#mc!reader

Sylus

Spares no expense. Upon learning about your physical needs, he immediately has the mansion renovated to make it easier for you to get around. Handle bars running down the hallways, wheelchair ramps, a cane hanging from the wall in each room, elevator (if he didn't have one already). Covers all of your medical costs. Constantly on the phone with Zayne even though they can't stand one another to make sure all of your needs are handled. Hires a personal chef just for you to prepare meals no matter which of the other guys you happen to be staying with. Oh, and he also makes sure all of their homes are handicap accessible for your specific needs.

Caleb

Honestly a bit of a mother hen about you. It's coming from a good place, but he can be a little overbearing sometimes. He has good reason to though because he has spent his entire life as one of your caretakers. He's seen all the ups and downs. He's seen your good days and he's seen your worst days so he does everything he can to keep you on track to make sure the bad days are as few and far between as possible. After the explosion and your reunion, he probably butts heads with Zayne a lot about the best course of action for your care so you have to gently remind him that he's been gone and with Zayne's medical knowledge, he’s the one who knows best what you need. Caleb ultimately puts his pride aside to do what's best for you, which is filling in the gaps for whatever you need. Giving up the need to personally care for you every minute of the day and leaning on the other guys to let them help too is the way he learns to be the most helpful.

Rafayel

Worry. Wart. I'm sorry, but this man doesn't know how to be helpful when it comes to the medical side of your needs. Of course he receives Zayne's memos, memorizes them, agrees to Sylus's demands to have his home renovated to accommodate you (though he insists on paying for it himself). But he goes into full panic mode any time you have a minor fall, get sick, or are having a flare up. He's got Zayne on speed dial just under you in his emergency contacts and it stays glued to his ear so the doctor can walk him through every little thing he has to do to care for you. The best thing he does for you though is help take your mind off the pain. He keeps you distracted with jokes and gifts, sits by your bedside window to paint while you're sleeping so you never wake up from a flare-up nap alone. Greets you with a playful smile even though he had been obsessively checking on you ever 20 minutes to make sure you're still breathing.

Xavier

Xavier is full on teddy bear mode when you're not feeling well. He gets you tucked into bed or on the couch-- wherever you want to be. The man basically builds a nest for you with all of your favorite cozy blankets, plushies, snacks, drinks, and meds ready to go with your favorite show playing in the background. Then when you're all settled and have everything you need, he tucks in with you to weather out the storm. Best snuggle buddy ever. Barely answers his phone when the other guys call which really gets on Zayne's and Sylus's nerves and nearly has them busting down his apartment door, but it's because he doesn't need them to be breathing down your neck. He's got you and will call them if/when it's medically necessary. But other than that, you might as well be hibernating together.

Physically, he could carefully tuck any number of things into his pockets. A folder or envelope perhaps hidden in his sweater, or under his blazer. Mastering the casual walk away from the yet-to-be catalogued ‘crime scene,’ per se, looking around amongst the rest of the crowd in the aftermath. Digitally, it was much the same. Only, he was better at that, if one could ever believe he could be necessarily bad at the alternative.

Emotionally, mentally, theoretically, Leo was good at using up any tactile ministrations and manipulations he had in his infinite arsenal. He knew how people worked, and how to work them to his own whims.

There was very little in this world out of his reach. He knew how to make that so.

With this in mind, it was no wonder that there were some certain things that took more work than others. Well within his reach, of course, if he only had the means to acquire some poor sap to build a bridge for him to the other side of that canyon standing between him and his prize.

But God, if there wasn’t one thing that really pissed him off more than most.

You were something Leo had thought, at first, that he’d had all figured out. Some sad NPC with Main Character tendencies, who really didn’t fit into his narrative. You were…an obstacle, at best. Somebody else he could decode and reconfigure into some background character he didn’t have to deal with too much until he needed some kind of side quest errand from you. You were…a mob.

He hated to acknowledge, in any form, just how useful this ring of yours was. Even still, that ring was just another piece in his arsenal. Connected to a person he couldn’t really see any sort of alterior purpose in, but who came running every time he sent his summons.

He hated when you ran late. Each precious second spiralling down the drain the longer you made him wait.

He hated that annoyingly mopey look you’d get when he berated you for wasting his time. Only because it clashed with the vibe of his own beat. What good was a pouty NPC, anyways? If that ring of yours wasn’t so apparently important when it came to amplifying his stigma, he’d ditch you in a heartbeat, and send a card to go along with it so he could wring out a bit of content from your dejection.

