— 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐌!? Ever heard of a memory-erasing flying disc? Well, now you definitely have—you just got hit by one first-hand courtesy of a magical fat cat! Maybe you should’ve paid more attention to your surroundings... having amnesia when you’re one of the most hated students in NRC is quite certainly a disaster waiting to happen.
The question is—why does everyone hate you anyway?
Yan! Twst x Gn! Reader
You're currently on Part 1 !!
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What you don’t know won’t kill you—but in your situation... it just might.
For once in your life, have you ever wondered if a magic disc could ever make someone lose their memories? Well, you definitely haven't.
Perhaps that's why you're in this situation.
You never thought you’d wake up in one of NRC's clinics with your head wrapped in bandages like an ancient mummy—but you suppose there's a first for everything.
With your mind feeling numb alongside a distant ringing occupying the space that your brain had to offer and trying to fill the gaps of what it once was, it's surprising to fathom that you were alive—spacing out as your distant uncle rambles on. Crewel have always been verbose, always prying on everyone's businesses in order to provide his not-so needed criticism.
Yet his words were barely registering to you.
" —iotic! Why would you—tsk... forget it. I can’t fathom how we’re even related... " He looked as dictator-ish as ever, subjectively speaking. He's always been like that during family reunions, talking to everyone as if they were dogs.
Perhaps they were, but you had absolutely no intention of lumping yourself in with them, considering that he too—calls you a dog.
If you remember correctly at least.
Your eyes followed his tall figure move restlessly around the room, his expression tight with evident frustration—his eyes as scrutinizing as ever. His hands showed his veins while gripping a clipboard so hard you might've just heard a small crack. You too wonder why the two of you even share the same blood.
You’d give anything—well maybe not anything—to know why he seems to dislike you so much, but unfortunately, your entire mind was an absolute blur of a blank canvas.
The clearest memory you have is sending out an admission letter to Royal Sword Academy... and to Night Raven College..
At least now you know which one accepted you by unwillingly looking at Crewel!
" Is that truly all you recall, (name)? " By the sound of his tone, this man most-likely wants you dead and buried 6ft underground despite sharing the same dna, or you were just being paranoid as ever.
You prefer the latter in favor of the security and safety of your well-being.
Nevertheless, you wouldn't really let it past him, you've already seen him whip some of your relatives—hell! He even spoke your name as if he's allergic to it, who's to say he won't bury you alive?!
He turns sharply towards you, his eyes narrowing with doubt. As if he'd just heard whatever your injured brain conjured up—though you were certain you've been keeping your mouth this entire time.
" If I find out this is another one of your ploys—I will make sure you regret it, mutt. "
.. geez, no wonder half his hair's already white.
It took him quite a while to actually believe you, you even gained another headache in the process. Perhaps your headaches had its own headaches with how much it's hurting.
It's also appalling to think that this man even dared to call you—his distant niece—a mutt! Sure the two of you rarely interacted in any reunions (you never even attended those), but that is no excuse to his extremely rude behavior!
Even with your endless complaints, you're quite aware that you can't exactly do anything about it.
" I suppose that If you are telling the truth—which i find hard to believe—then It appears that the impact your head received from the disc has caused retrograde amnesia "
One glance was all he needed to know you did not understand a single thing that came out of his mouth.
"... since you lack the knowledge—it is a specific type of memory loss where you’re unable to recall events or information that happened before the injury occurred, though I will monitor this closely."
Well, seems like you're gonna be cooped up in the clinic for quite a while! with crewel, unfortunately.
"—and you'll still be given worksheets, don't think that just because you're feignin—i mean injured, you'd be doing nothing. You better enjoy the company of your modules, pup." With an evil glint in his eyes, he lips curl into a light smirk—one that you almost missed as he turned his back to you.
..sigh, no rest for the wicked—you suppose.
As the days passed, you've been subjected to the most terrific torture known to all—isolation alongside worksheets that your feeble mind cannot even comprehend properly.
You almost wonder if it's a deliberate act by the one and only menace—Crewel. Well, he knows more than anyone in this school about your sudden memory loss—yet he seems to pay absolutely no mind to it with the way he sends tons of worksheets day by day that he doesn't even bother explaining to you.
Would've been better if you didn't have to deal with him—but no! You've been seeing his seven's-forsaken face every single day! It's already become a mascot for your nightmares at one point.
And if you had to see that man again alongside his agonizing gaze and snide remarks—
" Shishishi, easy thaumarks here I come! " A voice intervenes your inner monologue.
Much to your surprise, it seems that you need not to suffer in the professor's presence anymore! Perhaps he finally realized you've been isolated with him for far too long—or he got tired of your face pretty early.
Nonetheless, a new face visiting you was a pleasantly unpleasant surprise—the days alone with no one to talk to has surely affected your socialization skills, if you had one at least.
" Woa—so you are still alive after all?! yikes.. "
Standing before you with his beastmen features perched up in astonishment—was none other than.. well, a stranger.
It would’ve been a pleasant welcome, if only you hadn’t caught the tremor of disdain in his voice. A heads-up from that uncle of yours would’ve been helpful, but given with how this beastman guy's already reacting—there’s no telling what he'll do if he discovers the fact that you’ve lost some of your memories.
The more you observed, the more suspicious he became—suspicion planting seeds of doubt from the inside. Could you even take him in a fight if you had to? Probably, probably not.
But even if he seems to be taller than you, he's still quite a bit scrawny—perhaps you could.
Yet looking at the crack-like scars that decorates the lower part of his face, you had a sinking feeling you were absolutely gonna get bodied, who knows?
Perhaps violence was not the answe—
" Uh, I'm just here to deliver these.. no need to glare, geez.." His raspy tone and casual demeanor cut off your on-going train of thoughts as he places your worksheets on-top of your bedside table.
" and I'm not even one of 'em, I'm just lil ol me.." He mumbles to himself, almost becoming a whisper that you barely managed to decipher.
.. one of them?
You felt your brain form a wrinkle.
" Wai—"
" Well, that should be all.. see 'ya, bandage-head!"
Before you could even say a single four-letter word, he dashed off as if he was one with the wind. He shut the door close, leaving you there with your mouth open and your eye twitching in annoyance.
.. he didn't even let you finish, how rude.
After letting out a sigh full of exasperation, you looked over at the worksheets on your bedside table with your eyes once again twitching at the title—General Mathematics.
Well, you suppose the company of the worksheets would suffice for now—as long as it's not Crewel..
But still, what did that guy mean when he said he's not one of them?
.. whatever, probably none of your business.
" Yoohoo? Bandage-head?"
Just when you thought that would be the last time you’d ever see the rude scrawny beastman, the universe proved you wrong. Over these past few days, he kept showing up again and again—until he’d slipped into your routine, entirely by accident.
" You're really not much'of a talker, are ya? " He seems to love the sound of his own voice, from your perspective at the very least—quite the opposite of yourself.
With how much he rambles, he’d also become your source of information—at the expense of your thaumarks that you weren't even aware existed.
A small price to pay, yet you still find yourself wondering—how reliable is he, exactly?
...
.. well, it was either him or Crewel. Not the best choices certainly, but at least one doesn't seem to dislike you as much as the other. If he does, then he's quite great at hiding it.
Your thoughts are soon interrupted by an exasperated sigh, urging you to look at the beastman who's eyes were already set onto yours.
" You're acting weird, y'know? I think even the prefect's startin' to get worried 'bout ya. " He speaks in an oddly monotone voice as he rests his chin onto the palm of his hand, raising a brow at your unexpressive face.
... who?
You hear him mumble something under his breath, and yet it wasn't loud enough for you to fully understand—opting you to stay silent.
For a moment, at least.
" Why are you still here? " Your throat almost hurts with how unused your voice is—seems like you ought to start using it more, screaming your heart's frustrations out into a pillow doesn't exactly count.
" Why do'ya only speak when ya' wanna drive me outta here? " While he speaks, you wonder what other reason could there be rather than the fact that you'd prefer you were alone.
Though you suppose he's.. kind of nice to have around—considering that you've been alone for quite a while whenever Crewel leaves.
Well—either way, if this prefect-person was oh-so worried, then why haven't they visited you? To you, it seems like they're not worried enough.
Or not worried at all.
" Ahem! Well, as I was sayin' earlier—before 'ya spaced out—someone threw an egg to his face and then he overblotted. "
" .. an egg? "
" Yea, an egg—can 'ya believe it!? In this economy? " He invades your personal space as he gets close to your face while he rambles on how much the egg prices have grown expensive.
You couldn't really care less about whatever he's ranting about, his exaggeration makes it seem false—like seriously? Overblotting over a thrown egg? Next thing he'll say, cats can spit out blue fire.
Though if there was something else you'd find far more intriguing—then it'd be the scars that adorned the lower half of his face.
You'd ask him how he got those, but decided against it once you realized you weren't even aware of what this guy's name was.
" Ya' of all people should know this, ya' were there after all when it happened—Hey! Ya' spacing out again! " He snapped his fingers infront of you, even leaning in as his expression morphs into one that's would earn sympathy from people—one with doe slightly teary eyes and pouty lips.
Unfortunately for him, you weren't part of those people—you were an amnesiac.
"... ever heard of personal space? " You mutter loud enough for him to hear, slowly moving away from his presence.
" Ya' hurtin this poor lil hyena's feelings, bandage-head.."
You ignored his whining—focusing more on the worksheets laid infront of you. Hearing him let out another sigh, you wonder why he's even bothering with you—
" I'll have 'ya know, this ain't free. "
—oh right, the thaumarks.
Once you looked over at him, he was already reaching his hand out with a smirk grazing his overly-enthusiastic face—which brightened up more once you reached for your wallet that was given to you by Crewel.
Just as you were about to hand it to him—he suddenly took his laid out hand back and scratched the back of his neck, seems like he had a change of heart.
" Well—uh, hold on " The way he spoke immediately caught you off-guard, his usually raspy tone held an underlying strain—even his eyes seemed to twitch.
" What about we uhm.. change it up a li'l? I've been doin' all the talkin—how 'bout.. ya' tell me more about ya'self?" A smile decorated his face, one that didn't reach his eyes—yet his tone was as cheerful as ever. You could've sworn he muttered something after—but perhaps it's just a pigment of your imagination.
" Whaddya say? " He reaches his hand out once again, staring into your eyes that held confusion as your body seemed to suddenly have a mind of its own—with your hand also reaching out to his.
... huh?
" Wa-wait—" He cuts you off with his own words.
" That's more like it!" He grips your hand tight as he shakes both of your hands with such vigor—you almost thought it'd fall off.
You could only stare in bewilderment at the handshake being performed before you.
" What are you doing, pups? " All of a sudden, a voice you normally would've revolted at enters the room.
" Tsk.. not again.. " You heard the beastman mutter to himself, the smile on his face dropping as he lets go of your now free hand.
" What was that, Ruggie? "
"Nothing, professor! I—I should get going, gotta go wake someone up!" With a smile on his face he stands up to leave, almost in a hurry—but not before bidding you farewell.
" See'ya, Bandage-head!" With that being said, he closes the door on the way out.
You stare at the door, then at your hand in disbelief—were you imagining things earlier? You wonder to yourself as you began to stretch every finger possible.
.. or you've gone crazy after being confined in a clinic for so long—almost two weeks or so if your perception of time was still available and working.
... Perhaps it was the second option—staying with your uncle for so long must've made you lose your mind.
Hold on.. the thaumarks you were supposed to give are.. missing?
" First time having hands, mutt? Stop dilly-dallying and focus on your work. " You felt his gaze upon you—if that was even possible.
Though you never thought there'd be a time where you'd be appreciating your uncle's sudden appearance, but as you had thought before—there's a first for everything.
𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞𝗘𝗥. there is one thing he never told you, and one thing he never will. original request: what if.. jade x reader where both of them broke up and still have feelings for each other?
𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗. jade and reader have broken up. no happy ending. short fic. angst. trials of rowmance setting.
“I am thrilled to see you have fared well without me.”
Oh, Jade. Your brows tug towards the vehement slope of your lips, which are painted a brutish vermilion, the blood of all his failed endeavors of knocking a smile out of you. Even after six months, fifty minutes, and ten seconds — he still has the gall to show his face, the same mien which is, in your eyes, unmeaning and unchanged as ever (though you negate the idea of even deigning him that glance of yours). You don’t know why you’re surprised to see him, you’re a guest at a wedding where his presence would be inevitable.
But there is always something else. Always something peregrine when you look at a stranger you’d mapped out your life with.
“And I’m thrilled to hear you have so little faith in me,” a chair scrapes, and a shadow deluges the space once bared before you. “Tell me, did you really think I’d still sulk over you? You give your name its meaning, Leech.”
For six months, fifty minutes, and ten seconds, he realizes, your face has changed. Perhaps it is the mirage of makeup, or perhaps the inevitable memento of a cicada shedding itself, your own ecdysis, open to reveal hardened wings that coalesce around your face so magnificently well. Cicadas cannot remain forever imprisoned within the husk that first sheltered it. Neither, it seems, could you. In other words, you have matured, and now neither of you are those bygone, lovesick teenagers. Some traitorous part of him thinks this is what makes the reunion worthwhile. Some traitorous part of him thinks that it is you. After everything, it is you.
"How have you been?"
Something dances and gyrates behind his eyes.
"Fine. How’s Floyd? And yourself? Is he still torturing everyone?"
That language of vagueness you cannot parse slips over his face for half a second. You don’t realize when you’ve started looking at it, but you do not acquiesce in detaching yourself from it too.
"I've managed."
Of course he has. When has he, ever, in his life, cared about small you and your even smaller questions? Never has he once relinquished the chance to humor you so vaguely, without shape. That’s who he is. He is shapeless. There is no husk to him, there is no rind, and there is no shedding. He has never slipped out of his second skin like Viper, neither has he gone limpid like Schoenheit. Jade is Jade, and he always will be.
“That’s a very Jade answer.” You raise your glass. For a second he thinks you are about to toast him, but what do you even have left to toast? It is a chalice of beetroot or fermented fruit that you dip over the cusp of your lips, never knuckling under the urge to drink. He notices you no longer meet his eyes so readily.
“It tells me absolutely nothing.”
His lips work around a strange smile. “I suppose old habits die rather reluctantly."
"They don't die at all."
“They don’t.”
An awkward silence nearly tramples you both.
———
“—Should I cut my hair?”
“Hm.”
“Really?”
“Hm.”
“Are you even listening?”
“Hm. You shouldn’t. I quite like it when it’s long and unbidden.”
“ ‘Kay.” You stick your tongue out. “Now I’ll never cut it just ’cuz you said that.”
“Do you really hold me in such high regard?”
“Yeah. Now the question of the hour: would you still love me if I was a turtle’s shell?”
Jade's hand stills where it rests against the page of his book. He says nothing except: “What an awfully predictable question.”
Your limbs are splayed out, and there is an amorphous look in your eyes as you lift yourself up. Your room smells of cat fur and long since desiccated homework sheets, but his sense is severed just as you adjust yourself and lull your head on his lap, now latching onto his legs, for some mercurial reason of yours. For a moment longer, there is something else on your face before it pops and fizzes into boredom as you stare up at him. “Wow. Okay. That's not an answer.”
“Is it not? I believe my answer was rather clear.”
“No, your answer was you insulting me.”
“I would never insult you.”
“Jade.”
“Very well. Perhaps I am teasing you.”
He closes his book with a quiet sigh, though the faint curve of his lips is a nefarious traitor. “To answer your question properly, it depends entirely on what sort of answer you desire from me. Would you prefer a comforting lie, or the honest, unadulterated truth?”
“Lie to me.”
“Very well. The lie would be that I would continue loving you despite your unfortunate transformation into a mere turtle shell.”
“A lie?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“Allow me to finish.” His smile sharpens. “I would not love you despite it, I would love you regardless. Do you not know such creatures like me mate for life?”
“That’s just your sweet talker talking.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
His lips part in preparation for speech — sweet talker, he thinks, at the moment he did not have any qualm with your assessment — so he hesitates upon the threshold, then devolves into frazzled fragments that coax a chuckle from his chest. It is hazy, foggy, but you lose your own footing and dissolve into sputters of giggles. Is it sweet talking? Servile, sycophant, but he was speaking what he thought was real.
But he cannot tell you that. Cannot tell you you’re wrong and that he really wishes to never be divested of you. Shorn of you, cleansed of you, denuded of you. It is not a brotherly rapport confining him to Floyd, it is something else.
Why can he not tell you that? As simple as it is, it is also the most arduous thing to exist.
“..How unfortunate. I had hoped the delivery would distract you from the flaw in my argument.”
“What’s the deep sea like?”
That black strand of his coils around your finger before it springs back to life. You’ve been kneading his face between your palms for a minute, but it’s only now he deigns you that look. Oft times, he’s discovered, you do not not show willingness to comb through his past, partly because you’re so unaccustomed to the sea, where he wades through the water in that colossal form of his. The other part lies in your bygone venture to the museum, where he and Floyd had wreaked havoc over you and your little friends. He has endured it with saintly patience, only now does one golden eye peel open.
“..Is this interrogation truly necessary?”
“It wasn't, but you can’t blame me for being curious.” You give his cheek another squish, to which he hums, looming over you.
"I see." Jade sighs with theatrical resignation, once again closing the book resting upon his lap. “I was beginning to think your fascination with my face would distract you.”
Your fingers find another loose strand of his hair in lieu of a response, and he regards you for a long moment. It is a black swathe deluging the lifelines on your palm, when you give it a tug, he speaks.
“As a rule, humans do not ask about the Coral sea. They ask whether merfolk sleep underwater.”
“..Do you?”
“They ask whether we eat sailors.”
"...Do you?"
"They ask whether octopi are pleasant company."
You lean your chin over his shoulder now, one bare leg shrouds him before the other joins. Wrapped in an interminable embrace, you’re ensnaring him, a cage of limbs cinching tight around his waist. A slurred drawl of words rests heavy on your tongue, but you can only concede: “..I'm serious."
“I know.”
“ ..I just...” You hesitate. “I keep realizing there's so much about you I don't know.”
He doesn't answer immediately. His gaze wanders toward the window, where afternoon sunlight spills lazily across the floorboards.
“...Quiet,” he says at last.
"Excuse me?” Your face flares irked before he placates it.
“The deep sea.” His voice softens. “The pressure is immense. The water is cold enough to make even the hardiest creatures reconsider their ambitions.”
You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn't sound very inviting.”
“It isn't.”
“But...?”
A fondness slips into his expression before he can cage it.
"It is home."
Silence settles between you. You shift.
“I wish I could see it someday.”
Jade watches you quietly, long enough that you begin wondering whether you've said something foolish, but then he smiles. If you could bottle it up and feast on it forevermore, you’re certain you would’ve.
“I should like that.”
“You would?”
“Mm. The sea looks quite different when one has someone worth showing it to.”
“Ok, Mr. ‘Eels mate for life’. God, so cheesy and for what? I don’t like it when you lie.”
Shy happiness has etched itself into the soft grain of your mouth before you speak once more.
“..Jade.”
“Yes?”
Your lips skim over the corner of his mouth.
“..That was disgustingly romantic. You’re a heartless beast.”
Something winged batters free from its silk-bound prison, your soul molts its husk and emerges dusted in impossible colors, and joy germinates as you tackle him. Laughter, laughter, laughter. He holds you as you hold him, and there is nothing else.
———
Where there was once love, there is loathing now. When he finds you again, you are miserable.
In the attire you’re clad in, you look so very much like a Pink Betta, deluged in amorphous, finger-like fins of soft pink and snow-like whites, yet he is more compelled to compare you to a jewel-toned insect freshly enclosed, its prismatic hues still too delicate for the world. Your own aversion is now entombed, confined to the space of the wedding, it is probably throbbing and gnashing at the chrysalis of your heart and begging to be released in the gusto of a slap, or a well-deserved punch, but as he nears you, you do none of those things. You go slack, and those colorful wings of yours do not flap and send him to his resting place as he had expected.
It is one of the first times you’ve caught him off guard. Admittedly. Regrettably.
Your lips dwindle into a crinkled scowl, and the prongs of your fork have guillotined the sweet pastry into two. You do not bring it up to your lips, and something tells him its frosted corpse is a double-edged warning.
“No matter what your mom says, I’m not going to take a photo with you.”
Georgina had received you well, and you feel awful you cannot reciprocate the favor. After that day, there is nothing you can do, but as the chair opposite you shifts with the svelte body, one more tired exhalation leaves your nose.
“I don’t remember inviting you to sit.” Folding your arms, it is more so a barrier around your ribcage. “Don’t you need an invitation for those things?”
“I don't believe I required one. It would appease my mother, yes, but I wished to see whether you had eaten.”
“Bastard.”
“I’ve heard worse from you.”
“You should. ‘Cuz you're acting like.. that didn’t happen.”
“I assure you, it has occupied rather a significant portion of my thoughts.” His nose, of all things, burns. It’s an unfamiliar thing. “.. I simply fail to see what either of us gains from making a spectacle of it.”
“There doesn't always have to be something to gain, Jade.”
That wasn’t what he meant, he wants to say, but his lips settle into his undeviating signature.
Against all odds, you heave yourself up from your tomb and stand in front of the camera. There is little distance to cover between you and the eel, even less when she tells you to move closer. Once more, you’re pressed against him, your shoulder entwined, and the watery remnants of when he wreaked havoc on the boat seeps into your attire. Frigid. Arctic. Glacial. It smothers his body, as it does yours, but it is his voice that, amid the cheerful hubbub of the guests, brings you out of your shell.
“I suppose you were right about one thing, after all.”
Your nose puckers. It burns. “What?”
“I’m heartless.”
There is a veil on your eyes. Did the water from his hair drip onto your lashes? “You’re not.”
“If I weren’t,” he never looks at you. "I would not be making you cry. I am heartless. I am heartless, aren’t I?”
“I’m—‘m not crying."
There is something churning in his gut, splashing and swirling and sloshing around. When you blink, salt-born water tumbles out of your eyes like a cataract, a waterfall, and a half-choked sentence sputters along the futile endeavor. Your throat feels like it’s been constricted,a narrow passageway from which only a slip of air emerges, and your face is so, so terribly scrunched up. He does not like it, he does not like seeing you weep, not right now, because of him, no less. (He can tell you now. The answer is on the precipice of his tongue. When he’d told you that eels mate for life, it hadn't been the by-product of his suave disposition. He had meant it, so maybe that’s why, he justifies, that his own eyes are scorched raw at their seams. They mate for life, so he will always have a little bit of you in him—)
“You cut your hair.”
That is the only morphed thing that comes out. He chuckles, it drowns.
𝗦𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗞𝗘𝗥. there is one thing he never told you, and one thing he never will. original request: what if.. jade x reader where both of them broke up and still have feelings for each other?
𝗕𝗘𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗. jade and reader have broken up. no happy ending. short fic. angst. trials of rowmance setting.
“I am thrilled to see you have fared well without me.”
Oh, Jade. Your brows tug towards the vehement slope of your lips, which are painted a brutish vermilion, the blood of all his failed endeavors of knocking a smile out of you. Even after six months, fifty minutes, and ten seconds — he still has the gall to show his face, the same mien which is, in your eyes, unmeaning and unchanged as ever (though you negate the idea of even deigning him that glance of yours). You don’t know why you’re surprised to see him, you’re a guest at a wedding where his presence would be inevitable.
But there is always something else. Always something peregrine when you look at a stranger you’d mapped out your life with.
“And I’m thrilled to hear you have so little faith in me,” a chair scrapes, and a shadow deluges the space once bared before you. “Tell me, did you really think I’d still sulk over you? You give your name its meaning, Leech.”
For six months, fifty minutes, and ten seconds, he realizes, your face has changed. Perhaps it is the mirage of makeup, or perhaps the inevitable memento of a cicada shedding itself, your own ecdysis, open to reveal hardened wings that coalesce around your face so magnificently well. Cicadas cannot remain forever imprisoned within the husk that first sheltered it. Neither, it seems, could you. In other words, you have matured, and now neither of you are those bygone, lovesick teenagers. Some traitorous part of him thinks this is what makes the reunion worthwhile. Some traitorous part of him thinks that it is you. After everything, it is you.
"How have you been?"
Something dances and gyrates behind his eyes.
"Fine. How’s Floyd? And yourself? Is he still torturing everyone?"
That language of vagueness you cannot parse slips over his face for half a second. You don’t realize when you’ve started looking at it, but you do not acquiesce in detaching yourself from it too.
"I've managed."
Of course he has. When has he, ever, in his life, cared about small you and your even smaller questions? Never has he once relinquished the chance to humor you so vaguely, without shape. That’s who he is. He is shapeless. There is no husk to him, there is no rind, and there is no shedding. He has never slipped out of his second skin like Viper, neither has he gone limpid like Schoenheit. Jade is Jade, and he always will be.
“That’s a very Jade answer.” You raise your glass. For a second he thinks you are about to toast him, but what do you even have left to toast? It is a chalice of beetroot or fermented fruit that you dip over the cusp of your lips, never knuckling under the urge to drink. He notices you no longer meet his eyes so readily.
“It tells me absolutely nothing.”
His lips work around a strange smile. “I suppose old habits die rather reluctantly."
"They don't die at all."
