man, I love him

He’s not one to ignore the signs. So he invests in good quality tears. Only when he’s rubbing his eyes does he notice blot stains on his knuckles. Surely it’s just the ink of his pen, right? …Right?

Nothing made Azul feel on top of the world quite like the sight of an overly confident student signing away his rights. With Floyd and Jade guarding his blindspots, he was untouchable.

But one day, even his arms and ears will leave him, and the thought of sleeping soundly one night and waking up the next day betrayed was enough to send him spiraling.

With no hope of falling asleep, he schemes late into the night, inkblot tears ruining his paperwork and forcing him to redo everything over and over again. It’s no wonder he wakes up grouchy and unfocused.

Losing his contracts was a blow more devastating than losing all eight of his limbs at once, leaving him vulnerable to the predators he’s been poking from a safe distance. Except there is no safe distance when you sit at the bottom of NRC’s food chain.

It’s hard to look forward to tomorrow when today takes so much energy out of him, preferring to bask in the quiet hours of another day survived. Try as he might to reach for the surface, no amount of sunrises past could ever convince him that the sun will shine again tomorrow. One day, he’ll rope Malleus into a contract so he can stop time at the peak of his power, if such a peak will ever satisfy him.

Darkness is his true home—safe, reliable, all-encompassing. In the safety of his octopot, no light can deceive him with false hope, no contract can be stolen, no trust can be broken.

Whereas the rest of the student body see a power-hungry, money-greedy, misguided genius, you see three bleeding hearts under lock and key. While you’re no medical expert, you did hear that a good shock to the heart can reset an erratic rhythm and gentle binds around said heart can reduce the bleeding.

“You don’t always need power over others to feel safe. Sometimes you just need a really big hug,” you say.

“And lots of money,” he adds.

“No-!”

Talk is cheap in Azul’s world, so you opt for the next best thing—body language.

“Hey Floyd, when’s the last time you gave Azul a big ol’ squeeze?” you ask during his shift.

“Hnn…? Not since middle school. He’s not as round and squishy anymore.”

“Does he have to be?”

“…Good point. Let’s go.”

One Ambush Later…

“Did you have to yell ‘OCTY’ when you jumped out of my vault?!”

“Gyeh heh. For old times’ sake,” says Floyd, grinning from ear to ear.

Under your combined weight, Azul can’t run from your overflowing love and affection, nor can he deny it.

“If you won’t rest, we’ll just hafta knock ya out,” declares Floyd.

“This is violating EVERY code of student conduct,” argues Azul.

“And?” / “Your point?”

“Oya,” says Jade from the office entrance. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

“Get over here!” / “Get them off me!”

🐍 Jamil Viper

🎶 Now playing Yakusai by Knosis

Enlightening intrusive thoughts Sneak out the back of my head Controlling me, controlling me I'm broken in silence

When Jamil cooks for one of Kalim’s party, the plethora of spices really open up his sinuses.

It gets annoying sometimes, but he’s learned to cope with it. What he isn’t used to, is blot dripping from his nostrils, especially after a particularly ridiculous request from Kalim. He’s always wearing masks, saying he’s caught a flu. He makes sure to throw them in a separate bin, far from Kalim’s clumsy gaze.

But lady luck is never on his side. Is there anything worse than watching Kalim flail about in distress, worried sick for Jamil’s health while unable to do anything useful about it?

In those moments, rather than comforted, Jamil feels helpless. As the self-proclaimed smartest man in his dorm, no one could truly understand his pain. No one could even come close. He doesn’t ask for help for the simple fact that no one can help him, even if they really, truly, bottom-of-their-heart wanted to.

And so he handles it in the best way he knew how—alone.

When the party noise dies down, and the guests have gone home, Jamil’s real break begins. You stay back to help him clean up, putting on low-energy music like Lo-fi or RnB. He may not vocalize his appreciation, for fear of jinxing this random stroke of good luck, but it shows in his half-hearted attempts to deny your help.

“You should go home. It’s getting late," he says.

You clutch your broom protectively. “And take away MY cleaning rights? Nah, you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I’m used to it. In fact, I prefer it this way.”

“Then your preferences need an update,” you say, barring his way to the sink. “I’m on dish duty.”

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“I could say the same to you.”

He sighs, too exhausted to fight back. “No shortcuts or tricks, okay? I need them spotless.”

“Aye, aye, Jamjam!”

“Don’t call me that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What a pleasant surprise!” His elation was evident, as he shot you questions of every kind, like a conversation speedrun.