But no. He needed the ring.

Nothing else.

…God, why were you still looking up at him like that. He was done with you for the afternoon, his hand feeling oddly cold after having to hold yours for so long. He just shoves it into his pocket for the time being. He doesn’t have time for this.

This borderline hook-up meet between that himbo and his three-eyed brute was boring, compared to most others. Leo suspected it may have been on purpose, but what could be done about it just yet. He didn’t have the patience to spare for the task when you were still here, taking up his space, and whatever energy he really loathed spending on you.

His perception of you had changed, he’d give you that. Bland, basic NPC that you were, you at least didn’t run from the danger every time like most NPCs do. Your tail was never tucked between your legs like some scared pup like that friend of yours always had his, but you stood there. Trembling like a scared pup, sure, but your metaphorical ears were perked. You stared down the threat, screaming or yelping, but you stood.

He supposed there was some merit there. Though he’d never say it.

…You disappointed him, though. Your image in his mind improving, and yet…he supposes you were more scared than you ever let on, after all.

He’d told you to get angry. To fight back. To die on your feet rather than snivelling on your knees.

You were a scared pup. You weren’t a quitter.

There wasn;t anything he could take from you. Not anymore.

And God, did that piss him off.

You were looking up at him with something like expectancy. What could you possibly hope to get from him, huh? Had he been too nice to you, perhaps?

Ugh, not a chance.

…Tch.

He’s seen you get pet by that himbo before, yeah? You always look so satisfied.

…Why do you have to look all pink and blushy when he does it, huh? That wasn’t part of the deal.

…Looks like he does have one more thing he can steal, after all. Though…he supposes he can let you keep this one.

Dividers by @/ cafekitsune

Do not repost, steal, copy, or feed my works into any generative ai bots or resources. Likes, comments, reblogs, always and forever welcome and appreciated.

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abc’s Masterlist • tag list application

@leighsartworks216 thank you for motivating me to finally post this🤩I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoy your work❤️

“I don’t like you, Not even a tad. You piss me actually. I will never, ever, trust you; Sylus.”

In your defense, you had barely known him for twenty minutes. You only remember his irritating yet dazzling smirk and how he didn’t really care about the hurtful words that left your mouth. He found you absolutely amusing and you didn’t like that. Not even a bit. You weren’t a show. 

You hated smug guys like him. He was nothing more than a reckless asshole who had managed to get tangled up with you due to circumstance. You had too many things to do right now, to take care of ; You couldn’t afford having him around. You already hated the damn guy. The last thing you wanted to do was kill him.

(Spoiler Alert: you do try to shoot him. He doesn’t even flinch. What a waste of ammunition.)

But at the same thing, there’s something absolutely endearing about first impressions. In that moment, you swore that you would never connect with Sylus and for a moment; it is true. The two of you can’t resonate. For a minute, you’re relying on your weapons more than anything in your battles. It’s exhausting. Truthfully. 

But at the same time, extremely rewarding. 

“You did well. We can work on the recklessness.” 

“Whatever. You have to admit that was cool.”

He chuckles and it’s the first time your heart finally relaxes around him. 

It’s March again. It’s been 365 days.

There’s wanderer blood on you and you have a swollen wrist from throwing your claymore in the midst of a mental breakdown. There’s a limp somewhere in your body that doesn’t let you walk straight and there’s blood on your tongue. You keep chewing on your lip and you know that you’re speed running months of emotions. You kept shoving and shoving…

And now you’ve choked.

“Sylus.” You say outside his room. Your fingers have been chewed and there’s nicked nail polish on your tips. Usually, you were a bit hard on yourself when it came to nail treatment. You knew that once your anxiety sheds its light, it was a matter of time before anybody noticed your short and unevenly chewed nails. You painted them, tried to make them look a bit… better.

A disguise.

You don’t even remember getting here. You don’t remember struggling to keep moving. Your head hung low in the train and you were struggling with identifying anything in sight. What was real? Was it fake? Was it both? What if it was worse, nothing at all? 

The last few months have been hard. No, scratch that. The whole year has been hard. There’s a big explosion on a weekday and suddenly, your whole family’s fucking dead. Your grandmother who used to tell your fun childhood stories and your best friend in the whole world, just gone. 

In a blink of an eye, you went from three bowls to one.

You’re alone.

