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any scrap of affection will be plenty

Summary:

After Kalim accidentally drops a truth potion during a meeting with the housewardens, they’re all confined to the infirmary until they can metabolize it out of their systems.

This honestly would’ve been fine if the freshmen hadn’t caught word of it.

--

aka: what do you think of me, really?

Notes:

A/N: inspired by “ali3n0bserv3r” over on Tumblr. thanks for being the final push I needed to start posting twst fics, babe!

Chapter 1: no, i’m fine, it doesn’t matter (tell me)

Summary:

It was sheer, pure coincidence. And maybe Kalim's inability to keep his mouth shut, but it was mostly coincidental.

Notes:

The chapter title is a lyric from "obsessed" by Olivia Rodrigo.

Chapter Text

And to think: none of this would’ve happened if Yuu had just studied for the Potionology test.

It was only a matter of time, really. Unlike Jack, Sebek, and Ortho, who were naturally self-motivated to do their schoolwork, or Ace, Deuce, and Epel, who had housewardens that were always badgering them to not miss deadlines, Yuu had no such alarms telling them to keep up with their studies. Considering they were also the housewarden of their dorm, constantly doing maintenance for said dorm, and always running about Sage’s Island, trying to meet the demands of a bird who didn’t know how to be an adult, it was nothing short of a miracle they had gotten anything done school-wise in the first place.

Alas, miracles were not raining down upon Yuu this particular instance, as all of the first-years had gathered into Sebek’s bedroom in Diasomnia to do a cram session sleepover for Tuesday’s test — which was in four days, mind you — complete with piles upon piles of books on every alchemic concept imaginable, some of them borrowed from Malleus and Lilia’s personal libraries, and stacks of Jack and Ortho’s meticulously taken class notes.

“Look, it’s not that hard.” Ace hisses. “S equals df. As long as you remember that formula, you’ll be fine.”

“Right, right…” Yuu scribbles in their notepad determinedly, before reaching up to scratch their head with the end of their pen. “Um… What does “f” stand for again?”

“Oh my Seven— food!” Sebek blurted out.

“We were literally just over this.” Epel gripes, throwing one of the books onto Sebek’s desk with reckless abandon.

“Seriously. Even Deuce has the formula memorized, and he can barely remember what he ate for breakfast this morning.”

“Hey!”

“Okay. So “f” stands for food, “s” stands for sparkles”, and “d” stands for dust.” Yuu nods. “Got it!”

“Here’s a good sample question!” Ortho remarks brightly, looking at one of his blue monitors. “When making 30 millimeters of aging potion, what is the volume of screams, in cubic centimeters, should you add?”

“Alright.” Yuu picks up one of the books scattered about the bed — “The Beginner’s Ultimate How-To Guide on How To Make Potions” by Morgan Fay — and furiously flips through it. “Aging potion, aging potion, aging potion…” They stopped. “Huh. It’s— It’s not here.”

“That book is for beginners.” Jack grunts, perusing through the assortment of books that had collected on the ground. “Aging potions are s’posed to be pretty complicated, so you’ll probably have better luck lookin’ in a book on how to make extremely advanced potions.” His brow furrowed. “If we can ever find it, anyway.”

“Did we even get a book like that?” Epel asks.

“Prolly not.” Ace groans, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Those kinds of books are super rare. They go for 800,000 madol at the market on the cheap end. And they have a waitlist at the school library that’s, like, four kilometers long.”

“Indeed.” Sebek lowers his head somberly. “Malleus has had to preserve his advanced textbooks for decades, for if they ever fall apart, there’s no telling when he’ll be able to get a new one.”

“That doesn’t sound good.” Ortho says, putting a hand to his chin.

Yuu hums in thought, before suddenly striking their notebook with their pencil. “Oh, I think Kalim has one!”

“Wait—” Epel blinks. “—really?”

“Mmhm!” Yuu whips out their phone from their pocket, already furiously texting Kalim as they speak. “His dad bought him a couple different advanced textbooks last month. I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow one.”

Jack stares at them flatly. “You’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”

“Everytime I hear about how rich Kalim is, I get more and more depressed.” Epel comments flatly. Deuce pats him on the shoulder sympathetically.

A light ding! reverberates from Yuu’s phone, and they check their phone with a bright, hopeful smile.

Not three seconds later, their face falls. “Oh.”

Deuce looks upon their sudden shift with worry. “What is it?”

Yuu taps out a message on their screen, gnawing at their bottom lip with their two front teeth. “Kalim’s in the infirmary. And… And the other housewardens are there with them.”

“WHAT?!” Sebek screeches, as he practically flies to Yuu’s side to look over their shoulder, with the others quickly following suit.

 

^

 

Yuu:

> heyyyyy kalim! do you mind if i borrow one of your textbooks?

> i’m studying for my potionology test and i know youse gots the good stuffs, soooo…

> help an enby out? :>

 

[Kalim is typing…]

 

Kalim:

> Hey Yuu!

> Sure, I’d love to give you one of my textbooks!

> But it’s after curfew, so you can’t come into Scarabia without my permission…

> And me and the other housewardens are kind of stuck in the infirmary right now, so… 

 

Yuu:

> oh shit, really?!

> what happened?

 

Kalim:

> It’s nothing bad!

> But I accidentally brought one of my Potionology projects with me to a housewarden meeting (I was in a rush), and I dropped it. 

> So now all of us are stuck here.

 

Yuu:

> even malleus?!

> what kind of doomsday ahh potion did you bring?!?!?!?!

 

Kalim:

> It was a truth potion.

> None of us are actually hurt, but we’ve all been saying a lot of weeeeird stuff, ha ha!

> But Leona and Malleus are both princes, and the professors are worried that they might end up sharing national secrets with the other students.

> So Professor Trein says it’s best that we wait for the effects to wear off.

 

[Yuu is typing…]

 

[Yuu is offline.]

 

Kalim:

> Yuu?

> Are you still there?

 

^

 

Riddle Rosehearts awakens at exactly 10:57 in the evening to the sound of someone jiggling the doorknob. Or, more accurately, the sound of someone trying to pick the lock. He’s caught one too many students breaking into classrooms to look at test answers, steal textbooks, and the like not to recognize the mistakable rhythm of a bobby pin being stuck into a keyhole.

Riddle summons the strength to look at the clock on his bedside table, and sees “10:57” in neon green flashing back at him through the darkness.

He sighs. It’s much too late in the evening for this.

Riddle tries to ignore it at first — Trey tells him it’s not healthy to try to deal with every infraction himself, and Riddle trusts that one of the professors will catch whoever it is at this ungodly hour— but after a few more incessant rattling sounds and the all-too familiar noise of a frustrated student swearing under their breath, his face scrunches up and he reflexively mutters into his pillow, “Rule 314— Friday curfew is 9 o’clock at night and no later. Go back to bed before I have your—”

“I think that’s a professor, Riddle” rings out Kalim’s ever-jubilant voice from somewhere way too close to him. “You probably shouldn’t be threatening to chop off their head.”

Riddle’s eyes fly open, only to find he’s staring directly into Kalim’s ruby red irises.

“Hi!” Kalim greets with a smile, like this isn’t something straight out of one of Ace's horror films that he insisted Riddle binge with him last Halloween.

Riddle lets out a sound that’s decidedly undignified as he scrambles backwards, using his blanket to shield himself. “ KALIM!” he shrieks. “ Why are you out of bed?!”

Kalim pouts from where he’s kneeling at Riddle’s bedside, arms crossed like a petulant child. “I got lonely!”

“I am quite literally an arm’s length away from you!” Riddle seethes. “If you wanted company, you could’ve just said something instead of watching me sleep! And more than that, why are you still awake?!”

“Oi—” Leona grunts from a few beds down. “— hush up, will ya? Some of us are actually tryin’ ta sleep here.”

“You’re always sleeping, Leona.” Vil tuts, pulling at the corner of his eye as he looks at himself in his pocket mirror. “You can spare a few minutes, surely .”

“We shouldn’t be awake long, either, Vil.” Riddle says incredulously, pinning his blankets to his chest. “You heard the professor. We have to sleep this truth potion off as much as possible, or else we won’t be able to attend school on Monday."

“Riddle,” Vil sighs, in a way that breathes “You poor, naive, little hatchling” without him actually having to say it, “you honestly can’t expect me to maintain this level of excellence by sleeping it all away. Every moment is better spent in pursuit of constant improvement than frivolity.”