“They don’t.”
An awkward silence nearly tramples you both.
———
“—Should I cut my hair?”
“Hm.”
“Really?”
“Hm.”
“Are you even listening?”
“Hm. You shouldn’t. I quite like it when it’s long and unbidden.”
“ ‘Kay.” You stick your tongue out. “Now I’ll never cut it just ’cuz you said that.”
“Do you really hold me in such high regard?”
“Yeah. Now the question of the hour: would you still love me if I was a turtle’s shell?”
Jade's hand stills where it rests against the page of his book. He says nothing except: “What an awfully predictable question.”
Your limbs are splayed out, and there is an amorphous look in your eyes as you lift yourself up. Your room smells of cat fur and long since desiccated homework sheets, but his sense is severed just as you adjust yourself and lull your head on his lap, now latching onto his legs, for some mercurial reason of yours. For a moment longer, there is something else on your face before it pops and fizzes into boredom as you stare up at him. “Wow. Okay. That's not an answer.”
“Is it not? I believe my answer was rather clear.”
“No, your answer was you insulting me.”
“I would never insult you.”
“Jade.”
“Very well. Perhaps I am teasing you.”
He closes his book with a quiet sigh, though the faint curve of his lips is a nefarious traitor. “To answer your question properly, it depends entirely on what sort of answer you desire from me. Would you prefer a comforting lie, or the honest, unadulterated truth?”
“Lie to me.”
“Very well. The lie would be that I would continue loving you despite your unfortunate transformation into a mere turtle shell.”
“A lie?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Rude.”
“Allow me to finish.” His smile sharpens. “I would not love you despite it, I would love you regardless. Do you not know such creatures like me mate for life?”
“That’s just your sweet talker talking.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
His lips part in preparation for speech — sweet talker, he thinks, at the moment he did not have any qualm with your assessment — so he hesitates upon the threshold, then devolves into frazzled fragments that coax a chuckle from his chest. It is hazy, foggy, but you lose your own footing and dissolve into sputters of giggles. Is it sweet talking? Servile, sycophant, but he was speaking what he thought was real.
But he cannot tell you that. Cannot tell you you’re wrong and that he really wishes to never be divested of you. Shorn of you, cleansed of you, denuded of you. It is not a brotherly rapport confining him to Floyd, it is something else.
Why can he not tell you that? As simple as it is, it is also the most arduous thing to exist.
“..How unfortunate. I had hoped the delivery would distract you from the flaw in my argument.”
“What’s the deep sea like?”
That black strand of his coils around your finger before it springs back to life. You’ve been kneading his face between your palms for a minute, but it’s only now he deigns you that look. Oft times, he’s discovered, you do not not show willingness to comb through his past, partly because you’re so unaccustomed to the sea, where he wades through the water in that colossal form of his. The other part lies in your bygone venture to the museum, where he and Floyd had wreaked havoc over you and your little friends. He has endured it with saintly patience, only now does one golden eye peel open.
“..Is this interrogation truly necessary?”
“It wasn't, but you can’t blame me for being curious.” You give his cheek another squish, to which he hums, looming over you.
"I see." Jade sighs with theatrical resignation, once again closing the book resting upon his lap. “I was beginning to think your fascination with my face would distract you.”
Your fingers find another loose strand of his hair in lieu of a response, and he regards you for a long moment. It is a black swathe deluging the lifelines on your palm, when you give it a tug, he speaks.
“As a rule, humans do not ask about the Coral sea. They ask whether merfolk sleep underwater.”
“..Do you?”
“They ask whether we eat sailors.”
"...Do you?"
"They ask whether octopi are pleasant company."
You lean your chin over his shoulder now, one bare leg shrouds him before the other joins. Wrapped in an interminable embrace, you’re ensnaring him, a cage of limbs cinching tight around his waist. A slurred drawl of words rests heavy on your tongue, but you can only concede: “..I'm serious."
“I know.”
“ ..I just...” You hesitate. “I keep realizing there's so much about you I don't know.”
He doesn't answer immediately. His gaze wanders toward the window, where afternoon sunlight spills lazily across the floorboards.
“...Quiet,” he says at last.
"Excuse me?” Your face flares irked before he placates it.
“The deep sea.” His voice softens. “The pressure is immense. The water is cold enough to make even the hardiest creatures reconsider their ambitions.”
You wrinkle your nose. “That doesn't sound very inviting.”
“It isn't.”
“But...?”
A fondness slips into his expression before he can cage it.
"It is home."
Silence settles between you. You shift.
“I wish I could see it someday.”
Jade watches you quietly, long enough that you begin wondering whether you've said something foolish, but then he smiles. If you could bottle it up and feast on it forevermore, you’re certain you would’ve.
“I should like that.”
“You would?”
“Mm. The sea looks quite different when one has someone worth showing it to.”
“Ok, Mr. ‘Eels mate for life’. God, so cheesy and for what? I don’t like it when you lie.”
Shy happiness has etched itself into the soft grain of your mouth before you speak once more.
“..Jade.”
“Yes?”
Your lips skim over the corner of his mouth.
“..That was disgustingly romantic. You’re a heartless beast.”
Something winged batters free from its silk-bound prison, your soul molts its husk and emerges dusted in impossible colors, and joy germinates as you tackle him. Laughter, laughter, laughter. He holds you as you hold him, and there is nothing else.
———
Where there was once love, there is loathing now. When he finds you again, you are miserable.
In the attire you’re clad in, you look so very much like a Pink Betta, deluged in amorphous, finger-like fins of soft pink and snow-like whites, yet he is more compelled to compare you to a jewel-toned insect freshly enclosed, its prismatic hues still too delicate for the world. Your own aversion is now entombed, confined to the space of the wedding, it is probably throbbing and gnashing at the chrysalis of your heart and begging to be released in the gusto of a slap, or a well-deserved punch, but as he nears you, you do none of those things. You go slack, and those colorful wings of yours do not flap and send him to his resting place as he had expected.
It is one of the first times you’ve caught him off guard. Admittedly. Regrettably.
Your lips dwindle into a crinkled scowl, and the prongs of your fork have guillotined the sweet pastry into two. You do not bring it up to your lips, and something tells him its frosted corpse is a double-edged warning.
“No matter what your mom says, I’m not going to take a photo with you.”
Georgina had received you well, and you feel awful you cannot reciprocate the favor. After that day, there is nothing you can do, but as the chair opposite you shifts with the svelte body, one more tired exhalation leaves your nose.
“I don’t remember inviting you to sit.” Folding your arms, it is more so a barrier around your ribcage. “Don’t you need an invitation for those things?”
“I don't believe I required one. It would appease my mother, yes, but I wished to see whether you had eaten.”
“Bastard.”
“I’ve heard worse from you.”
“You should. ‘Cuz you're acting like.. that didn’t happen.”
“I assure you, it has occupied rather a significant portion of my thoughts.” His nose, of all things, burns. It’s an unfamiliar thing. “.. I simply fail to see what either of us gains from making a spectacle of it.”
“There doesn't always have to be something to gain, Jade.”
That wasn’t what he meant, he wants to say, but his lips settle into his undeviating signature.
Against all odds, you heave yourself up from your tomb and stand in front of the camera. There is little distance to cover between you and the eel, even less when she tells you to move closer. Once more, you’re pressed against him, your shoulder entwined, and the watery remnants of when he wreaked havoc on the boat seeps into your attire. Frigid. Arctic. Glacial. It smothers his body, as it does yours, but it is his voice that, amid the cheerful hubbub of the guests, brings you out of your shell.
“I suppose you were right about one thing, after all.”
Your nose puckers. It burns. “What?”
“I’m heartless.”
There is a veil on your eyes. Did the water from his hair drip onto your lashes? “You’re not.”
“If I weren’t,” he never looks at you. "I would not be making you cry. I am heartless. I am heartless, aren’t I?”
“I’m—‘m not crying."
There is something churning in his gut, splashing and swirling and sloshing around. When you blink, salt-born water tumbles out of your eyes like a cataract, a waterfall, and a half-choked sentence sputters along the futile endeavor. Your throat feels like it’s been constricted,a narrow passageway from which only a slip of air emerges, and your face is so, so terribly scrunched up. He does not like it, he does not like seeing you weep, not right now, because of him, no less. (He can tell you now. The answer is on the precipice of his tongue. When he’d told you that eels mate for life, it hadn't been the by-product of his suave disposition. He had meant it, so maybe that’s why, he justifies, that his own eyes are scorched raw at their seams. They mate for life, so he will always have a little bit of you in him—)
“You cut your hair.”
That is the only morphed thing that comes out. He chuckles, it drowns.
yan! dating sim twisted wonderland x reader. inexplicably, you awake in the dating sim ‘twisted hearts’ as a run-of-the-mill side character. no worries, the love interests are already after yuu. you just gotta stay out of it all, right? 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐗. previous part here
“Seriously? You're actin' like I told ya to march into a dragon's den.”
♡ It’s been four days since you’ve officially relinquished the title of jobless.
The diner in front of you remains undeterred.
♡ It’s the type you’d imagine a tourist’s spot like Foothill Town would harbor, and honestly, how you even managed to land a job here is unfathomable. You can still recall the swathe of pity in the interviewer’s eyes when you told him you were an orphan, homeless, and overqualified (you have experience in washing Scarabian dishes). Manipulating situations through pity isn't beneath you. Frankly, you're surprised it keeps working. Truly, do you look that pitiful?
♡ You did get the job at Crisp n’ dips as well, but . . . you turned it down, for very obvious reasons.
♡ Anyhow, no need to dwell on that. What matters more is that you have your first, official job, and you can’t risk getting fired because the busboy (a certain hyena) can’t stop plotting with you. You don’t even want to know why the laws of this universe deemed you two a fit, working pair, and by what sheer misfortune you two work at the same diner: as if having him share a class with you wasn't enough. It reminds you of a certain assertion, the devil couldn't reach you, so he sent Ruggie Bucchi to do the job. He looks a little goofy clad in work attire, but he’s still that same kid who tries to cop a look at your answers.
“Bucchi—”
“Just slip into Azul's office, look through his contracts, find the one with Vil's name on it, and get out before anybody notices—”
“Bucchi.”
“Easy enough—”
“Bucchi!”
Snapping out of hysteria, he looks at you, saucer-eyed, ears slapping the side of his head in alarm. Heaving a sigh of great disdain, you turn to him, hoping he can see the look on your face past the mound of fur concealing it. “Go back inside, and clean the tables— whatever is it that you do, please.”
♡ Oh! He seems amused. You want to punch him. It’s already hot in the mascot costume you’re wearing. Yes— that’s right. They picked you to be a mascot, wallowing in scorching perspiration and struggling to support yourself with spasmodic breaths. Unfortunately, your costume's permanent stitched-on smile sends the opposite message— it only seems to buttress the smirk he throws your way, and by God, you want to reach in and stuff him in the suit. It’s not like you can take it off, too. You’d done that after a particularly stifling endeavor, and had someone recognize you by the name Magicam Hunchback alone.
♡ Hmm . . . you wonder if Vil ever took that post down. Obviously not, judging from the speed of verbal recognition thrown your way. Perhaps it was because of your ill-fated nerves you hadn’t asked him to— you can’t help it, can you? Not when the lilac of his pupils drink you in and have you standing on the cusps of edged needles. He’s beautiful, above you, far more competent than you’ll ever be. It’s only natural he deems your futile requests a hassle to deal with... so if people were still theorizing about you being a soft launch and your tutor being involved with you in a relationship, why wouldn’t he take it down? It’s like he wants you to suffer just because you don’t knuckle under his demands.
♡ People talking about you, it doesn’t get out of your head, never does. They definitely make him laugh. Oh, great, thank you. How did bro pull Vil? You never wanted to. They must have a GREAT personality. You’d argue with that, but let it go— after all, if there’s one thing you’ve learned from arguing and making amends with someone who compares you to an uncooked potato: is that it’s fruitless.
♡ . . . Ah, that reminds you! Speaking of doom, it reminds you of the man responsible for half your mounting problems. You need to remember to tune in for today’s study session. He’s made it clear he won’t take your escapades lightly anymore.. and with Rook always carrying a thrashing, less composed version of you over his shoulder, you’d rather not risk the humiliation.
“..Seriously?”
“Huh?”
“Yer eyebags got eyebags.”
Ruggie's voice brings you out of your self-induced conspiracy. Peeling your lids open, you turn to look at the hyena. Through the spotty lens of your mask, you can only see half of his face, but you very well know it’s steeped in curiosity. Especially when he looks at the slip in your hand— or..paw.
“Is that a doctor's prescription? You catch a disease?”
“No, it’s Vil’s handwriting.”
There’s silence
Raising his hands in surrender, he yields, with a low whistle following the interval. “Y'know what? My bad. Would've rather heard it was terminal.”
“Tell me about it.” A press of your brows has your lips curving down. No matter how you shape it, your mind keeps sinking to the dilemma at hand. Why did Vil want you in his club? “I doubt Vil would let me go unscathed if he caught me saying this, but it really is tiring having to deal with him.”
Ruggie, no matter how little credit you give him (a pittance, really) catches on to your sombre tone. It’s only natural he does. You can’t find it within yourself to fake your emotions, or put up a façade when every two seconds there’s a little kid giving you a gummy smile and planting themselves beside you for a picture. Rocking on his heels, shoving his hands into his pockets, he treads very, very carefully. You get the gist he knows what’s up, that this is the most fun he’s had all year round.
“...Y'know.” He avoids eye contact, lest you send another invisible scowl his way. “Usually when rich people start offering ya opportunities...”
There’s a moment’s pause before he deigns you a glance. A chameleon-like ability where the hues of his irises shift from to blue to gray.
“They’re investin’.”
You thump your head against a wall and startle a couple of children.
“Think about it! Nobody spends this much effort on somebody unless they're plannin’ on getting something back.” He insists, waving his hands in your face as if to stop you before you actually bash your head in the wall and die. He’d lose his job if you did. “Ya really think world-wide supermodel, hotshot Vil Schoenheit would deign a simpleton like you a glance?" He tilts his head. “People like you n’ me don’t get that luxury, and you still don’t get it through your head, do ya? You really are a goody-goody.”
♡ There’s no reason for Ruggie to do this. Really? Subtly coerce you into drowning yourself beneath waters and digging your own grave? The Ruggie Bucchi you know wouldn’t dare risk that, and you’re sure, on the assumption of yours that the Savana overblot has passed, that he’d know this better than ever.
♡ Unless . .
he’s intentionally trying to get you into trouble?
You sneak a glance at him. No matter how much of a layabout he may seem, he excels at his job, leaving tables spick and span and finishing it off with a swift assist to the waiters. When he talks, occupied, those twin canines protrude. You mustn’t forget why you want to stay away from them. They don’t keep your safety in their minds.
Twisted Hearts is a game about villains.
♡ Right! You don’t know Bucchi, really, you don’t. You know about the territorial hyena from the cringe-fest that is Twisted Hearts, but him in reality, you don’t. Does he know about Yuu and you? You wouldn’t put it past him. You don’t even know if Yuu and him are acquainted, if he’s head over heels just like the others, if he would really go that far as to intentionally lead you astray. He can smell you, can’t he? He is a beastman. Would he? One look at his smirk tells you the truth clear and fair. Who knows how to lurk in the shadows and contort their movements from afar the best, other than you, of course?
♡ You may have let Kalim get to you, you may have dampened Jamil’s suspicion, but that doesn’t make them your friends. They are not your friends. If they find out Yuu’s inner workings, they’ll make your life miserable, would they not? Because that’s what they are.
♡ Characters bound to destroy the world for their one and only. And in no universe, no matter how much Yuu deems it true, are you anyone’s muse.
“Mummy, look!” A finger juts out in your direction. “A rabbit!”
This is humiliating.
♡ Heaving another sigh of despondence, you try to peer at the crowd. Taking up all the seats are customers immersed in idle chitter-chatter and fussy children. In a way, it looks no different from your world,if you ignore the obvious dissimilarities in their comportment and physical characteristics. One customer has ears bigger than their head — what type of beastman is that? One looks like a run-of-the-mill average Joe. One has teal hair, striped with black, and the other . .
♡ Wait, what?
♡ . . Teal hair? You blink a few times to enhance what you’re seeing. You’re staring at the back of a person’s head. Into a haircut that’s all too familiar. Is that . . Jade?
♡ Yeah! There’s Yuu. Sitting opposite him. They’ve managed to find your job location, or not, perhaps they’re both here on an excursion. A very one-sided excursion where the latter is trying to ignore the eel’s prodding and probing, any sane eye can see Jade is annoying them, and he just seems so lively. In a way, a manner he never took up when he was with you, a manner which differs so far from his formality. He seems full of energy here, so entranced — you suppose you aren’t capable of overpowering Yuu in this regard. It seems as if their charm is irresistible.
♡ But then they get up. And you have this unbearable urge to get the eel alone and atleast share a word or two with him. Yuu pays, clearly, and they’re leaving, another dot in the mass of a thousand. Surely, this isn’t what he’s been doing all this time? Frolicking around with Yuu? Your tormentor? How original.
Before you know it, a rabbit paw catches his sleeve. It's.. well, a bit worn out. Not something you’d expect Jade to wear, but his name comes out nonetheless.
“.. Jade?”
When he turns—
you realize that is not Jade.
♡ Floyd Leech?!
♡ How doomed are you?! How did you even let it slip past you that Jade has his other half? You’re extremely lucky you’re still clad in your little rabbit costume, because you don't think you can ever stand the notion of him copping a look at your face and recognizing you on campus. You go rigid entirely, words on the precipice of your tongue and perishing right after as his eyes, half-lidded and bored, languidly rove over your probably ridiculous button eyes. Extricating your hand just as it latched on, you stand in place.
♡ . . . You also make sure to give him a little wave. Just in case he takes your silence into suspicious account.
“Huh?” The nasally voice is accompanied with the slow stretch of a pointy smile. “And who’re you—”
“Floyd!”
♡Oh, shoot! You totally forgot today was the day of the most dreaded examination: midterms.
♡ Whatever attention he had on you gets wiped off in a millisecond, and he slinks back towards Yuu almost obediently. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Opps are everywhere.
♡ And that’s not an atypical thing, really. You’ve never focused on those, that’s how you get your grades to amount to a forgettable pittance, but today is especially dreadful because in the midst of ‘fixing up' your bedhead, Vil had spent the better part of twenty minutes reminding you he expected nothing short of excellence. You can understand his expectations, after all, he'd spent months drilling the material into your skull, whether you welcomed it or not.So with a smile that stretched a little too tightly over your lips, you assured him you would. And you’re sure if this world were any more unbelievable, you’d have a big, fat paper slapped on your back with the words liar.
♡ Specifically because you’re stuck on the first question. You kept skimming through the sheet trying to find a question you’d at least know about, before realizing you’d reached the end of the paper — and you can just imagine that scowl on his face. You can remember him droning on about this same problem, but your memory’s waterlogged, and no amount of scourging can pluck that itch free. . What an exemplary upperclassman you are!
♡ It’s also not just because of Vil, it’s also because this is the start of book three, and if your notion goes according to plan, then Ace, Deuce, and Grim will all grow little sea mementos on their head—with Yuu left to save their friends from their own stupidity. It’s quite laughable, really. That part keeps distracting you.
“A bold answer.”
♡ Professor Trein has made ten rounds to your table, and has stood above you for the better half of it as you both stare at a blank page. Whenever you write out the answer, it elicits a disapproving hum, and you’re forced to wipe it out. In the end, you just make do with a solid guess, and turn your paper in, chewing down your uncertainty and following the tide of students as they make their exit.
♡ The rest of the day resumes.
♡ After a tiring study session with Vil, you attempt to trudge back to your dorm. Your mind’s hazy, misty, and through the dense, foggy plumage shrouding Night Raven, you struggle to keep up. It doesn’t help your brain is, much to your resistance, actively trying to memorize thirteen pages of alchemy at the same time, so when you see more than three figures up ahead — or atleast the shape of them — you uncharacteristically pay them no heed. Big mistake.
♡ Oh, shit! Your suspicions that someone had noticed Yuu's sudden interest in you are confirmed sooner than expected. Namely, when a handful of Savanaclaw students corner you on Main Street and decide a confrontation is a perfectly respectable substitute for magic. You’re no stranger to conflict, but you’re not a connoisseur of handling them too, per se — so imagine your surprise when you’re boxed in by the most ripped beastmen known to man. They give Savanaclaw its name, it seems, and promptly remind you to never engage with the dorm again. Because . . . it doesn’t make any sense. You haven’t done anything wrong, what reason do they even have to resort to violence?
♡ Unless . . someone called them in? Ruggie doesn’t strike you the type to do that, neither does Leona (or does he? He was never your favorite) so perhaps you’re just haplessly grasping at straws and hoping your little theories land. Either way, the group doesn’t give you any room to argue. Grabbing your collar, reeling you in by the shoulders, whatnot. The typical bunch of Savanaclaw knuckleheads, really, so that accomplishes one more goal of yours: physical pain. You don’t know which part of your body hurts, it's everywhere.
“We’ve heard of ya” One of them snickers. It’s a hideous sound, you think, one that makes you stare past them amid the aridity of your throat.
“.. You have?”
“You deaf or somethin’? That’s what he just said.”
♡ Quick! Think of something! Damn you, Vil. If he hadn’t plagued your mind with textbook material, perhaps you’d conjure one of the typical tricks you have up your sleeve. It then occurs to you, you don’t even have any experience in the fighting department. How are you even supposed to defend yourself? You watch as they quite literally empty the contents of your bag, bric-a-brac and stationery descending on the ground in cacophonous waves. It’s clear no one is around the area this time, all except—
“Hey, can you guys please move aside?”
♡ Deuce Spade! And . . . who’s that?
Someone’s behind him, but your focus remains on him. “I need to get to Mr. Sam’s shop. You’re blocking the way.”
“Mr.Sam’s shop?” A rowdy beastman chuckles. “Why?”
“.. I need to get some parchment.” Deuce’s eyes narrow, spade crinkling and belying his skepticism beneath. “I’m going to send a letter home.”
♡ Except . . . he seems wary of you. Not just you, all of you. Does he even know you’re the one that’s being wronged here? There’s someone behind him, someone you’ve never seen before, but something about them rings a bell of recognition within you.
♡ The contours of their face, the way they stand tight-lipped, they have a good couple of inches over Deuce — their hair is quite messy, jutting out in sleep-mussed strands as if they rolled out of bed, yet giving the impression it’s styled like that on purpose, curling around their face. Their face is steeped in staid indifference, they don’t spare a single glance towards the delinquents, yet amid their unsolicited questions, it treks towards you.
♡ Who is that? Your heart squeezes in on itself. Your lip’s worn between your teeth as you feel them comb through your concealed stature, languidly traversing each and every part of your figure. It makes you feel uncomfortable, it makes your privacy feel impinged upon and paraded for their perusal. . .it feels as if the mere sight of you is being drunk in. Who is that? They look familiar, overly familiar, too familiar.
♡ That’s Yuu?
Your eyes are nailed open, pinned wide by incredulity. You don’t know why, but your heart bursts in little staccatos. There’s a little, stray strand at the side of their head, and dare you say, it’s styled exactly like the Leech twins.
♡ No way. No way! They actually did it. They changed themselves because you poured your heart out at some blasted library! But . . what about their height? Even their face seems different. Makeup? Heels? Now they’re accompanying Deuce, staring at you, because no matter how much you could’ve told them you like someone who couldn’t give a single care in the world about you, they can’t help themselves. It’s like they need to stare at you. Just what the hell is wrong with them? Do they really think you’ll topple over by their feet just because they did a little something new with their face or hair?
“Well, look what the prefect dragged in.” The Savanaclaw knucklehead jeers. “Deuce? Ain’t you supposed to be runnin’ your ass off at the track club and sucking up to your professors? Piss off, and take your little wuss with ya.”
Deuce looks on the cusp of letting his face devolve into pure fury. You can’t help but think it’s not that serious, but upon watching the tremor of his lips, you reconsider. The prefect and he have been pals since the beginning, and they must’ve fought tooth and nail beside each other. It’s only natural they have that kind of relationship, palpable in the way he pushes them behind him. Oh, wow. Shielding them with his body? Ground-breaking.
“Yuu, get behind me.. I’m only asking you this once, alright?” His brows press as he takes his attention to the group. You can’t help but feel as if he doesn’t remember you. “Step aside. We’re not here to pick a fight, so please move out of the way.”
Yuu obliges, shuffling, though you’d argue that’s because they’re too busy staring at you, gauging your face for a reaction. A reaction on the change. A reaction on anything.
The Savanaclaw bastard mulls it over. “Hm.” Then he cranes his neck head-on. “Nah. Can’t say the same for us.”
♡ That’s all it takes for a punch.
♡ The sound is loud on skin. You don’t even know who threw it, but somewhere amid the jabs, punches are flying. Punches are flying in every wayward direction. Punches are flying . . . at you? The last thing you see is a Spade, and then your entire vision gets tilted, harshly. You’re spinning, why are you spinning?
♡ You realize a second too late when the air is knocked out of you. Did you just get punched by Deuce Spade?!
