Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Warnings:

Graphic depictions of violence. Graphic depictions of murder. Obsessive behavior. Sexual harassment. Depictions of domestic abuse

Act |

22,360 words. October 1st-30th

Chapter I Shoot Your Shadow

Chapter II Beyond Repair

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Act ||

22,943 words. November 1st-30th

Chapter I Do Me a Favor, and Tie My Noose

Chapter II High on Adderall and Low on Self-Esteem

Chapter III I Like You (When You Shut Up.)

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Act |||

31,440 Words December 1st-20th

Chapter I Too Close For Comfort

Chapter II Love Me Dead

Chapter III Your Fingertips can Torture

Chapter IIII Dead and Buried

Chapter V Playing With Fire (In The Sense I Feel Warm.)

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Act ||||

[To Be Determined] December 20th - January 30th

Chapter I I’d Consider Myself Man

Chapter II A Date and a Funeral

Chapter III Short of Breath

Chapter IIII Weeping Headstone

The Prom.

Chapter I

Chapter II

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Chapter Text

Sinking, sinking, sinking…

It’s unfamiliar, and yet he’s been here before. The most alien experience, and the best he’s known. There’s so much.

He is blind. He is aware of everything. Every twitch, every breath, and it’s exhilarating. 

He is laughing.

Her eyes are blown out, she lays in her own blood-stained gown. White and long with a jeweled tiara sat atop her pulled and tossed hair; tears and bleeding mascara ran and drooled down her face the day she peaked.

Today she was seen. Today she was a star. Today she burned. 

There is so much blood.

And yet he finds himself accepting of this unfamiliarity, of this… discomfort of the sensation of that drooling deep dark blood that trails so smoothly down his fingertips. Oh my.

He is running out of time.

He is sinking, sinking, and he is drowning. 

4:20 PM, Parfaedia University

Bustling with gossip and departure, passing and fighting, a constant chorus of noise. A hellfire Espresso found himself subjected to for the sake of his future. 

A buzz worse than the effects of caffeine, classes had ended only moments prior, as the halls erupted with noise and students fled towards the glass doors and exits. Understandably in a rush. Towards shops or fields, the crowd thinned until only few remained, Espresso was unfortunate enough to be a part of the minority. 

A magic undergraduate, an aspiring mage who was left unnoticed by the world. Not that it particularly bothered him. His life had been the ideal, working himself to death and exceeding every expectation set for him. For once, he had amounted to something, and for once he was content with the ever-growing emptiness that consumed his mind. 

He was numb. He lived on autopilot to avoid the burden of living. Time slipped from his grasp and he found himself in a loop, existing became exhausting. He couldn’t bring himself to do anything, no longer was he in control.

Completely eaten out by the canines of his own expectations and what he deemed below him. 

He was in the passenger seat. Watching his life go on without him with a front-row view. 

Until he found himself pushing the large pristine doors of his university’s library, cursed to tutor the most arrogant fool alive; who, just so happened to be waiting for him. 

If there was a god, they surely hated him. 

Espresso was a lanky, slender, spindly excuse of man. An insomniac, and the polar opposite of the stocky mess of flaxen curls before him.

“Hey! Over here!” 

His voice echoed off the walls of the two-story library without shame, bashfully loud and bold as ever.

Espresso sighed, approaching the small table he sat at. “We’re in a library, asshole. Mind yourself,” 

He wrung a laugh from the blond before sitting down. Madeleine leaned back in the cheap chairs they were provided, sitting by a dark table in a corner of the library. Not by choice, of course, they were assigned to the corner after Madeleine caused a scene, but Espresso digressed. 

Madeleine had been nothing but an annoyance, constantly flaunting his accomplishments to any willing to listen, shielding himself with his glass-ego and performative confidence. Espresso was sure that he was the only person sane-enough to see through him, and he would surely speak on it. 

“I hope you went over what we reviewed last time,” Espresso sighed, shifting in his seat and pulling a few books from his satchel. “Or were you too busy flaunting to your teammates about your next ridiculous game?” 

Madeleine shot him a pained look, furrowing his eyebrows while his lips curled into a smile. Cocky and accomplished, Espresso hated every flaw and fracture that built the man. The way he took everything in stride, the way he allowed his ego to have his face, the way he seemed to beckon for praise at a constant. Espresso surely wouldn’t succumb. 

“Must your face always be twisted in that scowl?” Madeleine retorted, twirling a strand of hair with his pointer-finger while he leaned back. “Smile, mon ami, it won’t kill you on the spot,” 

“And what is there for me to smile about? Do you have any idea what I could be doing right now if I wasn’t stuck with your sorry ass for the rest of the year?” Espresso narrowed his eyes, dropping the books on the table with a ‘ thud’ to accentuate his point.

“Do you remember anything from last time? At all?” Espresso questioned, though he anticipated the answer. 

A hand moved to the blond’s hair, rough and calloused, combing it back only for it to fall back onto his face. “Something about a theory. It's hard to pay attention when you scold me at a constant,” Madeleine huffed, scratching the back of his neck without care, studying the mage with half-lidded eyes as if he were above the situation. That bastard-!

Espresso let out a hiss of irritation. “And they wonder why after 3 weeks with me, you still need tutoring,” 

He pressed his fingers against his temple, clearly annoyed and dangerously close to snapping. “Why don't you take this as seriously as your silly little football games?” 

Madeleine returned his glare, rising from his poor position to lean forward and make direct eye-contact with the mage. Bold as ever, his legs stretched indecently while his forearms hung between them. 

“ Little -?! Do you have any idea how much skill it requires to fit my role alone?” Madeleine retorted, his glass ego terribly prominent now. “Then again, I don’t expect you to understand, when was the last time you saw the light of day?”

Espresso bit his tongue. He knew damn well that Madeleine’s confidence was completely performative; for the sake of his status or what-have-you, Espresso wasn’t quite sure. But Madeleine was bent on taking his arrogant front to his grave.

“I am skilled enough in my study, anything beyond that is a waste of my time.” He spat, irritation enlaced in his tone. He tried to remain emotionless, to be completely unreadable, but frustration overtook him. “--And you certainly don’t have the proper ‘skills’ if you need tutoring in the first place,” 

“If you're so occupied by your studies, why offer to tutor and waste your time with me in the first place?” Madeleine furrowed his eyebrows, unaccustomed to the rush of argument. 

“You know that if I had that choice I wouldn’t be here. I am simply using you for extra credit,”

If Espresso truly wanted to be crass, he would’ve flipped this idiot off and already have one foot out the door--

“Any other annoying and pointless questions? I’d like to get this over with,”

--But unfortunately, he didn’t have that choice, so throwing passive-aggressive remarks for the next two hours would simply have to do. 

“...No.” 

Espresso sighed, somewhat satisfied. He failed to understand the blond, how he willingly put on such an arrogant face for the sake of praise. His ego was a flame, and he’d use anyone to spark it; He’d never loved anyone, he was in love with words. With praise, with anything that would feed into his superiority. 

Never had he put down his defensive front for anyone, but he’d certainly pretend if someone commended him for it. Espresso was the only one who could see through him, Espresso was the only one who hated him for it. 

The final hour couldn’t have come sooner. By then, Madeleine had been standing and pacing, arms crossed while he defended himself and proved some meaningless point. 

“With the Divine’s blessings, I assure you, I am fit for my field,” He flaunted, turning to face the mage and stand before him as if he were above him. Effectively pissing Espresso off.

“Well, the ‘Divine’ made a big fuckin’ mistake,” 

Madeleine bit his tongue, gritting his pristine teeth together while he searched the mage for any fracture in his cold front. Anything he could weaponize or twist to fit his ego, but simply stayed silent when he found none. 

Before he even had the chance to clip back, a figure interrupted them, running into the library and declaring her presence through a squeal. 

And suddenly, the mood dropped. His heart sank as it was tugged through hell and back, his posture slackened and he couldn’t help but look her way. 

“Maddie!” A bag slung across her shoulder, bouncing with every step she took. “Thank god, I was getting worried!” 

Smiling happily, as if she wanted nothing more, she clung to him and immediately entwined her hand with his own. Her face fell when she was met with Espresso, glaring at her with a cocked eyebrow. “Oh. This guy again?” 

Espresso sighed, exasperated and drained. “I really don’t know what you see in him,” 

He began lifting the heavy books, stacking them atop one another and hauling them into his bag, not giving Madeleine a moment to respond. He didn't deserve that. “We're done here. Back here, same time, in two days,” 

Espresso took his bag and headed for the exit, paying no mind to the endless ranting Madeleine’s girlfriend spewed. Espresso grimaced, letting go of the heavy door so the hinges rattled behind him, her shrill voice pleading in the back of his mind. 

‘ I did something wrong, didn’t I? That’s why you're choosing him over me, isn’t it?’

Espresso scoffed. For once, perhaps he felt bad for the idiot. Straight people are wild. 

[1 year prior]

    “You’re cute,”

Espresso scoffs, and turns away. His heart is positively racing, as the hands on his back flex. He really does try and disregard the way they slide down his back and urge south. 

“You don’t mean that,”

“Yeah, I do. Even with your ugly-ass freakeye,” And he laughs, sick and twisted, but Espresso has accustomed himself to it. Simply because, this was normal, and to be expected. “Seriously. No wonder you kept that thing hidden, how many people know?”

Espresso’s gaze shifts towards his flats, and bites down on his lip. He swallows back. Tears shouldn’t well in his eyes, his throat shouldn’t constrict and he most certainly should not flinch when he holds Espresso tighter. 

Perhaps he should be accepting of this. Perhaps this was the natural progression of his own ignorance and lonesome, perhaps he should allow this. He hadn’t done much to deserve it, to ever be deserving of the attention he’s awarded like a charity display. 

But he is so ill.

He doesn’t want this. 

Barely a mumble, a measly request from barely parted lips. “I wish you’d stop calling it that,” 

“Jesus Christ, you’re so uptight,” He’s dismissed with a scoff. “It’s just a joke,” 

Espresso begins to back away, much to his resistance and constricting hold. “I… don’t want to do this anymore,”

“What the fuck are you on about?” His voice catches volume, and echos off the bleak slick walls around them.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” 

“Really? After everything I’ve risked for you? You’re gonna drop me? Just like that?”

“It’s not like that. Don’t do this-”

“Then what is it like?!” He steps back to make wide, strained gestures. The veins are visible from his open, tensed palms. “Is it my fault? You ‘bouta tell me that it’s my fault?”

“Yes! It is!” Espresso sets a comfortable distance between them as he back away cautiously. His shoulders visibly rise as he breathes. “I don’t want you, I don’t want this,”

He feels too small. As if the skin on his bones were pulled by the seams constricted his very being. He cannot breathe. He is hyper-focused on being human alone, to blink and swallow back as breaths send surges of pain to wrack through him-- like needles breaking skin, every hair stands on its end. 

“You’re a fucking tease,”

And he believes it.

12:32, The Halls Of The Academy

Bells rang from above, alerting and erupting a chorus of discord and the buzz of gossip. Flooding the halls where lockers lined the white walls, the crowd thinned just as quickly as it thickened. Not many stayed behind, not when they had the freedom to leave. 

Madeleine found himself unfortunate enough to stray behind, he couldn’t face his teammates now. 

He was spiraling, found questioning the contents of his existence, unsure what was real or not. Espresso plagued his mind at a constant, his name, his face, it never left him. A constant fantasy in the back of his mind, one he stifled for his own sake, one he could never fulfill because Espresso despised him. 

It pained him. To know Espresso wouldn’t bat an eye if he turned up dead. He found himself questioning his very being, realizing just how far he would go for him, just for another moment with him. It was humiliating for someone of his stature, and surely utterly insane. 

But he denied it. Denied any feeling beyond pure hatred for the mage, for his sake. And yet, he couldn’t deny the way his heart skipped when he stumbled upon the brunette in the halls. 

Muttering curses and profanities to himself, crouching to search his locker and retrieve folders of necessary paperwork. 

“Ugh, come on, come on,” Espresso mumbled to himself, not even noticing the presence behind him. 

--That is, until a hand situated itself at his waist. Unyielding, as if he were trying to bruise, two large hands found themselves at his hips and held him. 

By natural instinct, Espresso flinched and turned to face him with haste, every hair stood on its end; he fully expected the sick and assured face he was met with, yet it never failed to catch him off guard and make him shudder. “ Get the fuck off me,”

He laughed. Sick and twisted. “Woah, no need to get all sensitive. God, such an uptight little thing, aren’t ‘ya?”

There wasn’t an ounce of regret behind his words, his hand still firm on Espresso. No compassion, no remorse, venom practically enlaced in his tone. He was mocking him. 

“Get your hands off me, I am done helping you.” Espresso spat, yanking himself away, the bands of his patience were straining, and his voice wavered against his will.

He moved his hand away, holding them up in front of him as if in surrender. He was smiling, teeth-gums-and-all, as if he had accomplished something. As if riling up Espresso and watching the usually collected and calm mage grow upset gave him some twisted pleasure. 

Madeleine watched from afar, hands balling into fists involuntarily. 

“You can never take a joke, can you? You mad, Essy?” He taunted. 

Espresso mumbled something incoherent under his breath, sighing utterly exasperated. 

“If you don’t need anything from me--” Espresso paused to slam his locker shut in annoyance. “--Get the fuck out of my face,” 

He frowned, visibly upset at his reaction, or, lack-of. He lived to see his assured and half-lidded eyes dilate in anger, to see the bleeding heart beneath his cold exterior and crush it within his palms. To sink his nails into his dreams and watch them bleed. 

But before he could try, a cold knock to the head caught him off guard, hitting the side of his skull and almost making him fall. 

He stumbled back, eyes wide, molars gritting against one another. He was seething, Looking up at his attacker, he staggered back at the sight. He was taller than him, with blond locks that never seemed to end, quite visibly stronger than him and pissed. 

“WHAT THE FU-?!”

He wasn’t allowed to finish his sentence, he didn’t deserve that, not before another blow to the head caught him cold and dead in his tracks. Then another when he didn’t immediately fall to the floor. 

Espresso jumped in surprise, yelling, screaming something Madeleine couldn’t quite catch. Everything was distant to him, in his state fueled by rage, any distant noise felt far away. He was seeing red. 

Not a word seemed to get into his thick skull, not while his mind was clouded with the one goal to bash this kid’s brains in. Not a word escaped the blond, not while he was fixated on pummeling this kid into the ground. 

Not until his fists were sore and blistered, until the skin was scraping off his knuckles, he couldn’t stop. Not until this kid was on the ground, dead or alive, would he cease. 

His senses were flooded with adrenaline, blood pumping in his ears while his heart pounded through his chest. His breath hitched, guilt not yet set in, his body was on fire. As if his heart was being squeezed, his fists moved without him, his reflexes throwing punches before he could even process them. 

His muscles strained against his shirt, damp with sweat and sticking to his torso, he moved without thinking. He was so far gone. 

Taking a fistful of his hair, he forced him to collide with the blue locker beside him, his head hitting the metal with a ‘ thud’ before falling to the floor. Completely limp, blood rolling down his nose, his teeth were stained with blood while his lips bled. There was so much blood. He looked ready to vomit, completely lightheaded and unable to form a coherent threat. 

His eyes were puffy and red, dark spots already appearing across his skin like a poor art project, Madeleine was ready to take his foot and kick his head into the locker before he dragged away. 

The son of a bitch looked up at him one last time, eyes completely blown out, arms limp by his side. 

“You psychopath -! ”

But he wasn’t satisfied. Not while he still trembled with anger, not while his fists stayed furiously clenched by his side, no. He threw one solid punch, forcing his head to slam against the locker before allowing himself to be dragged away. Was it by his friends or furious staff? He wasn’t sure; all he could focus on was the blown-out mess of a man he resorted the once cocky asshole to. 

Finally, he was satisfied. 

1:22 PM The Detention Center, room #144

Naturally, Madeleine had been punished. Though, not nearly as harsh as protocol, since the douchebag had committed the first offense; plus the fact Madeleine had rich-prick parents that prevented him from any actual harm. 

He spent hours repenting to the Divine, but truth be told, he didn’t regret a thing. The vivid memory of that son of a bitch with blood dripping from his nose to his mouth, littered in bruises, it was engraved in his mind. 

It became a problem. 

He adored it, to have control, to have such an awful person at his mercy beneath his heel. He was sick, but he’d do it again, in the pursuit of Espresso. 

He contemplated it all, sat in the back of the empty detention room, head hung low while he toyed with the ends of his hair. His face rested comfortably in his palm, he could only think to himself to pass the time. Until, of all people, Espresso walked in. 

His flats tapped against the cold flooring beneath them, alerting the blond, prompting his gaze up before he approached his desk. He walked with purpose, sneering.

“Ah, they allowed you visiting hours?” Madeleine smiled, tilting his head jokingly. 

Espresso kept a deadpan, standing right in front of him. “Why did you defend me? You don’t know me. We aren’t friends. Why did you do it?” 

Madeleine blinked. A bit startled, but he decided it was deserved. Scratching the back of his neck, looking down, then away; He answered slowly. 

“Right. I guess it was the ‘heat of the moment,’ I couldn’t just stand by,” He grimaced, before looking up and unknowingly making direct eye-contact. “Plus, he was taking it way too far,” 

“He’s just a guy, right? You aren’t like, a thing, are you?” Madeleine questioned slowly, concern seeping into his voice. More than he’d like to admit. He hated how he sounded like he was pleading, wishing for Espresso to deny it. 

“He wishes,” Espresso scoffed in disgust, sneering. “I personally believe he gets off to making me upset,” 

He avoided Madeleine’s eyes for a moment, biting his tongue, swallowing before taking his satchel and placing it on the smooth wooden desk. Laying various books before him, he pulled a blue chair from another table, sliding it towards Madeleine. It screeched against the cold floorings, but Espresso digressed. 

“I suppose I should thank you, what you did will probably have him leave me alone. For a while, at least,” He sighed, sitting down before him and keeping his gaze heavy on the polished floor. “I hope your punishment wasn’t too severe,” 

A smile. “I just did what anybody else would have. Plus, I am not expelled, so I suppose it could be worse,” Madeleine tilted his head slightly to meet the mage’s avoiding eyes. “They did take my ‘team captain’ title temporarily,” 

“And what of him? Please tell me he faces consequences as well,” Espresso finally looked up, almost a bit startled to find him staring back.

“Ah, right,” He scratched the back of his neck in nervous habit, biting the inside of his cheek. “He’s been suspended but if he receives any further punishment his parents are gonna sue. His medical bills were bad enough,” 

Espresso scowled. “Fucking disgusting,” and watched intently when Madeleine flinched. 

Madeleine swallowed, shame washing over him as he collected himself. “I am sorry, I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Well, admittedly, you did take it a bit far--” Espresso paused to reach into his bag, pulling out an unidentifiable bottle. “--And I hope you’ve learned your lesson. But I appreciate it,” 

“What’s that?”

Espresso rested the bottle atop the polished desk, various labels and warnings scattered across its smooth-white exterior. An ointment of some kind.

“For your hands,” Espresso reached out to take Madeleine’s hand in his own, not bothering to give him a moment to rebuttal or react. “I am sure you’ve jacked them up,” 

Madeleine didn’t dare protest, merely furrowing his brow and tilting his head as if in confusion. His hands were much larger than Espresso’s, as expected, pale and experienced. Sure enough, they were scarred, with skin peeling and scraping off his knuckles. Blue and bruised. 

“Only a bit. My hands should be the least of your worries,” Madeleine retorted, wincing when Espresso grazed his own slender fingers across the fractures and injuries. He still remembered what it looked like, blood-stained and sore, the adrenaline of throwing punches and retrieving them bloody, he wished he could say he didn’t miss it.  

If only he could stay there forever, leaning back against a chair far too small for him, allowing Espresso to hold and study his hand. The afternoon light seeping through the open windows, undisturbed and unnoticed while Espresso flipped the cap of the bottle, pouring a generous amount of ointment along his palms.

“They are. I simply have nothing better to do,” The mage clicked his tongue in turn, rubbing the ointment into calloused skin. “How long are they keeping you here?”

“For the next month. It sucks, but I get it,” He droned, allowing his posture to slacken, watching Espresso work through his hands.

Espresso would never see it, but Madeleine allowed his front to falter. He allowed his exterior to crumble in favor of the moment, his lips curling into the ghost of a smile, not that Espresso got to see. 

“What about you? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Espresso scoffed at the raw concern bleeding from his tone, responding coldly in turn. 

“I am fine. It happens,” 

“It’s happened before?!” Espresso could feel Madeleine’s hand shake within his grasp, presumably in frustration. 

Espresso looked to the barren walls, then to the floor. He bit his tongue, not wanting to divulge anymore, before returning his attention to the blond’s hand. 

Dropping Madeleine’s right hand and reaching for his left, he sighed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ve never… he’s never-” He found himself stuttering. “I am fine. But it’s… nice to know you care that much, you may be an oaf but you have good morals and common sense,” 

Against his better judgment, Madeleine smiled. “Divine’s blessings, I am sure,” 

Espresso huffed out a scoff, his gaze low and shunned by dark eyelashes, massaging his wounds and tracing over them before declaring it good enough. 

“You’ll be fine, but that should prevent any infections,” Espresso lectured, retracted his hands and moved to cap the bottle, watching Madeleine bite his lip and remain silent out of the corner of his eye. “There’s no use in wasting time on pleasantries when you could be studying,” 

Madeleine leaned back and allowed himself a dramatic sigh, but never protested. 

“Do I even have to ask if you remember anything?” Espresso moved to return the bottle to his bag. 

Madeleine heaved a laugh, though the way he fidgeted with his hair between his fingertips gave away any assurance. 

“I might need reminding,” He hummed, watching Espresso wipe his hands along his dark coat and flip open a textbook. “--And, sorry about last time. With, y’know, her ,” 

He scratched the back of his neck, thoroughly embarrassed by her previous outburst, yet never avoiding the mage’s eyes. 

“Your relationship is none of my business. My business is keeping you from failing,” Espresso clipped, clicking his tongue. 

“Right,” 

He eyed Espresso while he flipped through the pages of their heavy books, all of which Madeleine dreaded but would hold his tongue in favor of the mage. He was so terribly fixated on their study, completely devoted to his work, eyebrows furrowed while he searched for a specific page. 

Madeleine breathed out. “You’re pretty like this,” 

“I beg your pardon?” Espresso froze immediately, halfway through turning a page. “If this is a joke, it’s not funny in the slightest,” 

Madeleine looked shocked, as if the fool didn’t expect Espresso to clip back like that, as if he could say something so bashful and get away with it. So he smiled, cocky as always, as if he had accomplished something. 

“Lying is sinful, Espresso, you know me better than that,” 

His confidence was all performative, and he was determined to play the part to his grave. 

Espresso rolled his eyes and huffed. “Whatever you’re trying to do, it won’t work. You can’t sway me into doing your work,” 

Madeleine scoffed, his thin lips curling into the ghost of a smirk. “I would never!” 

Madeleine leaned in a bit. Espresso was certainly different than anyone he’d been assigned to; he was frustrating, hard to dissect, and even more so to read. It was horribly endearing, and only encouraged him. 

“Y’know, you don’t have to be here. I couldn’t possibly get into more trouble,” The blond traced the scattered papers with his fingertips, taking it all in stride. “Though, it’s flattering. To know you couldn’t get enough of me,” 

Espresso scoffed. “Fine. I came here because I felt bad; I felt guilty that you got in shit because you helped me,” He began to reorganize his books, much to the surprise of Madeleine. “But since you obviously don’t need me here, I’ll take my leave,” 

Madeleine flinched, his posture stiffening. He didn’t expect that. What was wrong with him? He told himself that he didn’t care , that it didn’t matter at all, but some ethereal was tugging at his heart and beckoning for Espresso to stay. 

He wanted, he needed , to bite his tongue and let him leave but--

“Wait,”

--He couldn’t. He needed Espresso, against his better judgment. 

“What is it?” Espresso had begun to leave, his materials folded neatly in his bag. “Are you finally willing to listen? I am not staying just for you to spew your utter nonsense,”

Madeleine looked down, embarrassed. 

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” Madeleine looked away, his gaze shifting towards the floor beneath them. Finally, a fracture in his arrogant front. “You can stay. I’ll listen,” 

“Finally,” Espresso sneered, setting down his bag once more and sitting to join him. “For once, I might be able to actually help you,” 

Pulling the heaving book open, eyeing Madeleine while he flipped through pages, he looked up momentarily to ask; “Shall we begin?”

“Yeah, sure,” Madeleine looked down at the books with distaste, but bit his tongue. He dreaded the actual study, especially when he was inclined to take notes, but something had ignited in him. 

An unfamiliar feeling, one he had spent years repenting, a feeling that struck him right through the heart and made him stutter. “Do you have a pen?”

Espresso nodded and reached in his bag, before taking out a black and detailed pen. With small precise fractures and designs engraved into its exterior, he handed it over. “Make sure you're prepared next time,”

Espresso continued to mindlessly go over what Madeleine needed to know for his studies; it was almost odd, seeing the usually bumbling fool actually putting effort into this. 

Upon taking the pen, something had shifted in him. Like a natural order had been disrupted, and suddenly, he didn't know how to feel. He felt his heart race and a cold bead of sweat run down the back of his neck. He was burning up. 

He held the pen with a tighter grip than he would've liked to admit, as if it were priceless. It had significance now, all because it belonged to Espresso. 

“Sorry. What did you say?" 

Something was wrong with him. 

“I said, make sure you're prepared next time,” Espresso repeated, looking up at Madeleine, intrigue and the tinge of concern lit in his dark eyes. “Uh, are you alright? You look ready to faint,” 

“Yeah, yeah, I am fine.” He allayed by instinct, almost immediately while a hand combed back his hair. He wanted to turn away in embarrassment, yet he couldn't bring himself to stray from the mage's gaze. Perhaps he was cursed, perhaps he was diseased, anything to justify the way he flushed crimson. 

“Sure,” Espresso slid a piece of blank paper to him. “Write the notes down. I simplified it for you since you'd have trouble dissecting what I wrote,”

He hummed in response, unsure if he should laugh or not. He studied the papers with great intrigue, staring down at the messied handwriting, memorizing it. It was perfect, a flawless representation of the mage, faultless and divine. 

“Sorry if it's hard to read, I always write rushed,” 

Madeleine caught himself entranced and forced himself out of it. What was he thinking? 

“It can't be worse than mine,” He huffed out, smiling. “The Divine's blessings don't apply to such… minor burdens like schoolwork,” 

Espresso hummed. “Well, your future relies on these ‘minor burdens’ so I suggest you pay attention,” 

And pay attention he did. For the next hour, he’d look up occasionally to markdown whatever Espresso wrote for him, asking questions between scarce moments of silence, when Espresso wasn’t preaching important notes or rules. 

Perhaps Espresso’s words finally cracked through his thick skull and finally made their way into his head, perhaps he truly realized the importance of the sessions, or perhaps it was because he was using Espresso’s pen. 

“We should be done here,” Espresso promptly folded his book, watching Madeleine dot his final period and look up. 

“Already?” Madeleine sounded almost disappointed. It was… odd to say the least.

Madeleine remained leaning on the desk, his face in his palm while his elbow rested against the wooden desk. “I might stay for a bit longer,” he admitted, a dejected sigh escaping him. 

Espresso hooked his bag over his shoulder. “Very well, I won’t stop you.” 

Walking out, haphazardly shutting the door behind him, he thought to himself.

What has gotten into that fool? He hasn’t always been like this, has he?

He didn’t even notice that he’d left his pen with Madeleine.

As soon as Espresso was out of sight, Madeleine buried his face within his palms and groaned, properly frustrated. There was something wrong with him, something desperate, something twisting his hatred for the mage into a need against his will. 

He was sick. Rising from his palms and gazing at the pen before him, heat rushed to his cheeks involuntarily. 

He cursed himself, “You’ve got me around your bloody finger,” 

3:43 PM, Creative Arts Club

Espresso watched in distaste, biting his tongue and narrowing his eyes, his grip firm on the monochromatic bag slung by his shoulder. He thumbs the width of the strap, and his posture visibly stiffens.

He couldn’t seem to avoid the fool, even more so now. Lingering at the frame of the door, out of view, Espresso eyes Madeleine with distrust. 

The fool had positioned himself to stand within a circle of easels and stools, standing perfectly still while his own peers gossiped and painted his honor. It wasn’t out of character-- a conceited man, willing to do anything in the pursuit of praise, of course, he’d volunteer to model for the arts-- but pissed Espresso off regardless.

One hand dormant on his hip, the other curled boastfully, he stood at an angle to ensure every depiction would be individual. Clearly having done this before, the class took kindly to his display, happily chatting and occasionally asking questions to the man himself--

--which, somehow, was what made Espresso tick. The questions wandered from meaningless pleasantries like his major or position on the football team, though on occasion, they’d be comments on his body. 

Of his overwhelming figure, of his overzealous expressions and perfect stance. A large display of man, with a sharp bone structure and full pale eyebrows, and even broader shoulders with a considerable torso-- truly, the ideal model. 

It made Espresso’s blood boil. 

“Do your hands make it easier on the field?” A girl pointed towards his hearty palms with the end of her wooden paintbrush, narrowing her eyes to fixate on the scars and callouses that graced his palms. 

“Oh, wouldn't you want to know,” Another girl, a friend of hers, taunted in turn. Earning a chorus of prompted laughter from around the circle-- and a simple nervous chuckle from Madeleine. 

For reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint, it made Espresso's grip tighten and gaze dart away. 

Biting his tongue and adjusting his spectacles, Espresso left entirely, not even bothering a second glance.

He could feel eyes on his every step.

11:23 AM, Parfaida’s library. 

Amidst the endless tidy bookshelves and hushed whispers laid the two seniors, returned to their usual study. Setting his bag to the ground, Madeleine smiled when Espresso pulled out various textbooks. 

“So, you’ve regained your title as captain? You’ve been doing better since the incident,” Espresso noted, earning an accomplished smile from Madeleine. 

Moving his hand above and behind his head, Madeleine untied the blue ribbon that kept his hair in place, shaking his head a bit upon release. His smile turned sheepish when the mage mentioned the ‘incident’.

 He’d be better off forgetting the ordeal entirely, but he didn’t dare to show it. No, he couldn’t show anything less than his performative confidence.  

“Yam wasn’t too happy, but yeah, we’ve been playing much better under my guidance!” He boasted, pulling out one of the cheap chairs to designate it as his own, and promptly sat down. 

“At least you have that going for you,” Espresso muttered, looking up to offer a small smile, hoping he wasn’t too harsh. Occasionally, he’d have to collect himself and remember to be nice. “Oh, and did you ever return my pen? I might have misplaced it,” 

Madeleine’s heart tripped, and promptly began beating twice as fast to make up for it. As if on cue or instinct, he went flush and lost his grip on the blue ribbon in his grasp.

“Ah, forgive me. I don’t know either,” He sighed, hoping to distract from his obvious fluster, moving to avoid Espresso’s eyes and simultaneously retrieve his ribbon from the floor.

“Ugh, I liked that pen too,” Espresso groaned, removing his glasses and using his sleeve to clean them. “It’s fine, I have more for a reason,” 

Madeleine sighed, but he didn’t dare to complain. He quite liked this change, they seemed to focus less and less on actual study each time they met. It was horribly inefficient but Madeleine kept beckoning Espresso for conversation, asking meaningless questions and boasting about his accomplishments. Like now. 

“I am afraid I don’t know where it could've gone, I’ve been kinda stressing over tonight,” Madeleine admitted, twirling a strand of hair with his finger idly. “I have no right to be worried, it’s a casual game, with the southside; but that won’t stop me,” 

“You have a game tonight? That shouldn’t be a problem,” Espresso remarked, returning his glasses atop his nose-bridge. “You’ve always said you have plenty of skill. If you say you can do it, I believe it,” 

Madeleine smiled at that, cocking an eyebrow. “I am glad you finally noticed,” 

He took it upon himself to slide his bulky varsity jacket off his shoulders and allowed it to pool to the floor without care. “And here I thought you disagreed with my ego,” 

“--And I take it back,” Espresso mumbled almost playfully, he should’ve seen that coming. “While you’re dealing with your game crisis, I have somewhere to be soon. I want to get this over with,” 

Madeleine’s smirk faded, making no effort to retrieve his jacket, frowning in turn. 

“That’s a shock, you never leave your place.” He remarked. “You got some girls-night-out with Latte?”

 “I promised her I’d make time for us, that’s all.” Espresso scoffed, almost offended. He ended by flicking Madeleine’s forehead. “I may value my work, but I value my friendship with her just as much,”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Madeleine snatched the hand that flicked him when it tried to retreat, taking it in his own while a cocky smile replaced his once frustrated expression. 

“Aha! I was right,” Arrogant as always, his posture stiffened as he tilted his head up, as if to appear above Espresso. “You are horribly predictable, my friend,” 

“And what does it matter to you-?!” Espresso yanked his hand away from the bumbling fool, a bit startled, quite obviously set off by the sudden contact. 

Madeleine blinked, but retracted his hand and kept his distance regardless, regret igniting in his gut. “It means nothing to me. Simply an observation,” Madeleine pretended not to care, leaning back in his seat, pretending as if he were unaffected. “That’s one of the big words you use, ‘observation’, isn’t it?” 

“You can remember how I speak, but never remember what we study?” Espresso retorted, brows furrowing, eyes narrowed in distaste. “It’s like you’re studying me instead of your work. You’re just trying to get under my skin, aren’t you?” 

“More or less,” He smiled, though there was nothing humorous about it. Espresso was right, he’d spend hours of supposed studying just to stare and memorize the mage. 

Madeleine declared himself the only person worthy of him, the only person who could properly appreciate every flaw and aspect of him. He allowed himself to indulge in his admiration for the man through glances and faraway stares. 

“Then again, you talk like an English teacher. It’s hard not to notice,” He moved to make a small box with his fingers and peered through it, closing his left eye to study him. “Kinda look like one too,” 

Espresso flushed and began to stammer. “And what of it? At least I talk properly and not like some delinquent. Would you stop looking at me like that-?!” 

He laughed in turn, “Like what?” before leaning closer, cocky and bold as ever. So frustratingly in character, he inched himself closer while he rested his jaw in his palm. 

“This?” Both of his forearms were rested and crossed on the table as he propped himself closer with half-lidded eyes, as if he were above the situation entirely. 

“I despise you,” Espresso hissed as he quickly reached for his bag, not realizing he dropped his handkerchief, and abruptly stormed out. 

That bastard! He exclaimed through his thoughts as he walked with purpose, on his way to meet up with Latte, at last.

6:09 PM, University Lockerrooms

    “It’s so frustrating!” 

Madeleine covered his face within his palms, shielding himself and allowing his hair to fall. He dug himself into his calloused hands, huffing in proper frustration. 

“Hey man, I get it,” 

A hand found itself on his shoulder, patting his back pitifully. A friend for as long as he could remember, Dark Choco, never failed to comfort him, even in the boy’s locker room of all places. Sat atop the glazed wooden bench while Madeleine ranted, Dark Choco occasionally offered him nods or short responses. 

“I don’t know how I feel at all, I shouldn’t feel anything at all! He’s just a friend, and a man at that!” Opening his eyes within his palms, catching a glimpse of his buddy’s apologetic gaze, he huffed. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” 

Madeleine looked up momentarily, furrowing his brow as if in confusion, his mouth screwed shut for once. “What?”

“Well, what do you think of him?” Dark Choco reiterated, speaking low and hushed as always, almost humming as he wrung water from his cut hair. It was odd seeing his hair so short, barely touching his shoulders and damp from recent wash. 

Madeleine found himself silent, staring towards the tiled-floor and utterly speechless. His mouth went dry as he bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair. He’d never felt like this, not for his girlfriend or any suitor, it was exhilarating. 

“He makes my heart skip, with the stupid way he talks or the stupid way he says my name,” 

Oh, it was much more than that. Just the sound of his familiar flats against cold flooring made his heart jump; Stupid bulky glasses against his dark eyes that narrowed and looked him down so endearingly. 

“Or whenever he leans forward to write on my paper, I-I can feel my face heat up,” 

He had some sick way of making Madeleine flush, with even the most subtle or natural actions, he had the knight under some twisted spell. Charming him without even realizing it, making his palms shake through the click of his tongue and a snarky remark.

“I always catch myself staring whenever he chews on the end of his pens; He always hums while I study, I don’t know how he expects me to focus when he sings so nicely,” 

They hadn’t a moment of silence, even while Madeleine occupied himself with study or memorization, Espresso would hum or mumble throughout it; A sweet ambiance Madeleine could never get tired of. 

“Damn,” Dark Choco almost laughed in turn. “You got it bad,” 

“Got what?! Is there something wrong with me? I mean, I know it’s a sin and I-”

“Hey, calm down.” He cut Madeleine off, his tone allayed and collected, keeping his hand heavy on tensed shoulders. “I get it,”

“How could you ‘ get it?’ I want him more than I want my own girlfriend, and he hates my guts; He’s made that clear enough,” Madeleine allowed his posture to slacken, utterly defeated and ridden with guilt; With confusion, with fluster and distaste. He was a wreck. 

“Feel that one.” Despite growing up by his side, Dark Choco had been Madeleine’s own polar opposite. He was content with saying close to nothing, satisfied in his silence, Madeleine was sure he was the only one to see him smile. 

“It happens,” Dark Choco sighed, moving his hand back to his lap and leaning back. Madeleine could hardly understand how he appeared so nonchalant at a constant. “You like him, nothing sinful or wrong about it.” 

“But The Divine-”

“Do you really think The Divine cares if you like dudes?” 

Huh. Madeleine stared towards the floor, he’d never thought of it like that. He swallowed, his heart racing as he realized and perhaps even came to terms with his own feelings. “Oh.”

“Spend more time with him out of school, get into his hobbies,” He suggested, handing his towel to Madeleine before rising from the seat and standing before him. “Just, try not to flex so much. It could be seen as arrogance,” 

Madeleine looked up to smile as he began to walk away. “Thanks,”

“You owe me,” 

7:02 PM, Southside field

Thankfully, the game had been set late in the evening; late enough for the sun to be hidden amongst clouds and the high dirtied bleachers. Lamps provided the only light, allowing Espresso to go unnoticed, even beside his loud and gossiping friend. 

Nobody paid them the time of day, not while peers rushed to the stands or where they sold over-priced candies and other junk fares. It was infuriating for Latte, who hoped to get a glimpse at a particular rose-haired player, while Espresso was completely content with the lapse. 

That is, until a bumbling fool began yelling and running towards them. 

“Es! Over here! It’s me!” 

Espresso immediately froze. Es? He shook his head, no, no, you don’t have time for this. 

“Latte, we need to walk faster, hurry up,” Espresso urged, taking her hand and promptly pacing forward. 

Unfortunately (Curse the Divine and their stupid blessings.) Madeleine already had set his gaze on the pair, running and waving obnoxiously, catching the attention of everyone around him. Did he have no shame? Or did he simply put himself above humiliation? 

“Aha! I didn’t know you came to these events-!” His pace slowed as he came into view, panting while his chest heaved beneath padded protection and uniform. The smile of an idiot plastered across his face. “Perhaps you aren’t as predictable as I thought,” 

“If it helps you sleep at night, I don’t want to be here. Latte dragged me out here without a word,” He grumbled, looking away from the blond in almost embarrassment, prompting to give Latte a cold stare instead. 

Latte merely gigged in response. “It’s for your own good, bubs, you need some time away from your room and whatever it is that you do in there,” 

Madeleine’s smile fell, though his posture never slackened. “Ah, I take it back then,” 

He spared Latte a glance before continuing, nodding and acknowledging her with an iconic smile; the way he did when anybody crossed his path. 

“--Perhaps you are predictable,” Madeleine began, earning a curious look. “Unless you’d join me after the game?” 

“I am sorry?” Espresso placed a hand on his hip, eyeing Madeleine down for any malicious intent or insincerity behind that arrogant smile. “--And why on earth would I willingly do that?” 

Espresso wants to scowl, but does not. 

“He’d love to!” Latte responded for him, pushing him forward and giggling when he flushed, shooting her an ‘ I am gonna kill you’ look. 

Madeleine smiled, not bothered with waiting for a true response from Espresso. “Under the bleachers, give me ten after the game,” He began to walk back, clearly in a rush, the sweat running down the back of his neck accentuating how foolish he looked. 

All stressed and frizzled, yet smiling like the luckiest man in the world. Truly, unreadable. “I hope to see you there!” 

And like that, he left just as quickly as he arrived.

“Why would you do that?!” Espresso hissed as soon as Madeleine left ear-shot, watching him as he jogged off and waved to those who eyed him. 

“He’s cute. You should really take this opportunity, I think it’d be good for you,” She shrugged and replied nonchalantly, as if Espresso wasn’t sweating with whether it be anticipation or anxiety. 

What could such a bumbling fool want? The thought plagued him and never left his mind, keeping him on edge and leaving him biting his fingernails while he studied those around him. Before his gaze landed on a particular pink-haired player, yelling on the field. 

He narrowed his eyes. “Pull something like that again and I’ll tell her how you feel,”

“And break code? You wouldn’t dare.” 

                        ------------

The game was painstakingly slow, spanning over hours, though Espresso couldn’t be bothered with the details and scores. He found himself sitting beside Latte atop the bleachers, scrolling through his phone while she gossiped beside him with chicks he didn’t even know the names of. 

Perhaps he felt empty. Everyone around him seemed in place, sticking to a click or ideal, while he found himself alone. The music through his cheap wired earbuds kept him company as he attempted to drone out the world, far too loud for comfort, he couldn’t fathom how Madeleine could play in these conditions. 

Perhaps it was his fault. He shut himself out, became an outcast by choice, never bothering with pleasantries or the burden of conversation. Useless friendships that’d never last never fazed him, he never allowed himself to participate. 

It was all for the better, he’d insist and engrave into his mind until he felt nothing at all.

Despite the helmet and unusual gear, Madeleine was arrogantly recognizable even from the stands; Taking initiative and moving without thought, taking most hits instead of scoring. An idiot, but it balanced out. 

The game couldn’t have ended sooner, and the crowd had already begun to thin before it had. Peers called family and rides while the players marched out in a line, earning high-fives and screams, though they were mostly profanities. 

All but one, who caught Espresso’s eye; A particular blond who jogged towards him beneath the bleachers. 

“It’s about time; you’re lucky I haven’t gotten up and left yet,” Espresso hissed as soon as Madeleine approached; He was heaving, finally slowing and almost kneeling from exhaustion. After running without break in his obnoxious protection, helmet still on his head, sweating profusely while his hair clung to his face. It was pitiful for someone of his stature.

“Hah… I know, I know,” He huffed. “But fan service was due, I hope you understand,” 

Espresso shot him a glare, crossing his arms. “I don’t understand because I am not an ego-maniac like yourself. What did you want with me, anyway?”

Madeleine glanced towards the ground, not daring to look up, as if not even he himself knew. Unclasping and lifting his helmet, shaking his head as soon as it was discarded, he carefully held it below his shoulder. 

Running a hand through his hair, a horrible habit, he spoke. “I… guess I don’t really know. It’s stupid but I-” 

He stuttered. Uncharactistly so. 

“I hate using the guise of study or tutoring just to be around you, I feel like I owe it to you,”

It was bullshit.

It was one big excuse to see him, to be with him just for a moment longer, to hope to the Divine that he’d impress Espresso. He’d owe it all to Espresso, even if he hated the knight in return, he’d devote it all to him. Espresso could spill his guts, bleed the contents of his heart while Madeleine adored him. Surely, something was wrong. 

It was pitiful, but he pulled out a small candy bar he’d taken from the food stands, ( Which was probably what took him so long.) and extended his hand.

Espresso wasn’t sure what to say at all, so he simply stayed silent and stared with a cocked eyebrow, almost stepping back in shock. 

Madeleine hated this. Everything about it. For once in his stupid privileged life, he didn’t know what to do; it frustrated him, the feeling of weakness around another was gnawing at his arrogant front, and he needed to do something about it. 

And so, he reverted to default. 

“You know I hate having enemies, at the very least, I hope you know--” He began, his tone bashful and low. “--and I hate being your enemy even more. It’s… frustrating,”

No, it was more than frustrating. He couldn’t figure Espresso out, no matter how he tried. 

He wanted Espresso to trust him.

He wanted Espresso for himself. 

He wanted Espresso to find comfort in him the way he did with him. 

He wanted Espresso to need him. 

He wanted Espresso . But he was awful with words.

“Friends?” He held out a pitiful hand, offering a smile and tilting his head, swallowing back his anxiety. 

Espresso stared back at him, properly baffled. He only stared at Madeleine’s outstretched palm, it was the only thing was capable of for a few seconds; before he collected himself and promptly smoothed out his blouse.

“I am not sure about friends, but I am willing to try,” 

Taking his hand and gently gripping Madeleine’s, he looked up at him while he contemplated his decision. 

Madeleine memorized the sight; of Espresso’s hand in his own, smaller and slender, overworked and trusting. Delicate in his grasp, Madeleine stared back in shock, not expecting Espresso to agree at all.

A rush of adrenaline (Perhaps even heat. ) wracked through him. “Hah-! I assure you, my friend, you won’t regret this!”

“I hope I don’t,” 

Espresso sighed, unsure what to make of this… advancement. He hadn’t expected it at all, and perhaps that was the charm; Madeleine was unpredictable, a fool, but he knew what he was doing. He was charming, and perhaps Espresso had fallen for it.

Perhaps, this could be the best mistake he’s ever made.

“ Maddie!”

Espresso flinched when a new voice spoke, or screeched , running from behind him. Shrill and excited, he grimaced.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! And-”  latching onto Madeleine, taking his hand like a parasite, she stopped herself when she fully registered Espresso’s presence. “Oh. What’s he doing here?”

“--And that’s my cue,” Espresso began to turn, warding off a sneer. “I’ll take my leave then,”

Popping his collar to hide the ever-persistent scowl, he began to walk away, contemplating everything he gained from that wreck of a conversation and deciding whether or not it was a waste of his time. For whatever reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, he wasn’t sure.

“Do you have to hang out with him after school too? How much time does he take from you?” She asked immediately, not even bothering to wait until Espresso was out of ear-shot.

Madeleine’s entire demeanor seemed to shift upon her arrival. His posture slackened, his smile faded, and he shoved the denied candy-bar into his pocket.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” He sighed, before turning to her and putting on a smile. “How did I do? On the field, of course,” 

“Yeah, great.” She droned before immediately interrogating him once more, berating him with her concern. “When are you going to drop tutoring? We’ve been spending so much less time together, it hurts me ,”

Making sure to snatch his arm, she looked up at him with far too trusting eyes. Madeleine stepped back, obviously dejected and startled. He felt… guilty. 

This girl had dedicated so much to him, pouring her heart out for him, pleading to be with him any chance she got. Driven by emotion, her supposed admiration for him bled from her tone alone. It made Madeleine sick.

He was numb. He felt nothing for her, but kept her around for his own sake. He dragged her down in his own twisted self-discovery and now there was no going back. This was his fault, wasn’t it?

He wished that she’d just hate him already. Leave him for someone infinitely better, someone who loved and deserved her, someone who didn’t get distracted by his own tutor. He deserved her hatred, her spite and anger, he’d take it all. 

“I am… I am sorry, love, but you know it's for my own good,” He looked down at her, meeting her persistent gaze. “You understand, don’t you?”

She huffed out in irritation. “So what if your grades aren’t perfect? And why does he have to be your tutor?” 

Espresso found ways to get under her skin without so much as lifting a finger. She despised his mere presence, simply because she knew damn well Madeleine gladly spent more time with him than with her. 

Madeleine had distanced himself so much, her friends were beginning to think they broke up, and she couldn’t have that.

He bit his tongue, hating every word that spilled from him. “You know I didn’t have a choice. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t be with him,”

“I promise you. There’s nothing between us; I am enthralled to you,” He lifted her chin to get a better look at her, hiding his grimace. “Trust me, I have this under control. As usual,”

“I hope so,” She barely muttered before reaching up and planting a kiss against his cheek. “I love you, Maddie,”

It was vile. Built on the foundation of lies and the judgment of the Divine, but he allowed her. He couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was distant, cold and dejected. He felt nothing, so he allowed her to do as she pleased. 

“Yeah,”

Something was wrong with him.

Chapter Text

4:34 PM, Parfaedia’s Library

Bittersweet; Early October had settled in, the leaves outside the pristine academy had begun to shift yellow and fall. Splotched and dried grass, the air had thinned into autumn breeze. 

Rain fell from above, devoid of harm or thunder; providing a sweet ambiance to the pair behind closed doors and stained windows. Classes were long over, most students and peers had retreated to their designated dorms or had left the building entirely, all but two.

Sat freely around the open library, their studies discarded and forgotten, Espresso lounged atop a dark open chair while Madeleine paced and ranted about something. 

Since Madeleine’s ‘friendship proposal’ they’d stay only an hour after their lessons, Espresso sat comfortably and provided short remarks while Madeleine preached and told tales of his accomplishments. Fascinatingly, Espresso listened to it all intently.

“Did she really say that?” Espresso prompted, adjusting his glasses.

“Exactly!” His hands moving to the side of his thick skull, spread wide in some dramatic gesture, Madeleine exclaimed. “And like I know where she got that from,”

The once chatter-filled air had thinned into silence, as Espresso toyed with the end of his pen in his mouth, humming softly to himself idly. Completely unaware of his habit as he flipped through pages in his bleak studies. 

Twirling a strand of hair with his finger, Madeleine found himself unsure of what to say next. An uncommon occurrence, for once, he found himself uncomfortably silent. He furrowed his brow, putting genuine thought into identifying the tune Espresso hummed.

“What song is that?” Madeleine asked abruptly, snapping the thick silence between them.

Espresso looked up from his studies momentarily, pen still between his teeth. “Hm?”

Madeleine caught himself staring for a moment; he blinked, swallowed, and looked away, scratching the back of his neck before repeating himself. Like clockwork, he was horribly predictable.

“You were humming. What song was that?” He looked back. “I didn’t recognize it,”

“Oh,” Espresso simply remarked, not processing his habit at all, unaware he ever did such a thing before turning away in embarrassment. “I am not sure. It’s just reflex, a horrible habit I need to fix,” 

“Why would you need to fix it? You’re not bothering anyone,” Madeleine smiled. It was… odd. No longer was it cocky or challenging, a genuine smile as if it had been there since birth. “Quite frankly, I like it.”

Espresso scoffed, moving his pen behind his ear and shutting the book in his grasp. “While I appreciate your mindless flattery, it’s ridiculous of me as a grown man,” 

“How do you expect to impress if you can barely meet your own standards? You hold yourself too high,” Madeleine grinned, yet the look in his eyes was almost sympathetic. 

“Always so tense. Relax, ami, be confident--” Madeleine beat a hand to his chest boastfully. “--Like me!”

“It might just kill me if I let myself get out of hand, like yourself.” Espresso cringed, pausing when he realized what Madeleine had said. “Impress? Why would you need to impress?”

“I live to impress, my friend, and I am quite good at it,” Madeleine kept his boastful and loud tone to distract from his stutter, flipping his hair a bit as if to prove his point.

“And yet, you’ve failed to impress me. Tough luck,” Espresso shrugged, clicking his tongue and adjusting his glasses as he eyed the blond before him.

“Really?” Madeleine scoffed, narrowing his eyes, lips curling into a challenging smile. “Then what can I do for you?” 

Madeleine moved a hand to squeeze his bicep, his large hand almost wrapping around its entirety. “Strength? Speed? What are you into?” He spoke without thought, determined to prove Espresso wrong. 

Opening his book and flipping to a page, Espresso almost frantically avoided the flexing oaf. “I am not interested in such… shallow traits,”

Madeleine huffed but kept his smile alive, approaching Espresso and kneeling a bit to press a finger atop the spine of Espresso’s book. Tilting his scriptures down, making it impossible to read, he maintained eye contact.

“Are you intimidated, Espresso?”

Taking his book, Espresso lightly smacked Madeleine against his thick skull with it. “What would I be intimidated by? Your record-breaking stupidity? Perhaps your grades alone could make one cry,”

Madeleine laughed. “Fret not, I understand. I would be intimidated if I were you,” 

He seemed to study Espresso for a moment, bashfully looking him up and down, not even bothering to hide his intrigue. Before finally looking him in the eyes, as if he’d collected all the information he needed.

“Yeah, I could probably pick you up,”

“I beg your pardon?” Espresso snapped his book shut, jaw slackening, not expecting that at all. “Don’t you even think about it. I don’t need the stench of your ego in my personal space,” 

“C’mon, what did I say about confidence?” As if his words made no impact on the blond at all, bouncing off his thick skull entirely, he inched himself closer with hesitation far behind him. “Take pride in yourself and your average height!” 

The oaf held out both hands as if he actually expected the mage to let Madeleine carry him bridal-style. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Espresso began to rise from his chair, moving back and retiring his book to the table.

“Ami, I couldn’t hurt you!” He kept his arms wide as if he were performing a speech. “Are you sure you’re not intimidated? Or are you running away for the fun of it?”

Madeleine laughed, though it was sickeningly sincere. No, he could never hurt him. Espresso only continued to distance himself.

“Would you cut this nonsense out?!”

“I’ve yet to impress you, Espresso! Doesn’t walking become exhausting in those… flats?” He approached cautiously, calculating the perfect moment to sweep Espresso off his feet. “Allow me to prove myself!” 

“Has your mother never taught you proper manners?!” Espresso recoiled, stepping back and sneering. 

And yet, that stopped Madeleine in his tracks. Coming to a sudden halt, as if stunned or struck stupid;

For once, he didn’t have a response at all, no rebuttal or snarky remark to flaunt his ego. He abruptly said nothing at all.

“...Madeleine?” 

Espresso paused where he was standing, promptly realizing something was wrong. His heart began to race, and if he were any lesser man, he would’ve begun to panic. 

“Ah, forgive me,” Scratching the back of his neck, running a hand through his hair, he seemed to falter. Even if it was just for a moment, just for Espresso to see.

“Are you okay?” Espresso took a cautious step forward. 

Madeleine cleared his throat. “I am quite alright,” before something shifted in his demeanor. Deciding he no longer wanted to dwell on such… cumbersome topics. “Though, it’s nice to know you care that much,” 

Now close enough, he placed a hand behind Espresso’s torso and rested the other behind his calves. Promptly lifting him with ease and pulling him from the ground. “Unfortunately, you are far too predictable!” 

Espresso let out a small shriek. “You bastard!”

“Aha! I told you, I never fail to impress,” Madeleine paid him no mind, swaying back and forth while he thrashed in his arms, holding him with an assured grip. “Have you always been this light?”

Without thinking, by pure instinct, dark magic crackled between his fingertips before a grinding eye had summoned within his palm. Smoke rising from the lines in his palms, a spell emerged and took place in his hand. 

Madeleine shuddered. “Ha-ah! That is-” He stumbled a bit, rocking backward. “-Much more powerful up-close!” 

“Why did you do that?”

Madeleine looked confused, gritting his molars together as he avoided the spell, scrunching his nose in distaste of the arising smoke. Espresso could feel his grip falter beneath him, but he kept the spell alive, fueled by curiosity. 