Riddle breathes in deep and lets it out from between his teeth. Reminds himself that Vil is extremely condescending with almost everyone , so he ought not to take it personally. And besides, it won’t do to “flip his lid”, as Ace puts it, while he’s supposed to be resting.

“Schoenheit makes an excellent argument.” Malleus says with a light nod of his head and an ethereal smile that never fails to make shivers go up Riddle’s spine. “And besides— now all of you can properly appreciate the beauty of Night Raven’s night time skies, no?”

“Ah, that’s quite admirable of you, Vil.” Azul says, smiling with all of his teeth. “As expected of the leader of Pomefiore, of course.”

Admirable ? Really, Azul?” Idia mumbles ( Are they all still awake? Riddle thinks, mildly miffed.) poking his head out from the tiny blanket fort he’s created. “I couldn’t imagine dumping that many experience points into my looks . ‘M better off spending ‘em on a strength buff.”

“I suppose that explains why you have the complexion of a rotting tree.” Vil answers easily, without even looking away from his mirror. "It doesn't explain why you have the muscles of one, too, but I suppose there are some questions in this world that truly are unanswerable."

Azul disguises his chuckle behind a dainty cough. 

Leona snorts in vague amusement. “Burn.”

Idia groans and pulls his blanket further over his head — which Riddle only now realizes is supposed to be a replacement for his hoodie, which the professors took along with everyone else’s school uniforms in order to decontaminate them. (While Riddle understands and respects the process, this hospital gown has left him feeling rather naked…)

“The one and only time I decide to show up to a meeting IRL I get punished.” Idia says morosely. “RIP me — This is why I don’t go outside. This is going to be an epic fail from start to finish.…”

Malleus leans over and pats Idia helpfully on the shoulder. “On the contrary, Shroud— I do believe all of this is a great bonding experience under the guise of an unfortunate accident. I look forward to learning more about all of you, now that magic is compelling us to.”

“Awww!” Kalim coos, as if Malleus’s words were cute and not oddly foreboding. “I feel the same way, Malleus!”

Riddle huffs and flops back down onto his bed again.

Honestly, he was a bit worried when he identified the blue dust that had emitted from the glass shards Kalim had dropped onto the floor, but it seems that was unnecessary. Teenage boys, after all, aren’t afraid to be incredibly cruel — Night Raven College ones, even more so. There’s been practically no change between then and now. So even though they’re non-consensually bearing their souls out to each other on silver platters, that doesn’t change the fact they’re still the same ugly, twisted, blackened things they’ve always been. 

Except— for Kalim, but Kalim’s the exception that proves the rule.

Riddle sighs and turns away from Kalim, who seems to have turned his attention to toying with Idia’s flaming hair, anyhow.

He closes his eyes, feeling his body being taken under into the realm of dreams once again, when—

Click.

“There.” comes a voice from beyond the door that sounds suspiciously like Ace’s. “It’s open.”

Riddle sits up again, more alert.

“Ace—?”

The door swings open and Deuce Spade is unceremoniously shoved into the infirmary and onto the cold stones below. He lands with the grace of a drunken goose, the weight of a sack of potatoes, and a dull thump when his body hits the floor.

The sight has Riddle springing out of bed and rushing to his side immediately. “DEUCE!”

“What on Twisted Wonderland—?” Vil looks up towards the door and at the offending perpetrators, eyes narrowed.

Before Riddle can do the same, the door slams shut.

Every instinct Riddle has is telling him to break down the door and cut off the heads of everyone who dares crumple one of his cards— but then Deuce groans in pain and tries to sit up, and Riddle quickly decides there are more important things to worry about.

“Deuce, don’t sit up so fast.” Riddle snaps. “You might make yourself light-headed that way. Are you alright?”

“Mm… ’m okay, housewarden.” Deuce rubs his head in pain and glares back at the door. “Feeling a little betrayed, but I’ll get over it.”

“Why were you and Ace trying to break into the infirmary?” Riddle demands, as he grabs Deuce by the arm and guides him to his bed. “You could’ve gotten into some very serious trouble if you got caught!”

“It wasn’t just your cards, Red.” Leona grouses, ears twitching. “I can hear five more little strays outside the door.”

“That makes seven— which can only mean one thing.” Azul muses, clapping his hands together and sounding a bit too excited over how hot the tea is getting. “It seems like a few certain someones haven't trained their freshmen all-too well!”

As if they were just waiting for someone to make a barbed comment about it, Vil, Leona, Malleus, and Idia all snap their heads around to glare daggers into the school’s resident octopus.

“Watch it, octopunk.” Leona growls out, fangs bared.

“I’ll have you know that I look after my first-years like I look after my cosmetics.” Vil snaps. “With care.”

“Oh, you two— I could’ve been talking about anybody .” Azul replies slimily. “I didn’t mean specifically you.”

“So?” Riddle sits the blue-haired freshmen down onto the bed, ignoring whatever odd argument the others are having in the background. “What is it?”

Deuce averts his eyes.

“Deuce?”

“Housewarden, how do you feel about me?” Deuce blurts out.

Chapter 2: and i’m not cool and i’m not smart (and i can’t even parallel park)

Summary:

“Housewarden, how do you feel about me?” - Deuce Spade, and his crippling self-esteem issues.

Notes:

The chapter title is a lyric from "brutal" by Olivia Rodrigo.

Chapter Text

“Housewarden, how do you feel about me?”

The silence that follows is so explosive, it could deafen crowds.

Leona’s tail has gone still. Idia has tensed up, sitting straighter than a plank of wood. Vil has shut his pocket mirror. Malleus’s eyes have widened to the size of saucers. Azul hides a scheming little grin behind a hand. Kalim just stares at Deuce politely in horrible understanding.

Riddle was prepared for— well, a lot of things. He was prepared to hear someone had studied too hard and had passed out from exhaustion in the lounge. He was prepared to hear someone had caught a rare disease and he needed to congregate with the other housewardens to figure out how to cure them before everybody was infected. He was even prepared to hear the dorm was on fire and he needed to get back ASAP so he could rescue Cater and Trey from the raging flames.

But it never occurred to Riddle that Deuce would be here, looking up at him with pleading blue eyes and asking him such a simple question.

(That Deuce doesn’t already know .)

Except it’s not simple at all, is it? Because Riddle might be as emotionally competent as a cupcake, but he’s now hyper-aware that whatever he says now will make or break the fragile core Deuce has exposed to him, and it’s not like Riddle can think of his next words carefully, or even think of them at all, because—

“I’m so proud of you.” Riddle says. His words come out strangled, like the vines that have grown around his unused heart are trying in vain to pull them back.

Deuce’s eyes widen. “R-Really?”

“Of course.” Riddle blurts out, his body numb and trembling like he’s been doused in ice-cold water. “You— Deuce, you saved me, and you’ve saved so many others after me, and you’re brave and determined and resilient. Who wouldn’t be proud of that?”

Deuce stares up at him like he can’t bring himself to believe it. Honestly, Riddle can’t believe it, either. He didn’t even know he had these words bubbling inside of him until they were forced out of his throat by a truth potion.

“But I’m not—” He makes some indecipherable hand gestures with pain and frustration slathered across his face. “—I’m not smart like you and Ace are, and— and I can’t help like Trey or Cater! I mess up all the time! I’m not— I’m not good at anything .”

If Deuce’s question was like a knife to the chest, his tirade is like someone emptying a whole magazine of bullets into his back. His heart feels like it’s bleeding out over his hospital gown, dripping onto the floor and staining it for the rest of time, for all to see.

“I just wanted to know why.” Deuce says quietly, looking down at his feet.

“Why what?” Riddle asks despite himself.

“Why you still put up with me.” Deuce answers softly— and he sounds so unbelievably apologetic when he says it, like it’s his own fault for feeling this way.

And that—

And that—

Before he can think better of it, Riddle cups Deuce’s face with hands and gently guides him to look at him. “Throughout an entire lifetime of academics, you have always been my greatest achievement.”

And Riddle surprises himself with how right the statement sounds. None of the satisfaction he gets from all of his perfect test grades has ever matched up to how warm Riddle feels when Deuce comes running up to him with a huge smile on his face and a math test with a red “B+” in hand and a “Thank you, Housewarden!” on his lips. None of his awards or accolades will ever be worth more than the time Riddle walked Deuce through quadratic equations and slowly watched him grow and learn and look so happy doing it. And no amount of praise for being his mother’s perfect prodigy has ever been able to remind Riddle what it is he loved about learning in the first place — not like how the image of Deuce smiling and nodding at him from all the way across the cafeteria always has.