♡ A solid right hook to your rib and you fall to the ground in blinding pain, it’s like he straight up tore something out of you. A half-choked scream evades and amid the tussling bodies, you see Yuu staring at you. They make no move to rush to you— but the pain is unbearable, and you clench the space over your ribs. Pain shoots up in your cheek when someone tumbles over you, dust kicks up everywhere.
It's clear everyone’s getting their ass handed to them.
You lay sprawled on the ground alongside some ugly Savanaclaw bastard. Grunts follow. Glaring at him, you seethe. “This is all your fault.”
“... Sorry, man.”
♡ You wake up in the infirmary.
And with that, stars burst in your vision.
♡ It takes you a while to come to.
♡ Your vision is, at first, incredibly spotty, and for the dots to ebb away, requires you to keep on blinking. Blinking requires strain, and strain requires more pain which you don’t deign to verbalize. There’s no question that you were brought here by someone, a student, even. No lights have been turned on, you’re left in the quiet chalice of moonlight streaming in from windows and the growing pain on the plush of your cheek -- it’s past curfew, and no one is in the office, not even the Savanaclaw mutts. Shuffling, you realize a blanket’s draped over your shoulders, and a poorly-attached.. bandage on your skin which flutters away.
♡ . . What a bummer! You got your ribcage and cheek beat in? You should’ve known to jump out of the way, especially since you know more about Deuce than anyone in the room! You must’ve really underestimated his relationship with Yuu. Because Book Three is coming around, it should be even stronger than before, considering they’ve dealt with two overblots. Strangely though, Yuu in Twisted Hearts was never quiet when he’d been forced to take to his fists. In fact — the dialogue options all centred around de-escalating the situation.
♡ . . Seems like you really messed with their head after the library incident. Thought it should offer you some comfort, it has icy shards of reluctance roving over your spine. If the time might come where you’ll be coerced into interacting with Adeuce again.. then you’d have to book it immediately. Yuu’s made it clear they’ll stop at nothing, especially since they’ve changed their appearance.
“You’re awake.”
♡ ..
♡ ..What?
♡ Ack! What the heck?!
♡ You flinch, blinking once more, and look around the room for the source of the voice.
♡ There's an apparition at the foot of the bed. No, there’s a person standing there, a person you’ve never met before, you can tell. The pitch of their voice, the dialogue.. it’s all unfamiliar and..
It’s Yuu.
♡ The room glistens once.
Or.. it looks like Yuu.
It looks like Yuu, but with the way they’re dressed and carrying themselves, they look like J̸A̸D̸E̸. They don’t look like themselves, and how long had they been standing there, watching you mull everything over on your tongue? Back at Main Street, you’d skimmed over their new looks, but now, having given the luxury of time, you’re taking it all in and realize that they’re trying to impersonate him. The man, who you, in the heat of the moment, had called best friend.
Your heart quickens. How did you not notice it before?
Beams of silvered incandescence fall in stripes upon their face, and you realize their eyes have been morphed into a different shape, their lips a different colour, their height now towering over you... What? How’s that even possible? How come no one noticed it at Main Street? Had they always looked like that? No— that’s not right. There is something completely wrong and yet has eluded everyone. Even the Savanaclaw brutes recognized them as the prefect, where you, someone who’s been flanked by said prefect, erred in the recognition at first.
“.. Yuu?”
J̸A̸D̸E̸, they look like. J̸A̸D̸E̸, the manner they carry themselves. They drink in the battered and bruised visage you’re clad in, and with that ̷J̷̷A̷̷D̷̷E̷’̷S̷ ̷G̷̷R̷̷I̷̷N̷ playing on the softer curve of their lips, their J̸A̸D̸E̸’S̸ H̸E̸A̸D̸ lolls towards you. Y꙰U꙰U꙰ J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰ Y꙰UJ꙰J꙰A꙰D꙰E꙰
“Forgive me.” Upon receiving a pointed brow from you, h҉e҉ chuckles. “I was under the impression that reunions between companions of a certain familiarity were typically accompanied by some gesture of goodwill. A hug, if I recall correctly.”
They’re speaking like him. A roulette of personalities before it clicks into one concrete thing. You’re not even looking at their face anymore, your hands are wound around the softer bedsheet and your lips are restless welts between your teeth. What do you even do in this situation? Yuu, somehow, against all odds, has boxed you in an infirmary. It terrifies you, but, audaciously, you chew down the quiver of your face and school it into a calmer one.
“Yuu.”
You can’t see their eyes, but you know they widen around your utterance of their name. Quickly, before you can even process it, they cover the distance between you too. It has you jerking back against the wall, biting back a hiss at the strong contract. —They’re in front of you. They’re looking at you. What have you even done to deserve this?
“Yes?” Your eyes hesitantly climb upward.
“.. Can you leave?”
They look like you’ve just said something befuddling. Quirking a brow and adorned in that same expression as you, they question. “.. Why? You’re hurt, aren’t you? It’d be unwise of me to leave you to your own devices.” Their eyes glister. They’re yellow now. A color oh-so familiar. “Oh, speaking of you being hurt, I apologize on behalf of Deuce. He really..”
Your hands. Their hands. They meld them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but theirs are denuded of any temperature, even as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket. There’s a pit amassing in your stomach, gnawing at you, a massive blackhole of dread. It's everywhere, coagulating in the confines of your throat, even your ears and rigid body. You won't look them in the eyes, even as they give your hands a squeeze of confirmation, as if to ascertain you’re actually there.
“.. He really angered me, you see.” Nails delve into the plush of your skin, before releasing it in a portrait of half-moons. “Oh, but enough of him. May I talk to you?”
—As if you’re real.
Are you real? You can still hear their voice in the back of your mind.
♡ No, no, no. You want to scream at them, but you’re afraid it’ll only escalate the situation.
“.. Okay.” You tread carefully. “We’ll talk. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll talk to you all you want—”
“—Just leave. I’m hurt.”
♡ It’s like they can't bear the thought of not listening to you.
“Spud!”
♡ Nodding, you watch them exit the room, the door closing. And just like that, you hide beneath the covers, not wanting to lament on what the fuck just happened! Squeezing your eyes shut, you don’t breathe until you're certain their footsteps have diminished into nothingness.
You jerk awake.
♡ Dampness amasses upon your waterline before slivers of it stream down and onto your open palm. You’re sat upright, and the face of your tutor, Vil Schoenheit, should not offer you so much relief, but the bottled up chrysalis of your heart, the thumping staccatos of your pulse, all join to let out the happiest sigh you’ve ever breathed. You’re in the nurse’s office, you have not moved places, but Yuu is not here anymore. They’ve left.
“Vil!”
♡ You chew the word back down when you see the surprise on his face.
♡ You don’t know if it is because you’ve never once willingly uttered his name so.. joyfully, or because he’s wondering why, on the name of the Sevens, are you here. Judging from the way he’s in his Dorm Uniform, you must have taken him out of Pomefiore for this occasion, but beneath the gloam, he really does look like a cherub, an angel, more so because his face is tenfold embellished, softened and glamorous — not a day goes by where he doesn’t look gorgeous. Your guardian angel, you’d describe him as, if you were a completely different breed of yourself, and if the circumstances were different, and if..well, you get the gist.
“..”
For the briefest of moments, more surprise fractures his impeccable composure. It vanishes just as quickly.
"Well." He smooths a nonexistent crease from the sleeve of his uniform.His lilac eyes sweep over your face with unsettling precision. "That is certainly the most enthusiastic greeting I've ever received from you....Should I assume you've suffered another concussion?"
You hastily scrub at your face and wince. The valleys of your palm glisten, giving you away. “..No.”
"You've been crying." At your prolonged silence, he shakes his head. “You have no need to verify it, I have eyes."
He doesn’t prod for more. Instead, he crosses the room with measured steps until he stands beside the infirmary bed, crossing his arms.
"The physician informed me you were rendered unconscious after an altercation. Really? I leave you unattended for one afternoon and somehow you manage to involve yourself in physical violence."
“...It wasn't on purpose.”
“I would certainly hope not.” His thumb lightly catches your chin before you can recoil. He angles your face toward the light. “...Though judging by the state of your cheek, I can see bruising, and here I was under the impression you merely enjoyed collecting eye bags."
Letting you extricate yourself from his nitid hold, he eyes you, brows knitting close at your reluctance. “Did the nightmare concern your altercation?”
.. Was it a nightmare?
“..No.”
“Someone else, then.”
“...Yeah.”
He studies you long enough that you begin wondering if there's something written across your forehead.
“Who?”
“I dunno.”
He turns away, sighing.
“I've discovered that people disclose the truth more readily when they cease believing they're being interrogated.” He glances back over one shoulder. “So I will ask you again another day.”
“Did you call me spud to wake me up?”
The question is airy, quick but elicits a soft sigh from him, stopping him in his tracks. When he whirls around, heels clacking against the tiles, there's a curvature to his lips, but not of pride. As if almost conveying he’s got you figured out, that you aren’t as elusive as you’d deem yourself. The sort of expression worn by someone who's finally finished assembling the last piece of a puzzle.
“So that is what's troubling you.” You stiffen, and he hums, folding his arms. “I suppose I can indulge your curiosity. After all, it would have been rather inconvenient to recommend you for Film Research while referring to you as 'that spud from Scarabia.”
Your stomach drops.
“Naturally, I sought out your student record.”
♡ Horror dawns upon you. It's then you realize of course there should be a school record of the person's body you’ve been transmigrated into.
“Only to discover...” His smile thins. “...that you seemingly don't have one.”
♡ . .
“Quite an impressive feat, really. Every student admitted to Night Raven College leaves behind paperwork. Enrollment records. Academic reports. Disciplinary files, in some unfortunate cases.” His gaze settles on you. “You, however, appeared to have vanished from the school's archives altogether. It was terribly inefficient.”
He brushes an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve.
“Fortunately, Housewarden Al-Asim proved considerably more cooperative. I simply requested whatever documentation Scarabia had on you.” His eyes soften into something almost miserable. “..As you can imagine, my efforts did not bear fruit.”
♡ You don’t answer. Kalim knows your name. That day, at the infirmary, you'd given him it willingly, but it surprises you that he didn’t give it away. Did he even remember it? He has more than thirty siblings and he knows all of them by name, allegedly. It should be habit by now.. (Still, amid the sheer terror that Vil just implied he’s going to take you out of Mountain Lovers and place you into Film Research instead, you feel warmth in your heart).
Presently, you school your expression, letting your gaze trek upward into the purple inferno that’s Vil. So, Ruggie wasn’t lying when he said Vil had been to Octavinelle. He must’ve struck a deal with Azul, Azul must’ve gotten Jade to comply, and Jade must’ve agreed. “I don’t want to join your club, Vil. I respect you as my tutor—”
“Do you? That’s certainly shocking.”
“But I can’t accept this.”
"No," You don’t know what you were expecting, but the degree of his calm, it infuriates you no more than it riddles you with confusion “You won't accept it. There's a difference, and a rather important one.”
He covers the distance between you and purple inundates your vision, the purple of his dress, plaguing the ground. Though you’re loathe to admit it, his composure is far more formidable than outright anger, and subconsciously, you sink deeper into the blanket fortress you’ve built around yourself. Cool antiseptic against the interior of your skin, it grounds you until your eyes are inevitably forced to dwell into the reign of his eyes.
"Acceptance, if you’d give it some thought, would mean consideration followed by a conclusion. You, however, as I’ve said before, have made a habit of refusing opportunities before you've even afforded them a glance.”
“Because they're opportunities I don't want.” You curl, coil, and do everything to shield your face from his. Detestable, you can tell it irks him so, so much. “I don’t want them. I don’t want to be put into the spotlight, I don’t want to be seen, I don’t want any of this!”
It shames you. Puts you to shame more and more and more. Sentences you to a perpetual embarrassment, because here you are reduced to tearful, loud hysteria, and Vil has not once raised his voice at you. He peers at you the same, a petulant toddler in his eyes. Why? Why can he never see you as something more than that?
“Are they?”
“—Yes!”
“Or are they merely opportunities that require you to become something more?” A long nail scrapes the cloth and suddenly, the blanket is taken away from you. You gasp involuntarily, crisp air meets the bare of your skin and your mouth falls shut, given the luxury of seeing his face clearly. You don’t mull it over too long for his liking, and he scowls. Deep and unforgiving. “Tell me, have you once attended Film Research?”
“No.”
“Have you spoken to any of its members?”
“..No.”
“Then by what merit have you deemed it unsuitable?”
“...Because...”
It is a strange, trance-like, curse-like bubble you’re in. Words seep from your mouth and into the fracture of the air much too fast, for a moment you’re inclined to believe he’s used his signature spell on you. Has he? Can he even do that? You hate him.
“...Because Mountain Lovers leaves me alone. I want peace. I don’t want people looking at me.”
Vil lets out a slow, almost imperceptible breath.
“There it is. You've convinced yourself you don't deserve them to. You are under the absurd impression that remaining invisible somehow absolves you of responsibility." His tone remains maddeningly even. "If no one knows your name, they cannot burden you. If no one notices your work, they cannot expect more of you. If no one grows attached, they cannot disappoint you." He tilts his head. “...It's a remarkably comfortable philosophy.”
His eyes narrow just slightly.
“It is also cowardice, and if there is anything I despise more than sloth, it is precisely—”
Lilac.
“Cowardice.”
Even through the crescendo of his stare, you feel as though you can’t let him leave just yet.
“Wait, Vil!” He stops, and you lower your head in shame.
♡ You are a coward!
“.. Can you at least walk me back? To Scarabia?”
♡ A smarting, throbbing pain pulses throughout your body, you hiss and seethe and sputter into Scarabia’s lounge, where the night sky, buttressed by noctilucent stars on liquefied ink, bubbles and takes you into its breezy arms. You arrive quite late, at a time where everyone has surely returned to their rooms and tuned in for the night, but this is not your first rodeo and definitely not your first time breaking curfew. You’re more so grappling with the fact that Deuce Spade, the seemingly, oh-so loyal companion, has thrown a solid right hook to your rib and now you’re most likely crippled. . . and that Vil has, without mercy, sentenced you to a lifetime of Film Research.
♡ You hiss again. You’d very well seen dialogues regarding how others would describe his strength as unexpected, but you didn’t really expect you to be the example.
♡ You'd been so convinced the stolen items had something to do with Jade, or Y҉I҉U҉U҉—or perhaps the usual mound of unrequited love. But now, you’re re-considering where you really stand. Had it been done out of malice? The characters have shown they've no qualm with hurting you, and clearly, this implies they’d stoop to more . . . . violent methods, if needed. Crisp air only burns the welts on your skin, you’re glad no one’s here to see you reduced to such a state.
♡ Except the viper! Isn’t that just so peachy?
♡ He knuckles at his lids three times before letting his face pucker into a ball of confusion and drawn brows. Donning his sleepwear, his hair meanders loose, and his skin’s rid of gold, the same as you’d seen on him the night before. Stumbling, toppling over your own tongue in a drawl, you don’t realize the burn of air is whisked away with the sensation of someone tugging at your uniform and setting you down on the ottoman.
“Do I even bother?” He questions. Your head is low, dipped. A swab of cotton pounces at your face, a pitter-patter following the motion of his fingers. Do I even bother asking you what happened, because you and I both know you never speak the truth? And how did you even get Schoenheit to walk you to Scarabia? With a finger pressed along your ribs, he prods. “Tell me when.”
♡ Gah! Everything is happening so fast, you can’t even process it. How can you when the one guy who’s so steeped in loathing is staring back at you, after you’ve just had a mental acceptance regarding their partiality to violence?
“When.”
“I haven’t even touched the bruise yet.”
Luckily for him, you’re pretty dazed after the encounter.
“Wheehee... My bad.” A puddle of emotions twist your face into a frown as you lament. “Do you know they didn’t even use spells? It was a bare-knuckled fight!”
“Shh. Follow my finger.”
“You’re holding up two.”
“Only one.” Lolling his head skyward, his lips press down into a thin line of.. irritation. Even when you’re crumpled, he eyes you warily. There is always something in those eyes of his, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d have taken it lightly. But you don’t, because the way he peers down at you, it’s almost literal. You beneath him, the natural order. “.. I thought you avoided attention, so why provoke Savanaclaw?”
You have a strong aversion to small talk, especially when Jamil is on the receiving end. “Really generous to assume they need a reason for beating me up.”
“Hm. I suppose that’s true,” Without any need to continue conversation, he still keeps on probing for more. It’s quite laughable, isn’t it? He never struck you as the type to willingly engage in chatter with you, even now, his face is strained. How fun, knowing you’ve inconvenienced him. “Still, I would’ve thought you the type to at least defend yourself.”
You perch your cheek on your hand. “You thought wrong.”
“Clearly,” Pausing against your temple, the cotton is cool, even while littered with grime. “Why?”
“Why you thought wrong? Well, clearly, it’s a skill iss—”
“Why? You've had opportunities. If people insist on handing you those, why keep on refusing them? Even your own Housewarden likes you.”
You grimace. “I wouldn't phrase it like that.”
“You've earned Leech's attention.”
“I'd rather give it back.”
“Vil Schoenheit has practically dragged you into his orbit. He accompanied you just now to your dorm, didn’t he?”
Now, there’s an ugly bruise on your face and it’s not one he can touch and see, he can feel. Your lips pull into an elegiac little frown, and your eyes glaze over in mourning.
“I'd also, definitely rather give that back.”
His fingers still.
“...Why? Most students spend years trying to be noticed, and you spend every waking moment making sure no one remembers you.”
♡ Not this conversation! Looks like you’re at a bit of a standstill, but that entertains the thought: looks who’s talking. Pot, meet kettle, isn’t that what he does, in a sense, in a far more different sense? You don’t know how to reply to that, because Jamil is very clearly, very not passively, explaining the obvious. Even the way he looks at you now is complicated, denuded of emotion that can be gauged. You merely purse your lips in lieu of a response, and avoid his gaze, like you’ve always done.
“Can we please talk about something else?”
There’s a pressure on your palm. An accidental, harsh pull, and with a sigh, he tells you; “I can never understand you. Oh, well, it’s done.”
You blearily blink up at him. “It’s done?”
“The bandaging.”
He was bandaging you up this entire time? Oh, so that’s why he was so atypically immersed in your conversation.
Leaning back and scourging the contents of his work, which in actuality is just a linen strip of white shrouding your palms and the bare of your arm, he hums. It’s a non-committal, little thing that’s whisked away beneath the empyrean domain, blues and purplish-black lairs of twilight, cast back into the likeness of his eyes. He’s staring at you again. Waiting for, well, something. Something you’re clearly not willing to give.
“Thank you.” Clearing your throat, its dryness is gone. In the heat of Scarabia, only you feel its cold fangs nip at your skin. When you retract your gaze, you realize, shit. Had you been looking at him? “.. Aren’t you going to leave?”
He raises a brow.
“It may have slipped your mind that I’m your Vice Housewarden.” His arms are now folded. “In any case, you should be the one heading to bed.”
♡ Say less. You really don’t want this unsolicited thing to escalate, so you verbalize your agreement with a hum, and attempt to leave him be. The keyword here is attempt— and the trigger word here is Yuu.
“After all, I imagine Yuu must be waiting for you tomorrow.”
A chill goes up your spine.
♡ You fall back down. Why? Because a tremor shot up your legs and now you’re that same crumpled mess you were in the library.
♡ Ugh! Great! Another Yuu-thing to worry about. You really wish they stopped getting on your case. The incident at the infirmary still hasn’t left your mind.. Y꙰U꙰U꙰’S꙰ face staring you down. Why’s Jamil looking at you like that? With a shadow cast over his usually staid face? It unsettles you no more than it terrifies you, how have you messed up this bad? Quick, think of something! It’s time you set the record straight once and for all.
“You don’t have to worry,” hands morphed into fists in your lap, you think he feels you avoiding his gaze. “I know.. your— ahem, affections lie with Yuu. I would never personally get in your way, Vice Housewarden.” Heaving a shuddering breath, you stand up. “I’ve too much respect for you in that regard.”
♡ Uh. . why’s he looking at you like that? Brows raised, lips on the verge of shooting up into an amused smirk.
“Hm? Affections? Where did that come from? I don’t recall bringing that up.”
♡ .. . . For your next trick you’ll need a gun and a shovel to dig your grave. Really?
“—It's obvious.” You amend. “The way you look at them.”
“When did you see me looking at them?”
Uhh.. “When didn’t I see you looking at them?”
“There’s no point in puerile assumptions, really.” There it is again. That clipped, clear tone. Lids rolling over charcoal finality, he folds his arms again, and once more, his hair curtains his face in a blanket of shadows. “I’m a boring guy to be around. One who doesn’t know his way around the latest trends or media. What could Yuu possibly gain from sparing me time? They’re an odd one, no more than you.”
♡ Jack of all trades, master of none!
♡ He’s trying to dissuade you from it, the reality of what he feels, and if you were any less of a connoisseur at combing through facial expressions (which really is just obtained foresight from Twisted Hearts), you’d have believed him. But you don’t, not even for a second — in a sense, you believe he thinks he’s gotten you off his trail, that he’s outsmarted you. You don’t want to pester him for more, try to steer his belief, or attempt to relate to him. Truth is, you always see that smile of his whenever the prefect is mentioned, that tug on his hood, and the glint in his eyes. He lives up to his name. A viper, camouflaged in plain sight.
♡ He must mistake you for a dumb one, or maybe he doesn’t. You think he doesn’t, not at all — perhaps he’s waiting for you to make that one mistake and sink in the hole you’ve been digging for yourself.
”Come on,” Your voice nags his attention. “..Boring guy? You've been trying really hard not to laugh all this time— especially when you were patching me up.”
He doesn’t say anything, but his head lists gently towards the side.
“I looked awful, I know. You can admit it.” Pitter-patter, there goes your footfall, away from Jamil as you angle your body towards the one place you can find rest. You can’t see his face, but you don’t think of anything else other than his signature composure. That’s bad. “It’s way better to tell me you think I’m miserable up-front than going behind my back and keeping it to yourself.”
That’s bad. It’s bad. Jamil is willingly making conversation with you. This is bad. You need to set him towards a different path.
♡ Reaching your room, you catch someone peeking at you through a half-open crack in the door, Scarabia Student B! Nosy, curious, wondering why you and his Vice Housewarden were in that lounge. Without greeting him, you slam your door shut.
♡ Unfortunately, rest does not easy.
♡ Finally! The end of a tiring day.
♡ In the murkiness of your room, lit only by the pearly eye outside, you comb through the space. It’s barren, of course — your shelves, though, are lined with . . . accessories.
♡ One of the most shiny things you own, is of course, a bracelet! Gifted to you by none other than Kalim. Your journal is by its side. There’s also a little mushroom encased in glass you’d discovered on your bygone hikes with Jade. You’d never noticed that before. . . it only now reminds you just how many of your little trinkets you’ve left back in the Mountain Lovers club, they must be catching dust by now. Should you drop a visit tomorrow to pick them up? You don’t know how you’ll handle seeing him.
♡ Climbing out of bed, you pick it up! There’s a little slip of paper plastered on the pane: Amanita verna (Destroying angels).
♡ It seems familiar. A swathe of white is all it is, steeped in the colour from head to toe.. You remember it! That’s the same mushroom you’d encountered on your first hike, the same one you told him not to eat. It’s almost strange how he’s kept it all this time — and really, in glass? What if its toxins are airborne? When did he even give this to you?
♡ Wake up! Sometimes you get reminded why Kalim is unfit to be a Housewarden. Under the pretense of something important, he’d woken you up and led you to Scarabia’s kitchen. You’d, at first, thought he just called you for breakfast, but one glance at the time gave the numbers 4 : 50 AM away. Under no circumstances, in any universe, would you be willing to wake up at dawn’s peak, except this one. There are few things in this world worth waking before sunrise for. An emergency. A natural disaster. Perhaps the Second Coming.
♡ Shuffling back to bed, you pull the covers up to your chin, squeezing your eyes shut. Oh, well, a new day awaits you.
♡ Turns out, he’s trying to arrange a party to commemorate the end of midterms, but Jamil’s chagrin is hindering his plans. A dorm-wide party to ‘boost everyone's spirits?’ it makes sense why Jamil has vetoed the idea outright.You can’t understand why this party would be a hit, considering that it takes place a day before midterm results would mean everyone is too preoccupied with stress or fatigue to ruminate on it, but oh, well, you’re far past arguing with your Housewarden. If the goal is ensuring everyone fails together, it’ll certainly work.
♡ You have no desire to help him out, because for one, you’re fatigued beyond measure, going against Jamil would warrant only doom — and finally, you don't trust him in the kitchen. There’s a reason why Jamil’s restricted his access to fire and anything flammable. (Though, even if it were to occur, can’t he use his unique magic?)
♡ All in all, you’re a bit surprised to see Kalim’s eagerness, so much so he’s completely overlooked what Jamil would think of him. The latter wouldn’t cook, in spite of his demands, so the boy’s brought it upon himself to do the task instead, only, for some reason, he needs your help, not the help of hundreds of other Scarabian students that would befit the skill. This has all the makings of a disaster.
“I wanna throw everybody a surprise party after classes!” He throws his hands up, relenting. The light emanating from his face alone makes yours crimp. “I think it’ll make everyone less nervous before the midterm results are announced. So? What do you think?”