“Ah. Your magic is a bit--” He looked down at Espresso in his arms, practically cradling him. “-How you say-?” Before he settled on a word that seemed right enough.

“Loud.”

Espresso scoffed. “Loud? I haven’t done anything, yet. It shouldn’t affect you,” 

Beginning to close his palm, he had to noticeably look up at the fool just to meet his eyes, embarrassingly so. 

“I suppose I was never one for the likes of dark magic,” Madeleine smiled when the spell began to dissipate and cease, speaking cautiously, aware of every movement Espresso made.

He’d never admit it, but dark magic had ways of making even the Mighty Madeleine feel weak. He’d blame it on the light divination coursing through his veins at a constant, or perhaps he faltered simply because it was Espresso’s magic. Nonetheless, he couldn’t allow himself to grow indefensive to the likes of a single grinding eye. 

“That’s no reason to tremble in its presence, even lowly light-users can withstand its mere being,” Espresso retorted, drawing out the word ‘tremble’ as if to embarrass him, as he wasn’t laying in his arms. 

“I am not. It just… caught me off guard.” Madeleine defended, before playfully inching Espresso closer to the ground, almost dropping him and dispersing the spell entirely. 

“Careful, you oaf!” 

Madeleine stumbled back, smiling and holding back a laugh while Espresso thrashed in his arms. “I apologize, but there's hardly a point in defying the Divine’s orders,” He said confidently, like some spokesperson before approaching a high table. 

With much difficulty and hassle, he finally set Espresso down atop the countertop, glaring while he held Espresso by his hip. His legs and English-teacher flats dangling off the edge; Finally, face-to-face. 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

Espresso clicked his tongue, making a slight ‘tsk’ before prying Madeleine’s hands off him with ease. “That’s none of your concern nor your business,”

“Can I not be concerned for your health?” Madeleine sighed, his grip only moving to the marble beside him, though it did very little while he still towered over
Espresso; damn him. “You worry me, Espresso,”

“What are you worried about? I am not yours.” Espresso stated bluntly, moving to adjust his glasses, a persistent scowl across his lips. 

 “Because I sleep well when I know you aren’t working yourself to death,” Madeleine shot back, the joking tone in his voice had actively begun to dwindle. 

Latte isn’t doing a very good job. Madeleine grimaced at the dark bags beneath Espresso’s eyes. I would do better.

Espresso narrowed his eyes. “Alright, what’s going on with you? Just a few weeks ago, you were insistent on bickering with me at a constant. Now you can’t get your eyes off me, like some star-struck pain in the ass,” 

Madeleine only stared for a moment, mouth going dry, his face flushed. Espresso noticed that? What else had Espresso noticed? While he wished he could deny it, it was true. Through study sessions and lessons, Madeleine found himself staring, entranced and spacing out as he thought over every unattainable fantasy. 

Truth be told, he was coming to terms with how he felt. He began to accept his undeniable need for Espresso. He wanted him, everything he had to offer, the contents of his being, Madeleine wanted it like a starving man. But that was wrong. 

That was a sin. 

And so, he closed his eyes--

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” 

--And lied through his ever-persistent smile.

“You’re an awful liar. I know what I saw, you’ve always stared at me,” Espresso folded his arms. “Just, tell me the truth.”

“Lying is sinful, my friend,” Madeleine feared his voice wavered beneath his confident exterior, and beneath his bulky varsity jacket, he was shaking. But he masked it, as well as he could, he clicked his tongue and clipped back.

“Plus, I don’t believe your vision is the most reliable,” Madeleine gestured towards the thick circular glasses atop his nose-bridge. 

“Whatever, shouldn’t you be busy getting Ds in your classes?” Espresso retorted. There was a sex joke to be made about that but Madeleine was far too pure to seize the opportunity. 

“How many hours of sleep did you get?” Madeleine repeated himself, easing himself and his posture, a poor attempt to appear collected. 

Espresso groaned. “Fine. I don’t usually keep track, but I think I took a nap a few days ago,” 

“Es!” Madeleine scolded almost immediately, unable to properly wrap his mind around that. Then again, Espresso had coffee coursing through his veins, casualties of practicing dark magic, but it still concerned him regardless. 

“Nonsense, what’s your dorm room?” Madeleine reached to pick him up once more.

“I am perfectly capable! I’ll sleep when my work is finished!” 

“Your work is not nearly as important as your health!” Madeleine insisted, lifting Espresso off the countertop and into his arms, marching towards the exit. “We can study there instead, if that’ll ease you.” 

“Barely.” Espresso huffed out, but by that time, Madeleine had pushed the wide pristine doors open. Pressing his entire body weight against them, he trotted into the halls as if he owned the goddamn place. 

Utterly embarrassing, anybody walking down would've seen the pair, but Madeleine declared himself above shame. Happily marching down the locker-lined halls with the mage in his arms.

“Floor five. Room 13,” Espresso soon muttered, turning away in attempts to ignore the accomplished smile plastered across the oaf’s face. 

“Thank you. I assure you, this is for your own good,” Madeleine allayed, paying no mind to how Espresso scoffed and glowered in his arms. 

Approaching an elevator, Madeleine strode inside, promptly setting Espresso down when the slick metal doors shut behind them. 

------

Underwhelming and dull, Madeleine wasn’t quite sure what he expected Espresso’s dorm to look like. With barren dark walls and the persistent trace of coffee still lingering throughout the room, Madeleine suddenly understood why Espresso insisted on locking himself away. 

“You can put me down now,” Espresso hissed.

“Ah, right.” Promptly coming to his senses, Madeleine almost forgot he held the mage entirely, dropping Espresso with the utmost delicacy as he still stood in the open door frame. 

“For the record, I don’t need a break. I am simply tired of your persistence,” Landing on his feet, Espresso smoothed out his garments with haste, his lips curled in a constant sneer. 

“Calm yourself, teach. You’ve already got white hairs, you don’t wanna strain yourself anymore,” Madeleine smiled and laughed at his own joke, prompting Espresso to shift and meet his eyes, playfully frustrated. 

He scoffed. “How dare you! And after everything I’ve done for you?” 

Suddenly, the thick silence between them had turned tense; As Madeleine stood before him in his own doorway, Espresso grew flush against his own will, having to look up to meet the captain’s eyes unless he wanted a face-full of the blond’s collarbone. 

He sighed, calculating his words, biting his tongue and swallowing his fear. “Since you insist on cutting this lesson short, I’ll meet with you tomorrow.” 

“Ah, about that--” Madeleine moved to scratch the back of his neck, looking away momentarily. “--I am a bit busy tonight; it should last till dawn,”

Espresso cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “Dawn? What on earth could you be doing?” 

“A party. At some kid’s house I don’t know the name of. All for my ‘rep, of course,”

Espresso scoffed; Of course, Madeleine was the type to attend those… bothersome parties. Spanning for hours, returning students hungover in the morning; not even to mention the photos that’d flood his feed of his peers, just like him , having the time of their lives while he sat by his own study. 

It was pathetic. 

“I understand; We can meet on Monday, then,” Espresso clicked his tongue and turned away, as if completely unaffected. “I'll never understand why people like you waste their time at parties. You're surrounded by hormonal drunken idiots who just want to get in your pants," 

Madeleine laughed at that, scratching the back of his neck at the accuracy, his smile turning sheepish. 

“I have to. I couldn’t just leave Yam without a ride,” He sighed, gritting his molars against one another. He wasn’t obligated to, but the guilt in his gut wouldn’t allow him to leave his buddies behind. His heart was twisted with empathy, too sympathetic for his own good. It became a fault.

“But I’ll survive, I always manage,” Madeleine’s grin soon turned cocky, “Have you ever been?”

"I haven't actually." Espresso admitted. "But from what I've heard, I'm not far off."

With a quick glance and stupidly sly grin, he moved his hands to the pockets of his jacket and pulled out his car keys. Dangling with the chime of stainless steel.

“You wanna find out?”

Espresso looked almost confused for a moment. Was he being mocked? Tricked? What was Madeleine playing at?

And yet, he’d been sickeningly sincere. Swallowing back in visible anxiety, as if anguish had caught in his throat and he found himself afraid for perhaps the first time in his privileged life. Damn him.  

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Moving by instinct, Espresso took it upon himself to grip the collar of Madeleine’s varsity jacket. White with two solid red stripes, tugging it down, effectively bringing Madeleine to his level; he sneered when Madeleine’s breath hitched. 

Bringing his face only inches from Madeleine’s, narrowing his eyes as if truly studying every flaw and blemish in his pristine pale complexion, he scoffed when he was met with light freckles and the dimples of Madeline’s smile. Damn him. Damn him for being so perfect. 

“Why would I join you? Why would you want me to join you? Is this a trick?” 

Madeleine seemed almost stunned, his smile turning apologetic. “Not at all. Is it wrong of me to care for you?” 

"Caring? You think this is caring?”

Madeleine furrowed his brow, leaning forward as if proposing a challenge. “No, no, it’s fine! I fully expected it from you.” He grinned, “Perhaps it’s for the better, I don’t think you’d be able to handle it,”

"I'm perfectly capable of myself." Espresso hissed, dropping Madeleine’s collar entirely and allowing him to back up. Infuriatingly tall, Espresso had to look up when he returned to his natural height and esteemed posture. 

“Aha! That’s the spirit,” Once more, he held out his hand. Madeleine cocked a smile and lowered his tone, so fucking arrogant. Too assured of himself for his own good.  “Prove it.”

Digging around in his pocket, Espresso cocked an eyebrow as Madeleine pulled out a piece of paper. In blue pen, almost inscrutable, Espresso could just barely make out a combination of numbers.

It was his phone number.

“Consider it. Get back to me before seven,” He smiled happily as if he weren’t proposing the most unforeseen thing Espresso had come to know. He’d never truly know why Madeleine asked him of all people, the oaf seemed to speak without thought as if he was never taught better.

He never thought over his words before they left him, he spoke by instinct and was persistent in making a show of it. Projecting his voice, Espresso grimaced, knowing that his neighbors could probably hear him. 

"Are you that mindless? Why do you think I'd ever want to text you?” Espresso backed away when Madeleine held out his outstretched palm, the paper sat comfortably within it.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t, it’s an honor, quite honestly.” 

Finally, taking the paper from Madeleine, Espresso crinkled the paper and scowled. Who did this guy think he was?  

“Just.” Madeleine huffed out, turning to face the door and leave. He didn’t need Espresso to see the sweat forming at the side of his face, the deep crimson at his cheeks, and his shaking palms. Fuck. He was ruined.  “--Consider it. Tonight,” he flashed him a smile. “I’ll be waiting,”

He was already one foot out the door, his bag lazily hooked by his shoulder, adjusting the collar of his jacket before at last Espresso spoke up. 

"Are you picking me up or do I have to walk to this event?"

Not expecting that at all, Madeleine promptly turned to face him, shock crossing his expression for a moment before the tips of his ears turned rosy and affection harbored beside it.

“I can pick you up. 7:30, tonight.” 

"...I'll call you.”

Madeleine bid him one final smile, a nod of acknowledgment before leaving and gently closing the door behind him. Promptly covering his face with his hands as soon as he was out of view and almost squealed.

He was taking Espresso out. He was taking Espresso out!

[October 4th, a month prior.]

    “Maddy?”

Her back is to the sinking mattress below, cushioning her smooth flawless skin as her legs are hooked by Madeleine’s broad shoulders. She looks up at him as if he were perfect, as if she needs nothing more than him--

--and it breaks him down a little every time. 

“I am sorry,” He breathes out, and they both know where this is going. His eyes flicker shut to avoid her. He knows she’s disappointed, he knows he can do better- but he can’t bring himself to. It feels so wrong. “I can’t do this. Not tonight,”

“What do you mean ‘not tonight’?” Her foot digs into the small of his back in makeshift encouragement, perhaps even need. Anything to urge or convince him. “I’ve been waiting for tonight since last week! This is what couples do, Maddy,”

“I know, I know-”

“Is it me?”

Stop it. Don’t do this to me. Madeleine’s eyes screw shut and he bites his lip. She’s doing it again. 

“Is it something I am doing? Is that why you don’t love me anymore?” Her voice is shrill and cracking, as if her throat were constricting and she was close to tears. “Every other couple does this, every other couple wants to do this. Why can’t we be normal?”

Madeleine has to grit his teeth together, looking her over with half-lidded eyes in a desperate attempt to find anything desirable about her. He grimaces when he finds none, disgusted with himself. “It’s nothing. It’s me, I promise I want you,” 

Finally, she smiles in satisfaction. Leaning forward to drape her arms around his neck and whisper, “ Prove it,”

His grip grows firm, his brow furrows and his heart sinks. This is wrong. To indulge and allow her to get attached, to lead her on when he can’t find a single thing to want from her-- he is guilty. 

“ Mm, there we go, I knew you could-- ha-ah!”

But he obliges regardless.

7:23 PM, The Scene Of The Crime

Combing through his hair and smoothing out his bang, Espresso muttered something unintelligible. Regret swelled deep in his gut, blooming in his throat and finding itself infesting his voice with twisted anxiety. 

"How do I look?" He turned to question Latte, swallowing his worry and biting his bottom lip. Latte sat impatiently on his monochromatic sheets, waiting for him to finish getting ready.

"You look great! I already told you that," She assured, barely glancing up from her phone, typing frantically. 

"I just want to make sure. The last thing I need is for someone chastising how I look."

He inspected his reflection with great consideration, picking at every flaw and fracture, adjusting everything he deemed a fault while using his painted nails to pick at blemishes; a horrible habit fueled by insecurity and fear, but he indulged himself regardless.

Latte had policed his attire and promptly took it upon herself to meticulously pick out his outfit.

"Ugh, what made you think this would fit me?"

He wore a dark brown turtleneck that exposed his shoulders and black skinny jeans. Clothes that he'd never thought about wearing; Clothes that belonged to Latte and should have stayed that way. 

"It looks good on you." She said, giving him a thumbs up and shoving her phone into her own bag without thought. 

Sighing, he grabbed his phone and texted Madeleine.

We’re ready.

Read 7:10 PM

Madeleine, already nervous, combed a hand through his hair in a useless attempt to calm himself.

For the past thirty minutes he’d been sitting at his vanity, giving his own reflection a pep-talk, though it did very little to ease the nerves beneath his confident exterior. 

His room was adorned with glass-windows, and mirrors scattered across the otherwise barren room. Aside from hung pictures of him and crossed-out figures, his room remained pearly whites and blues. 

His knighting attire was set haphazardly beside him, his head hung low as he tied his hair strictly. A blue-ribbon between his teeth, his eyes glued to the desk before him, he flushed at the thought of picking up Espresso like a real date would.

He’d keep his head high and puff out his chest, un-tense his shoulders, and set his jacket aside, (In honest fear of it getting trampled or stained) tying his hair up with a blue ribbon; He declared himself ready. As extra as it was.

-------------

He stood anxiously with his hands folded neatly behind his back, knocking on the thick door of Espresso’s dorm. He’d already memorized the number and floor, not that he’d admit it.

Opening the door with haste, rushing towards its barren oak as soon as Madeleine’s arrogant knock caught her attention, Latte hauled it open. “Madeleine! Espresso has been waiting for you,” 

She opened the door a bit wider.

"Oh Es~! Maddy's here!" Drawing out the nickname, as if she were mocking him, she almost giggled when he emerged. 

He could barely fit a hello. He’d planned to formally introduce himself, as par for the course when meeting your crush’s (new obsession, was more like it) best friend, but he was struck utterly speechless when Espresso emerged. Embarrassingly so.

"Shall we get going?" Espresso didn’t spare time for pleasantries or introductions, all unnecessary precautions for the sake of politeness were rendered useless. He sneered. 

A quick look to Espresso, (Perhaps lasting a few seconds longer than it should’ve) to Latte, then to the floor, Madeleine responded. “Right. Do you have a set time you want to come back?”

"Before midni-" Espresso was quick to rebuttal, though shushed by Latte's hand even quicker.

"Whenever you're ready to leave. We don't have any plans tomorrow anyway." 

Espresso scowled at Latte, who only returned with a sly smile. Not wanting this wreck of a conversation to dwell any longer, he took it upon himself to march out the open door-frame. "What should I expect from this party?" 

“Ah, it differs. It shouldn’t be as ‘rowdy’ since a lot of my teammates aren’t going.” He explained cautiously, making slight hand gestures while pressing his back against the open door, allowing Latte to trail out. 

 “I am expecting party-games, though I wouldn’t play any. Most are poor excuses to…” He stopped himself, growing flush as they approached the metal elevator. “Sin,”

And he left it at that.

"Yep, I'm not going." Espresso grimaced as he turned around. Latte grabbed him before he could take another step.

"Doesn't mean you have to participate, Es." She said.

Espresso groaned as he continued to walk inside the elevator. “I am leaving the second someone lays a hand on me,”

Madeleine toyed with the buttons before he responded, shutting the door and pressing the starred button. 

“I can’t ensure anything,” Madeleine offered him a smile. “But you should know where to find me, if you can’t, the upstairs is usually vacant,” 

He gave Latte a thankful look, hell, if it wasn’t for her Espresso wouldn’t even be there.

Latte winked back.

"How did I think this was a good idea?"

Unfortunately, Madeleine failed to find any joking tone behind Espresso’s words, and looked to him in concern. “You can text or call me whenever, if you truly want to leave,” By now, the elevator had reached the lobby and the door began to open by automation. “I’ll be there in a heartbeat. Swear.” 

‘Too damn caring for his own good’

"I know." Espresso responded, starting to feel guilty. "That girlfriend of yours isn't going to squawk the whole way there, is she?" His eyebrow almost twitched in irritation, biting his lip at that thought, thoroughly annoyed by the mere idea of her. 

“…I am not sure. We’re not really talking right now,” Madeleine held out a hand to keep the doors from closing while the others walked out. He sighed, properly embarrassed by the fact before stepping out. He offered a smile, as usual when things got a bit too deep. “It’s middle-school level drama, it’s embarrassing,”

"Sounds just like her." Latte muttered, her heel making quite the ruckus against the metal tiles of the elevator, before she stepped out and crossed her arms. 

Espresso decided to change the subject.

"And what exactly are we going to do once we get there?" He asked.

Madeleine thought for a moment, truly unsure himself, almost amused by Espresso’s curiosity. “I couldn’t tell you. I’ve only ever seen kids drink half their body-weight before passing out or throwing up—“ 

“Avoid the bathroom, by the way,” Madeleine paused to throw his own advice.

“—Unless Yam got me into some circle, I usually just go upstairs if it gets too loud. It’s quiet in there,” 

By now, they had opened the glass doors of the university and stepped out into the parking lot, a solid breeze sending a shiver to wrack through Madeleine’s spine as he insisted on holding the door.

"Drinking? As in alcohol?" Espresso asked without missing a beat, fueled by nerves and anxiety. Fear-driven, his own rationales berated his mind, making his heart pound out of his chest and a cold sweat race down the back of his neck. 

“What else would it be? I mean, I am pretty sure there are some solid juice boxes in the freezer,”

"Ugh, of course.” Espresso wasn’t quite sure what he expected, yet Madeleine’s words never failed to disappoint. "If you get drunk, I'm walking back here by myself."

Hauling open the door to his car, clearly a hand-down from family, he sighed. It was rusted at its edges and clearly beaten, with various keychains attached to hooks above and blankets in the back, a crate of plastic water bottles laid dormant beneath the seat. 

“Alas, the Divine isn’t too fond of such… activities,”

Latte cocked an eyebrow, but settled into the car regardless. Extending the buckle and clicking it into place, Espresso took the passenger seat. An uncomfortable silence hung between them, though Latte made multiple attempts at conversation throughout the painstaking ride. 

“Not to worry, it’s not too far,” Madeleine allayed, keeping his gaze heavy on the road before them. Thankfully, after passing multiple shops and gas stations that Madeleine made sure to point out, they arrived at the large run-down hellhole. 

Familiar peers already sat on the deck, in lawn chairs or in the yard, though the obnoxious music that practically made the house shake from the outside made it clear most were already inside the house.

Espresso grimaced, he could feel the music vibration within the car. "This is what you were trying to impress me with?" He asked in disbelief.

“ Hah , not necessarily,” He sighed, pulling over near a curb and coming to a halt, shifting the gear as far as it would go. “Maybe some interaction beyond scolding those around you will help,”

"It's not my fault that everyone around me --excluding Latte most times-- doesn’t know the basics in proper manners."

Latte narrowed her eyes when Espresso mentioned her name on that list.

"--And why should I interact with these intoxicated hormonal jackasses, who just want to get into my pants?"

By that time, Madeleine had already taken it upon himself to tug his keys from the car as it was stopped completely, shoving them in his pockets and taking a small backpack with him. It was a pitiful display, stepping out with a child’s bag slung by his shoulder, but his cocky smile made it all in character. 

“In case anything does happen,” He patted the bag happily. “I’ve got it covered. I’ve been to enough of these to know,”

Latte giggled a little. Such a tiny bag against Madeleine's giant frame. "What's inside?" She asked as she got out of the car as well, not noticing Espresso stayed inside.

“Meds, water, basic necessities,” He explained happily, “Back home, we’d usually resort to healing magic but I never learned,” 

He gave a quick glance to Espresso, his heart dropping momentarily when he refused to move from the car. “Es?”

Seeing the look on his face, Espresso groaned as he unbuckled his seatbelt and finally got out of the car. "Let's get this over with." 

The inside was bustling with noise and gossip. With loud stereos and yelling, everyone seemed to have their own group. Some sat around the kitchen, laughing and sharing drinks while others sat in circles in the living room. There was far too much running and screaming for comfort, the whole house reeked of alcohol and faint vomit. Vile. 

As much as Madeleine would’ve loved to stick around, his click spotted him as soon as he walked through the door. Various athletes, Yam, Milk, and Rye, hollered him over from his post at the door. Unfortunately, he was nobody to deny them.

“If you need me, please, call me,” He spared Espresso a smile, honestly afraid for his safety but decided Latte was capable enough. At least, he hoped. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if anything happened to Espresso, especially under his watch. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Espresso scowled as his gaze darted around the room, counting every exit he could find, searching for who to avoid and the very few people he knew. It didn't help that Madeleine, who had been his guide and dependent, left him to his own devices.

What was he even supposed to do?

Roaming the house, attempting to appear nonchalant, he hoped nobody would notice him in the crowd. Espresso moved to a corner. An empty cup in hand, a useless attempt to look like he belonged. 

Before a hand on his shoulder caught him off guard. A cold hand. 

“ Esss , my buddy! My man!” He slurred his words, leaning into his ear from behind him. “How’ve ‘ya been?”

He was so damn loud. Clearly deaf to his own voice, his breath reeked. Espresso’s eyes went wide as he searched for an exit, any out he could find. He began to take a few steps forward, aimlessly walking to avoid him, he didn’t even know where he planned to go. 

“Hey.” He pulled Espresso back by his shoulder, clearly upset now. “It’s impolite to leave when I am talking to you.” 

Before grabbing his jaw, forcefully tilting his head upwards to get a better look at him from behind. 

“Answer me.”

"Let go of me, you asshole." Forcefully pushing his hand away, releasing himself from his grasp and practically spitting his words, he sneered. "You have a lot of nerve talking to me after everything you've done."

He actually laughed at that. 

“Maybe, but what are you gonna do about it?” He beamed, as if accomplishing some impossible feat, “Embarrass yourself right here? You’d make a fool of yourself for a crowd, especially without your savior-complex captain,” 

He let go, but never stepped back, an open invitation for Espresso to strike. He grinned, knowing he wouldn’t take it. It was a taunt.

"Just leave me alone." Espresso hissed, dodging his gaze, looking to the floor and smacking his hand away. A shudder wracked through him involuntarily. 

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that!” He slurred from behind, stepping towards him, not nearly as loud. He was incredibly handsy, reaching for his shoulder, his hair, anything to pull him back. 

“Come on, I know you want it,” Before he settled on his waist, moving to talk in his ear so nobody around them could witness. “You wouldn’t go around wearing that if you didn’t,”

"I'm not wearing this for you. It- It’s from a friend!" Espresso spat back. He hated how he stuttered, he hated how his voice wavered and palms shook, he hated feeling weak.  

He laughed in turn, though it was becoming strained, as if he were truly getting mad. He grabbed Espresso’s wrist, his hand large enough to wrap around it entirely, sneering as he gritted his molars together.

“That ‘friend’ of yours must be a lucky motherfucker,” He hissed, moving a hand to tug on his hair, particularly his bang. “Your ‘friend’ must be sick to choose this, they must want the same thing I do,” He was moving towards the stairs.

“Fuck off, will you!? I’ll don’t want you, you’re pathetic!” One wrist caught in the grasp of his captor, Espresso used his free hand to backhand him right there. Slapping him across the face, extending the distance between them and rendering him speechless.

A visible red mark made itself apparent against his cheek. He just stared, as if he hadn’t fully processed what just happened to him, eyes completely devoid of any rationale or moral. A shell of a person, the skin and bones of a human being without the soul or compassion. There was nothing behind his eyes. 

“Holy shit.”

He didn’t expect that at all. His smile dropped, satisfyingly so. He couldn’t even laugh anymore, as his amused expression turned mad. 

"Rot in hell.” Espresso snatched his hand away, stepping back and beginning to walk away, eyeing him and far too aware of every movement he made. 

“Nobody likes a tease.” 

-----

Madeleine found himself alone, sitting down atop a bed in the guest room. A position he was sickeningly fond of, his friends far gone and doing only the divine-knows-what. Ironically enough, he found himself praying. 

Eyes screwed shut, not processing any other presence beyond the room, he silently prayed to himself. To the Divine, or whoever was listening, he found himself afraid. Afraid of how he felt, how twisted and sick he was for wanting his friend beyond the realm of companionship. He found himself realizing just how far he would go for him, and hated it. 

He despised the feeling of growing weak , of anxiety or nervousness around his supposed friend, he could only hope the Divine had answers. 

Divine. Why him? Why now? Why Espresso? 

There was something wrong with him. Surely. 

"Madeleine?" Espresso called as he walked up the steps. The barren and unfamiliar hallway had been adorned with various doors, all identical and locked shut. "Madeleine?" He called again, holding his own wrist. It had begun to bruise.

Madeleine perked up at his name, promptly turning to face the closed door, ashamedly recognizing the voice immediately. He moved to creak the door open, pulling it by the knob until it swung wide-open when he saw Espresso.

“Es! I apologize, I had to-“ 

His gaze moving towards Espresso’s wrist, he noticed the bruise. 

The bumbling fool spared no thought before he acted, moving quickly, eyes wide before standing before Espresso, towering over him with concern lit in his eyes. 

“Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Did anybody-“

"It was that fucking asshole!" Espresso couldn’t help but cut him off, utterly seething, anger and perhaps even sadness plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell me he would be here!?"

Truly, he didn’t blame Madeleine. If anything, he was mad at himself. Why couldn’t he stand up for himself? If he did, this never would have happened; if he did, he could be having the time of his life downstairs like any normal person his age would.

Madeleine couldn’t help but flinch and back away, “Did he hurt you?! Do you need help?” before he promptly realized he was at fault.

It was an unfamiliar feeling. Dragging him down, tugging at his heart, making his guts twist with concern as empathy was caught in his throat. It was guilt. 

“I am so sorry, Espresso, I had no idea I couldn’t have known- I didn’t know- I am so sorry,”

Espresso took in a breath. He knew none of this was Madeleine’s doing or fault, and he almost felt bad for lashing out; glancing at his worry-struck expression, Espresso’s heart dropped.

"He… He kept trying to grab me." Espresso began, lifting his bruised hand to smooth his bang. "He kept pulling my hair the more I denied him. He was pulling on my wrist until I slapped him and he let me go."

Madeleine sat, stunned. 

Of course, his instinct told him to go and finish what he should’ve done a long time ago, to go bash this kid’s brains in and leave him as a warning, but he knew better. For the moment. 

“Come on, let’s sort this out. I want you to tell me everything,” Madeleine gestured towards the now gaping door frame, leading into the vacant guest room. “Don’t skip any details.”

Shuddering, as if reliving the moment, he gratefully took Madeleine’s hand and obliged. Trailing behind, Madeleine led him to a seat, allowing him to speak his mind. Espresso didn’t miss a beat. 

-------

He wasn’t sure how long he ranted for, he wasn’t sure what time it was when he finished, he hadn’t even registered the tears running down his face. 

“Oh the Divine,” Madeleine now sat beside him on the bed, the mattress sinking with the sudden weight as he pulled his bag to the side.

“Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?” He offered. He needed to be there for Espresso, needed to provide anything he could to ease him. He eyed his wrist solemnly, only wishing he could’ve been there. He was seething, but for the comfort of the mage, he’d stifle it. For now.

"...Can you stay by me while we're here?" 

Madeleine bit the inside of his cheek, staring to the ground and contemplating just how he wanted to play his cards.

“Of course. Do you mind if I leave for a second?” He asked cautiously, his mind spinning. His blood was pumping with adrenaline, the blasting music from outside only amplifying the urge to rearrange this dude’s face. He didn’t dare elaborate.

"Close the door please." Espresso nodded but never looked his way, his gaze fixated on the ground, he couldn’t bring himself to look Madeleine in the eyes.  "If you see Latte, tell her where I am.”

Madeleine nodded, though not a word got into his thick skull. His mind was set, and he was bent on finishing what he should have a month ago. 

Closing the door slowly, he sighed as soon as he was out of sight, his hands shook as frustration slowly overtook him. He marched down the stairs, walking with purpose. He pushed past peers and annoyances, barging past anything that stood in his path, the blaring music overwhelmed his senses. Until he saw him.

The son of a bitch, leaning by the railings of the back porch, he held something smoking between his fingertips, and the bloodshot brought out the blue in his eyes. The only human he had behind that sick smile.

Almost immediately, as if just seeing his assured and sly face sparked something deep within Madeleine, he gritted his teeth and moved to catch his attention, opening the screen door and locking it behind him. 

A firm hand on his shoulder, threatening and harsh, enough to bruise, he quickly caught his attention. 

“What..?” The douchebag slurred in return, eyebrows furrowing to make out the silhouette of Madeleine. Before he was pushed. It wasn’t much of a distance, simply down the small steps until he hit the ground, but the impact of his head hitting stone below him made everything seem worse. 

The blaring music was muffled, as was everything else. His senses were blown out, and everything was distant when his head hit cold stone. He wasn’t given time to recover, not before a heavy heel was pressed against the side of his skull and dug his face into the concrete. 

“I shouldn’t have waited. I should’ve done this a while ago. I shouldn’t have ever let you leave that school,” His voice was raw. Utterly mad, his eyes wide as his blood pumped with the rush of power.

 He moved his foot back, allowing him to tilt his head up before stomping it right back down. It was fucking exhilarating. He hated how he longed for the sight, how fucking great it felt to have him at his mercy, to have his mind spinning and veins flooding with the raw taste of superiority. 

“You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve life.”

Thoughts that once berated his mind, that had once been directed towards the blond himself now found themselves in pursuit of the douchebag in front of him. Projecting every sick thought and worry that plagued him onto the man at his mercy, he felt his mouth almost water at the sensation of power. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to smile. Mouth screwed shut while his eyes stayed wide; Repeatedly, he allowed the jackass to lift his head up before stomping him back into the concrete. Till his lips were swollen, till he laid with his own blood and vomit, utterly blown-out and limp. He couldn’t bring himself to stop.

Before he took a particular black pen from his bag. 

Patterns and a slight design engraved into its dark exterior, it had significance; Madeleine had memorized the lines and shapes that made up the pen, as if it were an artifact or perhaps the most important thing in the world. 

Looking down at the sight once more, breathing in through his gritted teeth before clicking its head, he plunged the point into the back of his neck.

Stepping out cautiously, easing the door open, far too conscious of the chance of someone finding him. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone seeing him like this, intoxicated or not, the drunken laughter and conversation of his own peers made his head spin. It was all too much. 

Moving to the kitchen, snatching a red plastic cup and nodding to whoever turned his way, he filled it; Whether it be in desperation or to fit in, he wasn’t quite sure.

He watched students smile and talk, exciting hand gestures and standing up to tell drunken stories. He wished he could have been there. He wished that was him. 

But for now, he stood in the corner of the kitchen, wishing to himself. It was all he could do. 

“May the Divine forgive me,” He could only mutter. Nothing else escaped him, not while he was overwhelmed with the constant adrenaline flooding his brain. His body moved without him, moving his heel to dig into the small of his back, pinning him to the cold floor before taking the pen and plunging it right back in. He hadn’t any semblance of control.

Madeleine couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive, not until he sputtered a scream from below him. It only pissed Madeleine off, to know he was still capable of forming a coherent noise, let alone a thought. He wasn’t conscious of anything, not when he moved to pull his head back by his hair before forcing it back down onto cold stone. 

He hoped it could look like he fell down the stairs, thoroughly intoxicated and hit his head. Though the various marks from the pen made it hard to believe, so in a useless attempt to solve that, he pressed his heel against the back of his neck until suddenly—

—everything stopped.

He stopped moving. Stopped screaming, Madeleine could even feel his breathing cease from below his heel.

And suddenly, his heart dropped as a wave of consciousness washed over him. 

Espresso made his way downstairs and went into the kitchen. His breath hitched, even without the jerk visible. Biting his lip, he hated how he walked cautiously, he shouldn’t be scared. 

A useless attempt to ease himself, he grabbed a drink. Perhaps he could reach the high everyone around him seemed to have, perhaps he could just be normal and drink until he hurled. Perhaps he would feel better then.

But as he took a sip, he gagged and sputtered. It stung his tongue and left an awful taste in his mouth. Fucking vile. 

“Espresso!” 

Quickly running towards him, Latte reached to pull him into a make-shift hug, Espresso keeping his arms wide as to not spill the piss-water in his grasp. 

"Espresso!” Her voice cracked, fueled by panic and worry. “I heard what happened! Are you okay?" 

Espresso nodded. “I am…fine. I think.”

“Where’s Madeleine? Don’t tell me he left you!” Latte seemed almost annoyed, backing away and holding his shoulders tight, as if worried he would run away. 

Espresso took a quick glance around before pulling his phone from his pocket, frantically opening it and typing. 

Where on earth are you?

Read 8:53 PM

Madeleine felt his phone vibrate within his pocket, and stumbled to take it out. Moving back onto the deck, unable to move his gaze from the scene before him; It was terrifying. Not because of the lifeless body before him, dull eyes flickering back at him, devoid of anything, no, it was terrifying because he enjoyed it.

[Light Magic Prude] I am coming back. I had to grab something from my car.

Stuttering back, he attempted to collect himself, to steady his shaken breathing and ease his heartbeat. It was damn near impossible, but the knowledge that Espresso was safe now gave him some sick satisfaction. Enough to comb a hand through his hair and offer one final kick to the kid’s head. 

Fuck . He needed that.

Before opening the door and returning inside as if nothing happened at all.

Madeleine strode into the house, attempting to mask his guilt with pride as he marched in with purpose. Oh, who was he kidding, it was exhilarating, to defend Espresso and ensure his safety forevermore, he felt as if he had purpose. And suddenly, he’d be willing to do anything for him; 

Still, the tinge of guilt plagued his heart. 

He looked around, shoving the pen back in his pocket; It now had greater significance, and he couldn’t bear to lose it. He searched the bustling house before his gaze landed on Espresso, and he could’ve sworn his heart skipped. 

Latte whispered something that only Espresso could hear, to which he nodded and eyed Madeleine as he approached. Letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, he quickly skipped over to meet them, pushing past various drunk peers. 

“Es! Are you okay? I thought you were staying inside? Did something happen?” Madeleine berated him with questions, concern bleeding from his tone, especially when he saw the cup in Espresso’s hand.

"I came down to clear my head. But I don't think I'm cut out for this kind of stuff." Espresso held his cup away from him in distaste, his face screwing into disgust. "Have you seen that guy? I haven't seen him since." 

Latte shook her head.

Madeleine quickly tried to change the subject, holding out a hand for Espresso’s cup. “Come on, let’s not dwell on that, enjoy yourself, my friend!”

“I don’t…want to be here anymore,” Espresso muttered, looking to the ground and taking a sip from his cup again. He gagged, straining himself to swallow. "Forgot what was in here."

“Careful, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was expired,” Madeleine warned, glancing up at Latte. He never drank before, for the sake of his purity; and as he was curious, seeing Espresso’s reaction stopped him. 

“We can leave whenever, my car is parked a few houses down,”

Latte smiled and took initiative, deciding she’d had enough excitement for one night while Madeleine promptly took the red solo cup from Espresso. “That’d be great,” 

Madeleine looked around once more, finally declaring himself done with this hellfire of a party before a scream caught him dead in his tracks.

It never ceased, a scream for help before many others rushed out to see where the noise was coming from, and before he knew it or could even process what was going on, there was crying. Sobbing, calling, yelling, throwing, a mess while he heard peers call the police from their phones beside him.

They were on the back porch.

“We need to go. Now.”

"Wait, what's going on?" Espresso said, walking to the crowd with Latte right behind him.

The blaring music came to a halt right before the chorus, he pushed through the crowds and drunken peers while screaming overwhelmed his senses, the vile stench of alcohol making his head spin. He pushed through until he made it up front, gasping and covering his mouth at the sight before him.

"Oh my God." 

That asshole was lying face-first on the ground. Blood seemed to be coming from his head while he lay lifeless in a puddle of his own vomit. Body limp, face numb and blown-out, his skin cold and bleak. There was so much blood.

Madeleine stayed at the back of the crowd, eyes wide and just as afraid of everyone else, (supposedly) even allowing tears to prick the corner of his eyes. He moved quickly to place a hand on Espresso’s shoulder, offering any support he could muster, a slew of “Oh the Divine,” spilling from his lips to appear just as in shock

"I think I'm going to be sick." 

It didn't take long before Police sirens began to sound.

“Hurry now. We need to leave.” Instinctively, he grabbed Espresso’s hand and gestured towards the door. He was quite obviously anxious, itching to leave, beginning to move towards the door already despite his assured tone. He pushed past panicking drunks, all in pursuit of Espresso. 

All for Espresso.

"Wait!" Espresso yelped, grabbing Latte's hand. Things were happening too fast for his liking. "What’s going on?! What happened to him?!”

Turning around, his expression almost crossed into pleading. It was odd for someone of Madeleine’s stature, to appear so anxious and struck with worry, his eyes glazed and pale complexion dusted pink. “Please. Trust me on this, I-I know I’ve screwed up but please, just trust me. Just this once,”

His accent got caught in his throat as he struggled words of empathy out and loosened his grip on Espresso’s hand. 

But Espresso only held him tighter, nodding shakingly. "Aright." 

10:12 PM

Pressing down on a particular button, he held out his keys as the car came to life. Lighting up while the engine hummed. Espresso held onto his stomach, fighting the urge to hurl.

“Are you alright?” Latte placed a hand on Espresso's shoulder.

Truth be told, he hadn’t completely wrapped his head around the fact that he was dead. He’d been alive only a moment before, close enough to reach out and touch, he even spoke to him; and now, he was nothing but a memory. A rotten, sour, memory.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be fine. What about you?”

Madeleine watched it all with a slight grimace. He shouldn’t have, after everything he’s done, after what he just did? He had no right to be jealous. Though, that wouldn’t exactly stop it completely.

“I’ll survive,”

“I think I need to lie down." Espresso began to gag as the scene replayed in his head, stepping into the passenger seat as Madeleine remained uncharacteristically quiet in the driver’s.

“I am…sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have dragged you out here,” Madeleine couldn’t help it, Espresso was his only focus, his only concern. It was selfish and possessive, quite possibly sick, but he couldn’t help it.

Espresso simply nodded, he didn’t want to talk, he didn’t want to think. For once, he just wanted to sleep. To lie down and forget, to let the world go on without him and hope he doesn’t wake up.

The drive home was painstakingly slow. Madeleine found himself between quite possibly the thickest silence he’d ever witnessed. But he didn’t say a word, understandably so. The hum of a peculiar French song, inscrutable to anyone else in the car, sang in the background of the tedious ride. 

The skies had turned to dusk, as barren trees flew past, the thin air of night hung low as stars made themselves apparent. Driving down narrow streets, red and orange leaves clung desperately to dry branches. 

Holding on for dear life, to the branches of its birth and life and breath, Espresso watched them fall. 

Whether he was a bad person or not, a man had died that night, and the weight of the situation made any remanence of conversation impossible. 

Approaching the campus and walking into the elevator in complete silence, Madeleine didn’t even need to ask ‘which floor?’ before he punched it in and closed the door. The whole world seemed to go silent in favor of the moment, even newly arriving students, presumably coming from the party, didn’t dare say a word.

Espresso had to suppress the urge to vomit on the way back to campus. He hated that guy, but did he really want him dead?

Once the elevator stopped at his floor, coming to a halt and stilling beneath their feet, Espresso was the first to walk out. He turned towards Latte and Madeleine. He seemed hesitant. 

He turned to the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Can you…stay? Just for tonight.” 

Biting his tongue, Madeleine knew damn well he wasn’t allowed; It was against every moral and prayer to allow himself to indulge in his admiration and perhaps even obsession with Espresso.

“Of course,” 

And yet, he found himself agreeing regardless.

Perhaps he could forget everything he was preached and taught simply in favor of the moment, perhaps this could be the exception.

"Thank you. I… really appreciate it,”

His room was dark and barren, bleak with the familiar trace of coffee-beans brewing through the air and thick tension. There were books all over his desk and some sprawled on the floor, forgotten papers and study, Espresso moved to pick them up out of embarrassment. 

It’s a rather small dorm. A desk, with a bookshelf beside it, and a monochromatic bed on the left side.

"Latte, you can have my bed. Madeleine and I will sleep on the floor." He grabbed a simple shirt, sniffed it, then handed it to Latte. "I know you don't have anything else right now, I hope this will work."

Latte muttered a small thanks and walked into his bathroom to change.

Turning towards Madeleine, he sneered at his overwhelmingly large figure. Taking up most of the doorway as he closed it behind him, he spared Espresso a smile. "I definitely don't have anything that'll fit you."

Madeleine laughed at that, hearty and arrogant as he placed one hand on his hip and curled the other as if to prove him right. And yet, the humor behind it was nonexistent. 

“Not to fret, I should be the least of your worries right now,” He made a useless attempt to ease him, smiling purely as if that would do anything. “It’s quite alright, I usually sleep shirtless anyway,” 

Flushing involuntarily, Espresso almost frantically looked away, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. "I'm sorry, you're going to what?" 

Madeleine tilted his head in confusion as if he were reciting common sense. 

“We just got back from a party, my shirt is probably stained and still reeks of alcohol,” Madeleine explained, smiling a bit as if Espresso was the misunderstood one here. “I couldn’t possibly sleep in this,”

“Unless you had any other ideas?”

Espresso shook his head. There was no way Madeleine would fit in anything he owned. "No just...do what you have to do. But keep your pants on,"

Laughing slightly, he moved to set his impeccable transparent Claire’s bag down, dropping it with the utmost consideration before moving his hands to tug the bottom of his shirt up. 

As if he had no dignity at all, declaring himself above shame as if he thought nothing of it, he pulled the dark and stained shirt above his head and rolled it off his arms. 

His back was scarred, as expected when he participated in so many active sports, knighting being one of them. Though, when he finally took off its entirety and shook his frizzed hair, a black mark on the back of his neck made itself apparent.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop looking at him . Espresso shook his head, collecting a pair of dark garments for himself. "Alright, after Latte's done, I'll go change and-" Espresso stopped mid-sentence.

"What happened to your neck?"

Madeleine stopped almost immediately, jaw slackening before he promptly folded his shirt neatly, looking away. “Ah, right.“

Setting down his garments, he scratched the back of his neck nervously like he always did; a predictable nervous instinct, was the mark why?

“It’s quite the sob story, I am sure tonight has already been ruined for you enough,” His tone was solemn, utterly raw.

Espresso only nodded. “Whatever. Your personal conflicts are none of my business,” 

At that moment, Latte emerged from the bathroom and sat on the bed, pulling out her phone, she began to scroll as Espresso left to change. Madeleine mumbled something, not that anybody could hear. He looked down to Latte for a moment, hand on his hip while he seemed to study her for a moment, almost a bit cold now. 

“Do you have a hairbrush?” 

-------

Leaning against the white marble countertop, water ran from the faucet, untouched. He could only stare into his reflection before him.

“Fuck.” He huffed out, he couldn’t take his eyes off himself, not in self-obsession, but in pure distaste. 

His hair had been wisped to the side, behind his ear while his face was now on full display, only to be seen by himself. A hand graced his side, down his scarred eye and cheekbone, where the bain of his existence and pride resided.

His right eye, red pupils with an almost glowing exterior to match; Casualties of experimentation, he regretted it all. Not even Latte had the privilege of seeing his face in its entirety, let alone Madeleine who sat in his own bleak living room. 

No, Madeleine could never see me like this. He can’t. He- He’d hate me.

Why do I care so much?

Nonsense; He attempted to shake himself out of it, returning his glasses atop his nose bridge and sighing. 

-------

"Alright, let's settle down." Espresso grabbed a few blankets and pillows. "Here." and handed an array to Madeleine.

Stupidly, Madeleine took the accommodations with the smile of an idiot, as if that did anything to relieve the ever-persistent tension. “Thank you, my friend.”

Ugh. His formal tone never faltered, even if they were alone, his upbeat and ‘better-than-thou’ dialect found itself entwined in every word that left him. A pain in the ass, his performative confidence wasn’t let down even for a second. 

“It’s nice to see you’re getting any sleep at all,” 

"Just go to sleep." Espresso mumbled as he made a separator between him and Madeleine. A thick pillow, with a white sheet over it, creating a comfortable distance between them. “You stay on your side, I'll stay on mine." Espresso explained simply.

Putting his blue ribbon aside and tossing his hair, he smiled. “Of course,”

“Though, like every other task, I am a phenomenal hugger,” He boasted before sitting down beside him, legs crossed like a child. “If you needed another reason to be impressed,”

"Another word and you're going to be kissing this pillow." 

Refusing to get up from the comfort of his make-shift mattress on the floor, Espresso shut the lights with the wave of his hand and pure dark magic. 

“Aha! Bitter as ever Espre—“ 

His jaw promptly ticked shut when Espresso shut the lights, leaving him sitting up and a bit startled. 

It was utterly stupid , but he couldn’t help it; The Lightlands had been bright at a constant, pure light rune seeping into the ground of the nation, it was never truly dark. But in the hell of Parfaedia, that ever-constant light was simply nonexistent.

So for one of the few times in his life, he was left in total darkness-- and it was fucking terrifying. He remained sitting up without a word.

"Goodnight." Latte yawned, stretching out her arms before falling back on the barren bed, oblivious to any tension or fear. 

 Madeleine’s posture never slackened, with his arms in his lap; Espresso couldn’t quite get a good look at him. "What's wrong with you?" Espresso hissed, whispering and clearly annoyed.

Perhaps it was knight’s instinct, to think something was after his head at a constant. He despised the total darkness, the possibility of something hurting him (even worse, hurting Espresso.) while he was blinded and vulnerable to attack. An intrusive thought at best, maybe, but enough to keep him on edge so he’d refuse to rest. 

“Not to fret, The Divine watches over me,” He reassured, though it almost sounded like he was allying himself. 

He sounded stupid, the usually bold and loud brute finally hushing his tone and attempting to whisper.

"You don't sound fine." Espresso said, laying on his elbow. "Are you scared or something? Or is this your first time sleeping over?" He doubted any of the accusations he threw, but was honestly curious.

Madeleine only scoffed, as if he were above fear entirely. “Not in the slightest,”

He bit his tongue and swallowed, combing a hand through his hair idly. A bad habit, constantly toying and fidgeting with his hair, he cared for it dearly.

“Perhaps it is a bit dark,” He admitted, voice wavering more than he would’ve liked. “Hah, but nothing compared to myself!”

"So you are scared of the dark." Espresso connected, musing at his discovery. For once, he yearned to see Madeleine’s expression and cursed the dark for denying him. "You're always on me about not being social and sleep-deprived, yet you're scared of the dark? You have some nerve to be the one judging."

“I am not!” He dejected almost immediately, turning to face Espresso though he couldn’t see much through the dark. It only sparked his dismay. He couldn’t see Espresso. He couldn’t see anything, and it made his skin crawl. He gritted his molars together, admittedly, a bit set off now.

“I am not . But I don’t like it either,” 

Espresso quickly recoiled, unaccustomed to hearing Madeleine’s voice crack. The situation dawned on him and he almost felt bad for him. Almost. “Do you have something that usually helps?”

“Ah, I guess I’ve never needed to. Back home, it was always..bright,” Madeleine scratched the back of his neck in nervous habit, not that Espresso could see. He offered a small laugh as if there were anything humorous about it. “Especially in the church, I am not exactly used to the dark,” 

He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, moving them to his lap where he fidgeted with his hands. The bastard was extremely tactile, a constant need to toy with his hands, his gaze darting towards Espresso’s every now and then, yet never making a move. 

A constant need to feel . 

It didn't take long for Espresso's eye to adjust to the darkness, having done so more times than he’d like to admit. By instinct, he noticed the only moving thing in the room; Madeleliene’s persistent and frantic hands. Toying with them, cracking his knuckles and interlocking his fingers, he never seemed to still.

"Give me your hand."

“Pardon?” Madeleine retorted by instinct, though he complied when Espresso didn’t elaborate. Blindly holding out his outstretched palm, he bit his tongue in anticipation, unable to read Espresso at all. He offered his blind trust, and everything he had.

Noticing his open hand through the dark, Espresso took it upon himself to take Madeleine’s hand in his own. Warm, calloused, large ; Scarred from sport, rough and protective, Espresso cursed himself for finding comfort in it. Even with the platonic guise that he set himself. 

"How about that?" Espresso asked, grateful that the dark room was hiding the undeniable way he flushed red and looked away. 

Oh.

He.. wasn’t expecting that.

Against his will, he flushed crimson as his lips curled into a thin smile involuntary. Excitedly, a fool blinded by his love and admiration for Espresso; he was most definitely crushing. 

“Ah,” He reciprocated quickly, holding Espresso’s hand in turn, not daring to entwine their fingers. The pillow between them strained his reach, but he didn’t care, not while he was holding Espresso’s hand. “--And here I thought you hated me,” he almost laughed at the irony.

"You can be extremely annoying. But I don't hate you." Espresso confessed, suddenly thankful for the dark. "You're talented, I’ll give you that. But you need to focus on his school studies along with everything else."

Madeleine smiled when he began, expecting a taunt or rebuttal, but certainly didn’t anticipate wholehearted praise. His words alone made Madeleine’s heart swell, in perhaps hope or excitement, he wasn’t quite sure. Igniting his smile and a furious fluster across his otherwise pale features, he was utterly stunned. 

He held Madeleine's hand a little tighter. "I thought you could use the comfort."

And suddenly, everything was worth it.

The room was dim, as Madeleine’s eyes grew accustomed to dark, he could make out Espresso’s silhouette. The air was cold, frigid and dull, occupied by solo breaths and the smile of an idiot. The bare blue light of dusk barely shone.

“Goodness, Es, you sound like my pastor,” Madeleine sighed, attempting to collect himself and stop his voice from stuttering involuntarily. “Thank you. I appreciate it, far more than you could put into fancy words,” 

Before he swallowed and a wave of guilt washed over him, making his posture slacken and intrusive thoughts berate his mind like poison. 

“Please, don’t tell my girlfriend about this. She’s.. not too fond of you,”

"Oh really?" Espresso tilted his head mockingly, as if he had no idea. "There's nothing going on between us." 

“Why would there be?” Madeleine almost laughed, though there was nothing funny about it. Empty and drained of any genuine humor, there was nothing behind his laugh. “By The Divine’s word, that would be sinful,”

"And yet, you still come to me?" Questioning, Espresso’s tone shifted into something Madeleine couldn’t quite identify. "For tutoring, that's understandable, but you wanted me to be at the party tonight. Why is that?" Espresso turned to look at Madeleine.

Espresso was inscrutable, Madeleine could never anticipate what would come from him next; frustrating, but endearingly so. “The same reason you wanted me to spend the night, I suppose.” He clicked his tongue. “You’re unique, Es, a breath in this hellfire. I don’t… I don’t truly have anyone to turn to,”

He took a breath. “So I hope we could turn to each other. With nothing between us and as long as not a word of this night gets out, of course,”

His magic practically buzzed beneath his skin. In excitement or perhaps anxiety? He wasn’t sure either; His untamed light only served to warm his hands, beckoning for Espresso’s to stay.

"I'm...flattered that you see me as someone to turn to for comfort." Espresso yawned, moving his free hand to cover his mouth idly as he blinked slowly. “Fuck. I don’t remember the last time I was this tired,”

Madeleine let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thank The Divine. When was the last time you slept?” 

"Can't remember." Espresso mumbled. "Maybe a week?"

“Es!” Madeleine scolded, abusing the nickname now that Espresso allowed it. “That’s enough, I’ll be perfectly fine without you, please, get some sleep,” 

Despite beckoning for Espresso to rest, he never retracted his hand, never moving or faltering. Refusing to hurt, refusing to comply, he was a wall of a man.

Espresso only mumbled in response, uncharacteristically, he didn’t have the energy to rebuttal. 

Madeleine didn’t respond, he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d hate to ruin the only time he’d ever seen Espresso so relaxed, if only he had his phone. 

And so he leaned back, finally allowing himself to succumb to his exhaustion, even with his fears and anxiety still pestering the back of his mind. He moved the pillow between them to fix the strain, he hoped Espresso wouldn’t mind.

Laying back, hand still holding Espresso’s, staring towards the ceiling; He felt so damn lucky.

Espresso was out like a light. 

Moving to his side to get a constant view of Espresso, he couldn’t help but smile like natural instinct. Noticing quickly that he was asleep, he almost felt victorious.

“oh, Divin..” The words fell from his lips almost subconsciously, finding himself carefully discarding Espresso’s glasses and setting them aside for his comfort. He couldn’t help but fall for him. Madeleine told himself that there was nothing between them, that it was sinful, that it was surely wrong, but the feeling never left him. 

“Tu es trop bien pour moi.” 

He meant every word, pouring out his heart for the sleeping man before him, not ready to let go quite yet.

So he allowed himself to fall back and sleep, moving to entwine their hands properly, finally at peace.

It was odd. Espresso was nothing like his girlfriend, she could never compare to the comfort he gave Madeleine, even if they were simply holding hands. It never failed to make Madeleine’s heart race before he felt himself succumb to his own dreams.

10:02 AM, Espresso’s dorm.

Latte was the first to wake up. Yawning and stretching her back, arms spread above her head. Warding off a giggle when she spotted her own best friend and Madeleine, sleeping on the floor. Hands still entwined.

Even Madeleine, a usually early-riser, found himself asleep and lost in the comfort of his supposed friend. He could hardly remember where he was when he awoke, hair frizzled and matted from tossing and turning, hanging in his face and surely sticking up. 

A pitiful display for someone of his stature, but he could hardly care when he noticed Espresso beside him.

Stirring in his sleep, eyes flickering open, almost confused for a moment. "What time is it?" Espresso rasped, tilting his head up completely oblivious to Madeleine’s hand still in his grasp.

Dumbly, Madeleine reached for his phone, pulling his own blanket to drape over his shoulders, a bit cold now. 

