Part of what's existentially irritating (at least, to me) about conspiracy theorists is that there are so many actual conspiracies, yet those are literally never the ones people focus in on
"5G is—" Girl the Russian bot farms!! (x, x)
"Vaccines are—" Girl the CIA literally faked giving hepatitis B vaccinations in Pakistan to DNA test people for relation to bin Laden!! (x, x)
"Fluoride is—" Girl the illegally dumped environmental toxins!! (x, x)
"Immigrants are—" Girl the CIA overthrew the democratically elected government of Guatemala so Chiquita could sell you cheaper bananas!! (x, x)
"GMOs are—" Girl the Coca Cola death squads!! (x, x, x)
Edit: the title for this comic is “Puzzle Rat”
this one’s a few days late due to having a lot of doctors appointments sorry
it’s just 9 pages, and about some rats… it’s more symbolic than anything really
(it’s completely unrelated to any of my songs that have to do with “puzzleboy”)
Patreon: www.patreon.com/PengoSolvent
Summary: You were just a regular, everyday fangirl with a normal life — that is, until you were hit with a truck after you looked both ways when crossing the road. Now all of a sudden, you have a mission — enter Diabolik Lovers, the cringe anime you had found while looking for something to binge, and get strong enough to kill Karlheinz, who has been disrupting the balance of that world for long enough. It should be simple enough, right?
Pairings: Shu Sakamaki x F!Reader. Reiji Sakamaki x F!Reader, Laito Sakamaki x F!Reader, Ayato Sakamaki x F!Reader, Kanato Sakamaki x F!Reader, Subaru Sakamaki x F!Reader, Yui Komori x F!Reader, more relationships TBA as the story goes on.
WARNINGS: descriptions of blood and death, future canon typical violence, future potential OOC Sakamaki brothers, Mukami brothers, and Yui Komori, bisexual main character, descriptions of verbal and physical abuse towards a child, this story will potentially be cringe because it’s my first fanfic so bear with me lmfao.
word count: 1.2k
also available on quotev under p1nkhearts
————————————————————————
CHAPTER 00: said it’s okay, (and it’ll all be over soon)
LIFE AND DEATH go hand in hand, one cannot exist without the other, that much is known already. The real question, the one that many of us wonder on a daily basis is much more complex than that — what happens after? What happens when your luck runs out, when your bones ache and can’t pick you up off the ground anymore?
At the time, you thought there was simply nothing, we live and we die and that’s that.
What a pessimistic fool you were.
Yesterday was a normal day for you. You got up, groggily said your good mornings to your mom and dad, hit your sister with a wooden spoon after she teased you about staying up all of last night watching that “cringe” anime — Diabolik Lovers — that you had found on a whim, and went to school.
You were supposed to go to hang out with your best friends after school that day, you were supposed to do your homework—!
You were supposed to do a lot of things, it’s just too bad you never got a chance to actually do them.
Ah. The taste of copper is really disgusting.
As your world turns to black, you can only hope that at least in your next life, maybe you can live just a bit longer.
———————
However, to your surprise, you find your eyes opening. You groggily get up and on your feet, stretching and rubbing your eyelids. It almost feels like you were just taking a very long nap, and it takes a few seconds for the panic to set it.
“What the fuck? Where am I? Think, [Name], think! I was walking to school after my stupid bus decided to skip my stop for the like, millionth time, and then what—“
You stop in your tracks as you hear a ‘ping!’ behind you, and you slowly turn around, only to find a screen that remsembled something that you would find in a cringy otome game standing in front of you.
[“Hello, [Name!]”]
You pause, and your eyes blink once— then twice, then a third time in complete astonishment, “Uhm.. hi? Is this a prank or something?”
You look around what appears to be a white, empty room — though now looking at it again, it appears to be more of an endless space, can you even call it a room? —, “I know there has to be a camera in here somewhere..” you mutter underneath your breath.
[“This isn’t a prank, unfortunately you have—“]
“Wait a damn minute.. did you kidnap me?”
[“What? No, unfortunately you have—“]
“Are you some sort of pervert who has a thing for cute, pretty highschool girls like me?”
[“Uhm— no, and you need to let me finish my sentence! You have unfortun—“
“I’ll let you know I’m definitely not, easy prey, whoever-you-are! I’m a white belt in karate! Hiya—!”
[“Listen, [Name]!”]
You stop in your tracks, and stare blankly at the floating text. The System feels like it wants to sigh, but then remembers it doesn’t even have the organs to do so.
[“I apologize for being harsh, but you need to pay attention. While walking to school, you were hit by truck and unfortunately you are now dead.”
You remember now, the taste of blood pooling in your mouth, the feeling of your life slowly slipping away, the fact that you never even got to finish highschool—
[“Breathe, [Name]!”]
You take a deep breath, and attempt to push all the feelings of grief down, locking it in a little chest inside your heart.
That definitely won’t backfire later.
Right?
You swallow, mouth feeling dry, before speaking up again, “So.. if I’m dead —“ you take another shallow breath, “how am I here right now?”
For a moment, all you can hear is the steady thumping of your heart, before you hear another ping.
[“I need your help.”]
You feel confused, “You need my help..? But, why?”
[“Are you aware of what the multiverse is?”]
You nod your head and scoff, “Yeah, of course I am — wait.. are you saying that’s actually real?”
The System ignores you and carries on.
[“In each universe, there needs to be a balance. One living thing cannot have all the power, or it disrupts that careful balance, and it can have catastrophic consequences.”
You stay silent, basking in the afterglow of this new information.
[“Right now, in one universe, someone — or something if you want to be logical about it — has way too much power and it’s disrupting the careful balance of that world.”
“Okay.. so what does that have to do with me?”
[“I need a soul to enter that world and kill the thing that’s taking up too much power.”]
Your jaw practically drops to the floor, “Uhm, excuse me? And you think I can do this.. because? I mean, I’ve spent literally half of my life as a weak recluse that’s forever been picked last in dodgeball.”
[“Unfortunately, right now your my only option. Your desire to live was so strong that it brought your soul to me.”]
“Hey, you bastard. What do you mean, unfortunately?”
The System ignores you.
[“If you decide to take on this mission, I’ll be with you the entire way. I’ll even buff your stats, and make you totally OP.”
You pause, before hesitantly speaking up, “and what happens if I don’t take the mission?”
[“If you decide not to, you’ll simply fade into nothingness just like all the other souls that have passed on.”]
You definitely did not want to do that, you still wanted to do lots of things! You wanted to graduate highschool, make more friends, maybe even date a super mega hot boy — or girl — !
And so, it seems the answer is simple.
“Alright, I’ll do it. Sign me up!”
[“Yahoo! Okay, let me just get the transportation set up and you’ll reincarnate starting at the age of.. seven years old!”]
“Hey.. just one second, what world am I transporting to anyway?”
A bright white light begins to surround you, and you feel your body begin to.. disintegrate?
Well, this definitely won’t traumatize you for life at all!
[“Oh yeah, I kinda forgot to mention that didn’t I, haha silly me! I believe in your world it was a piece of media called, Diabolik Lovers!”]
You feel a sense of terror envelop your body, “Wait, what—“
[“Goodluck, [Name]! It’ll at most take me a year to actually be able to talk to you, so your on your own until then, try your best to survive!”]
Before you can say anything more, you feel the entirety of your world go black.
———————
“[Name], you wretched girl! Get off your lazy ass, now!”