“The truth or a lie?” At the persistence of his smile, you mutter. “I think it'll make everyone fail midterms, Housewarden.”
“Really? Then we’ll just have it after.” He seems surprised. Was he expecting you to agree with him? If he really insists on your companionship, then it’s only natural you come out of your shell and tell him the bare-faced truth. Though the tinge of it makes you feel the tiniest bit woozy. “Everyone in Scarabia’s studying all the time, they deserve something fun, don’t they?”
“.. Yeah.” Air whistles through your teeth as you set your eyes straight on the cutlery. “They do. I think that’s very considerate of you, Housewarden.” And that, in all honesty, is not a lie.
♡ He begins rummaging through cupboards with alarming enthusiasm! Bowls, plates, three ladles, a whisk. Somehow, a watermelon, and a flour bag half his size. He turns to you and asks you what you both should make, and you relinquish the decision to him. You help him out with whatever he’s making with the watered-down dough — slicing melons into bits and focusing way too much on avoiding the knife’s end, and whenever he asks for something, you put yourself to the task and provide.
♡ It’s only natural, though, that his need for conversation overwhelms him.
”Hey,” he smiles at you. “Now that you mention it, you never brought Jade over to Scarabia!”
You never mentioned it, but okay. The question makes you pause.. Jade. The real Jade, not the one you thought you saw. Crimson, fruity rivulets skim over the ridges and valleys of your palm as you pretend to ruminate it over, but you end up conceding the real answer to him regardless.
“I don’t think we’re friends anymore.”
♡ That makes him pause!
♡ He seems shocked, truly. Eyes saucer-wide and lips parted, but then again, you expected it to be subsumed beneath the weight of his optimism. Even when he has no idea why Jade’s left you alone, he still makes an effort to alleviate your mood. After all, that’s the impression you left for him to feast on, that you were lonely, on the verge of dying and in dire need of help. For once, the kitchen falls quiet save for the gentle simmer of something forgotten on the stove.
“..Really?”
“Really.”
Kalim blinks once. “..Did you two have a fight?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what happened?”
“ ..Nothing.” Your head lolls over your shoulder. Tongue curling over soundless words, words you’re not even sure why you’re deigning him the brunt of, coalesce. “Nothing needs to have happened, Kalim. Sometimes people just stop talking, and that’s a part of life. They don’t need to have disagreements.”
He’s frowning at you, you can tell from your periphery, a bona fide frown that’s not at all the moue he wears when Jamil refuses to indulge one of his whims. A genuine one whose likeness is casted back into the nitid curve of your knife, as you twirl it around and around. "I make it pretty easy."
"How?"
“I avoid them. Hide. Run away. Occasionally pretend not to hear them. Sometimes I literally climb out windows.” A tiny smile tugs at your lips. “I'm kind of difficult to be friends with.”
♡ Kalim doesn't smile back. Instead, he sets the mixing bowl down with a dull clink!
“I don't think that's true! You just listed a bunch of things you do.”
Something warm engulfs your hand. Your hands. His hands. He melds them together, fingers slotted against each other. Yours are warm, but his are even warmer as they press into yours like an ill-fitting locket — but it’s not at all like Yuu’s grip. It's gentler, it’s genuine, and it’s kind. You won't look him in the eyes, even as he gives your hands a squeeze of reassurance. “Not who you are. You're nice. You always help me when I ask. You help clean. You always thank the ghosts after they serve you lunch. You're just scared people won’t like you— and tell you what—”
He’s beaming at you now. “Sometimes Jamil ignores me for days. Sometimes he tells me I'm impossible, but we always end up talking the next day! So you..” A thumb juts out from your interlinked... pinkies? Had he made a subconscious promise? “Should talk to Jade.”
♡ You stare at him. . Yours and Jamil’s situation is very different, and the dynamic these two share bears no similarity to Jade and yours. If anything, you have no obligation to make amends with the eel, but still, you make do with a shuddering nod.
“See? You’re smiling!”
♡ The new day is horrendous because you find yourself back at the Mountain Lovers club, against all odds.
“I’m not.”
♡ Right before sending you off, Kalim gave you a small task. He wanted you to send out the invitation cards to multiple students, seeing as you’d taken on multiple jobs with the same nature. One of the names you instantly recognized, Silver. You agreed, but made your way to your old club, hoping you wouldn’t catch Jade in the process.
♡ Only now you’re clearly trying to hide from someone, because the eel is right there.
♡ Honestly, if you’re being honest, you hadn’t expected Jade to be in the Mountain Lovers Club, the most expected thing of him. You’d at least think he has a knack for camouflage, with the way he’s completely eluded your senses these past few days— or months. So imagine the consecutive, twelve heart attacks you get when you catch the prowling figure in the corner, situated where he always is since the day you stumbled into the room.
“Would it be impertinent of me to assume you’re trying to hide from me?”
♡ Ack! It’s been such a while you’ve seen Jade that it almost feels surreal. A husband returning from war, as you’d first put it during your departure in the earlier phase of your.. parasitic relationship, but now you’re not so sure anymore. What does it feel like?
♡ . . . He’s caught you dead in your rights amid your prancing, and even ensconced within your reluctance, you sneak an itsy-bitsy glance at him. Your gaze is confined to his self-same face, one that remains unchanged though you’ve spent so many days apart. His comportment is exactly as you remember it — suave and placid — and somehow, that's what makes seeing him so strange. Yours has changed, has it not? You’ve been dealing with Yuu, Scarabia, Ruggie, Vil . .
♡ Ridiculous. Leech is standing five paces away from you.
♡ What do you even say? You don’t want to probe at him, ask him where he’s been, ask him about Vil. It’s entirely possible he was occupied with the semester, with Mostro Lounge, his hikes, or whatever his slippery mind latched onto. Showing that much eagerness would definitely corrode the image you’ve been trying to build, right? Though, him disappearing right after that cheek memento seems too odd to be a coincidence, and you know it isn’t, you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt, for his own sake.
So, you just heave a sigh, and let your eyes trail to the room.
“..You've always had a talent for assumptions.”
“Have I?”
“You've assumed correctly enough times for it to become annoying.”
"How flattering.” He hums, accepting the correction. It irks you. “I’m relieved to see your wit survived my absence. I was riddled with fear, you see.” With a gloved hand on his chest, he sniffles. “How you could possibly survive without my interference.”
♡ Ugh! He expected otherwise. Sure, you had a bit of a tussle with the withdrawals, but you did just fine without him. Sure, you can see him grinning slyly at you, his words but a harmless jab.
“I considered several possibilities.” He keeps on going, eyes transfixed on the arrays of . . truth be told, an entire ecosystem of wildlife. The emanating light casts an azure glow on his face, and you find veils of lashes covering the glint in his eyes. “That you would continue avoiding the Mountain Lovers Club indefinitely, or that you had simply forgotten where it was, and I did entertain the notion that one of Schoenheit’s extracurricular endeavors had finally succeeded in claiming you. Dare I say, you're even starting to resemble him in speech.”
You pale at the implications. “You're hilarious.”
“So I've been told.” That smirk may as well be a cathedral of pointed arcs, ripping past his lips as he places a gloved hand on his chin.
There’s that usual silence, enveloping you. You try to let your attention fixate on something else to avoid the strain of conversation, somehow it feels foreign to you.
But then he breaks it.
Unfortunately.
“But of course, horrible as I may be, I couldn’t possibly leave my best friend to fend for themselves.”
♡ Ouch! You nearly topple over a display and break the glass.
“..Best friends?” You cough. “That sounds inaccurate.”
Ah, right. You had mentioned that, hadn’t you? Back when Yuu kept on pestering you, and you found no better alternative than to pin that label onto the one person you would never find yourself making friends with. His smile neither grows nor diminishes, remaining suspended in that infuriating middle ground where every word he utters sounds like the conclusion to a joke only he understands.
“I see. Then perhaps I’ve been reading the situation incorrectly.”
♡ You don’t get it too twisted. For what it’s worth, you know Jade doesn’t actually consider you a companion. In actuality, he doesn’t appear to find the idea of physical contact or friendship too appealing as demonstrated from your botched cheek kiss, the embarrassment of which you mentally recoil from — so he makes do with throwing little jests at you. Perhaps he indulges himself in your micro-expressions, the way you school them, or the sneer you send his way. It’s a wicked game, but really, you’re not all that irked. In a way, you can proceed with your plan. The keeping-Jade-Leech-near-you plan. It worked before, he wards people off perfectly, doesn’t he?
♡ You.. just have to remain interesting enough. To his eyes, that is. You need to keep his curiosity at its apogee. The question at hand is: how do you do that?
“Incorrectly?” Your voice, brought into the moment. It’s only now you realize that the both of you aren’t even looking at each other except for stolen glances eluding the other’s attention. Back to back, the two of you stare into opposing sides of a display. This can’t get any stiffer. “Usually, when a best friend disappears, they inform the other beforehand. An explanation, if you’ve ever heard of it.”
There’s silence.
You can just see the surprise coloring his face. In tinges of blue, white, green— the sea, spumes of it contorted into a release. Not a soft one, a milder, more slippery one.
“..I hadn't realized an explanation was expected.”
Something flickers across his face. You see it in the glass, the likeness of his it casts back at you when he moves his head to stare. It's gone so quickly you wonder if the light had merely shifted beneath the leaves overhead. Like a tinge of intrigue rejuvenated. You wonder what is so haplessly appealing about you?
“Then allow me to apologize.”
♡ The next moment, he’s offering you his arm, and you take it without hesitation. He’s had you close, and there he is, leading you to.. where? You don’t question it, but along the way, he deigns you a glance down.
“Perhaps I was too presumptuous.”
You don’t. “... What’s this about now?”
His eyes grow a tad bit darker, but then he grins again and you frown. "I had thought the interval of our separation might warrant another display of affection, to put it modestly..."
♡ You go still.
♡ Jade picks up on it, giving you a questioning hum. It’s gone as soon as it inspissates, and you trudge forward to the destination.
♡ The cafeteria is loud, loud, loud! It feels foreign, because you spend most of your time secluded in your dorm, eating lunch junk where no one can see you. Apparently, the ghost chefs hired at said place were once five star connoisseurs, and you’d be nothing but dumb if you missed out on a chance you never had the luxury of in your past life... which goes to say: you aren’t exactly sure how to take him bringing you to the cafeteria, of all places.
♡ . . .
“Can you go and get that sandwich for me?” Ouch, where are your manners? Eating with your mouth full? You mutter again just in case. “The one.. ugh, what’s it called? The one with the uhh—the green thing?”
“Brazenly telling me to do your bidding,” even in the hubbub of an area this packed, he manages to embody that properness immaculately. “Heh, heh, heh,” you ignore that diabolical laugh. “Now, does it not disturb you we may not be as close as you think?”
You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, mindfully chewing his question over. . . Of course, you’re never one to deem yourself of greater amity in his eyes, that’d be ludicrous to assume, but if you don’t play your cards right and act like they’re unstable, you feel like you won't be getting too far.
“..I don't know,” you admit after swallowing. There is no taste, you notice. “You haven't poisoned me yet.”
Jade stills. There’s a glint in those eyes of his, it vanishes as soon as he gives you room to ponder on your own spoken words. Why would that be your first thought? It works, though, because he prods.
“Is that your metric for friendship?”
“It’s a decent start.”
“You are very forgiving.” A chuckle sounds. “And if I refuse?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” heaving a sigh, you prop your chin on your hands woefully. “.. I would have to get it myself.. but it would’ve been really nice if you did it for me.”
“What do I receive in return?”
“I don’t know,” you drag a hand down your face. “I’ll decide when you get me my burger.”
“Did you not say you wanted a sandwich?”
“What's the difference?.. Fine. I have nineteen thaumarks you can probably barter for a mushroom pen or something.”
♡ You can tell Jade has to physically stop himself from appearing amused, because this little Scarabia NPC is genuinely trying to negotiate with their entire, non-existent wallet! Nevertheless, he doesn’t torment you more. Instead, he brings back the sandwich you wanted — and gods, it does look like the most appetizing thing on Earth. Without sparing it any mercy, you shove the thing into your mouth and disregard the question present in his eyes.
“Forgive me for probing, but the manner with which you’re.. eating that sandwich..” His eyes widen the slightest bit. “I would assume this is the first time you’ve been given the opportunity.”
“You’re one to talk. Have you eaten anything other than Destroying angels?”
♡ Aha! Shock paints his face!
♡ He is quick to mask it up, but even in that staid composure there appears to be something he wants to say to you, present in the still contemplation of his lips. Then, when you lean closer, he blinks back into reality.
“What a predictable question,” he chuckles, his familiar close-eyed smile settling back into place. “If you truly wish to know, my palate has had the fortune of wandering rather extensively. I'd argue cuisine tells one far more about a culture than history books ever could. A nation's fears, its prosperity, the produce its soil permits... all of it finds its way onto a plate.”
You hastily clamp your lips shut. Perhaps egging him to go on a tangent wasn’t the best course of action.
“Take sandwiches, for instance. They're deceptively ordinary. Bread is rarely chosen at random. A dense rye carries fillings quite differently from an airy milk loaf, while sourdough lends enough acidity that one must consider the sharpness of the accompanying vegetables. Even the order in which ingredients are layered determines whether one tastes the meat first, the herbs first... or simply a regrettable mouthful of sauce.”
“Uh—”
“Mushrooms are especially remarkable in that regard. Their flavour changes so dramatically depending on the variety and preparation. A delicate sauté brings out an earthy sweetness, whereas roasting deepens their savoriness entirely. Some are wonderful folded into cream sauces, others are best left almost untouched. They're... surprisingly expressive ingredients.”
By the time he’s finished his prating, you’ve already downed everything at the table. Food’s shadow coils in the corners of your mouth as you relish in the aftertaste, but it’s a bit hard to do so, especially when the eel is eyeing you all the while. Tongue swiping across the back of your teeth, you emit a false cough and look towards him. You don’t even know what it is he’s eating, and you don’t question it.
“For a second, I thought we weren’t talking about food anymore.” You quip, glancing at him. Hm, strange. Why’s he looking at you like he wants to pounce—
♡ He shoves a spoonful of food into your mouth!
“Did you taste the basil?” Utensil remaining untouched, he pours his attention onto you. The back of your palm bolsters your coughs as you try to get the shock out of your system, setting him straight with a mean glare. The sudden action combined with your little injury has you sure he just knocked a tooth out or something.
“What the fu—” You massage your throat, immediately unsealing your lips to take a look at your mouth. No teeth knocked out, thankfully. “You little..”
Open-mouthed, you think over his question. “There was basil?”
“..Hm.”
“I didn’t even taste it.”
“..Hm.”
“Is there usually basil in this?”
“Hm.”
His lackluster responses make you look at him.
♡ . . . Strange how he’s looking at you back like that.
♡ You blink at him. He’s staring at you like you just slapped a bucket of water over him. He only snaps out of it when you wave a hand over his face and seal your lips into a questioning line, eliciting an atypical.. gulp from him.
”I apologize.” He closes his eyes. “What were you saying?”
“There was basil in this?”
Raising his fork, the prongs glister beneath the light, sliding along the curvature of its gaps.
"There was. If I was where you’re sitting, I’d taste it quite deftly.. Simply because,” he muses and muses.
Stab!
Prongs are embedded into a slab of food, guillotined by steel before your eyes and shredded open into rivulets like juice. Soundlessly directing your attention to those eyes, twins of olive-brown and gold nailed down with mirth, he croons.
“..My family always believed a meal ought to be savored rather than conquered.”
There is silence crowding the contest of eye contact.
You excuse yourself shortly.
♡ Malleus Draconia and Cater Diamond are standing right fucking next to you.
It’s time for your next class.
♡ The sentence is melodramatic, because for someone of such a high-sounding prestige, they’ve been confined to the space of the botanical garden's verdant grounds. When does one ever get the chance to utter that? Two complete opposites standing next to one another, and oh, there’s you too, trying not to drown in your own ill-fitting, misshapen lab uniform, but chances are they don't notice, because the heir to Briar Valley is completely soaked right now!
“What's going on here, Diamond? Why is water spraying at me out of nowhere?”
♡ Yikes. Even his voice is intimidating enough to make your spine stiffen. You're practically shivering in your boots.
♡ ...No, no. Pull yourself together. Trying to sneak past him now would only invite unwanted attention. All you have to do is what everyone else at Night Raven College seems to manage effortlessly: avert your eyes, keep your head down, and scurry off before the future king notices your existence. The campus had already written the script for interactions with Malleus Draconia years ago! Fear him. Avoid him. Pretend you have somewhere else to be!
♡ It had only just struck the end of Alchemy, and you'd wandered into the subtropical section of the greenhouse to collect the specimen you'd been cultivating. Stumbling into... this... certainly hadn't been part of the itinerary. Then again, they were your schoolmates. Running into them shouldn't have been surprising. (Oh, it’s only surprising because you’ve completely isolated yourself from Yuu now. Avoiding them, never lingering long enough. Something within you ceases to exit when your mind wanders back to the infirmary. Was that real? Have you gone mad?)
“It's the sprinkler system.” You don't even need to look to picture Cater's grin. “They use it for irrigation. Whole zone's got a timer that mimics subtropical rainfall. Guess nobody gave you the tour.”
“Artificial rain...” Malleus repeats, almost thoughtfully.
A gloved hand reaches into the downpour. Water gathers upon his fingertips before dripping back into the beds of foliage below. “How curious. Humans truly do possess peculiar methods of tending their gardens.”
♡ You'd like to point out that the future king of Briar Valley is currently discovering... sprinklers, but you enjoy living. Besides, everyone has gaps in their knowledge. You, for one, still don't know why Professor Trein insists on carrying Lucius into class when the cat has never once demonstrated academic aptitude. Quietly, you crouch beside one of the planter boxes. Your herb should be... there! Perfect!
♡ Nearly uprooting the entire planter, you make a beeline towards the exit! Phew, you survived that. Now you have to suffer through the remainder of your classes.
♡ Soon enough, most of them are over, and the midterm results are to be announced very, very soon. Before that, you adhere to your job as the Night Raven mailperson. It’d be wise of you to get the job done before there’s a herd gathering, and Kalim’s voice is already etched onto your mind by the time you’re carrying the letters.
♡ Sifting through hundreds of parchments, you realize three of them belong to.. Diasomnia residents. There’s an anonymous love letter, Kalim’s invitation card, and a letter from home! You should be able to catch them on campus if you hurry — because you’ll have to delay your plans if they're in their respective dormitories. It also makes you lament on why you even agreed to deliver the invitation card to Silver, of all people, but you have to thank Kalim for his help some way. This just happened to be the easiest. Chances are you’ll find him drowning in sleep. Can’t be that hard.
♡ It takes you a while to find him. The hallways are brimming with people.
♡ True to your deduction, there he is, eyes slid down in respite and chest rising with ebbs and falls. Though you don’t look at his face that long, he's still dressed in his labwear. This should be easy enough— but quickening footfalls of other students have you sifting hastily through the bag — and you pluck out the card, tucking it into his pocket. He shuffles in his sleep, lips parted, murmuring something, but you’re already running off like your hands have caught fire. . . and they may as well have.
♡ — Because halfway up the staircase, you realize the card is still in your hand.
. . . . ?
You blink, turning it over. It’s Kalim’s invitation card. And— Diasomnia, right there. And.. there's the letter from home. And—
♡ The fucking love letter!
♡ You’re sprinting back, nearly toppling over the staircase. You gave him the love letter! A few students eye you— no, no, no — you feel stressed tears prick at your eyes when you see Silver’s resting place devoid of any presence. He’s gone! (With the love letter still in his pocket!)
♡ . . . By the time you return, huffing and puffing, you’re frowning. How the hell did you mess that up? Fortunately, Jade’s already there, waiting for you. Arm in arm, you walk.
“Do I need to assume?”
“No.”
♡ It’s no biggie, you think. You’ll just catch him at a later time, or have someone retrieve the letter for you. Out of every love interest, Silver should be the most compliant. You just need to focus on something else.
♡ A tide of students, the same as before. They’re all circling what looks to be the board, and some of them part when they catch the eel’s look. There’s a rush. A stampede. Midterm results are here. Bodies are released and ejected like someone kicked open an anthill, and through the writhing masses, you catch sight of . . Yuu. Grim, Ace, and Deuce. The furball’s pointing up at the listed names, and perpetual horror slashes everyone’s faces into two. What makes you uncertain, though, is that the prefect also looks horrified.
Why do they look horrified?
Your answer comes in the form of an anemone ripping out of their hair.
Jade Leech x gn!reader hc’s (my first Jade piece ૮ ྀི˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ྀིა)
c/w: none, i think? fluff, the tiniest littlest bit of angst if you squint, possibly ooc Jade (it’s almost midnight, but i tried to not mischaracterize him), he’s head over heels for you.
w/c: 481
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who invites you on a date at the beach. Once the sun has set, he opts to spend the rest of the your date sitting on the docks, enjoying each other's company — unaware of the display that’s to start soon.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who has never seen fireworks before, and is in awe as the colourful sparks fade into the night sky to reveal the glimmering stars behind the residue smoke. Their light reflects against the dark ocean, and in his awestruck eyes.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who — although he’ll deny it — flinched at the first loud ‘boom’, his hand instinctively reaching for yours. His fingers now intertwined with yours, squeezing ever so slightly with the next shot. It takes all your will to not giggle at his uncharacteristicly cute behaviour.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who finally prys his eyes away from the show to look over at you (someone who’s seen fireworks a million times) and is promptly caught off guard by the adoration in your eyes, a look that would bring even Sebek to stunned silence.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who regains his usual aloofness in an attempt to cover the moment of vulnerability, furrowing his brows with that signature smile as he teases you with a, “you’re staring.” Though the tips of his ears have a faint redness to them, a tell-tale sign of his feelings.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who allows his demeanour to falter once again at your response. “I know,” a beat of comfortable silence fills the air before you continue, “back home, I’ve seen so many firework shows, after a while they just get… repetitive.” You shrug, looking down at the water, staring at your faint reflection, “this is your first one, and I’d much rather watch you instead.”
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who stares at you for a moment, processing your words with careful precision. He’s at a loss for words (an achievement in itself). Though, you do feel his hand tighten around yours once again, this time on purpose. He brings your hand up, placing a chaste kiss against your pulse point, his lips lingering for a moment too long as he mumbles out an ‘I love you.’
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who will forever hold that night close to his heart. Even long after you leave Twisted Wonderland, if you so chose to. His heart will forever skip a beat when he reminisces on the look you gave him that fateful night.
⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ Jade Leech who, when he returns home, is teased by Floyd for looking like a ‘lovesick puppy’. Jade can’t help it, for you, he practically is. He loves you, you light up his life the same way the fireworks do in the night sky.
yan!dating sim twst x reader. inexplicably, you awake in the dating sim ‘twisted hearts’ as a run-out-of-the-mill side character. no worries, the love interests are already after yuu. you just gotta stay out of it all, right? 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 — book 3 prelude. previous part here.
♡ “Well, you look positively thrilled to be attending this class, pup.”
♡ Contrary to Professor Crewel’s words, you have the biggest scowl stretching your lips down, into a glower, into the most deepest suit of misery etched onto your face. Your eyes are foggy, words misty, and just as you hear Yuu’s foothall reverberate down the halls — the familiar bickering between Ace and Deuce, nearing you slowly but surely — you plead your case.
“.. Hide me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Your head dips low. Since when were you type to stoop so low as to seek asylum from a first year, magicless, homeless student? “Hide me. From Yuu. Please. I’ll turn in all my missing assignments. Please.”
♡ That’s exactly how you’ve found yourself concealed behind his height, well-cloaked in whatever edges of his fur coat find you. The room is rife with suffocating quietness as the door creaks, slowly, taking its time, just so you can feel Yuu’s fingers graze the wood, and their eyes scavenge the vicinity for a trace of you. Closing your eyes tight-shut, you strengthen your grip on the fabric. Just this once - just this once - and you’ll survive.
♡ “Professor, have you seen them?”
♡ Them. They don’t name you, and painfully so, Crewel immediately recognizes who they’re talking about. Nameless, colourless, faceless. There is no one here other than you.
“As usual, no.”
“I can see them behind you.”
♡ Unfortunately, your breathing gave it away, and you're not exactly invisible, so you make do with just legging it again and stumbling into whatever room you get your hands on.
♡ Finally you come across a good one, and remember one thing: don’t breathe.
♡ Don’t breathe. Don’t let a single hint of your presence scrape against the floor, or taper off your lips. Don’t breathe, don’t look anywhere past the rows of ornate shelves or the very confused ghost librarian. Don’t breathe as you shimmy inside a cranny of dust, untouched newspapers and shield the crown of your head forevermore. Don’t breathe as you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine yourself anywhere else.
♡ Don’t breathe when the door creaks open. A slow, inevitable croak gliding against polished panes.
“Hi, mister. Have you seen -- well, uh -- a Scarabian student anywhere?”
♡ Don’t breathe even when you know it’s pointing straight at you. Traitor.
“Hey..”
♡ You don’t look up.
“Why’re you hiding from me?” Behind your lids, you imagine the dark cusps of their irises gleaming with sincerety. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?”