His heart sank as he opened his phone and found 50 messages waiting for him impatiently in his lock screen. All from his girlfriend. 

He had his location on. 

Almost all of the messages read the same, starting concerned and worried for his health, before shifting into nonsensical profanity. Things along the lines of ‘ YOU CHEATING BASTARD I FUCKING HATE YOU ’ etc, etc.

Espresso sat up, unknowingly rubbing his bang of hair all over his face. He kept his eyes closed as he repeated himself reluctantly. "The time, please? We still have to meet up somewhere to go over your review, your test is tomorrow."

Quite clearly strained and anxious, Madeleine checked the time and responded.

“It’s ten,” 

Uncharacteristically so, he never looked away from his phone, typing something frantically. Odd . He’d be eager to assist or please, happy to help Espresso and promptly look over to him, but he never did.

"Ten!?" Espresso exclaimed, jumping up and gathering up his blankets. "Morning is practically gone! Why didn't I set an alarm?"

"Es, calm down," Latte said, smoothing her long hair. “It's not the end of the world. You slept in, and for you, that’s probably a good thing,”

Latte quickly noticed Madeleine’s distress over his phone and groaned. "Don't tell me it's your girlfriend."

Madeleine looked up momentarily when he realized Latte was talking to him. 

“Goodness, I am sorry. Just-“ Before turning his attention right back to his screen, biting his lip subconsciously and desperately trying to ease the situation. “Give me a moment. I should’ve known this would happen,”

With both of his hands now occupied, he almost felt himself miss Espresso’s when he turned to leave for the bathroom, leaving Madeleine and Latte alone in his own barren dorm. He was only gone for a few minutes, but it left enough time to ease his girlfriend momentarily. 

Relieved, he let out a breath and leaned back, a hand to his forehead dramatically. 

Shifting to reach for his bag, he pulled out a jacket. Easily replaceable and hard to stain, as it was bulky and dark, he pulled it from the bag and shoved his arms through its designated holes. His iconic varsity jacket was left at home, to avoid staining, he didn’t dare risk it at the party. 

“Ah, I suppose a proper ‘good morning’ would be polite.”

"Good morning to you as well," Latte smiled and responded without hesitation, she seemed oddly happy. "I have to ask, how were you able to get him to sleep in? Or sleep at all? Most times I have no choice but to give up,”

He laughed. “I am not sure either, it must’ve been something he drank,” 

He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, moving his hand to comb back his hair. Something in his demeanor shifted, as he grew nervous and even seemed to sweat a bit, his face going a bit flush. 

“Alright, what did she do?” Latte’s expression dropped, as her eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. She already anticipated the worst. 

“No, no! Not this time,” Madeleine allayed quickly, waving his hands slightly in front of him as if in a dismissive gesture or assurance. 

“Spit it out, then.” Latte tilted her head slightly, musing at his nervousness. Madeleine only looked away. 

“This is... going to sound awful but, do you know if Espresso is, I don’t know--” He silently cursed himself for how stupidly awkward that sounded. “--Queer?”

Latte thought for a second, before she leaned back in almost reassurance, her smile turned mischievous. “ Ooh, I see you. Bold move,” 

Madeleine only frowned. “It is not! Just a-- simple question,” 

Latte only hummed, musing at the question, moving a hand to her chin as she thought it over with great consideration. "Honestly, I'm not sure. He's never shown a romantic interest in anyone before--" 

"--He might be? When it comes to talking about anyone in that way, it's you he talks about,”

Madeleine could’ve sworn his heart did a little twirl at the word ‘maybe’

‘Maybe’ he had some semblance of a chance, ‘maybe’ Espresso could ever like him back. ‘Maybe’ Espresso could ever return the way he’d do anything for him. 

“He talks about me-?!” He smiled widely; unable to mask his excitement.

"He usually complains about how you don't take him seriously, he really appreciates your compliments though," Giggling and smiling in turn, leaning forward as if they were gossiping or sharing secrets, Latte whispered. “I think he has a thing for your hair,” 

He was already content with the knowledge that Espresso talked about him at all, but positively? Heat rushed to his cheeks involuntarily, as he combed back a strand of hair, making up his mind and deciding to never cut it again. 

Especially if Espresso liked it.

He failed to remember how he was ever jealous of Latte, now that she was practically his savior; He smiled teeth, gums, and all. 

“Really?! Aha-! I had no idea, why, I need to make it up to him, I need to-“ He found himself stumbling, foolishly excited.

His ego beckoned for her to continue, but he didn’t dare vocalize it.

"But don't you have a girlfriend?" Latte sat up, furrowing her brow in masked frustration. "--Or is it a ‘Divine’ thing that's keeping you two together?"

“Ah, right.” He looked away, his smile fading. “It’s complicated, but it-it’s not like that,” 

Moving his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, he swallowed. He hated how Latte described The Divine, mostly because she was right. His own church’s ideals had been forced upon him, simply ingrained into his thick skull without question, policing anything they deemed below them. It was simply how it was

"So you're together because of religion?" Latte put two and two together. Everything seemed to align in her mind, as if she put great thought into theorizing about Madeleine’s personal relationship. She warded off a laugh, realizing she’d been right all along--

--countless nights she’d spend with Espresso, painting his nails or pacing around the bleak living room while she went on and on about how Madeleine totally liked him back. Collecting information, asking his teammates and jotting it all down with red strings attached just for Espresso to see, she felt victorious. 

“--So why would The Divine make you gay if they declared it a sin?” 

Madeleine seemed almost stunned, as if Latte had seen right through him. 

“Is it that obvious?!” His eyes were wide, he didn’t think it was that obvious, he believed himself to mask his own ‘interests’ perfectly.

Latte only snorted. “Obvious?! Hah ! I’ve never seen you so much as touch her!” 

“The Divine didn’t make me gay. It was a mistake. On my part, The Divine wouldn’t make their own vessel so… sinful.” Madeleine turned away, huffing out.

“And? You can’t help it. I don’t see the point in being ashamed,”

He stared towards the floor. “Because I don’t deserve The Divine’s acceptance. No sinner is deserving of The Divine’s blessings,” He was almost quoting his pastor word-for-word. “Myself included. I have… failed, in my duty of purity.”

"Then why do you continue?”

Before the door unlocked with a ‘ click’ and Espresso walked out. "What are you guys talking about?" 

[Novemeber 2nd, A week prior]

Numb. Utterly numb.

He couldn’t bring himself to feel anything, guilt overtook and infested his heart as it sank like a stone in his chest. A metaphorical ball and chain wrapped around his ankle, pure steel erasing any hope of an out. 

“Something up, handsome?” 

Tilting her head up to meet his shunned gaze, he could only nod. Her head rested against his chest, pressing herself against him and relying on him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” She smiled, though her words cut like glass, as blood and guilt seeped from his open wounds. She needed him. He strung the threads of her being together, he was the reason she woke up, he was the sole reason why she ever went on. 

Under the guise of affection, she would most definitely make it known. “You know that, don’t you? I need you, Maddy, I love you.” 

But it meant nothing to him. 

He wanted to hang his head low, to cry or admit, to snap her out of her fantasized and idealized version of him. To her, he was perfect. Strong, resilient, popular , there was no doubt in her mind that he loved her just as much.

It made her feel powerful. She wanted to hear how much he loved her, she wanted his reputation in her palm, she wanted to pour his heart. Cheating and lying, she adored watching his face every time he found out. How blue pupils dilated in shock, before darting in disappointment, as he realized just how bad he allowed it to get.

She adored it. 

She knew he could do nothing about it. She knew that, no matter what she’d done or said, he would hold her for another night. 

Whispering sweet rumors to people who looked up to him, sweet poison in her words as they infected those around her. Spores of insincerity and tablets of hate, an addiction. Madeleine was a horrible habit, one she needed so badly to break. 

She wanted to watch him bleed, she wanted him; And she was sure that, this, was love. 

Wasn’t it?

“I am not sure what I’d do with myself if you ever left me to rot,” She planted a soft kiss against his pale cheek, taking in his refined features and fair complexion. “You’d never do that to me, right, Maddy?” 

He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eyes. Lips parting measly before he could even force a sentence to emerge, speechless for a second. 

He was a liar. Every word that left him, every praise and assurance he’d offer to ease her, every time he cooed to her while she cried on his shoulders, venting out how hard everything has been and how she couldn’t go on without him; It was all lies. 

“Never,”

He was a sinner. 

Chapter Text

Dear celestials. Dear Divine almighty and those who look down upon me. Those who commended me, those who adorned me in this gold and stature. Watch me crumble.

With distaste and unapproving, captivating eyes, watch me ruin and fall beyond repair. 

I have no need for a savior. I am not even my own. 

He is perfect. 

He is so divine. 

Stoic and cold, it is all preformative. An exterior I wish to crush beneath my heel. I want to hold him, to make my devotion known, to feel him--

I want to ruin him. All of him.

But haven’t I deserved this?

I’ve dug my own grave with barren bleeding hands, with stained knuckles and peeling pale skin,

I’ve opened my own coffin,

And I’ll watch when one day-

I’ll close it. 

I am too far gone to keep my head high, so do me a favor and tie my noose.

Amen.

Act II

Chapter Text

[October 12th, a month prior.]

    Bustling. Laughing, cheering, a chorus of sporadic ‘good game’s thrown mindlessly about the locker room.

The metallic clatter of slamming locker doors and clusters of conversation drown out any hope of coherent thought. High-fives and nothing but smiles all around, Clover walks aimlessly amongst careless sweating teammates. 

He tips his hat to some, chivalrously, and he flashes a smile to any who cross his path. Nothing but a wholly welcoming smile, he preaches love to anyone willing to listen. Through ridiculous song or long tales, it’s a bit of a wonder how he ever ended up on the team--

Yet he’d blame it on luck. Simply the fated path laid before him by the universe herself, he’d insist on that explanation alone and never bothered to dig deeper. He didn’t need to, not while he was blissfully happy. A man to be envied. 

Not that anyone complained. Beneath those wispy white locks and slim frame, the guy had skill behind him, and fit in with every other brute. 

Amongst the team, Clover had been known as ‘ tulip’, for his outlook and appearance. He never paid it any mind, and took everything in stride with the assistance of a smile. Truly, a man to be envied. 

His pace was smooth at a constant, as he seated himself without hesitation right next to Madeleine. Atop a glazed wooden bench, surrounded by the musk of trial and error, Madeleine appeared stressed. 

Leaning back against the dented metal lockers, Clover knew this charade well. Madeleine always seemed to have his thoughts written in big, bold letters across his expression; an open book, and Clover knew this look well. 

“What’s up, Boss-Man?” Clover spoke casually, and Madeleine huffed out at the persistent title.

A quick, dismissive gesture and Madeleine kept his gaze heavy on the tiled floors. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” 

“Bullshit. Something’s on your mind,” 

Madeleine only laughed, a bit nervous now and certainly put off at how easily Clover read him. “It’s cool, dude, don’t worry about it,”

“ Ooh, so is it someone instead?” A sleazy taunt at best, perhaps, but it’s enough to make Madeleine’s heart pick up speed. 

“Hah! No way Maddy’s crushing,” A bark of a laugh, from across the room stood Yam; with his hair tied up strictly, he leaned against his much taller pale roommate-- they were practically attached at the hip, and he’d never admit how much he depended on #17. Milk. “What’s ‘er name,”

“--Or his,” Clover promptly turns to meet Yam’s eyes shamelessly and corrects him.

“I wasn’t talking to you, bitch,” Yam shot back by instinct, eyes narrowing as to not appear below him. “Cut that out, won’t you? I’ve known Maddy since the third grade, ain’t no way he’s queer,”

Yam crosses his arms, and his chest is barren. Sweating in the heat of the locker room, water rolls down his shoulders from his damp dripping locs. Ever the adventurous soul, there are pearly metallic beads sat on either side of his nips. He shows off the piercings haughty. 

“Well, there ain’t nothing wrong with being a bit fruity,” And yet Clover’s tone is light and airy as if he thinks nothing of it, making small smooth hand gestures as he speaks. “Open your mind, brother, don’t bash it till you try it,”

 “Yeah right, I ain’t no cocksucker,” Yam scoffs, and playfully elbows Milk beside him, looking up to him as if urging him for support. “Milk can’t say the same though,” 

Promptly, a wave of laughter wracks through the steaming locker room as peers hook damp towels over their shoulders or leave entirely, anticipating the fight to come when Clover rises to a stand. 

“Ain’t that a bit low, big guy? Picking on your own boyfriend?”

“Step aside, Tulip, he’s not my ‘boyfriend’ and I ain’t your ‘brother’. Piss off, ” Yam’s tone has grown irritated, as he steps back consciously and finds his back pressed against the cold metal of the lockers behind him.

“That’s alright, I get it, man.” Clover walks in stride with a persistent smile, slow, eased steps with taunting intention. “Not everyone is in the know, you know?”

“Not everyone sucks dick, Tulip ,” 

“Hey now, I didn’t say nothing,” Holding up his open palms defensively as if in surrender, Clover smiled at the glare he's rewarded. “I am just saying, I can appreciate a lean, toned--” 

Before he could even finish, the tight room howls in joint laughter, begging him to shut up as slurs are thrown about. 

“Careful, Clover, you might scare him,” A hand is rested encouragingly on his shoulder, and Clover looks up to meet Dark Choco looking down at him. 

“And? Twenty bucks are twenty bucks,” Clover retorts and sends another wave of laughter and taunts through the team. Yam steps back defensively. 

“You’re a manwhore, you know that?”

“I am just saying you’re behind. Homophobia is so 1900s, you need to loosen up a bit,” Smiling encouragingly as if he were doing Yam a favor or offering the advice of a lifetime, his eyes are half-lidded. “Be a total fruitcake for all I care, be that cocksucker, ain’t nothing wrong with it,”

Yam recoils in disgust. “You’re disgusting.”

“It’s 2022, brother, we’re all sinners at the end of the day,” Clover is suddenly far too close for comfort, and it sparks a shudder to wrack through the usually stoic Yam. “Plus, I am sure you have something to tell your buddy over there,”

Immediately, Yam harshly pushes him away by instinct, and it's enough to make Clover stumble back and his eyes go wide. Yam’s fists are clenched, and he’s not sure if that bubbling feeling in his guts is anger or surprise-- but he throws a punch regardless.

It's reluctantly held back by a much stronger force, and he’s tugged away by Milk. 

And his expression is unreadable.

Of course, shock is there, as the whole room erupts in chaotic noise and the cluster of surprise as teammates yell and whistle, but there's something beyond those wide eyes of Milk’s. Something disappointed. Something amiss. 

So when Milk tugs his arm and gestures Yam toward the exit, he doesn’t express verbal complaint-- despite how much he wants to. Despite how his blood boils and knuckles ache to be pressed up against the smooth skin of that bastard’s cheek, he stifles it. All because of the sorrow behind that expression. 

It tears him down a little, and Yam follows suit.

1:04 PM, Parfaida’s Library 

Espresso plopped everything down on their lackluster table in the comfort of the vacant library, devoid of noise or any presence beyond themselves.

The morning air had thinned into afternoon dew, as students fled campus, without the bumbling fool to disturb or disrupt him, Espresso was left alone with his thoughts and consciousness. 

He looked to his hand. 

Since that night, everything seemed to change, and nothing aligned. Does he even remember last night? Questions, questions, but devoid of answers. Madeleine’s hand had been so warm, so large; perfect , just like him. 

Espresso had no right, to think so indecently of his own pupil, yet he wanted nothing more. The sensation of their fingers entwined, even under a platonic guise or the face of ‘helping’ him, it infested his mind like poison. Boring holes in his thoughts, once consumed by his work and study, now flooded with him alone. 

Why do I miss him?

“Es!” 

Audibly shoving the door open as if it were nothing but an obstacle, he waved obnoxiously as he approached quite quickly, heaving under multiple layers as if he ran the whole way there.

It was only November, yet the fool had a large coat and scarf hung by his shoulders, barely hiding his smile. 

“Forgive me! I got a bit distracted in preparations,” --Sure enough, he had a handbag slung by his torso, white-mom style, it seemed to be packed. “Since this is our first time formally ‘hanging out’ I wanted to ensure it’d be perfect,” 

He had filled the bag with activities; pencils and crayons, paper and card games. “I saw a cafe down the street when I came here, isn’t that perfect?”

"Madeleine, we’re here to study, did you forget?" Espresso scoffed. 

His demeanor only faltered for a second, as if Espresso’s words hadn’t truly gotten into his thick skull, nothing seemed to break him down. 

“I just figured since you’re both my friend and my tutor now, that we could do… I dunno, do what friends usually do,” He tilted his head a bit. “How about a drink? It’ll only take a minute,”

Espresso furrowed his brow. He knew Madeleine to be a people-pleaser, pushing his own limits in the favor of praise; but to actually pursue Espresso? To want his company? Madeleine had been so earnest, not a thought or ounce of insincerity behind his words.

Espresso flushed. 

"First, we study and review for an hour. If you do good, I’ll follow you. Got it?” 

Unaccustomed to positive reinforcement, Madeleine complied with little defiance, moving to unwrap his scarf. “Right, I should expect the best from you, shouldn’t I?”

Leaning back and falling into a seat, a hand to his forehead as he huffed out; Legs and arms spread dramatically, he sat with uncharacteristically poor posture. “Alas, an hour is such an awfully long time,”

"That's what we get for sleeping in." Opening a folder and taking out a blank test review, Espresso spared him a glance. "First, fill this out based on what you know. Then we'll put our main focus on what you don't know."

Taking the sheet in stride, he hadn’t even bothered to look at the first sentence before he began talking again. “What score must I reach to stop tutoring?”

"You need at least 75-80% in both classes for how poorly you've been doing." Espresso explained, blank-faced as he pulled out a book, shifting his focus to the rows and paragraphs of words before him.

Sure, Madeleine had considered purposely failing, simply for extra hours with Espresso. It was pitiful and short of desperate, but now was not the time, not while a cafe ‘friendship-date’ was on the line.

And so, he pulled out a blue crayon.

Unfortunately, he failed to take his own studies seriously. Only a few minutes in silence, he grew uncomfortable, promptly frantically writing something down before ripping it from the rest of the paper and sliding it towards Espresso.

In messy-ed blue crayon and even worse handwriting, he could make out the words ‘I like ur hair today :)’

Espresso looked at the crumpled and sloppy paper in front of him, looking up to the fool to make direct eye contact "If you don't pass, you'll be held back a year-- and I won't be able to tutor you anymore if you're still failing,”

Frowning, he took the paper back before returning it. The blue smile had been crossed out and replaced with a ‘ :(‘

“Cruel as ever; I’ll admit, it’s impressive,” Madeleine leaned forward casually, as if his body was moving without him, nonchalant and almost sleazy. “It will always puzzle me, how you’ve always detested the charms of myself,” 

“I am not one to be swayed by such mindless flattery,” Espresso retorted, even with the undeniable grin across his lips.

--

Biting the inside of his cheek, Madeleine really did try to focus. To return to his study without complication, yet he found himself unable. Pencil in hand, hovering above the paper, it never moved. He stared towards the paper, biting his lip, faltering.

He stares towards the letters and symbols written in neat black ink, for the sake of simplicity and in hopes that even Madeleine could comprehend it. 

Madeleine stares as if he’s paying attention, but his pupils dilate and he is not there at all. 

Far, far away. Drowning in thought and lost in his own mind, he sees, but he does not understand. His surroundings blur, and he must shake his head, realizing once more that he has spaced out. 

“Espresso?” Madeleine looked up momentarily. “Can I see you?”

Madeleine quickly recoiled, realizing how bashful and blunt that was, attempting to fix his wording only to make it worse. 

“Your face-- I want to see your face, I think you’re quite pretty already, of course, I just-“ He fumbled over his words, unknotting his hair and running his hands through it nervously. Fuck. 

Espresso scoffed, keeping his gaze heavy and focused on the rows and paragraphs of words before him. "See me? I'm right here." 

Uncharacteristically nervous, Madeleine inched himself closer. Underneath that confidant exterior of superiority, Madeleine was shaking . He couldn’t quite tell if he hated it or not. 

Madeleine spared him a laugh, nervous and as gentle as the oaf could muster, hair falling down his shoulders haphazardly while strands hung by his face; intrigue lit in his eyes, the fascination of a man consumed and eaten out with devotion. 

“You misunderstood.” Madeleine corrected, almost remarking. “All of you,” 

"Why do you care so much?" Brushing his hand over his hair, Espresso cocked an eyebrow. He couldn’t quite tell what Madeleine was playing at, whether or not he was being mocked or taunted.

“I’ve always cared, it’s simply taken you this long to notice,” Moving a hand beside Espresso’s right cheek, inching towards the lock of hair that covered his eye, he remained still.

Madeleine seemed eager, and yet, he never made a move. His hand remained dormant and still, awaiting verbal consent. The bare minimum, but Espresso nodded in appreciation. It was a noticeable shift, from his usual bashful exterior, and enough for Espresso’s front to waver. 

"Fine." Espresso huffed, darting his gaze to the floor and looking away. "You can look." 

Madeleine smiled. 

He always found the taste of victory sweet, when earned and in good time, but no triumph could compare to what he was met with. ‘He trusts me.’ The thought ran on loop throughout his thick skull, only making him grin. ‘ He trusts me that much’

Espresso moves a hand to his bang, hovering over it slightly, debating as confliction crosses and battles across his expression-- before tucking the tuf of dark hair behind his ear gingerly. 

Bittersweet; Unlike any victory, this wasn’t accomplished through the fault of another, through bloodshed or hurt, this was--

“—Divine.” He breathed out. Staring like a fool. Starstruck. Of course, a bit dejected when Espresso kept his eye shut, but he attempted to pay it no mind. “You should show your face more often. You’re pretty; For a dude,” 

Espresso kept his eye screwed shut, persistent and stubborn, but couldn’t deny the heat rushing to his cheeks involuntarily. Now with nothing but his glasses to conceal it, he could only hope Madeleine didn’t notice. 

"It's just my face, Madeleine, nothing special.”

“But it is! The Divine hath blessed me, and you are living proof of that,” Moving a hand to pat his chest boastfully, posture straightening though his eyes never left Espresso, he grinned. “I assure you, you are a blessing from the celestials themselves,”

“I don’t know how you could ever want to see this,” Espresso bit his lip and looked to the side to hide it, shifting his focus towards the falling leaves outside in attempt to avoid the sympathetic gaze of the fool before him. Espresso didn’t need his pity. Espresso didn’t need his empathy. Espresso didn’t need him.

“How could I not? Anybody would,”

But that had struck Espresso right through the heart. 

He was wrong .

Madeleine was wrong. Blinded, ignorant to any outside view or prying sight, blissfully impassible. Nobody wanted Espresso, he was sure of it, nobody wanted him. They’d want his body, they’d want what he could do for them, but never him.

Almost immediately noticing the shift in his demeanor, Madeleine’s smile quickly wore off, empathy and concern crossing his expression.

“Es?”

Fuck. Madeleine’s heart dropped, as his lungs filled with sympathy. Espresso was hiding something, and he still didn’t trust Madeleine enough to tell him. He shouldn’t have been upset, he didn’t have the right to be, and yet, the knowledge that Espresso didn’t yet trust him struck him straight through the heart. 

“You…You know I’d never judge you, right?” He hated the way his voice wavered. Almost a plea for Espresso to know just how much he adored him. “I could never dislike you, after all, I couldn’t detest a blessing from the Divine,”

As if the bands that held and tied his patience together had been torn from the seams, Espresso snapped. As if he’d been waiting years to do this. "Would you stop calling me that?!" 

Espresso couldn’t remember the last time his voice cracked like this. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he cared for someone like this. To want them. To need their approval. It was pathetic. 

"I'm not some kind of heavenly gift, Madeleine! I am your tutor! Just some fucking guy that you decided was worth pretending to like,” Without fear, he met Madeleine’s eyes directly, brows furrowed as he warded off welling tears.  “Nothing special, nothing important. There's nothing for you to see,”

Madeleine recoiled immediately, yet his expression never faltered. Shock never crossed him;

“Forgive me,” Satisfyingly so, his smile is dropped as last, as does his exterior and visage of confidence and concieted front. In pursuit of sympathy and for concern to cross him, ever the dramatic soul, his brows furrow and he bites he lip slightly-- for once, at a loss for what to say.

“--But, I… truly believe there was some ethereal threading leading to our meeting,” Like a switch, his deamnor returns, as if truly nothing coulf affect or get through his thick skull. “I truly believe you to be special.”

Shocked, Espresso said nothing at all. He was so fucking pathetic. All because of the man before him, pouring his heart out while Espresso watched him bleed. He was killing him. 

Perhaps the celestials made a mistake.

Madeleine had been the ideal, had been perfect through the eyes of the misunderstood and unsuspecting, he had been blessed . But now, Espresso was gnawing and infesting his heart with twisted need , completely oblivious to the effect he had on Madeleine. 

Espresso was tying his noose, and he couldn’t ever know it. 

"Bullshit.” Espresso spat. He denied any sincerity behind Madeleine’s words, he refused to humor the bumbling fool’s attempt to ease him. “...Fine, but it’s nothing special,”

A fool; nothing behind those eyes except pure awe, he couldn’t even bring himself to spare his iconic grin. He feared it would be inappropriate for what he interpreted as a true act of trust. He felt his heart swell and do a little cartwheel. 

Taking in a breath, Espresso bit his lip and looked away as both eyes flickered open. 

One, a dark brown, fond and familiar, a horrible contrast from the other; With a red outer ring that appeared almost in flame, fueled by the likes of dark magic, it pierced Madeleine’s very soul. His pupil dark and void, sorrow behind distaste and resentment; He was gorgeous . 

"...Am I still ‘ pretty’ to you?” 

When Espresso kept his eye shut, Madeleine didn’t dare question it, he was content enough with what he was rewarded and wouldn’t dare to complain; but he never could have expected… that. 

“ Nothing could change how I feel, Espresso.”

For the first time in the eyes of another, Madeleine faltered. Breaking face, he succumbed to his admiration, his obsession, his need; The subconscious (Overwhelming) need for Espresso, to please him, to know him, to offer the contents of his being and every and anything he could muster. 

“You are so-“

But this wasn’t about him. Espresso trusted him, Espresso was willing to show Madeleine that much of himself, the thought alone made his heart swell and butterflies erupt in his gut. He was perfect. 

“-lovely, Espresso. Oh, if only you could see yourself, I could never hate you for something as minuscule as this!”

And this time, he didn’t bother to correct himself or reword his praise to fit the platonic guise he set for himself.

Espresso flushed, his lips curling into a  preformative frown, devoid of seriousness with nothing but humor behind it. "Are you just saying that to fluster me?"

“If I wanted to fluster you, I wouldn’t be this dramatic,” Madeleine rolled his eyes slightly, surely, Espresso was a bad influence.

“The key is to be blunt, for example-“ Inching himself closer, Madeleine smiled as if it had been there since birth, tilting his head slightly. “-I think your eyes are beautiful, Essy,” 

Espresso snorted, turning away in flustered embarrassment. "Oh fuck off-!”

He was warding off a laugh now, and cursed himself for doing so. Biting his lip and furrowing his brow in frustration as his face ran red. “It’s not that ‘pretty’, you just need better standards,” 

Madeleine, the esteemed and praised knight, actually giggled. As if he had succeeded or arose victorious, he felt whole.

And yet, guilt plagued him. 

He was guilty, a horrible person who masked it through smooth talk and whatever fancy words he could string together in pursuit of his glass ego. The Divine was watching over him; he had a girlfriend and the weight of House Madeleine’s reputation hung by his shoulders, and yet, here he was. Sinning —

“Insecurity is unbecoming of you, Espresso, have I finally gotten to you?”

—and he was smiling about it. He was complete, whole at last. If The Divine wanted to strike him down so be it. 

Espresso couldn’t bring himself to meet Madeleine’s eyes, only cover his own and turn away. "Come on. You need to finish that paper. We're both getting distracted."

Madeleine laughed, though complied and backed away, knowing his limits. “It’s not my fault you’re distracting,”

Even if he couldn’t deny the heat rushing to his cheeks, the same heat that made his palms shake, the same familiar heat that made his heart trip and beat twice as fast. The same heat that beckoned Madeleine closer.

“Just get back to work--” Espresso huffs out and turns away, adjusting his glasses by habit. “--and I might consider that ‘friendship date,”

Madeleine grinned, as if he’d accomplished the great feat of flustering the usually cold and distant mage. It was rewarding enough, but the reminder of the possible totally-platonic-not-romantic-in-any-way cafe date sparked something in him. 

“Okay,” before turning his focus right back to the paper. It was odd, to see the usually bumbling fool actually focus and take his study into consideration. Furrowing his brow and toying with his hair on particularly hard problems, for once, he found himself focused. “Okay, I can do that,”

Even if he hated every second of it, he would stifle and subside it, all for Espresso.

-----

Leaning back in his chair, barely paying any attention to the paper before him, he meticulously planned out his next rebuttal, calculated to fluster Espresso after accumulating everything that made him tick—

—before his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

Leaning casually, he opened his phone without thought, only to have his eyes go wide and posture visibly stiffen. His mouth went dry as it suddenly became straining simply to swallow back.

"Is it your girlfriend again?" Espresso huffed, setting his book down and slightly tilting his head to get a glimpse of Madeleine’s phone. 

Perhaps it was pure irritation, nothing but annoyance for the girl, because it was certainly not envy. He scolded himself, no, it couldn’t be jealously. He had nothing to be jealous of. 

Looking up momentarily, blood pumped in his ear as he could’ve sworn his heart went still for a moment, as every hair stood on its edge and his fingers trembled.

“He’s dead.”

Oh my god. 

Visions of the night flooded his mind, biting his lip as a hand flew to his mouth, the other to his stomach. He was dead. Officially, declared and without room for the imagination, a man had died. 

"Does it say how he died? He fell right ?!” Espresso’s eyes go wide by instinct, his mouth runs dry and he srains himself to swallow. Dead. He is dead. “Right?!” 

“Oh, Divine…“ Madeleine breathed out as he scrolled frantically through the automated email. 

‘We will miss him dearly ,’

The generic scripts and blessings recite.

 ‘He will always be in our hearts.’

 As if he was ever worthy of being missed.

 He didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve the praise of a good person, nor did he deserve the recognition or sympathy. It was all false, and made Madeleine’s blood boil. 

“For the family’s privacy, no. Most of it is policing partying and the effects of alcohol,” Madeleine read through it with haste, scrolling past replies of ‘fond memories’ students had with him. 

He felt guilty, for not regretting a thing, for having no remorse. He felt cold, utterly empty.

"Fuck.” Espresso shivered. Looking away, a cold sweat broke down his jaw as he adjusted his glasses, which had begun to fog as he warded off tears. He had no right to be crying. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? “Oh fuck. Oh my god,”

The more Madeleine read, the more the light magic coursing through his veins seemed to alight. It was all useless paragraphs of his achievements, of what he did right, of those he ‘helped’, portraying him as faultless. Madeleine knew better than to think ill of the dead, but he couldn’t help it. 

He died a good person. 

He hurt and he gained, he took and he smiled through it. He caused nothing but harm, and yet he died a good person. In his final breath and in the eyes of the blind, he got to live and breathe and die a good person. 

He didn’t deserve that. 

Madeleine quickly turned his phone off. “I am sorry, for everything. Dragging you out there in the first place, I don’t know how you still put up with me,”

"I could ask myself the same thing." Espresso breaths out with a hand over his mouth, ashamed that he can’t bring himself to cry over him. He feels no remorse, and perhaps that makes him heartless. "But you did nothing wrong. I can’t be mad at you,”

Madeleine bit his tongue. It didn’t matter, in the end, he was a dead man and anyone he wronged was far behind him now. It didn’t even matter. The words ran on repeat in his head before he promptly shook himself out of it. 

It was odd. Abnormal for the knight, to care about someone other than himself; for another’s feelings and needs to coexist with his own, if not become his priority, it became overwhelming. But he’d do everything just right.

Just for Espresso. 

Once more, he took Espresso’s hands in his own, not bothering to look away or to the floor.

“I want to make it up to you.”

Espresso darted his eyes away, biting his lip as undeniably heat ran to his face. “Really? And what could you possibly do for me?” 

“This isn’t about me,” Madeleine’s demeanor had shifted into something unreadable, abnormal for the usually bashful and transparent blond. Some odd concoction of seriousness with pleading harboring beside it. “Just-“

“Please. Let me make it up to you. I-I couldn’t leave knowing I’ve hurt you, it’s pathetic but I couldn’t live with myself after what I’ve done,”

So damn earnest, his genuineness bled from his tone, as if he were pouring his heart out without remorse or regret. Bold as ever.

Espresso was quiet, looking at Madeleine's hands. "I overheard what you and Latte said earlier. About your girlfriend,”

Madeleine’s eyes went wide for a moment before he remembered to be collected; even if his heart was practically beating out of his chest.

Espresso wasn't one to have doubts, but now he wasn’t entirely sure that this was real. "--Why is it me that you're after?" 

Madeleine couldn’t tell if he wanted to deny it all, tell him ‘it’s not like that!’ And leave the library entirely— or succumb and pursue his pathetic needs, preach his devotion and make sure of it that Espresso knew just how far he would go for him.

“It’s not- I-“ 

And yet, he did neither.

“…I don’t know. I don’t know…anything. Es, I- I don’t even have control over my own relationship.”

For once, in his seemingly faultless life, blessed by The supposed Divine, he look away and trembled. 

“Please, please don’t tell anyone.”

“Like anyone would believe me anyway,”

Madeleine spared him the ghost of a smile. “I… apologize for putting this all on you.” His apology was pitiful, as if he wasn’t used to being at fault. “I hate hurting you, more than I already have. I suppose I never thought I’d be around this long,”

"What do you mean?" Espresso asked, ignoring the fact that Madeleine's hands, despite being a little calloused, were really soft and warm. "You did nothing wrong. What happened last night would have happened even if I wasn't there," 

Madeleine bit his tongue. 

‘No, it wouldn’t. It’s my fault’ the thought berated his mind but he said nothing at all. This wasn’t about him anymore, nothing was; Espresso had become his priority.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to leave. I just-“ Madeleine found himself at a loss for words. Only Espresso could render him speechless. “I suppose it wouldn’t feel right, to leave you without some kind of reconciliation,”

Espresso looked at the time, before back to Madeleine. “Fine. You can make it up to me by taking me to that cafe you were on about,”

He got up and began to pack his things.

“Wait, you actually want to?” Pushing the half-finished review sheet forward a bit too eagerly, he didn’t expect Espresso to agree at all. He declared himself perhaps the luckiest man alive.

“Since you insist ,”

Rising from his seat and pushing it in carefully, Madeleine slung his mom bag by his shoulder, nodding and lazily wrapping his scarf around his neck. 

“Are you not cold? We’ll be walking, you know,”

 "I’ll be fine. I don't mind walking," Espresso shook his head, before moving towards the glass exit. "How do you know I'll like this place? You seem pretty confident."

Madeleine moved quickly to open the door before Espresso could, pushing it open with the entirety of his body weight and pressing his back against it, bowing in true dramatic knight fashion. 

Head hung low in his bow, he let out a sigh. “I am not. Just hoping,”

"Must you act so chivalrous? Espresso questioned, waiting for Madeleine. “I am a full-grown man on antidepressants, not some maiden,”

Rising from his bow, Madeleine almost looked confused. He’d done everything right, at least, in the eyes of the Divine. He’d been chivalrous, polite enough, he found himself at a loss as his heart dropped. `

But he didn’t dare show it. Like a switch, his smile returned. “Elaborate?”

Espresso adjusted his glasses.

"Honestly? You’re not that bad, at least, when you’re not fueling your superiority complex. You can be a good guy, but you’re afraid,” 

‘ afraid’

Something was wrong with him.

“--Nothing but an arrogant face. Underneath that front? You’re alright,”

Even when being chastised, when being told everything wrong with him, his heart skipped a beat. Espresso had noticed that? Noticed him? He was being scolded, and yet, he flushed crimson. 

A sinner, surely.

“Not afraid,” Madeleine corrected, as if it made any difference. If anything, he was reaching for anything to twist or use in his defense. “I…it’s complicated.”

Uncharacteristically, he looked away. Avoiding his eyes, he scratched the back of his neck, as always. 

"Just be honest and I'll return the favor." Espresso sneered as he left in suit, striding through the glass doors with his gaze glued ahead, not offering Madeleine the time of day. “ You’re pretty when you shut up.”

Oh, he was most definitely obsessed. 

Madeleine led the way, happily trotting down the dull sidewalk with his hands neatly behind his back, walking as if he owned the goddamn place before he remembered to be modest. 

The newly autumn breeze served as an excuse, for when Madeleine took it upon himself to take Espresso’s hand in his own. Oh, and what a sight, walking happily down the street hand-in-hand while he ranted about his next meaningless plans or who-said-what.

"You know, you don't have to hold my hand." Espresso said flatly, intertwining his fingers with Madeleine's, walking closer. It was a slight change, barely noticeable, but enough to make Madeleine’s heart race. 

“Ah, but I’d hate for you to get cold,” Madeleine spoke dramatically as if he were a savior, but by now, the joking tone in his voice was prevalent enough to negate any seriousness about it. 

Before they approached a small shop. Almost run-down, with small tables outside and a lit ‘open’ sign. Decorated in frills and stickers on the window, a bell chimed when Madeleine pushed the doors open. 

Releasing Madeleine’s hand, his eyes darting around and across the shop, it was certainly small. Unnoticeable in the otherwise overzealous hell of The Republic, but perhaps that was the charm. With old posters and framed black-and-white photos, checkered tiled floors and neon signs, it had clearly been open for a long time. 

"Huh,”

“Trust me on this one,” Madeleine walked in without thought, waving to a blond employee with ‘sparkling’ written neatly across his nametag, beckoning for Espresso to join him at a small table.

 With a red-patterned cloth atop its surface, almost that of a picnic table, it resided by the large windows; just enough for the sun to project atop the table and salt-and-pepper shakers, and just enough to watch a red leaf fall from its branch.

"Alright--" Espresso huffed out, taking a seat across from Madeleine. He began to look out the window. "--The view is nice. I'll give you that,”

“Perhaps you should trust me more often,” Madeleine grinned as if he’d accomplished some great feat, before he reminded himself of his ego and promptly backed down. 

”Are you sure you’re okay?” Madeleine’s brows furrow to frame concern, and his eyes alight in sympathy.

“I’ll be fine,” Espresso dismissed him quickly, waving slightly and returning his gaze to the window. Fixated on the trees beyond them simply to avoid Madeleine. “I don’t want to talk about it,”

Madeleine’s concern never left him, but he sighs out slightly, and Espresso watches his shoulders slacken. “Alright,”

His phone buzzed within his pocket.

“I just— I want to make sure,”

 No matter, he didn’t dare waste the precious time he had with Espresso on whatever meaningless notification he got. 

“You know I care about you. A lot,”

Then, another buzz.

“Really?”

—and another. 

“Of course I do. You’re my friend,”

—another buzz. 

“Forgive me, I need to check this,” Succumbing and giving in, Madeleine moves to pull his phone with haste. His heart picking up speed, if only in the slightest. 

Checking his messages, he found nothing. 

—Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

Ah. there.

He was tagged in a post.

"What is it?" Espresso asked, leaning forward to catch a glimpse, only to fall back when he was met with nothing. Intrigue sparked in his shielded eyes, glossed over by thick glasses. Whatever. It was probably his girlfriend. 

The post had three pictures attached.

The first: Depicted Espresso and Madeleine walking down the sidewalk, hand-in-hand while Madeleine spoke. They seemed oblivious, as Madeleine made vast hand gestures to exaggerate each and every point he made, while Espresso strode beside him and nodded. 

The second was the worst, the most incriminating. In which they sat at the library table, with Madeleine leaned forward, his hand against Espresso’s cheek as he marveled at the eye before him. To any misunderstood gaze, they looked ready to kiss right then and there. 

The third, the scariest, showed them in the moment. Sitting at the clothed table behind glass and flowers. 

And there, right there, the author and culprit had been his own girlfriend. 

The caption was mostly nonsensical profanity, but he could make out words like ‘Cheating bastard’ and ‘Gay manwhore’, though ‘cocksucker’ was the most frequent.

Madeleine’s silence was rare. Only by occasion did he find himself speechless, and only with Espresso did he tick his jaw shut. Concern bubbled in the latter’s throat. “Let me see,” 

More of an order rather than request. Madeleine took no time obliging and quickly extended his hand, offering it to Espresso, facing down as if he didn’t want to see it anymore. He bit his lip and looked away, eyes glossing over.

Looking down at the post, at its contents and studying every word written in the caption, he felt his blood boil. Jaw slackening, posture and shoulders falling, his brow furrowed and eyes widened by instinct. Espresso began to dig into his pocket for his own phone.

"What's this bitch's number?" 

Madeleine could no longer subside the evergrowing guilt that twisted his guts. Even if it was all under a platonic guise, he couldn’t blame her. Blind to her intentions, he felt as if he were at fault. 

Did it hurt her to do this? Did he deserve this? Surely, she was the one in pain, after all, Madeleine had never liked her to begin with. He dragged her down with him, he allowed her to do as she pleased in fear of hurting her more than he already had. 

Now, he was facing the natural consequences. Right? 

“I can’t blame her.” He kept his gaze heavy on the ground, fearful of even looking Espresso in the eye(s). “I should go, I need to sort this out, I am sorry-“

Snatching Madeleine’s wrist, he was forced to tilt his head up just to make eye contact. "I'm going with you." 

Instinctively, Madeleine pulled his hand away.

“Espresso, please, don’t.” Madeleine backed away, his eyes darting across the shop by instinct, hoping he wasn’t making a scene for the sake of his reputation. Dear Celestials, who was he fooling? His reputation was already down the drain by now, and with any luck, so was Espresso’s. “I am sorry.”

Stunned, Espresso’s hand stilled, releasing Madeleine’s before he leaned back. If he had been any lesser man, he wouldn’t have allowed Madeleine to leave, maybe even fight the prick himself, but sat back down regardless. “Fine,”

“But if anything happens, I am beating her ass.” He knew Madeleine to be stubborn, and that nothing he said could sway or convince him, so he complied without verbal complaint. 

Sparing him a glance, one foot out the door while his hand rested against the glass of the door, he spared Espresso a smile. 

“Thank you. I’ll have to make it up to you some other time,” 

Before promptly rushing out, not even bothering to stop the door from slamming behind him and rattling. He was a mess, sweating nervously despite the weather, eyes darting across the street for any remanence of his girlfriend. He must’ve looked like a fool, searching frantically for even a glimpse of her, desperate to sort this out and get that post taken down. 

Not only for his sake, but for Espresso’s.

Admittedly, he could have cried. He wanted to shove the world away, just for a moment, just to collect himself and cry. To let go, to shield himself and hurl his own emotion and exhaustion—

—but he didn’t have that choice. So when he finally found her, he stifled everything for the sake of his front. 

Chapter Text

[October 23rd.]

The lights flicker off by a switch as she draws the lever south, and the single lightbulb hung by a string in the middle of the small secluded room burns out. 

“Attention!” She calls, and moves to stand atop a small stool to make her presence known, arms wide in vast gestures for her small crowd to hear. Before her, Strawberry Crepe tinkers and toys with their creations and advancements on the blanketed floor. Pumpkin Pie sits with her legs crossed and her doll snug within her lap, and listens intently. 

Cotton smiles at the group, and continues on. “I’d like to formally welcome everyone to our twentieth Fanclub meeting,”

Pumpkin Pie claps from her seat, and Strawberry Crepe offers a measly monotone cheer. Raising their fist slightly as if they were ecstatic, refusing to take their eyes from the machine before them. 

Around the concentrated room are posters, a singular football, and Cotton wears a signed bulky jacket. She holds a makeshift microphone, and speaks into it as if that of a priest or preacher.

“Any questions before we begin?” Her hand meet her hips, and her eyes dart around the room. Her posture tall and that of an authoritarian. Perhaps she was a perfectionist or even a control freak, as she hyperfixates on ensuring the perfection of the meeting-- but that has to cross her yet.

“Yeah, actually,” Ever the skeptic, Strawberry Crepe is the first to raise their hand, eyes half-lidded and unimpressed. Their hands are stained with oil, and they spit out a nail they once held between their teeth. “How come you get to be in charge?”

Cotton cocks an eyebrow as if it is common sense, but she replies regardless. “Because I am the officiated water-boy, remember?” 

Strawberry Crepe audibly groans in distaste, but only turns their attention back to their contraption. Since Cotton had pestered and expressed her interest in the football team, Madeleine had taken pity on her and rewarded her the honorary role of water-boy. 

As the ball-boy role was already taken, (By Princess. Cotton decidedly does not scowl at the remembrance.) she spends her time at their football games and practices, fetching water to those who need it and watching eagerly from the sidelines. 

Most players happily express their gratitude with an acknodgling nod or a ruffle to her scalp, messing up her hair slightly in affection, and laughing when she smiles back. Though, there would be the exceptions, who would deny her entirely or leave without a word. 

Thankfully, she has come to win Yam over. 

By occasion, she’d sit and listen to the kickers. Rye, Beet, Avacado, and Raspberry by occasion. Sitting on the sidleines or bleachers while they talked shit on the rest of the team, laughing haughty before Beet’s girlfriend, Carrot,  comes to pick her up and the group dissipates from there.

(The first time this happened, Avocado had to sit Cotton down and explain how ‘ Girls can like other girls, and that’s perfectly normal.’ -and as she didn’t entirely understand, in pursuit of pleasing or impressing her friends, she spent that night researcing every LGBTQ+ cite she could get her hands on.)

Rye would often be stuck with babysitting duty, as Avacado leaves for the after-school student council meets. Cotton still keeps every reciept, from the Cafe by campus where Rye would buy her smoothies or shakes. 

She finds Rye to be her opposite, only ever speaking when spoken to-- she often rants or gossips while Rye listens and sips from her tacky multicolored plastic straw. 

She started the fan club before she ever knew them, and since then, the same group has stuck around. She sees it as her life’s work. Sure, maybe she doesn’t have many friends her age-- if many at all-- but she sees the team as family, and declares it all she needs. 

“Any other questions?” Cotton looks around one final time, and steps down from her pedastool when she is met with silence. “Alright, let’s get started,”

2:54 PM, present time.

“Holy shit! If it isn’t the man of the hour!” Anger and frustration seeped into every word that left her, making his fists shake as she turned to face him before he could even get a word in. Her face was red and tear-stained; Finally, it was them alone.

“Look, please, I can explain-“

“Explain what-?!” She was yelling now, her voice shrill and cracking from presumed crying. “That you’re cheating on me? With a man at that! I should’ve known!” 

She didn’t allow him a moment to speak, hands shaking, she couldn’t bring herself to stop. “I shouldn’t even be surprised! You never wanted anything to do with me, it’s because you’ve liked men this whole time, isn’t it? Isn’t it?! Who else have you been sucking off being my back?!” 

And with that, she slapped him. Enough to render him speechless, leaving a visible red mark against his pale complexion. “Your ‘Divine’ would be fucking disappointed.” She spat.

He looked to the ground. He couldn’t meet her eyes, for once, he couldn’t do anything at all. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, you fucking better be!” Any chastity was far behind her now, consumed and eaten out by pent-up rage and subsided anger. “I never even loved you! Do you hear me?!”

Suddenly, she was smiling. As if she was victorious, as if she were in the right. As if, at last, she had something against him. Finally, as if she were above him.

As if it’d been a competition the whole time.

“How does it feel to be used, Maddy?! How does it feel, knowing I was sleeping with that dead jackass since the start!”

“I never wanted you!” She began to step closer, pushing against his chest, kicking at him, and scowling when he remained emotionless. “Tell me you want me back! Say something! Fight back!”

“I can’t.” 

Backing up a bit, eyes wide, she was seething. It was the opposite reaction to what she wanted, what she craved. She wanted to crush him, put him where she thought he belonged, and yet, she was met with nothing. It made her blood boil. 

“I should’ve known. Not only are you a limp-dicked coward, but you can’t even fight back.” Venom was practically enlaced in her tone. “Y’know what? I should’ve left you for Latte. Hell, that Pastry prude was better than you’ll ever be!” 

“I hate you! I hate this stupid fucking school and my stupid fucking wannabe friends who are too damn illiterate to do anything right, and I am SICK of clawing and cheating my way to the top only to be knocked back down. I am not real! I am a fake, Maddy! I never loved you, or anything or anyone, I am above you!”

She was practically talking to herself now. “ Listen to me! I am better than you!”

At last, she seemed to come down from her high of anger, taking frantic deep breaths before her eyes turned cold. Her hands fell limp to her side. This was exhausting, neither of them could keep this up anymore.

Perhaps they could’ve been perfect. Perhaps, if he had pretended for a little longer, if she stayed with him for a little longer-- but it had been so long. It was only a matter of time.

“But it’s whatever. I’ll probably go get high or blow my brains out. Maybe I’ll even tell your church,” She laughed as if he wasn’t standing right in front of her. “Can you imagine that, Maddy? ‘Oh father, I must confess the sins of your beloved Madeleine’, can you imagine what he’d say?” 

Despite this, tears still ran down her face pathetically as her voice cracked and went shrill, sometimes losing volume entirely. 

“You wouldn’t,”

“Don’t fucking underestimate me.” She turned to leave. “I have better things and people to be doing right now, maybe pretend to hang out with some ‘buddies’. Rot in hell.”

--And with that, just as quickly as she arrived and shattered his heart, she left him to retrieve the shards. It hurt. Glass edging and cutting skin, slitting through till deep blood and tears drooled from his wounds. 

A real man wouldn’t cry.

"Madeleine?”

Madeleine flinched when he heard his name from behind him, tears welling in his eyes, but he never let them fall. For his own sake, he couldn’t. 

“Es?” He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm, quite visibly startled and shaken up. “What are you- I thought you went home-?”

The moment had been silent. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Espresso watched, wide-eyed, lips parted measly; nobody knew what to do, if there was anything to do at all.

He was so fucking awful with words, so he moved. His feet moved without him until he found his arms around Madeleine, pulling him close and digging himself into his torso. “Quiet.”

Madeleine reciprocated without hesitance, wrapping his arms around Espresso in turn and simultaneously bringing him close. “How much of that did you hear..?”

“Shut up,” Having to physically look up to meet Madeleine’s eyes, Espresso spared a smile out of pure incline. Something he wasn’t accustomed to. “Just -- Let me help you,”

Resting his head atop Espresso’s, moving his arms from Espresso’s torso to his waist in attempt to pull him closer, he mumbled. Warding off tears, he smiled, not that Espresso could see. “Thank you,”

 A light trickle at first, barely visible it began to rain. Damping and surely ruining his hair, blond strands stuck to his jaw as the sidewalk beneath them turned dark with fresh-water, dark clouds swirling into view from beyond high buildings and establishments.

He began to slightly sway side-to-side carefully, in some made-up dance only they seemed to know.

“I am sorry,”

Swallowing back, losing control of his voice as it cracked involuntarily. His eyebrows furrowed as he held Espresso close, whether it be out of reflex or a useless attempt to still his shaking hands. Against his will, he was trembling; but for Espresso’s sake, he stifled it.

“Nonsense,”

Mist had begun to spiral. Wind seeping through, nothing but a breeze in the cradle of light magic, not enough to make Espresso shudder. The rain had begun to fall, tracing and running down his cheek.

Madeleine only hummed in response, shutting his eyes, pale eyelashes shielding him from welling tears threatening to fall. 

A mockery of a dance, “Oh, wouldn’t you allow me this?” 

Espresso shivered when he felt Madeleine hold him closer. No longer from the cold or anxiety. It made him blush.

"Alright." Barely a whisper, he held Madeleine closer. “Just for you.”

Not that Espresso could see, he smiled. A gentle, sober smile, dimples making themselves evident before he moved away. He bowed slightly, one hand behind his back, the other extended and waiting for Espresso to accept his open palm. 

Nothing seemed to fall in place. Nothing aligned in the hellfire of the republic. He tended to panic, to tense or push out the world. It was all too much. But none of it existed with Madeleine.

Even with tears running down his cheeks, he smiled.  “Would you dance with me?”

A pathetic display in the name of The Divine. Madeleine sat at a kneel, (A quite fitting position for him.) fresh rainwater racing down his rosy features. From crying or blush, he wasn’t quite sure.

--And yet, Espresso bowed in turn, lifting the ends of his jacket as if a mockery of a curtsy, and took the pale hand before him. "Yeah. I’d like that,”

Smiling, whether it be because Espresso actually played along -- A response he never would have anticipated, the action alone made his heart swell. -- or because he, once more, held Espresso’s hand in his own; he wasn’t quite sure. 

And that was okay.

No longer did he need to crave control or assuredness. None of it existed.

Perhaps it wasn’t the ideal dance, nothing like the fairytales or faultless stories of romance he was spoon-fed throughout his life; and yet, he wouldn’t have it any other way—

Rising from his bow, he pulled Espresso gently by his hand, beckoning him closer while his free hand rested on Espresso’s back. Cautiously, checking for discomfort in the mage, making sure of it that he affirmed every advance as he moved their entwined hands to the sky, stepping back.

—With the rain falling beside them, flooding the drains, running down the slopes and streets as water got caught in his hair and ran down his torso and back. Surely, making a mess of him, but he couldn’t care.

No. This was love. He was sure of it.

“Not exactly how I imagined my first dance,” Tilting his head slightly, Espresso could’ve laughed. A scene straight from a movie, as he ‘danced’ and held perhaps the most beautiful infuriating man he’s come to know. “I never imagined you to be the dancing type,”

Madeleine laughed, not even looking to see if his feet were even, as if he’d done this countless times before. Moving backward with his right, then forwards with his left, leaving only inches between their chests. His laugh allowed a low rumble to wrack through his throat and heaving chest. If Espresso paid attention, Madeleine’s heart was beating particularly fast.

“You think about me?” Which earned him a playful scoff and stern ‘ no’.

The rain provided the only ambiance, silence accompanied by pure falling water and the chorus of it seeping into the various drains. With a lamppost as their spotlight and the passing cars as their audience, he held Espresso tighter than he would’ve liked to admit.

“Alas, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” He didn’t even bother to wisp the hair from his face, simply allowing the droplets of untouched water to trail down his cheeks and jaw. “Much worse than dancing,”

“Don’t tell me, I don’t need another reason to hate you,” Espresso had been cold and flat, yet with nothing but fondness behind his words. He could feel how fast Madeleine’s heart pounded within his heaving chest.

Half-lidded eyes looked back at him, humming slightly as Madeleine’s hand slid to his waist. 

“Always step forward with your left foot,” Madeleine spoke just above a whisper, perhaps not trusting himself to be louder. He spoke without judgment, pure observations and critique, he seemed to speak his mind at a constant. “Keep your feet parallel,”

It was a mockery of a waltz.

Madeleine had been so gentle, as if he were afraid of Espresso dwindling and coming undone in his hold. Scared of hurting him, Espresso became his priority. 

"Look who's teaching who." Moving his feet to match the directions given to him, Espresso spared a lopsided grin.