You barely felt it at first. You were mostly working anyway. You got used to the empty meals, to filling the silence with obnoxious loud background noise and listening to whatever was on Tara’s mind. You got used to listening to music when you were upset and you found yourself crying uncontrollably. The pain wouldn’t go away. You would pass nights staring at the Linkon City Hall text and like always, vile rose to your throat. 

But suddenly, Caleb’s back and nothing makes sense. It’s like your brain is split in two. You don’t know what’s real. You don’t know what’s fake. Your eyes are fixed on Rafayel but it’s like you can remember another life before this one. Why are you dreaming of Zayne and you laughing in a field with fruit? Why does it feel like your brain is splitting in half?

You had a good childhood. At least, what you remember. You remember sunny mornings with Caleb and running around when you finally caught up with Zayne. However, it seems like with every single step you take towards the truth; everything else shatters. You had gone with Sylus, managed to get tangled in a lab and suddenly - that was your home. That was your home for a long time. 

If you had anything concrete, you would deny everything. It couldn’t be the truth. You remember so much yet at the same time, Caleb doesn’t say anything. His eyes are holding heaviness and he might know you, but you knew him. Or so you thought you did. 

Your brain hasn’t stopped flipping. It can’t. It can’t keep up anymore. You have no clue what to do. It has no clue either. You’re laughing manically when a wanderer hurts you, you’re eyeing Tara when she creeps up behind you and you even move past Xavier at times. Why do you feel like everybody’s keeping secrets from you? Why does everybody look at you with that glint in their eye? Do they want to hurt you? Do you have to hurt them? Have you hurt them? 

You can’t trust anybody. You truthfully can’t. 

At least, that’s your initial thought.

Then you think of Sylus. 

He would never, ever, lie to you.

In your brain, he was the only thing that seemed safe to you. 

There wasn’t anything he couldn’t prove to you. 

He had met you and your initial distaste made you unfiltered.

You were brash, loud and sometimes mean. You didn’t know why. You could be slightly cold to Sylus. It didn’t matter if he was the leader of Onychinus, he still deserved; some respect. But in your mind, you didn’t have to impress him. You would never ever interact with him in your free time. Why does he care how you act towards them? This is a business exchange.

(You two don't talk about the fact that you shot him and sighed in disappointment when it didn't do anything.)

But now, you needed him.

You needed him to assure you that he was real. 

Right now, you needed him to assure that the bond that you two had formed was real. That the stupid nicknames like “bestie” and even his signature “kitten” had truthfully meant something to him. The tears were flowing freely down your face and your heart was hammering in your chest. Why the fuck can’t you breathe? What’s going on with you?

Tara had mentioned being worried about you. 

She had said that it seemed like you weren’t processing anything correctly. She said that you’d stare out and laugh to yourself, that it was worrying. She held your hand and mentioned the passing of your grandma. It all felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. 

And fuck, you felt horrible to shook her off - but everybody left you and you’re nothing but the turmoil of emotions.

“If you ever need anything, you can visit.” Sylus says. The two of you are having lunch. Something that had slowly crept up on you and became one of your favorite things to do with him. The dim cafe gives nothing but quiet and you’re reaching for the mimosa. Sylus tilts his head - watching intensely. He was studying you. It was making you nervous already. 

Grief is a wretched thing. 

“I wouldn’t want to bother you.” You say meekly. It seemed like every single time anybody asked you what you felt, you’d simply clam up. You would feel your throat turn to knots and you felt like a caged animal. You did well under pressure. You simply didn’t do well understanding your own feelings.

“Let me rephrase that.” He says, leaning across the table and there’s softness in his ruby eyes. His fingers brushes your skin and you don’t remember the last time warmth fell on your touch. “I’d like it very much- that if you feel any sort of distress, you come see me. I want to be there for you.”

“Sylus.” You say again. Your voice tears and wobbles. You can’t see how your nerves have completely hijacked the system. Your fist is pounding on his door and your sobs hiccup. Your heart feels like it might stop and you want to stop crying. You need to stop crying. “Fuck, Sy. Please, open the door. I’m sorry for shooting you, I don’t want to be mean - Please, not you too.”

There’s a creak and your hand is falling on Sylus’ chest. 

“Kit-”

Sylus entirely stills. The smile on his face is absolutely wiped clean and he regrets even answering the call on his phone. He had heard you knocking. Usually, you did knock like that. He assumed that hours flinging weapons simply made you heavier handed. That’s why sometimes he stalled. He liked making you wait at times. 