♡ You don’t like it. You don’t like the way they’re talking to you, slow and genuine and all too dehumanizing, as though you’re but a small rabbit in their eyes. They don’t know, they don’t know you’re an actual human being - one with conscience, humanity and awareness. They don’t know you know them, and they don’t know who you really are, all that’s left in their eyes is a perfect little image of a non-playable character - one that’s bound to come in their hands, in a way, or a thousand others.
In lieu of a response, you clamp your lips tight shut. Your eyes cinch into a glare; one you hope is full of the aversion you feel. “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”
♡ You don’t know what to do. Give in. You’re doomed. Rebel. You’re doomed. Earning Yuu’s affection, or earning their loathing - neither option is good.
“...Oh.”
“Listen,” You crack one eye open in spite of yourself. Yuu looks devasted - you have to save yourself. Brain straining for excuses, you spout out a career-ending one. “... It’s not you, it’s just that..”
...
“...That?”
“That you’re not my type.”
♡ Yuu blinks - okay, this is your chance. You can’t just go into things that can be changed, look into things that are definitie. Look into.. ah, what would particularly steer your way clear of them?
♡ You look at the schedule in their hands. First year, huh?
“I’m into older people.”
“...How much older?”
You scramble. “A lot older.”
“...Like a year?”
“No. I like mature people.”
Their shoulders relax - you take that as a bad sign. "I can be mature."
"No, no. They need to look like they have taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes. I also like people who are tall."
Yuu visibly straightens.
"Very tall."
Yuu visibly un-straightens.
"Like, concerningly tall. Like if they stand up too fast they're a threat to low ceilings."
"..."
"And older."
"..."
"And emotionally unavailable."
"That sounds unhealthy."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Actually, preferably unhealthy. I like people who look at me and immediately decide I'm none of their business."
Yuu's face falls, a slope to their brows as they frown, unknowingly, to themselves. What you’ve just said might just give you some time to prepare, because you, and any sane person in the world, know that a simple barrier like a preference won’t stop them. That’s how Yuu has always been. In a way, they need to get to you, no matter what. That’s how it always will be. "I like people who forget I exist."
It falls further, you realize. Something, the one thing, actually, that the latter is not able to do.
"I like people who don't text back. Oh, and they must have weird hobbies.. Like birdwatching, or growing mush-”
Ah. Hands clasped over your mouth, with horror, do you realize you’ve begun matching your interest to a certain Mountain Lovers president. Mission abort, the withdrawal symptoms must really be getting to you, huh?
"And NOT teal hair."
Yuu touches their hair, hopeful.
"NOT first-years."
Yuu lowers their schedule, hopeless.
"NOT extroverts."
Yuu winces.
"NOT people who follow me around."
Yuu winces harder.
"NOT people who keep asking for my number."
At this point, Yuu looks like every word is physically striking them. Relishing in the blow, you stand up, pivot on your heels and leave them to wallow in the destruction you’ve left in your wake. Not without picking up your belongings, which happen to a little journal you keep to maintain track of the plot, a chewed-up pencil, and an apple - shooting Yuu a confirmatory glare in case the thief is actually them. On the way, you realize the ghost librarian has tears in his gargantuan eyes. Oh-well, it seems like Yuu’s favoribility does not only extend to suitors, but ghosts as well.
♡ Something is going to go wrong today. Very, very wrong. You’re sure of it.
♡ And no, you don’t just say that because of your disastrous, almost-disastrous- encounter with Yuu.
♡ Your NPC sixth sense tells you there’s double trouble on the horizon, waiting to get a taste of you. Double trouble.. you work your throat around the words, and try to imagine anything of the sort - but your brain stalls, because apparently, rolling out of bed (literally) and forcing yourself through the daily morning rituals was still as bad as ever. It didn’t help Kalim was particularly loud today, something about the prefect, probably, you didn’t quite hear. Ugh, Vil’s going to slime you out if he ever finds out you’re skipping yet again-
“And just what are you doing in that flower bush, spud?”
♡ Speak of the devil, and he shall come.
Pretty purple eyes do not bode well with you.
“Uhh..” Tongue twisted, you crush one petal in the cusp of your palm, and bring it over your eyes, hoping to block out his face. Pretending very, very hard he’s just a figment of your imagination, because really, what are the chances you meet him in the very same place you thought he’d never come? “Well, er... I’m doing something very important and class-related right now, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”
♡ Oh, no, he’s caught you dead in your right! Above, the glass dome over the botanical gardens greets you; limpid and beautiful, and if you squint your eyes just right, you can imagine the sky back at home. Homesickness, or whatever the afflicted call it, has taken a toll on you only after you’ve come to realize just how much of your life’s gone into a perpetual state of destruction. Teeth gnawing on lip, tarnishing Vil’s self-care advice right in front of him as you revert back to sqaure one; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you want to vanish.
♡ Why exactly are you here? Somewhere in the middle of picking out a thorn from your thumb, you toppled over your boots and landed straight in a pile of.. whatever these are called. Now you’re just mulling your life over your tongue, wondering why you’ve just lost every ounce of hope in your life -—Jade (the scapegoat, you tell yourself) , normalcy, living in the shadows — and the blissful stretch of time in which you had not yet encountered Vil Schoenheit. Matter of fact, it seems he’s bound to run into you everday - much to yours and his very mutual chagrin.
♡ Hold on! The only reason he’s not turned on you is because he’s not yet privy to Yuu’s ever-growing and laughably one-sided affection for you, and the same can be said for everyone here.. you’re lucky he’s caught you alone, and not with Yuu, (the same person who confronted you outside your class, only to have you bolt away like they’d just set you on fire).
“Unbelievable. I was out on my usual morning run and I see this.” Vil points a long, long nail at you. You shudder, but don’t make a move, needle-like thorns prickling your uniform. “You’re sprawled over the Convallaria majalis batch, the very things I’ve planted. Dear me.. why am I not surprised? It seems your inclination of spelling ruin comes naturally.”
♡ Oh! By the miracle of the Sevens, it seems the damage you did to Vil’s Corona Marvellous or whatever they’re called, is mild. Otherwise, he’d not be letting you off with a mere shoo and one of those signature scowls. Taking his sweet time to inspect the bell-shaped heap with gloved digits, he tuts.
“Hm.”
”..What?”
“Nothing that should be of concern, to you, of course.” He says, reading your mind. “.. These look like they withered long before your weight.” The slope of his brows deepen into a fully-manifested, vexed frown. “Unbelievable! Whoever’s in charge of groundskeeping hasn’t been tending to them properly. Again.”
You blink. “Wait. So I’m not the floral equivalent of a hit-and-run?”
Vil exhales through his nose, already sounding exhausted by your existence. “You flattened perhaps three stems, I’d say that’s hardly catastrophic.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was anything but a compliment.”
“Okay, but the Corolla-”
“Convallaria majalis.”
“…Bless you.”
♡ Vil pays you no heed, opting to not dwell on your eccentricity any longer.
“Well. Since you’ve already made yourself part of the issue, you may as well prove useful.” Bells retreat to their home as the male ponders it over his tongue. Something sparkles in those of eyes of his before he straightens with a satisfied hum, glancing over at you.
“ Poor maintenance, trampled soil, half-dead roots…” Vil dusts off his gloves with visible disdain. “Why am I not surprised? Honestly, spud, you have a remarkable ability to entangle yourself in things beyond your understanding. Come along.”
“Wait- where-”
♡ In place of a response, he grabs your hand.
♡ And unlike the feeling you had when Kalim did the same, this one action has chills dancing down your spine. Frigid air pushes your words back in as Vil - suddenly - rotates your wrist, brow quirking. Tipped nails perch upon exposed skin as he momentarily gives you a look.
“Hm. New bracelet?”
“No-”
“You run away from me, yet you’ve no qualm catering to Al-Asim. I suppose he is your housewarden, after all..” Purple coalesces into an inscrutable suit. “But loath as I am to admit, do you realize just how terrible it is to take up so much of the precious time I spare you?”
♡ Huh? Squeezing your eyes open, you realize his focal point is.. a traditional Scalding Sands bracelet - one of the many Kalim had gifted you during his visits. Oh.. shit, you must’ve accidentally put it on rather than-
..“Take up?” you repeat carefully.
Vil stills. For the briefest second, something unreadable crosses his face, then it dissolves.
“Don’t misunderstand.” His grip loosens, though not entirely. “You’re the one repeatedly neglecting your studies. Naturally, the responsibility falls upon me when you fail to meet basic academic standards.”
“Wow,” you mutter. “You almost sounded a little emotional there.”
“I’d sooner drink diluted apple vinegar.”
“Isn’t that, like, healthy?”
Whether he seems apalled or disgusted by you, you can’t place your finger on it. “Why, you... Forget it.”
♡ Before you can formulate a viable escape plan involving perhaps a sudden, career-ending tumble down the nearest staircase, Vil pivots on polished heels and expects you to follow as naturally as one expects ducklings to trail after their mother. Oh, no.
♡ You want to bolt off, hide beneath the benches or do anything, instead- blurs streel your legs forcibly in the wake of his footsteps, and you chew the thick clump of dread down your throat. Glass arches overhead catch the amber spill of drowning afternoon sunlight, drenching Vil in celestial phosphoresence.
♡ Why is it so hard to just.. refuse him? You don’t know. Eyes straining, vision skewed, you try to focus on anything. But the slivers of parted sunlight bend around his frame, the back of his head, and it’s almost as if, painfully so, your attention is tethered towards him.
♡ Hmph! No one should look this gorgeous while actively ruining your life. Which begs the question: where exactly is he taking you?
“Ahh… there you are, Roi du Poison.”
♡ Your soul exits your body.
Vil barely pauses at the interruption, though the minuscule quaver in his brow suggests he’d hoped to avoid this exact scenario. Through the hanging curtains of ivy emerges another Pomefiore student, feathered hat unfurled and eyes glinting beneath panes. Rook - so, your luck has decided you’d do well being hunted for sport.
“Rook,” Vil says flatly, not even turning. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”
“Can a devoted admirer not seek the radiance of his beloved housewarden?” The hunter places a hand dramatically atop his chest. “Cruel, cruel Vil. I merely wished to deliver the pruning records and instead discover a most enchanting tableau.”
When his gaze lands on you, your muscles go rigid, being pinned to a board and encased without mercy. He seems to take pleasure in the way your gaze tries to settle on anything but him. Weirdo.
“Ahh…” The hunter breathes. “So there is our elusive little evader.”
“I’m an evader?” you ask, then chew down your words. Well, you are actively trying to act uninteresting, aren’t you?
“You vanished from Professor Crewel’s classroom through a window last Tuesday, did you not?”
Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”
“…Huh, I thought that was last Wednesday. Oh well.”
You don’t question how he knows, how the both of them know. It’d be futile as it is. Miraculously, as if reading your mind (which you’d argue he can), he directs at you a content little smile. “As a hunter observes the rustling of grass, the flight of birds, the trembling of leaves, so too do I observe the habits of those around me.”
Rook circles once around the Convallaria patch, boots silent against the stone path. His sharp gaze skims over the crushed flowers, then the dirt shrouding your weathered sleeves, the bite-rife state of your lips, and the fatigue pulling down your lids into a perpetual scowl. It takes less than three seconds for the both of them to concur on one, concrete agreement.
Vil starts. “I’ve said as much already. They insist on treating their body like an afterthought.”
“Mm.” Rook nods solemnly. “A neglected garden wilts all the same.”
You stare at the both of them. “Oh, cool. So this is an intervention now...”
“Far from it, actually. It would only qualify as an intervention if you intended to listen,” Vil replies smoothly. “You absorb perhaps one sentence out of every five.”
♡ Rook laughs then, rippling across the greenhouse’s feather-light air. It pulls his attention back to you again, unbearably focused.
“The way you shrink whenever attention settles upon you.” Pointing, tipping his head back, Rook croons. “And yet, despite this, attention finds you endlessly. Oh, what a haplessly ardent predicament you’ve found yourself in!”
Before you can recover, Vil abruptly thrusts a pair of gardening gloves against your chest. You stumble, and your belongings kiss the ground, thrown out of your bag. Vil’s left to wonder how such a light nudge could have you one with the ground, bare confusion written over those features before ebbing away with an ahem.
“Since you’ve already ruined my morning, you’ll assist us.”
Your jaw drops. “Us?”
Rook beams. “Bienvenue.”
“Bird Avenue? I dunno what that means.”
“Don’t absorb your setences. For all your resistance,” Vil says with immense satisfaction, “you’re staying right here.”
“Seriously?? Just ask Rook to use his signature spell and track the- ah..” You realize the chances of him setting a mark on the culprit beforehand are slim to none, cinching your lips shut. “Nevermind, but I’m sure we have some sort of camer.... don’t give me that look, please.”
♡ Silence.
♡ You close your eyes shut. Good golly, this is probably about the signature spell bit, isn’t it? Ugh, he’s going to be all up in your face within a minute, demanding you tell him why you know such a thing. This makes room for one more entry in your journal.. and wait, your journal-
♡ As if on cue, you hear papers rustle.
♡ “Interesting.”
♡ Double trouble.
“So this is where your prowess lies. Story-writing?”
Though he tries his best to pull his brows together, there’s a little glister in his eyes. A relieved one, a midlly proud one, a..
“How original.”
♡ Your Scarabia room is really, really bland. That’s the first thing you notice. In the middle of your bed is a journal you exert all your pent-up vexation and guides in - and in a shelf by the side, you keep your belongings (which are, admittedly, lessening by the second. You’ve no clue whose wreaking havoc upon them. You have absolutely no idea who's responsible. Frankly, you're too tired to investigate, and if somebody wishes to steal your half-finished notes and collection of mediocre pens, then they deserve whatever curse comes with them.) Tomorrow is a new day, and judging by your luck, tomorrow Yuu will probably discover your class schedule, blood type and favorite brand of toothpaste.
♡ You sling your bag at the bed when you enter your cave of hiding.
♡ As you dive face-first into the mattress, you ponder on today’s events. Jade Leech has officially stood you up - there’s been no sign of him at all. He does not deign to loiter beside your class after its conclusion, he does not show up to your club (though you know, somewhere, he’s still fixating on his hobby without you). Your plans have gone awry, haywire and well...
♡ You don’t need another anomaly.
♡ Right on cue, knuckles rap against your door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your housewarden’s airy voice bursts in:
"Hey! Are you awake?"
Even if you were, with the sheer volume of his voice, you'd be forced to come to. You groan- delving deeper into the plush mattress. If you were to pretend to be dead right now, you’d be steered clear of this burden. Fatigue coaxes your lids down, spots gyrating in your vision - but with another knock, Kalim shoves you off balance.
“You wouldn't happen to know why Yuu was wandering around Scarabia asking strangers what toothpaste you use, right?”
As falsely naive as Kalim seems, you quickly find out he knows just the right way to usher you out. Ripping the barrier between you open, he greets you with his ritualistic smile. “Aha!”
“Housewarden.”
♡ This is the first time you’ve had anyone over, and this is also the last. Seeing him without his sullen retainer is a novel sight, but to dissuade you from the anomaly, he places a basket of fruits in front of you.
♡ Well, there you go. Your arms now teem with different colours and hues - but you don’t tell him to leave, because well..
“Anyway, I brought fruit.”
“Thank you. You can leave now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you've already delivered the fruit.”
“But we haven't hung out yet.”
“Close the door on your way out-- wait, what? Why?”
♡ After your little opportunistic venture, you doubt he’d listen to you so easily, and you don’t particularly want him to leave as well. Those pouches and jewellery he gifted you have all gone missing, and.. well, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t want him to compensate the loss.
♡ Inviting him in as per hospitable custom, he makes himself at home quite easily. You don’t know what you’re doing, you have a whole Housewarden in your room - albeit he did mention something related to friendship.. you suppose you have no complaint here, then - (except one related to the fact he’s in the middle of an excuse for a room while donning his sleepwear. He looks so out of place it’s actually shameful.)
“Oh, man!” He gives a bright laugh. You stand near, not wanting to admit you’re awaiting his approval. “I sat on the bed and the frame nearly fell through!”
“Oh...”
Kalim laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It just surprised me."
He gives the bed frame an experimental shake. The bed responds with an alarming creak, and you wince. It doesn’t do that when you lay on it, in your defense.
"There it is again."
"Don't."
You don't understand why he's so amused, your room isn't funny, it’s a room. A rather miserable, downtrodden room, perhaps, but still a room. Instead of criticizing it further, however, Kalim cranes his neck around, taking in the sparse shelves and barren walls.
“Huh.”
You brace yourself. “Huh?”
"It's kind of nice. It looks like someone forgot to move in, but I think that’s where its charm lies, y’know?” He points at your empty shelf. “There’s practically nothing stored there! It must be so easy to access whatever you need.”
“There’s nothing I need.”
♡ Somehow, your very loud exchange has, inevitably, amassed the scrutiny of yet another boy, and there he is, door opening, posture taut in the entry. This is arguably the first time you’ve ever seen Jamil in his sleepwear, and with his long tresses trickling down his shoulders in mild disarray, you get the feeling you’ve woken him up from his sweet slumber. As if you haven’t already garnered enough of his dislike, the universe still manages to blindside you with more.
“Kalim.”
“Jamil!”
“How many times do I have to tell you to-”
Though, you suppose Kalim didn’t intend for it to come out as such, the way it was worded seems to inevitably grab Jamil’s compliance. You don’t miss the way he stares at you, though, completely and utterly aware that misery will bring its company. Reluctance brews itself upon the tip of his tongue, and he wants to refuse, you can tell. At one point, he may have tried to veil it beneath his usual exterior, but now, after a most unexpected turn of events, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know, so what’s the point in putting up a façade?
“Come!” Kalim makes space on your bed, mind you. Your bed. “Loosen up a little, and play with us.”
Oh, no. You do not need this right now.
He trudges in, a breath of incredulity blooming in the air before he lowers himself to your level. Seated comfortably, he tries to get a good look at your surroundings.
At one point, his gaze lands straight on your journal. But before he can comment on it, you let a hand jut forward and snatch it away just as quickly. Now, he’s eyeing you openly, tenfold the usual suspicion he has.
“I’m surprised you’re awake at this hour.” He deadpans when you point at the fellow white-haired culprit. “I’m talking about you, not Kalim. Given his track record of doing the same, he doesn’t rouse as much disbelief as..” He pauses for a moment. “You.”
You droop. “I sleep when I can.”
“Ah, well, that explains nothing.”
“You're welcome.”
“No need for the formalities,” A crease in his brows as he looks at you, lips jolting. “For what it’s worth, I was expecting that answer.”
♡ Five minutes later, the board is spread between the three of you. You still aren’t entirely certain how this happened. One moment you were trying to sleep, and the next you’re participating in what appears to be an ancient strategic game involving polished stones. Eyes combing through its structure and language, it appears to be a Scalding Sands tradition, and with the way they both speak of it, dwelling in the past and mulling the game over their tongues, you realize they’re already familiar with it.
“Remember when we played this when we were kids? Huh, Jamil?”
“Yes. I remember you taking up half the pieces.”
♡ Kalim explains the rules, he then explains them again, then gets distracted halfway through his own explanation when you pester him with another question. Jamil finishes it for him - though, and even now, he has yet to relinquish that look in his eyes, that look, rife with wariness, caution and the feeling that he’s treading very, very carefully with you. Jeez, he probably thinks you have some sort of Kalim-assassination or tax fraud plan cooked up in that head of yours. Which you do. Just not as severely.
“You need to protect your centre, that's your only objective. Do you understand it now?”
“Sure do.”
♡ Anyways, three rounds later, you've somehow managed to eliminate your own piece. Jamil stares, Kalim stares, and you crane your neck at them.
“What?”
“You took your own piece.”
“It was in the way.”
“It was your strongest piece.”
“Soo? It was still in my way.” Despondently, you caress the stony object. “Oh, well, if you insist, Jamil, then its sacrifice shall be remembered.”
An eye roll. “..By who?”
“Me, who else?”
Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, but just when you think he’ll respond in that quietness, he supplies. “I don’t think I've ever seen someone lose a game quite like this.”
“Yeah, well, you’re letting Kalim win every time, so I think I have a reason.”
He lets you go with an indecipherable look on his face, and you spend the night dealing with it, in your mind, in your memory, in your thoughts.
How predictably unpredictable.
♡ “Didja’ know?”
♡ You try to rub away the fatigue in your eyes.
“Know what?”
♡ Currently, you're trying to focus on the work at hand. Pen scribbling lines regarding history, you desperately try to ignore Ruggie Bucchi, but to no avail. Whenever you do so much as lean back, he tips his chair back and replicates the motion until you’re forced to give him a sliver of your attention. That gets him going, it seems.
♡ Apparently, waking up first and foremost - earlier than Jamil, surprisingly - and realizing that having two boys dead asleep on top of you was not ideal if you were looking for some sort of salvation. You’re not even sure what had happened that led to Jamil, of all people, knuckling under sleep and forsaking that strict demeanor. It seems atypical, atleast for him, but what’s more atypical is that you’d spent another hour trying to tip-toe around your room, lest you wake them up and cause them to actually remember you in the room with them. Ah, if you stretch, you can still feel the soreness in your limbs. Only the deities who sent you here would know how you even managed to breathe with that load on you.
♡ What’s good, though, is that you seem to have taken your mind off of Jade completely. Like a leech had he plagued your mind, now you like to think he’s an afterthought, and a bygone memory that served his purpose and left when he lost interest. Hah.. you’re finally, finally improving. You’re finally..
“Eh? Didn't ya know? Vil's been askin' around Octavinelle about ya. Somethin' about gettin' you to switch clubs, I think. Heh, maybe that's just the rumor mill talkin', though. Shishishi...”
“Mm- wait-”
♡ What.
“WHAT?!”
♡ The entire class looks at you now. Grumbling beneath their breaths, and with Professor Trein giving you the most scorching scowl known to man, you’re compelled into quietening down, but not allowing the cold knot in your stomach to simmer, nor the rapid staccatos of your pulse. This time, you willingly lean into Ruggie. Vil? Granted, he did see your.. journal work, but him going as far as to head to Octavinelle to strike a deal with them? It didn’t seem so far-fetched given the circumstances, but at that time, he'd tried his best to appear staid and unaffected by your entries. This.. this is bad, bad news. If Vil succeeds, then - you’re destined for failure.
♡ If Vil succeeds, then you are the failure.
“Who- where’d you hear that from?” You gawk, perspiration roving down your nape, pen abandoned. You don’t know what to say. Your heart is beating.
♡ Ah, what a dumb question. Ruggie is known to work odd jobs, it’d make sense he’d catch sight of Vil, of all people, amid the Mostro Lounge crowd during his shift. But really, Vil? Stooping so low as to seek Azul’s help?
♡ What even was in that journal? A few scribbles about Twisted Hearts, and the usual jargon.. nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would ultimately catch his interest. You hadn't even focused on it that much yourself, nor did you mention names, even if someone did manage to get their hands on it, you thought they’d just call you absolutely maniacal and do away with it.
♡ And you, stooping so low as to seek Ruggie’s help?
“You have to help me.”
“Whoa, hold it right there.” His lips pull into a moue, hands tugging at his tie from where you’d absent-mindedly rendered it askew. “ Remember all those times I asked, and ya told me to mind my own business? Why'do I go and help ya now?”
“I-”
“Besides, I got a pretty sweet side gig at the Mostro Lounge. If I stick my neck out for ya, who's gonna make up the difference, huh?”
He grins, teeth on display.
“Now, if you've got somethin' worth tradin', that's a whole different story. Shishishi.”
♡ Worth trading? You haven't got anything, you..are a lost cause. Your room is laughable, your grades are despicable, the company you keep is non-existent, and your pockets.. Ah.
“I can give you anything you want.”
A gleam in your eyes, your hands form a bridge to let your chin perch upon. The brightness that you’d once lost reclaims its reign over your face, and if this world were any more ridiculous, you are certain he would see a lightbulb forming over your head.
“Now we’re talkin’.”
“Anything. I have access to Kalim’s bank account. Trust me.”
yan!dating sim twst x reader. inexplicably, you awake in the dating sim ‘twisted hearts’ as a run-out-of-the-mill side character. no worries, the love interests are already after yuu. you just gotta stay out of it all, right? 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄 — book 3 prelude. previous part here.
♡ “Well, you look positively thrilled to be attending this class, pup.”
♡ Contrary to Professor Crewel’s words, you have the biggest scowl stretching your lips down, into a glower, into the most deepest suit of misery etched onto your face. Your eyes are foggy, words misty, and just as you hear Yuu’s foothall reverberate down the halls — the familiar bickering between Ace and Deuce, nearing you slowly but surely — you plead your case.
“.. Hide me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Your head dips low. Since when were you type to stoop so low as to seek asylum from a first year, magicless, homeless student? “Hide me. From Yuu. Please. I’ll turn in all my missing assignments. Please.”
♡ That’s exactly how you’ve found yourself concealed behind his height, well-cloaked in whatever edges of his fur coat find you. The room is rife with suffocating quietness as the door creaks, slowly, taking its time, just so you can feel Yuu’s fingers graze the wood, and their eyes scavenge the vicinity for a trace of you. Closing your eyes tight-shut, you strengthen your grip on the fabric. Just this once - just this once - and you’ll survive.