Madeleine laughed, dare he say, giggled. “Ironic,”

“It’s a bit of a wonder. How this poor excuse of a dance is your first,” His gaze never strayed from Espresso, as if captivated or entranced. “Then again, it’s a wonder how anyone could leave you unnoticed at all,”

“Especially someone like yourself,” 

The way he said ‘someone’ was terribly vague; but he didn’t elaborate.

"I'm sure there are other ways you can make this dance up to me." Espresso had to put great effort into not tripping over himself or Madeleine, keeping his gaze glued to his feet. "Honestly, I am not sure why you bother. Someone as prestigious as yourself, with me?”

Madeleine rolled his eyes, before stepping forward once more. 

“Lying is a sin, Espresso. You mustn’t underestimate yourself,” 

Before, as par for the course in such a dance, Madeleine jerked himself forward and south, and Espresso’s eyes went wide. 

One leg fell to a kneel as the other stayed stern. Inching and tilting himself downwards, he moved both hands to wrap around Espresso’s back before almost dropping him; horribly unprofessional and outright wrong, he even laughed about it, leaving their faces only inches apart. 

“—After all, you’re pretty.”

Espresso’s breath hitched.

Uncharacteristically, he stayed there for a moment. In a true dance, he should’ve continued like he was taught, after all, you ‘mustn’t keep a lady waiting ’ or something like that. And yet, he found himself staring, again. Unmoving, unfaltering, a wall of a man while he stared in awe. 

“Though, it’s nice to know you think of me as ‘prestigious and attractive,’ I knew I could impress you eventually,”

Espresso scoffed, with nothing but fondness behind it. "I never said that."  

“You’re lying again,” What started as a small joke had shifted, as Madeleine's smile faded; not in anger or distaste, no, in sorrow. 

Before, with the ease of experience, he leaned downwards even more. Straining the position, practically supporting and keeping Espresso up now. 

“Please. Please don’t lie to me again.” He grimaced. “I want your truth.” 

He wanted so much more than that. Everything Espresso could offer, the contents of his being and the capacity of his heart, he’d want it all like a starving man.

“My truth?” Espresso met his eyes at last, allowing himself to fall and become dependant on Madeleine’s hold, his voice wavering more than he would’ve liked. “You’ve fucking ruined me,”

“So you’ve fallen for me?”

“I’ve collapsed,” Huffing out a laugh, Espresso looked away, and the platonic guise they’d set themselves seemed to strain. “I… feared you would hate me. The more you knew about me, the more you knew of my eye,”

“Oh, Es…” Madeleine’s brow furrowed as his eyes filled with sympathy, dilating in real-time. “I hoped you knew me better than that. Has it happened before?”

Espresso nodded. “It was a casualty of experimentation. The consequences of my own ignorance, I never overcame it. It consumed me. It became the bain of my existence, as I was taunted and detested for it,”

“I was abnormal. Inhuman,” He darted his eyes away, horribly conscious of how the hands on his back tensed and held him firm. “I suppose I didn’t belong,”

Madeleine appeared stunned. Anger, sorrow, sympathy, all somehow harboring beside each other as they battled across his expression. “I am so, so sorry.”

Mumbling, it was odd seeing the oaf so apologetic.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s not like you could do anything about it,”

Madeleine was quick to clip back, as if it were an order. “I want you to tell me if it ever happens again. Ever. As long as I have breath, I want to ensure your safety.”

So fucking dramatic, it was more of a plead rather than a request. Pleading for Espresso to trust him, pleading to be sure of it that Espresso was safe. That perhaps, simply the knowledge that Espresso was okay would cease his racing heartbeat.

“You have nothing to worry about. It hasn’t happened since, well, him ,” Espresso shuddered at the thought before taking a stand, rising from Madeleine’s hold to stand on his feet again as the knight backed away, still hand-in-hand.

Madeleine wants to sneer at the mere mention of his name, but decides against it.

Before he got a bit too comfortable. Still under the guise of a dance, doing a slight twirl as he shifted the position--

Madeleine, a man to not be outdone, has always been bashful. A brute, he acted upon instinct and did as he pleased, searching for discomfort in the mage throughout it. 

--He moved to wrap a hand around Espresso’s stomach and pull him close, chest to Espresso’s back, still rocking forward and backward as if they were still dancing. 

“We should go soon. It’s getting rough out here,”

Espresso cleared his throat, his breath stuttered and grew ragged. With Madeleine’s hand around his stomach, he could feel every rise and fall of Espresso’s chest.

"Right, it'd be a shame if you got sick and missed your test tomorrow,” Espresso fixated on the concrete sidewalk below them. He could feel Madeleine’s breath against his skin. “You can come to my dorm again, if you'd like."

He smiled, not that Espresso could see. “That’d be perfect.”

Before letting go and backing up, bidding him a final bow as if in resolution, his hair was surely a mess now. Sticking to and cradling his jaw, he grimaced, knowing it’d be a hassle to fix by himself. 

Shrugging his bulky jacket off his shoulders and holding it above his head, he beckoned for Espresso to join him. 

“No fuckin’ way,”

Madeleine laughed but never faltered. Holding the jacket high above them, surely soaking it, he gestured Espresso towards his calloused and now-exposed arm. Despite rolling his eyes and huffing out a scoff, Espresso held onto him regardless.

“Keep up, will you?”

Before making a run for it.

His flats tapped and clattered against the street and concrete, stumbling to keep up and holding onto the oaf’s arm for dear life, yelling mindless profanities as he desperately attempted to stay below the protection of the letterman jacket.

“You prick!”

Madeleine only laughed in turn; running for his parked car. Damn him and his athletics.

Running and skipping through puddles of fresh rainwater while they avoided cars and bikes, the musk of rain and mist engulfed the once autumn-ridden town, and surely soaked them in the process. 

And he is laughing. 

(Espresso smiles too.)

Taking out his keys and bringing the engine to life, he finally slowed and laughed as he hauled the passenger door open for Espresso.

" You . Are an ass." Espresso says, panting heavily.

“--And you’ve fallen for me,” Madeleine spoke without thought, as if nobody taught him better. “Divine, you’re dripping,”

“Here,” Pulling a jacket from his back seat, dry and layered with stripes and a large number on the back, he handed it to Espresso.

His varsity jacket. 

Of course, Madeleine was the type to have various key chains hanging from every hook in the car. Looking under the seats, Espresso could spot necessities and, was that a loose earring? 

Espresso shifted as he accepted the jacket without hesitation. "Just take me home, damnit,”

“Right,”

Pulling the once dormant lever and starting up the car, warm air flooded the vehicle at last. One hand on the wheel, the other turned to a little pull-out compartment. 

Snatching a few VHS tapes, he looked over to Espresso. “Music?”

Espresso, wrapping himself tighter, stared at the tape in his hands. Unrecognizable, a song he’d never heard of, its title was in french. “Sure, whatever,”

Backing out of the parking lot, locking the doors to the car and wiping the windshield, the skies had gone dark. With the rain against his glass windows as their only witness, an ever-constant noise in the back of his mind became like white noise. 

It became almost soothing. As rain fell into puddles and seeped into drains, driving cautiously with the lights on, it felt all too familiar. He began to hum.

It was quiet. Hesitant, alien; they were sober -- and Espresso finds himself fixated on Madeleine’s hands, yearning to feel the warmth of them once more.

It was pitiful at best. Still soaked while his hair stuck to his face, rosy cheeks against his pale complexion from running. As if he’d just returned from the field, he smiled as always, before pushing a tape into the player. 

A tune at first, Madeleine happily hummed along, keeping his eyes on the road as if nobody were there to witness his foolishness. 

An upbeat tune, he smiled. “This is one of my favorites, A quoi ça sert i'amour,”

He pointed towards the name plastered across its label. He seemed almost excited to show it off, smiling and humming along happily. “Amour’ means love, see?”

Espresso only nodded. He understood nothing, but found pity in Madeleine’s excitement. 

“À quoi ça sert l'amour?” Madeleine sang along happily as if nothing truly mattered. As if he was far above the world and had no time for the inconveniences and destruction it bore. It was something to envy, how Madeleine seemed to shut out the ongoing conflict even if it was just for a moment. “On raconte toujours,”

 He seemed untouched by the cruelty of the world, truly, pure. 

He kept his voice low as he imitated the man singing, trees and buildings passing by. He seemed happy just to have Espresso by his side. He was sickeningly easy to please.

“Des histoires insensées,”

He seemed to know the song by heart, comically lifting the pitch of his voice to sing the girl’s part, batting his eyelashes and even flipping his hair before promptly returning his hand to the wheel in fear. 

It was so dark that, by now, you could hardly tell they were pulling into the parking lot of the campus. 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Espresso huffed out a laugh, never turning to face him. His gaze was steady on the window and the passing buildings. 

“Ah, that’s the point, my friend!” 

Pulled into a parking spot, he shifted the gear and leaned back in his seat, the back of his palm to his forehead as he sighed out. 

“Not to worry, with my expertise driving skills, we’ve made it,”

Espresso scoffs.

------

Stepping out, the lights of the car shut off behind him as he locked the doors and struggled with his bag. Making a run for it into the distant building. It was pouring now.

Hauling the doors open, pressing himself against them and bowing formally, as if making a display of Espresso’s mere entrance. He made quite the mess, soaking the ground below him as he wrung water from his hair. Even a few papers and crayons fell from his bag, which he scrambled to collect. The fool even laughed about it

“Goodness, you’re pretentious,” Espresso scoffed as he walked in, glaring when he was met with over-dramatics. "I hope you have clothes you can wear, unless you plan on sleeping nude again. Poor Latte,”

“Unless you ever give my jacket back, I might have to,” Quickly following him, Madeleine jogged to meet Espresso by his side. He graced him with a sly smile. “My apologies, if you were hoping for the latter,”

"Like there was anything that could impress me under there." Espresso scoffed, stepping into the silver elevator. It’s all too familiar, to the point of comfort, though he’d never admit it.

Pressing down on memorized buttons, he leaned against the cold metal walls of the device and huffed out.

He took the jacket back gratefully, looking a bit foolish with so much in his grasp, simultaneously hauling his bag and jacket. 

“You underestimate me!” Shooting him a pained look, Madeleine stepped happily inside the elevator. “I have you know, I’ve been blessed by The Divine themself,” He beat his chest boastfully.

“--But I wouldn’t expect you to know,”

"I wouldn’t. I was never preached ‘The Divine,’ my family rendered it useless,” Espresso lifted his head to make eye contact, propping a foot up against the wall. “Not while I have dark magic in my veins,”

Madeleine cocked an eyebrow in intrigue. “Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Light magic was simply inflicted upon me, I don’t know life without it,” 

"I live off it. It allows me to exhaust myself where others cannot. It’s quite simple, honestly,” 

“Huh.”

His expression is so damn earnest, as if that of genuine intrigue. Eyes lit as he wrapped a hand around his hair and wrung seeping water from it.

“The likes of dark magic had been declared a sin. Policed by the Divine church, though I never understood.” He looked away. Uncharacteristically, Madeleine shuddered, but he’d blame it on the cold. “Admittedly, I could see why now.”

"What's that supposed to mean?" Espresso asked a little offended. He didn't blame Madeleine though. “Does dark not balance light?” 

“Forgive me. Your magic is just… loud.” Still looking to the floor, he scratched a particular spot at the back of his neck, like he always did.  “I haven’t exactly accustomed myself to the likes of it. I suppose it’s endearing,”

With a chime, the elevator came to a halt as the doors opened automatically and they reached their final destination. 

“—Would you care to show me?”

"You've seen me use it before. When you insisted on bringing me to my dorm, I summoned a grinding eye to get you to put me down."

“How was I meant to marvel at the likes of your magic when you were actively threatening my health?” Stepping out casually, an exasperated groan escaped him. He spoke dramatically, hoping to persuade him through over-exaggeration. “I could attempt a spell in return, it’ll be like show-and-tell,”

"Only you would think that's a good idea." Espresso huffed out, strolling through the automated opening doors. "Who knows what would happen if we both did magic in my room."

Madeleine hadn’t even processed that, as if oblivious to the consequences. “Like what?”

Haphazardly throwing his jacket over his shoulder and holding his bag with the utmost delicacy, he quickly trailed behind.

"Did they really not teach you that?" Disbelief twisted his words as he turned to face Madeleine beside him. “It could react violently, hell, even explosively. There are very few spells that actually allow them to… fuse, I suppose,”

Madeleine’s eyes flickered for only a moment. He took no time responding, not putting in the effort to think before he spoke. “Do you know any?”

Approaching the door of Espresso’s dorm, waiting by the frame for Espresso to unlock it, he smiled eagerly. 

"I don't think I've seen you so interested in something you have to do with me," Espresso barely mumbled, tugging his chiming keys from his pocket and digging them into the lock. “Don’t look so excited,”

Madeleine huffed out a scoff. “You’ve always intrigued me, I’ve simply been waiting for you to abandon your work and take notice,” He strolled into Espresso’s dorm as if he belonged there, humming a slight tune. “It sounds fun,” 

Truth be told, it sounded exhilarating. To not only defy the strict principles of his church but to do so with Espresso? He saw magic as the purest form of being, what made up a person and the very substance that ran through them. He saw the spell of fusing raw magic to be peak intimacy, him and his pure ideals, of course.

----

"Alright, I'm done. You can use the shower if you need to,” Musing, Espresso eased the bleak door open, wringing water from his hair and wiping the fog from his glasses.

“Thank you,” Madeleine rose from his seat, allowing his jacket to fall, and promptly pulled a few Bobby pins from his hair. 

He’d never admit it, but he put particular effort into his hair that morning, hoping Espresso would notice when they met. He clearly didn’t anticipate the rain. Now holding three Bobby pins between his teeth, the familiar taste of metal on his lips, he tossed his bag aside and went for the shower.

“It’s whatever. Just don’t break anything,”

4:12 PM, Latte’s dorm.

Today, 4:12 PM

Rosy: Hey, I am real sorry we couldn’t hang tonight

Latte scoffs.

She lays in her own bed, her room is dim-- and it’s a sickening familiarity. She lays alone, smiling at her phone as it emits the only light. It is level with her eyes, and projects blue light down on her fond complexion. 

She bites her lip and types a response frantically. 

I totally get it, no worries❤️

Read 4:14 PM

‘Rosy’ had been a code name assigned to none other than Raspberry. Elegant, she moved in stride with expertise as if she had calculated her every action-- Latte would often find herself by the bleachers, watching intently as she played against teammates much larger than her. 

She’d attempt to sway her, offering cups of (overpriced) coffees after games or rounds; leaning casually against the metal gates that separated the field from the bleachers. She’d prop herself against the railings and offer her pleasantries to the woman on the other side--

Who only nodded in appreciation, posture not slackening for a moment, and if you blinked you would miss her smile. 

But that’s simply how it was. Defensive, inscrutable, it was common knowledge not to mess with her.

It was endearing. 

Perhaps after spending her Friday nights binge-watching true crime and horror films, she had a thing for the endearment of mystery-- but nothing could compare to Raspberry. 

Today, 4:18 PM

Rosy: I wanted to see your pretty face today

Oh. 

Nothing could compare to her. Her bold exterior, her blunt speech, and stature, an unpredictable force that never failed to make her heart flutter and face flush in the darkness of her room. 

(Through the dull drab of her room, she dropped her phone entirely as her palms flew to cover her mouth in pure utter fluster. She’d never admit to it, but beneath the thick white covers of her bed, she kicked her feet in ecstatic buzz.)

You mean my coffee?

Read 4:21 PM

Rosy: No, I mean you. I like seeing you

Rosy: Don’t tell Yam 

Flipping to lay on her stomach and dig her face into the plush of her pillow, and she sat and stared at her screen, smiling teeth-gums-and-all. It was stupid , how her heart jumped and smile grew every time she saw the stupid nickname appear on her lockscreen. 

Stupid; She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. 

If he can grasp the concept, mans in dire need of some cooch

Rosy: Or dick. He’s an odd guy

That’s an understatement

He’s always screaming on the field like there’s no tomorrow. How do you tolerate it?

Rosy: I don’t. It’s just easier when you’re there

Her smile closes as her lips curl fondly, and she holds her phone as if it were a treasure; The most important thing to exist, her feet sway behind her. 

Nevermind, your no better

Rosy: *You’re 😂 

Rolling her eyes, she swipes and ignores a message from Pastry. Something about the student council and probably getting on her case about whatever duties she’s neglected. 

You text like an old white woman LMAO

Rosy: Maybe. I need to start making dinner, I’ll talk to you later though, alright?

Oh. That’s right. 

Raspberry was infinitely more productive than her. With things to do, places to be, Latte huffed out but understood-- waiting a few seconds before responding, not wanting to seem clingy or needy by texting back immediately. 

Sure

Ily

Latte Deleted a Message

4:45 PM, Espresso’s dorm.

“Ugh.”

Easing the door shut behind him, he pressed his back against it and shuddered. Certainly cold now, steam still fogging the mirror and hanging low from the empty air, he switches the water back on. Haphazardly pulling the rim of his shirt up with much hassle, the fabric clinging to his skin with rainwater, he got it off and tossed it to the side with masked irritation. 

He thought over the situation over and over as, at last, he finds himself alone. Alone with his thoughts and contemplations, he grew excited at the thought of casting a spell with Espresso. It was stupid. To be so eager over such a minuscule task, but he found himself overjoyed. 

He took out his final earring, unclasping it with the utmost focus. 

Nonetheless, he stepped inside the running shower without any hesitation, shutting the glass door in his wake and combing a hand through his hair. Stretching as he simply allowed hot ( Far too hot for any sane person.) water to run down him.

Quick and expertly, like every task the oaf did, he finished with efficiency. Taking a lackluster soap bar, he cleaned every scar and fracture with great consideration. 

A conceited man, most particularly, in his body. He prided himself on his looks, paying extra attention to his hair specifically, often getting upset when he was anything below faultless. Moving to collect shampoo in his open palm and rub it into his scalp -- he was fixated on his appearance; 

Staring into his reflection, if the person staring back wasn’t perfect, there was a problem with him .

Leaning against the slick white walls of the shower, he cursed himself for being such an utter wreck. He knew he had so much to deal with, hell, he’d been a taken man only hours before--

But he stifles the thought, insisting that he make the most of the time he had with Espresso. 

Steam arising from the top of the shower, the water finally ceased as he stepped out, wringing water from his hair and lazily tossing a towel over his shoulder. Snatching a pair of pants he’d brung (Feeling extra proud of himself for thinking ahead.) and haphazardly stepping into them, he blew a noncooperative strand of hair from his face. 

—-

With nothing better to do, Espresso turned his attention to his shelves of book and studies. Tracing his fingertips along the spines, biting his lip as he looked for a particular article. The binds were withered and beaten, hand-downs from family and mages before him.

With the same familiar font and calligraphy, same dull and lackluster hues, they all read the same tones. His collection was to be envied, and Espresso took great pride in it.

--before he noticed something peculiar.

Atop his cheap bedside table, amongst the brown tones and greys, lay a vibrant blue. 

Getting up and walking towards the peculiar royal blue, it was a ribbon. Madeleine’s blue ribbon. That had once been knotted into a bow to hold his arrogant blond locks, Espresso felt heat rush to his cheeks at the mental image. 

Smooth, like silk, and just as light. Pale, overwhelming, he is pure. Espresso’s lips part measly. He is perfect.

Gently picking it up, it was smooth and well-kept. Just like Madeleine's hair. Feeling its material, its shine, without a split-end in sight; oh my.

It was nice. He wanted to keep it, maybe put it in his own hair. His hair was quite short compared to Madeleine's, but the thought alone made his heart rate pick up speed… weird.

He tucked the ribbon into his pocket. He'll give it back to Madeleine some other time.

—-

“Goodness,” Sitting back, Madeleine eyed the display of books before him. More than he’d be willing to count, reaching heights taller than Espresso’s entirety, he only hoped he wouldn’t have to read much. “That’s a lot,”

“That’s the point, Hamlet,” He’d been skimming through various books, to no avail, and only grew frustrated. "They must be higher up," Espresso muttered to no one in particular. He began to levitate off the ground to reach for a book.

“Hamlet?”

“I thought you enjoyed titles,”

A scoff, and Espresso pulled a book by its spine from the confines of the shelf. "You need something easy and harmless,”

He’s marching forward, and it’s an unfamiliarity, as his footsteps are no longer heavy or heard. “You mustn’t underestimate me,”

He watched intently as Espresso skimmed through pages, pointing to one that caught his eye. Of two figures, clearly woman and man, hands entwined as poorly-drawn magic radiated from them. “What’s that?”

His gaze darts across the page and small writing, ink details made with precision and pen, some is splotched. "Looks like a strength spell, I doubt we could do this."

“All the more reason to do it,” He grinned, enticed by challenge. “I trust you to succeed regardless. Unless you doubt your own capabilities?”

"I doubt yours. You’ve proven to be a dunce in such fields,” Espresso clicked his tongue and promptly shut the book. "Plus, the participants must be compatible. We definitely don't qualify," 

Madeleine huffs. “We were perfectly compatible last night,” 

The fool spoke without thought, not putting an ounce of consideration into his words before they spilled. Espresso reaches for a second book, only stopping for a moment to process the oaf’s words. His brow twitched. 

"Think before you speak," Espresso clipped back to mask his fluster. 

Taking the book quickly, Madeleine only continued talking, as he usually did. He never seemed to stop, simply because he deemed his words important enough, and declared himself worthy of attention.

“I never understood that. I, quite frankly, don’t see the point when I have so much to say. All important things, of course,” 

 “—I mean, does sleeping together count as compatible?” 

"Please don’t tell me you’ve gone around telling people we’ve slept together. People do that all the time, as friends ," Espresso defended himself by instinct, not daring to face him. “People can be compatible in a magic sense. We are not,”

Madeleine hummed, a bit conflicted, biting his lip as distaste crossed his expression. “What about in a non-magical sense?”

"....I'm not sure.” Admitting sorely, Espresso turns away. “I've never been in a relationship like that myself. I never saw the point when I had so much to be done,” 

“Huh,” Madeleine remarked, shutting the book in his hand as if he could read any of it. “That’s a wonder. It’ll always puzzle me how you’ve gone unnoticed,” 

He stared as Espresso used pure magic to wring a book from the various shelves and pull it into his hold. 

“How so?”

“Well, you’re pretty,” Leaning against the wall of Espresso’s dorm, Madeleine cracks a smile and Espresso scoffs. 

“I am not, you just need better standards,” Espresso clipped back before shutting the book and holding it to his chest. “That should be it,” 

“Admittedly, I couldn’t understand most of it. I was hoping you’d know what was best,” He shot Espresso a smile, familiar dimples returning. “No mind-reading or control stuff, though.” --and he shuddered at the thought.

"That's fair I suppose." Flipping through the worn pages of his spells, he bit his lip and pressed his finger against a particular page. "Here. A simple levitation spell, you can handle that, can’t you?"

“What do I do?”

“Just read what’s on the page and hold my hand,” Stating bluntly, Espresso quickly rephrases when he realizes how gay that sounds. “--To fuse the magic. Nothing of it,”

“-- Right ,” Madeleine laughs fondly to nobody but himself. “Just two dudes holding hands, nothing of it,” Tossing his hair from his shoulder, Madeleine stretched and moved a hand behind his head to scratch near his spine. 

A bumbling fool, surely the mindless jocks he associated with had rubbed off on him. 

"Now you’re the one making it sound weird," Espresso pushed past him and moved to the small bleak living room. "Are you ready?"

Madeleine scoffed, trailing behind like a lost hound. A large hound. “As ready as I’ll ever be to hold hands with my best guy friend,” 

"Oh shut up, you’re lucky I am even allowing this,” Espresso hissed, pushing the book into Madeleine’s hold. "Here's what you have to say for your part," 

“Divine, that’s a lot.” Squinting, he hardly made out the words. He kneeled in front of Espresso before he too shifted to his knees uncomfortably. “What happens if I get it wrong?”

Madeleine was not one to express insecurity, but he couldn’t help the way his voice wavered.

"You might feel fatigued or light-headed, maybe dumber than you usually are," Espresso explained, looking over his words to memorize them. "That's why I chose this spell. No severe consequences if you fail,”

“…okay,” His gaze never left the page before him, memorizing it with the utmost consideration, undeniably a bit fearful. “Okay. I think I got it,”

He, in fact, just hardly understood; but declared himself ready regardless, not one to express fault. He was determined to do everything just right, just for Espresso.

 Setting his book to the side and resting it atop plush dark carpet, Espresso held out his hands, presenting each outstretched palm for Madeleine to take. "Alright. On the count of three, we'll start. Just read off what it says,"

Nodding slowly as Espresso’s instructions bore holes in his thick skull; admittedly, Madeleine was far more anxious than expected. An unfamiliar feeling bubbling in his gut, and his eyes narrow.

Of course, he’d seen light magic in person, from his pastor, his father, anyone who possessed it seemed to make a show of their mere existence. For once, Madeleine was not one of them. Light magic was made with the intention of good, to heal and balance out its opposite.

--Light magic was made pure , and Madeleine was anything but that.

“I think I got it,” He looked up at Espresso momentarily, bashfully looking him in the eyes. He shifts and extends a hand to meet Espresso’s and carefully places them atop one another, biting his lip in nervous habit.

"1,” Muttering slightly, Espresso’s eyes flicker shut with ease and he begins to count. With expertise and experience, with years of study behind him, he is faultless.

Screwing his eyes shut, Madeleine perked one open to watch Espresso. 

Fuck . He was pretty. 

So damn focused, devoted to the spell as if he had blocked out the world and the cruelty of it out in favor of the moment. Madeleine allowed his posture to slacken, in the pursuit of getting a better look at Espresso. He noticed everything about him. 

“2,”

Everything . He was perfect. 

Only Madeleine could properly appreciate him. At least, that’s what he told himself. Nobody could come close, nobody could adore him more than Madeleine, and nobody else could have him. Madeleine simply allowed these thoughts to flood his mind, allowing himself to indulge in his obsession while he watched with an unfaltering gaze.

He allowed himself, because hadn’t he deserved it?

“3,”

Quietly, a mutter beneath his breath, the ghost of a rhyme; barely audible, Espresso’s hair began to rise and float from his shoulders regardless.

Madeleine’s eyes widened by instinct, questions almost mindlessly falling from him before he promptly remembered that ‘He must know what he’s doing’ and chose to stay silent. 

Espresso stopped muttering when he realized Madeleine remained still.

"What are you waiting for?" He muttered, the spell dissipating slightly.

“Oh-!” As if the fool didn’t expect that, he quickly turned to look back down on the page. He struggled to pronounce the words before him, a thick accent straight from his throat found itself caught in certain syllables. He strained himself to continue without stuttering or stopping, but regardless, felt his hair begin to levitate from his shoulders as every hair stood on its edge.

"Think, for once. Something that calms you," Whispering as to not disturb him, Espresso couldn’t help but be impressed that he was holding up at all.

“Okay,” Looking up at Espresso momentarily, his shoulders slackened as he grew at ease. “Okay, I can do that,”

Eager to satisfy, his eyes darted across the ground below him while he wracked his memory, the tinge of excitement ran through him as he felt his hair float. He probably looked ridiculous, hair sporadically levitating and dancing in the thin air. He didn’t even notice.

Of course, he thought of Espresso first, before his mind began to spiral. 

Domestic thoughts found themselves caught within his thick skull, burrowing holes into his dumb head and infesting his mind. Thoughts of holding him, of knowing him, of feeling him. He flushed involuntarily, almost ashamed of how his mind wondered by instinct. 

Before he knew it, crayons and paper around him began to levitate only inches from the ground. Everything around him, just barely, but enough to be noticeable. 

Everything but him.

Opening his eyes, his pupils dilated in shock as Espresso’s lips parted. That wasn’t a part of the spell. 

This shouldn’t be happening.

"How are you doing that?" Disbelief across his features, almost frustration caught in his voice as he failed to understand or comprehend what the fool had done.

Looking up in a heartbeat, everything fell. Not that they got very high to begin with, due to inexperience and plain weakness-- He’d never experimented with his magic in such manners, and as a result, it had very little willpower, but enough so to make certain items fall with a clatter.

Oh, Divine.

He had failed . 

“Ah, I am sorry. Forgive me.” Eyes darted across Espresso’s expression, searching for anger or displeasure, he quickly muttered out an apology. Before remembering who he was. “As I am…usually faultless in every task, magic is not one of them.”

"How? How were you able to do that?" Standing up now, Espresso’s eyes stayed wide behind his fogging glasses. His mind was scientific by default, so naturally, such a display would wring a harsh reaction. “That-That’s not what the spell was meant to do! How did you-”

Quickly, Madeleine darted his eyes away, ashamed . Scratching at a particular spot at his neck like he always did, he seemed to scratch more aggressively now.  “It…hurt.”

"What's wrong with you?” Espresso arose quickly, getting up from his seat to dust himself off and approach Madeleine with haste. “Let me see. Quickly now,”

Moving his hand away, he uselessly waved his arms in front of him as if in surrender. “I am quite fine! See?”

"Oh, cut the bullshit and let me see. It could be something serious,”

“I know, I know,” Madeleine looked away. “It’s kinda dumb,”

“No surprise there,” Shifting himself to a kneel so he could properly inspect the wound, a beat passed, before Espresso moved his hair to his shoulder. 

On the back of his neck, a peculiar mark; deep and dark, that of a small figure. Winged with a halo atop their head. A symbol of The Divine, burned into the back of his neck by steel. 

Espresso cocked his head. Tracing over the mark, intrigue lighting in him when Madeleine flinched in response. "How did you even get this?"

“A requirement of devotion,” Madeleine kept his gaze steady and heavy on the ground. “…It burns when I do magic,”

Loe and behold, the symbol was red and sore, blistered as if it still burned like it were new-- despite being engraved in his skin decades ago. As if it held the very light magic that ran through his veins, and was actively rejecting Espresso’s.

 As if it were made to do so. 

He should’ve been praised for it, as such devotion to his god was admired, so why hide such a symbol of respect? Nothing the fool did seemed to align or make any remnants of sense.

"Isn’t this a seal?" Espresso questioned. “To… protect you from dark magic-- Madeleine ! You dumbass! Why didn’t you tell me?!”

He left Madeleine without another word, moving to haul a crate from beneath his bed. Crowded and filled with gleaming bottles, vials, and a rag-- which he quickly soaked in cold water. 

“It’s not that serious-“ 

Clearly shocked by Espresso’s concern, he couldn’t help but smile at the knowledge that ‘he cares about me.’

Perhaps it was wishful thinking at best, a stretch of a natural reaction, but he’d be willing to twist anything to fit his desperation. 

“Nonsense. Your health is serious, and you could’ve-- Fuck . I don’t want to think about it,” Biting his lip, Espresso returned to press the cloth against the blistered sore, furrowing his brow and muttering profanaites to himself. 

Wincing at the slight cold against his burn, Madeleine felt his heart sink. He wasn’t quite sure of anything, it was never like this with her . It was never this real with her.

With her, he’d never hesitate or flush, he’d never find himself staring towards the ground desperately trying to ease his racing heartbeat while his own tutor healed his wounds. She never did that for him. 

Espresso was different, and he didn’t know what to do. 

He wanted to reach out and hold him, to never let go, to shut out the world. He wanted to be perfect with Espresso.

--but he knew better.

“It’s fine. Truly.” He moved to curl and hold his bicep. “I am quite resilient, you know,”

"I know-- but you’re hurt regardless,” Pressing the damp cloth against his burn with expertise, he mused. “I have burn ointment somewhere. You’re lucky I am prepared,”

“Oh,” Madeleine remained still, obediently. He bit his lip. “Okay.”

Fuck. He couldn’t help the way his heart swelled with each touch he was rewarded, he only felt his head fall closer to the pools of his admiration, daring to go under each time Espresso held him. Somehow, he fell in love all over again every time Espresso graced him.  

He was so fucking addicting. Utterly breathtaking, and Madeleine was rendered breathless.

Returning with a half-empty bottle and gauze salve along his palms, he moved to massage the substance into the fool’s wound. He took every action in stride, careful, slow strokes to ensure he didn’t agitate the blister.

"Let this be a lesson for you." He scolded. "I would’ve thought you knew better. To not only assist dark magic but not tell me you’re sealed?” 

“Since when did you care this much?” Madeleine would’ve turned to face him, but didn’t quite have that choice. He practically smiled through his words, oddly enough, feeling special. “Do you do this for all of your pupils?” 

"I don’t. I simply cannot have someone of your stature hurt at my expense," Espresso said, gaze hyperfixated on the scar, tracing every black line. "--And you're the first pupil I've had for this long."

Tilting his head down to allow Espresso better access to his neck, his smile flickered. “It’s an honor. Though, I doubt you’ve ever had a student like myself.” 

"Everyone I've tutored was able to improve in two weeks at most. You being the exception."

“Right,” Madeleine bit his lip. 

The tinge of guilt infested his far-too big heart, the horrible thought that he was hurting Espresso made his entire being sink, but he pushed down the thought in favor of the moment.

--And yet, he felt special; to be one of the few to see Espresso like this, the thought alone made his heart swell with pride. “I suppose I should apologize for what happened earlier. With… her .”

"Why are you apologizing? It’s not like you could do anything about it," Capping the lid with a ‘ click’ and smearing the final drooling gauze across his neck, he appreciates the shudder he’s rewarded. 

Madeleine looked to the floor, frustrated. That’s not it. You don’t understand.

Calculating them to perfection, he thought over words and syllables to string together in pursuit of the perfect sentence; something he wasn’t accustomed to.

“But she… she wasn’t entirely wrong,” Shame washed over him, his heart lit with fear of what he’d say, as he actively sinned and went against everything he was preached. “…I am not entirely straight. At all,”

"So, you're gay?" A blunt, mindless remark, and Espresso cocks his head slightly as if he’s amused by the oaf’s insecurity. A slight smile boring nothing but compassion and perhaps even fondness, he is once grateful that Madeleine cannot see him. 

“God, I must look stupid right now.” Had he been any lesser man, he could’ve cussed, but he put himself above it for the sake of his purity. Closing his eyes while a faint smile spread across his lips, as if there were anything funny about this, he sighed out. “I hoped it wouldn’t be too obvious,”

"That explains why you kept calling me pretty ," Rising to return the ointment in his various boxes of spell and aid, he droned idly. "Does anybody else know?”

“My dad,” Even without Espresso at his neck, he still looked down. Not daring to look Espresso in the eyes. “He’s known for years, it’s why he arranged my relationship with her in the first place,”

He bit his tongue. 

He knew he should be grateful, that his father cared as much as to put the effort into attempting to fix him. He truly believed that his father was in the right, that he was trying to help and cure the defect in his son. Surely, Madeleine was disappointing him, and didn’t deserve the compassion he was rewarded. 

Truly, he believed his father to love him and not his reputation; that, perhaps he could love him for who he was and not what he could do for him. 

It was wishful thinking at best.

“—and for the record, my sexuality has nothing to do with calling you pretty,”

"No straight guy calls his own tutor ‘ pretty’, Madeleine,” Adjusting his spectacles to mask his fluster, Espresso crossed his arms. “That’s fuckin’ vile. If he accepted you, he wouldn’t try to fix you,”

Truth be told, Madeleine lived in conscious denial. He knew damn well that he was far too trusting, but preferred blissful ignorance over the cruel reality he lived in. Even if he was aware, he’d pretend. 

He’d be blind-- by choice.

“It’s…not his fault. It’s not his fault he just wants to please The Divine,” Finally, he looked up at Espresso. “It’s not his fault that I don’t.”

He never quite did. Never quite understood, never quite sought out the praise and acceptance of The Divine like everyone else seemed to.

He’d often argue with his pastor, who’d insist that he wed one of the nice girls from his church instead of staring and swooning over the keen mages from the academy next door. From his practice fields, where his oak bench laid, he’d spend his time staring if not daydreaming like a fool.

For as long as he could remember, he was never pure. Never truly holy.

Madeleine huffed out, smiling now. “Tell me to stop, I might start ranting,”

“You should be his first priority, not his god. Anyone who thinks otherwise is a fool--” Furrowing his brow, Espresso moved to return the beaten book to his study. “--yourself included,”

Madeleine looked… conflicted, yet never turned away. He seemed to study Espresso’s expression for insincerity, tilting his head a bit. 

“Admittedly, it’s odd to see you so worked-up,” Madeleine slowly rises from his seat, taking a kneel to prop himself up and grunt. Thoroughly drained and properly lightheaded, perhaps he underestimated the effects of spellcasting. “Over me, no less.”

Madeleine talks to the back of Espresso’s head, and yet he can see the masked fluster in the way Espresso’s hair levitates from his shoulders. "I am not, simply stating the obvious,”

Madeleine had the audacity to laugh, bellowing and echoing off the barren walls of the dorm, hearty and straight from his throat. As always. 

“I don’t mean anything by it, Chéri,” Rising from his knees to stand slowly, he paid no mind to the way his mind spun and how the ground beneath his feet seemed to sway, declaring himself fine.

“I wouldn’t have let you stay if I knew you’d patronize me,” A glare, and a pencil hit the wall with a clatter; the effervescent presence of dark magic still alive and well.

“Patronizing? Oh, Espresso, I would never!” Flinching slightly, Madeleine tossed his hair over his shoulder and allowed it to fall down his back. “--Especially as your best pupil,” 

“I don’t play favorites, and if I did, you’d be lucky to make the top five," Espresso says bluntly as he finally moves to approach Madeleine. "Quickly now, you should get some sleep. I'm sure I've slept enough this week."

“Where?” Madeleine looked around momentarily. “And how much sleep is ‘enough’ exactly?”

"Enough to keep me alive,” Waving him away dismissively and moving to attend to his desk and study, Espresso wrings a book from his desk. “You can take the bed,”

Oh.

Madeleine felt his heart positively flutter. He certainly couldn’t have anticipated that, but nodded regardless. He had no right looking that happy over seemingly nothing. Familiar dimples at his pale complexion, the tips of his ears even went rosy.

“Are you sure?”

"Just get in bed and don’t make me change my mind,”

Madeleine made it a point to sigh out dramatically, but shrugged off his jacket and allowed it to pool on the floor regardless. “At least take me out to dinner first…”

Admittedly, he quite admired how straightforward Espresso was. Then again, he adored every and anything about him. A love-struck fool, perhaps, but at least he was self-aware.

"You know what? Keep my bed,” Pulling a swivel black chair from his desk and turning so his back faced Madeleine, his posture visibly slackened.

“What-?! Es!” Moving to the desk with haste, brows furrowing in playful irritation as his smile persisted. Approaching the chair and bracing his hands atop the backseat, leaning against it dramatically and now towering over Espresso. He sighed out. “Do you wish to see me fail that badly?”

"What does this have to do with you failing?" 

“As a knight in training, it is critical that I ensure the health of otherwise defenseless citizens,” noticing the shift, his hands moved to Espresso’s shoulders instead. Bashfully, without the hint of hesitance, as if he were in his right. “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t,”

"I told you, sleep isn't that necessary for me. Coffee in my veins, remember?" Espresso spat, keeping his gaze hyperfocused on the pages before him to distract from the hands on his shoulders. Refusing to pay him the time of day, so much as a glance would be undeserving. 

Madeleine huffed out. “I know, I know. But it’d feel wrong to take your own bed, especially while you worked away,” 

Madeleine moves his hands, one still braced against the hem of the dark seat while the other moved below Espresso’s chin, tilting him up. To ensure eye contact and to be sure of it that Espresso heard him, he smiles amusingly when Espresso’s eyes go wide. 

“Wouldn’t you allow me this?”

Espresso has to adjust his glasses and clear his throat before he is able to force a single coherent sentence from measly parted lips. 

“I am reading .”

Madeleine, at last, releases his hold and backs away.  “I’ll join you, then.”

Before leaning against the wall beside the desk, propping one foot up against it and crossing his arms.

Picking up one of the stacked books from Espresso’s desk, he opened it to a randomly selected page. He combed his hair back so it would fall back on his face. 

“Lookit me, my name is Espresso and I am a huge nerd who needs sleep,” Lifting the pitch of his voice to mock Espresso’s, he eyed him with a smile plastered across his lips.

"Very mature of you." Espresso barely muttered in response, bent on returning his attention to the paragraphs of commentary and dispair. 

Madeleine hummed. “Though, I would appreciate it if you’d join me,” Tilting his head to lean against the barren walls of Espresso’s dorm, he turned to face him. Devoid of fear or hesitance. “Y’know, in the horrid dark,”

“I’ll keep a light on so I can read. Deal?”

Realizing there was nothing he could do to change Espresso’s mind, he huffed out, but finally got the hint. “This is only because I have a test tomorrow. A true knight would never give up this easily,” 

Locating Espresso’s bed and falling back on it without care, the mattress dipped with the sudden weight as his head hit the piles of pillows atop it. He audibly groaned out in frustration, dramatic enough to ensure that Espresso would hear from his desk.

Shifting to his side, getting a face-full of what seemed like endless monochromatic pillows, the familiar scent of coffee flooded his senses; Of Espresso .

Screwing his eyes shut, legs and arms spread indecently as if he were never taught better, his expression fell and finally faltered.

Madeleine was a wall of a man, and somehow even more so asleep. 

Only moving to breathe, his chest heaving with each breath, he didn’t move a muscle. Heavy and dormant as if he’d gone into brumation, his hair was sprawled across the sheets of his headrest. 

He seemed…peaceful. As if blissfully unaware of the cruelty behind the thin walls of the dorm, of the spiraling posts, of how his reputation was actively being dragged through hell and back. He slept as if nothing mattered at all.

As if none of it existed at all.

And for a moment, Espresso finds himself staring, contemplating.

He can hardly believe himself, and bites his lip to encourage himself to turn the fuck around. What are you doing? It’s horribly unprofessional and dare he say utterly disgusting, and yet, he finds himself contemplating joining the fool.

He’s… perfect. Sacred, Espresso is sure of it and finds himself thumbing the familiar blue ribbon stored in his dark deep pockets. How could he ever declare himself worthy of such a man? A man of God, no less.

He decides against it.

For his own sake.

Chapter Text

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LatteL0ver Created a New Blog

New Post: i love women

November 23rd, 2:34 AM

HSDSKSAJAAHAHHAAH!!! /POS I AM GETTING PUSSY GUYS

I shouldn't say guys, nobody is reading this, well except for me. Me! Me, Latte, am going out with her. That's so weird to say. Me? As in, I? She's too perfect for me

Her hair is so pretty. Sure, mines longer, but hers is such a gorgeous pink, and if you pay attention, she has red highlights you can only see when she's on the field. That's such a stalker thing to say, but FUCK!! I don't even care!! I am going on a date!!

This is so surreal. I really hope this isn't a setup. I mean, why would it be? It's Raspberry! She's perfect and kind and buff as fuck like holy shit?? Have you seen her throw? Oh of course you haven't, it's Raspberry, she's distant as all hell. I am one of her few supporters.

Me!

I!

I don't even know what to wear, what does she like? Something classy, she talks about her great ancestors and honor a lot, I should do something formal. Nothing too slutty, this is Raspberry we're talking about. 

Raspberry. 

THE Raspberry is taking the ME out.

Oh my god. 

#Lesbian #Panicking #icantdothis #/pos

12:09 AM, Northside Field

Pushing the glass doors of the exit, the world seemed peaceful for a moment. The inside of the god-forsaken academy had been bustling with noise. With constant and persistent yelling and running, with tossing food to one another. Laughing loudly whenever someone said anything remotely funny, beating the wood of the various long lunch tables in barbaric laughter. As if nobody taught them better.

The outside was far more peaceful. As autumn fully settled in, trees lay devoid of any residue of life or leaves. Thin and boney, a skeleton of what they used to be. It was almost depressing if it wasn’t for the clear skies and frigid winds. The air was cool and thin, a gentle shift from the suffocating atmosphere of the school. 

As always, the green field was vacant around this time, while the bleachers lay empty and void of being. All except for a peculiar blond, setting a football carefully on a white mark in the grass.

Desperate for some solace, Espresso found himself outside. Actively avoiding the bustling cafeteria, he opted for the fields instead.

He simply expected the fields to be vacant at this hour. Not expecting anyone to accompany him, and most certainly not Madeleine.

Whatever. That oaf wouldn’t interfere with his plans. Espresso promptly took it upon himself to settle on the bleachers, out of view and truly trying his best to remain unseen. 

Looking over the field, Madeleine seemed to declare the football in perfect position. Moving behind it, and kicking it as hard as he could muster. Watching it soar across the artificially green cut fields and shielding his gaze when it flew too close to the glaring sun. Not even bothering to fetch it, he let out a breath, as if he blew off some steam just by doing that. 

Fascinatingly, he seemed to talk to himself. His tone was loud as always, just barely audible from where Espresso sat, it was mostly nonsensical ranting along the lines of:

“Stupid!” He moved his hands, large enough to cover his face in its entirely, and groaned into them. “Stupid!”

For once, his hair was tied up strictly while his usual jacket was draped across one of the benches. He huffed out before moving to grab the ball. Espresso had accustomed himself to Madeleine’s unruliness, yet he flinched.

Truth be told, Madeleine was never an aggressive person. Gentle at a constant, kind to anyone who crossed his path, it was simply expected from him as a knight. Despite his status and overwhelming figure, he’d been nothing more than a welcoming smile. 

But after the party, after what he did, he found himself yearning for it. For the feeling of power, of superiority, and of the world beneath his heel, he needed it. More than ever. 

Retrieving the ball only to wind up his arm and throw it again, his entire body leaned forward from the force. 

He hated this. 

“Divine…”

Before he looked up and noticed Espresso.

Suddenly, he flushed involuntarily . How long had he been there? How much did he hear? His eyes widened by reflex before swallowing back and deciding that perhaps, he could play this off.

“Ah, Espresso!” He waved obnoxiously, paying no mind to the ‘thump’ of the ball when it finally hit solid ground. “Come to see the faultless captain in action?”

It is cold. A breeze surpasses Espresso and makes him shudder-- and it is certainly too cold for the fool to be in a tee.

"No, just needed a piece of mind,” Flat and dejected, he answered simply. “What are you doing out here anyway? Isn’t football season ending?”

“Ah. Right.” Darting his gaze away, he opted to look out towards the field instead. Moving a hand to his forehead to play as a visor and shield his eyes from the persistent sun as he scanned over the field; placing his other hand on his hip. “Same reason as you, suppose. I couldn’t exactly…face my teammates.”

"Aren’t they meant to be your best friends-- or something like that?” Espresso tilted his head slightly. “Did something happen?”

“No, no! Just the uh—“ He turned to face Espresso with haste, biting his bottom lip. “..The post,” He admitted. His defensive guard had gone down, even if it were just for a moment, his voice was raw.

He felt guilty. Selfish, for only caring about himself. Espresso was in the post too, did he get any backlash as well? Was he in pain because of Madeleine? The thought made his skin crawl. 

“--But it’s nothing. Has anything happened to you?”

“I don’t pay attention to that stuff. It doesn’t affect me unless I let it,” Espresso flips a page in his study idly, and pays Madeleine’s concern no mind.

“I know, I know,” Madeleine finally moved to fetch the ball. His steps were blunt and harsh, as he made gestures with his hands to vent out some frustration. “But it’s rough. Divine, I can’t open my mouth without someone asking how many guys I’ve been with!”

“Really?”

“The answer is none-- if it helps,”

With great consideration, Espresso began to haul his supplies back into the satchel slung by his shoulder. “Come on. I am sure I can knock some sense into those dumbasses,” 

Madeleine stopped at that, before he laughed, expecting it to be a big joke. “It’s fine, I don’t want you getting hurt at my expense,” 

He was smiling, as if it were all a simple inconvenience or humorous past-time.

“And? What are they gonna do? She’s the one who cheated anyway,” Espresso waved him off dismissively, rising from the bleachers and beginning to step down the aisle, his flats clicked against the cold hollow metal of the stands.

“Goodness, you heard that-?” Eyes flickering wide in shock, he quickly jogged to meet Espresso, dropping the ball entirely. Abnormally, his hair was tied into a ponytail with a yellow ribbon. For he must’ve misplaced his blue alternative. “Divine, that’s embarrassing. How much did you hear?”

“Enough to defend you,” Coming to the final metallic step, Espresso makes great haste as he lands on the dirt ground and looks up to Madeleine once more. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re self-obsessed and an arrogant display at best, but you deserved better,”

So much better. You deserve me. But Espresso left that part out.

Madeleine only looked to the ground. “I guess I just hoped she was lying. That maybe, she was just trying to bring me down,”

Finally coming to a relaxed pace, walking behind Espresso almost fearfully of what he had in mind, he ran a hand through a lock of his hair. Running his fingers through a particular lock till they reached the curled ends, only to bring them right back up and repeat the cycle.

“--I dunno. It’s stupid, but I really wanted to think she was a good person, I guess,”

“That’s the problem,” Espresso begins to walk towards the school, turning his head and not even bothering to face Madeleine as he only continues to lecture. “You’re soft. You’d look for the good in anybody-- and not everybody has that in them,”

Madeleine bit his lip. “But you did,”

Espresso came to a halt at that, and promptly turned to face him, his expression falling entirely. With a raised brow, he beckoned Madeleine to continue. 

“I was quite sure you hated me--”

“I did,” Espresso interrupts. 

Madeleine smiles, nothing but fondness behind it. “--You had good in you. It just took a while, and maybe it's the same way with…her,”

Espresso grimaces. You should’ve left me. 

“Ugh, don’t compare me to her,” He groans in playful irritation instead, massaging his temple as his eyes fall half-lidded. The doors to the ever-crowded cafeteria are only feet away, and Espresso reaches for the metallic handle. 

Madeleine looked back. “Are you sure you want to do this? For me, no less.”

"If I wasn’t sure, I wouldn’t be doing this at all,” --And with that, Espresso walked inside.

Madeleine couldn’t help the wrack of guilt that plagued him, the mere mental image of Espresso putting himself in harm's way (Overdramatic, perhaps, but that’s to be expected.) made his skin crawl. An ethereal invisible force racing up his spine and breathing down the crook of his neck. 

Espresso turned back momentarily to meet Madeleine’s eyes. "Now, where are we going?"

“Ah, they’d usually be grouped up in the back of the lunchroom, not too hard to find,” Madeleine looked around nervously. He was used to the constant noise and yelling, though it still made him wince. 

He felt almost embarrassed to be doing this, allowing Espresso to defend him to his own friends, as a grown man no less. Utterly humiliating, but he wanted to let Espresso have his moment, if he truly wanted this.

----

They barely noticed Espresso, talking over him. Espresso faced the hearty back of Yam --a large 25 in white on the back of his letterman jacket-- while Vampire and a few other unidentifiable players sat beside them. Laughing hysterically, almost drunken. Though, there were quite noticeably fewer people.

“Ahem,”

By instinct, Yam was the first to whip his head around and meet Espresso, constantly alert and startled by the sudden voice. Eyes always wide, convinced that something was after his head at a constant, Yam’s brow furrowed when he was met with the tall lanky mass of Espresso.

 All previous laughter shifted and subsided into an uncomfortable silence.

“Holy shit, you’re Maddie’s sidepiece!” Yam laughed out, pointing a large accusing finger towards Espresso, barking out a laugh when he deciphered the face before him. “Hah! What the fuck could you want?”

“My name is Espresso-- and you’re a moron to ever believe that post on a whim,” Espresso retorted and smacked the hand away in an instant. Properly annoyed.

Yam narrowed his eyes. As if he had to think about what Espresso just said, as if his words were boring holes and settling inside his thick skull, failing to process. Before he huffed out.

“What the fuck does that mean.” It was more a remark rather than a question. 

"I'm calling you slow, you braindead bumbling barbarian,” Crouching down simply to meet Yam’s level, Espresso accentuated every insult with a jab to his chest before rising to his formal stance. 

Stunned, Yam began to get up, his hands balling into fists before Rye held him down by his shoulder and dragged him back down to his seat, whispering “Sit your ass back down,” though nobody could hear. Everyone went silent as Vampire opened his mouth, one hand braced against the table as he propped himself up, torso half-across the table.

Vampire promptly took the floor as if it belonged to him, standing from his seat and leaning forward --as he was on the other side of the table-- He was smiling, fangs visible and gleaming mischievously, a sick smile across his features. 

His only goal was to appear effortlessly slick in the eyes of his friends, and would stop at nothing to achieve that, including taunting and attempting to humiliate Espresso. 

Keyword: Attempting. 

“I always knew Maddy was—“ Vampire turned to make a hand gesture, dipping his open palm downwards and making the whole table erupt with noise and laughter. He only grinned further, leaning in. “How’d you do it, man? Sweet holy Madeleine? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that man cuss,”

“I’ve done nothing. Your thick-skulled, insufferable, good-for-nothing buddy simply fails to understand that,” Spitting metaphorical venom with each word, Espresso glares as he keeps his head high as if he were looking down on the mess of a man before him.

“Woah there, teach, no need to pick on Yam,” Vampire spoke mockingly, smiling as if this were the funniest thing he’d heard in years. “He’s just stating the obvious. Hell, it’s so well known even Yam can comprehend it,”

Vampire spared Yam a short glance. “--No offense, buddy,”

"Oh, and who are you?" Folding his arms, Espresso appears unimpressed, raising a brow. 

Vampire’s smile fell as he put on performative sadness. “Insulting! And here I thought we were buddies,” 

The table waited in anticipation, some laughed out, already well aware of what was to come.

He leaned forward, shushing Rye who was actively trying to stop him. “—Isn’t that right, freak-eye?”

Espresso didn't show it, but his heart sped up a little. He said nothing at all, determined to stand his ground, he couldn’t force a coherent sentence from his measly parted lips. 

Vampire laughed out. “God, such a n uptight little thing, aren’t ‘ya? ”

And Espresso’s heart dropped, biting down on his tongue. He truly did attempt to mask the way his eyes went wide by instinct. 

The douchebag’s exact words.

He didn’t know. Did he?

“Why don’t you sit down? Join us, I am curious about where you’ve been,” Sleazily, Vampire patted the seat beside himself. “I wanna know, what’s Madeleine like in-“

He promptly cut himself off and ticked his jaw shut when he noticed Madeleine approaching. As he said, he’d do almost anything to impress, getting his ass beat was not one of them. At least he knew his limits.

At last, a comforting hand on his shoulder encouraged Espresso to finally shut his eyes and speak, collecting himself enough to form a single comeback. A challenge. “What was that? What’s Madeleine like in what?”

Rye looked around quickly, her gaze darting across the table before realizing no one else was willing to talk, then back to Espresso. She held up her hands in front of herself as if to ease him. “They don’t mean nothin’ by it, man, it’s jus-“ 

Vampire cut her off by slamming his open palm down on the table, effectively catching all the attention he could need. “Oh, I mean everything by it,”

Madeleine winces from behind Espresso. 

“Look—“ Vampire made it a point to flip his hair, sparing Madeleine a glare when he noticed the blond placing a hand on Espresso’s shoulder, urging him to leave. 

Coward .

“—It’s not my fault you guys were careless enough to get exposed or whatever. I am just a messenger, passing the news about how our own captain is not only a cheating bastard but a manwhore ,”

And just like that, the tables erupted with noise. Laughter, fists hitting against the table hysterically, people moving their hands to their mouths in shock, some throwing their heads back entirely. A chorus of noise, a power-hungry crowd finally being fed. 

Madeleine could only tense and say nothing at all.