Then he caught sight of the bruise, and his expression soured. “What happened?”

Rook walked you through Pomefiore’s courtyard, as you struggled to speak through your tears. You sat together by the wishing well, and he pulled you into a sideways embrace, muffling your sobs with his dorm uniform. You wheezed and hiccuped, the ugly sound staining Pomefiore’s serene atmosphere. Eventually, a few students came up to ask about your well-being with genuine concern—Vil trained his dormmates well in style and decorum.

For the sake of your peace, Rook invited you indoors, despite the consequences of getting caught.

“Was it one of the twins?”

You pursed your lips, as you didn’t want to paint Floyd in a negative light. Every possible excuse jumped at you: He took a joke too far. His impulse overrode his reason. He didn’t know his own strength.

While you believed there was some truth to them, it didn’t change the fact that it hurt. His cold glare hurt. His threatening voice hurt. Everything about that interaction hurt.

Rook deemed your silence as a confession. He didn’t pry further. Instead, he escorted you to the dorm’s public bathroom to wash up. When you stepped out, he offered you water.

“Are you hungry?”

You nodded, dreading the follow-up question.

“What will it be?”

“Anything’s fine.”

You had no desire to make any decision in the next 24 hours.

.

.

.

🏹

Rook resisted the overpowering urge to wrap you in a blanket burrito and hold you for hours. You stared into the abyss of his room’s carpet as you waited for food. The silence unnerved him. You needed a distraction. And he, selfishly, wanted every second of your attention.

After you were fed, he broached the subject again. Thankfully, you opened up this time. You described the situation in great detail, pausing every now and then to collect your thoughts. Rook hung onto your every word, and never doubted or questioned your judgment of the events. He hoped venting eased the pressure on your heart and mind.

“It’s not that I’ll never forgive him,” you said, staring at Rook’s bow & arrow collection. “He couldn’t have known how triggering his words were. It never came up before, so I never had to explain.” You sighed, exhausted. “What should I do now?”

Rook rummaged through his closet and returned with a neatly folded set of pajamas. Your pajamas.

“What you need cannot be fulfilled in a mere hour or two, so you might as well get comfortable. And worry not, I wash them regularly.”

By hand, he left out.

A piece of you left in his care. When he dedicated time for this task, memories of your time together washed over him. Too fresh to be discarded. Too important to fade with the sands of time. It was a comforting reminder that he was your first love.

.

.

.

🦈

Meanwhile…

Floyd was used to land-dwellers cowering in his presence. In fact, he reveled in it. As Azul’s debt collector, he’d seen the color drain from their clients’ faces when the consequences of their actions came knocking. But Floyd had never seen you afraid of him before. It didn’t sit well in his gut. Shrimpy shouldn’t be afraid. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

After you left, he stared at his hands for a long time—he hurt you. It was the ultimate crime of a protector eel. He wanted to give chase, but that spike of adrenaline made him pause. He feared making matters worse, so instead, he unleashed his wrath upon the expensive furniture of the Mostro Lounge. He would rather rack up debt with Azul than risk hurting you again. No amount of money in the world could mend a broken heart.

He looked for you everywhere. You didn’t retreat to your usual spots—your office, the cafeteria, the library, Ramshackle dorm. None of your guppy friends knew your whereabouts either.

The only lead he had left was Jade’s tip about your former relationship with Seagull.

“Oya, you didn’t know?” Jade teased him for staying out of the loop this long. "Practically everyone else knew already."

What bothered more was that you hadn’t brought it up, not even accidentally. The last thing he needed was to find you seeking comfort in your ex because of him.

Floyd stormed through the decorative halls of Pomefiore’s castle and into the third-year’s corridor and knocked on every door until someone responded.

“Where’s your vice at?” he seethed.

Third-years weren’t afraid of Floyd, at least not overtly. Pomefiore juniors were the worst. They always found an angle to lecture him about his rumpled appearance. His bared, serrated teeth were enough warning.

“Two doors to the right. If you’re looking for trouble, save it. He’s busy right now.”

In front of Seagull’s dorm, Floyd bounced his leg impatiently. He leaned forward when he caught the faintest whisper on the other side. The door flew open, and Seagull greeted him with utmost glee.

“Monsieur Spontané, what a pleasant surprise to find you at my doorstep! To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Floyd didn’t have any beef with the vice housewarden of Pomefiore, nor did he want to stick around long enough to change that. Jade’s tip left him with frayed nerves.