Riddle folds Deuce’s head into his arms in the only hug he thinks he’s ever initiated with another human being. The current height difference between them — which is a little different from the usual height difference between them — makes the embrace a bit awkward, but Deuce still doesn’t waste any time before he’s letting out a shuddering breath and squishing his face into Riddle’s chest.

“Do you—” Deuce hiccups. It’s not a sob, but it’s a near thing, “—do you mean it?”

“Deuce Spade, I’ve been doused with a truth potion.” Riddle points out flatly. “I’m not sure what else I can say to convince you I’m being honest.”

Deuce doesn’t reply, instead choosing to wrap his arms around Riddle’s midsection and squeeze his eyes shut as he tries to gather himself. Riddle tries to hold him back just as fiercely, as if he can make Deuce absorb his growing puddles of affection and misery through osmosis, no matter how foolish the notion might be.

Before too long — before it becomes downright explicit by NRC standards — Deuce pulls away with wide eyes and shaking hands. He stands up and locks his fingers together nervously.

“Thank you, senior.” He smiles weakly down at his housewarden. “And I, um— I love you, too.”

Before Riddle can remember that, no, that’s not what he said at all, Deuce nods cordially, back to being just another card soldier, and makes his tactical retreat out of the infirmary.

When the door clicks shut, it echoes around the infirmary. As the silence starts to stretch out into being almost unbearable, Kalim tilts his head and looks at Riddle, concerned.

“Riddle?” he says softly. “Are you okay?”

Riddle snaps out of his stupor and takes in a rushed breath. “I’m—”

Creaaaak.

“Housewarden?” Ace calls out, softer than Riddle’s ever heard him be. In fact, Riddle doesn’t remember the last time Ace ever called him “housewarden” without layering a mocking tone over it. 

Ace pokes his head through the doorway with an uncharacteristically cautious expression. “I’ve, uh… I’ve got some soup from Trey. He put some, like, uh, absorbing potion in it. It’s supposed to help you get the potion out of your system quicker or something.”

Riddle relaxes his shoulders. It might be selfish, and Ace will definitely still be getting a stern talking-to about this later, but Riddle’s just glad it wasn’t Trey or Cater on the other side of the door— he doesn’t think he could take another soul-crushing realization about his or others’ emotions right now, and he’s sure that Trey and Cater, having loyally followed him whilst keeping quiet about their feelings about him for a whole year, have lots they would love to ask him now that he’s incapable of telling a lie.

Ace, by comparison to the others, is simple. Easy . Riddle knows how he feels about him, and he knows Ace feels about him right back. Being Ace’s housewarden has always been delightfully uncomplicated, and Riddle couldn’t be more glad about it.

Ace nods to the other housewardens in greeting as he walks inside the infirmary with a large styrofoam cup in hand. The smell of vegetable soup hits Riddle’s nose when Ace places the cup on his bedside table, and it’s at that moment Riddle realizes he’s positively starving.  

“Thank you, Ace.” he says, before tearing off the plastic wrapping around the cup and opening the lid, being met with the beautiful, crisp colors of chopped carrots, potatoes, and broccoli, all floating within a shiny golden liquid.

Riddle sighs in contentment as he reaches for the silverware on the table. Trey’s specialty might be in baking, but he never fails to amaze with his food, breaded or otherwise.

Riddle has just taken his first bite, allowing the sweet flavors to properly absorb into his tongue, when Ace suddenly lets out a resigned breath and asks—

“Housewarden, do you hate me?”

Chapter 3: well, i hope i was your favorite crime

Summary:

“Housewarden, do you hate me?” - Ace Trappola, and his incredibly fraught relationship with someone he loves.

Notes:

happy new year, everybody! i do sincerely hope you like my gift. :)

The chapter title is a lyric from "favorite crime" by Olivia Rodrigo.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Housewarden, do you hate me?”

Just as Riddle was trying desperately to digest what Ace had just asked him, Idia’s ensuing screech — which came from the very depths of the Underworld — rang out through the infirmary, possibly breaking some glass in the process.

Every single person in the room sent the nastiest glare towards the Ignihyde housewarden.

“Shroud.” Malleus cut in flatly. “Do everybody a favor and, as the kids say, “read the room”.”

Idia groans and wraps his blanket even further around himself. “I can’t take another sad AF CG right now! The last one with Deuce was bad enoughhhhhh…”

“Idia, with all due respect, this really isn’t about you.” Vil cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” Ace assures — and something must really be wrong if Ace is actively avoiding a confrontation. He turns back to where Riddle’s sitting on the edge of his bed, tight-lipped. “I just— want to know. I promise I won’t be mad no matter what you say, so… y’know. Just go crazy.”

Riddle chokes as the wounds that Deuce’s visit left behind are violently ripped back open. “Ace— you can’t possibly expect me to—”

You can’t possibly expect me to look you in the eyes and answer that with my whole chest.

Riddle should just say ‘no’ and leave it at that. Leave no room for contest. Don’t let Ace protest like Deuce did. 1He knows Ace will pounce on any sign of hesitation or weakness, spin his words around unfairly and turn them into vicious criticisms — especially now that he knows they’re the truth.

What comes out instead is—

“What?” he laughs, standing on the very edge of hysteria. “Why would you even ask that?”

Ace breathes out a frustrated huff and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Look, just answer the question. It’s not that hard—”

“It is that hard!” Riddle shrills, trying to get Ace to understand. The idiotic truth potion that’s still swirling around in his stomach refuses to let him convey his emotions with any sort of eloquence, and now he’s just— just blurting out the first thoughts that come to mind. 

“Being Ace’s housewarden has always been delightfully uncomplicated” — but only because every conversation he has with him always ends the same way: skirting on the edge of a screaming match.

The ace of hearts flinches, crimson eyes hardening into a familiar steel. “Can you actually just chill for once?” he spits out venomously. “By the Queen, I was trying not to make this into a whole dramafest — but honestly, what do I expect from you at this point?”

“Ace,” Kalim butts in with a painfully forced smile, clearly trying to nip this escalating situation in the bud, “I think Riddle’s just confused. I mean, you’ve gotta admit: “hate” is kind of a strong word.”

“Clearly it’s the only word—” Ace bites back, like a cornered animal that just got attacked, “—if he keeps dancing around it like this!”

So that’s his angle. He’s taken a non-confession as a confession in and of itself.

Of course, Riddle thinks bitterly. You always do this, don’t you?

“Of course.” Riddle says, quiet and irritated. “You always do this, don’t you?”

Ace’s pupils dilate and he snarls.. “Do what?” 

“Twist everything around to fit your nanoscopic, shallow, narrow world view!” Riddle explodes, gripping the fabric of his cot so tightly, he thinks he might’ve ripped it with his nails. “I haven’t even answered you yet, and yet you’ve already decided on my feelings for me—!”

“You didn’t have to! Wonderland, I knew your answer before I even walked into this room!”

“Oh, spare me. You don’t know anything!”

“What, you think I had my earbuds in, listening to Neige Leblanche on full blast, when you and Deuce were talking in here?” the ginger snips, raising his hands up to create quotation marks with his fingers. “ ’Throughout an entire lifetime of academics, you have always been my greatest achievement.’ That’s what you said, right? So what does that make me? Just the guy that made you collapse into a magic-induced mental breakdown?”

Riddle feels all of the blood in his body rushing right to his face. “Ace, that situation is so unfathomably different, I can’t even begin to imagine where you started to make that comparison! I helped Deuce work to get where he’s at, and so I get to be proud of him— but you can’t honestly expect me to be able to attribute any of your successes as my own!”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You—!” Riddle’s head is pounding, his chest is thumping, and the words are slipping out faster than he can think. “Ace, you are tougher, stronger, smarter, and more self-reliant than anybody I’ve ever met in all 17 years of my life. All I’ve done for you since you’ve come here is hold you back. Don’t you understand?! You are greater than anything I could’ve ever done!”

Ace’s eyes flare and his mouth is wide open, prepared to protest—

—but then the fire behind his eyes fizzles out.