But that would absolutely change after tonight. He had never seen like you. He had known you for a while now. A year, to be exact, on this day. He had known something was wrong. Then again, he didn’t know if you were simply like that. You were always so rough with him. At times, he could see the loneliness in your eye - but you’d instantly go to run away with the twins, or simply mess around with Mephisto. 

“I need you to be honest.” You’re staring at him, pupils dilated and absolutely erratic. The dried blood on your face and Sylus feels his entire heart breaking before a word even leaves your mouth. You’re staring at him, his eyes show so much sorrow and for once - you want to hope.

“Are you lying to me?” 

Sylus furrows his brow and you can't stop talking.

“I feel crazy, Sylus.” You confess and your hands are clutching your head. All Sylus can see is a person crashing and burning. No, all he can see is his person crashing and burning. “Did my grandmother ever really care about me? Is Caleb lying to me? I feel like everybody knows something about me that I don’t. I feel like I’m being watched at all times.” You whisper, your eyes scanning the corner of the room and you expect a thousand eyes on you.

“Don’t do that.” He whispers, leaning forward and his hands instantly clasp around your own. Your nails were digging into your scalp yet you’re trying to make sense of anything. You’re so lost in your head and he feels a lump in his own throat. “It’s just you and me now. Would you like to come inside? I’ll help you get cleaned up.” 

Sylus, despite what everybody thought, was a gentleman. He was never far from it. In this year, he had laid his soul bare more than you ever did but right now - he was absolutely perfect. There was no small teasing, there weren’t any entangled words that made you double take. 

It’s simply straight care. 

“Please tell me the truth. I can handle it.” You whisper, “Tell me. Please. Sylus.”

He gazes at you, eyes full of both heartbreak and honesty. His soul is tearing in front of him and he’s decided to kick the lines that he made for himself. He could never see you like this, ever again. Unsure. Shaken. Apologizing for the way you are and the things that happened. You two could revisit the conversation another day. Right now, you need safety. 

Your hands fall to your side and he’s staring at you. He swallows the lump in his throat and smiles small. “I’m not lying to you. That would make me a bad bestie right?”

You nod in that second and in that second, you’re breaking apart in his chest. “It would make you the worse.” You manage to choke out between sobs and your legs feel so faint. Your neck trembles and Sylus has had enough. 

“Up we go.” He says, hand under you and you curl into his chest. He’s warm and for once, something there’s care around you. Something feels real. You’re a mess of tears. His shirt is stained with tears and you can’t stop gripping it. 

You don’t say much. He sets you on the bathroom counter, he’s looking for a rag to clean your face and you haven’t stopped crying. 

“Nothing is real, Sy.”

He’s wiping the blood off your face and although frightened at first, he can see how your eyes are softer now. He knows that this is another thing he can fix and that makes his shoulders relax. “Hey, I’m real. I’m wiping this nasty blood off and I’m running you a bath, am I not?” 

You laugh quietly, it’s accompanied by a sniffle. It’s a start. “I know, that’s why I came. It seemed like the only thing my brain could grasp was real was you.” 

“Did you really just say that?” Sylus asks and he tries to hide it. He truthfully does but you came to him like this. You say these things and he tries hard not to mention it, or talk about it - but he wants to do something. He wants to say something. He wants to make sure that you never feel distressed ever again. When you shot him, that’s when he knew that he wanted you by his side.

“Ignore me.” You laugh quietly, the heaviness of your own words hitting you. Your hand goes to your face and you’re wiping your tears. “I’m still a crying mess.” 

“Ignoring you would be the greatest sin.” He confesses and your eyes snap to him. Your eyes swell with tears again and you’re once again remembering why you’re even here. 

“You mean that?” You ask quietly, 

Only a handful of times in your life were you equally as rattled as you found yourself, now, and in each life-changing circumstance, what grounded you was working - the steady drudgery of tilling the earth, the resolute swing of a hammer, the clang of iron against an anvil. But here, there was no task to complete. There was just the open ocean and the ceaseless sky and the insanity that slipped in slowly. It was an itch, and soon, it would grow into a scream.

Most days, you sat around, waiting for things to happen. On occasion, the Captain - the fearless and headstrong Imtura - threw some meager task your way. You almost hated the way you jumped up, eager for something to do. The last thing you wanted to be was a dog begging for someone else's scraps. 

The sea was lawless in its corruption; you would be damned if you let it turn you.