You groan as you hear a shrill, old lady-like voice yell at you from another room. You look down at your hands, and sure enough, there the size of a little kids. You hear another familar ‘ping!’ — a sound that’s already becoming something you dread — and you look up.
[System Notification: User has successfully entered the world of, Diabolik Lovers!
First Mission: Escape the evil clutches of the corrupted orphanage.
Reward: Increased strength & speed.
Penalty: Death. ]
You take a deep breath,clasping both hands together, and shout at the top of your lungs,
“Are you fucking serious?!”
CURRENT STATS:
strength: F
speed: D
intelligence: A
charisma: S
stealth: F
durability: F
magic: N/A
———————
A/N: Hi!! I’ve been noticing a big lack of DBL fanfics lately, so I’ve decided to try my hand at writing one myself. Anyone is welcome to send an ask at any time, either giving criticism or just asking about the story, as long as you’re kind about it. This is going to be my first ever fanfic, so please be patient with me uploading chapters!! I hope you guys liked the first ever chapter! :))
summary: you were just trying to have a peaceful day, but nope! a certain 6'3 eel man wants to play tag with you! but luckily, a certain housecat is playing savior just for you.
starring. . . leona kingscholar, floyd leech x reader
You don't know how much time you have left. No, it's nothing death-related whatsoever. That's what you thought at first, but life in general decided to make things complicated for you just by playing a few cards of tricks, shuffled by the hands of fate itself, just to make you paranoid every minute.
What's keeping you paranoid, you dare ask? Rather than experiencing a slow, agonizing death as intended to grant you mercy, you had to spend your remaining time not knowing where Floyd is currently located after he wasted almost an hour chasing after you with an expression that seemingly looked like he was enjoying this fun cat-and-mouse game despite his nature to be an active predator.
You see, you didn't want this situation to happen. You don't know how it got to this point. You really just wanted to go home…
Before the whole shenanigan took place, it was a sunny day at Night Raven College, so it was a perfect time to have a little stroll outside and enjoy the fresh air after your morning classes. Floyd, of course, lazily spotted you from the distance; he initially had a bored and irritated expression, yet he immediately lit up like a kid in a candy store, ready to pounce and chase after you.
"SHRRRIIIIMMMPPPYYY!!!"
You thought you were going to be fucked the moment this man came sprinting after you, with no considerate regard for the other people around. Should you run? Is even the option of running away from him out of the question at this point when he can outrun you?
Like a fool with deer-in-the-headlights syndrome, you stood frozen in place as Floyd closed in on you, his ridiculously tall stature towering over you while happily greeting you with that same old predatory grin.
His hands interlocked together behind his back, swaying his body from side to side in a childlike manner, as if attempting to make himself look adorable. "Hehehe, it seems my luck hasn't dried out today~"
His mismatched eyes went half-lidded, as something about his playful aura had gone from cheeky to downright shady in a split second that caused you to even be more cautious in his unpredictable presence. He's definitely plotting something… Where the hell are your friends when you needed them right now?!
You uncomfortably shifted your stance, your hands politely interlocked behind your back as well. Your left foot is placed behind you, ready to step back if this menace opts to start shit. Though that simple, foolish move wasn't left unnoticed by his sharp gaze, it did not faze him; rather, he was surprisingly amused by your hesitancy towards him.
You mustered a wary smile, curiously inclining your head. "What are you up to, Floyd?"
"I want to play with youuu~" he sang, stepping closer to your bubble of personal space. Your figure was now covered with his shadow, and then his head leaned forward to meet your disoriented gaze, both of your faces only inches apart.
After all, he was in that mood. There was nothing to entertain him today because everything looked so plain and boring that it eventually fueled his irritation. No other students wanted to play along with his baffling whims, always coming up with bumbling, embarrassing excuses just to avoid his company; it's hilarious to see them squirm under his presence, but it gets boring real fast when others also refuse to engage. It's really damn annoying.
Not even his own twin brother, Jade, wanted to play along with him when he usually does! Always being so professional and focused on his duties as vice housewarden and manager at the Mostro Lounge, he says things like, "There are matters that I needed to finish," and "Maybe another time, brother," then pats his head as if he were a child needing to be comforted. Oh, it infuriated him to no end. If it weren't for Azul's firm interference, he would've lunged at him and bitten his head off like a rabid dog.
He was later kicked out of the cafe for the time being to allow himself to cool off and reflect on his behavior. A sensible solution, right? Yet, he's doing the opposite of what Azul suggested, seething with pettiness and still submerging himself in boredom.
Now that he spotted you, surely you can cure his restlessness and provide him with some much-needed entertainment?
You knitted your eyebrows together, a questioning frown on your lips. "Play?" You watched him nod frantically, his mismatched eyes sparkled with rising excitement, and then you continued. "Okay, what do you have in mind?"
You should've known better than to waste your last words like that…
Floyd pretends to thoughtfully tap his chin for a second, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and his lips pursed together. He was taking his sweet time to come up with an idea, as if he didn't have you quivering in your boots just (impatiently) waiting for him.
All of a sudden, he snapped his fingers. He slowly turned his head to you; your blood ran cold once more by the sight of his dangerous smirk. "How about a fun little chase~"
So that's the brief overview of the whole… sigh… shenanigan…
Now, you're currently at the botanical garden for some reason. You had been running for God knows how long. You just couldn't find any good spot to hide because Floyd was catching up to you so fast that both of your lungs and legs were begging you to stop and catch a breath.
It's so scary that every time you enter a new building, maybe you allow yourself to reassure yourself that Floyd isn't there, or maybe he finally got bored chasing after you. But no luck! That motherfucker has the tenacity of a bloodhound and the persistence of a bulldog.
You were in the temperate zone of the botanical garden, embraced by the fragrances of the various exotic flowers and plants that are home to this peaceful sanctuary. Several trees go as far as the eye can see, their branches stretching out like welcoming arms, offering shade and solace. The sound of birds chirping and the running of flowing water under the bridge was enough to rest your queasy heart just for a moment.
Your fingers gripped a nearby tall bush as your legs threatened to give out from underneath you. It was throbbing terribly. You hissed in pain from the sharp sensation shooting up your leg, your hand immediately clutching your knee, while the other hand tightly held onto the plant to steady yourself.
"Fuck…" you cursed under your breath, carefully removing your shoes one at a time, and winced at the sight of a flushed, swollen ankle. You followed with the other leg; now both of your feet are bare on the ticklish grass while your shoes lie beside you.
"That idiot Floyd…" you continued, massaging the sole of your foot to try and alleviate the pain. "Could've picked someone else…"
You were so occupied easing the discomfort that you didn't notice the faint rustling in the bushes nearby. A low, ominous growl followed, and you were still distracted.
As your feet were getting some relief, in the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of movement in the bushes. Your heart skipped a beat, freezing you in place. What the fuck?! Is he already here?
And before you could do anything, a large figure emerged from the bushes and tackled you on the ground, causing you to stumble and fall onto your back. "AAAH!" You yelped in surprise, coughing up dirt, then scrambling to push the figure off of you. "Get off… GET OFF ME!" you screamed, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you pushed the chest of the figure with all your strength.
Until your eyes finally registered the familiar long, chocolate-brown hair and piercing emerald eyes of a certain Savannaclaw Housewarden, you stopped thrashing upon realizing who it was.
"Leona?"
The man huffed in response, still pinning you down with a stern expression on his face. "What's a runt like you lurking around my territory?" He cocked his head to the side, quirking a questioning brow.