Silence settles across the room like dust. All the eyes on them weigh just as heavy as the emotions Riddle didn’t even know he was carrying on his shoulders.

As if waiting for a moment of quiet, raindrops start tapping impatiently against the infirmary windows. Their gentle rhythm soothes the fire that threatened to spill out from beneath the cracks of Riddle’s broken heart. Riddle listens to the sound of his own breathing, heavy from how much force he put into his words.

“I…” Ace trails off, clearly at a loss for what to say — a privilege Riddle wishes he still had. 

He purses his lips and takes a step back, going back to the eerie calm he had at the very beginning of this encounter — which, honestly, feels like years ago now. “You know what? Maybe we should talk about this more when you’re— not tripping on truth potion.”

Riddle has to take longer than he should’ve to process those words. “Yes. You— You’re right.” 

Ace snorts, lips curling into a smile. “Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Riddle’s lower lip trembles as he looks out the darkened window at the trailing water droplets. “I didn’t mean to make you think I… disliked you.” He can’t bring himself to say the word “hate” — Kalim’s right; it is a strong word. Too strong for his poor, wrung-out emotions. 

But it feels wrong to leave things here. Ace put all of his emotions on the line for him today, and he can barely reciprocate, even if he is “tripping” on truth potion.

So he does the only thing he feels like he can do. He stares into Ace’s eyes — and it’s like he’s back in the Heartslabyul rose garden, staring at the wreckage of his rampage, and staring down the student that pulled all of this destruction out of him. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” he says simply.

Ace shrugs easily. “You never do.” 

He turns around and heads for the door, every single step he makes on the infirmary floor tugging on Riddle’s conscience. 

He reaches the doorknob, but stops just shy of touching it. “Hey, Housewarden?”

Riddle makes a wounded noise in acknowledgment, the truth potion having finally used up his entire storage of words, and pivoting its focus into digging up the raw pit of emotion that lies underneath all of his poise and presence and thirst for control.

Ace looks at him with an expression that’s far too soft to belong to a Trappola. “I love you, y’know. Don’t go thinking I don’t, aight?”

His breath hitches.

Later, Riddle will have a whole grocery list's worth of things he'd actually wanted to say to Ace at that moment. Thank you. That means a lot. Are you sure? I couldn’t imagine my life without you. I love you, too.  

But in the moment, all that makes it out of him is a soft: “Oh.”

Ace's face flickers with disappointment, like it's not quite what he was hoping to hear— then the door clicks closed, and Ace is gone, like he was never there at all.

Kalim lunges towards Riddle with a yelp as the rose-red leader crumples to the ground into a pile of agony.

Notes:

up next: an intermission with the housewardens before we jump right back into the fire.

Chapter 4: intermission (i)

Summary:

A light intermission.

Chapter Text

“He’s… going to be okay, right?”

Vil looked down at Riddle, as the crimson-haired housewarden slept fitfully on his bed, eyebrows knitted together and mouth pressed into a hard line. “He’s unconscious for now, Kalim, but I think he’ll make a full recovery in just a few minutes. It appears that your potion wasn’t designed to handle such a sudden torrid of emotion…” He casts a judgmental look over in the Scarabian housewarden’s direction. “...which means you didn’t make it right, in case you were wondering.”

“Really?” Kalim droops. “Aw man— and I really thought I had it this time!”

“In any case, he’s going to be alright.” Vil says. “As long as he doesn’t have any more… surprises, let’s say.”

“Don’t forget the others are still at the door.” Idia mumbles, fidgeting with the wrinkles in his blanket. “I mean, I get that the firsties follow each other like NPCs and this might be some weird “power of friendship” morale thing, but… IDK, maybe more of ‘em have more to say.”

"I know Jack’s got nothin’ to say to me.” Leona snorts, his tail flicking back and forth. “That frosh is blunter than a warthog’s rear end. If he had wanted to talk to me, he definitely wouldn’t have waited for a truth potion to come along.”

Vil puts a hand on his forehead. “You and I have the opposite solution, then. I’ve been nothing but forthright with Epel, so he’d have no reason to come seeking me when I’m just the same as always.”

“And I don’t regularly keep things from Sebek,” Malleus muses, putting a hand to his chin, “but I suspect he’ll have questions for me, anyhow.”

“Weird, oddly stalkerish questions?” Leona says with a snide smirk.

“Hmph.” The dragon prince crosses his arms and huffs out a green flare through his nostrils. “I do hope you’re not planning to say that to his face now— or you and I may have a problem.”

Idia shrivels in on himself. “Y-You don’t think Ortho’s got anything for me, do you?”

“It’s entirely possible.” Azul says, leaning back onto his pillow. “But considering you two overblotted together, I do believe he’s already shared everything with you.”

“I’m a little glad Azul and I don’t have freshies in that friend group!” Kalim laughs. “I mean, if I had to deal with even the possibility of hard-hitting questions right now, I might just keel over!”

“Yuu came with the first-years, too.” Vil points out. “If nothing else, perhaps they have something to ask?”

“Now, the prefect doesn’t know Kalim and I nearly well enough for that, do they?” Azul replies, with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Knock, knock, knock.

The housewardens all swivel their hands around towards the door.

“Tch.” Vil rolls his eyes. “At least they had the courtesy to actually knock this time. Come in, whoever you are.”

“Not like we could stop you.” Leona adds under his breath.

The door opens slightly, and a mop of purple hair peeks in through the crack.

“Epel?” Vil inquires. “Is that… you?”

“Um… Yeah.” Epel sheepishly steps out into the blaring lights of the infirmary, his eyes squinting as they adjust to the sudden harshness. “Hi, Vil.”

“Don’t “Hi, Vil” me.” The Pomefiore housewarden scoffs. “You know good and well that you’re supposed to be in bed at 11 o’clock sharp. You need at least eight hours of sleep every night or else your skin is going to break out!”

“I—”

“And furthermore, what in Twisted Wonderland were you thinking, sneaking into the school in the middle of the night? You do realize what happens to students who are caught breaking into the school after hours?”

“Uh— detenti—?”

“Detention, that’s right.” 

“O— kay.” Epel replies simply. “Um… Look, just answer me one thing, and— and I’ll go to bed right after, alright?”

If Epel notices the way Vil stiffens, he mercifully doesn’t comment on it. But, like the professional he is, he merely grumbles like it annoys him more than anything and waves a hand in Epel’s direction. “If that’s what it takes to get you to sleep.”

Epel looks down at the floor, contemplating, then back up. 

He asks, with wide blue eyes, very casually and calmly, almost as if he were merely commenting on the rainy weather, “Housewarden, do you think I’m strong?”

Chapter 5: and do you tell her she’s the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen?

Summary:

“Housewarden, do you think I’m strong?” - Epel Felmier, and his surprisingly mundane conversation with somebody he begrudgingly admires.

Notes:

this chapter just refused to come together, i swear lol.

The chapter title is a lyric from "happier" by Olivia Rodrigo.

Chapter Text

“Housewarden, do you think I’m strong?”

It’s a simple question in all fairness. Certainly nothing to stress about when you walk in heels everyday and can flip people twice your height over your shoulder without breaking a sweat — not that Vil has much of a problem with sweat, really, even if he does carry a towel around in his gym uniform for the sole purpose of wiping it off. It might not look very appealing, but it does wonders for the skin. 

Vil wouldn’t think much of it in normal circumstances. It’s just another self-validating inquiry in the sea of others Vil hears around Pomefiore everyday, usually from freshmen who are yet to understand that being unconfident is horrendously unattractive.

Except that this is Epel Felmier, and that makes it different by default.

(He’s one of the only people in all of the land who can make even a craggy cliffside infested with inky monsters seem a little warmer.)

“Yes?” Vil says, in a way that hopes will invite more conversation to explain away the odd feeling he has in his stomach.

Epel nods once, like that’s really all he needed to hear. “Okay. Thanks for not being weird about it. I’ll get out of your hair then and, uh— brush my teeth and head to bed, I guess—”

“Epel Felmier,” Vil snaps, almost on instinct, “you should know better than to accept such flimsy answers. You have to be confident. Decisive. Don’t just take a simple “yes” or “no” for an answer!”

This far into the school year, Epel seems hardly perturbed by Vil’s critical outbursts anymore. More often than not, he just looks mildly annoyed, but hides it in a way that only a trained Pomefiore student could. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can’t just ask things like that in circumstances like this and not expect some pushback.” Vil huffs, crossing his arms and glaring down at his junior. “I taught you better than that.”