“Didja see Shrimpy? We gotta talk.”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Shall I relay your message when our paths cross next?”

A bold-faced lie. He didn’t miss the way Seagull fixed his facial expression and lowered his voice, nor did he miss your natural scent on him.

This was rehearsed.

He peered behind the shorter man, looking for any sign of your visit. Every corner was spick and span, almost too clean. He stepped forward, but a firm arm blocked his path. Seagull’s laugh was light and cheery.

“My, my. Eager to see my archery collection? All you had to do was ask.”

“You’re a terrible liar, and I wanna see Shrimpy. Lemme in.”

“Your senses must be dulled. We have just the remedy at the Science Club. If you’ll pay us a visit—“

Floyd shoved him aside.

“Shrimpyyy, come on out. I won’t bite, I promise.” His eyes darted to every potential hiding spot. There weren’t many—under the bed, around the desk, behind the closet.

He lingered at the closet. “I won’t force it open. I’ll wait all day if I have to, but I ain’t leavin’ without ya.”

He was met with silence.

“Aight. Here me out, then.” Suddenly, his clothes felt too tight on his skin. He stretched his neck a couple times, loosened the tension in arms, lightly kicked his feet.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to hurt ya. I didn’t…”—he forced air through his nose—“I didn’t mean to yell, either. When I saw ya shiverin’, it crushed me. Protector eels protect their Shrimpy. I ain’t sayin’ ya gotta let it go, but I don’t like seein’ ya run away from me, either.”

His forehead leaned against the door, voice softened to a whisper. “Please. Lemme see ya.”

More silence. A hand rested on Floyd’s shoulder.

“When the time is right, I am certain your feelings will reach their intended audience when the time is right. For now, I must ask you to leave. Vil is not kind to non-residents after dark. You have a few minutes till then.”

Floyd shoved his hand off. He hovered another minute, two minutes. He dropped to the floor, cross-legged in front of the closet. Five minutes, ten minutes, he gave up.

“Your hat—”

“Don’t want it.” On his way out, he added, “Make sure to eat. Shrimpy's got a bad habit of forgettin’.”

And he left.

.

.

.

🏹

When Rook confirmed the coast was clear, you peeled yourself out of the closet and stretched every aching muscle around your arms, neck, shoulders, and back. Slowly, you uncurled your knees and ankles from their stiff positions.

“How about a massage?” Rook offered. “You were cramped in there for well over fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

By the look on your face, Floyd’s apology must’ve replaced your heartache with a terrible guilt. Your head rested on Rook’s plush pillow, as you stared at the ceiling. “Maybe I overreacted. I’m too embarrassed to face him now.”

“Perish the thought! Your fears were reasonable, especially after what you shared with me.”

You gave a non-committal answer.

Gently, he covered your hand with his and tilted your chin with the other. It reminded him of New Year’s Eve. His deep green gaze held nothing but sincerity and fondness for you.

“Behind those tears is a strong and tender heart. No doubt Floyd appreciates this about you, too. With a bit of self-care and relaxation, you will be back to your wonderful, chipper self again.”

Tiredly, you nodded. The adrenaline must have left your system by now, as your eyes drooped slowly but surely.

Rook uncovered a box dedicated to your skincare and haircare products from Felicity Cosmetics—gifts he accumulated over the past two years. When one of them expired, Rook bought a replacement. It was like nothing changed between you.

Vil’s handmade brand stood out among them. How nostalgic.

Rook fought to contain his giddiness, as his cream-coated fingers massaged your cheeks, your temples, your nose, your jaw, your chin—every inch of you was precious.

“No photo, no matter how crisp, could ever replace the joy of admiring you up close.”

He complimented the arch for your brows, your smile lines, and every other detail he caught. His heart fluttered when the heat of your bashful face met his fingertips.

Rook left to change into his own pajamas, then he grabbed another blanket and laid it on the floor.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Setting my cot for the night.”

He could guess what you were thinking. You were no stranger to his bedroom. He snuck you in the night of his birthday and hosted many skincare sessions like this one. You shared your first kiss in this very bed at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day.

“You are not sleeping on the floor. That’s not fair to you.” At his insistence, you pursed your lips. “I trust you, Rookki. And I don’t want you to break your spine because of me.”

His heart soared at the return of his nickname, now a relic of the past.

Already in bed, you scooted towards the wall. A thin, lime-colored pillow separated your sleep zone from his. He laid beside you and wondered what he did to earn your undivided attention for the day.