You can feel a vein pop in your forehead as you struggle to come up with a response, attempting to push his chest off of you, but to no avail. "I was just…" you trailed off, your teeth gritting together in frustration, as your eyes gazed somewhere but the man in front of you. "…escaping."
Leona didn't respond, just another hushed huff. Since you assumed he didn't want to hear your sad explanation, judging by how bored and uninterested he seemed, you spoke. "Now, can you get off?"
He didn't respond again. Just absentmindedly staring at you.
A wave of dreadful panic washed over you of his lack of immediate response. You took a sharp breath, clicking your tongue. "Leona, please!" you begged. "Before Floyd gets here!"
"Oooh, little Shrimpppyyy~ Where are youuuu?"
The man on top of you slowly turned his head to where the source of the voice was coming from, counting the footsteps echoing closer. He was drawing near but too cautious to make his presence known. His bored, emerald eyes glanced back at you, slightly widened at your shut eyes and trembling lips. For a moment, you look like a shaking rabbit caught in the headlights.
Leona internally sighed to himself. He was supposed to have a usual, comfortable nap without dealing with pesky disturbances or nuances that dared to interrupt his peace. Honestly, he was this close to thinking about making you his next meal because of your wrong timing and unfortunate intrusion of his rest to dreamland.
But here he was, caught in the middle of an ordeal with this prefect underneath him because the troublesome merman couldn't keep his curiosity in check.
He already predicted what the other outcomes could be if he didn't handle the situation delicately. If he chooses to hand you over to Floyd on a silver platter without a helping hand, you two might wreak havoc in the botanical garden with all the chasing and destruction that would ensue. If he chooses not to hand you over to Floyd, it would save you and the botanical garden from potential destruction, but he has to deal with the merman alone and redirect his attention elsewhere fast before things escalate further.
What a pain to his ass…
"Hey," he whispered, his voice barely audible, yet it caught your attention, gazing at him with a mixture of curiosity and worry.
"If you value your life, hide in the bushes," he suggested, pointing at one of the bushes with his gaze.
Leona carefully removed himself on top of you, swiftly standing up, with no intent of helping you get up from the ground. His body was facing the direction of the approaching danger, shielding your body from view. "What are you waiting for?" he whispered urgently, his eyes darting back to meet yours. "Go, now," he urged.
You nod obediently, quickly scurrying off the ground (despite your legs feeling weak and numb) and making your way towards the bushes as he had suggested, almost stumbling by accident on the way, and you swear you heard a muffled chuckle behind you.
"How adorable."
You glared at the second prince out of the corner of your eye, your cheeks heating with embarrassment, but he did not meet your gaze nor respond to your flustered state, just looking out boredly at the surroundings. As you crouched down behind the foliage, your heart almost dropped when Floyd came on the scene just after you had hidden yourself.
He doesn't look like he is tired at all! Your eyebrows narrowed in disbelief, still carefully peeking to watch the situation unfold.
"Heeeyyy, well, if it isn't the Sea Lion!" Floyd called out with a smirk, both of his arms spread out wide in a mock welcoming motion.
The said sea lion just stared at him blankly, his hands buried in his pockets. He casually approached with a few steps towards him as if to size him up, then he cocked his head to the side, saying. "What brings you here?"
Floyd slumped his shoulders, shaking his head as he sighed. "The little shrimp and I were just having a fun time playing chase," he explained, scratching his head in a confused manner. His mismatched eyes were searching around his surroundings for any signs of you in the area, but to no avail. He sighed once more, but exaggeratedly. "Now I can't find them anywhere!"
Well, that's a you problem. Leona thought, his eyes darting to where you were hiding, noticing you were also watching the situation unfold through the small gaps in the bushes. He narrowed his eyes when you met with his, his chin slightly jerking upward. Stay put.
"Sea Lion!" The beastman eventually turned his attention back to the teal-haired man, his expression annoyed at the sheer volume of his voice, his ears flickering. "What?" he said.
"Have you seen them?" Floyd asked, his tone growing more urgent.
Leona sighed, shaking his head, and his hand dismissively waved in the air. "No, never seen them," he replied.
"Oh?"
Floyd's mismatched eyes narrowed, that lazy "O" stretching wider across his face. He tilted his head, inhaling deeply through his nose with an exaggerated sniff. "Hmm~? That's funny, Sea Lion. 'Cause I can definitely smell them around here. Fresh. Sweaty. Kinda scared~" He giggled, then took a slow, deliberate step forward, his long shadow stretching across the grass. "You wouldn't be hiding them from me, would ya? That'd be real mean."
You bit down hard on your lip, barely daring to breathe. Your swollen ankle throbbed in protest from the awkward crouch, but you didn't shift an inch. Don't look this way. Don't look this wayyyyy.
Leona's ears twitched once, his emerald gaze flat and unimpressed. He let out a low, lazy chuckle that sent a fresh spike of anxiety through you. What the fuck was that chuckle?!
Instead of denying it outright as a savior would, the lion lazily scratched the back of his neck and smirked. "Tch. Smell whatever you want, merman. Maybe the shrimp was here earlier... passed right through while I was trying to nap, or maybe—" His eyes flickered very deliberately toward the bushes where you hid for a split second, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "—they're still close. Who knows? Not my problem."
WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'NOT MY PROBLEM'??? ARE YOU STUPID—
You try to take a breath and calm yourself down, but the rapid beating of your heart made it difficult to focus. Your teeth gritted together. That overgrown kitty was hinting! Purposefully poking the eel just to amuse himself and maybe torture you slowly with his nonchalant attitude! What the fuck???
"Oooh? So you did see 'em!" Floyd sang, taking another bouncy step closer to your hiding spot. His tall frame cast a longer shadow that crept dangerously near the bush. "C'mon, Sea Lion, don't be stingy! Share the fun! I've been chasing them for ages, and they're so good at this game~"
You squeezed your eyes shut, silently praying to every miracle you could think of. Whoever the gods are in the Twisted Wonderland world, now it's their best time to grant you absolute mercy, or else you're gonna fucking tweak. Your hands trembled as they clutched at the dirt and leaves.
You could already see the hem of Floyd's shoes through the leaves.
Just one more step...
Before Floyd could close the remaining distance, Leona's tail flicked irritably. In one fluid motion, he stepped sideways, deliberately blocking the direct path with his broader frame. "Oi. I said I don't know where the shrimp is. And I don't have the patience to play detective with you, either. Scram already, eel. Go bother someone else before I make you."
Floyd's mismatched eyes widened for a split second, the playful glint in them sharpening into something dangerous and feral. His usual lazy grin twisted, lips pulling back to show a flash of sharp teeth. "Heeeh~? You're tellin' me to leave? Just like that?" He straightened up to his full ridiculous height, shoulders rolling as he tried to loom over the lion.
The air between them crackled with tension, Floyd's long limbs loose but ready to strike, like a coiled spring deciding whether to snap. "You're no fun at all today, Sea Lion. Maybe I should squeeze ya first to loosen you up—"
The audacity of this man??? You thought, sweating profusely.
He took one more bouncy step forward, clearly intending to push past Leona and check the bushes himself.
In a blur of movement too fast for someone who claimed to hate effort, Leona's hand shot out. His fingers curled tight around the front of Floyd’s collar, yanking the taller merman down and forward with raw, effortless strength. The fabric strained under his grip as Leona pulled Floyd close enough that their faces were inches apart.
Leona's emerald eyes were half-lidded in bored menace, but his voice dropped into a deep, warning snarl that sent a chill even through you in your hiding spot.
