI, _______. It’d be a little nice to update us on these kinds of things.” Cater ‘suggests’, “Friends tell each other things, yeah?”

Wait, what does that m- “And Jamil when did you meet ________? You never told me…”

“We only met last night in passing, I was so busy with SpellDrive preparations I forgot to tell you.” That isn’t completely what happened, he kind of left out the whole ‘you helping him patch his arm back up. You wonder why but it might have helped you out a little bit so who cares. 

“Aw, that’s too bad.” The tiny deflating in Kalim’s mood is gone a second later, “Oh. I know! We can all hang out once this tournament business is dealt with!” 

Oh. That's right. The tournament and the mysterious accidents. 

“Do we have to? I don't wanna have ta eat that moldy cheese again,” Grim mutters, but you’re all getting side-tracked on the wrong details. No harm will come from hanging out with Kalim and Jamil at Scarabia later but some will happen if you don’t figure out who’s causing all these accidents by next week. 

“Uh, right back on topic.” You say, getting back to the issue at hand, “Can you tell me what really happened to your arm, Jamil.” 

“Why are you so interested in my accident?”

“The headmaster asked Grim and I to investigate all the strange accidents that have been happening on campus. I know I was kind of pushy before but if you didn’t mind?”

You can see Jamil’s face falter just slightly, almost like he was disappointed that was the actual reason you were interested. “...The headmage? Huh, well okay.”

“It’s like I said yesterday, I was cooking in the cafeteria kitchen cooking some lamb rolls at Kalim’s request-”

“Oh man, you guys have NO idea how amazing Jamil’s lamb rolls are.” Kalim interrupts, “You’ve gotta try ‘em some day.” 

“Hey, uh, Kalim? I kind of need to hear this.”

“Whoops, my bad.”

“Anyway.” Jamil continues, “But when I was chopping the ingredients, I felt an unnatural force take control of my body and the next thing I knew I’d sliced my arm open.”

“An unnatural force?” You repeat, if what you remember is correct, it’s just as the other cases described, like their body was taken over. The very thought makes you shudder. You ask him, “Are you sure?” 

“I’m positive. I know that sensation, I think it was the effects of someone’s signature spell.” You gasp in surprise but that actually makes perfect sense, how else could someone get away with ‘injuring’ so many students without leaving a mark on someone or getting caught. If someone was using magic, much less their signature spell, they could get away with it over and over again without raising any suspicion. 

“Oh yeah! Jamil would know, his signature spell is- MMPH!” Jamil claps a hand over Kalim’s mouth, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence. 

“This isn’t about me.” Jamil says, before turning his attention back to you,  “Anyway, whoever you’ll be looking for probably is using a spell to control someone’s movements.“

“Interesting,” says Cater, “That would be a way to hurt people and have it appear like it was nothing more than the victim being careless.”

“And if it only lasted an instant, even the victim would perceive it as their own mistake” agrees Riddle, “When I nearly fell down the stairs, I never felt as though I was being controlled by someone else.”

“Well, now we know what is causing these accidents, now we need to find who?” You sigh in frustration, there have to be dozens of students capable of doing a spell like that, sure there are only three dorms left that haven’t been attacked yet but that’s still a lot of people. You don’t even know where to start-

“Hmm? A spell that can control people…Man, if I could learn a spell like that, I could really clean up on Bakery Day!” 

“Is all you think about food, Grim-”, you’re about to lecture him for getting distracted when it connects. Despite Grim never being one to give up his food, he still ‘willingly’ gave his deluxe sandwich to Ruggie. Looking back on it, Grim had moved like he was… being controlled by…

You gasp, “ I know who it is! The culprit’s Ruggie Bucchi!”

Part 4 (TBW)