While you fell into a swift slumber, he could not.

His hand inched closer to yours atop the dividing pillow, just a hair apart. His reliable front betrayed his true desires. He wanted to keep you to himself, to stop time in this moment and let the four walls of his bedroom house your entire world. He wanted to dote on you every day like he did today, to be the only one who can meet your needs.

But he wasn’t, and that fact pierced his heart deeper than any fatal wound could. Nevertheless, he would not let that deter him from comforting you, even if it meant supporting his rival.

He retracted his hand. He would rather break his spine than lose your trust over petty jealousy. If he had any chance of reclaiming your love, he had to be patient—to embody the ideal you sought when you first met him.

.

.

.

🦐

The next morning, you arose from bed refreshed and a little sore on your side. Bad sleeping habits followed wherever you slept.

The space beside you was empty. You assumed Rook left for his morning run. Your watch read 5 AM. Odd. He usually waited until sunrise, an hour from now. When you stretched to grab a glass of water from his bedside table, your theory shattered.

Stubborn as ever, Rook slept on the floor, after all. Hair pinned behind his ears with cute fairytale-themed clips and a constellation of freckles on full display.

“Bonjour, mon chou,” he sang, voice heavy with sleep and eyes barely open.

“Bonjour, mon silly goose. Why’re you on the floor?”

“I must have fallen during the night.”

“Floyd was right. You are a terrible liar.” You had more pressing issues to deal with than to pry for an explanation. If he wanted to tell you he would. “Thank you for having me over. I think I’m ready to head back now. Don’t want to disrupt your routine any further.”

“Non, non.” He sat up. His dainty hair clips fell out of place. “Fret not. Take all the time you need to freshen up.”

Stealthily, he escorted you to the public bathroom. Memorizing his dormmates’ morning schedules came in handy, apparently.

You brushed your teeth—yup, that was your toothbrush in the cup—and re-emerged wearing yesterday’s clothes. You debated taking your forgotten belongings with you. As if he read your mind, Rook already packed a backpack with what you could carry. Floyd’s hat landed on your head.

On your way out, you said, “Alright, see you around, Rookki.”

“Wait!”

“Hm…?”

“Your hair is looking dry. Before you leave, you simply must try Felicity’s leave-in conditioner, Vil’s recommendation.”

“Oh, it’s fine. It’ll take too long to dry anyway.”

Speaking of Vil, you needed to leave before he found you here, trespassing.

“S’il te plaît. Let me do it for you. It will only take a few minutes.”

It took more than a few minutes.

Rook hummed as he brushed your hair, his touch soothed your scalp. He was very thorough with his care. You were sure more than 20 minutes passed. Of course you wound up applying a face mask, too.

“Double the benefit for half the time”, he said.

You were pressed for time, anxious at the sight of Pomefiore students shuffling out of their rooms, though they hadn’t noticed you yet. Rook suggested a shortcut through the courtyard to avoid drawing unwanted attention. Of course, said route also went through a kitchen, where Rook decided upon preparing you a meal. You were noticing a trend.

“As ordered by Monsieur Spontané,” he had said with a wink.

He served your dish with a flourish and sat across from you with his own meal. Eyes rested, hair shining, and tummy rumbling, you chatted with Rook on a range of topics. One thing that never changed as you grew distant was the ease of conversation between you.

“What are you doing here?”

You froze.

At the kitchen entrance, Vil’s freshly-manicured hands balled into fists at his waist, lavender glare matching his accusatory tone.

Rook shot up. “Bonjour, beau Roi du Poison. I trust that your sleep was sound and plentiful.”

“And I trust that your ears still work. I asked you a question.”

Rook’s joyous expression did not falter. “An emergency arose, you see. I couldn’t say no to a friend in peril.”

Vil crossed his arms, unimpressed. “A friend. Yes. Last time I checked, friends don’t cheat. And a cheater does not deserve your kindness.”

This is exactly what you feared when you stepped foot in Pomefiore. With every passing second, you grew more uncomfortable in your chair, in your skin, in this dorm.

You stood abruptly, wincing when the chair screeched against the floor. “I was just leaving. Thank you for everything, Rook. I best be on my way.”

You zoned out Rook’s Frenglish babbling as you speed-walked the rest of the way—running was forbidden on residential grounds. You weren’t about to break the rules a meter away from the rule-setter.

Rook caught up to you shortly. You walked in stifling quietude to the gateway mirror between Pomefiore and the school campus. He apologized for Vil’s remarks and reassured you that he did not share those feelings. It was the first time you heard Rook stammer and fumble so much.