“Mhm.” Epel affirms, eyes glazing over and voice teetering precariously on the edge of boredom, but still sounding polite enough that the untrained ear wouldn’t be able to tell. It honestly amazes Vil how he’s able to stay in character for such long periods of time. Other actors would shatter under less pressure.

Unfortunately for him, though, Vil Schoenheit is considered one of the best actors there is, beloved by directors and screenwriters everywhere, trained impeccably in the art of character study, and he swipes his hand just about Epel’s head, scuffing a few loose strands of his hair and scowling. “Oh, don’t give me that. Asking me a question while I’m under a truth potion is highly exploitative, you know. The least you can do is tell me why you’d bother to ask me something as silly as that.”

Epel’s eyebrows slant downwards. “Well, after everything I’d done this year, I could only hope I’d come out stronger for it. I only wanted to hear you admit it, too.”

“Everything you’d done this year?” Vil echoes back, upper lip curling incredulously. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The first-year doesn’t roll his eyes, but he’s so obviously close to doing so it hurts. He keeps his face neutral enough, but his next few words are filled with snark. “Keeping up with your restrictions? Surviving two back-to-back overblots? Going to an island nobody’s really ever been to before? Unlocking my Signature Spell? Flying across oceans to help Rook save you? Should I go on?”

“Lose the attitude, young man,” Vil sighs, “but I suppose you do have your point. Why you need my validation on it, though, is beyond me, I’m afraid.”

Epel shrugs and shakes his head lightly. “It’s like— logically, I know that I’m stronger, but I’m not feeling it. Hearing it from you— makes me feel a bit better about it.”

Vil blinks in surprise. “I— I’m sorry?”

“You just always seem to know what you’re doing. You’re decisive. You know what you want, and you go get it. If you say so, then that’s just how it is.” Epel snorts. “If I had even a fourth of your confidence, I wouldn’t even be here right now and taking advantage of your truth potion’d self.”

“We’re most certainly still going to talk about that by the way.”

“Darn it.”

“Watch your mouth.”

Epel actually does roll his eyes this time, and Vil’s left eye twitches. “What I’m trying to say is— and don’t let this get to your head— is that your opinion matters to me, and…” He lets out a long-suffering sigh then, as if the next words physically pain him. “…I’m glad you’re okay, even if you are stuck under a truth drug.”

It’s not often that Vil Schoenheit is shocked into silence. Then again, it’s not often that Vil feels so aggressively attached to a rowdy, crude, snide teenager from the middle of absolutely nowhere. Perhaps that makes it even.

And perhaps there’s a thorny joke to be made about how much Epel’s small vote of confidence affects him. Vil is a top-notch model who’s made the front cover of every notable fashion magazine in Twisted Wonderland, with hundreds of readers that look up to him. He’s the housewarden of Pomefiore, the one every single student in that dorm turns to for inspiration or advice, no matter how humdrum it is. He’s one of the actors that many actors his age are inevitably compared to, whether they’re just starting out or already seasoned veterans.

And then there’s Epel, who doesn’t know and doesn’t care about any of that, and whose words soothe the green-eyed beast hidden deep inside him.

Probably sensing that Vil’s silence means he’s not going to reply to him anytime soon, Epel cocks his head towards the door. “If that’s all you wanted, can I actually go to bed now? Y’know— like you wanted me to five minutes ago?”

“Yes.” Vil replies readily, even as his mind is left reeling.

“Alright.” Epel agrees easily, and the easy obedience probably means he’s more than ready for this conversation to be over with already. 

And still, he pauses. 

For a moment, Vil sees a flash of conflict going across Epel’s wide blue eyes, before they’re obscured from his view as he wraps his arms around Vil’s midsection and squeezes him tightly. 

Then he says, in a voice so quiet Vil had to strain to hear him, “I know you don’t like to waste time on things that don’t matter so… I’m really glad you at least like to waste time on me.”

Before Vil can even feel offended — before he can process that his immediate gut reaction is to defend Epel to Epel — his junior says something else; something that takes all the words out of him.

“Love you.” he says, and his voice is— relieved, Vil thinks, like Epel’s been holding onto them for too long.

Then Epel retracts, curtsies politely, and is out the door so fast, Vil barely even hears his footsteps fly across the ground.

Approximately ten seconds after Epel’s swift exit, Vil starts to feel a bit dizzy, and he’s vaguely reminded of Riddle, still asleep in his cot. To recenter himself before he ends up fainting in front of all of these people he’d rather not be vulnerable in front of, he closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Someone get me a drink.”

“Here you go!” remarks a familiarly synthesized voice.

Vil’s eyes fly open. “O-Ortho! Don’t sneak up on people like that!”

“I’m sorry.” Ortho responds politely, before shoving a glass of water into Vil’s hands. “I see Rook sneaking up on you all the time, so I thought it was okay if I did it, too!”

“Rook is Rook , Ortho.” Vil grumbles. “You shouldn’t be looking to him for examples in any way, shape, or form.”

“Noted.” he hums.

“Ortho, what are you doing here?” Idia asks, pulling his blanket down from where it rested on top of his head.

Ortho smiles brightly — or at least, that’s what Vil thinks he’s doing from underneath that mask of his. He clicks a switch on his neck which ejects a small, gray cartridge from the palm of his hand. “I know you find it difficult to sleep without playing “Sleepytown: The Ultimate Farm Simulator for Insomniacs” before bed, so I decided to drop it off for you.”

Idia smiles with all of his teeth as Ortho puts the cartridge in his hand. “That’s my lil bro for ya. Always coming in clutch for me.”

“Thanks, Idia!” the robot giggles. “But while I’m here, do you mind if I ask you something?”

Vil can see the very instant that the joy Idia had developed in this unfortunate situation dies as his face freezes in place.

“Um… what did you say?”

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Ortho repeats, undisturbed by Idia’s clear discomfort.

Idia shies away, glancing nervously back and forth. “Suuuuuuureeeee…?”

“Do you want me here?” Ortho asks innocently.

Chapter 6: aren’t you the sweetest thing on this side of hell?

Summary:

“Do you want me here?” - Ortho Shroud, and reaching for what you want despite everything you were built for.

Notes:

i redid this chapter like fifty separate times because apparently i have a lot of very specific feelings about the shroud bros that i didn't even know existed until i tried to write this.

The chapter title is a lyric from "lacy" by Olivia Rodrigo.

Chapter Text

“Do you want me here?”

“Yes.” Idia answers instantly, pallid face drawn up into an indignant scowl. “What kind of question is that? Of course I want you here! FYI, I literally made you. That would be like having 85 ultra-rare MP potions and then not using them, SMH.”

Ortho blinks, like he wasn’t expecting then. He mechanically jerks forward, right up into Idia’s face, and out of the periphery of his vision, he can see everyone else flinch at the inhumanely sudden movement. 

Idia pays them no mind as he stares Ortho down. He’s always taken pride in how life-like he managed to make Ortho’s facial structure look, and Ortho’s putting every single one of those features to work as he looks deep into Idia’s eyes, yellow irises shining with curiosity. “Because… why?”

He huffs, bringing his kneecaps up to his chest in a horrid parody of a caterpillar. “You’re my little brother. What other reason do I need?”

“None, I guess.” Ortho agrees with a jerky nod. “But just for clarification’s sake: you would still love me even if I did something cruel, right?”

“You could post a video of you burning down a building and I’d doxx all the haters who try to report you to law enforcement.” Idia replies dryly. What a lame question. Shouldn’t his answer be obvious by now?

Ortho gets even closer. “Even if I did something everyone tells me I can’t do?”

Idia raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Anybody who tells you that are sweaty normies who don’t know genius when they see it, FR FR.”

Ortho cocks his head to the side as his pitch goes down a half-increment lower. “Even if I did something you wouldn’t like?”

Idia blinks. His hair flares a terrified purple for a split-second, causing everybody in the room to reflexively lean back to avoid getting licked by the fire. “Ortho… You didn’t spill anything on my tech… did you?”

“No, I didn’t.” Ortho shakes his head stiffly.

Idia slants his eyebrows. “Then what did you do?”

“Nothing yet.” he says — as if that’s not ominous AF.