But Espresso is persistent. Forevermore, his own polar opposite, Espresso’s molars grind against each other and he takes a mindless step forward.

“Your attention-slut self has no room to talk--”

“Espresso,”

“You pathetic, feeble, leech. You fucking drunkard!” 

Some glares in pure distaste, some even in disgust. An unidentifiable voice called out from a neighboring table, “Yeah Maddie! Say something!” But nobody paid it any mind. Just one of the many freshmen who tried to get involved or stared in disbelief. 

Sudden, prompted conversation wracks through the cafeteria through whispers, rumors, and slight cheers. Adrenaline pumps in his ear and Espresso’s glasses fog ‘til his eyes are eclipsed by steam.

At last, Madeleine spoke. Barely a mumble, hushed and low, his gaze darted across the room. Nobody could really hear him, nobody besides Espresso who got the sentence right next to his ear. “ We need to go.”

As much as he wanted to stay, and as much as he wished Madeleine had said something else, Espresso nodded in silent agreement. “Whatever. We’re done here. I have more important work to be doing,”

Even as they turned to leave, and even though the silence of the cafeteria, Vampire had to throw one last remark.

“Is that work named Madeleine?!” Cupping his hands beside his mouth as if mocking a megaphone, attempting to project his voice, and grinning when Madeleine’s steps sped up.

Many laughed around them, though the reason was unsure. Yet Vampire kept a straight face, furrowing his brow in frustration. How dare he. How dare Espresso walk away without so much as a second glance, ignoring him entirely. 

Involuntarily, his molars gritted together, but he leaned back and smiled as if he had won.

---

Walking quickly, he couldn’t remember the last time his heart raced like this, the last time his blood pressure skyrocketed and steps even more so. Not since the party. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going, hell, he’d go anyway to avoid the mess he’d left behind.

He didn’t quite register where his feet were taking him as he desperately pushed the door open, not until he found himself inside the boy's bathroom. Pressing himself against the heavy door and heaving.

The stalls were dirtied and vandalized. Penises and profanities were engraved into the walls with pencil, and the locks barely worked. The lights were dim, flickering at times. Toilet paper all across the floors, but Madeleine only leaned back against the walls regardless, catching his breath with a hand over his mouth. 

He couldn’t possibly go back now.

-And yet, Espresso had defended him. The thought alone made his heart swell, biting his lip subconsciously behind his hand, and his knuckles turn pale. Oh, Divine save him.

"...Mads?" From behind cheap, hollow doors, Madeleine is alerted and perks up, ashamedly recognizing the voice immediately. He flushes crimson at the name. “Are you okay?”

Madeleine doesn’t respond. He is staring towards the tiled floors below him, pale lips twisting into a thin grimace as a large hand covers his mouth.

“I am sorry,”

Espresso slightly leans against the door between them, horribly conscious of what unworldly substance could be on it. 

Only then, does Madeleine speak up. “Sorry?”

“That wasn’t my fight. Those were your friends, your team, and I made a fool of you,” Espresso’s voice is strained, shoulders still tense as he remains ashamedly worked up. He knew better, he did, but he couldn’t help the undeniable anger that bubbled deep in his gut.

Only then did Madeleine emerge. 

Easing the door open with his forearm pressed against the cheap material of it, his expression solemn and sore. 

“I forgive you. I always will,”

I love you. - He left that part out.

Espresso has to back away and allow Madeleine room in the cramped capacity, not daring to face him or look him in those brilliant blue eyes. 

“Now you’re overdoing it,” Espresso scoffed and darted his gaze towards his flats instead. "Let's just go back to the field. There's still some time before lunch ends."

“Just-“ Madeleine moves his hands to cover his mouth as if he were contemplating or preparing to hurl, only his eyes visible. “Goodness, I am selfish.”

He felt guilty. For only caring about himself, for struggling to speak, Espresso had gone through so much more than him. He had no entitlement to sorrow. “I should have said something. Are you okay?”

"I'm fine. If anything, I found it funny,” Espresso only giggled at the concern, and even more so at the mental image. He looked up momentarily to catch Madeleine’s gaze, steady, careful, staring. Watching in visible awe, inspecting him for insincerity.

“Espresso- ?! ” Stepping forward bashfully, his footsteps heavy against the tiled floor, he cupped Espresso’s face with performative worry across his expression, one large palm to each side of the mage’s face. Lingering there on either side of his cheeks. “Something’s wrong with your face—“

Looking down at him, thin pale lips curled into a grin.

“You’re smiling. I didn’t know you could do that.”

Espresso quickly stuttered, pushing and pressing his flat palm against Madeleine’s chest to urge him away. “Not for you, dumbass,” 

But Madeleine’s persistent grasp never faltered, only peering closer, as if he were studying Espresso. “Goodness, your glasses are thick. Are you really that blind?” He almost laughed, though it was all fond and purely affectionate.

He used his thumb to swipe beneath his bottom lip, brows furrowing while he eyed Espresso’s features. “Your lips are chapped too. I have stuff in my bag for it, If you need,”

“I want none of it. I am your tutor, for god’s sake,” Espresso attempts to turn away and crosses his arms.

Madeleine only frowned, before reaching into his bulky pockets. “Nonsense. You’re my friend, too,”

One hand still braced against Espresso’s cheek, he pulled a miniature tube of chapstick, —pitiful and bland— with no hands left, he tore the cap off with his teeth. 

“You need to take care of yourself better,” Shifting to hold Espresso’s chin with his thumb and pointer, narrowing his eyes to apply the chapstick with expertise, he waited patiently for verbal consent.

“Do you have any idea how gay this looks? Christ.” Espresso chides, but his lips part regardless, and Madeleine smiles.

Hearty and genuine, Madeleine laughs. He tilts his head slightly and his gaze settles still. A smile persistent across his otherwise pale complexion, he bashfully looked Espresso up and down, not even bothering to hide or subtle his gaze. “Just imagine I am some pretty cheerleader,”

Espresso only groaned in distaste, merely allowing Madeleine to apply the shea butter chapstick along his lips with little hesitance. “Honestly? I’ve never been into that stuff,”

“Really?” Madeleine’s smile faded, even if just slightly, it was noticeable enough as fondness and curiosity lit in his otherwise wholly eyes.

(He was told ‘curiosity killed the cat’, but the cat had nine lives anyway.)

He huffed out a laugh, oblivious to his own words and allowing them to spill without thinking them over in the slightest. “What are you into, then?”

“What does it matter to you?” Espresso attempted to keep his lips as still as possible, eager to make this easier and get it over with. “They’re my preferences, not yours,”

“What, are you afraid? Surely it can’t be that weird,” With a final swipe on his bottom lip, Madeleine retracted his hand and capped the chapstick once more. 

“Do me a favor and shut up,” Espresso groaned and turned away, now that Madeleine’s persistent grip had faltered and left him. 

Suddenly, as Madeleine backed away, he felt cold. 

Dismissing it with a slight shake of his head, as if he were visibly dissipating the thought entirely-- Espresso moved to push the heavy door open with his bodyweight alone. 

“No thanks,”

Quickly jogging by his side, Madeleine’s gaze darted around the vacant halls momentarily, checking that nobody saw them. 

It hurt. A subconscious stinging guilt, perhaps even pain, to know he couldn’t be seen with Espresso in public, not without risking his reputation. He would’ve loved to walk beside him, to drape his arm around Espresso’s shoulder and pat his back like he would with his teammates, but he didn’t have that choice.

So he marched by Espresso’s side.

“Keep this up, and people might as well think we’re dating,” Espresso huffed. The only other noise besides his flats clicking against the slick tiled floor of the vacant hallway.

Madeleine only hummed in turn, his hands moving to dig into the pockets of his jacket only to remember he left it on the bleachers. Ugh . “Is it so wrong to be polite to my manliest-man-friend? They’re all at lunch anyway,”

"Whatever. Let's just go back outside." Espresso dismissed him entirely, slightly waving him off to open the large glass doors of the exit. "Besides, didn't you leave your football out there?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Patting Espresso’s back a bit harder than he should’ve, Madeleine only followed in suit. “There’s no need to be so uptight, my friend, it’s not like I am here to judge you. Even if you are into some pretty weird stuff,”

"Oh shut the fuck up ! ”

Cold air flooded the otherwise humid atmosphere as soon as Espresso (With much struggle.) hauled the doors open, tugging the frigid black handles and beckoning Madeleine to hurry up and follow.

Follow he did, with both hands folded neatly behind his back, he walks as if he owns the goddamn place with a constant persistent smile. 

Spotting his letterman jacket from the stands, Madeleine didn’t even bother to grab it, instead of going for the ball. Picking it up and squeezing it with enough force to dent, as if he were trying to impress, he tossed it to the bench. 

“Espresso! Did you see that?!” Yelling from the field, he pointed eagerly towards the ball that landed right beside the bench even from the field.

Espresso only rolled his eyes, approaching the familiar bleachers to set up his study. “No. I have no interest in your little games, remember?” 

Madeleine flips his hair, putting both hands above and behind his head as he holds a yellow ribbon between his teeth and smile, he hauls it into a ponytail. “Little-?!”

He stepped back into the massive greenfield, almost tripping. His tone loud and projected, simply to make himself somewhat audible. “This is little to you-?! Why, I’d say it’s quite average-sized!”

Choosing to ignore the oaf-- despite undeniably giggling --Espresso moves to pull a book from his satchel. The metal of the bleachers is cold, the breeze even more so, but he subsides it in favor of his pride. 

Clearly discontent, Madeleine moved to the bench. A comfortable distance, but he didn’t need to yell anymore. 

Leaning forward, his hands hung between his legs as he hunched over and huffed out, he seemed almost distant. Not truly there at all.

As if he were above the world entirely and cruelty of it, eyes wholly and dilated, far gone. His expression unreadable, fascinatingly so-- an unfamiliarity that made Espresso undeniably shudder. 

“Do you think I can go back?”

It wasn’t a question, he didn’t expect an answer, not when he already knew it. A pointless remark to get it off his mind, he stared forward. It was getting cold.

"To where?" 

Madeleine sighed out, after all, that’s all he could do. He had no other options. “I don’t know,”

Because a man wouldn’t cry.

A man wouldn’t falter and linger behind as he did.

A real man wouldn’t fall for his fucking tutor.

So he only stared forward, though the sight was bleak. The promise of winter through thin branches and wind, snow hadn’t yet made an appearance. Cold and empty. Devoid of life. “Maybe to how things were before, y’know? It’s…weird. Too much is changing.”

Setting his book down gently, Espresso leaned forward. “It happens, a lot. Naturally, everything will change, for the better or worse. I’ve changed, you’ve changed, maybe even Latte,”

He noticed a red leaf on the bleachers, picked It up, and moved beside Madeleine.

“--I quite like autumn, you know. Even the trees are changing, and it’s not entirely bad. Maybe you’ve simply yet to find a fond change,” 

“Goodness, you really do sound like an English teacher,” Madeleine cracks a smile, not that Espresso could see as he keeps his gaze fixated on the decaying grass below him. “I fear I can’t. The only change I’ve ever been fond of is, well, you .”

“You are a dolt,” Espresso laughs and hits him lightly in the small of his back, not quite taking him seriously. “And what could you possibly see in me?” 

Madeleine held his open palms up as if in surrender or defeat. Pale and large, his hands were warm even in the breeze of autumn, even his smile seemed warm as his cheeks ran rosy and his breaths became visible in the cold thin air. Little puffs of warm air from his wholly laugh. 

“Would you like a list?”

"I doubt if this list even exists," Espresso scoffs, but intrigue gets the better of him regardless. "Enlighten me."

Leaning forward, Madeleine picked a yellow weed from the grass, a dandelion. He spun it between his fingertips, humming. “You’re smart. Way smarter than anyone I’ve known. Plus, I guess I’ve always had a thing for dark magic,” 

Foolishly, he tucked the small flower behind his ear and entwined it with hair. “Your hair is quite pretty, even if it is gray. I am half-convinced your an old man or undercover cop,”

“You did not!” In visible disbelief, Espresso crossed his arms in performative anger.

“I am just saying, in case you are a cop, I’ve never done drugs in my life,” 

Madeleine even laughed at his own joke, leaning back on the bench casually. He seemed distant. As if he were reminiscing, something the fool didn’t seem capable of. “You know, I used to give the best advice on this bench. Never failed once,”

“Yeah right,” Espresso scoffs and huffs an uncooperative strand of hair from his face. “You? Advice? Like what?”

“Relationship advice,” 

Madeleine is smiling as if he were accomplished or proud of his metaphorical doing. Espresso narrows his eyes. “Go on?”

“All the time. You know Clover? Helped him get into an entire nerd-club just so he could get with some guy,”

Espresso stares-- and for Madeleine, it's so like him. So in character, it makes heat flood to Espresso’s cheeks as he remembers just who he’s talking to. He doesn’t quite know why. 

“God. Of course, you’d do that,” Turning away towards the distant brick school, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as a breeze wracks through the thin air, Espresso bites his lip. "Lunch is almost over. You have a test next week,”

"--I hope, for both of our sakes, that you pass,”

Madeleine, a bit confused as to what ‘Both our sakes’ meant, opted against verbal complaint. 

Cracking a smile as he hauled his varsity jacket over his shoulders and pushed one arm in, he left the other exposed lazily as he rose from the bench. “I hope I do too. Entirely for my sake though,” 

10:24 AM, Student Council Quarters

Espresso bites his tongue and narrows his eyes, adjusting his glasses in pursuit of a better view. He’s dissecting the poster laid before him with distaste, and looks up to Latte once more, who is seemingly enthusiastic. 

“Come on. It won’t take long,” 

They stand in the compacted room of the sacred meeting room of The Student Council. Latte could only invite Espresso in after hours of pleading for Pastry to allow it-- under specific conditions. 

Football season had ended with the arrival of winter, and after a, quote, ‘ great season’ the academy deemed it righteous to devote an event towards the overworked players. Naturally. 

Espresso was cursed with the displeasure of taping vast obnoxious posters for the display around campus, despite not being part of the council at all. One of the various requirements, he was inclined to help with their tedious and futile duties.

“I am not getting paid to,” Espresso crosses his arms and glares at the stack of colorful printed posters-- but complies. For Latte. “...Where does Pastry want these?”

Chapter Text

I cannot see. 

I feel something ethereal forcing me to go on,

Because it certainly is not me. 

I can hear, but I do not understand.

And that something ethereal has failed me,

Because I can still see, I see everything.

I do not forget, nor do I believe,

So I say nothing at all.

I hope I never see again.

I am blind by choice

I am blind, and I am aware.

My skin feels too tight.

It is constricting. Constraining. It defines me.

I want to pull and peel it apart. 

I have outgrown the bounds of this body. I am too much.

Perhaps that way I could be reborn, into something deserving of the air I so greedily steal.

Perhaps that way I could repair the shreds of my own ruin and weave them into something better. Something deserving. Something worthy.

My blood runs impure for I have sinned and the vulnerability of mortality haunts me at a constant. 

I see it all.

Act III

Chapter Text

7:02 PM, Parfaedia University

For once, the overcrowded and bustling school had thinned into silence. In the gym, various fold-up tables and chairs were carried in by football players and Chili, who made quite the display of themselves. An arrogant show, hauling the supplies, crates, and chairs by their shoulders, they laughed and hit each other playfully. 

Their voices alone echoed off the distant walls of the gym, as even footsteps could be heard. Most noticeably, Latte’s, as her heels clicked against the smooth floor excitedly. Lacking any rhythm, she was running.

She stopped a few times to greet those around her, offering a nod of acknowledgment and a dismissive wave. After all, she was running this show. 

“Es! Es, get your ass over here!” She waved excitedly, a paper in her hands.

"Christ, chill. I don’t want you tripping and dying on the spot," Espresso’s gaze instinctively darts around them, as her heels draw attention to the pair, he bites his lip as some noticeably turn to look at them.

“I know, I know. Just-“ Quickly, she extended her palm and showed him the paper-- clearly ecstatic.

 A sappy love letter, with only a few sentences around the lines of: “Meet me in the parking lot after the show,”. Though, most noticeably, a singular lipstick stain lay at the bottom of the letter. A particular player’s exact shade of pink.

“Take a look at this,” She grinned, looking over to give a thumbs up to someone lowering a table. “I am hot shit,”

Espresso wants to laugh, but decides against it for her sake. “Wow. You’re finally getting some,”

“Getting some-?!” Unable to mask her excitement, she smiled wholly. “I am getting pussy, Es! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for this?” 

The otherwise bleak slick walls are lined with holly and green tinsel, with students on latters hooking fragile ornaments by the artificial greens-- the cold draft of thin winter air wracks through whenever the doors push open.

There is a single hanging banner from the pillars beside the makeshift stage. Barely a few feet from the floor with a small staircase on either side, Eclair is accomodating the microphone and various chords that led up to its stand. 

Latte’s smile turns mischievous and silent plotting harbors beside it. From her pocket (Now that it was getting cold, she had to wear a large coat over her black dress. Not only did she act in control, but looked the part too.) she pulled out a herb of some kind. With a red ribbon tied by its ends and small white blooms from its tangled mass of leaves, she winks. 

“Don’t worry, I am not selfish,”

Silently praying it wasn’t some drug she scammed off of Herb, Espresso adjusts his glasses to lean forward slightly and inspect the tangled mass of leaves. 

A mistletoe.

“No way,” Espresso warns and takes cautious steps away. “No way in hell,”

“You’re no fun,” And yet, her smile never fades. “It’s not like it’ll affect you, anyway. Not unless you’ve been eyeing a certain…person?”

Folding the paper neatly as if it were a scripture of legend or artifact, she tucked it away with the utmost consideration. 

“--Blond? Tall? Loud as hell?”

"You forgot to add annoying and idiotic," Espresso corrected her matter-of-factly. "And my eyes are only to be on him to make sure he doesn’t fumble and kill himself,”

“Yeah, sure,” She grinned, though it didn’t last long. Before almost…solemn crossed her expression. Her smile faded and a frown took its place, as her eyes darted across the large gym.

“But—“ She dug into her pocket, and barely pulled out a few items, only visible to Espresso as she held them in her palm. Medicine. “—I know things are gonna be weird after what happened with…him, at the last party. If you feel sick or anything happens, you are going to call me, and I’ll be there in a heartbeat.”

“Nothing is going to happen, Latte. Swear,” Espresso crosses his arms, but a slight smile takes residence upon his usual sneer.

“That’s not what I am worried about,” Shoving them back in her pocket, she pulled out a small tube instead, as well as her phone. “I am worried about you hurling your guts on the floor while I am trying to hit it,”

Espresso rolls his eyes.

 “--This is big for me, and I want you to have fun too.” Opening the camera app and using it as a mirror, she uncoiled and twisted the cap of her lipstick, actively talking while she applied it without thought. “And that’s an order,”

“Fun? Here? I am just here because I have to be,” He watches as any sympathy she once held for him is dissipated, and her focus is fixated on the wand between her fingertips. 

She laughed. “Whatever. You’re just mad I am getting hoes,”

Shoving the wand back in its dark red tube, she wisped a strand of hair behind her ear and inspected her eyeliner, sneering when she noticed her mascara had smudged her bottom lash. 

Before her eyes flickered and she looked back to him. 

With her thumb and pointer finger, she held out the tube, smiling lopsidedly. “Want some?”

"Absolutely not,” Espresso’s shoulders tense in preformative dejection, and he steps back. 

“C‘mon,” Rolling the tube between her fingers, she held it between her pointer and middle, holding it up as if she were smoking it. As you do. “You’ll thank me later, plus, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Espresso cocks an eyebrow, prepared to list off each and every possible scenario, but cuts it short. "People will think I'm into that kind of stuff,”

Latte frowned, yet her hand never recoiled. “You mean people will think you’re gay,”

“That’s the fun of it, Es, serves those bigoted prudes right,” She talked shit on them with a sneer, before putting on a smile and giving a thumbs-up to one. Like a switch, her emotion changed almost humorously. “C’mon, it’ll be funny,”

Shaking her hand and nudging it forward, she urges Espresso to take it with a grin.

Eyes half-lidded, he looked over the small tube, contemplating. His arms fell limp by his side, and he turned to a miniature white chair. “Fine. But keep it subtle,”

Excitedly, she moved to a small box sat atop a cheap fold-up table. Her heels clicking against the floor, she cringed slightly. “Yeah, yeah, subtle,”

Taking and spilling its contents, she now held a singular brush, a small pallet (So small, it could only fit 5 shades. One of those portable Clinique pallets, with a thin roof she easily clicked open.) 

They had enough time, as nobody other than the players and few staff pooled in. The snacks and punch bowl is hauled in with cheers and high-fives, as students celebrate the arrival of chips. Latte rolled her eyes.

“Take off your glasses,”

As requested, Espresso gingerly removed his glasses without complaint, slightly squinting when the world became a blur. “Fuck. I can’t see a thing,”

Latte laughs, and twirls the brush in shades of dark browns, pearly pinks, and white. The top is decorated in flowers and pinks, with a solid white bottom. She mused with a smile. “This is the ‘Palette Yeux Et Joues, Edition Limitée,”

She pulled a much longer palette from the box. This one was red and metallic, with ‘CHERRY’ in thin font across its case. “Stay still, won’t you? I am not trying to hurt you,”

“Bullshit,” Espresso scoffs, but there’s a familiarity behind it as his eyes flicker shut by command. “--And light shades don’t suit me,”

“Well I know that much,” Crouching slightly, she yelled something over to a wandering player without even batting an eye. As if she were conscious of every moving being, she pointed to a table while carefully dabbing the first layer on in eased, short strokes. Starting with a neutral tone to mask the discoloration of his eyelids.

 She’d done this countless times before, even considering pricing her services as she often sat in the girl's bathroom or below the bleachers helping friends. 

“So, what’s his zodiac? Are you compatible?” She struck conversation casually. “This is vital, Es,”

"Compatible with who?" Espresso tries to remain completely deadpanned for Latte’s ease-- but his brow twitches in annoyance.

Looking up momentarily, narrowing her eyes as if to say ‘really?’ With her expression alone. She moved to get a darker shade to drag along the hood of his eyes and the crease where they met. “Your boy-toy, dumbass,”

"How should I know? I care about his grades, not his birthday," Espresso’s eyes screw shut a bit tighter, and Latte stills for a moment to allow him to relax. “And who made you honorary matchmaker?”

“I am just looking out for you. Just know I’ll have his head if he breaks your heart,” Latte laughed, but the raw seriousness in her throat and behind her words negate any humor about it. 

By a tied thread, a crystal twirled in twine and copper hung from her neck, as well as various rings and long dangling earrings that chimed when she tilted her head to get a better view of Espresso’s eye. The prep was done, it was finally time for the real pigment. 

“That’s Raisin’s thing anyway. You know she trained her crows to send love letters,”

Espresso scoffs, though he’s not surprised. Not much shocks him anymore. “You done yet? I knew you’d take a while, but I didn’t think it’d be this long,”

She gasped. “I didn’t raise you to be a sexist! This is just why I am getting pussy and you’re dry,”

Lightly punching his elbow, she backed up to snatch a much more pigmented palette. With deep crimsons and solid reds aflame, she tapped the tainted brush against its plastic exterior and watched the slight particles of dust shake off of it. 

“Why don’t you do me a favor and hang up that mistletoe later,”

Espresso looks to his flats, and toys with the cuff of his sleeve, sneering slightly. Not enough for Latte to comment on-- he knows better than that. "If you try to get me under it, I might as well burn it now,”

“—Not what I was implying,” She never wavered, simply smiling and continuing her work with expertise as if completely unfazed. She bit her lip in focus as her eyes narrowed to hone in on her work. “Though, it's certainly odd that’s the first thing your mind goes to,”

She smiled tauntingly, her tone light and airy as if it were all mindless humor.

“You’re one to talk,” Clipping back to mask his fluster, Espresso bites his tongue and his eyes shut once more. “You seriously think you’re getting… that, tonight,” 

“Jesus Christ, you can say fucked. No need to be all formal about it,” A short, mocking laugh escaped her. She poked at his cheek before rising and dusting her hands off. “--And I am not afraid to admit it, unlike you,”

She’d settled for something basic and easy, dark shades at the end crease of his eye where a wing would normally go, which descended into reds until dissipating entirely. 

“Do you want me to do the other?”

He brought a hand to run through his hair protectively, posture slackening. "No one's going to see it, there’s no point,”

Of course, Latte was curious, but she put herself above the likes of prying or forcing him into anything. Even as she mocked or teased him, she would never stoop that low as to expose something he seemingly hid so dearly.

“Look. I don’t care. It won’t make a difference to me, I just want you to get out there. Have fun, beat a jackass in the parking lot for all I care!” She braced a hand against his shoulder encouragingly. “And set it damn right. You’re not just ‘Maddie’s side piece’, you’re Espresso. My smartest, totally-not-crushing guy friend,”

“God, do they really call me that?” Espresso hides his face within his palms in embarrassment. Groaning into them, his voice is stifled behind his hands. “I haven’t exactly shown anyone else. Nobody except Madeleine,”

 “Wait, you showed Madeleine? And not me-?!” Latte’s smile fell, but curiosity and intrigue lit in her eyes. She crouched down mockingly to meet his sheltered gaze. “Oh my god. You really are crushing. You have to tell me everything,”

"It has nothing to do with crushing!" Espresso sputtered, “It’d only be fair. He told me his personal conflicts, it was only right I did the same,” He blatantly lied, and crossed his arms. 

Latte furrowed her brow. She figured that much, but it was still hard to wrap her head around. The idea that Madeleine-- the prestigious, loud, and giddy captain-- was hurt beyond the realm of popularity and rumor. She barely thought of him as human. 

“--I am not showing my face here, though.”

But she nodded regardless. “Okay. There’s a supply closet where some decorations are, I’ll just tell everyone I am helping you get them. Solid?”

“Yeah, solid, or whatever,” Espresso rises from his seat and dusts himself off, certainly a bit self-conscious with the unfamiliarity of makeup. “Just-- don’t be too shocked,”

 “Nothing shocks me anymore. Not since the Sparkling incident,” Setting her materials beside her on a white cheap table, she cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly intrigued. “Did you know he got caught making out with one of the guys in the gardening club? In the garden too!” 

Setting her supplies neatly atop each other and shutting the box she dropped them in, she brushed her hair from her face. 

“Oh, right.” Noticing the dormant dark red tube, she took it and extended her palm. Espresso bit his lip, but took it regardless.

Secluded in the empty halls of the academy, behind a wooden door and lock, lay the supply closet. Any previous chatter or noise settled into thin silence-- so much so, you could only hear the faint tapping of footsteps and distant conversation. 

Espresso waited patiently by the door as Latte pulled a chiming bundle of keys from her pocket. "Make sure no one is around. I don't want people thinking we're a couple with no self-control."

Espresso looks around cautiously, hyper-aware of any moving being as Latte shoves the keys inside the metal lock and eases the door open. It reeks of chemicals and cleaning substance, and the sudden stench almost knocks the wind out of Espresso.

“More people think we’re siblings. Plus, they already have their minds bent on the idea of you being Madeleine’s personal cum dump,” Latte scoffed and stepped inside, leaning against the walls with a leg propped up. “—Their words, not mine.” She quickly corrected herself, as if that made it any better.

Latte lacked any proper filter, as she pressed her back against the wall haphazardly and crossed her arms. Cocking an eyebrow, thoroughly charmed. 

He turned to face her, carefully discarding his glasses and folding them neatly. "You promise not to freak out?" 

“What? You think I am gonna start screaming? It can’t be that bad,” She waved her hand dismissively, now intrigued and urging him to get on with it already. “I am not scared of you, Es,”

She leans against the wall nonchalantly to mask her curiosity. Narrowing his eyes as her heart slowly picks up speed, now anticipating the worst. Surely, it can’t be that bad. Surely.

“Okay,” Biting his lip, he moves his hair from his eye with the utmost precaution, shoulders tense and posture strained. His blood pressure had lept, and he can hear his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Okay,”

--And with that, his right eye flickers open, and Latte is presented with the glowing red mass of it. 

It only took a moment to process what she was presented with, before her eyes went wide.

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Oh heavens! Are you cursed? Do you need treatment? I don’t know any healing spells but I can try-“

She assumed the worst. That perhaps this was new or a recent development, that something had happened beyond her careful guise. “If Madeleine has anything to do with this I’ll beat his ass, you hear me?!”

"Christ, calm down!" Espresso quickly hushed her and grabbed her shoulders to calm her down. "This happened back in middle school, nothing he could've done,”

“Middle-?! You’ve been- does it hurt?” She struggled to get a coherent question or sentence out, stumbling over her words in shock.

And yet, not in distaste or disgust, but in concern. Empathy in her eyes and caught in her throat, as her voice cracked and involuntarily projected against the walls of the supply closet.

"It doesn't hurt physically, just, permanent,” Espresso's gaze darts to the ground as he explains himself, backing away. Latte's eyes stay wide, brows furrowing once in empathy and now in confusion. "...Madeleine thinks it's beautiful."

Guilt, empathy, and finally, conflict battled across her expression. 

“Madeleine doesn’t deserve you.”

Her words are blunt and cut like glass, as shock plays the blood that drools from open wound. 

“He’s performative, haven’t you noticed? He’d do anything if someone would praise him for it,” Her tone is stern, and no longer does her voice crack. “He’s a good guy, but he won’t let himself be.”

Espresso steps back further. “You don't know him.”

“I don’t want you getting dragged down and hurt in the process.” She looked away. “I want you to be happy,  of course, I just don’t trust him yet,”

And perhaps she’s blinded by prejudice.

"You don’t know that. You don’t know him. He’s good to me, and I know him,”

“He’ll be nice to anyone. You’re not special to him, Es.”

(She had no idea quite how wrong she was.)

“He probably barely cares, he has more important things and people to do, like his popularity and which rumors to avoid next,”

(He would kill for him.)

“He’s probably laughing with his friends right now,”

(He would quit everything. Let go of the world and the cruelty of it, cut his friendships off like split ends, all in the pursuit to hold Espresso a night longer.)

“You aren’t..” she turned to face him at last, biting her bottom lip. This time, her voice was raw. “You aren’t actually falling for him, right?”

And not even Espresso can be sure. 

He looks to the ground. His heart is a stone in his chest, racing behind his ribs and only serving to weigh him down. His glasses fog. 

His arms wrap around himself, and blunt short nails dig into his own elbows. “Yeah, no, you’re right. It’s whatever,”

“Good. You know I am just looking out for you; I don’t want you getting dragged down with him,” 

Espresso can’t bring himself to meet her eyes. Whether it be fear or guilt, his blood is cold regardless, and an ethereal force is breathing down the crook of his neck. 

Shame. It was shame. 

Her heels tapped quickly against the tiled floor as she eased the door open with pure magic. “Come on,” And gestured him out, urging him to follow suit. 

He doesn’t look up. Unmoving, as if her words had yet to sink in, he remained unfazed. Latte sighed. 

She pulled out her phone to check the time, biting her lip in thought. Needing to leave, to attend to incoming guests and formally welcome everyone— as a proper hostess would, she looked up momentarily. 

“You gonna be okay?” Guilt had surely begun to sink in, though she was above vocalizing it and fracturing her facade. 

“I am fine. I just- I might stay. Here. For a while,” 

Stepping back, smoothing out her dress, her jewelry chiming with every slight action-- she smiles fondly. Satisfied. Deeming herself a good friend for her work, surely, she had prevented him from getting hurt.

In the long run, he’ll thank me. Surely. 

“That’s alright. I am just happy that you listened,” She appears content, and shrugs her coat from her shoulders, allowing it to pool down her barren arms. “-And that you…shared that with me. Your eye. I think it’s nice,” 

Espresso finally looks up to meet her, and it’s a familiarity. He’s been here. Hundreds of times before, surely, to be assured by her confidence in her own self and decision, perhaps she knew best. He smiles in turn-- and the familiarity is gone. 

“Thanks,”

He could fill a book-- no, a novel with each and everything he could’ve said. Pages of thanks and displays of appreciation, chapters of shut up alone, but he says nothing at all. 

He watches Latte leave him, her heels click against the slick floors and echo off the barren white walls, and leave him in his own self-pity. It is so cold. 

He needs to get away. To be blind, to escape the prying gaze and eyes of the disapproving. He needs to disappear, just for a moment. That's not running away.

Surely.

But this is okay. He is accustomed to this, and surely prefers his own company over those unforgiving. 

And yet, he pulls out his phone regardless. 

He hates his traitorous, overworked slender fingers that go to his contact by instinct. He hates his heart for beating twice as fast simply by reading his name in the dim light of his phone. -But most of all, he hates himself, for pressing call. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

He won’t pick up. He’s far too occupied with his visage of confidence and infinitely better friends. He’s far too busy for the likes of Espresso, his own tutor. 

Ring. Ring. Ring.

As the door shuts, and any outside clatter is shut out, he is cut from the world. Like a split end, he could hear the faintest laughing. They were laughing. Had they seen him? Mocking him for his escapism?

 Had they even noticed him at all? 

“Hello?”

Espresso looked back down to his phone in an instant. 

Madeleine picked up.

"Madeleine?" He asked by reflex, a slight chill racing up his spine. "Can you tell me where you are right now?"

“Huh-?” Madeleine seemed shocked simply to hear Espresso’s voice, even more so at the question. Espresso could hear the wind blowing past in his shitty mic. “Did we have a lesson tonight? I am actually at the uh, event the school is holding for us,”

“I'm here too. I didn't see you anywhere,” Espresso gritted his molars together, silently praying that Madeleine wasn’t lying to avoid him. Uncharacteristic and unlikely, especially from him, it wouldn’t stop Espresso’s throat from going dry. 

Madeleine laughed, deep and bellowing enough to make his mic cut out for a moment. “Really!” It was more of a remark rather than a question, not quite believing it.

“You? At a party? Oh, that’s great, Es!” He was quite clearly holding his phone far too close to his face, either that or he was truly that tone-deaf. “It’s nothing, I am just on the field— but you shouldn’t worry!”

“No,” Espresso bit his lip and rephrased when he realized how terribly controlling that sounded. “No, no, it’s fine. I am coming with you,”

Madeleine had begun to protest, but Espresso hung up before he could. Dreadful etiquette, Espresso surely knew better- but pushed open the closet door regardless. Eager to have an excuse to leave, and even more so to get outside, he pressed his body weight against the door until it eased open with hassle. 

(Perhaps he was eager to see Madeleine, too.)

8:12 PM, Parfaedia University

He sat high on bleachers, a useless attempt to shield himself from the world. Useless, as his figure was quite noticeable even from the distance-- he was practically glowing. 

“Mads?”

With the settling winter and unrelenting wind, Espresso shuddered, and shook his head. Small, short puffs of warm visible air emerged from bitten lips as he called out for Madeleine. 

Madeleine narrowed his eyes, moving his hand to his forehead as if to make a visor with them, he spotted Espresso in an instant. Far faster than he’d like to admit, he memorized the sight of him.

Waving obnoxiously from the bleachers, he grinned,  “Espresso! Espresso!”

There was something about Espresso’s name he simply adored. The way it rolled off his tongue as it belonged there, smooth and complicated enough- just as his enigmatic friend. He smiled at the thought. Espresso was his friend. And perhaps his prettiest, at that. 

"What are you doing out here?" Espresso moved to walk towards the bleachers with haste, brows furrowing in retaliation. He began to lose the warmth in his fingertips. "Isn't your team inside?"

“And since when did you go to parties?” Even as Espresso approached, he remained standing, his high and mighty posture never slackened for a moment. “Let’s not dwell while we’re here, Chéri,”

Muttering slightly as he climbed the ranks of the bleachers, holding onto the steel railing, stepping cautiously as if he were afraid of tripping. His curiosity, as per usual, got the best of him. "No, I...want to know why you're out here." 

Madeleine smiles in turn as if he truly thought nothing of it. “Just needed some fresh air,”

Espresso stands before his aisle, in front of the metallic row that Madeleine lazily sat on- for once, standing taller than Madeleine as he looked up and smiled dumbly at Espresso. 

You’re getting fucking played. 

Latte’s voice, her words, her expression, they play on repeat in the conscious abyss of his usually study-occupied mind. He wants to believe it, but Madeleine looks up at him, and his smile is far too wholly for insincerity to harbor behind it. 

It’s trusting. Madeleine trusts him.

…Perhaps he trusts Madeleine, too. 

“Why do you bother? With me?” 

It’s horribly abrupt, and perhaps even needy. He despises how it sounds and fears being clingy most of all. Utterly despises the way his voice cracks as if he were pleading for Madeleine to want him. A complete disregard and violation of his stoicism.

Espresso folds his arms, though it’s not in defiance, but in a useless attempt to warm himself. “I am sure there are hundreds of much more important people. But you choose me. Why?”

“Haven’t I told you?” Madeleine tilts his head slightly, confused, and still smiling. “I like you. Nerd,”

Without looking away or so much as blinking, Madeleine shifted to roll his jacket off his shoulders. Padded and large, he struggled a bit to shrug it off- and Espresso watches his every movement, fixated. 

"Whatever," Espresso clicked his tongue and scoffed to disguise the way heat raced to his cheeks, and even in the cold of winter, made him flush warm. “You’re just saying that.”

Warm. A subtle sensation, pooling deep in his stomach. An unfamiliarity, and not entirely unpleasant. 

“You know me better than that. Lying is a sin, and it’s quite the other way around,”

Espresso scoffs, as Madeleine’s holy visage never faltered, he can find the humor behind it. “How so?”

Madeleine mused, leaning back and humming slightly. “You always seem to detest my efforts-”

But he’s cut off as Espresso snorts. His shoulders rise and fall slowly, and he’s laughing. Madeleine smiles along, and it’s as if they’ve known each other for years. Friends for the ages. 

“-But! I am not a man to be outdone, and will gladly surpass every challenge you throw,” And with that, Madeleine holds out his jacket for Espresso to take, smiling lopsidedly.

Espresso shakes his head, his arms crossed to warm himself, he quickly declines. “I am fine,”

Madeleine furrowed his brow, giggling a bit behind a closed sober smile. He pats the empty seat beside him on the bleak metal bench. “Must you be so stubborn? If you truly believe me to be oh so important, allow me to prove myself,”

Espresso huffs, eyeing the spot. Without a word, he obliges-

And there is a gap between them.

They sit on opposing sides, smooth cold metal between them; Espresso leaves a gap between them. A door, thick and barren, and Espresso has locked it. Slamming the door shut, the hinges rattle, and it leaves a chilling silence in its wake. Echoing off nothing at all, there is nothing beyond friendship between them. 

Espresso has built a door between them. 

“Cold as ever, Es,” Laughing at his own joke, Madeleine’s mere presence seemed warm. “You act like a stiff breeze could knock you over,”

A hand settled on Espresso’s back, and leaned back casually, watching the sun fall from view. The air was so, so thin. Madeleine’s hair swayed with the breeze, but he paid it no mind, even if it got in his face and seeped through his vision. 

Out of seemingly nowhere, Madeleine began to speak, not that he ever stopped. “Do you truly hate me?”

Espresso looks away.

He doesn’t want to face him, well aware of the conscious wholly brilliant eyes that’d look back at him. He despised how Madeleine read him. Dissecting him like prey with nothing but fondness behind it. 

(Well, perhaps there was a bit more behind it. Endearment, want, need. Madeleine would never show it, but lust harbored just as prevalent.) 

“Only a bit less,” Espresso finally retorts, and Madeleine barks out a sharp laugh. “You are a nuisance. But you can be…alright,”

 Madeleine only hummed in turn. He remained collected, as if completely unfazed, even if his heart was racing. “Would you let me hold you?”

By instinct, Espresso’s heart pounds behind his ribs, but he’s deadpanned. 

“Nobody has to know. You do look quite cold,” leaning back, Madeleine spoke casually as if this were normal. As if Espresso were one of his teammates and not his (Slight.) obsession. He wouldn’t show how badly he wanted Espresso to say yes.

“And if I agree?” Espresso looks up to meet his eyes, and darts his gaze away just as quick. Madeleine is just as flush as him, entire face rosy. Even the tips of his ears are dusted pink, golden silk is tucked behind them. So pale, his fluster trails to his shoulder blades if Espresso allows himself to look.

Bashfully, Espresso does inch closer.

Madeleine laughed— and with their sudden closeness, his laugh was felt as it rumbled low through his chest. His shoulders rising and falling smoothly as he chuckles to nobody but himself, his hand instinctively dug beneath Espresso’s arm to settle on his waist and pull him close. 

Espresso allows him, and eases the door between them open. Slowly. 

He was, oh-- so cold, and it made Madeleine’s laughter fade. “Have you always been this small?”

"Shut up, goldilocks," Espresso visibly stiffened, conscious of his every calculated exhale. Madeleine notices his discomfort, moving to pull away, before Espresso stops him. “I am fine. Just- not used to having dudes by my hip,”

Madeleine raised a brow. “Is there something there too? Like with your eye?” 

The fool was completely oblivious. He thought nothing of it, as if it were natural; as if it were normal. He’d seen boys in the locker rooms do it plenty of times, he only assumed that’s what true friends were meant to do. Friends that weren’t acquainted for the sake of their reputation. Real friends.

“I am sure it’s just as beautiful,” Madeleine’s palms flatten and fingers spread to cover more ground. “I understand if you don’t trust me though,”

Espresso shudders, and his posture rises slightly. Shoulders tensing, he bites his lip. “Jesus. That’s so weird,”

All movement stopped immediately by command, but never let out. Firm, he stopped moving as his hand lay dormant and heavy on Espresso. As if he were scared of hurting him. “Are you hurt? Please don’t tell me it’s a magic thing,”

“Of course, it doesn’t hurt,” Espresso shifted slightly. “As if you could hurt me anyway. I am just… not used to this,”

“What?—“ Madeleine’s grip flexes as fingers press and dig slightly into his shirt. Tender. As if he were protecting Espresso, and his warm breath made it no better. “—like this?”

Espresso’s breath hitched, and he undeniably shudders, though he’d blame it on a particular breeze. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Madeleine mused as if this were a daily occurrence. He really did try to mask his racing heart. 

‘it’s just like a girl, it’s just like a girl,’ 

“Warming you up, am I not?” Madeleine tilted his head slightly. “Are you still cold? Do you need more?”

Espresso looked up to Madeleine in an instant. To study his expression, inspect for insincerity, eyes understandably wide. He cleared his throat and turned to his shoes when he was met with fluster and prevalent dimples.

Damn him. Damn him for being so maddeningly handsome. 

“You’re shivering.” Madeleine’s eyes are half-lidded, as he remarks mindlessly, furrowing his brow. Whether it be in frustration that not even he could exceed the simple task of warming his friend, or the fact Espresso was actively denying the good of his own health, he wasn’t quite sure.

Espresso sneers. “Well no shit,”

“—Like the vanilla orchids or primroses we have at home. They don’t grow around here, it’s a shame.” -But Madeleine continues on, his back pressed sleazily against the slick metal behind them, it’s odd from someone of his stature, as his voice no longer projects or taunts. It’s raw. “So pretty, too,”

“Really?” Espresso’s head tilts slightly, a single brow cocked, properly intrigued. 

“I always feel like they’re watching me,”

It’s an odd comfort. Far, far away from the hellfire of rumor and distress, of hate and crowding nausea. They sit and talk like none of it exists. 

Madeleine’s hand is warm, and each scar and scrape of peeling bruised skin only makes him more individual. Makes him irreplaceable. Nobody else would do this for him, Espresso was sure of it. Madeleine cared, surely. 

There is nothing between them-

-The door has burned. The fire and flame of his anxiety, it doesn’t exist with Madeleine.

"We should go inside. Latte is probably wondering where I am now." Espresso reminds him, and yet, is left with a pooling emptiness as Madeleine’s hand retracts. "I'm sure your friends are looking for you, too."

“Oh,” As if he were in a trance, he was snapped out of it just as quick. “Yeah, right.”

He began to rise from his seat, picking up his letterman jacket and not yet putting it on. “Come on, I know a shortcut,”

Espresso scoffs, “A shortcut? For what?”

“It’s quieter there, especially since students should be arriving now,” Madeleine makes slight hand gestures as he explains himself. “The band halls, y’know, where they kinda secluded it so you wouldn’t be able to hear their instruments from other classes,”

Again, he holds out the jacket. Beckoning and urging Espresso to swallow his pride and take it already. “-I don’t wanna get caught in the crowd too,”

“Really? I thought you were always fond of crowds,” Espresso eyes the jacket held before him with hesitance. Biting his lip slightly, he ran his gaze over every red stripe and number 4. It was padded and prisitne, well kept with the utmost consideration, and here it was- being offered to Espresso as if it weighed nothing at all. 

Mindlessly, Espresso takes it without a word and shoves his arms through the white bulky sleeves. It doesn’t quite fit, as it drapes slightly below his waist and consumes his hands entirely, Espresso fumbles to zip it up.

“Not when I am being pushed around,” He huffs out, staring towards the open empty fields, green and preserved. His life’s work on that field, he smiles, and turns to face Espresso—

—and, holy shit.

He really is obsessed.

 He could’ve sworn his heart skips a beat, and it’s increasingly hard to mask the undeniable heat that rushes to his cheeks and turns them rosy against his otherwise pale complexion. His smile falls, not to frown as they remain measly parted, fixated. 

That is his varsity jacket. His number sewn on the back. He wore that to each and every game, to the point of recognition; And now Espresso, his friend, is struggling to zip it up. 

How…cute.

-Before he clears his throat and pulls himself together.

“You are a giant,”

(Even if he is still staring.)

“A knight in shining armor, is more like it,”

“Then go on and show me this ‘shortcut’, knight,” 

Madeleine’s gaze lingers on the jacket for a minute longer, most particularly, the number plastered across the breast pocket. #4. His number, a number he wore with pride and confidence, a number Espresso now wore. His heart did a little twirl at the thought. “Right.”

One hand on the cold metal railings of the bleachers, he extends an open palm for Espresso. “Come on,”

"I don't exactly have hands anymore,” Espresso chides but takes it regardless, rolling up his sleeve simply to extend his hand in turn. "Don't make us trip,”

Madeleine takes the clothed hand in stride to the best of his ability, looking back at him, smiling, before promptly turning to jog down the steps— and it’s something from a movie.

Too cliche, too good to be true as his hair falls and sways in his wake. He holds Espresso the best he can and runs downs the tall bleak bleachers. One hand firm on the rails as he drags Espresso along with him on his joyride. Perhaps he’s an adrenaline junkie, or perhaps he truly enjoyed laughing and running down the steps with him until they met solid ground.

Madeleine never faltered for a moment. Still holding Espresso, he moved towards the lackluster brick building as he fled through cut fields and laughed. Occasionally, he’d turn around, still running, simply to get a good look at Espresso. Perhaps he deserved it.

Espresso struggled to keep up with him, naturally, and held his hair in place while yelling occasional scoldings. 

"Would you slow down?!" He gasped. He wasn't one to be running like this, or at all, and had begun to lose his breath.

There was a large fence that surrounded the field itself and blocked it off from the bleachers and now-vacant food stands. Madeleine hauled the metal gates open and smiled. “Would you keep up?”

"Shut-....up."

“I am alright,” Madeleine dismissed and pressed on, easing the gate open. Truth be told, he didn’t want to be there any longer than he had to be. It was eerie without anyone there. Without the distraction of a crowd bustling through to get to the stands or smoking beneath the bleachers, none of it existed— and with the cold winds and settling sun, it felt wrong.

The school was close now, close enough to tilt his head towards the side and signal for Espresso to join him, “It’s on the east side, just around that corner,” he pointed towards a dim and secluded rounded corner of the brick school. The academy looked even worse from this angle.

Espresso flexed his grip on Madeleine’s hand, an attempt to scold him and retaliate. “We are not running there,”

“You tire so easily. Perhaps that scowl is weighing you down,” Smiling fondly at his own joke, he didn’t so much as flinch when Espresso took hold of him. Looking down at the hand as if that too was a daily occurrence, he looked back to Espresso. “Isn’t this sudden? I’ve only been single for two weeks now,”

Just as quickly, Espresso retracted his hand in a cold sweat. "You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve, especially after groping my waist like we’re some gay couple. I am just trying to keep up, nothing of it,”

“Groping-?!” Now, he was laughing. As if he thought nothing of it. “It’s not my fault you can’t handle the cold; you and your fragility,” 

Espresso’s eyes narrow, but for his own defensive exterior, he says nothing at all. His heart rate hadn’t yet decreased. “Whatever. I am sure you’d use any chance to feel me up like that again,”

“Goodness, you make me sound like a brute,”

Closing the gate behind them carefully and jogging to meet Espresso by his side, he combed his hair away from his face. “Though, If you really needed me to-“

Espresso stops him in his tracks before the oaf can finish, walking in front of him with a dismissive wave, a bit more frantic than he would’ve liked. Espresso most certainly did not need to hear whatever he had in mind.

Where Madeleine had pointed, around a corner and into a shaded pocket of the campus, lay a door. Shut and bleak, large for instruments as a long cobble path led up to it. Madeleine quickly trailed behind, panting slightly-- nothing he couldn’t handle.

“I am just saying-“ Attempting to justify himself, he caught up to Espresso hastily with ease. “-As a knight in training, it is simply my duty! Nothing beyond it,”

Espresso eyes him with distrust, visibly unamused. “You need to work on that. You honestly just sound like you’re trying to get in my pants,”

Madeleine raised a brow. “To get what? I don’t want your pants,”

Espresso hauled the doors open to avoid Madeleine, and most certainly hide the way he flushed at the fool’s obliviousness. “Nevermind. Let’s just get back,”

“No need to grow defensive, Chéri—“ He moves inside like he owns the place, and his posture slackens as the warmth of the school settles in. “—I think it’s funny! Why would I ever want your teacher slacks?”

"I could ask you the same thing," Espresso asked, holding up the large sleeves of Madeleine's jacket. “You’re fuckin’ massive,”

“Not to worry!” Patting Espresso’s back (Harder than he should’ve.) he chuckled. “I get that a lot,”

Before he turned his back to trot down the halls as he belonged there- and, did he just wink?

“Oh my god,” Espresso huffs out, properly flustered, “Would you shut up about your dick?”

“Hey now!” Performative shock plastered across his face as if he didn’t expect that. Deceitful innocence behind those wholly eyes, he grinned. “I never insinuated anything, I can’t believe you’re thinking about that!”

He laughed a bit, breaking his innocent character.

"You’re the one bragging about it,”

“Really? No way you’re actually thinking about me,” Bashful and grinning, like the stereotypical jocks on his team, perhaps they were a bad influence. He batted his eyelashes and cupped his hands together, tilting them in a mockery. “Oh enigmatic, dull Espresso. Have I finally gotten to you?”

Espresso only pressed forward, walking in front of Madeleine as his eyes flicker shut to massage between his eyes in preformative disgust. Naturally, he comes to a sudden halt and bumps into a white brick wall.

"Ugh!" Espresso groaned, dusting himself off. "You're just a distraction,”

“So you admit my radiant blessings are distracting!” Padding his chest boastfully, he combed back his hair. “…are you okay?”

“I am fine,” Espresso shakes his head as if to dissipate his pain, adjusting his glasses and fixating them in place. 

Instinctively, Madeleine’s gaze darts around the vacant hall, before it stills and settles on the gaping arched end. “It should be that way,”

-And he holds out a hand for Espresso.

Espresso scoffs and crosses his arms. “You’d find any excuse to touch me, huh?”

“Forgive me, I just assumed you’d want to,“ His hand retracted and rested on his own hip, as once more, his gaze scanned the halls. 

Espresso decidedly didn’t respond, perhaps for the sake of his dignity or to ensure that Madeleine didn’t utter any more raw nonsense. 

“Come on,” Tilting his head to gesture towards the end of the hall, Madeleine’s eyes narrow and fixate on Espresso’s face, and he abruptly is stopped in his tracks.

Espresso cocks an eyebrow, lips measly parted, already huffing out in annoyed anticipation. “Dear gods, what is it?”

Like a switch, Madeleine’s smile returned as if it had been there since birth, bashful as ever. Without the dark of the sunset, it was increasingly easy to study and inspect Espresso’s features. 

“Es! I didn’t know you wore makeup,” Approving haughty to examine him better, Madeleine struggled to get a solid look with their height difference. Mindlessly, he moved to hold Espresso’s chin up and look his eye over. “You’re really good with it,”

Espresso’s eyes go wide, and his palms sweat and shake. He stills himself, and looks away. "Latte wouldn't leave me alone,”

“Y’know I was never able to keep it on, it’d always smudge,” Paying no mind to Espresso, he rambled on as he usually did. He tilted Espresso's face by his chin to get a better look, thoroughly inspecting him with nothing but admiration behind those brilliant eyes. “I wonder if your glasses help,”

Before his eyes visibly fell south, and he finally stopped talking.

Silence was a rarity from the conceited specimen of man, he always seemed to have something to say, and deemed himself important enough to be vocalized. It was a horribly uncomfortable shift, as if something had disturbed a natural order, and left them in thin silence. 

"What are you staring at?" Espresso frowns, and narrows his eyes. 

Lips parting measly, pupils lingering and dilating in real time, he responds without even looking away. “Oh— it’s nothing. Your uh, lipstick just smudged,”

Before moving his thumb to swipe the metaphorical smear, eyes flickering back to meet Espresso’s own, Madeleine cracks a grin. “No homo or anything, but you’re really pretty like this,”

“No homo, but that’s pretty gay,”

Madeleine laughs, and silently, Espresso joins him in turn.

“I never thought you’d be into this type of stuff,” A smile, and Madeleine’s joking demeanor returned. “I like it. Not that you’re already fine on your own,”

(Really fine. But he left that part out.)

"I'm not," Espresso defended, insistent and stubborn, even if he was smiling. "Latte just insisted. Not much I could do about it,”

“Latte seems cool, though, I always have the feeling she’s after my head,” Madeleine’s thumb finally retreated and left Espresso’s lips. “Then again, who wouldn’t be,” And just like that, his conceited humor— a very unwelcome guest —made its grand appearance once more.

Espresso turned away and backed up slightly. "I don't see anyone wanting a piece of you,"

“Because a ‘piece’ is an understatement,” He eyed Espresso with his iconic and recognizable grin. “Go big or go home, Espresso,” and he laughed at his own joke.

“Christ,” Espresso cringes and crosses his arms. “Are you always like this?” 

“Like what?” Madeleine tilts his head mockingly, and grins. 

“You act like we're together or something,” Espresso's lips part in a visible scowl, but his molars remain pressed against each other. “And for the record, you're not my type,”

“Really?” Madeleine cocks an eyebrow as if he were intrigued. “I thought you didn’t have a type,”

“I just said that so you'd get off my dick,” Espresso flushes slightly at his own rare miscalculation, and Madeleine flinches at the wording. “I've only ever found a teacher of ours to be-- attractive, I guess. But again, I have no interest in such distractions,”

Intrigue, mockery, and genuine curiosity somehow harbored Madeleine's expression. His smile only grew, his gums visible and his dimples creasing his pale cheeks. “Well now you have to tell,”

“I don't have to do anything for you, knight,” Espresso retorts by instinct, eyes narrowing, brows furrowing. Madeleine's interest in his own type caught Espresso off guard. “My preferences are my own business,”

Madeleine laughs at his formality. 