"Listen up, you annoying little shit," he growled, fangs glinting. "I'm not in the mood. Touch one leaf of these bushes and I'll turn you into a rug for my dorm. Now get lost before I lose what’s left of my patience."
For a heartbeat, Floyd's expression flickered, a hint of surprise, then a flash of genuine irritation. This annoying second best… His hands came up to grab Leona's wrist, but the lion didn't budge an inch. Both men intensely stared at each other for a few seconds.
Then all of the sudden, Floyd let out a sharp, hissing laugh that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Keh… fine, fine~ You win this round, kitty." With a harsh tug, he ripped himself free from Leona's grasp, nearly stumbling back a step. He dusted off the front of his uniform with exaggerated, jerky movements, shooting the Savannaclaw housewarden one last narrow-eyed glare. "But tell the shrimp I'm still lookin' for 'em. This game ain't over~"
With that, Floyd spun on his heel and loped off, his long strides carrying him back toward the garden entrance. His off-key humming faded gradually into the distance until the only sounds left were the birds and the gentle trickle of water.
You stayed frozen in the bushes, heart hammering so hard you were sure it would give you away anyway. Only when Leona's shadow fell over your hiding spot did you dare peek out.
The beastman stood there with his hands back in his pockets, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the entire ordeal. He glanced down at you, one ear twitching. "You can come out now. He's gone." A scowl tugged at his lips as he watched you awkwardly crawl out, still favoring your swollen ankle.
You brushed dirt and leaves off your clothes, your cheeks burning. "...Thanks. I think."
Leona just huffed, already turning his back from you. "Whatever. Get out of my sight," he sternly warned.
You remained silent. You don't anticipate favorable things from him after he has assisted you. After all, what he had done was more than enough for you.
Your feet carefully carried you away from him, wincing every second of pain shooting up your leg, until your figure slowly disappeared from his view. That's where Leona turned his head to where you had been standing, a hint of concern flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it with indifference.
He sighed deeply, running a hand through his scalp. "Troublemaker," he muttered under his breath, now making his way to his usual napping spot.
BONUS:
"Why is there a medical kit on the table?" you asked, eyeing the first aid supplies curiously. After today's incident, you were fortunately spared by the gods. Ever since you worriedly asked his twin brother, Jade, if Floyd was still persistent in chasing after you, he reassuringly informed you that Floyd eventually got bored and is currently taking his duties at the Mostro Lounge quite seriously.
Grim simply shrugged, busying himself with eating tuna as usual. "I don't know! It's been sitting there ever since I got home," he replied, his cheeks rounded with a mouthful of food.
You sighed, walking over to the coffee table where the medical kit was left untouched. You lifted it up by the bottom, but notice something smooth beneath it. Curious, you tilted the item slightly, revealing a small sticky note plastered to the surface. It read, "Use it," and then your eyes widened in surprise after seeing familiar initials on the bottom of the note. "L.K"
Your cheeks flushed with realization, then bashfully looked away with a shaky chuckle. That damn lion…
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.
yan! twisted wonderland 〖dating sim au〗x gn! reader─if you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest: that was a saying you abided by strictly after transmigrating into twisted wonderland. to avoid the many death flags from the love interests, you decided to join them, becoming the leader of the 'prefect's fan club!'
as an NPC, you knew it would be inevitable to meet with the monarch of the harem, but you didn't expect it to happen in this way. hell, you would rather have the malleus draconia showing up unannounced in your club's room rather than yuu.
why were you so worried about meeting the seemingly subjection of your adoration in flesh and blood, one might ask? because, NPCs didn't have a single moment with the protagonist. they blended into the background and, at most, would appear as shopkeepers. such a role was considered immortal, in a way, so you weren't anxious about the growing popularity of your brainchild.
if anything, the idea that the love interests would grow dependent on you for intel on yuu was what could help secure the 'unwitting magpie bridge' NPC you presented yourself as.
being alone with yuu spelled a death sentence, for only love interests had scenes like that, for one sole reason: character development. you did not want to get promoted into being the one who died because of the love interests' jealousy. thanks fate very much!
you gulped nervously, eyes darted towards the horrendous cover of the book that you put as a joke. in your defense, you were drunk out of your wits to replicate the lovesick stupor that was described about yuu's effects on others. and the wine was some good stuff too, oh the perks of being rich!
fast thinking, [name]! remember the acting script was given to you by this godforsaken game since your rude awakening! you clasped your hands, a bright smile tugged your lips as your eyes remained shut. you had rook hunt to thank for this mimic of his crazy devotion. one mistake of peeking into his room while giving him the merchandise, and BAM! the wawere was split in half with images of vil and neige. your superficial admiration terribly paled in comparison to his craziness. s an NPC, you knew it would be inevitable before meeting with the monarch of the harem, but you didn't expect it to happen in this way. hell, you would rather have the malleus draconia showing up unannounced in your club's room rather than yuu.
why were you so worried about meeting the seemingly subjection of your adoration in flesh and blood, one might ask? because, NPCs didn't have a single moment with the protagonist. they blended in with the background, and most would appear as shopkeepers. such a role was considered immortal, in a way, so you weren't anxious about the growing popularity of your brainchild.
if anything, the idea that the love interests would grow dependent on you for intel on yuu was what could help secure the 'unwitting magpie bridge' NPC you presented yourself as.
being alone with yuu spelled a death sentence, for only love interests had scenes like that, for one sole reason: character development. you did not want to get promoted into being the one that died because of the interest's jealousy, thanks, thanks fate very much!
you gulped nervously, eyes darted towards the horrendous cover of the book that you put as a joke. in your defense, you were drunk out of your wits to replicate the lovesick stupor that was described about yuu's effects on others. and the wine was some good stuff too, oh the perks of being rich!
fast thinking, [name]! remember the acting script was given to you by this godforsaken game since your rude awakening! you clasped your hands, a bright smile tugged your lips as your eyes remained shut. you had rook hunt to thank for this mimic of his crazy devotion. one mistake of peeking into his room while giving him the merchandise, and BAM! the walls were split in half with images of vil and neige. your superficial admiration terribly paled in comparison to his craziness.
"you have been waititng to meet me!? oh, prefect, i'm your biggest fan!" there were flowers, not roses certainly, blooming in the background as you began to go on a torrent of words. you purposefully darted your eyes away, giving off an impression of shyness (while ignoring the pooling dread in your stomach). it was one of the enigmas that rendered you from truly appreciating yuu: the primal fear that spiked whenever you were near their vicinity.
they were beautiful, that was factual, but there was a heavy rigidity in the way they presented themself, stiff, like a broken doll. lifelessness, that was what you saw when gazing deep into those black eyes that captured the hearts of many, all but you. every inch of your body screamed to run, to get away from the one that donned the skin of a human, but your feet were planted still into the floor below. you pushed the gradual, terrifying realization that you were paralyzed against your will back, replaced by the bravado of a devotee.
"really?" the question caused you to shiver, and you were surprised to see you hadn't tumbled over yet. you knew that look of yuu, an amused expression, as though a monarch laughing at their pitiful court jester.
oh, fuck no!
"because..." they stood up, resting the book on the table nearby and approaching you. your faces were inches apart, clasped hands rested against yuu's chest now. if you were caught in this concerningly intimate position, by just one person, it would be 'GAME OVER' for you. even one insignificant NPC could be the match to the wildfire of rumors swirling around your supposed relationship with the ramshackle's prefect. one of their arms rested above your head as your chin was tilted up to meet their piercing gaze. something about that look made you feel nauseous, as though they could see through the facade you had successfully kept up in front of others, reach through the most vulnerable part of your body.
you loathed that, the loss of control over the situation. what had you done to be tossed into this ridiculous dog-blooded game!? the only sin you had committed was drinking, and that was valid in its own way! before yuu could even continue their vague response, your hands found their strength again and pushed them off roughly onto the ground. disbelief overtook your face, as you bolted before your mind could even comprehend the sheer consequences of your actions.