You swallowed on air. “Rook, I—“

“That’s not my name. Not between us… Please.” The desperation was not lost on you.

You started again. “Rookki, I appreciate all that you’ve done for me since I arrived. But it’s clear to me now that I’ve hurt you more than you let on.”

Rook’s eyes widened. He cupped your hands and ran his thumb over your bandaged wrist. “What are you saying? You’ve been nothing but kind to me since the day you arrived in Twisted Wonderland. There’s no greater gift than a day spent with you.”

You believed him. You believed that he truly, genuinely saw only the best in you. And it only made you feel worse that your heart belonged to someone else.

“You kept all my stuff. You found every excuse to make me stay. Did you think I wouldn’t realize what was going on?”

You didn’t wait for an answer. You didn’t need one. You squeezed his hands back. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been over half a year, and I never properly apologized. I never intended to hurt you.” Fresh tears welled up in your eyes. You did not need a second bout of emotional damage.

“I know.” He squeezed your hands, pulling back your Octavinelle fedora just enough to leave a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Vil was not present when we discussed our unique arrangement. His perspective is skewed, I’m afraid. But he means to protect me, in his own way. But that has no bearing on my true feelings. No matter where your heart goes, I vowed to protect your beauty then, and I renew that vow to you now."

This man was set on bringing you to tears one way or another. You fell onto his chest sobbing. He held you in a strong, secure embrace for as long as you needed. And then a little longer for himself.

.

.

.

Author's Note If you're wondering how Floyd & Reader make up, I highly recommend "Loneliness is fickle" by @sweetiestars !! Chef's kiss comfort piece 🩵

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

II. Jade loves planning hikes with you, but he hates last minute change.

As a busy man, he values your quality time immensely. It’s the thing he looks forward to the most after a hectic week of managing the lounge, keeping up with his studies, and whatever else Azul throws at him.

When it’s finally club day, all he wants to do is go somewhere far, far away with you, where all the noise of school and business can’t reach.

…So when you’re nowhere to be found, at your usual meeting point in front of the fountain on Main Street, he’s reasonably on edge, pouty even, the light vanquished from his eyes.

III. Jade loves taking photos with you, but can you please get off the phone when he’s talking.

Out in the woods or the mountains, it’s rare to catch a cellular signal, so he wasn’t really bothered that you walk with your phone in hand. The photos and videos you took were memories he cherished. But if that’s all you used it for, why not use the polaroid camera he gifted you?

For his part, Jade leaves his phone on Do Not Disturb at the bottom of his hiking bag. If Azul or Floyd need him badly enough, they know where to find him; otherwise, he’s off-limits.

Every now and then, you’ll come across a new specimen of mushroom. An exciting discovery!

“I’ve never seen anything like it. Time to consult the guide!”

…at least it would be, if you didn’t immediately go on your phone to look it up. Immersion ruined, anticipation dead.

Jade is a self-reliant man. Any and all information he needs is stored between his brain and his nature journal. He collected all these little pamphlets and foraging guides he’s been dying to flip through on the field like a real scientist. There’s just no point to burying your nose in Magicam filters and Mushroom ID apps when all he really wants is to unplug and reconnect with nature.

If you insist on holding on to your phone, he will pluck it out of your hands and throw it in his bag.

“For safekeeping,” he says smoothly, flashing you the same smile he sports in front of Azul’s clientele. “Shall we then?”

You spend the next thirty-or-so minutes debating if the specimen in front of you is poisonous or edible, flipping back and forth between two nearly-identical fungal profiles.

“Only one way to find out,” Jade says, raising the shroom to sniff.

“DON’T EAT IT.”

Even if you stumble upon a problem outside of his expertise, he can get creative with whatever is around. Growing up under the sea made him crafty and resilient on a level you’ve only seen on TV. For Jade, the internet was a tool like any other, and he didn’t feel he was missing out on much if he wasn’t online. Info-gathering is a lot more fun in-person, anyway. More reliable, too.

“Ah, what a splendid outing that was. Wouldn’t you say?” Jade asks you.

“Can I have my phone back now?”

“…Hmm. I seem to have gained an interest in safekeeping it a little longer.”

Maybe think twice before you tarnish the sanctity of Jade’s quality time.

