#sxllicitus

          “wynn...”

                    admirable as it was that she was so dedicated to this schoolwork of hers, he refused to sit back and watch her practically starve herself for the sake of finishing it at an earlier time. he knew better than anyone that working on an empty stomach only served to stunt one’s potential--- she would increase her chances of getting a better grade if she had something in her system, and the stubborn ceo would not take ‘no’ for an answer when it came to her well-being.

                                 the last thing he needed ( or wanted ) was for her to create more obstacles for herself at school, and that started with making sure she was taking care of herself under his roof.

                                there was a gourmet bento afront him that he’d cracked open, hoping to ward off his own hunger before his lengthy night of work. the chefs were known to pack a rather hefty amount when preparing his meals, in the event he ended up working into the next morning ( or, in case a certain younger kaiba brother wanted to partake in his older sibling’s dinner ), so there was plenty to be shared between them. thus, he rose from his spot at the desk, bento held securely within slender fingers, and made his way over to the academic ‘chaos’ she’d made of his office flooring.

     A n o t h e r one?           He was growing tired of these constant Valentine’s Day ‘applications’ from his so-called ‘fanclub.’ Granted, they were a good ego booster– or, would have been, were he the self absorbed and conceited type, but truthfully, he saw nothing all that special in himself ( and, evidently, none of these females did either, given they really only focused on his looks ).

          Tsk. He sucked in his teeth, contemplating whether or not he wanted to open this one, expecting the same drivel from before - ah, but he was far too kind to ignore a letter from somebody, no matter how superficial it was. He was careful with the parchment, figuring, the least he could do was respect the sender ( especially considering there was the small and rare possibility of this being sincere ).

          What he hadn’t expected, however, was for it to be from the one genuinely sincere person in the entire school - goodness, and he had nearly lit the letter aflame with his wand, rendering it a mere practice item! She would have been so hurt… but thank the heavens he hadn’t.

                                     “Little does she know, she’s the only one I’d ever say yes to…” he uttered, allowing his lips to widen into a gentle smile - she was… adorable. He’d never had the pleasure of spending a Valentine’s Day with anyone else before, and Wynn seemed the best candidate to finally change that. He would gladly accept her shy invitation, and even better, seek her out in order to begin planning for what he knew would be a special day. “She wants me to cook - but she said she’d cook for me, too. Ah, I want to try her cooking, though… we can cook together! Goodness, I need to find her a gift, too…”

                                    “You thought wrong, then.”

                    — though, not entirely - the original plan HAD been just that, after all. Given one of his most hardworking employees was away on maternity leave, a large bulk of her duties had been shifted over to him ( by choice, seeing as he felt best suited to handle them in comparison to the remainder of his team ). To absolutely nobody’s surprise, the talented CEO had finished said duties in record time, leaving him with a rare few hours of the ever illusive ‘free time’ to occupy his attention elsewhere.

        Part of him was itching to begin on the next assignment, figuring any half intelligent leader would prefer to get a head start should the chance arise, and yet, as he sat there considering his choices, shifting sharp, piercing sapphires along his intimidating collection of folders and files, he opted to save them for another day ( or, another employee ), and closed up shop. The leather hugged chair, perfectly aligned with the center of his desk, was slowly scooted in by way of his hips, the utensils that had once decorated the top of his mahogany crafted desk in a scattered fashion now neatly placed in their respective holders.

        ‘This was odd,’ he mused, as he blanketed his office in a coat of darkness with the short flick of a switch, slender fingers working to secure the door with the complex keycode he’d deemed very few worthy of receiving - Mokuba, of course, his top security officers, and now, Wynn. He felt strange, truth be told, as a foreign eagerness settled within his chest at the prospect of having personal time with her ( a rare occasion, given their conflicting schedules ). Even as he swiftly exited the nearly deserted corporation building, his guardsmen thinking nothing of it given the CEO was notorious for his impatience and fast-paced tendencies, there was a faint, yearning twinkle within his normally frigid gaze that was easily missed by those who commonly paid him little to no mind.