"meeting cancelled for today!" you explained promptly to your members, whose faces turned crestfallen. bile crawled up on your throat, threatening to taint the evergreen of the courtyard as you wandered aimlessly through the hallway. you wanted to go back to your dorm room and drink until you could feel nothing but the sweet bliss of mindlessness.
your salvation came in the form of epel as you bumped into him on your way back to pomefiore. he was evidently angered, but his face softened upon the sight of your pathetic form.
"how did ya end up like this!? who-?" you immediately covered his loud mouth with your palms, eyes pleaded with him not to continue. he huffed in response, letting go of his pestering as he helped you steady yourself.
"what a crybaby. can't believe i will agree with vil." his words stirred confusion in you, until you felt his hands against the corner of your eyes, tears you didn't know had fallen. that was why you received weird looks from your club members, you realized woefully. however, as an NPC went, no one bothered to ask; they only saw what you wanted them to believe in, a yuu-merchandise distributor, no more, no less. although the mention of your housewarden's name snapped you out of your woes.
vil had been ranting about you....to epel!?
"what did he say about me!? epel, epel, epel!" you furiously shook his shoulders, panic contorted your pretty face. his palms curled into fists; he should not have mentioned that man in front of you. perhaps, to punish you for the absolute spectacle you made out of yourself, fate caused you to miraculously slide off the floor and land headfirst on it.
ouch!
"[name]!?" the worried voice of epel was the last thing you heard before you lost your conciousness, so much for being the president of prefect's fan club.
that was how you ended up in the infirmary, in the most face-losing way ever. you honestly pitied the original owner of this body, considering they were said to be elegant, and there was you, unruly in all aspects.
the bed was quite comfortable, so you decided to stare at the ceiling and thought of backup plans to fall back on, in case the plot needed some pushing in the form of getting you into trouble. frankly, the only image occupying your head right now was throwing the stacks of photos you had of the protagonist and running away. after all, you were rich and insignificant, so vil wouldn't even notice if you vanished from your dorm.
you smothered your head against the pillow, banging onto the mattress with both of your feet and fists. how did yuu even end up in there? where was grim, the feline creature that followed them around? everything felt terribly off about that encounter, as though you had accidentally triggered a glitch that wasn't in the game files.
"ugh... quiet down, pesky flies." you were about to throw the pillow at the source of the voice, sitting up halfheartedly before your eyes scanned the familiar.
oh, c'mon! why did you have to share a space with fucking LEONA KINGSCHOLAR!?
you just wanted some wine. and money. and freedom. that weren't too much, right!?
yuu let out a chuckle upon your grand escape, unknowingly dropping one of the keychains that had a chibi version of them on it. you remained clumsily adorable since their first meeting, though a shame you didn't remember.
but they remembered every single one of the details. gosh, they loved you so much it was almost painful, lying on the ground to take in the way your strength had caught them off guard. they wanted it again, the feeling of being trampled on cruelly, like they weren't a person, but a thing, an object that deserved nothing.
it excited them.
they clutched onto the merchandise tightly, resting it against their lips.
they missed you.
𝐚/𝐮: i kid u not my pc crashed when i was writing epel scene we know its you yuu get your jealous ass out of here and lemme write in peace. sorry for the short chapter i was actively fighting against my pc
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 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.
yan! twisted wonderland 〖dating sim au〗x gn! reader─if you want to hide a tree, hide it in a forest: that was a saying you abided by strictly after transmigrating into twisted wonderland. to avoid the many death flags from the love interests, you decided to join them, becoming the leader of the 'prefect's fan club!'
next
everyone loved yuu. that word alone barely contained the sheer craziness, the scale of the affection the magicless human garnered during their short stay in NRC.
all, except for you, the leader of 'prefect's fan club'.
let's start from the beginning: you were a painfully average and plain person who tried their best to cope with the world via cheap entertainments. trashy novels, brainless games, you name it.
twisted wonderland was a sore eye, mainly because its graphics were considerably higher than the mindless, ad-bloated games you had on your phone. it was honestly a fun experience: seeing the insane worship the main character received through each chapter.
another than that, its worldbuilding wasn't that bad: the concept of 'overblotting' was well-executed. what put you off tough, was the various 'merry bad endings' you could get by the slightest slip of a mistake.
this game required thinking, something you threw away after a long, busy day. one wrong word, and the 'GAME OVER!' flashed red on the screen.
let's skip through the details of your miserable death, a fitting punishment for being on the phone while crossing the road when the green light hadn't even appeared.
so you woke up in a dorm room of, much to your dread, pomefiore’s. you had transmigrated into a background NPC, serving as one of the students fawning over yuu in some cutscenes you couldn't bother to remember.
one cool thing you found out about this body, though, was that its original owner had a fancy parasol. a majority of pomefiore students hailed from wealthy families, and it seemed you were lucky to land on the body of one such young master.
your luck stopped there when you recalled the setting of the game: one wrong move and you could be executed by the main love interests. you could try to remain low-profile, but you were a pomefiore student: that spelled attention already.
you were gripping your (surprisingly) majestic hair, thinking of a plan to help you survive, until you realized: you were meant to fall in love with yuu, just another NPC with an admiration that couldn't be compared to the utter devotion the real love interests had for them.
of course, since this was an inherently ridiculous setting, why not take it upon yourself to become the leader of the prefect's fan club?
after all, you could make a fortune out of yuu-based merchandises!
and that was how, your brainchild, a.k.a your lifeline, came to be. decorated in the signature pastel purple and wite, you actively organized meetings, prepared stuff such as glowsticks, keychains and even pictures of yuu during classes. sharing the same class with the famous magicless human had many of its perks.
occasionally, you spotted familiar figures, from the starters' duo, ace and deuce, who, at first, came to threaten you due to your intrusion of yuu's privacy, were persuaded almost immediately by a free offer of your merchandise.
"you....how did you take this picture?" ace had inquired when you gave him a sample of yuu's yawning during a history class. of course, it captured their glory perfectly because of your expensive polaroid.
"join the club~! we share our secrets there!" you hummed, spreading the stack of photos you had in your hands, much to both of their surprise.
there was a reason you were made the leader!
however, since the current timeline was still between chapter 2 and chapter 3, you got in trouble with your housewarden a lot for staying up late. after all, at this time, vil had yet to comprehend the greatness of yuu.
"you look absolutely horrendous." he commented, upon catching you sneak into your dorm after a fan meeting. you jolted, attempting pathetically to hide the stack of fan merchandise behind your back. a nervous whislte escaped your o-shaped lips as your eyes darted aside.
"sometimes, i find myself impressed by your self-destructive capability: not sleeping for 3 days straight, napping during flight classes, and breaking your own self-care routine." he added on, as though reading your crimes from a long paper scroll like a judge, and you were on a trial. when you were about to verbalize your protests, his fingers had rested against your lips.