🦈 Floyd Leech

I. Floyd loves to dress you up, but he hates when you dismiss his fits before trying them on

Whether you’re shopping at retail stores in Foothill Town or browsing online stores promoting on Magicam, Floyd struggles to get you onboard with his artistic vision. You didn’t care for trends or fads, and you had a hard time putting outfits together for yourself. What’s wrong with a graphic tee and jeans? Or a practical dress?

Floyd wasn’t hearing any of it. Why wouldn’t you venture outside your usual? He didn’t like wearing clothes much either when he first came to the surface, but that didn’t mean he was going to settle for bland, boring, monotone threads.

On a random Tuesday, you’ll enter Floyd’s dorm room to find it swarming with shopping bags from his latest spree, each with a different store logo. Azul must’ve given him a bonus cut that month.

“Shrimpyyy, you’re right on time! Come try this on!”

You were his dress-up doll for the night, and he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. Ever since he took the initiative to sign you up for every event under the sun in Foothill Town, he’s been more ecstatic than ever to show you off in matching fits.

If only you matched his enthusiasm for fashion.

It took a while, and lots of stubborn back-and-forth. First, you refused to try them on. Then, you’d relent and take it home…but never let it see the light of day. Eventually, you did dress up for his birthday party and…

♦️ “Woah, look at you! We gotta take a selfie, your whole look is totally ‘cammable!”

🏹 “What beautiful fabric, this is. It compliments your figure, mon chou. What brand is this?”

Maybe Floyd did have a keen eye for fashion all along. He will get an apology out of you. Prepare to impress him, he’ll accept nothing less.

II. Floyd may love giving out nicknames, but he hates being mislabeled as a fish.

It was cute the first five times; your most beloved nicknames being sharky and squishy baby fishy. There will absolutely be times when he’s all for it. But he likes to hear you say his name way more than any silly little nickname you give him.

Yes, it’s hypocritical. He insists on calling you Shrimpy even months into your relationship. No, he’s not going to budge.

“It’s totally different.” He insisted. “Would you like being called a monkey just 'cuz you share a few features?”

“Isn’t that exactly what you’ve been doing?”

“Nuh-uh!”

There’s no winning an argument against this slippery eel, least of all one as nonsensical as his nicknames.

III. Floyd loves your undivided attention, but he hates being psychoanalyzed.

Whenever you ask him to explain the reasoning behind any of his decisions, he’ll give you the first thought that pops up. It’s cute that you fret about him and all, but if hear you ask “Why?” one more time—

You’re getting squeezed.

Why don’t you get it? He does things just ‘cuz—it’s not that deep!!!

IV. Floyd loves to cuddle, but he hates waking up alone.

The worst way to start his day, in fact. If you’re in the kitchen cooking breakfast, he’s shuffling up to you half-asleep, draping himself heavily on your shoulders, full-on honk-shoo mimimi into your ear just to prove a point.

Don’t leave him alone and cold next time >:(

🏹 Rook Hunt

Rook loves that you love him, but…

There’s very little that truly bothers Rook, the most obvious being someone digging into his private life.

But ever since Vil described to you what Freshman Rook was like, you haven’t been the same. And after he shared a picture, you’ve been…kind of obsessed. And not quietly so.

“Do you still have your Savanaclaw uniform? Would you put it on for me?” you asked innocently.

He was flattered, really. To hear your unfiltered thoughts, it really surprised him. In a good way!

…for about a week.

“Leona mentioned that you had a different accent back then. What was it like? What changed?” you asked another time, catching him during Leona observation hours.

But a week became months. He’d unknowingly unleashed the spirit of persistence that laid dormant within you.

A beautiful discovery that also left him…conflicted, to be honest.

On the one hand, he can’t help but blush at your praise, complimenting his physique and his freckles with reckless abandon, but it was also…a little embarrassing?

“You should grow out your hair again. I can’t believe Vil chopped it off," you confessed, one day.

“Actually, mon chou, he did not—" But you wouldn't let him finish.

“And the audacity of that man to make you hide your freckles, a crime against natural beauty!”

Congratulations, you’ve rendered Le Chasseur D’amour speechless.

Something about breaking out of his former shell filled him with immense pride. It was hard work. He loved who he was right now. Every time it comes up, there’s a tiny voice in his head saying, please move on, I’m begging you.

Outwardly (and genuinely), he appreciates your honesty and your passion for authenticity, but he wants you to accept his present self as an evolution of his former self rather than a façade.

He couldn’t believe that he was competing for your heart…against himself!!

What a bittersweet sentiment only you could evoke from him. Beauté!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~