See, Idia knows his little brother — knows he likes to hide his feelings under layers upon layers of circuitry and optimism. While Idia would like to believe Ortho knows his big brother supports him no matter what, he also believes quite a bit in data. Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, and three times is a pattern— or however the normies say it. And patterns continue on indefinitely.

Ace. Deuce. Epel.

And Ortho makes four.

Idia narrows his eyes. He shuffles to the side of his bed and pats the now-vacant spot beside him. 

Ortho tilts his head, before accepting the invitation without another word.

“Ortho,” Idia starts, tilting his head, “is there something you wanna tell me?”

Ortho’s robotic eyes readjust. He looks up at Idia, who becomes startlingly aware that any and all barriers between them are about to be ripped to shreds. “You made me for a reason, Idia.” he begins slowly, his words weighed down by phantoms of the past. “Would it hurt you at all if I started straying from it?”

Silent throwing knives, small and sharp, pierce into Idia’s gnarled heart.

Once, before Idia had made the greatest mistake of his entire life — maybe of anyone’s life, given his luck — he and Ortho had been playing “Star Rogue: A Hero’s Dawn” on Idia’s old handheld. They’d been playing for only an hour or two, with Idia breaking multiple controllers in gamer’s rage, when Ortho suddenly spoke up, uncharacteristically quiet.

“I… made art. For this game. Yesterday.” he’d said, his hair flickering pink with embarrassment.

“Really?” Idia replied. “Sounds cool! Can I see it?”

“It— It’s real— really bad.” Ortho stammered. “You don’t want to see it.”

Idia had huffed. “You don’t know that. I haven’t even looked at it yet.”

“But the characters look weird. I couldn’t get the colors to work right.” Ortho mumbled, slumping over against Idia like a depressed beanbag. “And— And this game means a lot to you. If you do see it and you really don’t like it, I— I don’t think I’d feel very good about that.” 

Ortho curled up into a little ball even as his fingers kept expertly toggling the controller. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was stupid of me.”

Idia had curled his lip — his little brother was lots of things, and “stupid” definitely wasn’t one of them — but he let the subject drop.

“Aw man!” Ortho exclaimed suddenly, sitting upright with a pout on his face. “I lost my last life!”

“That’s okay, Ortho!” Idia leaned over, eyes concentrated on the screen. “I haven’t taken any damage yet. I can still clear this level!”

Ortho grabbed onto Idia’s arm. “You can do it, Idy! Get those Chronos Force losers!”

Idia laughed maniacally, mashing buttons like it was the only thing he knew how to do, as he put the conversation to the back of his mind.

(If Idia had known they'd never get the chance to talk about it again, he would’ve pushed more.)

“So much like him—” Idia mutters. “—but not like him at all.”

Ortho looks up at him. “What?”

Idia takes a deep breath as he stares out the window, watching the water droplets slide off the glass. “Ortho, you’re my brother. I want you to be happy.”

Ortho, for the first time in all the years Idia’s known him, sounds like he’s on the verge of tears. “Because… why?” 

Idia buries his hand in Ortho’s tuft of flame, and gently runs his thumb through the blaze. “Because I love you.”

“What about Ortho?” he asks, voice glitching over the name. “What about—”

“I don’t need you to be Ortho.” Idia interjects forcefully. “You could change your name to Eurydice if you want, IDGAF. I just need you to be— whatever it is you want to be. If I don’t like it, that’s my problem, alright?”

Ortho looks stunned. “Oh.”

He scoots closer until he’s pressed right up against Idia’s side, as if he plans to bury himself into his shirt. Idia takes his hand out of Ortho’s hair and puts it on his back, feeling the warm, vibrating hum of the technomatic engine in his chest.

“Idia?” he pipes up, quiet as a mouse.

“Yeah?”

“If I told you I wanted to be an actor, would you…” He drops to a whisper. “Would you be happy for me?”

And Idia…

He wants to say ‘no’ out of principle. He knows the world is cruel. It’s going to be especially so to people like Ortho, whose greatness isn’t found in his appearance— but most others just can’t look past that. And the last thing Idia wants to do is to give him hope when he knows there might not be any.

But—

“Yeah.” he breathes out, the scent of truth potion still in his mouth. “I’d be really happy if my little bro became an actor.”

Ortho brings his arms up to hug Idia, and without a moment to lose, Idia leans down to reciprocate.

“I love you, too, Idia.” Ortho says.

“You freshies have been saying that a lot, y’know.” Idia remarks, amused. “Weird, since most of your friends are a bunch of tsunderes.”

Ortho hums in acknowledgment. “Yeah. It’s probably because of the truth potion we all drank.”

“I’m sorry what—”

Ortho extradites himself from Idia’s side. “Yuu was studying for a potionology tonight, and when they heard you all got struck with a truth potion, they decided to make one, too. And we all drank a bit of it. Which is how we were compelled to come here and do this in the first place.”

Vil, who has been perfectly silent this whole time, splutters in indignation. “I— What— Why— Why— Why would you do that?!”

“It was Yuu’s idea. Something about us needing to be ‘not as emotionally constipated as our upperclassmen’.” Ortho says, which, TBH, explains so much. “Annnnnd now I should probably leave before I reveal anything else.” He leaves one last nuzzle into Idia’s hair, before he’s casually flying out of the infirmary like he didn’t just casually drop one of the most WTF plot twists of this weird, fanfic-y situation.

Idia clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth as soon as Ortho closes the door behind him. “So we all heard that, right?”

“I assure you— Epel and I will be having a very frank discussion about drinking potions you concoct without supervision.” Vil says dryly, and Idia winces in sympathy for whatever punishment he has in store for his little ‘poison apple’.

“So who’s next?” Idia asks, glancing around.

“Idia…” Azul says, leaving a silent warning hanging in the air.

Idia blows a strand of fire out of his face. “Come on, Azul. It’s a pattern! Four freshmen came in, said some shit that rocked our world, and I’m pretty sure we’ve got three left to go.”

Knock, knock, knock.

Idia scowls and shakes his head. “And there it is.”

“Young Master?” comes a muffled voice from beyond the door. “May I come in?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Idia sees Malleus go completely rigid. A sudden lightning bolt flashes violently outside the infirmary windows, drawing a distressed “eep!” from Idia’s unnaturally blue lips.

“You may.” Malleus replies.

Sebek gingerly opens the door, one hand behind his back and slitted pupils beseeching. It’s easy to tell he’s an SSR character, with the way he steps inside the infirmary, closes the door, and goes to face his liege in one gracefully fluid motion.

“Greetings—”

“Formalities are unnecessary here, Sebek.” Malleus narrows his eyes. “I do believe there is something you need to say to me?”

Sebek’s eyes go wide. “I—” 

He stops talking — for once. He gnaws at his bottom lip, as if he’s trying to keep the words inside of him at bay, but Idia knows it’s not going to work.

Sebek lowers his head in shame, and does what all of them have come here to do.

“Malleus,” he breathes, and the air has gotten too personal, too vulnerable, too quickly, “was I worth it?”

Chapter 7: stupid, emotional, obsessive little me

Summary:

“Was I worth it?” - Sebek Zigvolt, and the unfortunate reality of having your self-worth hinge on what one particular person thinks about you.

Notes:

*starts playing "everybody (backstreet’s back)" by the backstreet boys*

The chapter title is a lyric from "enough for you" by Olivia Rodrigo (and a HUGE fucking shout-out to “luvaholicc” who commented on the last chapter for giving me the idea for this chapter’s title — genuinely couldn’t have done it without u, babe, like u don’t even know, i had to STRUGGLE for the title until i looked back at the comments from the last fic and saw your idea like the golden goose it is).

Chapter Text

“Malleus, was I worth it?”

Another crack of lightning strikes just outside the window. Sebek doesn’t even flinch at the sound, his gaze on his liege remaining perfectly steady regardless of the maelstrom happening all around them. 

Malleus narrows his eyes. “Yes.”

His eyes light up, but the sight only makes Malleus’s stomach sink further. 

“Really?” he whispers, his voice colored in shades of wonder and awe, like such a simple answer was one he never expected to hear. What catches Malleus off-guard the most, though, is how young he sounds, like a child that’s just been told he can have a scoop of chocolate ice cream before bed.

“Yes.” Malleus repeats slowly. It’s not very eloquent, but it is true — and maybe that’s all that matters.

Tears start forming in Sebek’s smile even as he smiles so wide, you can see the sharpest of his teeth at the back of his mouth.