If Kade were here, he would have known what you were thinking before you were able to put it into words yourself. He was always perceptive like that - annoying, too, because he knew it. He would have teased you about your restlessness, and before you could register the stir-crazy feeling in your belly, he would have told you stories about how the sea could charm you into doing her bidding. She'd cut you down slowly and carefully until your will was broken and your mind was jelly. Then, she'd use the rhythmic sway of the boat to hypnotize you into becoming her servant.

Was Kade somewhere out there, now, being drawn and quartered, broken down by the shadow and being built up again, against his will? Was he sitting in the cargo hold of a ship or a dusty cell beneath the ground, insanity visiting him in the night? Was Death a new companion of his, gnawing at his skin until he was foaming at the mouth? If you found him, would the shadows cling to him the way ghosts once did? If you discovered him alive, would Kade beg you to end his suffering?

And would it be a mercy to give him what he desired?

The sea was churning your stomach, the acid within burning up your throat. The world - a flat blue that couldn't divide sky from ocean - spun. You needed a quiet place to sit down. You needed a moment alone to grieve.

You stumbled your way below deck, gasping for air. The ship rocked to one side, and you staggered to a wall, throwing one hand out in front of you, catching your breath. You couldn't think about Kade, but you couldn't damn well forget about him either. Not when—

"(Y/n)? Are you alright?"

You snapped your head to attention and found Nia blinking back at you, her delicate features sculpted into light concern - mouth turned, eyebrows knitted. On her lap, she held a leatherbound journal, one hand holding a pencil, paused in its scratching. 

You closed your eyes, forcing yourself not to grimace. 

"Yeah, I'm alright," you breathed. You could hear the irritation in your voice. You hadn't meant to direct that at her. "What are you writing?" you asked, trying to smooth things over - steering the conversation to a place you could handle. "Keeping a harrowing account of our journey?"

Nia stiffened like a child caught when acting out. If you weren't so seasick, perhaps you would have waved your question away, content to sit in baited silence. But you needed a voice in the din - something to take off the edge - and you knew Nia would comply.

"Not exactly," Nia said slowly, worrying her bottom lip. "I'm writing a letter."

"To who?"

"Oh, umm... you'll probably laugh, but Scholar Vash." Her words hit you like a bullet. In all of the chaos surrounding your quest, you had forgotten about the loss of Scholar Vash. When had your company ever allowed Nia to truly grieve? You had spared her a few moments after the shadow took him, but you hadn't given her such mercy since. You should have never been so thoughtless in your mission. Nia let out a breathy sort of scoff and shook her head. You wondered if she was blinking back tears. If the light were better, would you have recognized it when you first came down?

"I just want him to know that I'm well and that I'm staying true to my faith," Nia played with the ends of her long, red hair. The shimmer of her dress caught in the orange lantern light. She looked like an angel in mourning. "I also thought that I'd write down the questions I still want to ask him. Maybe somehow - through the Light - he'll be able to send some kind of answer."

"Kade and I used to do that with our parents," you commiserated, your voice choked. "Write them letters, I mean. People in Riverbend thought it was a way for orphans to appease the spirits of their parents. Connection. We used to send our notes in glass bottles down the river."

Nia looked at you and gently smiled. Her expression turned wistful, something that made you draw nearer, sitting on a crate next to her. You were closer, now, and you could see the tears welling in her wide, brown eyes.

"We used to do something similar in Whitetower. On days when we were left in the archives for studying, we'd all gather around and write notes to would-be kin. Of course, we didn't have a river, so our letters were tied to the feet of birds. Little rolled up messages saying 'I'm here. Don't forget me.'"

For a moment, Nia's voice drifted away. The ship continued to rock, but in that time, it felt like a mother rocking a cradle, soothing the weeping child within.

"Most of us are adopted by the Temple of Light when we're infants," she sniffed. "I guess it's universal to want to know where family might be." 

Nia touched the journal before her, where loopy cursive graced the page and spelled out the name of Scholar Vash. You hadn't known the High Preist long, and while Nia spoke of him often, she was brief with her words. It was as though, on occasion, she forgot all that transpired, and she talked about him when she thought of it, only to have the abrupt realization that he passed, and his final moments were spent doused in shadow. Vash Vallerin had been more than just a teacher - the Scholar had become that of a father, the only one Nia had known. You could see the way the loss gripped her. It reminded you too much of the way you felt about the kindly farmer who took you in, of the little life you had created in the heart of Riverbend that was slowly fracturing - falling apart.

