Imagining a reader who’s really intent on having one sided beef with rook…
“Lanternblossoms: converts nutrients into magic before storing them inside its body. It glows once it releases all of its accumulated magic power. Post-anthesis, its petals release magic on a continual basis.
Cornflowers: must be imbued with positive energy (e.g. feelings of joy, hope, gratitude, love) for two days in order for the specimen to glow continuously until its transformation as a suitable magical ingredient for...”
You stare blankly at your potions textbook when your thoughts begin to drift off regarding recent personal grievances against your peculiar, and very much outlandish classmate, Rook Hunt.
Perhaps due to significant differences when it comes to personality (you with your unsocial and introverted disposition rivaling that of Ignihyde’s housewarden, bristling like an upset cat at every point of encounter with his outgoing, very much overbearing presence), you were always meant to dislike the man. Sure, Pomefiore’s vice housewarden was relatively harmless with his recurring spiels on romance and beauty and whatever the hell he was currently intent on babbling about (he’d probably excitedly prattle about his housewarden’s toe clippings if said guy wouldn’t berate him for it, you think dimly), but sevens was he annoying.
It’s not as if you just had a hate boner going for every eccentric extrovert you’ve had the misfortune of meeting within nrc (goodness knows there’s a whole crowd of people in this place you could hate for much, much worse), but you honestly can’t pinpoint what exactly it is about Rook that takes it to another level. With the way your heart starts pounding rapidly and your stomach starts churning whenever you see him though, you are sure as ever of one very obvious fact: you most definitely, indisputably hate his guts.
And of course, as if the world was mocking you for this revelation, you ironically end up getting paired with him for every single school activity possible. Potions project? Cleaning duty? He’s right there with his annoying bob and creepy stare and irksome scent of musk and sandalwood and- is that a hint of amber you smell? You stealthily lean in closer to get a whiff, yep, definitely amber.
To make things worse, the guy has increasingly been clinging to you during after school hours now as well. Oh woe is you. (Nevermind the fact that you burst out singing musical songs with him during particularly long project meetings, ‘berudgingly’). You think it's totally some sort of tactic to wear you down and have you accidentally spill your deepest darkest secrets to him (like a venus flytrap, you think, alluring in its calculated snare). You’re convinced he hates you just as much as you hate him, after all, what else could explain the lengthy stares and the endearingtaunting smiles you catch him giving you during lectures. Clearly, Rook is quite intent on plotting your demise.
And as if all those unbearable encounters weren't bad enough, your friends have, for some reason, started hinting at some sort of nonsense about “romantic tension” regarding your plight. Traitors, the lot of them (If you didn’t love them so much you'd have already cut them off like dahlias in the late summer). Certainly, their naivete knows no bounds if they think the silent stares you give each other are anything else but stares of hatred, and death.
You can only take so many oohs ahhs and knowing looks though until their teasing eventually has you red in the face, bursting. Of course you weren’t going out with that loon, he may talk all flamboyantly about romance and whatnot but he probably can’t be serious in a relationship for the life of him. Not only were you uninterested in dating, your type wasn’t even remotely close to him!! If anything, you were more into the ruggedly handsome types, you know, like those guys from savannaclaw (you pointedly ignore their doubtful stares at the proclamation).
Besides, he probably doesn’t see you that way either, with him harassing just about anyone and everyone with flowery prose any chance he gets, you’re really not that special (this admission comes with a sting, you note, but then promptly brush aside; probably just heartburn from drinking too much coffee). Your friends know to drop the conversation then, noticing the gloomy shift in your mood. And so, you go on about your day blissfully unaware of a certain eavesdropper lurking in the shadows.
Soon enough after this incident, you find yourself feeling increasingly dreadful when, during the next few days you find your dearly ‘beloathed’ acting even stranger than usual. The increasing frequency of lingering touches and smiles has you sweating. He’s even started the habit of cornering you in the hallways during break, letting out strange comments you can't seem to decipher (something about prey, chases, and apocrine glands? You know, the Rook Hunt special).
This is it, he’s probably going to kill me soon.
You are even more convinced of this when he invites you out in the wee hours of the morning, claiming he needs assistance with gathering herbs for your paired assignment. You accept because, well, you’re not a coward.
And so, you venture bravely into the woods with your sworn enemy, which surprisingly enough, turns out to be as calm and mundane a journey as ever, you’re almost bored, really.
You go off picking ingredients, minding your own business, all while intent on ignoring the chatter and blatant stares coming from your companion.
Checking off your list. It seems you're missing just one last ingredient. Dawnweed, huh? This is going to be a pain. Not only was the plant rare enough to have you looking around with much more effort, you’d have to spend some time waiting for dawn to fully come, which means more time spent with one weirder-than-usual Rook Hunt.
Alas, despite your internal grumbling, you both end up deciding to rest and sit on a nearby log while waiting. And while you were initially intent on keeping silent until you accomplish your tasks for the day, your company at the moment seems to know just the right words to have you chatting away about just about anything.
This is fine. I mean, it's totally normal for enemies to sometimes chill in picturesque locations deep inside the forest. You’re perfectly calm. Content even. As the conversation dies down, you’re in full belief that everything will remain how it usually was by the end of the day.
That is, until, Rook retrieves something from his side. You glance curiously as he makes a show of kneeling in front of you.
He pulls out a flower, holding it out to you. Is this..
A cornflower, you note, blooming with a fluorescent glow.
