Every year his upperclassman seemed to go through the same procedure on his special day. Firstly, he’d tell his dormmates that there was no need for a huge party, even if it was his birthday. Secondly, he would be met with a clear disapproval of such a request, with everyone insisting that this day should be celebrated. An occasion as such happens only once in a year, with the other days spent meticulously preparing for unbirthdays, or other events organized by their school. To the Heartslabyul dorm, it was of utmost importance to commemorate this day, especially when it came to its vice-housewarden. With this in mind, the lounge was soon transformed into a birthday venue, filled with Heartslabyul students and guests alike, enjoying themselves.
The party was in full swing by the time Ace had arrived, unexpectedly and at a much later time than most. He approached Trey, still catching his breath as if he had run all the way to the lounge. “Happy birthday, Trey~!” he calls out to him in his usual bright tone, once he regains his composure. The broom he was holding onto tightly this whole time, is presented to the third-year with a look of what could be described as oozing with pride. “It was a pain, but I did exactly what you asked for as your birthday present and all.” he states, though there was more to this statement than the redhead realized. Trey did indeed suggest taking care of his broom for him, but in a tone that didn’t sound too serious with his request. Ace didn’t catch the lightheartedness with which his upperclassman spoke prior to the party, resulting in him doing as he was told — and so the broom was cleaned, brushed, and whatever he thought would be appropriate ( whether or not it was true, was up for interpretation ).
“Must be nice for someone else to take care of your broom for once. Aren’t I the best underclassman~?”
—DID ACE SERIOUSLY RUN ALL THE WAY HERE?
He makes an entrance, no doubt, stopping short of Trey, all smirk and no breath, nearly barreling over his peers and knocking someone upside the head with—that’s definitely his broom, isn’t it?
It comes back in a flash: Ace’s grin in the lounge, prodding Trey while dealing cards. Trey, already tired from a day of being asked the exact same question, choosing to be cheeky.
Maintain my broom. Make it shine, even, if you’re that eager!
It’s a necessary component of flying, after all, even if it’s a right pain in the ass, several applications of wood polish and magic varnish and making sure the bristles of the brush aren’t tangled and frayed beyond repair. (Vargas docks points for it, and Trey would wager Ace has already been on the other side of one of his ear-splitting lectures to that effect.) It’s a great idea, he thinks. It rebuffs his eager junior, and on the off chance someone decides to pick up the slack, it’s one less thing Trey has to do over the weekend.
Mind you, Trey promptly forgot about this conversation the moment he’d made his way back to his room. He meant it as a joke—winked, even, offered a smirk to Ace’s insistence that should have given him away.
“Thanks,” Trey starts, the smile on his face a mixture of amusement and bafflement. “Although most people would leave out the part where their request was a pain.”
He’s not refusing, though: Trey takes his broom as presented, holding it up and—hey, there’s honest effort put into it. The thing does look relatively brand-new, despite having two years of use behind it. There’s a low whistle of appreciation for Ace’s troubles, casually passed from one hand to the other so Trey can clamp a hand down on Ace’s shoulder.
“Good work, though, gotta say.” He’s laughing, too, because of course he’s fishing for praise. Just because he knows it will make him bristle, Trey chooses to pinch one of Ace’s cheeks, mildly sincere, fully condescending: “Keep it up and you’ll be at least in the top 5!”