“I am not ashamed of mine,” Smiling slyly, warding off a giggle as if he’d thought over the greatest joke known to man, Madeleine folded his hands neatly behind his own back. “Brunette, blind, know-it-all,”

Espresso’s jaw slackens in offense, and he clips back just as quick. “I am not blind. I can see perfectly fine,” 

“You sure?” Poking the bridge of Espresso’s glasses and pushing them upwards, Madeleine tilted his head slightly. “Look up, then.”

Espresso stares at him for a moment, thoroughly confused and almost a bit fearful, but obliges when Madeleine didn’t elaborate. It is a blur above him, swaying slightly by a thread, hung by the stained ceiling tiles above them. He squints, and cannot quite dissect its individual shape.

“What is that? It looks tacky,”

“Try this one-” Madeleine chuckled a bit, masking the way his heart raced for ever pointing it out. “Green, leaves, and bow,”

Oh.

Oh.

Espresso does not need to adjust his glasses, he has no use for them now-- he knows exactly what he’s staring at.

A mistletoe. Latte’s mistletoe.

“No way in hell,” Espresso is quick to dismiss the idea entirely. 

Madeleine barks out a quick, haughty laugh. “But if you want— and only if you want —it could be good practice,”

Espresso swears his heart skips a beat. This isn’t real. This couldn’t possibly be happening to him, and perhaps, he didn’t deserve this.

Madeleine spoke as if he thought nothing of it at all. “I mean, it’s just a kiss,”

And it was disheartening to hear. To know he was above it entirely, to think of the nameless people he’d done this to; to know that it truly was just a kiss.

With nothing behind it, a daily occurrence or perhaps a hobby. A meaningless gesture to be forgotten, one Madeleine was well versed in. Espresso swallows back, and finds the act straining. 

How humiliating.

Espresso speaks cautiously, as if he is afraid of his own voice, not quite trusting his own volume. “What’s it like..?”

Madeleine tilts his head slightly in visible confusion, urging Espresso to go on with a measly “Hm?”

Espresso steals a breath from the world, and perhaps he is undeserving of it. “Being gay. Kissing dudes, what’s it like?”

Madeleine’s eyes widen, certainly startled, and even snorts out a laugh. As if Espresso wasn’t flustered enough, he punches Madeleine’s shoulders in retaliation, urging him to just ‘Answer the damn question!’

“I wouldn’t know,” Madeleine’s reply is smooth, not a crack in his voice, his tone is unfaltering and the rasp of his throat does not exist. It is endearing- embarrassingly so. “I’ve never… kissed a man,”

It does very little, but eases Espresso’s racing heartbeat, if only slightly. "Then this is… this is just practice. For both of us," 

Madeleine blinks. Espresso has to stand on his toes to face Madeleine, and the taller quickly realizes how serious he is. 

“Just practice,” he agreed and nodded. “Imagine I am that hot teacher or whatever,”

Hesitantly, he braced a hand against Espresso’s back. 

Madeleine desperately looked for approval or discomfort in his expression, biting his lip in anticipation, not entirely convinced that this was real and not one of those exasperating dreams-- where he’d wake up disappointed and most certainly damp. 

"I’ve met hotter,” Espresso scoffs, making sure of it that Madeleine didn’t think he was above him. “This is my uh, my first. Tell me if I do something wrong,”

Madeleine’s heart skips a beat, and he breaks a sweat. 

Oh god. Oh Divine, save him. 

His first. He was taking Espresso’s first, with his own jacket draped around his shoulders. Espresso trusted him enough to offer his first- what Madeleine interpreted as the deepest form of intimacy, he really is obsessed. 

Had he been any lesser man, Madeleine could’ve taken him right there, but he subsides the urge- no, the need for him in favor of the opportunity. He’ll take it slow. He’ll be good, for Espresso. 

“Goodness, that’s pure,” Smiling, not an ounce of mockery behind his words, Madeleine’s words are breathless. A whisper, the promise of volume not quite there, the words barely leaving his measly parted pale lips. He could hear every time Madeleine’s tongue met the roof of his mouth, his words smooth and assured. “That’s the point, practice makes perfect- or something like that,”

When Espresso didn’t shoo him away, he took it as permission to wrap his other arm around Espresso and rest on the back of his waist. He lingered there for a moment, only wishing he could be there forever, his gaze low and focused on his lips, it made his heart race.

Espresso could study every fracture and flaw in that pale visage, and huffed out when he found none. Full pale eyebrows that furrowed in hesitance, thin pale lips bitten in anxiety-- his jaw is sharp and oblong, his nose strong with sporadic light freckles. A flawless, perfect specimen of man, and truly blessed by The Divine. Not the worst first kiss- and Espresso almost snorts at the thought. 

They are polar opposites. In display and feature, as Madeleine’s gaze particularly lingers on Espresso’s plump lip. He was made for me, Madeleine couldn’t help but think. 

It is obsessive and possessive, and quite possibly the last thing he’d ever anticipate to think about his tutor, but he is not too bothered with upholding his purity any longer.

None of it exists. Not with Espresso.

Espresso swears he watches a bead of cold sweat race down Madeleine’s cheek, and it makes Espresso wish he could shudder. He had no right to be nervous.

Espresso holds his breath subconsciously, and the silence is suffocating. He is afraid he may combust if he takes another breath. Madeleine is, oh so close, and Espresso’s eyes shut as he urges Madeleine to ‘get on with it.’

Smiling at his hesitance, Madeleine took it upon himself to shamelessly take initiative. Having to tilt his head slightly just to meet Espresso, he pressed his barely parted lips against Espresso’s in a tender, sober, slow intimacy. It starts gentle and afraid, after all, it is just a kiss. 

Madeleine attempts to hide his distress by pulling Espresso closer, a useless attempt to appear collected and as if he himself had ever been with a man. 

Espresso had been everything he’d dreamt of. The object of his fantasy, and he could taste the bitter coffee on his lips— and like a parched man, he savored it all.

Visibly tensing, Espresso is persistently still, for his own dignity or perhaps insecurity. He’s not quite sure of anything right now, and he even feels light-headed from adrenaline.

Madeleine moved with expertise, guiding Espresso’s hand to his chest in attempts to steady him. He allowed himself the mindless debauchery, he allowed himself self-indulgence for the moment, after all, hadn’t he deserved it?

Madeleine didn’t even seem fazed, if not for the violent crimson across his otherwise pale exterior, he would’ve looked completely collected- Had he not parted his lips and trace his tongue along the smooth dark skin of Espresso’s bottom lip. 

Espresso pulls away in surprise, but does not say a word, panting.

Steadily breathing with that of experience, Madeleine’s words came out of that a whisper,  “How are you holding up?”

“...What was that?” Espresso fingertips move to grace his bottom lip, eyes wide, most certainly flush. His hand is shaking. 

“Oh, right.” Turning away in utter embarrassment, Madeleine bit his lip before turning back. “…did you like it?”

A plea. A silent plea for Espresso to want him, a silent needy plea for more. He hated feeling needy, hated the subconscious and undeniable want for Espresso that infested and corrupted his heart, but he couldn’t help it.

He had been drowning in the pools of his admiration for his own damn tutor, and now, his head was underwater. There was truly no saving him now, utterly, properly ruined. He cursed himself for wanting that lipstick against his throat.

"I...think. I think I did." Espresso admitted against his better judgment. “What was that… thing you did?”

At first, Madeleine thought he was being taunted or mocked into responding or explaining himself, and was left shocked when he was met with genuine confusion.

It was odd. For him, it had been natural instinct only expected from him, the only thing she wanted from him. It was an odd shift, and he felt almost guilty for wanting this from someone so seemingly clueless.

“Ah, it’s a bit hard to explain,” If he weren’t still actively holding Espresso, he would’ve covered his face with his palms in pure utter fluster. “I can uh, demonstrate, if you want,”

Espresso looks up at him, swallows, and allows his eyes to flicker shut. “Enlighten me,”

“Right,” Nodding slightly, fully processing Espresso’s words, he bit his lip. “Treat this like a twisted study session, then,” -and he swears he hears Espresso breathe out a laugh. 

Before inching himself closer and breathing out one final remark. “It’s just practice,”

It sounds like he’s almost allaying himself, and for a moment, perhaps he is— but that’s quickly stifled and subsided as he once more presses his pale thin (Well-kept, mind you.) lips against Espresso’s. 

He spared no time. As his mouth opens slightly, lips parting measly as if that an open invitation, allowing his tongue to slip out and enticing Espresso to follow suit. The tip is wet and needy, and he’s far more breathless than he should be or what could be considered just ‘practice’. But he can only hope Espresso doesn’t notice.

Not knowing what to do, Espresso keeps his own tongue still, but he allows his lips to part and for Madeleine’s tongue to do as he pleases. His eyes screw shut, and Espresso might just faint. Butterflies erupt in his gut and make his stomach turn, adrenaline pumps through his veins in all the best ways possible, and it is exhilarating. 

Madeleine takes him in stride. Slow, eased movements to calm or allow him to adjust. To ease and guide him through it as his tongue searches, lines, and traces whatever he can reach. He can taste the bitterness on Espresso’s tongue as it brushes against his own, and Madeleine uses everything in his power not to press up against it. He wants to be good. To be perfect and to keep it professional, after all, is that not what Espresso would want?

He is— oh, so crimson. Flushed and breathless, he’s persistent in his ability. The kiss grows firm. As his lips press against Espresso’s, appreciative of his compliance, he can feel the vibrations of each and every noise that leaves him. He can feel Espresso’s heartbeat, he can feel his hesitance, and he can feel himself—

Oh. He shouldn’t be enjoying this that much.

Espresso had allowed himself to relax. To succumb and indulge himself in the pleasurable heat Madeleine provided. He grips the silk hair behind Madeleine’s head and drapes his other arm around his pale neck, pressing up against him in the pursuit of more. 

“Mmm,”

Oh, this is so much more than a kiss.

Madeleine pulls away momentarily at that, eyes a bit wide in shock. By now his lips are sore and most definitely stained and tinted red, but he appears oblivious. His eyes are blown-out, dilated, and flushed, he struggles to form a coherent sentence as his chest heaves and rises with his every heavy breath. “You like that..?”

Espresso does not trust himself to speak, and for once, his mouth is hung open stealing needy breaths from the world, now without shame. His jaw is slack and his skin is aflame, every touch is a spark and he is burning. 

Burning. Bleeding. All with affection and a need for more. 

"I’d like it if you did that again,” 

Madeleine nods, and leans south, beckoning Espresso to hold him tighter as a whisper falls from those sore needy lips. “No homo,”

He’s a wall of a man. Unyielding, refusing to back down or falter, as his mouth opens with an assurance he didn’t even know he was capable of. He couldn’t get enough. He has to tilt his head to meet Espresso’s lips without strain, and perhaps he is nothing but a greedy spoiled captain-- getting his way yet again. 

Of course, he expected Espresso to be good, and he’d admittedly thought about it more than he’d like to admit, but he never would’ve expected this— let alone declare himself worthy of it. Driven by the subconscious need for so much more, his eyes flicker shut and he allows instinct to follow suit.

Every now and then, Espresso has to pull away for a breath, before returning and stealing Madeleine’s. He can feel the taller’s heartbeat, racing behind his ribs and the plump flesh of his breast that Espresso presses himself up against. 

"Fuck it. I'm all homo." -and Espresso pulls Madeleine to his level in favor of catching him off guard and reciprocating. 

Madeleine’s breath hitches. The hands on Espresso’s back strain. He stills for a moment, shock crossing and wracking through him before only furrowing his brow and following. If Espresso wants this, he’d happily oblige. If Espresso wanted anything from him, he’d follow

He was sick and would do anything for him.

He revels as Espresso pulls him down by his hair, he throws in everything he knows, all for Espresso. He tilts his head for depth, he presses firm for pressure, and his knightly stamina is to be envied. As his tongue presses up to the embrace and welcomes Espresso eagerly- fuck, he breaks a sweat and his hair clings to his jaw without the assistance of a helpful blue ribbon. 

He’s slow as to not overuse his tongue, for he knows better than that, but Espresso’s sudden intrusion makes it difficult.

So, so difficult.

Espresso pulls away and pants heavily, but Madeleine remains still, his chest heaving as he sucks in frantic breaths. He is a bit shocked when Espresso breaks their cycle and does not return, instead, he remains still. 

Espresso clears his throat. "I-I think we should stop. We've both been gone for quite a while." 

He unzipped Madeleine's jacket and shrugs it off his shoulders with much hassle, backing up a bit and leaving a comfortable distance between them. "You should probably wipe your mouth."

“A-Ah. Right.” Stunned, as if he were dazed or dragged back to reality from wherever he was, he quickly looked down to take the cloth. He would’ve objected, would’ve loved to insist he keep it and revel in the stares it wrung— but the dark stains and even a trail of saliva drooling down the corner of his mouth made him decide against it. “You’re uh, you’re good. For a beginner.”

"Thanks," Straightening and adjusting his clothes, Espresso cleared his throat and wiped his mouth in turn. Adjusting his glasses to mask the furious and visible fluster across his usual deadpan. “You’re not entirely awful,”

“Forgive me, I don’t have notes or anything for you to take,” Madeleine’s hold never let out, as he stood and held Espresso before retracting one hand to clean and fix himself. “That is… certainly different than a girl,”

Espresso scoffed, but his smile has faded, and he bites his lip. 

He cannot help the wave of guilt that wracks through him, that infests his mind, that consumes him. It is a constant, pestering thought that never leaves him, and he is not entirely sure when it made its bold dreaded appearance-- but it is prevalent. And it is there.

He could ruin Madeleine. 

His reputation, his friendships, this night alone could wreck him. Espresso could ruin him, and surely, Espresso has hurt him. 

“I am sorry,” He turns away, in raw, utter shame. He cannot bring himself to face Madeleine. “This never happened,”

By now, any residue of their ‘study’ had been dissipated and wiped from existence, and it was almost bittersweet. Madeleine wanted to remember this. For as long as he lived, and especially on those dim debauched nights, where he found himself alone.

“What?”

“We won’t talk about this. Ever. I was never here, I was never with you,” Espresso steps away until his back is pressed against the blunt brick wall of the school. His arms cross, and he stares away. Madeleine is still, unsure of what to do at all, so he stands with visible painful concern across his usually conceited visage. “We never kissed,”

“Espresso, I-”

"Come on. Your friends are probably waiting for you,”

His words are harsh- no, sharp. Like glass, and Madeleine swears his heart has been speared on the pointed tip of Cupid’s arrow.

The willing victim to heartbreak. 

As if on cue, a bumbling large figure rounds the corner and runs down the halls. Yelling some incoherent and waving bashfully, as he gets closer the words “MADDY! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!” Make themselves apparent.

Yam.

Coming to a halt, Yam appeared perplexed. Staring, eyebrows furrowing as he looked from Madeleine, then to Espresso, then back to Madeleine. Quite clearly in a rush, breaking a sweat with something seemingly important to say, his words came out a dumb echoing mumble. “What the fuck are you guys doing…?” 

"We were just on our way out.” Espresso upholds a constant deadpan, unamused as he is unbothered. 

Madeleine is his own polar opposite. Properly flush, jaw still slack, a visible cold sweat runs down his neck. Espresso can only hope Yam does not notice, and decidedly does not elbow Madeleine in a silent reminder.

Obviously dejected that Espresso responded instead of Madeleine, Yam huffed out and crossed his arms, but replied regardless. “Yeah, that event you came here for? It’s now. Raspberry is getting real pissed and gonna beat my ass if Maddy doesn’t make it soon,”

“What?” Espresso turns to face Madeleine, and turns back to Yam when his traitorous eyes subconsciously trail back down to the taller’s lips. “Was something planned?” 

“You didn’t know?!” Far louder than he should’ve been, Yam’s voice echoed off the halls as he made vast and wide hand gestures. “The prom! The prom, Maddy! That thing in a few months? They're announcing it here and want the whole team to be there for it!”

Espresso’s eyes go wide, so he adjusts his glasses in turn. “The prom? Isn’t it a bit early?”

Yam only rolled his eyes as if it were common knowledge. “Yeah, but the student council pricks wanna make a big deal out of it,”

“Isn’t your boyfriend on the student council?” Espresso cocks an eyebrow, though he’s reaching for an upper hand. 

Promptly flinching, the rasp in Yam’s throat is prevalent as his voice strains. An overzealous man, even more so in his expression, he flushed rosy. “The hell? I ain’t no queer,”

“Whatever,” Without sparing him so much as a glance (And avoiding Madeleine even more so.), Espresso turns to take his leave.

“Yeah, yeah. Walk away, pussy,” Yam spat, grinning when Espresso ignored him and only continued down the hall, faintly playing music and the audible clicks of his flats against the tiled floors provided the only ambiance. Yam turns to face Madeleine with a hand on his hip. “I don’t know what you see in him,”

Chapter Text

9:02 PM

The gym is bustling with a constant irritating chatter, of gossip, and of rumor. Whatever event had clearly started, as students came through the open doors and allowed the thin breeze in. Laughing, yelling, waving, as if every worry and crisis had been put aside in favor of a good time.

"For the love of God," A grimace and mumble, Espresso could already feel an anticipated headache materialize. 

A single fold-up table. White with black stands barely holding it up, a large bowl of punch with a black plastic spoon leaning at its rim. Around the table stood a familiar crowd, holding red solo cups and clinking them together in a mockery of a toast— making sure to laugh right afterward as if it were the funniest action to exist. 

Espresso approaches the table with haste and urgency, walking with purpose and nothing more than the goal of a Coke to ease his mind and level the hell out. His heart hadn’t stopped racing, and if his eye flickered shut for too long, he could still feel Madeleine’s breath against him. 

It made him hot . 

None of the brutes seemed to notice him. At least, not until Vampire turned to face him. He seemed oddly on-edge, and his posture slackened when he laid eyes on Espresso, promptly waving him over.

It took a moment of Espresso silently pointing to himself with distrust, and Vampire nodding to confirm that, shit, he’s waving for me.

Espresso remains still. He considers following him, but isn’t given the time to decide against it before Vampire is striding toward him. If Espresso pays attention, he isn’t walking straight. 

“ Heey , my brother, my dude,” He begins sleazy as always, dragging out the titles to appear harmless. Nobody seemed to bat an eye, as if, for once Vampire had been excluded from the conversation-- and subsequently turned to Espresso for entertainment. 

“I gotta know. Yam just ran around yelling about you and big M doing weed in the band halls, what’s going on?”

"Do I smell like weed to you?” Visible disbelief crosses him, and his glasses begin to fog slightly. “Where is he? He has some damn nerve-”

“Woah there! Chill, dude. I dunno if he meant weed, he just kinda mentioned some tied leaves between you guys or whatever. Nobody really understands him,” Holding out a hand as if he expected that to ease Espresso, Vampire defended himself frantically. “Plus, he’s backstage anyway. I’ve tried going back there— they won’t let me,”

Espresso’s expression softens and falls, but his posture never slackens and his jaw remains clenched.

“-But that still doesn’t answer me. Don’t tell me you hooked up in the band halls,” Grinning as always, Vampire’s posture was slouched and unruly. His split ends were sporadic, and quite obviously dyed bright red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Espresso is almost impressed with himself for his unwavering, formal response. Clearly dejected and denying it entirely. “Why? Did you need something?”

A few eyes were on them now, and Vampire reveled in it. Desperate and eager for attention, he leaned against one of his (Much taller and sober) buddies, and cracked a smile.

“Nah man, just wanna know if you recorded that shit,”

Much to his pleasure, that remark alone earned him laughs and shocked remarks, some even offering a price for said metaphorical video. He basked in it all, clearly forgetting any solid conversation he had with Espresso as he faced the laughing crowd like he was worthy of the spotlight and the attention it provided him.

“Funny,” A simple, short remark accompanied by faint slow clapping, and Espresso’s hair floats slightly above his shoulders and his heels rise inches from the ground with raw angered magic. 

Vampire’s smile was persistent, though he failed to mask the way his eyes darted across the room, never settling on Espresso. They were bloodshot. 

“Hey now— let’s not get uh, feisty,” Backing up a bit, he stumbled without the support of Werewolf to lean on. Who only stared, almost disappointed. “It’s just a joke, freak-eye, you should try it sometime,”

"Sure. Maybe I will,” Now visibly taller than Vampire, Espresso’s glasses fog. “It’s funny how you’re so visibly shit-faced, that if anyone- metaphorically, of course -were to snitch, you’d probably get expelled,”

“Think you missed the point freakface, jokes are meant to be funny,” Previous conversation seemed to thin, and Vampire began to break a sweat. “Like how you’re getting fucking used. Just another supporter in big M’s roster. Nothing but another hole to fill— literally!”

He waits for someone, anyone to laugh, and his smile turns sheepish when nobody does. “Hah-… yeah, it's real funny. Stay in your lane, go blow another player or play magic tricks,”

“What magic?” Espresso tilts his head mockingly, and dark magic materializes between the gaps of his fingertips and emit dark steam. Though he’s careful as to not set off any fire alarms-- with experience, of course. 

“Hey now—!” Certainly startled, Vampire braced a hand against the cheap fold-up table, pressing his entire body weight against it as his hands lean against its hem. He’s desperate for any purchase, anything to support himself with—

And the table collapses, the full bowl of punch with it.

Its contents spill and drool along the floor, without cracks to seep into, the red artificial punch is splattered all along the slick floors of the gym. 

Gasps, taunts, and even some snickering, students back away from the mess-- some even pull out their phones.

“Are you okay?”

Vampire only backs away, scrambling to his feet, eager to leave and push the responsibility of his fault onto someone else. Anybody else. It didn’t matter who, as long as he left innocent.

“You—! You and your- your- dark magic!” Fumbling to find an excuse, his gaze darts across the room, and for once he hates every eye on him. He began to back away towards the exit. “You fucking freakface!”

Any attempt of compassion was lost on him.

Espresso’s magic dissipates, his heels return to the ground with an audible bound, and he waves his hand slightly to pull napkins from another table with raw magic-- a party trick at best, and perhaps he was truly just trying to impress.

The once active crowd around the table had thinned. As some cautiously stepped back from the mess, some left entirely, and those who remained only looked down at Espresso with distaste. With the flick of his wrist, he moves to clean the spill himself, decidedly playing the ‘bigger person’ despite every fiber of his being screaming to knock this kid out. 

Pastry was quick to run over, as always. Her flats clashed against the smooth glazed gym floor, she had to lift her long white skirt (which went down to her ankles and was a hassle to work in. But her purity was worth it.) just to make her way across the gym. Pointing accusing fingers at the smaller crowd and yelling— quickly calling for Adventurer to ‘ Get over here and make yourself useful!’

Most particularly, she seemed to glare down Vampire, not even offering Espresso a glance, far too occupied with making sure her voice projected off the walls and made its way into the dimwit’s skull.

The crowd began to dissipate with bored expressions and slouched posture as if they thought nothing of it, which only fueled her anger as she was actively ignored. Only then did she notice Espresso, and stopped him dead in his tracks— holding an open palm in front of him as if to stop him where he stood.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

"Cleaning up the spill?" Espresso cocked an eyebrow as if it were common sense. "Someone's got to,”

Pastry looked him down, frowning, eyebrows furrowed at a constant as if she were in a persistent state of judgment. She’d clearly put great thought into her attire, despite wearing cheap wrinkled plastic gloves with her mask pulled down, her hair was manually curled and bounced when she ran. She crossed her arms. “You didn’t make this, did you?”

"The mess or the punch?"

Any hint of sarcasm was lost on her, as her foot tapped against the solid glazed ground below her in quick impatient strides, eager to go handle and take control of something else. “The mess. Did you do this?”

"Vampire decided to lean against the table,” Espresso returned his attention and only continued. “-And he clearly isn’t going to clean it,”

“Then what on earth are you doing?” Her foot stills, and suddenly she’s serious. “You look ridiculous. Get up, dust yourself off while you’re at it, and go do whatever it is that you do,”

Espresso finally faces her eyes, confused.

With a dismissive wave, she urges him off. “If you didn’t do this, you have no right to take responsibility. Addy will handle it anyway,” And she tilts her head slightly to a frantic running freshman with handfuls of paper towels. Adventurer.

“Whatever,” Espresso huffs out, but obliges, knowing damn well she’s far too stubborn to allow him any other options. He tosses the soiled napkins away, and wards off a giggle as Adventurer bounds towards them with his arms full of paper towels.

Looking around the bustling gym for any sense of familiarity or comfort, he spots a small table. Lined with goods and price stickers on each one, a final customer takes their leave with an unidentifiable overpriced cookie in their grasp. Loe and behold, behind the stand is Latte.

The mess Espresso had left behind grew faint, as barely audible orders are barked from behind him. And just like that, noise had overtaken the gym once more and almost everything returned as normal. Just as planned.

Casually, he strides towards Latte’s post and watches her perk up at his appearance. "How's your shift?" 

Latte is barely standing, leaning against the white brick walls of the gym. She wasn’t allowed the luxury of chairs, for Pastry said it would look lazy or disrespectful. It was beyond her how anyone (Besides Black Raisin. She seemed to be the only person Pastry didn’t utterly despise. ) could like that prude. 

“Shift? Hoe, I ain’t getting paid to be here,”

She seemed excited just to see Espresso, and even more so when she noticed that Pastry was distracted. Quickly, she tugged off her annoying disposable gloves with her teeth.

“You didn’t say anything about a prom,” Espresso interjects quickly and crosses his arms, his eyes darting across the room nervously. Nobody seemed to have followed him.

Spinning on her heel, her feet met the ground and she abandoned the wall she once depended and leaned on.  “Oh, yeah. It was meant to be a surprise, how do you even know about that?”

“Yam,” Espresso answered simply, and Latte scoffed, understanding without another word. Before Espresso looked away, and his blunt nails dug into his own skin subconsciously. “-And Madeleine,”

Latte furrowed her brow at that. “When? Did he bother you when I left?”

"No, no,” Espresso dismissed it quickly, holding his open palm before him as if to ease her. His eyes dart to the ground, and settle on his shoes. “It’s fine. I just- I wanted to apologize. For earlier,”

“Apologize? Are you dumb?” Latte stepped back momentarily, though her expression visibly softened. “I should be the one apologizing! I totally lashed out and I-“ She promptly stopped herself, not wanting to ruin her mascara— opting to take a deep breath and slacken her hands instead.  “I guess I am sorry too,”

“So we’re even?”

“Yeah. Even,”

"Yeah." Espresso nodded. "So, who's winning what reward?" 

“It’s not much of a reward. Just some praise in honor of ‘ another great season, ” Latte hissed as she crossed her arms. “As if they did anything to deserve it,”

Her hair was now pulled up and she wore disposable gauze gloves, presumably handling food only moments prior. She seemed pissy simply by being there. Her eyes narrowed and fixated on a specific fracture in Espresso’s complexion.

“Your lipstick is smudged, like, a lot. How do you manage that?”

"I sneezed and I had to wipe my mouth." He’d insist regardless of the way he flushed. "Nothing for you to worry about."  

“I have a bit to worry about actually,” Latte corrects him by crossing her arms and smiling. “What happened over there? With Vamps?”

“Nothing. He was just hell-bent on the idea of me and Madeleine doing weed in the halls. I guess he got worked up and spilled the punch in his hazy high state,” Espresso shrugs as if this were a daily occurrence to mask and ease his racing heartbeat. As if he were accustomed to it. “Pastry and her savior-complex ass was insistent on cleaning it by herself, so now I am here.” 

 “Really? He’s shit-faced already-?!” Latte barks out a quick, sharp laugh at that, covering her mouth afterward. “He honestly thought your geeky ass was cool enough to do weed with the captain?”

 She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms in turn, toying with her pearly necklace. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Espresso pulls an apple from the small display bowl, and Latte pretends to look away as if she saw nothing. 

She twirls the ends of her hair and leans forward, biting her lip slightly. “Well, if it makes you feel better, guess who came by the food stands while you were away,”

Espresso rolls his eyes slightly, even if he is intrigued. “Oh, don’t tell me,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever,” Waving it off, eager to have her turn to talk. She wisped a strand of hair behind her ear, as she was preparing herself to make a speech or divulge. 

“Okay, okay— So I was working, well, not really but can you blame me? I was spacing off, y’know, and some chick starts talking to me. I look up, and I see Raspberry,” She makes wide dramatic gestures with her open palms beside the side of her skull, smiling wholly. “And then , she asked when my break was! My break?! Like as if I am actually working!”

"Really?" Espresso smiles, and for once, perhaps he is belonging. He’s been here before, it’s all familiar, and perhaps he prefers it this way. “What did you say?”.

“That’s the thing!” Latte moved to cover her face with her palms, as if to shield herself from metaphorical judgment and shut her eyes. “I didn’t even know I had a break! I didn’t know what to say so I just— said I liked her dress,”

Espresso laughs shamelessly, and Latte glares.

“But then she went on this whole rant about how it was passed down for generations and she was just so pretty and talked so much I didn’t even ask,” And Latte’s voice goes a bit quieter as she reflects on her obvious fluster, only hoping Raspberry didn’t notice.

“Jesus, you’re screwed.” Tilting his head slightly, Espresso takes off his glasses to wipe the lenses nonchalantly. “You’ve got it bad . Like, really bad,”

Latte only groaned and leaned back. “Have you seen her? Constantly talking about her honor and shit, she’s probably not even gay!” 

Twirling a strand of hair and glaring at certain students walking past, she smiled slightly when she noticed Adventurer running around with handfuls of damp paper towels and his sleeves rolled up— stained red. “She’s probably one of those ‘waiting for marriage’ motherfuckers, I mean, she asked to meet in the parking lot of all places!”

With a shrug, as if he were above the likes of crushes entirely, he returns his glasses gingerly atop his nose bridge. “Maybe she’s working her way up. Y’know, starting as friends, testing the waters, and hitting it later,”

Crossing her arms, grinning now, Latte cocked an eyebrow challengingly. “You talking from experience, Essy?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Espresso dismisses her without a second thought, even if he is smiling.

The once flowing crowd of students walking in and out had thinned, and a steady group of people now stood in the gym. The football team was nowhere to be seen, presumably backstage.

“Oh shit.”

The gym had begun to dim, as the lights were eased off and she looked cautiously around the gym, then frantically took out her phone to check my time. “Fuck! I thought I still had ten minutes,”

Quickly, she threw her gloves haphazardly in a bin beside her and left her post entirely, grabbing Espresso by the wrist and insisting that he follow. “Come on! I promised Raspberry I’d cheer for her!”

9:24 PM, Parfaedia University 

The stage, barely a few feet from the ground with oak wood tiles and a miniature staircase on opposing sides-- and slowly opening curtains and a line of tape to ward off any students getting too close. In the middle, a microphone lay with various depictions of the school mascot plastered across the walls.

Espresso yelps slightly when he’s tugged away, but years of dealing with her persistent nonsense, and he is neutralized and follows along grudgingly. 

It was a pitiful excuse of an ‘event’, as a teacher, Mr. Vanilla, walked out. He held hands with another teacher ( who looked particularly annoyed simply by being beneath the hot stage lights.) to avoid tripping or falling off the stage.

His eyes were shut gently, he walked gracefully as if he were mocking a dance with every step he took— common for light users, to make a display of their mere presence, and the purity radiating from him was utterly vile. 

The teacher helping him at his side was quite the opposite, both in color palette and stance, but adjusted the microphone to accommodate Mr. Vanilla regardless.

The crowd had gone quiet. Well, besides the obligatory whispering and gossiping.

Beside Pure Vanilla, he bore a frown, his brows furrowed as he struggled to adjust the microphone until his bright counterpart tapped his hand slightly and declared it good enough. 

“Who’s that?” Espresso points only slightly, afraid of drawing attention to himself as he hones into the long-haired figure. 

“Beats me. Isn’t that Dark Choco’s fucking dad? Or…mom? I can’t tell,” Latte only quickly leaned over to respond, her focus fixated on the speech Mr. Vanilla was actively preparing.

He tapped the microphone a few times before clearing his throat and speaking. Mindless welcomes and pleasantries, along the lines of: “ We are so happy to have you here and as our own students, to celebrate another great season,” Though Latte couldn’t quite care.

Espresso scoffed.

It was a foolish, useless attempt at control. Not many seemed to listen. Singing to the deaf and enlightening the blind, his preaching failed to make an impact. 

"Now that you mention it, he kinda looks like Dark Choco. Just older and with longer hair," Espresso muses as if he’s genuinely inspecting the man, putting great thought into dissecting his features and appearance. 

“Yeah, a lot older,” 

Mr. Vanilla had finished listing off their sponsors and volunteers, making sure Pastry got a special ( requested ) mention. 

“We’d like to honor our players who’ve worked all season to make this possible,” His voice projected across the gym with ease, as if he were preaching. His voice was light and airy, clearly enjoying his job and role. “A round of applause for Number 17, Milk!”

With a modest smile that makes his pale cheeks crease and eyes slim, Milk walks out from the drawn curtains and onto the pitiful stage. Waving as he does, coming to a halt at the end and standing still, insecurity does not strike him.

The cycle repeated like clockwork, though Raspberry’s was most noted, as Latte screamed her heart out with big gestures and waves and even earned a visible laugh from Raspberry up on the stage. It is an obnoxious display, but nobody seems to mind.

“And finally, our own team captain and representative of The Divine Church—“ Mr. Vanilla talks like he’s reading off a script, and the opposing teacher has a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady as he makes wide gestures. “—Number 4, Madeleine!”

But lo and behold: Madeleine is a wreck. 

He stands tall, as he keeps his head high with an accomplished and not-modest-at-all smile plastered across his expression, hands neatly folded behind his back— but he’s a mess. His hair is sporadic and the curled ends are knotted slightly, some even sticking to his face. His excitement is practically radiating off of him, and for once, his happiness is no longer performative. 

He stands right beside Beet, one of the few girls and one of the kickers, and smiles at the very end of the line.

Latte looked back at Espresso, stifling a laugh with wide eyes, but is interrupted as Pure Vanilla’s assistant claps heartily, enough to wrack through the entire gym, and wrings the attention back.

Pure Vanilla waits a beat for the crowd to settle down, and presses on. “We’d like to bring attention to an upcoming event arranged by the student council. A spring dance, to celebrate another fantastic year with you,”

There is only slight clapping, though most have lost intrigue. 

“We do hope to see you there,” Yet Mr. Vanilla smiles throughout it all as if he’s waited years for this role. “We’d like to congratulate our team for another great season, and have an even greater night!”

Before Espresso can process the advance, the crowd surrounding the stage begins to dissipate in clusters and groups, as they leave for the food stands or wherever they sat prior. The noise thins as the attention is lost.

And with that, Pure Vanilla steps back as one final wave of applause washes over and the team stands still, unsure what to do in the meantime, except for Madeleine. Who’d taken notice of Espresso in the front row, and began to point him out, waving to him happily. 

Yam noticeably rolls his eyes, and Beet elbows him to silently bark stop. 

Finally, the team begins to dissipate behind the curtains. All except for one, who instead opts toward the small set of stairs on the side of the stage and makes his way down. Music is switched on and the lights dim slightly, as the ever-persistent clutter of conversation returns-- though Madeleine’s haughty footsteps are most noticeable. 

"Oh god,” Espresso spares Latte a quick, short glance for help. She giggles in turn. “Don’t tell me he’s coming over here,”

“Espresso!” A crowd parts for Madeleine to run through, his hair bouncing atop his shoulders with each step. “Espresso!”

He comes to a halt when he finally meets them, panting a bit, yet seemingly energetic. There was a certain static buzz surrounding him, surely, it was the light magic. His hands rest on his knees and he kneels slightly from exhaustion. Heaving pitifully. 

"You couldn't have just walked here?” Espresso’s eyes are wide as he glances around at all of the eyes on them, swallowing back in embarrassment and perhaps even fluster. “You are a mess,”

“Oh,” He seemed completely oblivious, yet his smile never fell. He seemed to prepare something to say, before noticing Latte and shifting his attention. “Oh! Heads up, Raspberry said she’d be waiting for you,”

Latte smiles widely by instinct, gums showing slightly, and looks around. “Is Pastry backstage?”

“Of course!”

“Sweet,” With great haste, Latte smooths out her dress and pats Espresso’s back in makeshift, affectionate encouragement. Even if she does scoff and scowl slightly at Madeleine’s enthusiasm. “I am in the clear. I’ll see you later, Es,”

Her heels tap tactlessly as she moves backward, then running to the exit and manually hauling the doors open, pushing past anyone in her way. Receiving a few glares, some elbows, but nothing seemed to faze her as she waved from afar and left out of view. 

Espresso crosses his arms, dejected that she left him here, and almost a bit awkward now. He looks to the floor. 

He can’t look at Madeleine. 

There is something ethereal, something subconscious and certainly not him-- something insisting that his gaze always fall south and linger on his lips. He must resent, and hate himself for it, if it is him at all. 

Surely not. 

There is something captivating behind those hues of blue and optimism, something compelling Espresso to stay and freely indulge. But for his own sake, perhaps even sanity, he mustn’t. He knows better. 

But the silence is suffocating. 

“Who’s that teacher? Beside Mr. Vanilla,” Espresso prompts conversation abruptly, adjusting his glasses.

“Oh, yeah, Dark Cacao. Though I usually call him coach,” Combing back his hair from his face, Madeleine speaks fondly of him as if he were an old friend or story. “Strict guy. I could never get on his good side,”

 Madeleine watches as his own teammates begin to enter the gym, making a show of their entry and getting harsh pats on the back. Madeleine is silently grateful that most guys don’t want to do as much as touch him. 

Not since the post, at least.

Before Madeleine turned away, almost sheepishly. “Actually, uhm, could I ask you a favor?”

"Depends,” Espresso, at last, looks up at him. Finding comfort in Madeleine’s fluster, he regrets ever allowing himself to. “This better not be stupid,”

“Nothing of the sort,” Madeleine spared a reassuring smile, though it means nothing. “About the prom, or, whatever,”

By instinct, Espresso’s heart is caught in his throat. His eyes go noticeably wide, and Madeleine cocks an amused eyebrow, but only continues on. 

“Well, as my tutor, I thought I could use um. A dancing lesson, for extra precaution, of course,”

Oh.

He quite obviously put great thoughts into what to say while backstage, as if he rehearsed it, he spoke without so much as stuttering.

How.. disappointing. 

What was he thinking?

Confused, and quite clearly taken aback-- in whether it be offense or shock-- Espresso tilts his head slightly. “And what makes you think I can dance?”

“There! It can be a mutual thing, then.” He laughs haughty, and returns a hand to his hip. “How does Tuesday sound? After school, the rooftop is usually vacant by then,”

“I didn’t--” Espresso attempts to protest, raising a single finger as if to correct him, but backs down when Madeleine’s smile persists and he realizes there is nothing he can do to sway or change the fool’s mind. “Why are you asking me? Isn’t there some guy you can ask and actually like?”

Madeleine crosses his arms and scoffs, ever the expressive and overzealous. “Like who?”

And yet he’s adamant. Stance tall and still, as he smiles as if it were a dumb question or common sense, towering over Espresso with ease and infuriating confidence. “If anything, that’d ruin it,”

“Surely there’s some guy infinitely better than me-- some guy you’ve got the hots for,” Espresso seems particularly annoyed at the thought, and perhaps once more it is his subconscious speaking. “ Ruin it? Why would that ruin it?”

Madeleine’s eyes narrow at the assumption, but dare not answer, knowing damn well the only crush he’s had is standing before him. “Well, because you’re my friend. Dancing with some guy I barely know would feel… weird, I guess,” Madeleine struggles to string his words together, but does so regardless. “I trust you,”

To appear annoyed or pressed, Espresso lightly pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, but truthfully, he’s glad. Subconsciously, meaninglessly glad. “Fine, whatever. I’ll be there,”

“There we go! I knew I could sway you eventually,” Grinning in makeshift victory, once more, the hair on his shoulders begins to rise slightly. The only thing giving away his otherwise masked fluster. “Now, besides coffee, what do you eat?”

"Pardon?" Espresso asks as his head turns to dart and scans the bustling gym, heart racing as he notices each and every eye on them. He hates each one, but he cannot scream. "What do you need that for?”

“Well it’d only be polite,” Madeleine speaks as if it’s common sense, and as if he’s the sane one here. “You’re not getting paid or credit to help me. It’d only be right, to pay you in whatever I can,”

"You can pay me by improving,” Espresso crosses his arms to accentuate his matter-of-factly tone. “Your grades are horrendous,” 

“Nonsense,” Madeleine waved him off mindlessly. “Surely there’s something you like, and there is nothing I cannot provide,” 

He speaks boastfully as if he truly is faultless-- his exterior is but an excuse. Determined to impress, he appears cheerful as always— yet his brow twitches when a noticeable peer turns to stare. That’s all they seem to do, well aware of what would happen if they ever opened their mouths, they have taken to silent judgment instead.

“You’re doing that thing again,” 

Madeleine appears confused, perhaps taken aback, and it only pisses Espresso off. “What?”

“You’re avoiding the question. Again. You do the same thing everytime, act all perfect,” Espresso’s eyes narrow, and Madeleine is unsure if he should be flattered or not. "Why do you avoid studying? Besides sport, what could you possibly be doing?” 

And oh--, that shouldn't have affected him. Perhaps it was a stretch, perhaps he was desperate to wring and twist anything from a natural reaction to fit his ego, but the idea that Espresso had noticed that? Had paid attention, surely not as far as Madeleine would, but to acknowledge him and his own habits? 

His heart picks up speed.

Fascinatingly, Madeleine seemed to genuinely think about it. To put earnest thought into the question as he followed Espresso’s wandering gaze, before finally coming up with a satisfactory answer. “I suppose I’ve taken up dancing with nerds,” 

“I am not,” Espresso sneers. He should’ve expected that. “Technically you’re no better,”

“How about donuts?”

"What makes you think I like donuts?" 

“I don’t. It’s just nearby, though I’d gladly walk miles if it meant you ate,” His posture slackens and his gaze fixates on Espresso before him, in attempt to avoid and shut out the world surrounding them. “And ‘technically’ , it’s just you, specs,”

“For me? Please, don’t bother,” Espresso’s lips close into a frown. “And ‘ specs’ sounds dumb,”

“I thought you didn’t care for titles,” Crossing his arms and smiling as if he’d won some argument or point, it’s a familiar fondness. “But I fear you cannot discourage me, I’d happily carry you the entire way if I must,”

"-And you'd be the first to eat a grinding, flaming coffee bean," 

Madeleine’s eyes visibly broaden, but his persistent smile dare not fall, in favor of his persistence and determination. His chivalry a flame and his ego a mosquito, drawing blood from whomever he can endear,  infuriatingly so.

“And feel dark magic up-close? I might take you up on that,” Madeleine retorts happily, and he talks as if he’s genuine at a constant, tilting his head slightly. His tone is too light to frame deciet, and his tone is too pure to be dishonest. “—Not that I am underestimating you! I am sure I could take you and your magic one day,”

"And risk that seal you’ve got?” Espresso cocks an eyebrow amusingly. “Do you have any idea how masochistic you sound? For a Divine being, at that,”

“Wishful thinking, my friend,” Madeleine holds up a finger as if he was correcting Espresso, though it’s hard to ignore the way his cheeks flush rosy at the accusation, especially against his pale complexion. “And I am blessed with purity, not prejudice,”

"Fine,”

Espresso states flatly. There. The word, his agreement, his reluctant compliance, is out in the open and lingers in the silence it brings. Madeleine urges him to continue silently through a smile. Espresso only wishes he could wipe it off. 

'I’ll try to teach you how to dance. I'll have to do some research on it."

“Very well. I do hope to see you this Tuesday, then—“ Madeleine’s arms move behind his own back, and his heart does a miniature twirl. “—And don’t sweat it, I am sure you’ll be great,”

“Doubt it,” Espresso takes a single step back, huffing out. “This place is fuckin’ vile. I’ll… be on my way out,”

“Oh,” Madeleine’s posture props out slightly, whether it be in surprise or disagreement. He vocalizes neither. “Oh, okay,”

Madeleine wants to run after him. To join him or follow, but as soon as his foot rises from the glazed smooth floor, he is hollered and waved over before it can even land and move forward. A group of familiarity, boastful and expressive faces with never faltering laughter, as if they lived a joke. Anything too deep or serious for them to comprehend was disregarded in favor of blue skies and a solid night. 

Oh well. There’s always Tuesday.

—And the thought makes his stomach positively flip.

[1 Year Prior]

    “I don’t get why you like kissing me so much,” Espresso scoffed, pushing him away slightly by pressing square to his chest, moving his head entirely to face the wall-- or anywhere he wasn’t. 

His brow furrows and his lips part, but not a sound comes out. For a moment, he cannot will the words out, and he appears frustrated. Espresso knows the expression well, and winces by natural instinct. 

It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his problem that Espresso always seemed to fail him. In affection and reciprocation, it was normal for couples to do, and it wasn’t his fault Espresso was different.

It could never be his fault, beause it was always Espresso’s.

So Espresso attempts to justify him to Latte and water down everything he’s said and done so she doesn’t worry. So she doesn’t look at him with those disappointed, wide eyes as she realizes how bad she allowed it to get.

He couldn’t possibly hurt or worry her when it is all his fault, and will be forevermore. He always seems to have something to apologize for, and that something will keep his eyes broad in the midnight and guts twisting during class. 

At last, his hold tenses and tightens, and Espresso is prepared to screw his eyes shut. 

“You don’t feel that?”

But anger never comes. His voice is raw and rasped from his throat. He searches Espresso’s visage with this… desperate guise, and it makes his throat constrict. 

This is so wrong.

Just being around him makes his skin crawl and stomach drop, as if something is amiss at a constant and he is after Espresso’s head-- or perhaps somehow more than that. The contents of his heart and the capacity of his character; his wholly being and most certainly body--

But Espresso cannot grant him that.

So wrong, in fact, he cocks his head slightly to display confusion and mask the tears welling in his eyes.

“Feel what?”

And his hold lets out entirely.

Espresso disappointed him. 

…How could he let this happen?

Chapter Text

8:53 PM, Parfaedia University

Backstage was a wreck. 

Behind curtains and without adult supervision, brutes and players ran and laughed heartily. All but two. Secluded from the team, purposely avoiding them, everyone seemed to get the hint. Haughty footsteps dissipate and conversation seems to echo, and soon it is them alone.

As per usual, Yam is pacing, his footsteps leaving smoldering burn marks on the wood-tiled floor below him. He’s mumbling affirmations to himself, a useless attempt at calming himself as he makes wide and vast hand gestures to vent out his frustration.

His white polo— which he wore without a choice, a poor attempt at formality and to fit in with everyone else— was strained with multiple of the buttons hassled and undone. The cuffs were rolled up while his hands balled into fists. His jacket was draped across a nearby surface, a mess of a man, as usual.

It was a familiarity, a common occurrence-- Milk sits nearby at a bench, unfazed and neutralized. His posture propped up, he spares a measly smile whenever Yam turns to look at him, as if that would help. 

He sighs out, ultimately fed up, and decidedly bites. “Alright, what’s up?”

“WHAT'S UP-?!” Yam’s voice echoes off the walls and is clearly strained, as the rasp of his throat catches in each syllable. He quickly stops himself when everyone turns to look at him, raises a hand in sync as his chest rises and he takes in a deep breath, and his eyes flicker shut before he responds.  “Have you seen Maddy tonight?!”

“No?” Milk tilts his head slightly in visible confusion. Vocalizing and acting on his concern by setting down his red solo cup and offering his undivided attention to the tempered brute. 

“Exactly! And you know why?!” And like a switch, he begins pacing again, not even bothering to mask his tone or fixate on his breathing. Forgetting every meditation session with Raspberry, he begins to rant mindlessly.

“Because he, our CAPTAIN, is busy fucking his twink boy-toy in the band halls! He couldn’t even be here! For us!”

 Milk’s posture slackens and he smiles slightly, a bit relieved that it was only that. Milk’s hands settle in his lap and his eyes narrow slightly. “Madeleine wouldn’t risk that, we know him better than that,”

“Who knows! I don’t know Maddy anymore, maybe he WOULD risk that!” 

 “Why does it bother you this much?”

Promptly stopping in his tracks, Yam glares to hide the way he flushed. Gritting his molars together, not even he was sure.

 Perhaps he was emotionally delayed, not completely comprehending why it affected him— or perhaps he was in conscious denial, happily ignorant when deep down, he knew. He knew it all, so very well, for years. But he turned away and once more, said nothing of it.

“Still. They were doing something important enough that it was worthy of ditching US. His FRIENDS, Maddy’s practically my brother and now he’s- fuckin- I don’t know!”

“Why don’t we go outside,” Milk begins to rise from his seat, his feet meeting the tiled floor of the backstage and coming to a stand. He takes it upon himself to collect both his and Yam’s jackets from the slick wood benches. “The air might cool you off,”

“I ain’t no dog. Just going outside ain’t gonna magically fix everything,” Yam spat, but stopped regardless to watch. He would’ve felt bad that Milk was taking both coats, maybe insist that as the clearly stronger and manlier of the two, he should be the one carrying— but in the heat of his anger, he decides against it. 

“…fine.”

“Goody. C’mon now, we don’t have long,” Milk gestures toward the glass exit and slides on his coat. Pushing in his arms 

“Bloody hell, Milk. ‘Goody’ makes you sound like a prude,” Yam sneers and looks around momentarily, before following close behind. A bad habit; his eyes always wide, posture always stiff and alert— as if he believed something was after his head at a constant. He made sure nothing was after him, before trailing behind Milk as if he were lost.

"You need fresh air more badly than I thought," Milk chides as if he were offended, and watches Yam scowl.

“What I NEED is something to level out, but Herb raised his fucking prices!” Yam moves to press his entire body weight against the door angrily and force it open, insistent on not letting Milk do it. “Maybe I should do what Maddy’s doing. Find some queer freak and suck him off or whatever gay guys do.”

“Come on, Yam, I am sure the winter breeze will help,” Though he shivers slightly at the sudden intrusion of cold air wracking through the vacant hall and making goosebumps lite on his skin, Milk presses on. “The best season there is, don’t you think?”

Yam appeared completely unfazed by the cold, his body naturally emitting heat whether it be from anger or his stature. His visage bothered and pissed at a constant, his lips parted into a visible scowl at his friend’s enthusiasm. 

“Don’t jump for joy. You might catch a cold,” 

Fascinatingly, Yam walked beside Milk. A small, hardly noticeable gesture, but he strolled right beside the saint as equals— without the need to trot in front of him to prove his superiority. None of it existed. 

“Doesn’t sound too bad. Tea is so much lovelier when you’re sick,” Milk happily corrects him without fail, anxiety seemingly far beyond him. “I do love reading romance in bed,”

Yam scoffs. “Sappy, overrated bullshit. I never got the ‘romance hype’, girls aren’t even that pretty. Like I would want to spend the rest of my life with some chick,”

His tone is sour. Perhaps from years of not quite understanding why all of his friends would talk about the girls on magazines or shows, of feeling dumb or stupid because he couldn’t quite ‘get it’, Yam rejects the idea entirely. 

Milk knows this well. Awfully well. 

Knows the mindset behind it, the roots and seams of his anger, and everything that tears them apart. He knows Yam, wants to know him far better than any novel or fiction-- but he has disregarded and pushed away sense.

“Nobody said it had to be a girl. Nothing wrong with liking guys,” 

Instinctively, Yam laughs, but goes quiet when Milk does not join him in turn. His unimpressed and almost serious guise catches Yam off guard, and he clears his throat, not a man to show insecurity. 

“I ain’t no queer, that’s a choice. Plus, what guy would ever like ME?” And Yam laughs haughty now, all to mask the vulnerability beneath that exterior.

"I'm sure there’s some guy likes you." Toying with his fingers slightly, Milk’s voice loses volume. 

The glass doors shut behind them and the hinges rattle in his wake, leaving them alone and distant in the vacant parking lot. “Then he’s a coward. I’d rather him confess than… stare . I dunno what gay guys do,”

Purple Yam’s arms cross, but not from the cold. He’s set off by the thought, uncomfortable with the knowledge some dude-- or anyone, might want him, but he dares not express it. For reasons he cannot quite identify.

“Maybe he just needs time,”

“Well ‘he’ needs some serious help. With both his standards and learning how to fit the fuck in and be a normal person. I don’t LIKE girls, at ALL, but I can fake it because that’s normal,” Yam crosses his arms as if he were above this metaphorical guy, as if he were speaking common sense. He simply assumed this was normal, how he felt or- the lack of how he felt, that it was simply universal.

He’d never gotten the appeal, how his buddies seem to swoon over girls on magazine covers or Parfait’s streams, he simply assumed that, they too were faking it. Surely, he couldn’t be abnormal, so he’ll disguise and fake it.

“But what if he, y’know, really liked you. For you, and not ‘faking it’ you,” Milk attempts to meet his eyes, but Yam turns away in defiance. 

Yam visibly gags in performative disgust. He could hardly comprehend the idea that anyone, guy or girl, would want him; even the parts he despised himself. 

“I’d get laughed out of town,” Yam sneers, but laughs because it’s Milk proposing it. Had it been anybody else, this conversation would be over and with a solid bruise left as a memory. “He sounds like a sap. No wonder you know him,”

“I am not a sap,” Milk crosses his arms defensively. “You’ve really never considered it? Like, liking a guy?”

“Of course, I haven’t. That’s gay,” 

“Not even just, kissing a dude?”

Yam’s eyes visibly widen, and shock plays across his expression. But disgust never crosses him, as if he were considering it. Had it been any other day, he would’ve shut it down immediately, but there is something ethereal compelling him forward.  Surely, it was just the need for superiority over Madeleine.

“Where’s this all coming from?” Yam laughs, but he scratches his neck nervously.

Hesitantly, Milk looks to Yam’s expression and studies him. The nervousness in his demeanor, the undeniable fluster burning crimson across his cheeks, even the cold sweat that races down his nape despite the breeze. 

He’s hesitant. A rarity in the cradle of his dissipated anger and spite. 

His bashful, bold tone and demeanor has subsided and shifted in favor of confliction to battle across his expression, making any usually visible thoughts ininscrutableMilk’s heart popoundsgainst his ribs, and he bites his tongue momentarily.

Slowly and steadily, Milk turns and tilts his head down slightly to meet Yam’s eyes. He swallows.”Would you let him? Kiss you?”

Yam’s breath hitches. “Now?”

Milk turns entirely to face Yam, and he must physically angle his jaw south to make eye contact. Though he’s accustomed himself to the occasion and remains unfazed. “Now,”

“...As long as he’s my best friend,” Milk’s eyes visibly broaden momentarily at the unexpected agreement, but he nods. Thickly and skeptic, he swallows back. Eyes darting to scout insecurity in his expression, and settling half-lidded when he finds none. 

Purple Yam looks away in utter embarrassment. His visage burning maroon if not melting entirely, and his footsteps surely leave smoldering prints in the concrete beneath his heel-- Especially so when Milk’s hand finds itself at his cheek, practically cradling his face with large pale palms.

“...Are you sure?”

Slightly, his voice cracks, and Yam huffs out a defensive scoff. As if he were any better, or believed himself to be. “I said I was, didn’t I? Hurry UP before I do it myself,”

“Okay, okay,” Milk nods and laughs slightly, his shoulders rising and falling gently in his laughter, and achieving the impossible task of making Yam flush further. 