You grabbed Nia's hand - gently, at first, but squeezing it tightly when you got a firm hold. "You are here, Nia, and Scholar Vash may be somewhere out there, but I've known too many ghosts, and I know he won't forget you."

A tear fell down Nia's cheek, and you could feel your own doing the same. How comforting this was - feeling how deeply your grief ran but sharing in its bittersweet bite.

"It's only the living that struggle with forgetting those that we love. The dead have memories that outlive eternity and infinity - at least they have that on us."

Nia laughed - a mix of a chuckle and a sob.

"Scholar Vash will get your letter - no matter how you choose to send it - and I believe he will find a way to answer."

Nia squeezed your hand before letting go and dried her tears. She looked down at her journal to find a tear had wet the page, and she laughed. "I think Scholar Vash would have liked it better that way."

You smiled and wiped your own tears with the palms of your hands. You waited as Nia finished her letter, standing up and digging through the cargo in the hold to give her privacy. You found a bottle of good spirits and took a long drink. You debated on whether or not to offer the priestess some, but you decided it would be better to spare her the headache of refusing and made a mental note to give some to Mal later.

Nia finished writing her letter and tore the page out of her journal carefully. "I think a bottle would be the best way to go," Nia said, rolling up the parchment and turning to you.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Nina affirmed. "It'll wash up on shore somewhere and—"

"And maybe the world will know we were here?"

Nina smiled. "And maybe they'll know we were here."

He didn’t know the weight of this stupid demon’s grip on his shoulders, yet. He was still brand new to the timeline. Yet, the image is seared into his mind, nonetheless, despite the many memories of similar instances piling up on top of it. Burying it in confusion. In repetition. In variations that muddled together to create entirely new, yet nonexistent, memories.

He dared to say…he was almost innocent, back then.

Or, as innocent as a pact-maker could ever claim to be. He was reborn, wasn’t he? Or something similar, at least? Nah, everything that came before didn’t count. Everything after?

…Well. Maybe ‘innocent’ wasn’t the right word.

Whatever.

He sure called that meeting innocent, enough. Poor little thing, you were. He didn’t stick around long enough to find out much about you. Didn’t linger long enough to even know your name. Those eyes were the same, though. Every time, those eyes stayed the same.

You stayed the same.

He definitely didn’t, over time, but that wasn’t the point. Point was…back then, that first time, then maybe the second, he wasn’t there to greet you on that train. His approach every time since then was different, though.

‘Maybe next time will be different,’ he always thinks. Until his mind remembers what it was like not to think, then it becomes something hungry that he can’t seem to explain.

There’s more fear in the air with every new attempt. Does it make him stop, though? Does it bother him that he’s started to scare you, every time he bursts in unannounced on that damned train? …Does he remember each time enough to bring himself to care? It was routine, now, anyways.

Be born. Go to Darkwick. Drama. Get the mission. Find that train. The smell of fear; of flowers. Each time running faster and faster to try and catch it. Failing. Get angry. Go back to Darkwick.

…Start over again and again, wonder why the memory fades, only to get pissed when it comes back.

More drama. More work.

…Wait, what was he just thinking about before, again?

…

…Her. Her eyes.

…That hallway looks familiar, he thinks.

…

Whatever.

It’s the same hallway that would lead into the courtyard, but he doesn’t have any reason to step into the sun right now. Not with a headache burning behind his eyes, and a hunger in the pit of his stomach that demands something he almost doesn’t want to give.

He can’t really help it anymore though, can he?

He wasn’t human anymore. Why did he need a human appetite?

To counteract what his appetite was for, maybe.

Taiga can feel himself groan, to nothing and to nobody in particular, seeing as the halls were empty. Couldn’t fathom why—it wasn’t like anybody had a good reason to hide away. It was sunny, probably about midday (late morning, perhaps?) and the early autumn breeze carried the scent of something warm.

…Oh yeah, it was a week day. Classes.

Hm. Guess he decided to skip, earlier. Gyahahaha, how had he forgotten? Or, did he forget? Bah, oh well. He’ll deal with Lulu later.

The sound of a bell—which would have been ironic about ten seconds earlier—rings purely to spite him. Echoing through the courtyard, through the halls, through his head, and makes him grit his teeth. Tired, eager, and heavy footfalls sound from many classrooms, many halls above and around him, alike.

Maybe if he pulled out his artefact—maybe just held it at his shoulder—they’d all stay away from him, gyahahaha~!

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