“Thank you.” he says, so earnestly it’s genuinely painful to hear.

He bows his head low and starts backing away towards the door again.

“I realize this was horribly uncouth of me,” Sebek says, “but I thank you for indulging me. I shall take my leave now.”

Now, see, Malleus knows the tactful thing to do would be to just let Sebek go and let the matter drop. Lilia and him have been having many lessons on ‘tact’, and how important it is to have in social settings. But clearly, truth potions care not about tact, because the next thing he knows, Malleus is blurting out—

“Sebek, I demand to know where this came from.”

And like the good soldier he is, Sebek stops dead in his tracks as soon as the command is uttered. He turns around with a somber, regretful look on his face.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit since your overblot, Malleus,” he says, more quietly than he’s ever heard before, “and about how much we’ve all changed since.”

Malleus tilts his head in a clear indication to go on.

Sebek locks his fingers together and starts fiddling with his thumbs. “At least, Yuu says we’ve all changed. I have yet to notice any real difference in me. When I told them this, they said it may be a good idea for me to find “closure” with you. So here I am.”

He takes a deep breath, before he takes a deep bow. “Although I admit I always knew this was a selfish question. I apologize.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for asking a question,” Malleus finds himself saying, curls of smoke coming out the sides of his mouth, “but rather for asking such a ridiculous one.”

Sebek flinches slightly at the word ‘ridiculous’, and Malleus curses this idiotic truth potion for decreasing a Night Raven College student’s already non-existent ability to soften their opinions into something less dagger-like.

“Malleus…” Asim says slowly, the warning hanging in the air.

“It’s alright.” Sebek says in a placating tone he must’ve picked up from Yuu, because Malleus knows for a fact he didn’t pick that up from anybody in Diasomnia. “I came here for the truth, not false reassurances. As I understand it, the previous exchanges that have occurred in this room have been unbearably sentimental. But fortunately, my liege and I do not share such a relationship, so you need not worry about any sudden outbursts or…” He glances towards the door, face scrunching up in something that’s not quite disgust, but isn’t amiable, either. “…entirely unwarranted and unprofessional confessions of affection.”

Not a second later, Malleus hears a voice from beyond the door saying “Oh, fuck you”.

Rosehearts stirs slightly in his sleep.

Malleus narrows his eyes. “So, you’re here… because you desire ‘closure’ with me?”

“Yes.” Sebek affirms, breaking eye contact with him as he looks outside the window at the rain still pouring down. “After weeks of consideration, I have made the decision to not continue with my knightly duties after you graduate.”

Malleus’s eyes blow wide and his ears perk up straight. He’s sure if he could look at himself right now, he would see he’s gone even paler than he already is.  It’s not just the confession that’s shocking, but the clinical way it’s delivered, as if it’s just another routine report a sentry might give to their commanding officer — which, tragically, is rather fitting. 

As if Sebek isn’t telling him this after everything he’s done to clutch onto his family ever tighter. After all their years together, you’d think Malleus deserved more than that.

Sebek’s gaze lingers out the window. He takes another deep breath. Malleus can see him mouthing 1, 2, 3, before he speaks again. “But before that can occur, it was recommended to me I formally bring this chapter of my life to a close, so…”

Sebek’s eyebrows furrow, and just like that, he’s transformed back into that tiny little hatchling that used to follow Malleus around, holding onto his hand like it was the only thing he knew how to do, with wide eyes filled with wonder.

It’s those same eyes that look at Malleus now as he asks, back ram-rod straight and his tone painfully honest, “Being by your side was everything to me for so long. It was worthwhile. I just wanted to know if, maybe— you felt the same. If I was worth it.”

Malleus’s mouth opens automatically, with the first thought that comes to mind: “It sounds like this has been weighing on you heavily.”

He feels surprised with how wrecked he sounds even to his own ears. Then he feels awful when he sees Sebek wilt in response, seemingly having noticed it, too.

“I apologize. I understand perfectly that you could replace me with anybody of your choosing. I suppose I’m still…” His hands tighten into fists as he casts his eyes downward towards the floor. “…clinging to a shadow of importance when I know I am anything but.”

As if it were possible, the silence in the room deepens. It becomes quieter than quiet. It seeps into the cracks in the walls of the infirmary, slithers into the floor, and crawls up Malleus’s spine like an ice-cold spider.

Malleus lowers his head and massages his temples with both hands. He doesn’t want to voice the conclusion he’s reached, but the universe (and the truth potion still swirling in his gut) cares not for what he wants. “You honestly think I only care about you because you’re my vassal.” he breathes, the finality of the statement ringing in the air.

Sebek raises his shoulders in a subtle shrug, a painfully youthful show of tentativeness. It’s times like this that remind Malleus that for all Sebek’s precociousness, he’s still so impossibly young. “That sounds… correct, yes. I know very well Lilia only took me under his tutelage because of my grandfather. But it was an honor, truly, to serve you for so long.” He says that last part with a smile, as if it’s anything to be happy about.

Malleus inhales deeply. When he next speaks, he fights through the truth potion and tries to keep his voice from sounding as strained as he feels. The last thing he wants is for Sebek to hear the hurt in his voice and fall deep into a spiral of self-blame. 

“Sebek. Come here.”

Sebek slowly steps forward, a look of confusion on his face, until eventually he’s standing right at the foot of Malleus’s bed — finally close enough that Malleus can comfortably take his hands in his own. Sebek looks a little startled at first, but he tries not to show it. (He doesn’t succeed. He’s always been very emotional.)

“Let me start by saying that I would not have let just anybody stand beside me for this long.” Malleus says, staring down at their hands. “It is a place reserved only for someone who I find so inextricably linked to my own soul, I could not imagine them being anywhere else. It is far from a position that just anybody can inhabit.”

Malleus squeezes their hands even closer together. Sebek hesitantly squeezes back. “And it is my own fault that I ever made you question that.”

Sebek’s brows furrow, his eyes clouding with a familiar mist. “I— You never said anything. Nearly a decade, and you—”

“I know.” he interrupts softly, bringing up one hand to brush a strand of hair out of Sebek’s eyes. “I am well-aware I am lacking in many, many ways. It is something I am working on.”

Malleus tries to go for a reassuring smile, but it must come out wrong, because all it makes Sebek do is breathe faster.

Before Malleus can apologize — one of many he’s going to give Sebek, he’s certain — Sebek says, honestly, candidly, and without question, “I love you.” 

Sebek freezes up instantly. Malleus feels a warmth growing throughout his chest as his smile widens.

Sebek rips his hands out of Malleus’s. He takes two steps back and stares at Malleus in pure mortification, an intense blush rising to his cheeks. Before Malleus can assure him it’s okay — more than okay — Sebek clumsily bows and shouts, “ITHINKILEFTSOMETHINGINTHEOVEN!” before he’s scurrying out the infirmary door like a phantom is chasing after him.

Several murmurs and snickers can be heard beyond the door, before someone says “I’m going to go check on him”.

Malleus reclines back in his bed, unable to get rid of the goofy grin that’s invaded his face. He was right. This truth potion was a blessing in disguise. It hurts a little, knowing what Sebek’s thought of their relationship this whole time, but it hurts in a way that’s good and cleansing. Like sitting in a warm bath after a cold day.

“This feels nice.” is all he has to say.

“Yeah.” Shroud agrees quietly. “It kinda does, doesn’t it?”

“So!” Malleus claps his hands together giddily and looks around, eager to share this experience with more of his peers. “Who’s next?”

Everyone’s eyes land on Kingscholar, who shrivels up like a cat backed into a corner.

“No.” he remarks bluntly. “No friggin’ way.”

“Three times is a pattern.” Shroud comments with a wicked grin on his face. “And patterns go on indefinitely.”

“You’ll stop talking if you know what’s good for you.” Kingscholar threatens, leaning over his bed and pointing a sharp claw at Ignihyde’s housewarden. “Jack and I aren’t like that.”

“Mmhm.” Schoenheit hums disbelievingly. “I’m sure that’s a thought that’s run throughout all of our heads at least once.”

Kingscholar growls. “By that logic, Kalim and Azul need to start watching their backs, too.”

Ashengrotto scoffs. “Oh, please, Leona, you’re clearly grasping at straws. Kalim and I don’t have any first-year we’re particularly attached to—”

“Hey hey hey!” a bright voice calls from the hallway, breaking the housewardens out of their argument.