Leaning down slightly, he brings Yam’s jaw up to meet him, and with only a moment of hesitance-- eyes flickering momentarily, breath hitching, heart racing, his palms shaking at his side and his pupils darting for any sense of uncomfortability or dissent-- it is Yam who rushes it and presses up to his lips. 

Warm, borderline burning palms reach for his cheeks and pull him close to meet his lips, eyes screwing shut in fear of what he would see, far too vulnerable to handle disgust. His ego glass, and Milk could shatter him if he so pleased.

But he never does.

Hate never crosses his expression. Only surprise, then admiration, as he allows and succumbs to it. To the affection and the fondness behind the action, to the pent years that built and led up to the movement. 

It is perfect. 

Lips press flush to his own, hurriedly and eager yet tender ar all the same time. A longing that had been there for an eternity, and exactly how he imagined it. The kiss is everything. His once pounding heart flutters and butterflies descend through his guts to make his mind spin. 

He is perfect. To love and to lose, he is sure that every trial, error, and battle has been worth the cost as long as he stands here with Yam. He always imagined completion to be some vast tale, torn from the paragraphs of poetics he consumes, and though this is nothing how he imaged it-- he is sure he’s achieved completion.

Yam finds himself unfamiliarly unsure and hesitant, he moves to hold Milk slightly below his jaw— but his grip is gone. There’s no anger behind it, no longer is he tense or paranoid, and for once he truly believes he is safe. Nothing can hurt him here. 

This isn’t gay. I am not gay, Yam will insist.

A beat passes, then another. He can’t get enough. Like a substance for survival, Yam needs him. As if Milk bounded and weaved the threads of his being together, he needs him.

Then silence follows suit, and Milk pulls away. "-Maybe he’s taken enough time,”

And Yam laughs.

“You’re fuckin’ needy for a Saint,” Yam chides with that rasp to his throat and dorky smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for this,”

"Since a few years ago, actually," 

And something about that single sentence spears Yam’s heart in an instant. For years, Milk did not tell him. Milk had waited years, and did not trust him enough to come out. 

He wants to scream. To ball up his fists and pound his sore knuckles on the soil that upkeeps him for ever allowing him to be so stupid. So oblivious. So apathetic that his best friend didn’t trust him. His mind a battlefield and his heart a stone, he does not show it. He couldn’t possibly.

"It… took a while to come to terms with,” Milk admits earnestly with a slight tilt to his head and sheepish huffed-out laugh.  "You feel even with Madeleine now?"

“Nah, Madeleine probably got to fuck that twink; and we’re better than him,” Though bold and chilidsh, it’s characteristic enough to make Milk smile. “ You’re better than him. God, your sappiness is rubbin’ off on me,”

"What would make you feel even or above Madeleine then?" 

It is a rarity, but Yam seems to think about it. As if thoughts that once bounced off his thick skull entirely or were dismissed for his own sake had finally began to register and make an impact— and for once, the bumbling brute put thought into it. 

“If you… somehow liked ME for goddamn YEARS, than I guess I don’t want to do this for Madeleine,” Yam swallows back to hide his insecurity. “I want to do this for you.”

“Are you still mad?”

“Don’t baby me,” Yam hisses, but the aggression behind it is nonexistent. “I am still pissy. But, we did give him a taste of his own medicine, didn’t we? Ditching them to go be gay,”

“Yeah,” Milk breathes out, almost acomplished. “Yeah, I guess we did,”

2:41 AM, House Madeleine

It had been two months.

Two months since the incident, he knows this well. For he’s counted the days until they surpass his fingertips. A fool, surely. 

It is far too early for his consciousness, yet he lay awake. His back to the plush polyester of his comforter, the mattress sinking slightly with his stubborn weight, his eyes are fixated on the ceiling. 

He’s tried outlining and conceptualizing shapes in the abstract messy textures of his pale ceiling, and yet by default, it all returns to Espresso. The capacity of his heart, consumed and devoted to Espresso. As if by natural order or instinct, he cannot help it.

Oceans and seas of his devotion, his head had fallen underwater and shore was far out of reach. He couldn’t possibly imagine returning, going back to how his life had been. So seemingly perfect, he struggles to comprehend how he ever could’ve lived without Espresso. 

How did his lungs ever contract? His hands could never truly feel full, not without Espresso’s. He couldn’t ever truly achieve completion, for his glory resided in his own tutor, and what he could never have.

Wishful thinking, at best. 

His room is filled with mirrors, a few on his wall, a full-length leaning by his walls, and his desk specifically adorn in standing reflecting glass. To inspect his appearance if not admire his own self, none of it exists anymore. 

He’d never imagine liking a face more than his own.

He sits up, his hair frizzled and sporadic, he tames the ends with his fingertips while his gaze darts towards a particular object resting at his desk. It always does. He cannot keep his eyes away from it.

-Years of constrain and abstinence, a decade of preaching, and the strict enforcement of self-control. He’s surely faced worse and yet-- he finds himself consumed. There is something so endearing, so infectiously positively dizzying about the fact that he holds Espresso’s pen. 

He simply cannot bring himself to touch it. 

It sits idly in the center of his oak wood desk as if it were a display. An artifact to be preserved, and perhaps Madeleine sees it as such. Cleaned and polished since the night, Madeleine took care of it well-- naturally. Just as he would do Espresso. 

Oh, if only he had the chance. He would be perfect. Nurturing and protective, he could care for Espresso, he could defend and adore him every second of his dwindling existence-- he’s found infatuated by the thought. 

Perhaps it is his naturally conservative ideals. For domestic fantasies to be his most appealing, to spend hours purely imaging a life with Espresso. Succumbing and awaking alongside him, to be a constant lifeline-- always there if he so needs. To be his, and Espresso as his own in turn. 

Perhaps he was delusional. 

To ever declare himself worthy of such a lifestyle, yet never seeking it out. Perhaps it was fear or the way his heart raced whenever Espresso was around that made it so difficult, he couldn’t be sure-- then again, he’s not quite sure of anything right now. 

Not while Espresso’s pen sits at his disposal. 

He couldn’t bring himself to touch it. Not since the incident, not since him. He still remembers the night, the blood that stains his hands and seeps into the creases of his palms. The intoxicating metal-like scent that stained and persisted for days after--

It’s all so nauseatingly arousing. 

Against his own will, as if his body acts without his consent, and he moves to his feet to a stand. 

There is something ethereal beckoning him closer, and he strides towards his desk, pulling out the swivel chair mindlessly. His footsteps are heavy and creak. But he couldn’t care.

And only now is he sure that there is something wrong with him. He is sick, certainly and utterly delusional, and he’s self-aware. Yet he allows himself indulgence regardless. The threads of his restain have torn and snapped, his seams pulled by the frigid smooth hold of his own tutor, and he needs more.

So much more. Tauntingly so, it hurts. 

Its exterior is dark, with engraved symbols along its plastic surface. Madeleine has memorized each one. It is smooth in his palm, he rolls it between his fingertips as his eyes gloss over every encrypted detail. 

It is subtle, but he can feel the residue of dark magic clinging to its surface. Espresso’s dark magic, the thought makes his heart twirl and he must bite down on his lip. It is so much like him. It is so intoxicating.

And it is surely the light magic that courses through his veins and being that makes him positively lite. His heart races and he swears he feels warm, so much so every hair stands on its end and the pen begins to blot. 

His fingertips radiate heat, whether it be from his excitement or infatuation, so much so that the ink reservoir begins to drool liquified ink onto his pale fingertips. It rolls down his knuckles lazily, staining and warm, and his breath catches. 

He should be afraid of destroying the pen entirely, and yet, he cannot quite put it down. 

His traitorous subconscious pleads that he hold it for only a moment longer, and as he hones his self-restraint and control, he cannot help it. 

He needs it all. All of him, all the time, forevermore. He needs that voice to keep him sane and that lipstick to his hip or he may crumble. Shattered like his ego and consumed like his pride, he needs Espresso like a lifeline.

He is delusional. 

[October 2nd, 2 months prior.]

“Sir, you can’t be serious,”

“This will be good for you, Espresso,”

He stands before Pure Vanilla’s desk, arms folded before his chest to hold a mound of books and a mass of poetics. His glasses fog involuntarily in pent frustration, strands of his hair levitating from his shoulders.

In pursuit of his stoicism, Espresso combs back his hair with a single hand and attempts to negotiate once more. His frown closing and brow twitching slightly, he dare not show it. “Is there not anybody else on the roster? Anyone but him ?” 

Momentarily, Pure Vanilla leans back in his reclinable seat to go through some notes. Shuffling pieces and papers, handwritten in paragraphs of cursive pen and signatures. He feels the bottom of each loose-leaf page, thumbing the ends until he finds a specific article. 

With the slight buzz of crinkling papers in the otherwise silent office, he slides the sheet towards Espresso to read and points to a certain chart with the end of his pen. On the graph, student’s names are on either side of their assigned tutor’s name, and beside Madeleine’s is Espresso’s own handwritten title.

“Everyone else is taken. He is the only one left without a tutor,” Mr. Vanilla directs, though his voice is kind and sympathetic. The points of his smile soften to bore compassion, but it does not meet his eyes.

His staff is leaned against the ecru walls of his decorated office, with framed white windows and blue formal rugs, topped off with his shiny metallic name plate atop the desk. 

“No, you don’t understand,” Disregarding any of it, refusing to acknowledge common sense, he shakes his head slightly. Perhaps in ignorance or apathy, perhaps in his persistent stubbornness, he couldn’t possibly allow this. “I can’t tutor Madeleine,”

Pure Vanilla cocks his head slightly, brow furrowing. “I don’t see why not,”

“It’d be impossible! To not only get it through his thick skull but to get him to listen. He hates me, anyway,”

“He hates you?”

“The entire team does,”

“Well,” Shifting slightly in his seat, it creaks beneath him and he shuffles through a few more papers idly. “I don’t agree with toxic generalization, and this isn’t about them. This is about Madeleine,”

Espresso’s expression runs sour, and he bites his tongue in silent defiance. It was always about Madeleine. The object of conversation, the center of gossip and of conspiracy, he couldn’t go a day without hearing his dreaded name. 

Truthfully, though he’s never formally met the fool, he could only assume. In his conceited and haughty demeanor, light at a constant as if he could never quite care; as if the burden of anxiety and the cruelty of a world beyond him didn’t exist at all.

Blissfully oblivious, or perhaps consciously ignorant-- Espresso wanted nothing to do with him regardless.

“It’ll be a waste. He won’t learn anything,” Espresso hisses, but his posture is kept tall with his shoulders propped up neatly behind him in his constant formality. Especially when in front of and debating his own teacher. 

“Very well. A waste it shall be, then,”

Espresso huffs out, but quickly realizes there is truly nothing he can do about it. No matter how he defends or bargains, the result is stubborn, and his shoulders fall and slacken. 

Biding the urge to complain, saving his objections for a late night call with Latte, he bites the inside of his cheek. How humilating. A complete disregard for his figure, to tutor Madeleine, he decidedly does not spit back no matter how he wants to.

Though it is a stretch, he cannot help but feel insignificant to Mr. Vanilla. “This is a mistake,”

“I am sure of it,”

Chapter Text

4:12 PM, Parfaedia’s Library

The walls lined in racks and shelves of piled and stacked books, covers pressed to backs orderly and compressed neatly. Circular tables scattered across the estate where peers and students read at stools and whisper hushed amongst each other. Sharing ideals, theories, and notes they’ve complied from recent novels. 

Biting down on his tongue, Espresso waits with his foot tapping frantically and impatiently against the tiled floor of the library. An impulsive, natural habit he never shook. 

The library was silent. So much so, a pen drop could be heard alongside the hurried movement of flipping pages. That is, until the natural order was disrupted by a bumbling fool, pushing the door open with his bag half-slung by his shoulder and running in. Waving obnoxiously— at least, that’s how it usually went.

Yet today was different. As if something in the atmosphere shifted, as Madeleine pushed the doors open, he didn’t bother with his overzealous and sing-song ‘Oh Chéri!’

Instead, he simply hauled out a small plastic seat across from Espresso and dropped his bag tactlessly beside him. He must shuffle awkwardly to accommodate himself, his torso occupying the majority of the backseat, his height surpassing the seat. He sits at an angle so he can slouch and keep the distance between his legs wide-- informally so.

“Mads?” To say the shift was alarming would be a drastic understatement. 

Still easing the chair outwards and from beneath the table, he shrugged his jacket off too, allowing it to pool atop his fallen bag. He cocks his head slightly.

“Mads?” He almost chuckled. “That’s new,”

“It’s only fair,” Espresso defends by dropping his pen and leaning back in turn, crossing his arms stubbornly as if to one-up the fool. “You call me ‘ Es’ for god’s sake,”

“In my defense, I have tried calling you other things,” Madeleine looks away momentarily. 

Odd. Not one to be outdone or avoid eye contact, usually bashful and not bothering to hide his gaze, he turned to the various bookshelves instead. Espresso huffs, and spears the silence with a glare. “Alright, what’s up?”

“It’s nothing. Just got my test back today,” A measly, casual remark, and the color drains from Espresso’s face. 

“And you passed, right?” Espresso leans forward in his seat slightly. Though not one to express nor vocalize concern, his subconscious tugs his heartstrings like split ends or loose thread. “Right?”

Though he fails to identify or pin-point the reason, he cannot bring himself to imagine it. He does not want to, not finds himself capable of fathoming it. Of Madeleine failing, and being reassigned to a new tutor. Of arriving to the library, just to be met with the face of a stranger. Of writing and highlighting paragraphs of poetics, only for someone who wouldn’t appreciate it like Madeleine.

Of digging through his pockets and pulling out that ribbon, only to look around, and find nobody to return it to. 

That’s not getting attached. He was not getting attached.

Madeleine turned away, turning his expression inscrutable as he bit down on his bottom lip. He only looked down. As if being scolded or chastised, he began to rummage through his bag, actively avoiding his gaze.

"You’re lying. There’s no way-- you- after everything?” Espresso finds himself stumbling over his words, as his heart trips in turn. Sinking like a stone behind his ribs. “How am I meant to see you now?”

-And that stopped Madeleine in his tracks. Dropping the paper back into the abyss of his bag, looking up momentarily, he seemed almost shocked; and for a moment, he even forgot to crack a smile. “What-?”

"What?" Damnit Espresso, have you lost it? Shut up! Has common sense completely deflected off your thick skull?! God, shut up! Why would you say that? “I-I mean, how could you fail?”

He stayed like that for a moment. Studying, eyeing him, and finding amusement in his quite obvious fluster. Making dramatic hand gestures, he combed back his hair so it’d fall back above his eyes. “My, what happened to—‘Talking properly and not like some delinquent’,“

He spared a laugh. Tantalizing. “-Latte was right. You do stutter quite a bit,”

"I do not. Since when are you and Latte best friends?"

“We aren’t,” Madeleine corrected, pulling his hair back behind his ear and pressing his flat palm against his collarbone. As if making a display of his mere presence. A pretentious act in the name of The Divine. “It just helps when you take a dozen years to use the bathroom,”

“Just- show me the test,” exasperated, Espresso leans back and covers his mouth with his palm, glaring as he wards off the way his guts twist and churn unpleasantly at the thought. “Please,”

“Ah, right.” And once more, Madeleine fell silent.

Not a man to be outdone, it was a rare occurrence. To finally render him speechless and leave him reaching into his bag. The paper was handed faced down, set haphazardly onto the table for Espresso to take, darting his eyes away. Slowly, sliding it towards him. An open invitation for what he feared to do himself.

With only little hesitance, Espresso is quick to reach for the paper laid before him. 

Flipping it to scan and inspect, moving to hold it with both hands as if it were to be preserved. His gaze trails over the score, and his throat runs dry.

And just like that, like a switch, Madeleine’s once solemn grimace erupted and snapped into a smile. He even started laughing, earning glares and sneers from those around him. His eyes creasing from his smile, his dimples showing with a hand clasped over his mouth in an attempt to eclipse his reaction. Pitifully so, there’s something subconsciously pure in the action.

Espresso continued to stare at the C+ on the paper, written in ballpoint red ink and circled at the top. He passed . Madeleine had actually passed. 

Smiling happily, content with himself as he leaned forward as if he were expecting Espresso to praise him for it, or say anything at all. He tilted his head in confusion when he was met with silence, but refused to slacken to front. “With The Divine’s blessings — and a little of your help, you really shouldn’t be surprised!”

Eyes broadened, Espresso quickly blinks and smooths out his blouse, sweeping metaphorically dust away with his hands as he silently processes. Madeleine passed. He gets to keep tutoring Madeleine. 

He cannot quite understand why the thought makes his heart soar. 

Perhaps that is why he despises it. His life and emotion precise to his exact and meticulous calculations, his heart is unpredictable, and he utterly loathes the unfamiliarity of it. Why was he like this?

"Oh my god…” His hand hadn’t left his mouth-- but now, instead of frustration, it masks relief. Perhaps a reflex in shock. “Madeleine, I almost had a heart attack,”

“Your heart runs on caffeine, that’s not a very high bar to reach,” Arms crossed in his seat, Madeleine tosses his hair over his shoulder idly, batting his eyelashes as if to mock or make a display of himself. “Surely you don’t care that much about me,”

"I do," Blunt, blatant, and completely quick-witted, Espresso blinks before correcting himself. "Actually, wait, no. Fuck, that didn’t-”

“Please, my friend, calm yourself!” Madeleine held out a hand, palm facing down as if to ease him. “It’s not your fault that you see me as, ‘Attractive, Strong, and popular’. “

He grinned right afterwards, and could only hope nobody had taken video. Then again, he could hardly care. 

He’d come to terms with it, well, mostly. Without his girlfriend, there was hardly a point in shielding his affection. And perhaps it was sick, perhaps it was possessive or obsessive, but he gained sadistic satisfaction in knowing nobody else dared to approach Espresso.

Letting out a groan of frustration, Espresso must swallow his pride and decidedly accept the fact.

"I guess this means I'm stuck with you for a little while longer." Espresso looks away when he cannot ward off the smile that curls his lips. “-And I am not into that. For the record, you’re not my type,”

“Nonsense, I am anyone’s type,” Flipping his hair and leaning back, allowing it to messily fall down his shoulders. He sterned his posture, sitting straight and batting his eyelashes as he moved a hand to pat his chest. “I can look like a chick if you squint, you into cheerleaders?”

Even under the guise of a harmless joke, the underline pleading materializing beneath his words made him wince. As if he were truly trying to impress or sway Espresso.

 Espresso deadpanned. "Yeah, and maybe if I step back a few miles too,”

“What do you mean?” He moved to curl his bicep and grin wholly. “Super feminine,”

December 15th, 10:53 PM.

    The room is dim, beyond the drawn curtains lay dusk. Nightfall peers from clouded skies and snowed hills, yet the group cannot be bothered, and talk like none of it exists at all.

In his living room, the television momentarily paused, paper plates with grease stains and pizza leftovers litter the room. Empty solo cups stacked on thin-legged tables and fallen decor Vampire avoids by skipping over them happily. An empty glass bottle in his hold.

As per usual, his parents aren’t home for the weekend, so by natural retaliation Vampire had hosted a miniature get-together. A measly group of brutes and esteemed figures sat on the carpeted barren floor of his estate. 

A circle of conversation, gossip, and thoughtless laughter as any cruelty or tragedy beyond their walls falls on deaf ears and is forgotten entirely. Faintly, music plays on repeat from his phone laid dormant atop the couch. Big Gay Hands, by Partner. 

Only known for their vast popularity and reputation, the circle consists of football players, cheerleaders, and generally well-known kids. Parfait smiles and chats happily with Kumiho at her side, airy and buoyant as if nothing were amiss at all.

Sparkling takes pretend shots and swings of his sparkling water, Mango Bubly, while Mint sits at his side. Away from most of the others, holding hands and smiling while Cocoa spoke, she was only really there because he was-- otherwise, to say she utterly despised these meetings would be an understatement.

Purple Yam sits beside Milk, but he says nothing at all. Usually, he’d be ranting about something or even singing along to the various tunes and songs Vampire played. Going as far as to pick a broom from his closet and singing into it like a microphone— But tonight, he says nothing. Lips sealed shut and heart dropping at the sight of that bottle in Vampire’s hand, especially so when he raises it high and grins.

“Guess what we’re playing tonight!” 

Most clap around the circle, and Mint shifts himself away from the circle and instead takes residence on the couch. Vampire rolls his eyes and sits at the floor alongside his friends. The glass is mostly empty, with the cap screwed tight and various bold labels across its exterior. It was alcoholic, and completely empty.

Yam looks away.

“Oh come on, Mint, you’re no fun,” Vampire chides teasingly with a pointed, accusing finger. “Not since you got a bitch, at least,”

Quickly, Sparkling moves to forcefully tug his hand away, silently barking stop with actions alone. Cocoa does not react, but her hands tense, and she looks ready to backhand him at any moment. “Come on, let’s just play,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vampire tosses his hair in annoyance but complies to his reasoning, no matter the underlying and deep-rooted prejudice that lies beneath his tone. His eyes dart across the circle. 

Milk provides his wholly attention, Kumiho and Parfait have stopped talking, and only smile when Vampire points to one of them.

Parfait. Kumiho elbows her slightly, and she only giggles slightly in response as the bottle is urged towards her. Insisting and beckoning “Come on,” with a smile that makes Yam want to hurl. 

For reasons he could never quite pinpoint, Yam didn’t fit in. He didn’t want to be there, and yet, everyone else seemed to enjoy the company and entertainment because it was normal. A basic normalcy to be expected, and surely it was Yam who was different. 

He’s sure of this; because Parfait takes the bottle with little to no hesitance, perhaps accustomed to his unruliness. She places it gently in the plush middle of the circle, where a clean spot of carpet lies, and looks up for a signal. 

Vampire nods silently, returning to his spot, and Parfait spins the bottle with a flick of her wrist. 

It reels quickly, whirling in place as the group makes various obnoxious noises of suspense. ‘Ooo’s and pounding their fists against the floorboards in a makeshift drumroll, Parfait only smiles alone. 

Seemingly perfect.

Not a flaw or fault in her visage of pastel esteem, light at a constant, anxiety but a burden she simply didn’t have the time to carry. Perhaps she too, deep down, was faking it all. Yam tries not to think about it, or her entirely.

He still remembers it. An old attempt at normalcy, to appear like he fit in or ‘got it’ like his friends seemed to, to prove he wasn’t the thick-skulled token idiot he was framed to be. He had tuned into Parfait’s streams, even subscribed and supposedly happily talked to his friends about how hot he found her. Even if he knew he was lying, he couldn’t face that yet, afraid of the bigger picture. 

Ever since then, they had it in their minds that he had this huge thing for her-- and it hurt. His best friends had no idea who he was, not even close. 

Not even he could quite narrow it down. Why he never quite understood when they pointed out magazine covers or women on television, and why he was never interested. Scouting out online for someone, anyone he could deem attractive to fit in, only to find none. He hated feeling abnormal. 

He didn’t get it. 

So when the bottle comes to a halt, directly across from where she spun it, Yam’s eyes go wide to find it pointing toward him. 

His heart drops.

As if the tangled mass of heartstrings that pull him together are dragged by the talons of humiliation, his guts twist and dread is caught in his throat. Thick and straining him to swallow, he’s frozen completely. 

“Haha! Holy shit!”

But this was wrong; so wrong. He knew he didn’t like girls, he knew he liked being kissed by his best friend, and that was wrong. Against every ideal he’d drilled into his mind, too confusing to comprehend, and surely not him. That subconscious want that shifts into a need and territory he fears, it is surely not his own. 

It’s all too much. 

“You do that on purpose, Par?”

The music, though faint and barely audible through laughter, sounds too loud. The vibrations that wrack through the floor everytime a fist hits against the carpet can be heard through his panic, and he swears they are laughing at him rather than with him. 

Why is he like this? He should be ecstatic, for the opportunity guys would pay for, practically at his fingertips. Why does his stomach drop and churn?

He can’t do this. No matter how he wills himself, and not-so-politely dismisses himself. 

7:54 PM, Northside Field. 

The breeze is chilled, and an ethereal force sends goosebumps to wrack through him as he eases the glass door open. His smile calm, his pace eased as he strides towards the field as if he imposed grace in every breath he took. His staff in one hand, a miniature basket in his other, weaved with a small bow entwined at its peak. He even seemingly carries the thin handle with elegance.

The sky, —light shades of blue and hues of pink amongst clouds and early snowfall— provides him comfort, as winter settles in and he revels in it. A scarf by his shoulders and a puffy winter jacket at his arms, unzipped thoughtlessly— he seemingly left in a hurry. 

The once-bustling team dissipates, some to the locker rooms where more chaos would surely ensue, and some to the parking lot where they leave campus entirely. They clap and high-five in celebratory victory, after all, this was the last practice for the season.

The shrill squeal of Dark Cacao’s whistle echoes through the field, ordering practice formally over with a dismissive wave and a huff. Diverting his attention to the clipboard in his hold as his players left for the locker rooms to whack each other with towels, wrestle, or spray Axe until the whole foyer reeked of it.

He picks up pace slightly, conscious of his every step to ensure he does not trip or fall. Though he knows the campus like the back of his palm, he is persistently cautious at a constant. Horrible for the students, a simple habit for him, Mr. Vanilla. 

The basket sways and his staff taps against the ground, devoid of any formal rhythm. Perhaps it was informal of him, and his coworkers (Most particularly, Tea Knight.) would surely scold him for it, but it was all set aside in favor of meeting the coach.

“Cacao!” His voice picks up through the wind, and he must stop to heave and catch his breath heavily, almost kneeling from exhaustion. Clutching his staff like a lifeline, smiling throughout it all.

Dark Cacao turns, and his shoulders noticeably fall. "Vanilla,” He greets simply, if not annoyed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know you don’t have to run for me,”

“Ah, my apologies,” Pure Vanilla huffs out a laugh, catching his breath and dismissing the scolding entirely. He dusts himself off neatly, returning to his formal posture and stance. His shoulders propped behind him, his spine straight and head tilted up simply to meet Cacao’s eyes. “I do hope the boys didn’t cause you any trouble,” 

"Thankfully, not today. Then again, I don’t want to know what they’re doing in there,” Dark Cacao clips, clicking his tongue and looking to the communal locker room. "What did you come out here for?" 

“Alright, alright,” Vanilla holds his hands up slightly as if in defeat, showing off the small basket. 

Woven with pliable straw with threads and accents of blue hues, he smiles and urges it forward. His entire being seemed calm. Soothed and assured, without anxiety or a worry in the world, as if he were oblivious to any turmoil beyond himself. “-I imagine dealing with them must be exerting. Here, I insist,”

"This isn't necessary," He stated, but gently accepted the basket regardless. "But I appreciate it nonetheless,”

He smiles and metaphorically looks to the sky, though his eyes are shut delicately, shunned by pale eyelashes. His fingertips strum against the exterior of his staff idly, and by mistake of the wind, his flaxen hair falls in his face as usual— yet he pays it no mind.

“Well, if it gives you peace of mind, not a single one of them has been suspended for at least a month now,” Pure Vanilla speaks fondly of his students, as he always seems to do. “I’ve heard the best of you. Mostly from Milk, though,”

Cacao spares a nod. 

"Would you care for a seat?" Gesturing vaguely towards the bleak metallic seat, Dark Cacao stutters and curses himself when Vanilla tilts his head. "Um, there is a bench nearby."

“Oh,” Seemingly content with this, he nods and as per usual, holds out a hand in hopes that Cacao would lead him. ( An honest piss-poor excuse when he could’ve gotten there himself.) “How kind. Do you do this for every staff?” 

The players have yet to shuffle out, though few noticeably leave entirely, not paying the pair the time of day— if they did, Vanilla couldn’t be bothered to notice.

“Of course not, Holly doesn’t usually ask to hold my hand,” Gingerly taking Pure Vanilla’s palm in his own, Dark Cacao steps back to lead and direct him.

Pure Vanilla scoffs slightly, but he does not protest. His fingertips meet the cold metal bench first, then his open palm as it navigates the bleak barren metal. Finally, with the assistance of his staff and Coach Cacao, he sits down formally. His posture persistent and unslackening, matching his smile and demeanor.  “I hope the season has been treating you well. It’s odd, to say it’s over,”

Taking a seat beside him, Dark Cacao leans forward slightly and rests his folded hands in his lap. “It has been… eventful,”

“I do try not to get involved,” Mr. Vanilla’s voice is faint and picks up volume through the wind. “-It has become difficult,”

"How are your classes?” Quick to the change and redirect the subject towards a far more lighthearted substance, Dark Cacao looks to his left, his expression softening at the sight of Pure Vanilla by his side. 

“They’ve been well. My fifth period was the worst, until Holly showed up,” He laughs slightly at the remembrance. His voice is solemn and dare not waver, as if he were a force untainted or adulterated by the suffocating world that colored his life shades of grief and melancholy. He pays it no mind. “Supposed doing this for you was more important than my paperwork,”

"Ah. So you're visiting me as an excuse to not do paperwork." Cacao concluded. He knew Vanilla wouldn't just use him like that though.

“I am visiting you because I care,” Pure Vanilla corrects him without missing a beat. Hands entwined neatly in his lap, he makes no attempt to turn and face Cacao. Simply looking off and staring to the distance with shut peaceful eyes. He smiles. “Unless you’d like to be my excuse more often. It does get lonely after hours,”

Cacao takes a moment to think, "It does get quiet while I wait for Choco to finish up,”

“How flattering,” Pure Vanilla laughs, and his tone is light. Mindlessly, his palm moves to lay flat in the gap between them. His staff leans against the bench, and he seems almost distant— had he not responded attentively. “I haven’t seen you social with our coworkers, 

"I've always preferred my solitude. It's easier to stay focused that way." 

“Ah, right. Your ‘focus’ that I’ve torn down with some pastries and a laugh,” Pure Vanilla’s shoulders rise and fall slightly as he giggles to nobody but himself, and leans back slightly, as if he were taking in the sky and the beauty she beholds. Perhaps the scene would befit a painting or memorial, perhaps it was just the light magic.

"Ignoring you would've been very rude of me." Cacao stated, though turning away to eclipse how his cheeks go rosy. "Why do you choose me? I'm sure Hollyberry is far more sociable than I,"

“I do not ‘choose’ people, Cacao. Though Hollyberry is wonderful, you’re special,” 

Dark Cacao clears his throat, a fist to cover his mouth formally. “Vanilla, would you…?” -but his words trail off into muttered silence.

Pure Vanilla’s smile only grows in turn, as if amused by his struggle. Perhaps he is a fool to do so, but he extends both of his hands, his open palms facing the sky. He extends his blind trust without hindrance or hesitance. Whether it be a weakness or a strength, he spares no room for anxiety. 

“Come now,” -And he ushers Cacao to take his hands in turn.

Graciously accepting the offer, bashfully quick as if to mask his fluster his brow narrows slightly as if he were attempting to dissect the reasoning behind the action. "Do you need me to lead you somewhere?" 

“No, no,” Vanilla is quick to assure him, and with subtle motions and a nod, he urged Cacao back to his seat. His thumb graces over Cacao’s hand at his grasp in short, small strides, as if this were normal. “I’d prefer it if you stayed. The sky is quite nice at this hour— I can hear it,”

“You can?”

“Do you hear that?” Pure Vanilla points out seemingly nothing as a thin silence passes them by. “Nothing. The birds have migrated by now, and the insects have retreated for the winter. It must be getting late, there’s no honking or traffic either,”

Enraptured by his knowedgle, Dark Cacao finds himself staring, memorizing those silk locks and the pink that paints his cheeks rosy from the cold. It is only when he notices the eye embedded into Pure Vanilla’s staff stares right towards him, and he looks away. “Vanilla, are you, um, would you be intrested to- in- fuck,”

Conflict never seems to cross him, yet he’s not quite emotionless. The opposite, actually, wholly and attentive at a constant— judgment not there at all. Pure Vanilla squeezes Cacao’s hands slightly. “If you’re up to it, I am free on Saturday; if you’d allow me the pleasure of taking you out,”

-And Dark Cacao chokes on his own breath. “I-, damnit, yes. Yes, I’d love to,” 

“How does lunch sound? I know a lovely little cafe down the road,” His smile never seems to fall or fracture, a persistent kindness that never seems to leave him. As if, in the frigid barren cold, he emits warmth.

"Very well," Cacao nods, "As long as I get the chance to ask you next time."

“Ah, of course,” Vanilla nods like he understands, and attempts to appear collected. Even if his heart does a little twirl at the word ‘Next time’. “Perhaps it’s better that we’re out here. I am sure Holly wouldn’t let me hear the end of this,”

A chuckle, though it is to mask the dread as Cacao can practically hear her taunting banter. "I'm not sure how Choco is going to react. It's never every day your father begins to date his male colleague,”

Pure Vanilla’s lips part in visible surprise, any and all movement coming to a sudden halt. As if it is unheard of, and he’s never heeded such a thing. “You want to date me?”

"It's a date, is it not?” Now, his voice plagues the tinge of worry.

Pure Vanilla appears amused at his concern and yet, not mockingly at all. Taunt never crosses him, and he giggles behind a closed smile. “Yes, a date. I quite like the sound of that,”

"So it's settled?” 

“It is settled, Cacao,” Pure Vanilla nods in agreement, and moves to entwine their fingers instead. He speaks as though he is beyond anxiety and worry, and none of it exists at all. Without waver entirely, seemingly oblivious to any further presence behind them.

“About time,” 

-And there, with his loaded duffel bag hauled by his shoulder, stood impatiently, Dark Choco cocks a brow to his father who turns in an instant.

Pure Vanilla does flinch by instinct, though eclipses it through a giggle, though embarrassed, he attempts to appear collected regardless. “Ah, suppose that’s our cue, then,”

"Right. See you Saturday at....?"

Pure Vanilla does not spare a moment to think. Without missing a beat, as if he’d thought over the time prior, he responds airy. “How does noon sound?”

"Sounds great. I’ll… see you there,”

Pure Vanilla decidedly does not get up, but instead waves happily from his seat, opting instead to indulge in the newly winter evening. “I’ll see you then, sugilite,”

Dark Cacao holds the woven basket with the utmost diligence, as if it were an artifact to be preserved. “If I hear you’ve told a single soul, I am leaking your baby pictures,”

Dark Choco scoffs. "It's not me you have to worry about snitching. It's the rest of the team already making bets on you,”

“Bets?” Dark Cacao remarks in slight disbelief, brow twitching in masked and subsided frustration. Of course, the idea wasn’t too out of character, not for the team at least, but it’d still annoy him regardless. “I am gonna need names, Choco,”

Chapter Text

The day remains thin in its winter glory of dull sky and barren tree branches left in its wake. The grass, or what remains of it beneath blanketed sheets of snow, has long turned orange and crisp. No longer do leaves litter the grounds and fields, as if they’ve dissipated entirely. 

It is all far beyond him now, as he looks over the railings of the school’s roof and peers down at the cold winter below him. At his feet lay a miniature box, rectangular and concealed with a gauze exterior, sitting atop a thin blanket he’d brought in precaution. 

Naturally, it was quite the sight. The football captain, on a weekend, walking down the halls of the campus with a box of donuts in his grasp like some hunky delivery boy. He decidedly ignores the stares and smiles on— the reminder that Espresso would be meeting him soon drives his persistence forward. His hair is let down informally, thoroughly brushed through prior without a split end in sight— for he’s already cut them out with his blade. The casualty of his attire, a white single tee, had been reserved for the weekend, and is a shift from his usual overzealous self.

The roof is bleak in its lonesome, he stands unfamiliarly physically alone- but he is never unaccompanied. His mind, a constant senseless bustling mess, is alight and refuses to leave him be. Looming over the rails, his arms crossed and leaning informally against them, his own thoughts berate him without fail. 

To know Espresso would be joining him soon enough, why, the thought alone induces a smile involuntarily— especially so when those thoughts conceptualize and he finds himself daydreaming over the crisp winter. Foolishly so. 

His sweatshirt is hung and tied by his waist, for he has no need for it now. The light magic practically buzzing beneath his skin in masked excitement regulates his body temperature fine. His jaw is cupped in his hand, his elbow rested against the railings, and he’s rendered a fool. An oblivious fool to any outside presence.

The frantic clicking of his familiar heel, accompanied by the thin shuffling of loose papers and piled scriptures of study; the solid metal door is hauled open, and Espresso steps hurriedly out onto the school’s fenced roof. The floor tiled beneath the outsole of his flats, Espresso quick straightens out his attire and zips his coat fully. He’s met with Madeleine’s back, his hair draped down his back in the oaf’s wake as he stares aimlessly, wholly consumed by nothing at all. 

“I do hope I didn’t keep you waiting,” Espresso must learn to fear that gaze, for it means Madeleine is thinking hard. A huff, and Espresso moves to stand beside him, “Why don’t you put your coat on? I can already feel my fingers going numb,”

Flinching slightly, Madeleine’s head immediately props up in surprise at the sudden company- though it does not last long. He is quick to offer a smile and rise from his poor posture against the steel metallic railings. He shifts slightly to see Espresso at his side. “Not to worry, I haven’t been here too long,” 

His eyes momentarily drop to his sweatshirt upon the comment, before shamelessly returning and making direct eye contact without so much as hesitance beside him. “Ah, Divine’s blessings, my friend.”

"If you get hypothermia, I'm not dragging your ass back inside," Though a mindless warning without any real threat behind it, Espresso glares slightly as he sorts through the lined papers in his hold. A mass of study with edges, corners, and sticky notes visible from the pile, Madeleine eyes him, thoroughly intrigued. "I've done research on the dances we can practice based on our lack of experience, it’s all right here,”

Madeleine raises an eyebrow at the comment, but brushes it off in stride, laughing hearty at his devotion. “Really!” -It’s more of a remark rather than a question, but he digresses. “Well, what did you have in mind?”

"The Waltz is a classic,” The papers almost fall and scatter as Espresso shuffles through the unruly stack to pull out and present a sheet. “I figured this wouldn't hurt to try."

Madeleine shifts so that his back leans against the metal railings and his arms cross. “Oh, I know that one! Easy enough,”

"Is that so?" A rhetorical question, "Are you capable of taking lead?"

“Are you doubting me?” There is a rubber band bound by his wrist, concealed by black elastic fabric. He slides it off his palm and moves to tie his hair up in preparation of a dance. “I have you know I can lead just fine,”

"I doubt a lot of things about you." Espresso huffs, and unzips his coat with ease, shrugging it off and shivering as he does so to reveal the mock neck that lies beneath.  "Let’s make this quick,”

Instinctively, Madeleine’s eyes dart to the floor where the rectangular box lays dormant. He keeps his head low as he fixes a ponytail, “Yeah, sure.”

"Very well," Crouching slightly to set his papers down consciously, Espresso claps once, then twice before approaching, as if to mentally prepare himself. A hand steady on Madeleine’s shoulder, he watches the taller’s eyes broaden and his lips curl to frame a lopsided smile out of surprise when Espresso entwines their hands. He finds it fascinating, how it affects Madeleine in real-time. 

"I assume you know where your hands go. Any lower, and I’ll toss you off the roof,”

“You make me sound like a brute,” Madeleine chides with a taunting smile, and is quick to reciprocate. His fingers fold down to press against  Espresso’s knuckles and wholly entwine their hands. “Like I said, I would never,”

His hesitance leaves him like a switch, and his hand rests subtly on Espresso’s back. Simultaneously pulling him closer in the process, an unfaltering grin plays across his expression. “—not unless you wanted me to,”

"I’d expect dinner first,” Espresso urges Madeleine backward and chides. “You’re really slow at this,”

Madeleine’s cheeks burn in abrupt, prompted fluster and even the points of his ears go red in hue. As per usual, Madeleine doesn’t seem to stop talking; consistently running his mouth even throughout the steps and process, he drones idly as he reaches a step back. “You taking advantage of my chivalry, Essy?”

"Your own medicine doesn’t taste so sweet, huh?”

Madeleine doesn’t take a second to look to his feet, whether it be in stubbornness or conceit in his ability. He takes a step right with his right foot and draws his left close in favor of keeping his feet parallel. Almost tracing a box with his heel. “Didn’t think you had guts, nerd,” Madeleine throws the nickname as if it’s salt in the wound of his taunt, and smiles cockily to mask his fluster.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how capable I can be," Espresso keeps his gaze to his flats, fixed on each step and matching them, aligning his pace the best he could. “-And please, it’s troubling enough that you call me Es ,”

“Really?” Madeleine’s head tilts in a mockery, stepping back with his right and sideways with his left foot, decidedly ignoring that last bit whether it be in ignorance or arrogance. “Enlighten me,”

"How so?” Momentarily, Espresso’s eyes flicker up to greet sapphire blues, and it is all too familiar. “What scenario would entertain you best?" 

Too familiar. Too secluded, alone with him. Too much like those band halls, where they never went, and nothing happened.

His tone shifts, and something in his demeanor has changed at what he processed as a taunt. A mockery of his ego and a tease to his exterior, one that certainly would not do. His left leg extends and his right knee bends slightly, his legs parting and abruptly— he lets Espresso’s hand go in favor of moving both to hold his back and dip only slightly. That way, he can sway and move them both to the side and ensure eye contact. That most certainly was not in the instructions. 

“Please,” It is horribly uncharacteristic, and even more so unpredictable. Perhaps that is the endearment of it. “Do not toy with me.”

“Or what?”

Fascinatingly so, the hair at Madeleine’s nape seems to stand on its end. And though he went particularly red, he dare not express it. He couldn’t possibly stutter, in pursuit of his dignity or ego aflame, he couldn’t allow himself to vocalize his undeniable nervousness— even if the hands on Espresso’s back noticeably flex in silent reaction. “And here I thought you didn’t want people believing we’re together,” 

Espresso’s eyes narrow, and though he attempts to ward it off, an undeniable grin shapes his lips. His voice comes out a whisper whether it be intentional or not, and his breath is seen through puffs of frigid air lingering in the atmosphere with each syllable. “You’re not bad from this angle,”

-And Madeleine’s hold lets out, and his eyes visibly broaden. In sync to his quick, racing heart, his face goes flush in a beat. Realization sets in, and his lips part measly, and before he can force a sentence to emerge Espresso is already laughing. Failing to suppress a giggle behind closed lips, it is a vain attempt at stoicism, that ends in a sputtered snicker, and Madeleine back away entirely. Leaving Espresso to his feet and crossing his arms, performatively upset.

“Is that really all it takes?” Madeleine puts particular shock and expression into his words as if appear offended, though promptly turning to retrieve the dormant box laid on the barren frigid floor of the roof. “I’ve known you since, what, October? And that’s what it takes to make you laugh? You are cruel,”

"I don't laugh much," Espresso admitted, though unable to properly calm his smile, he shifts to sit beside and neaten his poorly stacked papers. "But that was priceless,”

“Well naturally. You couldn’t possibly put a price on this,” Madeleine twirls the box in one hand and uses the other to pat his chest boastfully, and moves to Espresso’s side to sit down next to him. 

"We've only known each other since October?" Espresso turns his head to face him, and leans against the railings pressed to his back. "Feels like it's been longer than that,”

“Didn’t we meet when you started tutoring me?” 

"When you barged into my life and became...a tolerable pain in the ass," Espresso drones, yet diverts his attention to the ground, contemplating. "Why is it that you want me to tutor you?”

Madeleine props one leg up informally, and leans his elbow against his knee, resting his chin within his palm as he listens seemingly intently. A dorky, lopsided smile across his pale lips. His other leg extends haphazardly to make room for the box to sit on the floor between his legs, and the question catches him off guard. 

“Haven’t I already told you?” He tilts his head slightly, and his smile has closed in favor of the sobriety of the moment. “For starters, you’re a know-it-all. It only helps that you’re pretty,”

"Bad taste," Espresso clicks his tongue and glances to his side. "Actually, I have something to ask you,”

Madine leans back slightly as if to feign causality, and as if his heart weren’t actively pounding against his ribs simply by having Espresso next to him. Pretending as if he thought nothing of it, and praise was simply a part of his daily basis. “Ask away, my friend,”

"You call me Chéri, why is that?" Propping his jaw to rest in his palm, his elbow braced to his knee, Espresso tilts his head to express curiosity. “You don’t use any other words from your mother language. Why’s this special?”

“Oh,” Madeleine’s smile visibly softens slightly at the oblivious question, though it’s all to mask the bead of sweat that races down his nape. “It’s, um, like a nickname. Nothing bad, I swear,”

"Madeleine." Espresso’s eyes narrow. "I already told you, you’re a bad liar,”

Uncharacteristically so, Madeleine’s eyes dart to the ground and for a moment, he considers how to respond. He could ignore it entirely, and instead focus and defend how he is, in fact, a perfectly good liar— but he knows it’s all vain. He knows it well. 

"-That’s what you would call your spouse, Madeleine. You call me dear ,”

Madeleine goes still. “Ah. I can stop, if you want me to,”

"I have no intentions of making you stop." 

At last, Madeleine’s eyes meet him, but they are wider in prompted shock and confusion. His surprise falls, and affection takes its place as his smile returns like a switch. “I thought you hated my nicknames,”

“Just not in public. Or around Latte,” Espresso shudders at the thought of her anticipated endless taunts to come, and curls up slightly against the railings, watching Madeleine billow a throaty laugh. “Have you really nothing better to do? I know football season is over, but, surely you have something beyond hanging out with me ,”

Madeleine fetches a nearby plastic bottle of soda he’s prepared-- he’s seemingly thought of everything as if he anticipated a picnic rather than a dance lesson. Peach Fanta. Unscrewing the cap idly as he croons slightly in response, he tilts his head back to sip and wipes his mouth with the back of his palm. 

“No idea. Football was kinda my thing, as the captain and all. I am not really into any clubs beyond that,” He toys with the bottle in his hold, swaying it back and forth slightly. “I volunteered at the art club for a while but it got kinda boring. You have no idea how tiring it is, doing nothing and being admired for hours,” 

-and just like that, his dramatics have returned.

Espresso grimaced at the memory. "Don't you have any hobbies? Like baking, reading, anything?”

Madeleine visibly gags in preformative disgust, and swings another sip from the plastic bottle in his hold. “As a knight in training, fencing takes a lot of my time. I don’t really have the free time for that,”

“Really?” Espresso shuffles into himself, knees to his chest as he stares down a certain patch in the floor. He attempts to conceptualize it, and it admittedly proves a challenge to imagine the ever-pristine Madeleine fencing. His palms would be rough with sword callouses strewn by his fingertips, dirtied from the soil arena. He’d probably emerge with grass stains on his knees, from foolishly sliding or formally kneeling in defeat-- an oddly fitting position for him. Platonically. 

Espresso simply assumed everyone felt this way, how could they not? Madeleine was faultless; a hefty team captain with a smile to blind, Espresso’s emotions were justified because they were universal. Surely, it was simply socially accepted that Madeleine was attractive, and nothing of his own accord. 

He easily fools his mind with the cover of friendship to eclipse any underlying fondness he may hold for the man, but his body is not so tactlessly tricked.

Madeleine clicks his tongue and moves his head to face Espresso, his posture propped up and tall, as if he had anyone to impress. “Actually had to cancel on Raspberry for this. Decided I wanted to add dancing with totally-not-nerds to my hobbies,”

"One more nerd joke, and I'm throwing your Fanta off the roof,”

“Hey!” Madeleine smiles and huffs out a laugh, haughty and wrung straight from his throat, his smile shows his gums and his cheeks crease to frame dimples. Quickly, he snatches his soda and holds it close to his chest as if to protect it. “I said ‘totally-not’, that doesn’t count,”

"Well, maybe we can make tutoring your hobby. We could just find out what kind of books you enjoy," Espresso suggests as he picks beneath his nails, droning idly. "I'd be willing to show you more examples of Dark Magic, if you want,”

Madeleine visibly perks up at that. His posture propping up in almost surprise, and for a moment, he’s sure that he heard Espresso wrong. “Wait, really? You’d do that for me?”

“As long as you don’t kill yourself with that seal, yeah,” Espresso moves his hands to cup his mouth and blows into them, a futile attempt a warmth. 

“Dying at your hands isn’t the worst way to go,” Madeleine shrugs haphazardly and sets the bottle to his side in favor of snatching the box and presenting them like a treasure to Espresso, not even noticing he’d moved closer. “Oh! Before we go in, I brought these. For you,”

Cautiously, Espresso narrows his eyes and raises a brow. "I'm not into gag gifts. Or most surprises,”

Persistently and perhaps even annoyingly so, Madeleine does not back down for a second. Instead, urging the box forward and beckoning Espresso to take it. “C’mon, like I’d ever disappoint you,” 

Espresso’s shoulders fall as he sighs, "I'll open it when I get to my room,” -but he takes the box, and holds it with both hands. 

Bringing himself to his feet with minimal hassle, Madeleine extends an open palm for Espresso. “What a short lesson. Are you sure you didn’t have anything else to try?”

"Well..." Espresso started, setting the box down. "I guess it's still a bit early to end. Do you have any requests?" 

“Don’t get me started,” He begins, eager as ever, making vast and vague hand gestures as he speaks. “We could try something more quick-paced like a swing or a foxtrot, and the-“

Spontaneously, his mindless droning comes to a sudden halt in favor of a single coherent request. “-it’d actually, um, be kinda fun to dip you like, for real. Like in those traditional salsas, y’know?”

"Whatever do you want to learn that for? That's not something that happens at a prom, right?"

“Just for fun. Couldn’t hurt to try,” Madeleine shrugs casually as if he thought nothing of it, and takes a swing of his Fanta, only to toss it aside when it runs empty. Decidedly done with it entirely. “What, you scared?”

“If you drop me, these lessons are over,”

“I thought you knew me better than that,” Madeleine scoffs slightly, though it’s all in playful casualty. The points of his smile are sharp in the way it is conceited, and his cheeks crease in the way it’s somehow simultaneously inviting. “You just have to face me, I can help you through it,”

"I can't help but face you." Espresso chides, moving his hands to Madeleine’s shoulders, "You're constantly in my face whenever we're together."

“How can I not? I like your face,” He states bluntly without hesitance or fear in sight. “That depends. If you wanted to try ballroom style, your hand would go-“

With ease, he shifts slightly so Espresso’s hand nears his nape and his other remains still on Madeleine’s shoulder. “-there,”

"Fitting for a college prom, huh?" Espresso allowed his hands to rest calm where Madeleine directed them. He could feel Madeleine's pulse.

“Nothing wrong with being extra,” Madeleine allays with a smile to coo hundreds, “I don’t suppose you’ve been to a prom before. I mean, have you?”

"Something like that." Espreso’s gaze falls and averts, his posture stiffens. “It was a date,”

Madeleine’s heart drops. Though he attempts to mask his dismay through his persistent and never-faltering smile, he cannot deny the cold sweat that breaks down his neck. He couldn’t possibly show it. “Really? When did this happen?”

“My senior year in highschool, we were… together , I guess,”

Though the dance has been temporarily delayed, Madeleine does not seem to mind nor care in favor of concern. His gaze fixes slightly when Espresso looks away, worry spreading visibly across his expression and making his lips part measly as he attempts to dissect his visage for any hint as to what he is talking about. He continues on when he finds nothing of use. “Do they go here? To our school?”

“No, not anymore. He wasn’t- I didn’t-” 

The air has gone thin, and the atmosphere dead silent. A beat passes, but not a sound. Only the vague live cars bounding down the roads beyond them, as life moves on, but Madeleine cannot. He stares, wide-eyed and speechless. “Espresso, what happened?”

His breath catches, and regret blossoms in his throat. Constricting the means to speak, straining the act to swallow, every muscle goes tense. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Ah,” His focus falls and his hold slackens as if to silently allay him through actions alone, nodding understandingly and as if he comprehended any of it. “Of course. I understand,”

Espresso takes a step back, his arms fold at his front, palms holding opposing elbows as if to shield himself. He looks away. "It’s getting cold, we should… get inside,"

Madeleine blinks, and takes a look around him. Attempting to forget the entire prior conversation, a measly, weak smile takes the place of his concern. A futile attempt at comfort, he attempts to mask the way his mind buzzes with questions, knowing better than to speak his mind or press the topic. He despised seeing Espresso stressed, and couldn’t bring himself to ask. 

“Very well. Though it’s not cold in the slightest,”

“...I had fun, today,” Flattening and straightening out his attire, his words come out almost a mutter. “I should be free tomorrow, if you want,”

Madeleine’s expression visibly lights up at that, in excitement he cannot quite hide, and no longer does he even bother to. His posture perks up and he clears his throat slightly. “Here?” 

“Same place, same time. You’re not too bad,” Espresso nods, and moves to lift the paper box from the floor, “I need to get going, I had something planned after this,”

Madeleine looks around momentarily, to his left then right, then back to Espresso. “Really?” Madeleine smiles as if he’s impressed. “What? Like a book club?”

Espresso deadpans in turn, “A meeting with Mr. Vanilla, actually,”

Visibly intrigued, Madeleine is quick to appear fascinated. Trailing behind as if he were lost while Espresso treads towards the downwards staircase, piled papers stacked upon the gifted box. “For what? Did you get in trouble?”

“Nothing of the sort,” Espresso reaches for the frigid handle, but Madeleine is hauling it open before he can. “Simply for the sake of my experimentation. You may follow, if you want,”

“And I thought you detested my company,” Madeleine picks up the empty bottle, knowing better than to litter or leave it there, and strides towards the door with ease. His worn tennis shoes make minimal noise against the tiled floor; they’ve seen more games than he can count in both hands, or wants to for that matter. “What kind of experimentation?”

“Dark Experimation,” Espresso states simply, and crackles magic between his fingertips idly. “Healing magic, actually. You’re familiar, yes?”

“Alas, healing isn’t exactly my thing…” Dramatic as ever, he scratches the back of his neck in nervous habit and his smile turns sheepish. “My light protects me in combat, not in health,”

"Oh really?" Espresso says, mildly impressed. “How so? I don’t suppose you’re a summoner,”

“I am. Ever heard of The Shield of Radiant Light?” Madeleine corrects, trailing behind mindlessly, his eyes wandering around his surroundings as if he were lost or clueless. Looking over the walls adorn in posters up and down, sometimes looking down to his own feet as he walked, seemingly oblivious. “Not yet, though. Once I am eligible to become a real knight, the shield is simply a reward for devotion— from The Divine themself,”

"Hm, fitting, I suppose,”

Madeleine hums slightly in thought. “It is a tedious process. Though the prestige is worth it,” From his peripheral vision, he spots a bin and mindlessly tosses his empty dented bottle into it. A dark green with white arrows painted and peeling on its exterior. Madeleine toys with his palm slightly, opening and spreading his fingers, mocking a spell. “Mostly a matter of practice and training, though I am not sure how you would hone dark magic,” 

"It’s not too difficult, at least, as long as you don’t overdo it,” 

Madeleine isn’t quite sure if they can get in trouble for practicing magic in the halls, but he is far too fixated to care much for anything beyond them. His gaze fixes on the grinding eye, pupils dilated in awe. There was something so infatuating, so alluring about the likes of Dark Magic that Madeleine couldn’t quite subdue. “You make everything look easy,”

Pure Vanilla’s door is an unfamiliarity. Madeleine only recognizes it as his teacher’s for the plastered shiny name displayed beside the oak door. He’d never been sent to his room, of course, as the ideal student and player. The only time he’d seen Mr. Vanilla out of class was to inform him or in the pursuit of praise— so it was only natural for his hands to subconsciously entwine. Toying with his fingers as if he had any reason to be nervous, he looks to his side.