"i do not want to hear another word from your dry lips. clean up and go to bed, now." oh, the absolute nerves! you awaited the day he would come begging to join your club. you wondered what he would purchase first? a photo of yuu, a pen, or a keychain? the options were endless in your club.
although your housewarden and many others from your dorm had yet to be charmed by yuu yet (which was a shame considering how many rich students there were; you could drain their entire pocket), other previous dorms, like heartslaybul and savanaclaw, had been utterly captivated.
which was why one of your favorite pastimes was to blackmail tease the housewarden: riddle rosehearts!
"riddle~!"
"goldfish~!"
that was the combo of double trouble that rivalled ace and deuce's annoying existence. at least with the latter, riddle had a fair chance of discipling them. you and floyd? you bet he would run away from his current spot already. when you and one of the notorious leech twins met face-to-face, coldness intruded into the air. the two of you didn't spare one another; dagger glares clashed against each other. the tension in the cafeteria was so thick that it caused other unfortunate students in the nearest vicinity to gulp. a shared laughter cut through the ice like nothing, as your hands rested onto riddle's shoulders.
"oh, what honor do i have to meet with such an elusive figure?" you gave him a half-assed smile, eyes closed in a mockingly happy expression. despite his mood swings being a danger to the NPCs, he had yet to be captured by yuu yet, so you enjoyed toying with floyd a lot.
(translated: why the fuck do i have to encounter a creep like you!?)
"seems like mx. cuttlefish is intered in goldfish too! you aren't about to eat him, are you~?"
(translated: i know you hoe is NOT genuine)
lightning pratically sparked from the prolonged eye contact, and it wasn't until riddle bravely complained about you two that you stopped. you huffed, cheeks puffed in annoyance, before leaving for your table. you couldn't take floyd down, at least not in a physical fight. the tables would turn when yuu happened; you were sure of it!
last but not least, epel femier. the first year was so amusingly adorable, and what was that? always inquiring about yuu! oh, the sweet taste of puppy love that would soon be twisted into a consuming obsession: you were delighted not to partake in any of that.
he was so short compared to your body; each greeting hug would ended up in him being smothered by your chest. the beauty didn't hide his envy of your taller and presumably stronger frame, pushing you out in petty anger. you knew this, as his story was the one more focused on during chapter 5.
"i don't understand yer obsession with that magicless human." he piped up, in that dialect of his when you scooted next to him in the cafeteria. your cheeks puffed from the anger of being utterly defeated, something he probably didn't notice due to the lack of comments.
"how could i not!" you gasped, as though offended by his words. "did you not see their marvelous obsidian eyes? the twinkles that could shame the brightest stars in the sky? their laughs radiated the warmth of the sun itself!"
as you continued the passionate lectures of your admiration for the prefect, clasped hands with eyes closed in reminiscence, you failed to notice how epel became increasingly interested in his lunch, or how a spark of annoyance flashed through his eyes so slightly. he knew, though, that even if you had noticed it, you would just chuck down to him throwing a tantrum of his seniors' eccentricity again.
you were so frustratingly oblivious.
that was how an usual day in NRC went for you: hoarding money from NPCs, sleeping during classes, getting scolded by vil, and most importantly, organizing meetings!
it was supposed to be another mundane day, as you headed towards the empty storage that crowley had allowed you to use. a stack of money was in your hands, index finger flipped through each of them to count meticulously, a satisfied cat-like smile tugged your lips.
supposed, because when you opened the door, the figure you didn't expect to encounter as of now the most, was there.
the main character, the empty vessel the players controlled: yuu.
they were sitting on a chair, eyes reading a book that you recognized, with a horrified thought, the fanfic you had written of them to prove your dedication.
it was meant to be something like 'hah, i know yuu most than you! follow my lead!', and even during your hazes, motivated by alcoholism, you wouldn't dare to fathom the fact that the protagonist would be reading that with a concerning fixation.
they tilted their head back in boredom, deep eyes lit up at the sight of you. gosh, they were beautiful, but not in the way vil was. it reminded you of those polished porcelain dolls your father used to collect, sitting obediently in their respective cupboards. those eyes, as though painted in by a deity above, scanned your figure.
"i've been dying to meet you." they rested the book on their lips, no doubt hiding their growing smile.
SOS!
𝐚/𝐮: welcome to another one of my madness. okay jokes aside this was inspired by twisted hearts and this one fanfic
Context: Being a decent person is quite a rare thing in NRC and many of the students there wanted to have some time with you, but your inner circle of friends won't let that slide at all. Here are some of their reaction to someone bothering their time with you.
Other dorms: Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia
Ace ♥️
Deuce ♠️
Cater♦️
Trey ♣️
Riddle🌹
I'll be back with posting the next part later next week! Hope you like this new series I've made! :3
It is common knowledge that NRC has a fairly extensive translation system, and anyone from different parts of the world is capable of communicating in a neutral tongue without needing to know another language. But sometimes… that translation magic has its hiccups, its little holes in a system as rigorous as an academy full of potentially powerful mages.
If that translation system happens to fail, nothing like a dictionary from the library to solve that communication problem.
Now, when the translation of a language from another world gets corrupted… well, that’s when things start getting complicated.
See notes at the end for translations
Riddle - Welsh
What is more annoying? Having to study the history of a world you don’t know from scratch just to pass an exam and avoid remedial homework, or having someone dictating dates at you every single second, stopping you from thinking?
Well, for your bad luck, Riddle is doing the second one.
Every second was a different date, God only knows about what. It was like listening to a record keep spinning, completely unaware that its listener had already turned off their brain and understood absolutely nothing it was transmitting.
You don’t hold it against him, not at all… but having him vomit dates and information you still don’t understand at you so you can learn properly, and not just memorize things, is a little… heavy.
You didn’t slam the book shut… but it was a pretty strong close.
“Aishhh, all fy mhen ddim cymryd mwy, stopiwch siarad os gwelwch yn dda”
Silence in the room.
Uh… and you also went silent. Your comment had been way too direct and harsh.
You’re scared to turn your head and see if Riddle is the same color as his hair, or maybe even stronger, some naturally impossible shade of red.
But nope. Riddle is standing there with his mouth open, because he simply heard foreign words, soft and lilting.
Sounds that his brain, packed full of rules and information, cannot process. The translation magic flickered like a candle flame and disappeared with the smoke, making it impossible for him to understand you at all.
“…what did you just say?”
You have been saved from an immense scolding, but don’t rest on your laurels. It may not happen again.
“I said I need a break”
Judging by the way you avoided looking him in the eye and scratched your cheek, Riddle couldn’t fully believe you. But… he had no way to prove it.
After that, Riddle becomes completely obsessed with your mother tongue, to the point of going not only to NRC’s library, but also to the public library in Foothill Town, trying to find any language that resembles yours.
It is a lost cause.
Over time, even a little shyly, he starts asking you to speak more in your language, purposely removing the translation magic.
The privacy, you teaching him part of your world, sharing your culture and country with him, becomes a new form of intimacy for Riddle.
“Mae’r lleuad yn hardd heno, on’d yw hi? Fel ti”
Riddle may not understand a single word, but all it takes is looking into your eyes and leaning into the sound of your voice for his cheeks to turn pink, just like the roses in the maze.
Listening to you speak for hours without stopping becomes the best moment of his day. Learning your mother tongue is much better than any class he has taken in his life.
Leona - Spanish (spain)
Leona may think understanding animal language is a complete waste of time. He may even simply rely on translation magic and never study a new language at all.
…unless it is convenient for him, or he needs to have certain political knowledge.
Even so, Leona doesn’t pay much attention to the different languages of the world.
But yours… oh, that is a separate topic.
“Joder tío! Qué manga de energúmenos que son algunos aquí. Es para darles un coñazo a ver si por fin espabilan!”