Your traitorous heart stutters. (Inside, you feel the roots wedge themselves in between cracks). It’s pretty.
“Beautiful, is it not?”
You nod in agreement as he hands off the flower to you, the glow of it continues steadily in your grasp.
A question lingers in your head.
“Why.. are you showing me this?”
He gives you a strange smile.
Deep inside, you already know his reply, yet you hope the trepidation you feel is only out of paranoia.
“Mon trésor, I believe you already have the answer to that question well within your grasp.”
Your chest tightens in response. Does he mean?- No way, nope, we are not doing this. (You make a pitiful attempt to keep the scales from tipping); “What does that even mean-”
You can hear your heart beating inside your ears; there’s not quite enough time given to recover from your spiraling thoughts before the conversation is cut short when, of course, the rain starts pouring; angry with its downpour (angry at you, perhaps, for being so needlessly stubborn and afraid).
You’re startled out of your stupor when a hand suddenly grabs yours. Rook doesn't spare you any more than a reassuring glance before he starts running off towards a rest stop near the trail with you in tow.
Reaching it, you pause with a hand on your knees, trying to catch your breath.
Great. Very cliche.
Now you’re not only in danger of getting murdered (yes, you’re still intent on keeping this up), but you’re also uncomfortably wet, disgustingly sticky with sweat, most certainly stranded, and you’re probably never talking to Rook ever again given your emotionally constipated self. And you don’t quite understand why the thought of that makes you so so sick, and seriously, can't the rain just stop already so you can get this over with-
Your train of thought is cut off when a jacket is laid gingerly upon your shoulders. Rook stands beside you, blazer-less, with a sickeningly caring look directed at yours truly.
“I don’t need it.” You say after a beat. Distance, you can still put some distance, you try to reassure yourself.
“Non, non,” he says softly, tone slightly tinged with mischief, “I cannot let that be. One knows that even the most resilient of fauna don’t take well to an excess of water. I might be more keen on hunting than I do gardening, but I happen to take mon trésor’s care quite seriously.”
You huff peevishly at his attempt at a joke, but otherwise don't reply. You instead gingerly take a seat as he goes off and continues to dry off your supplies by the side.
In the tranquil silence, you take a glance at your companion.
You hadn’t noticed it in your panicked state, but the sun's rays had already started peeking over the horizon. Even with the rain, the first lines of light to break through and spread amongst heaven’s expanse is breathtaking.
You take a pause.
Somehow, the glow of it on Rook’s skin has you noticing details you never quite noticed before, or maybe, hadn’t let yourself notice quite enough.
Like how, when you take your first glance, his eyes are colored in a vibrant emerald green. But when you look really closely, sprinkles of golden yellow lovingly place themselves around his iris. And when he looks into the sun, with a pretty crinkle in his eye as he squints, it glimmers in a stunning shade of chartreuse.
You also note, then, how the rain has washed some of his makeup away. The freckles on his cheeks are a new sight to you. It’s rather delicate, you think.
(Given the chance, you're sure you could map out the prettiest of constellations on the surface of his cheeks, only if he'd allow it.)
Even the sculpted frame of his arm, the callouses on the tips of his fingers, right at this moment, don't contest the way he looks so soft all around,
The fact makes itself painfully obvious to you in a way that you would have never let yourself admit days ago.
Sevens, there’s no avoiding it any further, is there?
He catches your gaze, and gives an impish look when he realizes you staring.
You hurriedly turn away and make a futile attempt at masking your embarrassment (you hear him chuckle mutedly in the background, probably feeling all smug, you huff).
He slowly approaches and reaches a hand out towards you wordlessly. You know what this means. You can feel remnants of a fear buried within clawing its way out. (Baring yourself leaves you vulnerable, you are prey under the eyes of a predator). But, you refute, you’ve never known Rook Hunt to be anything less than gentle, especially so with you. A little unsettling sure, exceptionally bonkers yes, but never malicious.
His inner arm is upturned, wrists bared, he stands with a knowing look in his eye as you sit silently.
You are sure, then, that if there's anyone in the world you’d risk the possible anguish of vulnerability for, it would be for the man standing right in front of you.
The mask has itself quivering in the face of its inevitable demise, until it shatters completely. You reach out your hand and grasp his firmly. You’re confident you won’t be letting go out of fear anytime soon.
──────────────────
It’s not until it's almost noon when the rain stops, and you are able to return to your respective dorms.
Unfortunately, no Dawnweeds were gathered by your awful pair by the end of the day.
Nonetheless, you visit Rook the morning after to relay one thing: the cornflowers have stayed blooming a day more in your care.
(And if your friends happen to notice ruddy cheeks replacing your usual complaints whenever Pomefiore’s vice housewarden is mentioned during your lunch sessions, they don’t say anything.
Let's just say, even the most persistent of flies find itself victim to Aphrodite’s mousetrap. You find though, that this particular trap isn’t quite threatening as it seemed to be, initially.)
A/N: reader caught the rook sickness,, rip
Apparently in European folklore, men wore cornflowers to signify their romantic feelings. If by the end of the day, the cornflowers stayed blooming it would mean that their love is returned, and if they find the flower wilted, it would mean that it's unrequited. I found it cute so I sprinkled some inspo from that into the fic!! (Afaik cornflowers aren't an actual ingredient mentioned anywhere in the game so)
(And yes, that one line was inspired by monster in law.)
This honestly ended up being a lot more emotionally charged than I initially planned, but I hope you guys enjoyed reading, nonetheless!!