“Ah, I should probably leave you to it then,” Madeleine chirps, as Espresso knocks his knuckles to the wooden oak door.

"Oh. Alright then." Espresso glances just in time to catch Madeleine’s smile, and looks back just as quick. "I'll see you tomorrow?”

Madeleine smiles wholly despite very reluctantly having to leave, before his expression lights like a switch as if he’s remembered something vital. “Oh! But, if you’re interested, I heard from the grapevine that the cooking club is hosting a little get together. Nothing big, just to bake treats for the holidays,”

Espresso shook his head. "I'm pretty sure baking isn't really suited for me,”

“Well that’s the fun of it, Es,” Madeleine digs his hands into the pockets of his slacks to feign casualty. “Think about it, and uh, text me when you decide,”

"No promises. But I'll think about it,”

In proper Madeleine style, as well as in all of his conceit, he takes a step back and foolishly bows just as a real knight would. He turns to leave with a smile and an obnoxious wave while he’s at it, and had it not been a weekend, would’ve earned a few stares.

As the tapping of his quick and unruly footsteps fade and dissipate down the hall entirely, there is a shuffling behind the door, and Pure Vanilla finally hauls it open.

“Ah, good afternoon, sir,” Espresso adjusts the papers in his hold, albeit nervously, and attempts to spare a smile. “I hope I am not disturbing you,”

“No no! No harm done,” Pure Vanilla smiles happily at the realization that it is Espresso standing before him, as the eye embedded into the gold of his staff opens to focus and fixate on him. Peering down at him and closing once again when it fails to find a threat. “My apologies, if I made you wait long. Would you like to come inside?”

"I haven't been waiting long at all, don't worry." Espresso reassured, making quick eye contact with the staff.

“Of course,” Politely, Pure Vanilla steps to the side to allow him in, nodding slightly to acknowledge his request. Pressing the door to the wall in favor of keeping the entrance wide for him to peer into, his office is relatively clean. Papers stacked neatly atop his neck, harboring a polished slate with his name engraved into its exterior, there is a peculiar bouquet of primroses on his dark oak desk. Bound by ribbon and flourished in lively petals, it appears new. 

There are a few racks of books in the corners of his study, a single clock hung by the wall that displays the time and hung awards the school has won. 

“Now, what could I help you with?”

“Magic. I’ve heard of your accomplishments in the healing field and I,” Espresso thinks momentarily, adjusting his glasses and scouring the words to phrase his request, “-I wanted to know if it was possible, to heal as a dark-magic user,”

Pure Vanilla appears conflicted, as he eased the door shut gently against its frame and moved to take a seat back at his desk, guiding himself forward with his staff in hand. “Well we’ve…certainly never had a student try, so there’s no guarantee that it’s impossible, but no insurance that it is,”

“So I could try?”

“See, healing magic is not exactly giving but more so allocation. You cannot simply heal someone by infliction, but instead must divide your own reserves to offer and share with them,” Pure Vanilla explains the best he can though it is clear he struggles for the right words, as he makes vague hand gestures. “If that makes sense. Power does not just come from no where, after all, you will have to put yourself at the expense of those you wish to heal,”

"What would you think would happen if I tried to heal someone with Dark Magic?" Espresso props his shoulders up slightly, whether it be in intrigue or caution. 

“And that is the complication,” Pure Vanilla continues on, pulling out his swivel chair to rest and take a seat. “Dark magic is far more… overwhelming, then light. I fear the sudden intrusion of dark magic on one’s self may have fatal consequences,”

Espresso paused and looked at the flowers on Mr. Vanilla's desk. "What if I were to practice on something smaller? Does healing magic also work for botany?"

“Well, I suppose if nobody were to get hurt…” Pure Vanilla considers with a hand to his chin in thought. After all, who was he to stop a harmless experiment that would hopefully better his own student? He couldn’t possibly deny him that. “I am sure the gardening club would love to have you, if you’d like to continue your experiments,”

"If what you say about it potentially being fatal, I don't think the gardening club would appreciate me killing their plants,” Espresso toys with the papers in his hold idly, almost sheepishly.

“Hm, though I do believe further human interaction would be good for you, I understand,” Pure Vanilla sighs reluctantly but nods regardless, “If I may, what exactly prompted your new fascination in healing magic?”

Espresso bit his lip. "Curiosity, this has been on my mind for quite some time now. Along with… befriending a light user,”

“Ah, good! Always good to know you’re making friends,” Pure Vanilla hauls open one of his many drawers from his desk, pulling it out by the silver handle attached to its exterior. “How have you been doing as a tutor, anyway?”

"Challenging." Espresso deadpanned, "But… I’ve made it work. I am sure my efforts have paid off,”

Pure Vanilla stops momentarily, appearing pleasantly surprised with the news, if not shocked. He’d naturally heard rumors after rumor but never believed them true. Regardless, he slips out the sheet of marker paper and presents it onto the desk and in front of Espresso. With the blunt head of his pen, he points to a certain score written in red ink.

“Indeed. Do you know what this means?” He asks, though it is a rhetorical question. “Madeleine’s grades. He’s progressed 27% in two months, I am not sure how you did it but unless you truly want to continue tutoring him, you are no longer obligated to,”

"No!" A quick, instinctual exclaim, Espresso promptly clears his throat when he comes to his senses. "I mean, If I stop tutoring him, he'll probably start failing again."

Pure Vanilla appears confused.

“I um. I don’t want to stop tutoring him, sir,”

The eye nestled into his staff visibly broadens at the reaction, but Pure Vanilla’s visage is neutral. Albeit confused, he subsides an informal giggle at his panicked reasoning. “Very well,”

Sliding the paper back to himself and shuffling to store it back away into the stacks of paper he has organized in the drawers of his desk, he drones idly. “Please do update me on your experiment; and please, do not do it alone. The last thing I want is you getting hurt unattended,”

"Doing my experiment with someone is inefficient. I get precise calculations on my own." Espresso stated, adjusting his glasses. "But, I'll try to be careful."

“Espresso,” His voice stern with the waver of concern, Pure Vanilla’s expression softens. “Nobody has attempted something like this as far as I am aware, and if they have, they clearly don’t talk about it for a reason. All I ask is that you put your health first,”

Espresso averts his metaphorical gaze, and looks down.

"I understand," Espresso said, nodding. "By the way, where did you get the flowers? They’re a nice addition,”

“Ah,” Pure Vanilla smiles at the remembrance, looking towards the bouquet with a visible fondness, the corners of his smile softening in adoration. Even the eye in his staff closes, content and assured “Best I not tell, don’t want rumors circling around, after all,”

"...I actually have another question. This one is for a friend."

Pure Vanilla raises a brow in visible intrigue, drawing his drawer shut. “Go on?”

"I have a ... friend . And they think they might be falling in love." Espresso tucks a fallen lock behind his ear in habit, "But, they've been in a relationship before and it wasn't a good one. A really, really bad one." 

"-And they just want to know if it's a good idea to, you know, go for it? They’ve seen you with Coach Cacao, they’ve seen how it… helps,”

Pure Vanilla had continued to shuffle through drawers idly, musing slightly as he listened, before the wording catches him off guard. All movement is stopped when Espresso mentions the relationship, and he looks up when he says ‘Coach Cacao’. 

“Ah, that’s harder to answer than healing magic,” Earnestly, he responds hesitantly, attempting to uphold his sympathetic smile. He entwines his own hands atop the wood of his desk formally. “Well, first of all, your friend has nothing to fear. If they wish to pursue it, love can be a wonderful thing, I am sure of that. But they should put themself first and decide if they are really ready for…such a large step. Recklessness never prevails-”

“-But your friend is very lucky to know someone like you,”

And with that, Espresso looks up. 

“Thank you, sir,”

Chapter Text

I cannot hold on much longer

My ethereals, they fail me, I’ve succumbed to ruin.

Snap my spine. 

Tear my tongue. 

Bash my brains. 

Shoot my shadow. 

--and I’ll hold you a night longer.

My head is infested, with you, and only with you. One and only, devoted and enthralled, my mind has fallen from grace and my brain is on the walls.

I want to scream. I want to scream scream for the whole goddamn world to know my anguish well, for my throat to sputter dry in my devotion ‘til I am pulling out my own hair by the locks. 

To bound my fist against the wall! The soil that upkeeps me I wish to punish through my frustration and pent spleen, I need to feel my knuckles peel sore and pale. 

Shed me an ocean of your malice. A lake of your spite, a sea of your aristocracy. Drown me beneath the pools of your hate, allow my head underwater and I’ll thank you after. Cry me a river.

Isn’t that poetic, Chéri? 

I love you.

(You can’t know that. Yet.)

Act. IIII

Chapter Text

Late-afternoon. 

A bell rings repeatedly and the noise alone echoes and wracks through the brick walls of the academy. Down the sleek white foyer of the school, where students pass and gossip like routine, and around the corner of the left-wing lies an oak door. Framed by posters, invitations, and pamphlets, there is one specific sheet of loose paper taped to the center of the door. In green pen, surrounded by crayon depictions of flowers and vines, three words are written in bold. 

‘GARDENING CLUB’ 

Drawn across its thin flimsy surface, and in clearly different handwriting, ‘ Welcome! ’ is written right below it, with a miniature smiley face beside it. The door is unlocked, and from behind its thick wooden exterior, peers can be heard talking happily amongst each other. The occasional wave of haughty laughter wracking through the secluded room, the crowd has thinned, and the halls have grown vacant.

The task; far outside of his comfort zone, makes his skin crawl with anticipated anxiety, as he silently plots precisely how to phrase the strange request. Standing in front of the door, Espresso gave a knock, unsure of how else to allow himself in.

The only noise seems to emit from behind the door, an air of silent tension occupies the halls. A single beat passes, before hurried shuffling can be heard and the footsteps of someone as the door is hauled open.

For a college student, they appear as though they're headed to a festival of sorts. Perhaps torn from a fantasy or tale. They wear a measly thin white tang-top, the straps thick and the color pristine. A long, muted green skirt sways and reaches their ankles, harboring white locks that wisp in front of the right eye. They huff the uncooperative strands away, and bear a ukulele strung by their torso. 

And there’s something particularly strong about their jaw and how thin their lips are, as well as a visible lump in their throat that gives away the fact they are not a ‘they’ at all— but a he. “Well good afternoon, my friend. How can I help?”

"Hello." Espresso says a bit stiffly. "I was wondering if your… club has any dead or dying plants that I can take off your hands?"

Now, he has taken it upon himself to lean casually against the white frame of the door. A raised eyebrow in intrigue and a smile in amusement. As he moves, beads strung around his neck chime and dangle. “Dying? Well you’re quirky,”

Reluctantly, he takes a step back and waves Espresso in. “Alright, come on in. I am sure we can find something,”

Espresso looks around a bit cautiously, peering into the room. Potted plants are lined on tables and shelves, some vines and leaves surpassing the bounds and constraints of their ceramic pots. Sacks of fertilizer and soil rest in the corner, leaned against the walls, and it is only when this formal stranger waves for him to follow that Espresso strides in.

There is an open door in the back, where some bring in plants for the winter to stay inside. They seem to be rearranging the outdoor plants to settle inside and beneath hot lights to substitute the sun. They all seem to talk amongst each other, and this white-haired stranger must clap to get their attention. “Brothers, sisters, friends and Beet, we have a guest,”

His voice echoes off the walls without effort, light and airy and somehow almost sing-songy as if he were performing each word he spoke. “Whose name is…?”

"Espresso,” He crosses his arms at his front, and his posture fixes slightly. 

“Elated to have you here, Espresso,” He continues to walk as he speaks as if he were granting some vast tour, and beckons Espresso to follow him through a silent nod. His earrings chime as he does so. “My name is Clover, my pronouns are he and him, and I am a bit of an expert around here,”

"Nice to meet you…Clover,” Espresso looks around slightly, unsure if the lack of people was reassuring or pressuring. He follows Clover a few steps behind, "It doesn't matter what kind of plants they are. I'm only here for anything close to death,”

“Well we don’t have any mirrors around here but I am sure there’s some in the back room,” The closer Espresso approaches, the essence of lavender makes itself apparent as it seems to cling to him. Clover points to a door behind various desks and cracks a smile. “Why don’t you linger a bit, man? Come on, I’ll introduce you to the group,”

"Oh, I have no intentions of joining,” Espresso states simply, and looks towards Clover as to avoid the gaze of others. An awful habit, but he makes no effort to help himself, “I am far too busy with my projects and work." 

“Okay, fine, fine, I get it. You’re a busy man,” Clover holds his open palms in front of him as if in his defense, coming to an eased casual stop in front of a desk. He presses his palm against its surface and leans back on his hand. “But it won’t take long, swear. Beneath the school’s nose we call ourselves ‘queers and a deer,’. Creative, right?” Clover smiles at what he thinks is pure genius, and gestures to Fig, who is currently trying to find how many plants they can hold at one time.

"Very creative." Espresso deadpanned.

“Oh celestial, we got a conservative in here,” Clover waves him off but he smiles to ensure Espresso knows it’s a joke, as he always seems to do. “That’s Fig, by the way. Pink hair and the hat,”

He moves to stand on his toes and point to someone across the room, cupping a hand beside his mouth to increase the volume. “Over there is Carrot and Beet! Word of advice, don’t pick fights with Beet,”

"Uh-huh," Espresso nodded, not even bothering to try and remember the names or faces presented,  "Anyway, the plants, please?"

“Yeah, whatever Americano, right this way,” Though huffing out, Clover gets the hint and obliges.

In the back, there is a shut oak door, resembling that of a supply closet or miniature break-room. Clover makes a point to tip his hat with a smile to everyone who looks his way.

Espresso clips, and does not bother to look towards the waving figures, "My name is Espresso, not Americano," 

“You got it, Doppio,” Clover shoots him reassuring finger-guns and strides towards the closet, hitting Kumiho’s table to alert her and get her off her phone on the way. The door is relatively bland, without those posters or flyers taped to its surface. “Behold, the entrance to Narnia. Now, you gotta promise me you ain’t gonna tell anyone what you’re about to see in here, got it?”

"It's just a door. With respect, I have no interest in your… games. I am simply here for the plants," 

Clover appears to think and consider for a moment, before his hand moves to hold the knob of the door. He leans against it slightly, brows furrowing as if he were attempting to dissect Espresso’s visage and the thought process behind it. “You’re boring, huh?”

Espresso pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I can work with boring,” Clover cracks a smile, perhaps out of reflex or to ease the atmosphere, before slowly stepping back and easing the door open. The hinges creak and the distinct smell of fertilizer makes itself evident. “But for now, behold,”

There are racks and shelves leaned against the bleak walls, bags full of seeds and dirt weighed atop their polished surface. Laid out shovels and tools, some with names written on them, and a crate of padded gloves; but most particularly, there are tables lining the interior. Pots after pots of decaying, dried, and brown plants that droop and hang limp. There are warm lamps propped up above them harboring pitchers of water at their disposal. 

Clover walks in with ease, smiling as if it were a sight to behold or marvel at. “We try and keep them around as long as we can, try every solution in the books. We believe everything— and everyone holds potential, given the right environment and resources. Sound familiar, Cortado?”

"It's Espresso,” He drones, though by now, Espresso is approaching the plants cautiously, his interest peaked and allowing his crossed arms to slacken. “But… your ideals are admirable,”

Clover scoffs and leans against the wall of the closet, his heel propped up. He strums a few chords on his ukulele in a single stride, brushing his hand against the strings momentarily for dramatic effect. “We believe no matter how dried up and bitter, there’s always potential; just like you,”

Now, he places two hands behind his head casually and leans back. “We haven’t had a new member since the beginning of the year, actually,”

"I'm not joining the club. I'm just here to use these as...test subjects, if you will,”.

“Aye, you’re stubborn,” Clover remarks with a huff to his hair and a readjustment to his ukelele. Fixing the strap that bounds his torso slightly. “That’s cool. Have your pick, man,” He makes a single vast gesture as if to display each plant and offer them to Espresso’s disposal. “Though, we do have a bit of a sacred ritual tonight. For club members only, we could make an exception for you, if you’re interested,”

"Not interested." Espresso states immediately, grabbing a potted plant. He angles it slightly and narrows his eyes, it looked like a flower, or could’ve been one in its past life. "This one should be a good start." He noted, and took it upon himself to reach for a second one. "I'll be starting with just these two. If my tests are inconclusive, I'll come back for more."

“Ah, a shame, really,” Clover huffs dramatically, his shoulders falling and posture slackening as he does so to make a point. “Very well, though if you do decide to join, we’ll gladly take you. Just a trip to the lake, walking along the shore, picking up trash, shoving Kumiho into the water. Y’know, the basics,”

"No thank you, I have everything I need. I'll be taking my leave,”

Posture propping up, he leaves his post at the wall to quickly pull a folded and crumpled up sheet of paper from his pocket. “Wait!”

He extends it to Espresso with a grin. Written in black ink, clearly printed, it displays times of each meeting and phone numbers to contact them.  “I won’t try to convince you, but just in case you change your mind,”

Espresso briefly glances to the paper, but spares it no real heed, "Thank you."

“Course, dude. Maybe you can meet everyone else, next time,” Clover nods, before taking a few steps back to allow Espresso out. He moves both hands to hold his ukelele, and strums it dramatically once more with nothing but his left hand. “Til we meet again, macchiato,”

6:43 PM, 

outhSide FieldVisible lines of students file out of the school from afar, distant conversation audible even from the field as cars abandon the parking lot. Peers in heavy coats and scarves, beanies confining their hair and hats hemming their skulls, the air is thin. The breeze has momentarily ceased in favor of leaving nothing more than stable, solid silence. Harboring snow piled and dusted soil, even the football field seems to be let go, as a thin sheet of snow blankets the artificially green estate. 

Not a sound. The usually harmonizing birds have fleeted south and as class ends, even the chime of talkative students dissipates and draws out into nothing. Silence.

Gently setting the plant before him on the ground, Espresso grabbed his notebook and clicked the end of his pen. He sits at a kneel, comfortable in the middle of the field, tying his hair back in the pursuit of efficiency. 

"Test one" Espresso drones as he writes, "The spell shouldn't do anything too drastic, though I’ve relocated to my academy’s southside field, simply for safety,”

Hurried, quick footsteps run behind him. 

Had his hold not been occupied by mounds of study— paper paragraphed poetics bound by hard sealed covers harboring a single sticky-note latched onto its surface, he surely would have waved obnoxiously. Perhaps make a display of his entrance, vast overzealous hand gestures that would surely snatch Espresso’s attention, though he’s not quite given the choice. 

His footsteps are quiet against the plush snow, his flat subtle heel worn by sport is quick against the soil as he runs with experience. All with that dorky smile that curls his lips and shows off his teeth, as he calls out haughty, his hair swaying tactlessly in his wake. 

“Espresso! Hey, Espresso, over here!”

Espresso flinches, and almost loses hold of his pen, “Wha-? Madeleine!”

His quick-witted pace slowing as he approached, his footsteps actively losing momentum as he comes to an eventual stop; panting only slightly. Visible huffs of frigid air escape his breath, as he proudly tears the sticky note from the book wordlessly and presents it to Espresso with a smile. “Well good afternoon to you, too,”

“Madeleine, what are you doing here?” Espresso props his shoulders up slightly, and his eyes narrow scoldingly, attempting to individualize the books in the oaf’s hold. He only beams in turn, and Espresso wants to scoff, but he does not. “And with all of those, at that?”

And deep, deep down, Espresso doesn’t mind it. Perhaps if he had been the man he was only months before, he would’ve loathed the mere sight of him. Now? Watching him clumsily trot over, upholding such a large mound of study with ease is… oddly appealing. Espresso no longer bothers to shoo these thoughts away in a panic

 but he’s taken to indulging them.

On the loose vibrant paper, neat handwriting in black pen is displayed across its surface, with a measly signature at the bottom. 

 ‘I hope you don’t mind, I dug up some old books on healing magic that I believe could be of good use to you. My apologies, I couldn’t deliver them myself,’ and at the very end writes ‘From Pure Vanilla. Good luck,’

"Huh.,” Espresso remarks. How useful, “I appreciate it, but you should never startle a magic-user. Ever,”

“There’s a rule-book to magic?” Concern crosses Madeleine’s expression momentarily, realizing he’s never read anything of the sort, before it’s quickly subsided to set the books down at Espresso’s side. Admittedly, they were a bit heavy, but nothing he couldn’t handle!— or so he claims. Madeleine tosses his hair over his shoulder, and peers down at the miniature set-up Espresso has prepared. 

He tilts his head slightly, narrowing his gaze to make sense of it, though comes up short when he understands none of it. “What’cha up to? I don’t think that plant is very healthy for experimentation… or alive,”

"I'm using it for my experiment." Espresso adjusts his glasses slightly, "I am practicing healing magic, and if I want this to go well, I can’t risk any distractions,”

Nodding as if he understands any of it, Madeleine happily takes it upon himself to stride forward and take a seat right in front of Espresso, leaving the plant between them. He criss-crosses his legs and toys with his hands in his lap, eyeing the open notebook and attempting to decipher the writing through narrowed eyes. Though Madeleine had never been one for gardening, he is sure that plant is surely dead and to be buried, but dare not say a word. Not wishing to underestimate Espresso— or even worse, knocking the whole spell off balance. 

“Am I distracting you, Es?”

“...Very,”

“Can I help?”

“With your knowledge? Not to mention your seal. I am sure I’ll be just fine,”

Foolishly, Madeleine simply shrugs. “I can watch, stand guard, make sure you don’t hurt yourself,” he drones mindlessly, listing each option off on his fingers. “Maybe having someone as keen and ‘popular’ as myself might help,”

Espresso huffs, "There's nothing I can say or do to make you leave, is there?"

Eyes flickering slightly at the sight, Madeleine shakes his head ‘no’ with that familiar smile. Creasing his cheeks, curling his thin pale lips and slightly upturning the right side specially like a smirk; he huffs out a laugh. “I’ll leave if you really want me to, but I like watching. Your magic is really pretty,”

Espresso looks away. Pure Vanilla had advised him to keep company, and Madeleine’s prescense was growing on him. As relunctant as he was to admit it, he enjoyed it. Because, surely, that’s what friends did. 

Friends wanted to spend every living second with one another. Every time his lungs had the nerve to contract, he wanted Madeleine’s voice to ring in his ears. Every time his heart beat against his ribs, he wanted Madeleine’s warmth beside him. That was normal, and that was friendship, surely.

"Fine. But stay back at a distance so your seal doesn't start acting up."

“Of course. Just-“ Stopping himself mid-sentence, declaring actions more effective than words, Madeleine takes it upon himself to shift slightly. Leaning forward, one hand braced on the ground as he reaches over the comfortable distance between them; using his right hand to wisp the thick lock of hair that eclipses his eye and tucking it gingerly behind the cusp of his ear, Madeleine smiles as if he’s achieved some mighty feat. “It’d be hard to cast a spell with only one eye, y’know,”

Espresso frowned, but left his hair where it was. "I'd ask if you had anywhere else to go, but obviously you'd rather be here," Espresso muttered, grasping the pot firmly.

Madeleine laughs slightly at the response, but backs away chivalrously, returning to his spot and leaning back casually. As if to ensure nothing would go wrong at all, his posture is slack and he tilts his head like it’s common knowledge. “I like your eyes,”

Espresso averts his attention to the plant before him, and hopes Madeleine cannot pick up on the flush across his complexion. "Silence. I'm about to begin."

“Okay, okay,” Returning his hands to his lap, entwining and toying with them while he awaits eagerly, his gaze completely enthralled. Eyeing the plant as if he expected something to change on the spot, occasionally glancing back to Espresso. Ashamedly, these ‘glances’ had lasted longer than anticipated, finding the sight of him pleasant. Even that was an understatement, and he’d gladly go on and on of his anguish, preaching poetics of how naturally beautiful he found Espresso— had he the chance.

“Sanguis…”

The plant began to shrivel.

“Salutis…”

The ends lift slightly, curling in itself and thinning. 

Madeleine holds the gaze of a man completely and wholly fixated. Entranced, finding his magic endearing, and watching tense as the plant dips and shrivels. Eyes narrowing slightly to see the true effect of it— before it erupts, and he flinches violently in surprise. 

The plant combusts into flame. Spreading fire reaches the lips of the leaves before consuming the plant and charring it to dust. A pile of hot ash in its pot, smoke arising from the pot.

"Holy shit!" Espresso yelped, and moves to snatch haphhazard handfls of snow to pile atop it, compacting it quickly.

“Espresso-?! Was that meant to- are you okay?!”

Madeleine’s shock is short-lived, as he moves to assist and haul snow atop the declining and flickering flames. He winces from the remaining aurora that clings to the pot, embers flying off and sizzling into the snow.

"I-I'm fine." Espresso shivered, his palms hot with a few scalds across them. He rubs them slightly,"I'm fine. These should fade within a few minutes,”

Madeleine looks up, and by natural instinct, his eyes land to the light scorched residue of the spell. Concern bubbling in his throat, he’s quick to abandon the pot in favor of preaching his worry. “Are you sure? Should I get something? Tell someone?” He holds out a hand, expecting Espresso to place his in Madeleine’s hold. “Let me see,”

"I'm fine- ah." Espresso winced, and holds his hand close to himself, watching Madeleine’s dissiapointment in real time when he doesn’t accept the offer.

He’s not ready, because he might just not get enough.

"Just a minor injury, nothing worth trouble,”

“What happened to it?” Madeleine hadn’t moved from the plant, peering and trying to make sense of it, scouring for some reasoning behind the reaction when he realistically understood nothing. He flinched and promptly moves back away when an ember lands on his fingertips and make him squeak. 

He was not ready, because Madeleine was addicting.

"Dark Magic can be unpredictable sometimes," Espresso explained, biting his cheek slightly in thought. "I'm never doing that again."

He was not ready, because he wouldn’t mind being an addict.

“What about the other plant? Would it be different?” Madeleine asks as he rubs patterns into his ‘wounded’ finger pitifully, blowing on the minuscule redness. They were each dead enough that Madeleine couldn’t distinguish whether they were the same species or not.

What was he thinking?

"I'm using a different spell for that one. A spell Mr. Vanilla suggested,”

He began to pick up his notebook to record his findings, but dropped it with a hiss. 

Madeleine, ever and persistently weary for his health, is quickly alerted and stands to move and pick up the book himself. Just the title was the complicated, and he hadn’t a clue how Espresso did any of it. “Are you sure? You look hurt. Should I get something?” Shamelessly bombarding Espresso with questions out of concern, Madeleine’s eyes searching his expression for pain.

"No, no. I just need to give my hands a bit more time to heal,” Espresso brung his hands to his mouth and blew onto them, as if to relieve the pain. Espresso shifted to sit down on the nearby bleachers with his notebook in hand. "Think of it as the spell telling me to wait and let myself rest a bit before continuing."

Madeleine moves to stack and pile all the books and place them by his side on the frigid metallic bleachers, better there than on the ground. Though they are a hassle, he strides with ease. “Can the spell also tell you to sleep?”

Madeleine dusts off his hands and has deliberately put on a coat, knowing well enough as to not neglect his own human needs.

"No, but sometimes I do use spells to keep me awake if coffee isn't helping." Espresso says as he digs into his pockets for his pen, and lists his symptoms into his lined, spiral notebook.

“Wow,” Blunt and unsure of exactly what to say, Madeleine remarks mindlessly as he moves to sit beside Espresso. His feet dangling off the bleachers, swaying back and forth slightly, his hands grasped the ends of the bench as he looks over with intrigue. Trying to read what Espresso’s writing down from his shoulder. “That sounds…really unhealthy. Like, very,”

"That's just how I do things. Before things can get drastic, I'll take a nap every once in a while,” Espresso eyes Madeleine over his shoulder, and raises a brow, “What?” 

“Just curious,” Madeleine shrugs, though actively leaning closer to Espresso to get a glance, squinting to read it properly. He leans on his palms braced against the frigid metal of the bleachers, “How often is a ‘while’?”

"A while is when I deem it long enough." Espresso said, finishing up in his notebook. "Why are you on my back about my health so much? I'm clearly not dying,”

“You may if you continue on like this,” Madeleine lectures with a supportive, wannabe-comforting hand on Espresso’s shoulder— though he does not look up to meet Espresso’s eyes, he smiles slightly to see Espresso finish up his work. “Plus, you’re the best tutor I’ve had,”

"I can take care if myself, Madeleine. You don't need to worry about me,” Espresso shuts the notebook quickly, “I’ll pick up where I left off. Um, I beleive this is a light spell,”

“If you say so. But I am still gonna worry,” Madeleine promptly backs off, leaning hind on his palms casually, tilting his head slightly at the statement. “You can do light magic?”

Though he didn’t doubt Espresso for a second— he knew better than to suspect or distrust him, the question was purely out of curiosity. Espresso hadn’t ever mentioned something of the likes before.

"Light and Dark Magic are almost the same. Dark Magic is just more...unstable,” Espresso frowns like it’s common sense, and cautiously, approaches the opposing plant as if it were to combust from his simple touch. “Stay still, won’t you?”

Please, don’t catch on fire.

Madeleine visibly perks up, intrigued and attempting to get a solid view of the spell, before worry sparks in his expression. “Are you sure? You just healed, what if something happens?”

Of course he wasn’t objecting to watching Espresso do it again. There was something captivating in the way his magic works, just like every other aspect that built him as man. Madeleine found it all fascinating, and would watch intently, had he not been concerned for Espresso’s health.

Espresso does not spare him a glance, instead devoting his wholly attention to the plant before him, extending both open palms and simultaneously reading off the prepared script written neat in his notebook. Unintelligible to any outside gaze, nothing seems to happen.

He attempts to direct his focus into pronouncing each syllable to perfection. On time and equal pitch, but the intrusion of Madeleine makes it difficult. Boring holes in his thought process like a parasite, Madeleine finds his way into his mind, and there is nothing he can about it. 

He wants to be near his friend. All the time, forever. 

He wants to hear his voice, ‘til his own lungs collapse.

He wants to hold his friend close. Feel his hair, the warmth of his hands, the flush of his cheeks and heartbeat behind his chest.

Would his friend allow it, if he wanted to-

Ah.

The spell combusts.

Sat at the edge of his seat in the event that something happens, Madeleine watches intently with his hands grasping either side of the bench ledge. Hair falling down his shoulder slightly as he leans forward to inspect and peer at the plant, watching for a reaction, and flinching when it reacts. 

Emitting a steam that lingers in the cold air and reaches high in the atmosphere, smoking dark like a campfire, Madeleine is quick to abandon his seat. A deep, dark smoke that consumes it, then dissipating entirely and leaving nothing left but charred soil and cracks in the pot. Espresso does not react, only sigh in disappointment, and look back to his study.

What had he done wrong?

Not even bothering with the plant to check if it’s aflame or active, but instead shifting his wholly attention to Espresso’s health, his footprints leaving hurried marks in the snow, he crouched to berate Espresso with a mass of questions. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? Injured? Espresso, oh- Is anything broken?

“I am fine. Just annoyed,” and he attempts to rise to his feet, evidently failing.

Madeleine braces a hand to Espresso’s back in the attempt to help him sit upright, concern never leaving his guise, empathy caught in his throat and visible through his expression alone. He wants to help, to provide aid like any good friend would, to support Espresso no matter the means— and most certainly not focus on how nice he looks with his glasses off, he had far more important matters to drive his attention towards. “Are you sure?”

"I just need a moment to collect myself." Leaning forward a bit, Espresso focuses on taking deep breaths. "How's the plant? Please tell me it didn't just burn up,”

Madeleine had seemingly forgotten all about the herb, and looks over quickly, realizing he’d have to leave Espresso’s side to check. How bothersome. No matter how reluctant, he obliges and moves to fetch the plant, holding either side of its cooling clay pot. Steam still emitted from the herb, but there weren’t any embers— if there had been, they’ve already dissipated entirely. “Uhm. I don’t think it’s suited for another spell,”

Letting himself fall back onto the snow, he let out a groan of irritation. "I'll have to return to the Gardening Club sooner then I intended then,”

Letting his arms spread out at his sides, he continued to just lay there. Until a snowflake landed on his nose.

Madeleine sets the failed potted plant beside its other, angling them together so that they can at least be plant friends in death, and turns to look back and approach Espresso. He laughs through a huff and moves to sit beside where Espresso lays. “You making snow angels, Es?”

Espresso scoffs. “Never had, never will. I am not a child, Madeleine,”

“Really?” Madeleine tilts his head with a curious smile, and draws a little smiley face in the snow idly while he talks. “Not even when you were a kid?”

As snow begins to fall visibly, Madeleine leans back and sticks his tongue out slightly between his lips, hair draping down his back as he angles his head upwards to catch a snowflake. A single scarf is wrapped around his neck, and it comes a bit loose.

"No. Never really had a reason to." Espresso admitted. "I was far too occupied with my studies. And, there was no point when I was alone,”

Madeleine’s expression shifts empathically, and his posture slackens. As long as he could remember, he’d never known loneliness. Always occupied by duties, prayer, or accompanied by fellow paladins throughout his training, he finds the idea unimaginable. Foolishly, he flops down and falls limp in the snow, his head hitting flush to the snow and surely getting in his hair, he stretches his arms wide. “That’s not childish! That’s called having fun, Es,”

“You think they would let us make a snowman on the field?”

"We're grown men, Madeleine, we shouldn't be building snowmen." Espresso turns his head to look at him, and regrets it when he cannot look away. "I don't even see the appeal in making one when it’ll simply melt anyway,"

“Well that’s the point, Es,” Madeleine sprawls out slightly, certainly leaving a large imprint in the snow. “No need to worry if it sucks, since it’ll just melt by morning,” 

Madeleine shifts to lay on his side, propping one arm up to rest his chin comfortably in his palm and directly face Espresso at a constant. “I mean, I thought you were old but not too old for snowmen,”

"That doesn’t get any funnier,” Espresso clips, even if he is smiling, tactlessly tossing a handful of snow at the fool. "It's still a waste of time regardless,”

Madeleine gasps in performative offense, sitting up and sputtering, shaking his head to rid himself of the snow. The melted residue of the frigid snow runs down his cheek, and his nose has gone rosy along with the points of his ears and cheeks. His breath is visible through short-lived puffs, and he smiles challengingly, balling up a snowball in his palms. “Ah, spare me. You’re right, I should respect my elders,” before shucking it to Espresso’s back.

“Oh, you little shit,” Espresso’s eyes go wide, and with the flick of his wrist, he tosses a few more haphazard clumps of snow right back. 

Despite snatching a handful of snow and compacting it brutishly between his palms, Madeleine only shoots him a smile— perhaps challenging or deceitfully innocent, it’s hard to tell as the wind blows his hair into his face. Either way, he does cautiously back away, perfectly aware of Espresso’s magical ability and the extent of it. Did he truly believe Espresso would ever hurt him? Of course not, he was simply being…. Careful. “I mean no harm! Oh mighty nerd, spare my life,”

“Yeah right,” He scoffs, and throws another square to his chest, watching him make a pained noise in turn.

With ease, Madeleine dramatically falls down onto his back and landing in the snow with an audible ‘thump’. A hand to his chest and the other to his forehead, he makes sure his voice projects and echoes. “Betrayed! Killed! By my own friend, how could you?!”

“You are ridiculous,”

“You are but a traitor,” Madeleine seethes dramatically, narrowing his eyes as if the action strained him to do so, as one hand falls to collect a handful of snow. 

Espresso scoffs, but he turns away so Madeleine cannot see the smile tugging his lips. He looks over at the field in its wholly entirety, his smile falling at the sight of his abandoned project and experimentation. "I'll continue the experiment some other day. I'd do this in my room or the school's lab, but I don't know how things will turn out.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Madeleine cups his own cheeks with his palms as the cold starts to get to him, and he attempts to warm himself manually. “The last tries have been…explosive,”

Though he was mostly concerned for Espresso’s health— a common occurrence, he often found himself worrying for his ‘friend’ between his awful sleep schedule and perfectionist tendencies.

"Besides, I promised Mr. Vanilla I'd give him an update on my project. It'd be foolish to end it as soon as I started it,” Espresso sits up formally, back straightening. “Plus, that wasn’t close to explosive,”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Madeleine shudders to exaggerate fear, though he hadn’t the capacity to harbor dread, and was sure Espresso couldn’t hurt him. After all, if he did, Madeleine surely wouldn’t mind. “Have you really no better place to experiment?”

"Do you want to blow up a room in the building? Unless you have any better ideas, which I doubt, I'm doing it out here,” Espresso raises a brow as if he genuinely expected an answer, and presses on when he receives none. "Now, I need to go inside before I catch a cold,”

“Ah, so soon?” Foolishly so, Madeleine appears disappointed to watch Espresso leave. And though he values Espresso’s health, his company was always so nice. In the way his voice is a constant stern force, unwavering and assured, and the way it affects him; of course his heart sunk to hear his departure, but what was he to do? 

Whatever. He always had tutoring to look forward to. “Do you need assistance?”

"None. I can float everything else to my room," Espresso rises to his feet with only… minimal hassle, his hands healed over for the most part. "Goodnight.....I had fun."

“Oh,” a bit dumbfounded by the sudden leave, Madeleine is quick to wave and call out, obnoxious as ever. “Bye Espresso! Goodnight!”

Yet those last three words circle in his head and drum against his thick skull over and over like clockwork. As if he couldn’t quite get enough of the saying and the possible meaning behind it that he dissects and overanalyzes. All to fit his ego, of course.

He had fun. 

He was coming around.

To an empty field with silence as his witness, Madeleine beams.

Chapter Text

3:02 AM, Espresso’s dorm.

When December settles thin and bleak, winter break begins and brings forth a dull term of driveling desolation. A man of intellect and of mentality would never admit to lonesome; a man surrounded by his accomplishments, his creation, his novelties in the dingy light of his dorm room would never confess to isolation, but it hits hard. 

Decidedly, he has no family to return to. When his peers abandon campus to find comfort in their home, he lingers behind because he cannot afford forgiveness. His consciousness spares not the capacity for remission, and he cannot go back. It’s best for his heart, this way. The postered brick foyers have rendered empty, safe for those like him who dawdle behind idly, and it feels so empty. 

There isn’t a voice to occupy the atmosphere, nor the footsteps beyond his door. Without papers to attend to nor research to fix on, he stares up at his ceiling, and he is alone. But he, he is not empty. His mind buzzes at a constant, a noise so pestering, he’s grown sick of his own voice. He’d achieve his best thinking this way, but these nights have proven different, because his attention is not drawn to any study nor probe, but to a man.

A rather annoying, irritating man. 

(He was beautiful.)

A nuisance and a criminal to productivity, Espresso tugs his sheets to his shoulders, and his heart feels full. His stomach swoops beneath his polyester blankets, and he wants to dig himself into his pillows and scream. Like adrenaline, wracking through his veins and alighting every nerve, he wants to shriek it out. To vomit his bothersome emotions and hurl that stupid thing beating behind his ribs right out. He’d be better off that way, emotionless, void and productive. 

But he can’t, because Madeleine infests his mind like a parasite. 

A clever man would admit to this, because there serves no point in lying to an empty room. With silence as his sole witness, there is no purpose in denying himself to his barren prison. Madeleine is perfect. His exterior was too golden, too pure to be true; Espresso was sure he’d discover some vile beast beneath that front, an ugly creature of deceit to hate him for, but he is found at a loss when there is none. 

Espresso claws for an aspect he falls short in, for a bearing he’d lack, a reason to despise his core, but he is faultless. It’s annoying, it’s aggravating, it’s endearing. He wants to hate Madeleine so bad, but he wants him just as much, and it is… a bit too much to bear. 

Espresso lays alone in his bed, and though his duds at sleep are hardly uncommon, this is different. Too new for comfort. He does not utilize caffeine to strain his consciousness awake, nor abuse cold water to sprain his eyes open and prevent fatigue. He is awake simply by the product of his thoughts, and it is too new to be him. Espresso wouldn’t bother with such futile distractions as admiration, the productive, hard-working Espresso would never trouble himself with such ideals.

Perhaps Espresso was dead and buried, and in his place stood hardly a man. Consumed by the thought of his own pupil, of that hair he’d run his fingers through and tug given the chance. Of those eyes, that smile, those dimples. 

This… may be a problem. 

A problem he didn’t want to admit. An issue he could never confess, a trouble he couldn’t possibly vocalize; so he sits alone in his silence, while his thoughts run where his words could not. Madeleine would know what to say, Madeleine always had a way with words. Madeleine, Madeleine. This… feeling, this sensation builds in the pit of his heart, filling and swelling, overwhelming the capacity of his compassion. He was not built for this, love wasn’t for him. 

And that’s when it hits him. Love. Love, love, love, He’s in love. And the word feels so foreign. A preposterous idea, a horrible, awful idea with even worse consequences to come. He couldn’t love, let alone love Madeleine. It was not possible, it was not sane, it was not right. He’d ruin Madeleine. That is too much to bear. 

He looks to his countertop and to the rectangular box Madeleine had gifted him. Donuts. The fool had given him donuts. Juvenile, but it made his chest feel light.

He is not ready. He couldn’t love because he couldn’t allow himself, he couldn’t fall victim again. Victim. A cruel word. A weak, sensitive word so he felt seen, a word to group him with people who’d surely known worse than him. What right did he have to call himself a victim, when he allowed it? He couldn’t feel weak, but the life inside him quakes at the ideal. He was not fragile, he was not frail, he was not helpless. He couldn’t be just another victim, he was individual, surely. 

And surely, he held no right to steal the words of the hurt. To call himself traumatized, to claim the title of a victim, to wear the tag of unwell. He did not compare, he was not a statistic. He couldn’t be hurt, if he was falling in love again-- and his own twisted thoughts prove that perfectly. What right did he have to call himself traumatized, if he still yearned for touch? What a weak, weak word, and words beyond his comprehension circle his mind ‘til he cannot stand the pitch of his own voice. If only he could throw that up, too. 

He needs a shower. He needs to wash his touch away.

Espresso shifts to lay on his side to instead focus on the mound of piled, empty coffee mugs at his bedside table. A distraction, and a futile attempt. Love makes his heart soar and cheeks flush, and he does not want to acknowledge it. The mental image of Madeleine makes his palms sweat, and love stirs in his loins. He cannot call himself a victim, because he wants Madeleine more than anything. 

And he knows he is an awful, terrible person when the death of a man brings him comfort.

Fuck this.

6:23 PM, The Gardening Club

Though only natural if not expected, the room is far quieter than the other club meetings. From the band kids to theater, Clover would even claim their club was the smallest— If not the best, though he may be biased. 

Holding the ends of his skirt so that he can walk with ease, he moves to join and talk with the rest of his club. That Espresso guy was weird. Not quirky weird, but bitter and dismissive, unswayed if not blatantly rude. Of course, he admired his wittiness and simply saw his resistance as a challenge, though it was getting hard to admire him when he’d only offer a scowl. Striding towards the tables of familiar faces, he sighs dramatically, and moves his woven hat to his chest almost mournfully.

"Oh no. Someone's having a crisis," Checking in on his potted succulent, Herb scoffs at the display. "Does this have to do with a certain someone from the baking club?"

“Of course not, I have nothing to be worried about there, trust me,” Clover sighs and momentarily drops his performative sadness to wink. Before going right back to mourning. “I fear we’ve lost a soul today. That goth guy won’t join, And after all of my efforts, too…” Beet rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, before realizing it is futile, and Clover will always be persistently dramatic.

Herb cracks an amused smile at that, "Oh, you mean that Espresso guy? I heard he's never been one to be around people. This whole semester, I've seen him maybe three times at most,”

“A stick in the mud, and that’s being generous,” Clover huffs and returns his hat atop his head, shifting and adjusting it properly. “You don’t ever see him ‘cause he’s busy makin’ out with Captain,”

"You should know better than to believe those rumors. We don't what's true or not,”

"Didn't he say he might come back for the dead plants we have?" Carrot asked, cupping her hands to her mouth so that her voice carries from her seat across the room. 

Clover strums his fingers rhythmically against the solid table in thought, recollecting his memory and thoughts to paint the picture of the scene in his mind. “Yeah, needed them for an…experiment? I dunno,”

"That means he'll probably come back. Don't get your skirt in a bunch!” She appears particularly annoyed, but returns to her planted carrots regardless while Beet snickers beside her. 

“For the record, I am wearing this since I got dress coded for wearing my kilt,” Clover sneers and huffs his hair from his face. “They said I was ‘misrepresenting by the football team’ or some shit like that,” 

Clover always seemed to speak his mind, especially those topics he found himself particularly passionate about. Whether it be with complaining on and on about the school system, his ideals, and philosophy, or just some dude from the baking club, he was usually found talking as an ambiance to the group. He turns back to Herb, “At this point, they aren’t even rumors. I mean, have you seen them?”

"You're forgetting that Espresso tutors him, plus, Madeleine is the type of guy who wants to be friends with everyone," Herb said, laying his head down on the table in his crossed arms. "But that doesn't matter. What apparently matters is you finding a way to get him to join our club,”

“Yeah, and I sulk all damn game because my ‘best friend’ won’t admit he likes me,” Clover crosses his arms to make a point. “See how ridiculous that sounds? I mean, I am all for loving the boys but that’s just a homosexual,”

Clover momentarily looks around, eyes darting across the room, rather vacant compared to the other clubs. If you can even count Kumiho, there are barely eight of them in total, and in dire need of another member if they want to stay afloat. After all, without any members, the school might as well shut them down. No use in providing the electric bill to keep the plants alive as well as the equipment just for eight students to participate. Clover sighs at the thought. “But alas, I am right, and we kind of need him,”

"Maybe we find a way he can benefit from joining us? He's really only coming by for dead plants for his experiment. Maybe we find out what he's doing and see what we can do?" 

“As long as he leaves his magic at the door,” Clover grins that iconic Clover smile to signify he’s joking as usual, and toys with the beads of his bracelet idly. From across the room, Kumiho laughs at something on her phone while a potted flower sits dormant beside her, and Clover scoffs. “But I am sure that won’t be hard,”

“If we can even get him to agree,” Herb comments, and perks up slightly to offer his two cents. "He seems to be the stubborn type."

"Why not convince the Captain to join?" Rising to her feet to approach the table, Carrot suggests as she digs her hands into the pockets of her overalls. "Football season is already over, I'm sure he’s looking for something to do,”

Clover leans back and folds his arms, rolling his eyes slightly at Herb’s reminder, already knowing this well from his dreaded personal experience. Though he perks up slightly when Carrot approaches. “Yeah… You’re actually right, for once. Besides Es, he shouldn’t have much else to do, and knowing Maddy it shouldn’t take that much,” Clover props his heel against the wall and leans against it casually. “Just stroke his ego or tell him Espresso already joined, he’ll probably follow suit like a duckling,”

Carrot sneers in disgust, "You’re gonna kill the plants with your shitty sex jokes,”

"Maybe we shouldn't say Espresso has joined. He hasn't, and I don't like lying to people for no reason." Herb shoots Clover a glare for even suggesting it. "But maybe he already knows about us? He gets tutored by Espresso, so he might come around."

“Well, you make me sound like a dick. We’re not lying, since there is technically a chance he might join, we’re just…rushing the process, y’know?” Clover moves and strides towards a small display of plants, multitasking and keeping himself busy by picking up a miniature watering can and checking if it’s full through a slight shake. 

"Uh-huh." Herb nodded, rolling his eyes. "So if I'm understanding this right; we convince Madeleine to join our club in order to make Espresso want to join?"

“Cause and effect, brother, it’s the best we got,” Clover promptly waters each individual pot with his right hand, watching the soil dampen and droplets of clear water fall from green leaves, “Unless you have any better ideas?”

"Maybe not manipulate someone into joining?" Herb suggested with a shrug. "Maybe find someone that's actually interested in joining."

Clover appears almost offended by his twisted interpretation, even if that was almost practically what they were doing. Beet rolls her eyes and scoffs, already had lost count of how many times she’s done that. “It’s not manipulation, it’s called being business-smart, my friend. Plus, I don’t see anyone around wanting to join,” Clover waters a final plant and happily rests the now less-full watering can down where he found it.

"Still. Don't you think they'll be upset if they figure out what we did to get them to join?" 

“Macchiato? Probably. He’s always got a stick up his ass, I wouldn’t be surprised if he flipped out,” Clover shrugs, somehow saying this all with an eased smile and casual tone. As if not a care in the world burdened him. “Captain, on the other hand, I don’t think we have to worry about. I mean, it’s Maddy, how upset can he get over having an excuse to hang out with his boy toy?” Perhaps he’s attempting to justify himself and his own actions so he doesn’t feel as guilty, or perhaps he truly believes as such. It’s hard to tell.

"Not everyone likes being used." Carrot pointed out, raising her palm to make slight hand gestures. "People like Espresso keep to themselves for a reason."

“We’re not using him, you make me sound like a super villain,” Clover corrects as if he had a point or was somehow in the right, justifying his means and truly believing in his plans. “Plus, all the more reason to join! It’ll be a great way for him to meet new people instead of ‘keeping to himself’ ,”

Herb pretty much gave up at this point. He decided to let Carrot finish this as he got up to check on his succulent.

"Alright. If he ever finds out, it's your fault." Carrot folds her arms and inevitably, gives out.

“Yeah yeah,” Clover dismisses with a casual wave, and strides towards a corner of the room, where his ukelele is left and leaning against the wall. Standing upright with the white brick interior to keep it up, Clover reaches and picks his instrument up with the utmost diligence. Careful to ensure it does not chip nor slip in his hold. 

He moves to sit atop a measly plastic chair provided by the school, resting his ukelele properly and strumming the strings in a single stride. How it usually went, anyway. With Clover playing a quick-paced tune as an ambiance to occupy the atmosphere while everyone else actually worked and attended to the plants, today would prove no different. Like a routine, there is comfort in the action.

2:02 PM, University Dormitories

Though it is a familiarity if not expected from him, Madeleine strides with this specific bounce to his heel. A miniature box in his hold, grasped sternly with the utmost consciousness, Madeleine trots happily with an unfamiliar letter in his other hand. Truth be told, it wasn’t exactly how he planned it, but this would do. After all, he couldn’t risk a thing.

Madeleine had taken the liberty of returning to campus, though winter break had ordered his peers and classmates home for the holidays. He knew Espresso was a part of that minority who decidedly lingered behind— and Madeleine was far too empathetic to let that slide. To go a holiday without a single gift? While simultaneously being the most beautiful man alive? Why, he couldn’t fathom the concept, and certainly wouldn’t put his Espresso through such a tragedy. 

Admittedly, it was odd, for the halls to run so silent and for the campus to seem so clean. Without the infectious filth of gossip, rumor, and litter, Madeleine strides forward with purpose and ease. The letter in his left had been an afterthought— while placing the box inside Espresso’s dorm mailbox, he couldn’t help but notice it. He knew Espresso didn’t have many friends, and that was putting it lightly, and he knew perfectly well that Latte could simply text him— so what was the deal? Who would possibly send Espresso a letter?

The possibility of a love letter spears Madeleine’s heart and makes his throat go dry. There was no way, surely, he just… needed the confirmation. So delivering it to the man himself personally was his best bet.

Given his stubborn and perfectionist tendencies, Madeleine simply expects Espresso to be home at this hour. He’d usually wave to those around, smile and nod in silent acknowledgment, but the foyers were empty and there stood nobody at all. So Madeleine simply walks happily, undeterred and quick to meet Espresso’s oak door, hauling each gift. (One with a little more care.)

The sudden intrusive whiff of distinct peppermint clings to the exterior of Espresso’s room and overwhelms his senses in an instinct. He winces slightly, and presses through it, raising a fist to knock on the door. Loud and arrogant without regard for anyone around, “Espresso! It is I!”

There is a faint, startled shuffling from behind the door. Identifiable papers, most likely his files of research and of study, before footsteps approach the door. A bit hurried, then slowing to meet the door, and the knob twists from the inside as it is hauled open. Espresso, just as expected, stands in the frame. He appears a bit shocked at first, then settles into confusion as he processes that it is, in fact, Madeleine standing before him.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at home?" In an instant, Espresso is questioning without sparing him the chance to continue on with his dramatic entrance and monologue to likely come.

A hearty, grand smile greets Espresso in his open doorframe, cheeks creasing to frame dimples and blue eyes to bore excitement. He holds a single white box, fitting his palm, and a sealed letter in his other. His hair is tied back into a braid, draping down his back, clearly done prior in the hope to impress Espresso— though he would never admit to such a thing. His colored shirt is ironed and sleek, and he’s clearly put great thought into his attire before arriving. 

“Well, a ‘hello’ would be nice,” Madeleine clips, and stands tall. “I came to visit! I knew you’d be horribly lonely here,”

"I'm not lonely if I choose to be alone," Espresso folds his arms at his front, and his gaze drops to the box and letter Madeleine holds. "Oh god, do I want to know?"

“It is the holidays, Es! You couldn’t possibly go without a gift,” Madeleine attempts to reason, tilting his head slightly to see behind Espresso and get an eye-full of his most-likely wrecked dorm. At least, assuming from the potent stench of chocolate and overall holiday sweets, he simply expected Espresso to be in the middle of an experiment. “Ah, I was…tasked with delivering the letter myself, since I was already on my way here!”

"Wait, it's not from you?" This piques his interest. “Come in, quickly,”

Ah, just as planned. 

Though he was quite disappointed to walk in and not be greeted by the aromatic brew of Espresso’s familiar coffee, and instead of the potent lingering stench of peppermint, he tries to brush it off— even if it proves difficult. Since winter break had started, Madeleine found himself growing more dependent on Espresso. Even when away for days, he couldn’t keep those eyes from his mind. Even during class, he couldn’t quite focus, his brain instead busy and conceptualizing Espresso in his memory. Yearning for that bitter scowl that always greets him, Madeleine found himself giddy simply to see Espresso in the halls or during passing period— but now, without school to occupy his time, that longing grows hard to ignore and subside. 

Of course, he’s tried substitutes to sustain the need for him. Reading over their notes, memorizing Espresso’s handwriting rather than the actual study. Unbeknownst to his tutor, Madeleine would itch and scratch his seal, desperate for that burn Espresso’s magic granted him, attempting to recreate it by any and all means possible. Any reminder or reminisce of Espresso, he would settle ‘til it was far too unbearable, and he simply had to visit himself. “Why would I write letters when I can visit you?”

"If you're going to visit, notify me beforehand," Espresso grumbled, extending an open palm for Madeleine to place the letter in, albeit a bit hurriedly. He didn’t want to appear rushed or eager, btu he hadn’t received a letter in… a while. The possability of who it could be, of who would have the mind to write to him makes his stomach churn unpleasantly. Madeleine quickly serves just as instructed, gingerly placing the letter into his hand.

The letter is sealed in wax, and Espresso spares no time in breaking it to halves, lifting up the triangular cover of the letter and reaching inside to take out the neatly folded paper. It smelled of coffee. 

'Espresso,’ It begins, and that handwriting makes his heart drop like a stone.