        ----- and, of course, said twinkle had seemingly brightened as he’d entered the room she was posted up in, briefcase discarded atop the sofa as he shifted his attention to her frantic form. Indeed, he had caught quite an impressive glimpse at her current piece ( unintentionally, of course, given he hadn’t been knowledgeable prior that it was meant to be a surprise for him ), and part of him felt inclined to take advantage of his strength to carefully move her from afront it. Ah, but whereas he would normally exert his dominance and demand he get want he wanted, with Wynn, he exhibited a rare showing of patience, opting to, instead, turn his back in hopes that she may calm, and gesturing for her to continue her piece - he would leave, if it meant she could concentrate better, for he was quite eager to see the finished product.

              “I will leave you to it, then, though I look forward to seeing it when it is complete.”

                    A compliment nearly tumbled from betwixt his lips thereafter, though he bit it back as he brushed past her, retrieving his briefcase in order to put it in its proper location. Nay, he would save it for later - mayhap she still retained some smidgen of hope that he had not caught sight of it yet, and he was terribly unattracted to the idea of possibly disappointing her. All the better if she could resume practicing her passion with as much fervor as before.

          One would assume, given the expected, joyous mood that most experienced upon the arrival of their day of birth, that the star Hufflepuff student would be basking in the attention he received from his peers, ‘happy birthdays’ and ‘well wishes’ of all kinds tossed his way with every hallway he traversed down. Indeed, he appreciated the combined efforts of his classmates, though a gentle smile was all he could muster in response to their overwhelming showings of what he deemed to be fake affection— they’d have neglected to even realize it was his birthday at all had one of his so-called ‘friends’ not announced it in the dining hall, making it out to be some national, noteworthy holiday.

     To him, however, it was no different from any other day.          Nay, it was worse, given the one man he should have received well wishes from hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge his own son’s birthday.

                                 Not a visit.                                       Not a gift.                                            Not even a parchment with a simple ‘Happy Birthday’ scrawled upon it in his easily recognizable handwriting.

He supposed it was foolish to get his hopes up, given this differed no less from any other year, but his success at Hogwarts and his many achievements had done little to deter his father from continuously viewing him as naught but a nuisance. An unwanted, unloved stain upon his otherwise perfect life - the silverette’s birthday, if anything, may as well have been a grim reminder to the older wizard of the mistakes he had made almost two dozen years ago.

It still h u r t, though, so much that he turned down all invitations to properly celebrate what should have been a wonderful occasion, opting to, instead, retire to his room to busy himself with his homework. A boring alternative, but it would serve as an efficient distraction from the pestering cloud of pessimism that had settled atop his head.

— such had been the initial plan, that is, until crimson eyes settled upon what appeared to be a gift. The boy was not stupid enough to make the same mistake twice, knowing they weren’t from his parental figure, and, given they did not glimmer, or gleam, or hover atop his neatly made bed, it was painfully obvious from whom he had received it. Ah, simple and unimpressive as the packaging was, it was more than enough to warrant the beginnings of a smile, the wooden frame faintly groaning beneath him as he settled atop his bed, immediately tugging the gifts into his lap. 

                                        “Wynn… she remembered.” He hadn’t even mentioned it to her today, thinking it was pointless to— IRRELEVANT, more-so, given he preferred to be alone. Now, though, as he carefully tore open the gifts, he found himself yearning for her presence, if only to remedy the sudden bout of suffocating loneliness that had overtaken him upon realizing she was not here. 

Oh, how well she knew him.

A hand smoothed over the cover of the first book, eyes gliding over the text - he was akin to a child in a candy shop, suddenly wrapped up in something so very captivating, but struggling with where to start. To anyone else, standard cookbooks may have been a dull, unimpressive gift, mayhap even borderline disappoint— but, to Dark, however, who derived great pleasure in being given even the smallest opportunity to expand and improve his culinary skills, the timid, muggle girl may as well have just gifted him the world.

          Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to find her and, if she was willing to have him, spend the rest of his birthday with her, if only to get a taste of what it truly meant to feel genuinely appreciated on a day that certainly warranted it. The thought of finally breaking this depressing tradition of spending his birthday by himself, or in fake happiness in an attempt to banish this feeling of neglect…

                   It— SHE— was more of a gift to him than the cookbooks, truth be told.