♡ “Professor, have you seen them?”
♡ Them. They don’t name you, and painfully so, Crewel immediately recognizes who they’re talking about. Nameless, colourless, faceless. There is no one here other than you.
“As usual, no.”
“I can see them behind you.”
♡ Unfortunately, your breathing gave it away, and you're not exactly invisible, so you make do with just legging it again and stumbling into whatever room you get your hands on.
♡ Finally you come across a good one, and remember one thing: don’t breathe.
♡ Don’t breathe. Don’t let a single hint of your presence scrape against the floor, or taper off your lips. Don’t breathe, don’t look anywhere past the rows of ornate shelves or the very confused ghost librarian. Don’t breathe as you shimmy inside a cranny of dust, untouched newspapers and shield the crown of your head forevermore. Don’t breathe as you squeeze your eyes shut and imagine yourself anywhere else.
♡ Don’t breathe when the door creaks open. A slow, inevitable croak gliding against polished panes.
“Hi, mister. Have you seen -- well, uh -- a Scarabian student anywhere?”
♡ Don’t breathe even when you know it’s pointing straight at you. Traitor.
“Hey..”
♡ You don’t look up.
“Why’re you hiding from me?” Behind your lids, you imagine the dark cusps of their irises gleaming with sincerety. “I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong? Did I scare you?”
♡ You don’t like it. You don’t like the way they’re talking to you, slow and genuine and all too dehumanizing, as though you’re but a small rabbit in their eyes. They don’t know, they don’t know you’re an actual human being - one with conscience, humanity and awareness. They don’t know you know them, and they don’t know who you really are, all that’s left in their eyes is a perfect little image of a non-playable character - one that’s bound to come in their hands, in a way, or a thousand others.
In lieu of a response, you clamp your lips tight shut. Your eyes cinch into a glare; one you hope is full of the aversion you feel. “I thought I made it clear I want nothing to do with you.”
♡ You don’t know what to do. Give in. You’re doomed. Rebel. You’re doomed. Earning Yuu’s affection, or earning their loathing - neither option is good.
“...Oh.”
“Listen,” You crack one eye open in spite of yourself. Yuu looks devasted - you have to save yourself. Brain straining for excuses, you spout out a career-ending one. “... It’s not you, it’s just that..”
...
“...That?”
“That you’re not my type.”
♡ Yuu blinks - okay, this is your chance. You can’t just go into things that can be changed, look into things that are definitie. Look into.. ah, what would particularly steer your way clear of them?
♡ You look at the schedule in their hands. First year, huh?
“I’m into older people.”
“...How much older?”
You scramble. “A lot older.”
“...Like a year?”
“No. I like mature people.”
Their shoulders relax - you take that as a bad sign. "I can be mature."
"No, no. They need to look like they have taxes."
"...Taxes."
"Taxes. I also like people who are tall."
Yuu visibly straightens.
"Very tall."
Yuu visibly un-straightens.
"Like, concerningly tall. Like if they stand up too fast they're a threat to low ceilings."
"..."
"And older."
"..."
"And emotionally unavailable."
"That sounds unhealthy."
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Actually, preferably unhealthy. I like people who look at me and immediately decide I'm none of their business."
Yuu's face falls, a slope to their brows as they frown, unknowingly, to themselves. What you’ve just said might just give you some time to prepare, because you, and any sane person in the world, know that a simple barrier like a preference won’t stop them. That’s how Yuu has always been. In a way, they need to get to you, no matter what. That’s how it always will be. "I like people who forget I exist."
It falls further, you realize. Something, the one thing, actually, that the latter is not able to do.
"I like people who don't text back. Oh, and they must have weird hobbies.. Like birdwatching, or growing mush-”
Ah. Hands clasped over your mouth, with horror, do you realize you’ve begun matching your interest to a certain Mountain Lovers president. Mission abort, the withdrawal symptoms must really be getting to you, huh?
"And NOT teal hair."
Yuu touches their hair, hopeful.
"NOT first-years."
Yuu lowers their schedule, hopeless.
"NOT extroverts."
Yuu winces.
"NOT people who follow me around."
Yuu winces harder.
"NOT people who keep asking for my number."
At this point, Yuu looks like every word is physically striking them. Relishing in the blow, you stand up, pivot on your heels and leave them to wallow in the destruction you’ve left in your wake. Not without picking up your belongings, which happen to a little journal you keep to maintain track of the plot, a chewed-up pencil, and an apple - shooting Yuu a confirmatory glare in case the thief is actually them. On the way, you realize the ghost librarian has tears in his gargantuan eyes. Oh-well, it seems like Yuu’s favoribility does not only extend to suitors, but ghosts as well.
♡ Something is going to go wrong today. Very, very wrong. You’re sure of it.
♡ And no, you don’t just say that because of your disastrous, almost-disastrous- encounter with Yuu.
♡ Your NPC sixth sense tells you there’s double trouble on the horizon, waiting to get a taste of you. Double trouble.. you work your throat around the words, and try to imagine anything of the sort - but your brain stalls, because apparently, rolling out of bed (literally) and forcing yourself through the daily morning rituals was still as bad as ever. It didn’t help Kalim was particularly loud today, something about the prefect, probably, you didn’t quite hear. Ugh, Vil’s going to slime you out if he ever finds out you’re skipping yet again-
“And just what are you doing in that flower bush, spud?”
♡ Speak of the devil, and he shall come.
Pretty purple eyes do not bode well with you.
“Uhh..” Tongue twisted, you crush one petal in the cusp of your palm, and bring it over your eyes, hoping to block out his face. Pretending very, very hard he’s just a figment of your imagination, because really, what are the chances you meet him in the very same place you thought he’d never come? “Well, er... I’m doing something very important and class-related right now, so I’d appreciate it if you left me alone.”
♡ Oh, no, he’s caught you dead in your right! Above, the glass dome over the botanical gardens greets you; limpid and beautiful, and if you squint your eyes just right, you can imagine the sky back at home. Homesickness, or whatever the afflicted call it, has taken a toll on you only after you’ve come to realize just how much of your life’s gone into a perpetual state of destruction. Teeth gnawing on lip, tarnishing Vil’s self-care advice right in front of him as you revert back to sqaure one; it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you want to vanish.
♡ Why exactly are you here? Somewhere in the middle of picking out a thorn from your thumb, you toppled over your boots and landed straight in a pile of.. whatever these are called. Now you’re just mulling your life over your tongue, wondering why you’ve just lost every ounce of hope in your life -—Jade (the scapegoat, you tell yourself) , normalcy, living in the shadows — and the blissful stretch of time in which you had not yet encountered Vil Schoenheit. Matter of fact, it seems he’s bound to run into you everday - much to yours and his very mutual chagrin.
♡ Hold on! The only reason he’s not turned on you is because he’s not yet privy to Yuu’s ever-growing and laughably one-sided affection for you, and the same can be said for everyone here.. you’re lucky he’s caught you alone, and not with Yuu, (the same person who confronted you outside your class, only to have you bolt away like they’d just set you on fire).
“Unbelievable. I was out on my usual morning run and I see this.” Vil points a long, long nail at you. You shudder, but don’t make a move, needle-like thorns prickling your uniform. “You’re sprawled over the Convallaria majalis batch, the very things I’ve planted. Dear me.. why am I not surprised? It seems your inclination of spelling ruin comes naturally.”
♡ Oh! By the miracle of the Sevens, it seems the damage you did to Vil’s Corona Marvellous or whatever they’re called, is mild. Otherwise, he’d not be letting you off with a mere shoo and one of those signature scowls. Taking his sweet time to inspect the bell-shaped heap with gloved digits, he tuts.
“Hm.”
”..What?”
“Nothing that should be of concern, to you, of course.” He says, reading your mind. “.. These look like they withered long before your weight.” The slope of his brows deepen into a fully-manifested, vexed frown. “Unbelievable! Whoever’s in charge of groundskeeping hasn’t been tending to them properly. Again.”
You blink. “Wait. So I’m not the floral equivalent of a hit-and-run?”
Vil exhales through his nose, already sounding exhausted by your existence. “You flattened perhaps three stems, I’d say that’s hardly catastrophic.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. It was anything but a compliment.”
“Okay, but the Corolla-”
“Convallaria majalis.”
“…Bless you.”
♡ Vil pays you no heed, opting to not dwell on your eccentricity any longer.
“Well. Since you’ve already made yourself part of the issue, you may as well prove useful.” Bells retreat to their home as the male ponders it over his tongue. Something sparkles in those of eyes of his before he straightens with a satisfied hum, glancing over at you.
“ Poor maintenance, trampled soil, half-dead roots…” Vil dusts off his gloves with visible disdain. “Why am I not surprised? Honestly, spud, you have a remarkable ability to entangle yourself in things beyond your understanding. Come along.”
“Wait- where-”
♡ In place of a response, he grabs your hand.
♡ And unlike the feeling you had when Kalim did the same, this one action has chills dancing down your spine. Frigid air pushes your words back in as Vil - suddenly - rotates your wrist, brow quirking. Tipped nails perch upon exposed skin as he momentarily gives you a look.
“Hm. New bracelet?”
“No-”
“You run away from me, yet you’ve no qualm catering to Al-Asim. I suppose he is your housewarden, after all..” Purple coalesces into an inscrutable suit. “But loath as I am to admit, do you realize just how terrible it is to take up so much of the precious time I spare you?”
♡ Huh? Squeezing your eyes open, you realize his focal point is.. a traditional Scalding Sands bracelet - one of the many Kalim had gifted you during his visits. Oh.. shit, you must’ve accidentally put it on rather than-
..“Take up?” you repeat carefully.
Vil stills. For the briefest second, something unreadable crosses his face, then it dissolves.
“Don’t misunderstand.” His grip loosens, though not entirely. “You’re the one repeatedly neglecting your studies. Naturally, the responsibility falls upon me when you fail to meet basic academic standards.”
“Wow,” you mutter. “You almost sounded a little emotional there.”
“I’d sooner drink diluted apple vinegar.”
“Isn’t that, like, healthy?”
Whether he seems apalled or disgusted by you, you can’t place your finger on it. “Why, you... Forget it.”
♡ Before you can formulate a viable escape plan involving perhaps a sudden, career-ending tumble down the nearest staircase, Vil pivots on polished heels and expects you to follow as naturally as one expects ducklings to trail after their mother. Oh, no.
♡ You want to bolt off, hide beneath the benches or do anything, instead- blurs streel your legs forcibly in the wake of his footsteps, and you chew the thick clump of dread down your throat. Glass arches overhead catch the amber spill of drowning afternoon sunlight, drenching Vil in celestial phosphoresence.
♡ Why is it so hard to just.. refuse him? You don’t know. Eyes straining, vision skewed, you try to focus on anything. But the slivers of parted sunlight bend around his frame, the back of his head, and it’s almost as if, painfully so, your attention is tethered towards him.
♡ Hmph! No one should look this gorgeous while actively ruining your life. Which begs the question: where exactly is he taking you?
“Ahh… there you are, Roi du Poison.”
♡ Your soul exits your body.
Vil barely pauses at the interruption, though the minuscule quaver in his brow suggests he’d hoped to avoid this exact scenario. Through the hanging curtains of ivy emerges another Pomefiore student, feathered hat unfurled and eyes glinting beneath panes. Rook - so, your luck has decided you’d do well being hunted for sport.
“Rook,” Vil says flatly, not even turning. “I should’ve known you’d be here.”
“Can a devoted admirer not seek the radiance of his beloved housewarden?” The hunter places a hand dramatically atop his chest. “Cruel, cruel Vil. I merely wished to deliver the pruning records and instead discover a most enchanting tableau.”
When his gaze lands on you, your muscles go rigid, being pinned to a board and encased without mercy. He seems to take pleasure in the way your gaze tries to settle on anything but him. Weirdo.
“Ahh…” The hunter breathes. “So there is our elusive little evader.”
“I’m an evader?” you ask, then chew down your words. Well, you are actively trying to act uninteresting, aren’t you?
“You vanished from Professor Crewel’s classroom through a window last Tuesday, did you not?”
Vil pinches the bridge of his nose. “Don’t remind me.”
“…Huh, I thought that was last Wednesday. Oh well.”
You don’t question how he knows, how the both of them know. It’d be futile as it is. Miraculously, as if reading your mind (which you’d argue he can), he directs at you a content little smile. “As a hunter observes the rustling of grass, the flight of birds, the trembling of leaves, so too do I observe the habits of those around me.”
Rook circles once around the Convallaria patch, boots silent against the stone path. His sharp gaze skims over the crushed flowers, then the dirt shrouding your weathered sleeves, the bite-rife state of your lips, and the fatigue pulling down your lids into a perpetual scowl. It takes less than three seconds for the both of them to concur on one, concrete agreement.
Vil starts. “I’ve said as much already. They insist on treating their body like an afterthought.”
“Mm.” Rook nods solemnly. “A neglected garden wilts all the same.”
You stare at the both of them. “Oh, cool. So this is an intervention now...”
“Far from it, actually. It would only qualify as an intervention if you intended to listen,” Vil replies smoothly. “You absorb perhaps one sentence out of every five.”
♡ Rook laughs then, rippling across the greenhouse’s feather-light air. It pulls his attention back to you again, unbearably focused.
“The way you shrink whenever attention settles upon you.” Pointing, tipping his head back, Rook croons. “And yet, despite this, attention finds you endlessly. Oh, what a haplessly ardent predicament you’ve found yourself in!”
Before you can recover, Vil abruptly thrusts a pair of gardening gloves against your chest. You stumble, and your belongings kiss the ground, thrown out of your bag. Vil’s left to wonder how such a light nudge could have you one with the ground, bare confusion written over those features before ebbing away with an ahem.
“Since you’ve already ruined my morning, you’ll assist us.”
Your jaw drops. “Us?”
Rook beams. “Bienvenue.”
“Bird Avenue? I dunno what that means.”
“Don’t absorb your setences. For all your resistance,” Vil says with immense satisfaction, “you’re staying right here.”
“Seriously?? Just ask Rook to use his signature spell and track the- ah..” You realize the chances of him setting a mark on the culprit beforehand are slim to none, cinching your lips shut. “Nevermind, but I’m sure we have some sort of camer.... don’t give me that look, please.”
♡ Silence.
♡ You close your eyes shut. Good golly, this is probably about the signature spell bit, isn’t it? Ugh, he’s going to be all up in your face within a minute, demanding you tell him why you know such a thing. This makes room for one more entry in your journal.. and wait, your journal-
♡ As if on cue, you hear papers rustle.
♡ “Interesting.”
♡ Double trouble.
“So this is where your prowess lies. Story-writing?”
Though he tries his best to pull his brows together, there’s a little glister in his eyes. A relieved one, a midlly proud one, a..
“How original.”
♡ Your Scarabia room is really, really bland. That’s the first thing you notice. In the middle of your bed is a journal you exert all your pent-up vexation and guides in - and in a shelf by the side, you keep your belongings (which are, admittedly, lessening by the second. You’ve no clue whose wreaking havoc upon them. You have absolutely no idea who's responsible. Frankly, you're too tired to investigate, and if somebody wishes to steal your half-finished notes and collection of mediocre pens, then they deserve whatever curse comes with them.) Tomorrow is a new day, and judging by your luck, tomorrow Yuu will probably discover your class schedule, blood type and favorite brand of toothpaste.
♡ You sling your bag at the bed when you enter your cave of hiding.
♡ As you dive face-first into the mattress, you ponder on today’s events. Jade Leech has officially stood you up - there’s been no sign of him at all. He does not deign to loiter beside your class after its conclusion, he does not show up to your club (though you know, somewhere, he’s still fixating on his hobby without you). Your plans have gone awry, haywire and well...
♡ You don’t need another anomaly.
♡ Right on cue, knuckles rap against your door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Your housewarden’s airy voice bursts in:
"Hey! Are you awake?"
Even if you were, with the sheer volume of his voice, you'd be forced to come to. You groan- delving deeper into the plush mattress. If you were to pretend to be dead right now, you’d be steered clear of this burden. Fatigue coaxes your lids down, spots gyrating in your vision - but with another knock, Kalim shoves you off balance.
“You wouldn't happen to know why Yuu was wandering around Scarabia asking strangers what toothpaste you use, right?”
As falsely naive as Kalim seems, you quickly find out he knows just the right way to usher you out. Ripping the barrier between you open, he greets you with his ritualistic smile. “Aha!”
“Housewarden.”
♡ This is the first time you’ve had anyone over, and this is also the last. Seeing him without his sullen retainer is a novel sight, but to dissuade you from the anomaly, he places a basket of fruits in front of you.
♡ Well, there you go. Your arms now teem with different colours and hues - but you don’t tell him to leave, because well..
“Anyway, I brought fruit.”
“Thank you. You can leave now.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you've already delivered the fruit.”
“But we haven't hung out yet.”
“Close the door on your way out-- wait, what? Why?”
♡ After your little opportunistic venture, you doubt he’d listen to you so easily, and you don’t particularly want him to leave as well. Those pouches and jewellery he gifted you have all gone missing, and.. well, you'd be lying if you said you didn’t want him to compensate the loss.
♡ Inviting him in as per hospitable custom, he makes himself at home quite easily. You don’t know what you’re doing, you have a whole Housewarden in your room - albeit he did mention something related to friendship.. you suppose you have no complaint here, then - (except one related to the fact he’s in the middle of an excuse for a room while donning his sleepwear. He looks so out of place it’s actually shameful.)
“Oh, man!” He gives a bright laugh. You stand near, not wanting to admit you’re awaiting his approval. “I sat on the bed and the frame nearly fell through!”
“Oh...”
Kalim laughs again, bright and unbothered. "Sorry! I didn't mean it in a bad way. It just surprised me."
He gives the bed frame an experimental shake. The bed responds with an alarming creak, and you wince. It doesn’t do that when you lay on it, in your defense.
"There it is again."
"Don't."
You don't understand why he's so amused, your room isn't funny, it’s a room. A rather miserable, downtrodden room, perhaps, but still a room. Instead of criticizing it further, however, Kalim cranes his neck around, taking in the sparse shelves and barren walls.
“Huh.”
You brace yourself. “Huh?”
"It's kind of nice. It looks like someone forgot to move in, but I think that’s where its charm lies, y’know?” He points at your empty shelf. “There’s practically nothing stored there! It must be so easy to access whatever you need.”
“There’s nothing I need.”
♡ Somehow, your very loud exchange has, inevitably, amassed the scrutiny of yet another boy, and there he is, door opening, posture taut in the entry. This is arguably the first time you’ve ever seen Jamil in his sleepwear, and with his long tresses trickling down his shoulders in mild disarray, you get the feeling you’ve woken him up from his sweet slumber. As if you haven’t already garnered enough of his dislike, the universe still manages to blindside you with more.
“Kalim.”
“Jamil!”
“How many times do I have to tell you to-”
Though, you suppose Kalim didn’t intend for it to come out as such, the way it was worded seems to inevitably grab Jamil’s compliance. You don’t miss the way he stares at you, though, completely and utterly aware that misery will bring its company. Reluctance brews itself upon the tip of his tongue, and he wants to refuse, you can tell. At one point, he may have tried to veil it beneath his usual exterior, but now, after a most unexpected turn of events, he knows you know, and you know he knows you know, so what’s the point in putting up a façade?
“Come!” Kalim makes space on your bed, mind you. Your bed. “Loosen up a little, and play with us.”
Oh, no. You do not need this right now.
He trudges in, a breath of incredulity blooming in the air before he lowers himself to your level. Seated comfortably, he tries to get a good look at your surroundings.
At one point, his gaze lands straight on your journal. But before he can comment on it, you let a hand jut forward and snatch it away just as quickly. Now, he’s eyeing you openly, tenfold the usual suspicion he has.
“I’m surprised you’re awake at this hour.” He deadpans when you point at the fellow white-haired culprit. “I’m talking about you, not Kalim. Given his track record of doing the same, he doesn’t rouse as much disbelief as..” He pauses for a moment. “You.”
You droop. “I sleep when I can.”
“Ah, well, that explains nothing.”
“You're welcome.”
“No need for the formalities,” A crease in his brows as he looks at you, lips jolting. “For what it’s worth, I was expecting that answer.”
♡ Five minutes later, the board is spread between the three of you. You still aren’t entirely certain how this happened. One moment you were trying to sleep, and the next you’re participating in what appears to be an ancient strategic game involving polished stones. Eyes combing through its structure and language, it appears to be a Scalding Sands tradition, and with the way they both speak of it, dwelling in the past and mulling the game over their tongues, you realize they’re already familiar with it.
“Remember when we played this when we were kids? Huh, Jamil?”
“Yes. I remember you taking up half the pieces.”
♡ Kalim explains the rules, he then explains them again, then gets distracted halfway through his own explanation when you pester him with another question. Jamil finishes it for him - though, and even now, he has yet to relinquish that look in his eyes, that look, rife with wariness, caution and the feeling that he’s treading very, very carefully with you. Jeez, he probably thinks you have some sort of Kalim-assassination or tax fraud plan cooked up in that head of yours. Which you do. Just not as severely.
“You need to protect your centre, that's your only objective. Do you understand it now?”
“Sure do.”
♡ Anyways, three rounds later, you've somehow managed to eliminate your own piece. Jamil stares, Kalim stares, and you crane your neck at them.
“What?”
“You took your own piece.”
“It was in the way.”
“It was your strongest piece.”
“Soo? It was still in my way.” Despondently, you caress the stony object. “Oh, well, if you insist, Jamil, then its sacrifice shall be remembered.”
An eye roll. “..By who?”
“Me, who else?”
Jamil pinches the bridge of his nose, but just when you think he’ll respond in that quietness, he supplies. “I don’t think I've ever seen someone lose a game quite like this.”
“Yeah, well, you’re letting Kalim win every time, so I think I have a reason.”
He lets you go with an indecipherable look on his face, and you spend the night dealing with it, in your mind, in your memory, in your thoughts.
How predictably unpredictable.
♡ “Didja’ know?”
♡ You try to rub away the fatigue in your eyes.
“Know what?”
♡ Currently, you're trying to focus on the work at hand. Pen scribbling lines regarding history, you desperately try to ignore Ruggie Bucchi, but to no avail. Whenever you do so much as lean back, he tips his chair back and replicates the motion until you’re forced to give him a sliver of your attention. That gets him going, it seems.
♡ Apparently, waking up first and foremost - earlier than Jamil, surprisingly - and realizing that having two boys dead asleep on top of you was not ideal if you were looking for some sort of salvation. You’re not even sure what had happened that led to Jamil, of all people, knuckling under sleep and forsaking that strict demeanor. It seems atypical, atleast for him, but what’s more atypical is that you’d spent another hour trying to tip-toe around your room, lest you wake them up and cause them to actually remember you in the room with them. Ah, if you stretch, you can still feel the soreness in your limbs. Only the deities who sent you here would know how you even managed to breathe with that load on you.
♡ What’s good, though, is that you seem to have taken your mind off of Jade completely. Like a leech had he plagued your mind, now you like to think he’s an afterthought, and a bygone memory that served his purpose and left when he lost interest. Hah.. you’re finally, finally improving. You’re finally..
“Eh? Didn't ya know? Vil's been askin' around Octavinelle about ya. Somethin' about gettin' you to switch clubs, I think. Heh, maybe that's just the rumor mill talkin', though. Shishishi...”
“Mm- wait-”
♡ What.
“WHAT?!”
♡ The entire class looks at you now. Grumbling beneath their breaths, and with Professor Trein giving you the most scorching scowl known to man, you’re compelled into quietening down, but not allowing the cold knot in your stomach to simmer, nor the rapid staccatos of your pulse. This time, you willingly lean into Ruggie. Vil? Granted, he did see your.. journal work, but him going as far as to head to Octavinelle to strike a deal with them? It didn’t seem so far-fetched given the circumstances, but at that time, he'd tried his best to appear staid and unaffected by your entries. This.. this is bad, bad news. If Vil succeeds, then - you’re destined for failure.
♡ If Vil succeeds, then you are the failure.
“Who- where’d you hear that from?” You gawk, perspiration roving down your nape, pen abandoned. You don’t know what to say. Your heart is beating.
♡ Ah, what a dumb question. Ruggie is known to work odd jobs, it’d make sense he’d catch sight of Vil, of all people, amid the Mostro Lounge crowd during his shift. But really, Vil? Stooping so low as to seek Azul’s help?
♡ What even was in that journal? A few scribbles about Twisted Hearts, and the usual jargon.. nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would ultimately catch his interest. You hadn't even focused on it that much yourself, nor did you mention names, even if someone did manage to get their hands on it, you thought they’d just call you absolutely maniacal and do away with it.
♡ And you, stooping so low as to seek Ruggie’s help?
“You have to help me.”
“Whoa, hold it right there.” His lips pull into a moue, hands tugging at his tie from where you’d absent-mindedly rendered it askew. “ Remember all those times I asked, and ya told me to mind my own business? Why'do I go and help ya now?”
“I-”
“Besides, I got a pretty sweet side gig at the Mostro Lounge. If I stick my neck out for ya, who's gonna make up the difference, huh?”
He grins, teeth on display.
“Now, if you've got somethin' worth tradin', that's a whole different story. Shishishi.”