Leona’s eyes shot open, his ears twitching in every possible direction, his body tensing involuntarily as he sat up from where he had been taking a nap under his tree in the botanical garden.
What the fuck was that?
“Are you trying to talk, or are you insulting me?”
“Bueno, estaba desahogando mi frustración, pero no iba dirigida a ti. Un poco engreído, ¿no crees?”
“Whatever you’re doing, better stop”
You stared at him, unable to decide whether to smack him on the head with the book or directly in the face.
“Oh, shit… was I speaking Spanish?”
Well… that shit is new.
He won’t say it openly, but the way you pronounce the r makes his ears flatten slightly against his head, as if he were hearing a lullaby from when he was a cub.
For his nap times, he now requires your presence, demanding that you speak to him in that new and strange language, the one with those seductive tones.
He falls asleep in seconds, a record time.
But that only happens 10% of the time, when he is truly tired or had a bad day.
The other 90%, he is more interested in listening to you talk than actually falling asleep. The sound of your voice in your mother tongue is like a summer breeze across the open savanna.
Sometimes, when you aren’t present, Leona tries to replicate your pronunciation, but the r’s are too complicated, and what comes out of his mouth is more of a growl mixed with a cough than an actual letter.
But he doesn’t give up, and he keeps trying.
His reason? Provoking you into an argument so that, when the translation magic fails again, you let out a “deja de joder ya, macho! Qué insoportable!”
The bastard smiled for more than ten minutes, pleased that he had finally gotten to hear you insult him.
After weeks, he learns two simple words: ven aquí. And he uses them with a very annoying arrogance, always curling a finger toward you, forcing you to sit down and let him use your thighs as a pillow.
He never thought that a gap in knowledge about a language from another world would become his greatest weakness.
Azul - Italian
Azul has always been known for knowing every detail about his clients and possible victims, whether for work reasons or for future negotiations with new souls seeking his kindness.
For that reason… didn’t you think it would be wise to warn him that your mother tongue is not one he knows?
Imagine his face when he hears you speak in a language completely strange and foreign to his bank of information.
“Posso avere un caffè? No… meglio un frullato, fa troppo caldo ultimamente. Con molto ghiaccio, per favore”
Azul dropped the pen he was using to write his next contract.
Not even Jade, who was taking your order, knew what you were saying.
“Eh? Shrimpy was talking funny,” Floyd said, exchanging a glance with his twin, sensing something juicy in the air.
Do not let the twins exploit this information. You are going to end up in a bad position.
“Could you repeat that, Prefect?” Azul approached the bar where you were sitting, his eyes completely focused on yours.
“…a smoothie, please?”
Ah, what a shame. He wanted to hear you speak in that strange language again.
A language unknown not only to the surface, but also to the deep sea, belonging only to you.
You are full of surprises, aren’t you?
Would you be willing to teach him a few phrases? For reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with future contracts, or taking advantage of clients he wants to scam help.
Obviously, it is to have the advantage.
As I said, information is Azul’s currency, and you are sitting on a vault full of coins that he is desperate to open.
You also have to get something out of it, maybe a percentage of his new earnings, or access to the VIP room from time to time, to clear your head, or being present during those negotiations.
The first words, “thank you,” “you’re welcome,” “good morning,” are a great starting point for Azul, something to make his day-to-day life easier, more humble.
Although… his pronunciation is terrible: the r escapes him, the cadence is too stiff, and the z is a tongue-twister.
He writes down everything you teach him in a private notebook, extremely private, locked away in his own room. Each day, the notebook becomes thicker and thicker, almost to the point of bursting.
Sometimes you catch him counting in Italian while doing inventory at the Mostro. “Uno, due, tre…”
Every time he wants a private conversation, or wants to complain about some client, he no longer needs to take you to a separate room. Simply speaking in your mother tongue is enough to drive everyone around you insane.
Obviously, he is going to use this new language every time he wants to show off in front of his poor clients seeking help with their contracts, with you as his partner in crime.
Kalim - German
The translation magic could not have chosen a better moment to have a small malfunction than in the middle of a ride on his flying carpet.
Many feet up in the air… hold on tight, because I have a feeling Kalim is going to get startled just a little bit.
Looking at the sunset falling over the dunes of Scarabia, the slight movement of the carpet beneath you…
“Sieh mal, Kalim, der Himmel brennt. Es ist wunderschön!”
Kalim stops looking forward and turns to look at you, with his mouth open, shamelessly… without realizing that you are both going into a nosedive.
“Woah! What was that?”
“Kalim—!”
Okay, okay, no problem, Kalim is lifting the carpet now, stop screaming.
After that greaaat scare, Kalim keeps the carpet straight and fixes his gaze back on you, only on you, again, not caring at all about what is on the horizon.
“Are you speaking in code? Is it some kind of riddle?!”
“Oh… sorry… I think you heard me speaking German”
“Ge… Ger… man?”
Oh God, it is like being at the entrance ceremony all over again.
Thank the heavens, thank the Seven, that this translation magic exists, otherwise navigating this world would have been fifty thousand times more complicated.
The first thing Kalim wants you to teach him is the word “friend” — “Freund”
Between froind, froynd, and a thousand more variations, his pronunciation is atrocious. You don’t blame him; German is hard to learn, even in your own world.
He wants you to teach him new words every day. You write them in the margins of his notes, in his notebooks; one time he asked you to write on a napkin in the middle of one of his huge banquets because he wanted to learn how to say “to celebrate”
Jamil scolds him when he sees him so focused on this new language instead of the three subjects he is starting to struggle with.
But Kalim isn’t learning just any new language, he is learning your language, and that inspires him even more.
He has even written words on the palms of his hands and pointed at each food with its corresponding word.
The most chaotic moment of his learning comes during a huge party in his dorm, after many songs, endless dances, and way too much food. He takes your hands and announces at the top of his lungs, “Ich liebe dich!”
His comment echoes through the whole lounge, and even though all his residents stare at him, not understanding what mystical words their housewarden has just pronounced… your cheeks are completely red.
“Kalim… do you know what that means?”
“Of course, you taught me! ‘You’re my favorite person.’”
That is not what it means!!
Vil - Russian
Let’s keep in mind that during a skincare routine, people usually don’t talk. They simply let themselves be carried by the vibe and the relaxing feeling of being cared for and attended to.
Until a damp sponge started tickling your cheek.
“Вил, это щекотно”
Your little laugh was the only sound in the middle of the Pomefiore common room; not even the sponge made another sound when Vil froze against your skin.
Vil raised one beautifully shaped eyebrow, but… said nothing. Maybe your laughter had made your tongue trip.
But when he applies the cold serum and you complain, “Холодно!” that is when he can no longer deny it.
What was coming out of your mouth sounded nothing like anything he had ever heard in his life.
“Darling… what was that?”
“…I said it’s cold.” His narrowed gaze is so imposing that you thought he was about to give you a lecture over an hour long on which chemical components and temperatures were most appropriate for your skin.
“Would you like to rephrase that?”
“эста…” Vil sets the bottle down on the table, slowly, far too slowly, without taking his eyes off yours.
Cold sweat down your back.
“I cannot understand your words, darling”
Ah… there it is. The massive mistake… and it wasn’t even like you did it on purpose.
From then on, Vil is always evaluating you, as if someone had handed him a new script, noticing the small moments when the magic fails for a second and your accent becomes more noticeable.
Sharp and calculating… but always wanting to hear you speak in that unknown language that fascinates him so much.
Every time you do your nightly routine, he asks you to speak Russian, supposedly because it helps him relax.
It is a lie; he analyzes every syllable, keeping a small mental archive so he can replicate it in private. Most of the time he doesn’t manage it, no matter how hard he tries again and again and again… his tongue still trips over those unknown shapes.
He gets frustrated, but at the same time, he admires you. “Your world is full of surprises.”
Even so, he practices and practices, until his accent is almost perfect. And one night, before you return to Ramshackle, he takes your hand and whispers in your ear:
“Ты красивая”
How terrible it is to teach the words but not the full meaning, because now you are too stunned to respond.
“Did I pronounce it wrong?”
No… on the contrary… it was perfect.
Idia - Chinese
The best moment to let out your inner rage is in the middle of a raid, farming like crazy, or in this case like two crazy people, inside an MMO dungeon where you keep dying thanks to a stupid, cheap boss mechanic.
And especially when you are on a voice call with Idia, who is laughing at your very unfortunate deaths.
…the microphone left the chat after catching your frustrated shout.
“你这个混蛋！这不公平！”
On the other side of the screen, you can practically see the loading circle inside Idia’s mind.
“…what?”
“This is unfair and you’re not helping, you bastard, laughing at my misery.”
“Okay, okay, okay, insult me all you want for your terrible gameplay performance, but… what the hell was that? Was it a melody or a… threat at the same time?”
Oh… looks like there was a translation error.
“That was Chinese.” Your character respawns on screen, and you completely forget that the magic stopped working, focusing again on the enemy on the screen.
Your character may be killing enemies left and right, looting treasures in search of weapons with double stats… but Idia’s character stays completely still for a long while.
You hear the frantic clicking of his keyboard through your headphones, completely unaware that Idia is no longer interested in the game… he probably has three search windows open on each of his monitors.
“I can’t find anything!!” His shout is so absurdly loud that you jolt in your chair, missing a jump and falling straight into the void.
You glare at the screen with pure contempt.
“No database recognizes the phonemes, or the syllable structure, nothing! It’s like the language doesn’t exist!”
“废话！这可是来自我的世界啊！”
“STOP… stop doing that! The translator plugin is collapsing! It’s throwing error codes I’ve never even seen before!”
Despite his protests, he is completely captivated. The fact that it cannot be found, cannot be translated, cannot be hacked, downloaded, or deciphered… it is like you brought a ghost into his digital kingdom.
In the following days, Idia does what he knows best… coding.
He asks you to draw every character, to explain the logographic structure, EVERYTHING! Absolutely everything so he can put it into a new keyboard.
A custom keyboard not only for him, but also for you.
Ortho catches him practicing tones at three in the morning, staring at the audio waveforms of voice notes, trying to match your pitch perfectly.
The microphone overloads when Idia’s scream echoes through the whole room after realizing his little brother had been watching him from the darkness.
One night, after a particularly difficult day, he sends you a message.
Gloomurai: 晚... 安... ?
It is supposed to be 晚安.
You: 晚安，Idia。做个好梦。
His status goes from online to offline at the speed of light.
Malleus - Basque
There are very few things capable of catching Malleus Draconia’s attention as much as something he truly does not know.
Ancient languages? He knows them. Fae dialects? He probably speaks them better than the ones who invented them.
But yours… yours was a problem apart.
The night was far too still over Diasomnia. You were sitting beside Malleus, looking up, talking about nothing and everything at the same time; about your world, about the small things you missed pure and heavy melancholy.
And without thinking, feeling far too comfortable, you murmured to the stars:
“Gaua ederra da, baina zure begiek izarrak baino gehiago distiratzen dute”
Malleus went completely still. His green eyes slowly turned toward you, shining beneath the moon with that ancient intensity that always reminds you that, no matter how much of a school uniform he wears, that man has nothing normal about him.
“Child… what tongue is that?”
Ah. Shit. The translation magic decided to die at the most sentimental moment possible.
“I think… I spoke Basque,” you admitted, scratching your cheek and looking anywhere except into his eyes. “It’s from my world.”
“Basque,” Malleus repeated, and the most ironic part was that he pronounced it perfectly, as if there were no complexity at all to that new language.
“I have heard the tongues of humans, fae, and beasts,” he said calmly. “But never one like that.”
He sounded as if he himself wanted to protect your mother tongue, the same way he protects the ancient languages of his fae culture.
That same mother tongue, the one you think is so insignificant to a creature as eternal and imposing as Malleus, is as precious to him as the first time you said his name out loud. And he was not going to allow you to underestimate it as if it were just anything.
“Your eyes do not say the same,” because to him, it was not just anything. To him, your language was not a rarity or a fun little trick. It was a piece of your world, a small door toward the place you came from and perhaps still did not know how to return to.
Why does this man need to be so observant exactly when it would be much more convenient for you if he were clueless?
Over time, Malleus starts asking you for words. First simple things: night, star, rain, home. “Etxea,” you teach him once.
“Etxea,” he repeats, perfect on the first try.
…Of course. As if being crown prince, ancestral dragon, and walking climate threat were not enough, he also had to have good pronunciation.
“It would be discourteous to mispronounce a word that belongs to your home.”
He also learns “ikusi arte.” And, dangerously, he also learns: “Nire ondoan… ez zaude bakarrik”
You go completely still, because you had taught him that phrase once without thinking too much about it, and he had kept it as if it were something precious.
Because Malleus was going to keep every word that came from you, as precious as the gold a dragon guards in its treasure hoard.
Notes:
“Aishhh, all fy mhen ddim cymryd mwy, stopiwch siarad os gwelwch yn dda” = “Aishhh, my head can't take anymore, please stop talking”
“Mae’r lleuad yn hardd heno, on’d yw hi? Fel ti” = "The moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it? Like you"
“Joder tío! Qué manga de energúmenos que son algunos aquí. Es para darles un coñazo a ver si por fin espabilan!” = "Damn, man! What a bunch of idiots some of these people are. They deserve a good thrashing to finally wake them up!"
“Bueno, estaba desahogando mi frustración, pero no iba dirigida a ti. Un poco engreído, no crees?” =“Well, I was venting my frustration, but it wasn’t aimed at you. A little full of yourself, don’t you think?”
“deja de joder ya, macho! Qué insoportable!” = "Stop messing around, man! You're unbearable!"
"Ven aquí"= "c'mere"
“Posso avere un caffè? No… meglio un frullato, fa troppo caldo ultimamente. Con molto ghiaccio, per favore” = “Can I have a coffee? No… I’d rather have a smoothie, it’s been too hot lately. With lots of ice, please”
“Sieh mal, Kalim, der Himmel brennt. Es ist wunderschön!” = “Look, Kalim, the sky is on fire. It’s beautiful”
“Ich liebe dich!” = “I love you!”
“Вил, это щекотно” = “Vil, that tickles”
“Холодно!” = “it's cold!”
“Ты красивая” = “You are beautiful”
“你这个混蛋！这不公平！” = "You bastard! This isn't fair!"
“废话！这可是来自我的世界啊！” = “Well, duh! It’s from my world”
晚… 安… ? = Goodnight…?
晚安，Idia。做个好梦。 = Goodnight, Idia. Sweet dreams.
“Gaua ederra da, baina zure begiek izarrak baino gehiago distiratzen dute” = "The night is beautiful, but your eyes shine brighter than the stars"
“Etxea” = "Home"
“ikusi arte” = "see you later"
“Nire ondoan… ez zaude bakarrik” = “By my side… you are not alone”