♡ Worth trading? You haven't got anything, you..are a lost cause. Your room is laughable, your grades are despicable, the company you keep is non-existent, and your pockets.. Ah.
“I can give you anything you want.”
A gleam in your eyes, your hands form a bridge to let your chin perch upon. The brightness that you’d once lost reclaims its reign over your face, and if this world were any more ridiculous, you are certain he would see a lightbulb forming over your head.
“Now we’re talkin’.”
“Anything. I have access to Kalim’s bank account. Trust me.”
synopsis: after overhearing a conversation from the tweels, you think that jade's tired of you. because you're withdrawing from him, jade resorts to one thing: woo you once more.
“Jade~! I think I’m done now, how did I do?” Sitting up on his bed, you show your boyfriend the homework you sort-of-but-not-really desperately asked help on.
“Are you, now? Let me have a look, then,” Looking up from his desk, he wears his signature smile–though he holds a little more fondness in his eyes whenever it’s directed at you.
Nights like this were common. Sprawled out somewhere in his room you’d lie around going on Magicam, messing with Jade’s hair (who knew your eel could look so cute in pigtails?), or on nights like this, swinging by to ask help for Potions class…with a secret agenda of wanting to sneak in a kiss and embrace your boyfriend.
“Hm, it seems you’ve successfully evaded a scolding from Sir Crewel, my dear,” Jade sits beside you where you sit, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “Though I do look forward the times you come running to me after a failed experiment, the troubled look you give me is always quite amusi–adorable.”
Before you could retort, Floyd breaks into the room with a BANG!, clearly demanding something from Jade. The sky has gotten dark, so it’s probably your cue to leave before you can get squished by a certain someone…
Closing the door behind you, hearing yourself mentioned by Floyd makes you pause.
“Hey Jade, don’tcha ever get tired of Shrimpy coming here so much? I don’t know how you aren’t bored yet.”
“The Prefect came to visit to ask questions on Potionology, but I do admit that it has become a routine for us to have my room as a meeting place after class.”
“Eh, so you aren’t tired of it?”
There’s a beat before Jade replies, “While I do enjoy the Prefect’s company, it does seem that our meetings have become quite redundant. It might prove to be a bit tiresome, yes.”
At that moment, you don’t know if you should have stopped in front of Jade’s door. Have you been intruding in his personal space? Has he simply been tolerating your presence, and simply doing what he thought would make you happy–to be the “perfect” boyfriend for you?
You quickly make your way to Ramshackle, fearing that any more talk would continue to break your heart. That night, you steel your resolve to give Jade what he wants–space, so that he wouldn’t grow bored of you, or worse, break up with you. He may claim to love you now, but with the eel’s nature of becoming quickly infatuated with something, you believe he could also drop it without hesitation as soon as it becomes mundane. You’d rather delay that outcome, if possible.
The next day goes off without a hitch–it’s like the conversation between the twins never existed, because as soon as your class is over, you see Jade standing by the door, patiently waiting for you to come out and walk you to your next class as usual.
For some reason, you wince at the sight of him and think, is this all an act? Still, you stand by his side and greet him. He leans in to smoothen your uniform for you, “Fufu, Prefect, I assume you were in a rush this morning? Your collar is askew, but there, I’ve fixed it,” He holds out his arm to you, “Shall we walk to your next class?”
You stretch out your arm to link it with his, as if by muscle memory, but stop yourself midway, remembering his words from the night before. Instead, you choose to position your hands behind your back, grinning up at Jade. His usual smile doesn’t falter, but you notice the slight twitch of his eyebrows at your decision to withhold physical contact, how unusual, he thinks. Despite the tension in the air, your eel still walks you to history next. Still, he doesn’t stop his attempts at growing closer to you.
“Would you allow me to hold your things for you, my dear? I see you’ve forgotten to hand me your books.”
“Well, I just feel like carrying them myself today. Also, I’ll just see you at Mostro Lounge later, you don’t have to walk me to flight class anymore. I have to grab something from Deuce in between.”
Ouch. Met with another rejection, and plighted with the news of you meeting with another boy (though that boy is a certified goofball), clearly avoiding him. What could you possibly ask from that Heartslabyul boy that he couldn’t provide for you? Besides that, you were always delighted to be by his side. It made no sense to change your routine even if you did need to pick up something. He’d simply accompany you. What caused you behavior to go amiss? He wonders, and catches on that something is wrong, fast.
Not wanting to act without being certain, your wounded eel accepts your words for now. “I see, I’ll be awaiting your presence at the lounge tonight, then.”
Little does he know, you take his lack of objection as further confirmation that you’ve been too clingy, and your chest feels a bit tighter.
As you two part, Jade somehow comes to the conclusion that he must woo you–again.
But now, you fully believe he’s grown tired of you.
“Hiya Shrimpy~ are ya lookin’ for Jade? He’s in the kitchen makin’ a special meal for ya, or so he says,” Floyd shoots you a lazy grin and slings his arm over your shoulder, which earns a nasty glare from Jade standing by the counter. Why are you accepting his touch, but not mine? It turns out that your eel is a bit more dramatic that he lets on.
When you approach him, he lays out a meal he prepared for you, along with your favorite tea. Freeing you from Floyd’s grasp, he places his hand on your shoulder as he guides you to one of the booths at the center of the Lounge. You notice that his grip is a bit firmer than usual, and that his smile towards you seems a bit strained.
Once you’re seated, you expect Jade to go on with the rest of his shift and serve the other customers pooling in, but he instead takes the seat beside yours, leaving almost no space between the two of you, and grabs a bite of the food and…turns to you?
“Prefect, I’ve made your favorite today, now if you would just open wide and say, ‘ahh’,”
You feel Jade’s cold fingers on your chin that move to make you face him. With his eyes meeting yours, you notice that his features seem more relaxed now compared to earlier–the strain in his smile is now replaced with a look of fondness. Why was your eel acting extra sweet today?
However, you feel the looks you’re getting from the other students dining in at the lounge. You remember that to them, it seems uncanny that the ever so intimidating, cold, and scary Jade Leech is looking at you like you hung the moon–not to mention feeding you a bite of his cooking!
You have no choice but to play along to his whims, and move to taste the food. It’s cooked to perfection–perfectly adjusted to your tastes. You can tell Jade’s spent time trying to cater to the flavors you enjoy, but you can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness gripe at your heart knowing this could be the last time you’ll ever try it. Instead of responding with praise, as you normally do, you silently chew on your food, with a neutral look on your face.
“Hm, is something the matter, Prefect? I believe I’ve cooked the meal to your liking, or perhaps your tastes have changed?” Jade presses his eyebrows together and pouts to give you a look of feigned hurt, which you’re familiar with by now, but for some reason his tone seems to hold genuine concern. All this over food, Jade? At the moment, you can’t tell what he’s thinking anymore. “Is it perhaps the position we’re sitting in that makes you uncomfortable? I did try to reserve the best seats in the lounge for you, I thought you might enjoy a change from where we usually sit.”
What kind of stunt is this eel trying to pull? Is the extra sweetness part of the act?? Does he know that you overheard him and Floyd last night???
You offer Jade a flushed look, half because of how cute his concerned face looks and the other half being that you have no idea what to think anymore. Distracted by your adorable reaction, Jade believes his plan is working.
What really sends you into overdrive, is when he walks you home from Mostro Lounge. Instead of offering his arm to you once again, he silently intertwines his gloved hands with yours as you make your way to Ramshackle dorm–leaving you no room to refuse his touch.
“Prefect, please send me recipes you’d like to try in the future, I’ll try to recreate them for you if today’s cooking was not to your liking. Perhaps you’d like to have a dish with shrimp in it, fufu,” your eel teases you about your earlier lack of reaction. While he may jest, he secretly worries that his efforts haven’t reached you. After all, his main goal of the night was to please you, and remove the doubt in his mind that you were distancing yourself from him.
Reaching the gate of Ramshackle dorm, you speak up, “Jade, I can go from here. Thank you for cooking for me, it really was good,” for some reason, it sounded like the last time he’d cook for you, Jade thought. How curious.
Of course, what kind of gentleman would he be if he allowed that to happen? “My dear, do you think I don’t have the decency to walk you to your door? You wound me, Prefect,” the grip he has on your hand feels tighter as he walks the path leading to your home, “Come, I’ll even make some tea for you inside, if you’d like.” But as he expected, you take the chance to refuse his effort of spending any more time with you.
So your beloved eel resorts to one last thing as you approach your door, “I shall brew you a drink another time then, Prefect,” he slithers his free hand around your waist to pull you closer, enough for you to pick up on his comforting scent. Then, he brings your hand up to place a kiss inside your palm, looking up at you with his smile, “Have a good night, my dear.”
You find yourself surprised at his sudden display of affection, he must still be toying with me, huh? Either way, you still feel an overwhelming sense of giddiness being on the receiving end of such love from your eel, whether or not the reason behind it is actually what you think. Not wanting to let your feelings show, however, you simply nod and wave him goodbye.
Jade can’t help but feel the distance between the both of you grow, despite his efforts. However, little does he know that how you watch him leave all the way until his figure disappeared from your sight. His actions confuse you, but it doesn’t stop you from longing the times you could indulge yourself in his sweetness.
The following week was the same–you were under the impression that Jade had grown bored of you, and that he was toying with your feelings at this point before dropping you eventually. You rejected his advances as physical affection, spent more time with Grim and your friends, and rarely dropped by his room to hangout. On the other hand, Jade was working harder than ever to get on your good side again. He was unfamiliar with the feeling of being unsettled by one person, a human at that. However, your boyfriend mistakes the feeling of missing your active presence for being unsettled.
He had been needlessly sweet to you the past week. He began appearing at your doorstep in the morning with a drink in one hand and offering to carry your books in the other, but not without taking your hand to place a chaste kiss on it first. He also started acting more physically affectionate with you too, which wouldn’t be weird if not for where he’d do it. In the past, Jade preferred to show your affections in private, but now, he’ll bring you close and lay his head on your shoulder in the middle of the courtyard, claiming that he needs to rest! What a sneaky eel you have.
Deciding you’ve had enough of this confusion, you gather in the big leagues to ask advice. Certainly, you’d consult those seasoned in the area of relationships, with mature minds and words of wisdom. Surely, maybe someone like Vil or Trey, an experienced senio-
In your living room, you sit across Ace and Deuce.
Not that you had a choice, because they noticed how lovey-dovey you and your boyfriend have been lately and decided to make it their problem because surely something MUST have happened!
Click clack…Jade opens the gate to Ramshackle, holding a container of sweets you mentioned the other day, hopeful to gain an excited reaction and maybe a little praise coming from you.
“Okay guys, the truth is, I overheard Jade and Floyd talking about me the other night and….”
Oho? By now, Jade’s reached your door and is about to knock, a polite smile on his face, but he pauses when he overhears you mentioning his name. The Prefect is chatting about me even in her private time, how adorable.
“What did that bastard say about you??? Does he need to be taken care of???” Ace exclaims loudly, clearly carried over by emotion. Deuce aggressively shakes his head in agreement.
“Wait! I didn’t even get to that part yet…you see, he said that I’m too tiresome to be with….”
Hm. Jade wasn’t expecting that. In fact, he was a little hurt at the fact that you could even consider he’d think that of you.
“--and I think the reason he's being so much sweeter towards me these days is because he knows I overheard them. Is it all an act? I can’t tell anymore, but I don’t have the heart to ask, in case I’m right…”
Jade stands still in front of your door, his smile intact, your sweets still in hand. But to his surprise, he almost drops them.
Clutching them a little harder now, he takes a step backwards and decides to retreat. He takes big strides over Ramshackle’s lawn. How odd of me, he thinks. He’d usually take the chance to scare first-years and amuse himself with their reactions when they find out he’d been listening in, and of course, he’d like to soothe your doubts right then and there–but a big part of him doesn’t realize how much he actually treasures you. He needs to corner you talk to you privately. It’s all an excuse, because he needed to compose himself lest he breaks down your door.
Jade hates how you ever thought of those things in the first place. How could you doubt this eel’s sincere heart that only wishes to win your affection once more? With a new resolve, he concludes that he must seek you out directly.
How direct? Well…how about eel appearing in your kitchen first thing in the morning?
Waking up to the smell of your favorite food is something you haven’t experienced since coming to Twisted Wonderland. There go the ghosts, messing with the kitchen. But wait, why does it smell…really good? Like the kind only Jade would make you?
Dragging yourself out of bed and hopping down the stairs, still in your pajamas. You see the tall figure of your boyfriend brewing some tea, and you’re met with his signature smile when he turns around. You can’t decide if you’re ecstatic to see him so early in the morning or afraid because he’s now spreading his antics to your dorm, wondering what’ll happen next.
“Have you slept well, dear Prefect? Come, I’ve prepared you your favorite meal–I especially foraged the ingredients for this dish.” Jade takes hold of your arm and leads you to sit on the dining table, occupying the space next to you. He’s already dressed in his uniform, his black strand of hair straightened, and gloved hand already pouring out tea for you to drink.
“Jade…this is really sweet and all, but can I ask you one thing?
Here it comes, “Of course. By the looks of it, I assume it’ll be quite a fun discussion, fufu.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?” You don’t mean for it to sound so blunt, but you’ve only just woken up, after all. It’s the one thing that’s been weighing on your mind since that night–is he just acting the part of a “perfect” boyfriend, when in reality, he finds your company to be quite meddlesome? Why does he still keep you around, or rather, actively seek you out more than ever now, if you aren’t amusing to him anymore?
“Ah, is it so unusual of me to want to treat my beloved so well? I must say, I am a bit hurt that you would doubt my actions toward you,” his eyebrows knit together, forming that worried expression of his, “On the contrary, dear, might I ask you why you’ve been acting differently as of late?”
Now he’s turning this on you, huh? Well, you decide, there’s no other choice but to come off clean, and end your worries once and for all. You take a deep breath, before telling him, “Okay, the truth is…I overheard you and Floyd talking the other night. Remember when I came by to ask help on Potionology?”
“Of course, I remember that you followed my tutoring so well–it seemed that asking for “help” was just an excuse to seek out my affection that night, though~”
You laugh dryly, wondering why he was acting fond of your physical touch, “Jade, I think it’s time to end this. I heard you tell Floyd that I come to your room too much, that it’s tiresome to always be with me. I’ve known you long enough to expect that you’d eventually grow bored of me.”
“I tried to keep my distance from you and give you a chance to break up the routine of being with me, but why are you acting this way? Why are you suddenly being more…romantic, sweet, than normal?”
On the outside, Jade maintains a neutral expression. But internally, he feels a foreign feeling of disappointment. Not at you–never at you. But at himself, for not relaying his true emotions toward you. Was that truly what you thought of him?
“Prefect…I believe you have a wrong idea of how the conversation went on. Would you like me to tell you the full details?”
Huh???
“While it is true, Floyd did ask me if I had gotten tired of…our time together, my response was referring to the fact that we usually meet at my quarters. I was considering the option that you’d appreciate if we had a change of pace, and go someplace else for a change. I was thinking of other ways to please you. I never thought that you would interpret our conversation in that way.
Extending his hand to place on your cheek, he continues, “On the contrary, I thought I had done something amiss, and my behavior the past weeks has been an attempt to court you once again. To you, I extend my deepest apologies–I find it difficult to imagine that I would ever get tired of you.”
“If you would allow me, I would like to take care of the perpetrator of the issue,” Jade grins, his eyes uneven. The way his eyes glimmered, you knew that a certain twin would be on the receiving end of his wrath. He made a move to stand up, possibly to make his way to Octavinelle and beat up talk to his brother, but you quickly pulled him back down to his seat. You’d rather have your eel intact so he could hear what you had to say.
“Oh Jade, I’m sorry too–I can’t believe I…” Now you just felt mildly embarrassed, and a bit angry at yourself for letting your thoughts consume you. After a beat, you found yourself in a fit of laughter at how badly you misunderstood the conversation. Jade looks down at you with a fond smile, seemingly content with the outcome of your discussion–how long had it been since he saw you so carefree around him?
You wrap your arms around his and lean your head on his shoulder, and look up at him, “So…you don’t mind it if I do this, after all?” A sly grin occupies your face, your eyes crinkling at the thought that Jade might love you more than you thought.
“Not at all, instead, I do wish you would show your affections toward me more freely. Seeing how much you’ve rejected my advances toward you in past weeks, you have a lot to make up for, Prefect, fufu,” Jade gives you a chilling smile, but now you know his words are genuine–your eel simply missed you.
“Now then, while I admit that you look quite…adorable in your sleeping attire, shall I offer you my assistance in getting ready for the day, my dear?”
Now that you’ve resolved your grave misunderstanding with Jade, you thought that you two would go back to normal–but it seems your eel had other plans. It seems his attempts to woo you haven’t ceased, as you walk down Ramshackle’s rickety stairs to see Jade cooking you breakfast once more. He’s been at it since the first day he came.
You come up from behind to embrace him, but sensing your footsteps, he turns to face you. “Prefect, you’re awake. I’ll be finished in a bit. ” He ruffles your bedhead and leans in to kiss your forehead, “Fufu, or would you rather join me and prepare our meal together?”
You let out a satisfied huff, and ask, “Jade, why do you still come by everyday? Not that I’m complaining, but you don’t have to do all this after, you know…”
“I must admit, Prefect, that I have been wishing to act this way for a while. The situation simply provided me an opportunity to act on my desires and pamper you, fufu,” Jade gives you the smile you know so well, and you can’t help but bury your head on his shoulder, “Ah, Jade…why are you so cute…”
“I don’t know what you mean, Prefect, I’d say you’re quite adorable yourself,” He gently smoothes down your bedhead once more. The both of you stay standing in the kitchen, embracing one another and enjoying each other’s company.
After a while, you look up at your boyfriend. “Jade…I think something’s burning.”
Unfazed, he gently lets go of your arms and turns off the stove. “It seems I lose track of time when I’m you, my beloved. Your touch is too tempting for me to resist, fufu.”
“Just admit you forgot!!”
i eat this trope up everytime i see it and i wanted to write one with jade !! sothis is actually the first thing i've ever fully written before anything else lol please be very kind with me lol (Not that edited either we ball or it'd never see the light of day !!!)
inspired by "an affection anthology" by twstyturny and "jade leech and the three breakups" by schoenpepper (graciously reblogged by twstyturny as well) !!! i <3 the hurt comfort these fics have hihi this has been living in my head rent free since i read it its so so good i love it love it
synopsis: jade leech is utterly in love with you. the thing is, when you confessed, he got so carried away in his happiness that he forgot to tell you he likes you back.
tags: established relationship, kinda crack ...?, jade is a goofball, not very sad it very happi happi story
wc: 1.6k
“Jade, have you ever thought of breaking up?”
“Oho? and what has brought you to that idea, my dear? I believe I have not done anything unsatisfactory as of late. ”
“Actually, you have been treating me well lately. The thing is, I just have some doubts about your feelings for me…”
Ever since you’ve confessed to the eel, he’s been nothing but perfect towards you. Walking you to class; inviting you on hikes to the mountains, even carrying you all the way down when your feet hurt; gifting you a terrarium with two plants sitting side by side, saying that it’s supposed to be the two of you…the list could go on. So what could make you doubt his love for him?
That’s precisely it. When Jade accepted your confession, you were ecstatic to say the least. Because you were so over the moon, you failed to confirm whether or not they were actually returned.
You knew for a fact that you loved the eel, and that behind his scheming pursuits and chilling smiles, he does hold some affection for you. But you weren’t sure if he liked you the same way you did. When your fingers brushed over his, did he feel the same rush you did? Whenever you spot him in a sea of students after class, does his heart run to the moon and back, the same as you still do despite all the time you’ve spent together?
Amidst your racing thoughts, Jade calculates his own response.
But first, a realization.
“It seems that I have missed something…” His voice comes out as a soft mumble, as if he were talking to himself.
“Sorry?”
He looks at you with his eyebrows furrowed, concern painting the eel’s face. This kind of expression was common, but it was usually accompanied by a scheme of some sort. The only scheme here would be playing your heart, however. But you see the slight downward twitch of his lips, and for a moment, you believe that his worry is genuine. Then, his mouth moves to turn into a little pout. Adorable, you think.
“I cannot believe that I have overlooked such a vital part of our relationship.” Jade makes a move to hold you closer, his long limbs slithering along the dip of your waist. Your heart does a flip, maybe 10000 flips in a second. Lethal power: 67%.
“Prefect…” His fingers drag along your hair, tucking it behind your ear. The closer proximity gives you a chance to study his annoyingly handsome features. His mismatched eyes meet your own, and his lips contort into the smile you’ve grown fond of. You feel your knees weaken, and mentally thank Jade for holding you–otherwise you might’ve fallen. Fallen for him, though, you already have. Lethal power: 82%.
Suddenly, he draws back. Your eel retracts his arms from your shoulder and waist, takes a step to create some space before you, and holds his hands together in the usual, polite manner he does.
“Will you let me have the honor of marrying you?”
…
…?
…????????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Lethal power: MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE
You find yourself unable to move in shock. Was there something you missed? What part of your conversation could have ever led him to Him??? Marrying??? You???
Before he could reach for the box in his pocket and get down on his knees (why does he just have that prepared?); your arms frantically reach the sides of his shoulder and bring him up to your eye level, looking at him as if he had gone insane. Well, you’re not that far off…
“Wait, Jade! I’m sorry, I don’t understand! I thought you didn’t like me back, why are you–”
“You thought that I didn’t return your affections? My dear, are you dense?”
Dense. You don’t know if that was a more fitting description for yourself or the eel standing before you, “On the contrary, I believe my feelings are affirmed to you each and every day we spend together.” For the second time, you’re taken aback. Unlike the first, your mouth is left gaping so much that a fly could take space and start paying rent. However, Jade graciously brings his hand to your chin to close it, and looks into your eyes once more.
“I believe I haven’t missed a day. I was under the impression that our relationship was going smoothly, and that you were unsatisfied that I haven’t proposed to you yet. Was that not your point, my dear?”
No, far from it! You wanted to shout, but to your favor, you let him continue, “I remember the day you first confessed your feelings for me. I assumed that you were accepting my attempts to court you. I always made sure to intertwine your arm with mine, after all.”
That day, after his polite response, he reached out to offer his arm for you to hold, and walked you back to Ramshackle. It was no surprise to you, however, because it was common for him to do so. You safely assumed that he was trying to play the part of a gentlemanly, polite eel. But apparently, that meant something entirely different to Jade. He was courting you all this time? And you never noticed??
“Jade, are you serious?” You give him an incredulous look, your brain trying to catch up with this new information. The eel smiles at your current expression, now clearly finding amusement at the situation.
“Yes, quite serious, my dear. But to calm your worries, I assure you that I sincerely return your affections. I find that our time together has made my days much more pleasant, and that your presence is one that I can never bring myself to tire of. Though you can be a handful at times, it seems that it only causes me to fall more in love with you, fufu.” The lilt in his tone soothes your thoughts, and you begin to fully look at the eel standing before you. Standing up with perfect posture, his hands are brought together across his stomach, and he still has his signature smile spread across his face. If you squinted a bit, you’d find that his cheeks are even tinted a very faint shade of pink, and that his breathing is a bit uneven. For Jade, such a small reaction is a big sign that he’s worked up. You find that hard to believe, but just hearing you doubt his love for you is enough to throw him off track.
Despite that, his eyes seem filled with amusement crinkling their corners, clearly focusing all his attention on you. At the realization, you feel your face heat up, and your heart runs a mile once more. But you’re happy. Relieved, even. Though your hypothesis was completely off, it’d be the only thing you’d never want to be true. The fact is: your eel is undeniably and utterly in love with you.
There is one question left unanswered, however.
“Prefect, I’m glad that I was able to erase your doubts, but I believe you have yet to respond to my previous inquiry.”
“Huh? What did I miss…I love you too?”
He smiles at your reply, and gently runs his gloved fingers through your hair once more, “I appreciate your words, but I was referring to my marriage proposal.”
“Wait, you’re really asking me that? Right now?” You were only in your second and third years, after all. You didn’t think your relationship would last either, and that you’d be left to deal with your “unrequited” feelings forever…
The amused look in Jade’s eyes turned into something that resembled mischief instead, “Hm? I take it that you are rejecting my request? Or is it that…there is a third party?” This time, he puts on his worried face–cute pout intact–hand holding his chin, clearly putting on an act to look pitiful. “I was hoping to wait for the perfect time to ask for your hand, but I thought that waiting had become a hindrance in our relationship, in regard to your previous worries. Though, I am curious as to what your answer will be, my dear~.”
You let out a dry sniffle, but then your eyes warm up, and suddenly tears are streaming down your face. You find that your overwhelming happiness at the realization that Jade is in love with you…is quite difficult to hold back. Through your blurry vision, you manage to make out how Jade’s eyes are slightly widened, and his eyebrows are etched in genuine worry once more. He immediately moves to retrieve the handkerchief from his breast pocket, “Oh dear, Prefect, I apolog–”
“Yes! Jade, please marry me!”
extra:
After your confession, Jade walks back to Octavinelle in high spirits. Even Floyd is weirded out by how happy his brother seems, but immediately assumes that Shrimpy had done something nice to him that day. More than nice, actually.
He gathers his materials and the plants he’s foraged to create a terrarium dedicated to you. One out of many, in fact, but this one is special because it marks your first day as a couple. He sets two budding plants together, hoping to see them bloom with you.
Then comes your new routine–preparing you lunches with mushrooms he’s foraged and recipes he threatened asked for from Ruggie, taking initiative and inviting you on hiking dates or go stargazing with him, and clearly giving you special treatment by handing out discounts whenever you visit him at Mostro Lounge Azul is on his last straw.
The only thing running through his head while doing these things is of course, three simple words: I love you.
Seeing you waiting by the counter at Mostro Lounge? I love you. When he gifted your couple-terrarium and saw how overjoyed you were, he thought, I want to see this reaction forever, interesting…so this is love. Even though hiking wasn’t your strongest suit, you insisted on going with him because you wanted to be part of his hobbies, too. I am in love with the Prefect.
However, it seems he got a bit carried away, because he never actually uttered these words to you–they remained as constant thoughts in his mind, leading him to believe he always relayed these feelings to you. Hm, and he has the nerve to wonder why you ask him one day, “Jade, will you ever break up with me?”
hi I #back am at it! i didn't really proofread this and maybe i will edit later on but i want to get it out and stop being a perfectionist LOL so HI HI EVERYONE this is my submission to the jade leech fic community this is all i got for now gang
Your eyes bulged out of your head as the words mindlessly slipped past your lips, hand slapping over your mouth as you stared in horror. It wasn’t like you to be so careless, especially not when princes and people who could wave a hand to have you six feet under (quite literally) surrounded you.
It didn’t help that all your friends' jaws dropped at your single word (others were trying hard to not double over laughing). Especially not when it was so out of your character to say.
All you could do was stare blankly into the distance, wishing this was all a bad dream, and that you could dissipate like smoke into the sky. Yet the harsh reality bit into you as warm brown eyes watched on in shock, which morphed into amusement as his laughter rang in the air.
You suppose you should count yourself lucky that Minajael Tealrajah, prince of the Scalding Sands, was not vindictive.
“My apologies, Prince Minajael,” Jamil spoke first, head bowed in respect (and to also hide his smirk).
The prince merely waved the apology off, wiping a stray tear as he calmed down. You hated to admit that his bright smile warmed parts of you that you forgot existed. He was the most handsome man you have met, which is saying something with the company you carried.
“No apologies needed,” Minajael chuckled. “Though I am curious as to what brought that comment.”
You felt your soul leave your body for the second time in the last 5 minutes. How the hell were you supposed to explain that your lizard brain took over the second you saw his exposed midriff?
“Uh,” you spoke dumbly, blinking rapidly as you tried to rack your brain for any sensible answer to calling someone a slut. Traitorously, your eyes lowered to where brown skin lay exposed for anyone to see.
“Objectifying me already,” Minajael hummed dejectedly, amusement underlying his tone.
“Excuse me, I am going to jump into the nearest river now,” you stand up, fully ready to go through with your threat, only for said prince to grab your hand, halting your escape.
“It’s okay,” he laughed, eyes strangely warm, even though you did kind of just insult him accidentally. “I’m not used to people treating me in such a manner, it’s refreshing.”
You raise an eyebrow, wondering if he’s into being name called. Once again the word slut reverberates through your skull, but you keep it inside this time. You know you were never going to live this moment down. Minajael Tealrajah was going to be the death of you, and you couldn't help but find yourself excited by the prospect.
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
A/N :: was written for my tik tok ( itsriasilly ) so the word cock is censored out, and “entrance” is used as a replacement for the word pussy. 
Trey Clover
His hands rest on your hips, fingers pressing just enough to remind you they're there, but he doesn't guide you. Trey's breath hitches every few seconds, a slow, controlled exhale that betrays how desperately he wants you to move. "You're doing this on purpose," he murmurs, voice strained, and you feel his c*ck twitch inside you. He shifts his thighs beneath you, a subtle adjustment that nudges you deeper, but he stops himself from thrusting. "Please," he finally breathes, "just a little—anything you want, just move."
Cater Diamond
Cater's grin is tight, almost manic, as he keeps his hands locked behind his head—a deliberate show of restraint. "Okay, okay, I get it, you're winning," he says, but his voice cracks on the last word. He's trying to play it cool, but his hips have a mind of their own, making tiny, aborted rolls that barely achieve anything. "C'mon, babe, don't torture me like this. I'll do anything—anything you want—just give me something, yeah?"
Leona Kingscholar
Leona's tail flicks sharply behind him, the only sign of his irritation. He's got you straddling his lap, his c*ck buried deep, and he's made it abundantly clear that you're not allowed to move until he says so—except now he's regretting that demand. His claws scrape lightly against your thigh, a warning and a plea. "Herbivore," he growls, low in his throat, "I changed my mind. Move. Now. Or I'll take what I want, and you'll be the one begging to stay still."
Ruggie Buuchi
Ruggie's usual scheming demeanor has crumbled into something almost pathetic. He's gripping your waist with needy fingers, his ears drooping. "Come on, please? I'll do your chores for a week—no, a month! I'll steal you anything you want from the Savanaclaw kitchen." He whimpers when you don't budge, his c*ck pulsing inside your tight entrance. "Just… just one little rock, that's all I'm asking. I'm begging here."
Azul Ashengrotto
Azul's composure is a thin veneer, sweat beading at his temples as he keeps his hands folded primly in his own lap—a promise he made not to touch you until you chose to move. "This is… a rather effective negotiation tactic," he says, voice trembling. "I concede. I'll sign any contract, grant any wish. Just… please, won't you give me a single, merciful thrust?"
Jade Leech
Jade's smile is serene, but his eyes are darker than usual, watching you with predatory patience. His hands rest on the floor behind him, steadying himself. "You're quite skilled at this game," he says, his voice a silken whisper. "I must admit, the stillness is… exquisite torture." He shifts his hips just barely, a deliberate display of how much control he's ceding. "But I wonder how long you can resist the temptation to move, when you know exactly what I'll do once you start."
Floyd Leech
Floyd is squirming, his long legs kicking out occasionally as he whines dramatically. "Shrimpy, this isn't fun anymore! I want you to move, move, move!" He wraps his arms around you, trying to pull you closer, but you stay rigid. "If you don't start bouncing soon, I'll squeeze you until you have to move," he threatens, but his tone is more desperate than menacing. "Please? I'll be good, I promise."
Jamil Viper
Jamil's jaw is clenched, his hands fisted at his sides. He'd agreed to this challenge with a smirk, confident he could outlast you. Now he's trembling, barely holding himself back from gripping your hips and slamming you down. "Fine," he hisses through gritted teeth. "You win. I'll do whatever you ask—cook, clean, even bow to your whims. Just move already. I can't take much more of this."
Vil Schoenheit
Vil's expression is a masterpiece of controlled annoyance, but the flush creeping down his neck betrays him. He tilts his chin up, refusing to break his elegant posture. "I must say, this is a rather novel form of torture," he says, voice laced with honey and venom. "You've proven your point. Now, if you would be so kind as to move, I'll ensure your reward is… legendary."
Idia Shroud
Idia's face is a brilliant shade of red, hidden behind his hair as he hunches forward. He hasn't dared to look at you, his hands gripping the edge of the bed. "This is so unfair," he mutters, voice muffled. "You're literally just sitting there and I'm… I'm dying. Ortho's going to find my corpse." He peeks at you through his bangs. "If I promise to play any game you want for a whole year, will you please, please, just twitch or something?"
Malleus Draconia
Malleus's eyes gleam with ancient amusement, but his breathing has turned shallow. He holds perfectly still, a statue of dark power, save for the slight tremor in his hands. "You have a rare talent, little one," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your core. "I have waited centuries for many things, but this moment tests my patience more than any. I will give you the moon if you ask—just grant me the mercy of your movement."
Silver
Silver's head is drooping, his eyes half-lidded—not from sleep, but from the overwhelming haze of need. His hands are loosely resting on your hips, not daring to push. "I… I don't think I can stay still much longer," he murmurs, his voice thick. "It's becoming unbearable. Please, if you have any kindness in your heart, let me feel you move. Just once."
Chenya
Chenya's grin is playful, but his usual mischief has an edge of desperation. He's seated cross-legged, you in his lap, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. "You're really good at this," he says, a hint of a whine in his voice. "Okay, okay, you win. I'll share my secret stash of sweets, I'll let you prank Riddle with me, I'll do anything. Just give me a little wiggle, pretty please?"
Minajeal Tealrajah
Minajeal's regal composure is cracking, a soft flush painting his cheeks as he rests his hands on your knees, not daring to move them higher. His voice is warm, but strained. "You've bested me, it seems," he says with a breathless laugh. "I confess, I'm not accustomed to being so thoroughly undone by stillness. If you would grant me the honor of your movement, I would be eternally grateful—and I promise to return the favor tenfold."
a little raven told me... iii. a week in summary — i. the prince and king of pop
series synopsis: as a student from another world, your friends are dying to know about your life from your homeworld, especially what school was like for you. after sharing a few unique stories from your old school, like the tales of a certain confessional account, you thought nothing of it. that is, until you get a new follower notification from your magicam account one evening, just like an account from your old school. rumors are running, gossip is spreading, all under an anonymous confessions account. oh, what can of tuna worms did you unleash on the student body of night raven college…
who started the account? who knows, maybe some of these submissions lead to deeper confessions with some of your classmates…
a little raven told me… masterlist
multi! twisted wonderland x reader smau
wordcount -> ~ 200 (it's 24 text pictures though!!)
april 4th, the saturday after nrc.confessionz dropped.
april 5th, the sunday after nrc.confessionz dropped.
these past two days have been a handful. honestly, you just want to go to sleep. the school week starts tomorrow and you just know your friends are not going to drop the whole nrc.confessionz account. speak of the great seven, there they are, blowing up for group chat. grim’s tail was flickering behind him, snickering as he read over your shoulder.
you shut off your phone and tossed it to the side, grim yelping. “watch where you’re throwing stuff, hench human!” he grumbled before laying back down.
whatever, it’s a silly little joke going on in your friend group. eventually, someone will fess-up to owning the account, you all will get mad at them for 24-hours (max) and move on with it.
this won’t spread outside your friend group, right?
right?
oh you were so wrong.
previous: ii. enter 'SCARABIA STUDENT B HATERS ‼️' <- masterlist -> next: iii. a week in summary ii. the virus has spread.
note: so... theres now going to be 3 parts to 'a week in summary'... LMFAO it just got way too big so i had to space it out like this. i'm finally getting to the parts where i can use the rumors you guys have sent (YAY)!! okay fr this time next part will be out this week. please enjoy, this one was fun to make!
big thank you to my stink stink (@shikiyomizu) for the rumor used for jack! (she made it up before playing twst and now that she's playing she feels bad for doing him dirty,,,)
check out the promo post to see how you can be involved in the story!
if you're reading, if you have any particular rumors for scarabia, octavinelle, or ignihyde, they may coming up soon (wink wink).
taglist (open; i just need to start reblogging to tag now!): @yyuangss @shikiyomizu @kimura-uzuri @saaaasas @koku11 @weepingfrenchfries @whotdefak @strayy-kidz @baizhumywife @galaxy-batsy-world @sincerelyruu @feliciefifi @gloomuraaii @earlgreyteebag @raidumpster @twistedmoonspirit @k3lbug @kiwis-kikis @hirayahhh @aoilovereha @0512odeco @simping4malleus @nullifiedadviser @trip13-aaa @yvres @pinkiipeachiikeen @silverargentu @vanillaadots @mxvoid26 @popteenotaku @fandomotakutraveler @azzberry @reversearrowhead @qaxdea @lady-father @lostsomewhereinthegarden @ragdol-666 @theleftovere @latisthegenderwannabealone @roses-and-reeses @adollssecretdiary @caffeinatedtale @monsieurgucchi @c3lery @keikeis-stuff @hazyue @hollowflameninja @doumein @ddurandals
miss raven!! i've noticed many people hcing minajael as someone who's very teasing/flirty and i'm so curious what's your take on this! what do you think his style would be like?
I think a big part of Mina’s appeal is that we barely know anything about him. A pretty face and some basic background + vaguely princessy and Jasmine inspiration is enough for fans to project whatever romanticism they want onto him to fill in for knowledge gaps. And yeah, it helps that Mina also has a very strong face card
I believe that fans like to headcanon Minajael as flirty/teasing because of their own thirst/j of how Jasmine, his inspiration, behaves in the film. Since Jasmine has a romance with Aladdin (and, uh, arguably also a charged “moment” with Jafar 🤢), we can reference that and extrapolate for Mina and how he'd act when it comes to pursuing love for himself or just how he acts in general. I've also noticed that many people like the idea of the RSA boys having Disney prince/hero traits, so those tend to get combined with the princess/heroine traits. For Mina, that means he may have some Aladdin elements as well (though for simplicity's sake, I'll be pulling only from Jasmine for this post).
Firstly, Jasmine is fierce and firmly believes in marrying for love, not for status or royal obligation. "I am not a prize to be won!" really sticks out in my own memories of her film. This is something we already see reflected in Mina, who pretty quickly rejects the idea of having his spouse decided for him in his introductory scene. It's therefore not far-fetched to look to Jasmine for other examples of what could be transferrable to Minajael. For example, he could have a strong sense of justice and a desire to help others since Jasmine does (thinking Jafar's sentences are too harsh, wanting to feed a hungry child, etc.).
Jasmine is consistently shown to be flirty (sometimes in subtle ways, other times more aggressively or overtly). Her "I'm a fast learner" line could be seen as being coy, especially when paired with her expression and in the context of having fallen into Aladdin's chest a little earlier. And who could forget the infamous scene where Jasmine lays it on thick to distract Jafar? In fact, Jasmine demonstrates several times that she knows how to "turn on the charm", not just to distract Jafar, but also with Aladdin, whom she expresses both hostility + hesitation towards and genuine interest in. For example, she strides up to Aladdin, places her hands on him, and speaks in a sweet voice in their balcony scene. Jasmine also acts playful with the feather on Aladdin's turban, proactively puts her head on his shoulder, and refers to him as "my handsome prince" after their date in the sky.
Considering all of that, here's my own interpretations of the "Minajael is teasing/flirty" headcanon(s), along with related headcanons of my own:
My immediate impression of Mina is that he speaks casually, but is serious when it comes to achieving his goals. However, this doesn’t mean that he can’t also be a romantic or have a teasing streak.
As I mentioned earlier, he is canonically very opinionated when it comes to matters of love and is against the idea of having others choose his partner for him.
I see the RSA boys as kinda… bleeding hearts and/or those with savior complexes. For Mina specifically, I think he’d share Jasmine’s fierceness and self-righteousness, so he’d be the type to intervene if he senses a NRC guy is giving someone else trouble. Swoop in and play hero, y’know 😭
I fully believe in Mina’s capacity to whip out the charm if he has to or wants to. Now, I don’t think he’s a playboy even if he kinda looks like trouble. He’d be looking for The One to pledge his devotion to, someone who would love him for him, and not money, status, or titles. An old-fashioned romantic at heart!
Mina daydreams about having a serendipitous encounter in some farmer’s market (while he’s in his commoner cosplay). Like he reaches for the same blemished apple as a rando and then their hands touch, their eyes meet, sparks fly—
Mina does strike me as someone who easily teases, thanks to being inspired by Jasmine. He’s not unaware of the effect he has on people, bro knows what’s up.
He’s very selective with how he wields his charm, because he doesn’t like the idea of giving false hope. If he’s such an advocate for true love, then the last thing he wants to do is lead someone on. And if the person he’s interested in is into someone else, Mina will immediately back off and encourage them to follow their heart. HE’S A SUCKER FOR HAPPY ENDINGS (even if they do not involve him).
I think a good way to incorporate Jasmine’s (initial) hesitancy and skepticism (of Aladdin as his Prince Ali persona) is… maybe Mina teases others as a sort of “test” to see how they react. Kinda like putting his feelers out there, so he can determine what kind of person they are, if he can trust them or not, etc.
To add that element of insincerity (Jasmine faking it with Jafar) to Mina, I think he has a… complicated relationship with flirting? Like, it’s a useful tool to determine friends and foes, but it isn’t “true”—it has a detached quality to it. Maybe he feels a real connection with someone, but then the thought occurs to him that they may not like him for his “real” self, since he’s kinda putting on an act or pretending to be someone else in the moment (perhaps someone more romantically aggressive).
He doesn’t like being pursued; he’s more into being the pursuer. I think this thought of mine stems from Jasmine’s “I am not a prize to be won” line and how she constantly had suitors knocking at her door. It’d feel suffocating for Mina and like people are fighting for his affections. He wants that freedom to choose who he loves and pursues.
I think he'd be really popular on Magicam and every time he posts, he gets a flood of thirst tweets and people hitting on him. Mina laughs it off, but it'd make him feel kind of uncomfortable and think about how people like him only for his riches or looks and not really for HIM, the "real" him.
Mina seems so easy to talk to… so casual. Flirting comes to him naturally, and sometimes even the non-flirting sounds like it because of how effortlessly it rolls off his tongue. My female friend and I have this dumb in-joke where we’ll greet each other with “hey, girl” to parody playboys, but in Mina’s case, that “hey” greeting would actually be innocent and chill but so, SO effective, even if he does not mean for it to be that way.
You know how sometimes guys use their dogs in dating app photos to make themselves seem more likable??? MINA WiTH HIS PET TIGER AS HIS WINGMAN…
I don’t think he’d be perfect in matters of love. At the end of the day, Mina is still extremely privileged (despite his own reservations about his status), and that will blindside him to certain things that the common man experiences that he never has. He might make some accidentally insensitive comments, but quickly recovers from them and is cordial + mature with the apologies unlike most of the NRC boys. Y’know, cuz Jasmine can get pretty feisty but isn’t afraid to change her mind when she has realized she was wrong.
He once thought about confiding in his thoughts on love with Neige, Rielle, etc. but they got way too squeaky and excited about it, so Mina changed his mind and shut the convo down 💀
I may or may not have more thoughts on this later, we’ll see… I could yap about this for a good long while :v
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹ 𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗫𝗣𝗟𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗕𝗟𝗬, you awake in the otome game ‘twisted hearts’ as a run-out-of-the-mill side character. no worries, the love interests are already after yuu. you just gotta stay out of it all, right?
a little raven told me... ii. enter 'SCARABIA STUDENT B HATERS ‼️'
series synopsis: as a student from another world, your friends are dying to know about your life from your homeworld, especially what school was like for you. after sharing a few unique stories from your old school, like the tales of a certain confessional account, you thought nothing of it. that is, until you get a new follower notification from your magicam account one evening, just like an account from your old school. rumors are running, gossip is spreading, all under an anonymous confessions account. oh, what can of tuna worms did you unleash on the student body of night raven college…
who started the account? who knows, maybe some of these submissions lead to deeper confessions with some of your classmates…
a little raven told me… masterlist
multi! twisted wonderland x reader smau
wordcount -> 1.2k
the twenty-four hours that followed last night’s sleepover have been…interesting to say the least. but, of course, you have to start with the morning.
sleep was never peaceful. at least, that’s what your sleep-ridden mind thought as grim’s unique tail was swatting you in the face — wasn’t he on the couch? why you, why your face — there’s like seven other faces he could’ve targeted!
groaning, you covered your face with your hand to protect it from any further swatting, sitting up and moving your feline-esk friend. well, might as well start the day now since you’re already up, and you can take the good bathroom before the guys hog it, which is kind of crazy — it’s your dorm, why are they taking the nice bathroom!
but like you said, sleep was never peaceful. two of your friends were already bickering, and who else would it be but the heartslabyul duo.
“dude, get your nasty dogs out of my face!” ace grumbled, hitting deuce’s legs with a nearby pillow. deuce looked at him, brows furrowed, not quite at his ‘delinquent switch,’ but pretty close, “i’m not even near you, ace. you had to reach to hit me!” he said, throwing a pillow of his own at ace’s face.
ace shot up, a sleep-ridden pout on his lips and his brows furrowed, “i can smell them!”
“that’s a load of bullshit and you know it!” deuce retorted back, and the whisper-shouting kept escalating. you would’ve interfered, but you were brushing your teeth and just came out to see this.
“DANGNABBIT, YER A BIG OL’ BUNCHA IDJITS, YA HEAR ME?” epel shouted, sitting up clearly upset, his hair in all sorts of directions, “SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYNA SLEEP!”
both deuce and ace turned to him, blinking at their friend. deuce broke the silence, “uhm, epel. i think it was just you sleeping. everyone else is up.” he said as ace nodded his head in agreement. sebek and jack got up earlier than everyone else, probably off training before you all had to head to classes. grim was surely scourging your barren cabinets for something to snack on and you weren’t entirely sure where ortho could be.
“ah.” epel said, blinking and taking in the information. he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand, stretching his arms above his head. “right, well, g’morning…” he said, getting up to use the bathroom, saying hello to you as you made your way to the living room and him to the bathroom.
“dude…” ace said, shaking his head in resignation.
turns out sebek and jack did train while you all were sleeping in. they somehow even managed to get showered and changed before you all did? and the audacity to be rushing the rest of you. you did find out where ortho went though, apparently he had to get everyone some drinks for the walk to campus (how sweet)!
you all walked to the main campus from ramshackle. as you know, ramshackle is the only dorm located on campus, the main seven are accessible through the mirror chamber. it’s not inconvenient but it is a fair walk from your dorm to campus. while you usually have grim, it’s also nice to have your friends’ company.
talking about here and there, complaining about classes, sharing club news, getting digs in at each other — you know, the usual. right when you guys got in eyes distance of campus, ace came over and nudged you,
“hey, saw what you did there, prefect. didn’t think you’d be one to bring home traditions to night raven,” he said, raising his right brow as he kept nudging you.
your brows furrowed in confusion, before you could question what this duffous was talking about, jack beat you to it, “what are you talking about, ace? oh, wait, do you mean that magicam account?”
“oh yeah!” ortho chimed in, floating over to you, “i meant to ask you about that earlier.”
you shook your hands, rounding to the front of your group and facing them, “no, no. that wasn’t me. i was going to ask which one of you idiots made that, i got a follow sometime last night.”
“shifting the blame onto someone else, hmm, hench-human?” grim snickered, climbing up to your shoulder.
“dude, grim, how would you know? you don’t even have a phone.” deuce said, shaking his head as he shrugged his shoulders.
epel added to the sudden not so sudden grim slander, “unless he took her phone and made the account himself,” he said, hiding his laugh behind his hand.
“hmph, you give the monster feline too much credit. he can barely form coherent strings of text with his paws,” sebek huffed, his know-it-all smirk proudly beaming.
“watch it!” grim exclaimed, standing on your shoulder, much to your dismay, “i was given enough credit and i’m not a feline! what if it was epel!”
you hummed, “hey you were on your phone pretty late…” if they were going to take digs at something you didn’t do, two can play that game!
“wha—no way!” epel said, bringing his hand out defensively, “i told you i was tryin’ to make sure vil didn’t know i stayed up that late. i was changing my active time.”
“woah, you can do that? epel, you’ve gotta teach me. the amount of times housewarden has almost taken my head over staying up past curfew is crazy.” ace said, sliding up next to epel.
epel nodded, but then a mischievous grin painted his face, “it could totally be ace. weren’t you up late too?”
as much as everyone would’ve loved to continue pointing fingers at each other to get underneath each others’ skins, you had to break for homeroom, which deuce and jack kindly reminded you all.
professor crewel as your homeroom and first-period isn’t as bad as your friends make it out to be. it’s definitely not a walk in the park, but you struggle a lot less with alchemy compared to history of magic with professor trein. at least you could use some things you learned chemistry from your world and apply it to alchemy.
“hey, prefect, get off your phone~ we know you’re trying to cover your tracks~” ace teased, putting his flask down as deuce looked at him unimpressed. “dude, cut it out. we only have one chance to get the 5 reactions right because someone wasted all of our reagent.”
“hey! the instructions were not clear!” grim huffed, stomping one of his paws while you shook your head. “actually, if you would’ve done the prelab, it says the amount of mL we were supposed to use…”
the experiment got to a point where you all had to wait fifteen minutes and what else would you do but goof off on your phones.
lunch was…as expected. same as always — chaotic, just with the added feature of your friend group accusing each other of being behind the account. grim took the opportunity to snag people’s food while they were distracted pointing fingers at each other.
there were a few minutes between lunch and your next class where you’d usually chat with your friends some more, but someone ace forgot his gym uniform at his dorm and had to go back to grab it. you stayed back with the other. all was well until epel started laughing, showing his phone to sebek who shook his head in disbelief, but there was a hint of laughter by how his shoulders were moving. ortho then tapped your phone for you to see what was going on.
previous: piece of my world <- masterlist -> next: a week in summary (to be posted).
note: guys there was NOT supposed to be that big of a time gap from the first post to now...IM SO SORRY! if anyone noticed, i did switch the posting order! mainly for 1) i wanted to get something out ASAP but 2) it makes more sense spacing wise instead of having a mega 4k chapter with a bunch of smau inserts. (so, smaller chapters but easier to digest) next two parts will be posted together this week! (some of your submissions will be there teehee). thank you for all the love so far <3
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