“Yuu!” Asim responds in kind with a big smile on his face, waving to someone who hasn’t even appeared yet.

The Ramshackle Dorm prefect comes bounding into the infirmary with a grocery bag. “Hey! Ace told me he was getting soup for Riddle, so I thought I'd get the rest of you guys something to eat! Figured you’d be sick of infirmary food by now.”

“It’s not so bad.” Asim reassures — which is an odd thing to say, considering they all watched him scrape his entire tray out the window. 

Yuu places their bag down onto Asim’s bedside table and starts taking items out one by one. “I got Azul and Vil some diet smoothies, got Jamil to prepare some bread and cheese Kalim, steak for Leona, made warm pancakes for Hornton, and stopped by Mr S’s Mystery Shop for Idia’s nightly instant ramen — I know he can’t sleep without it.”

Yuu starts passing around the food to everyone. None of them thank them — except for Asim, naturally — but they do nod in acknowledgement, which is about the same thing for Night Raven College students.

“Yuu,” Schoenheit pipes up suddenly, “Epel tells me that you made a truth potion and had all of your friends drink it.”

“Hm?” They whirl their head around to look at him. “Oh, yeah! Figured that since the school year is winding down and some of you are graduating, it’d be good for them to get it all out, y’know?”

“That’s our Yuu!” Asim says good-naturedly. “Meddling in other people’s business when they don’t have to.”

“Hey, don’t make it sound like I enjoy meddling. Some of you guys just don’t know when to quit.” they argue, putting their hands on their hips and pouting. “I just got used to cleaning up your guys' messes, that’s all.”

“Well, like you said, some of us are graduating. Guess you won’t have to deal with it for much longer, huh?” Asim teases, bumping them with his shoulder.

“Gosh, I hope not.” they groan. “This whole school year was bad enough! I mean with all of the overblots, and the near-death experiences, and the fights, and the constant bickering, and all of the trauma-dumping and responsibility that I never asked for, and I have to keep my dorm from falling apart and killing me and my cat— I mean, it’s a lot for age 16, y’know?”

They shake their head and let out an exasperated huff. They continue to unload their bag, completely oblivious to how silent the room just went.

“Yuu…” Asim whispers. “…what?”

Chapter 8: happy and healthy (not me, if you ever cared to ask)

Summary:

Yuu, Housewarden of Ramshackle, and all the questions nobody ever thought to ask about them.

Notes:

The chapter title is a lyric from "good 4 u" by Olivia Rodrigo.

tbh, this was both the easiest AND the hardest chapter i’ve ever had to write, but i hope it turned out okay!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Yuu… what?”

Yuu looks in Kalim’s direction, brows furrowing at the sight of him looking at them with wide eyes and an unhinged jaw. They’ve only seen him look like that once before— when Jamil was lying on the ground of Scarabia’s lounge, the black ink in his eyes still wet enough to roll down his cheeks and pool onto the floor.

To see that look now directed at them is a little surprising. Yuu has to blink a few times to make sure they’re seeing it correctly, and even afterwards, they struggle to imagine what they could’ve possibly said to make him look like that. Like most confusing things in life — such as what hot dogs are made out of, how isekai’ing works exactly, how many times you can say “I’m fine” in front of a broken mirror before it starts to become pathetic, et cetera — Yuu chooses not to think about Kalim’s sudden mood drop too hard.

“What is it?” they ask, looking away from him to continue taking things out of their bag.

“What were you just talking about?”

“Huh?” Yuu cocks their head in confusion as they run back what they just said. “Were you… not aware that I was 16?”

“No, before that.” Vil clarifies irritably.

“Okay, well I guess Grim’s not really a cat, but tomato to-mah-to.”

Azul chimes in, deadpan. “I believe everyone’s trying to get you to talk about the bingo game of bad things you got a blackout on.”

Yuu makes an ‘ahhh’ sound, as if they understand, but the next words that come out of their mouth prove very definitively that they do not. “Sorry, didn’t mean to bore you with that! You guys probably know all about that already.”

“It’s worse when it’s laid all out like that.” Leona mumbles.

“Yuu, if Ramshackle was crumbling down, you should’ve told me!” Kalim yelps in distress. “I would’ve helped you!”

“Awww! See, this is why I like you, Kalim. Anybody else would’ve told me to suck it up or go sleep with the Dwarves in the cave.” Yuu sends a pointed look towards Leona and conspiratorially stage-whispers, “Or convince me to share a bed with Leona.”

Azul’s eyebrows raise up into the stratosphere. “And why would you have shared a bed with the man who probably sheds more than all of us combined?”

“You don’t know?” Yuu asks, tilting their head as they hand Idia his ramen, alongside a cheap pair of chopsticks with pictures of characters from some random anime plastered all over them. “Come on, Azul. You were the one who withheld Ramshackle Dorm for collateral back during November. I mean, where did you expect me to sleep? The cave thing was just a joke, y’know.”

The death glare Azul receives from all sides is crushing. He just stares straight ahead with an unreadable expression.

“I had to convince Leona to let me sleep in his room.” they explain. “Glad Ruggie was there to back me up, or I wouldn’t even have been able to be in Savanaclaw, ha ha!”

Kalim furrows his brow. “What… What were you planning to do when STYX broke into your dorm?”

Idia stiffens as they look at Yuu, eyes wide.

Yuu looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully, biting their bottom lip. “That’s a good question, actually. I didn’t think about it too hard, honestly. I mean, obviously I wasn’t about to sleep in a dorm with a gaping hole in it, but like— where was I supposed to go?”

As soon as that last question leaves their mouth, an uncertain and scared haze passes by their eyes. Everyone in the room had seen this only once — back when Yuu stood in front of the Dark Mirror, all alone in the universes, surrounded by magic and realities and people unknown. Or at least, it was the only time Yuu had let them see it.

But then Yuu violently shakes their head, and once again, they become the practically unassailable Ramshackle housewarden they’ve all come to know, facing even the most monstrous of adversaries with a determined glint in their eyes. “That doesn’t apply here anymore. It’s over.”

Kalim grabs their arm before they can turn away from him. “Yuu, it might be over, but— how do you feel about it?”

“How I feel about everything that’s happened to me.” they reply cryptically as they gently pry Kalim’s hand off them. “I try not to think about it.”

“Yuu, 6 out of the 7 patients in this infirmary can attest that ‘not thinking about it’,” Azul repeats, creating quotation marks with his fingers and rolling his eyes, “is never a stable model.”

“Guys, you don’t have to worry about me!” Yuu claims, plastering another smile onto their lips. “I help people, people don’t help me. That’s just how it works.”

“That honestly sounds like the world’s least stable business practice.”

“It’s how it works, Azul.” Yuu reiterates firmly.

“It shouldn’t have to be.” Azul says, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I didn’t get this far by lying down and taking the horrible hand that was dealt to me. Don’t you ever wish things would change?”

“Sure I do. But I’ve been wishing for a change for almost eight months, and— and nothing’s happened.” They try to play off their last words casually in what’s probably an attempt to mitigate the damage their words might cause. But the truth potion swirling in their stomach causes their voice to crack on the second-to-last syllable, as if they’re one step away from a sob. “Having wishes isn’t all it’s cracked up to be when they keep letting you down, y’know?”

They laugh hollowly. “I mean, all of you overblotted because you were trying to change something — other people, destiny, the world… And what did it get us? Nothing! All we have now are broken hearts and broken bones and broken dreams and—”

Yuu chokes, squeezing their eyes. 

“Trying to change things is— it’s just not worth it. It never has been.”

It’s a simple sentence — but the more it sinks in, the more horrifying it becomes.

“I—” Kalim breathes in sharply. “I can’t believe you’ve been holding this in all this time.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” They rub their eyes like they’re wiping away tears, even though their face is as dry as bone. “It’s— It’s not your problem. I can take care of myself.”

“Yuu,” Kalim repeats, eyes narrowing, just shy of true anger, “if I told you I’ve almost been poisoned 187 times and that I was sick and tired of people trying to kill me all the time, would you tell me that I should be able to ‘take care of myself’?”

“Of course not!” they exclaim, instantly alarmed. They deflate within seconds as Kalim’s meaning catches up to them. “Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh’.” Kalim tilts his head as he looks at them with wide, ruby red eyes. “Yuu. What do you want to do?”

“I…” 

They look down at the ground. 

Up at the ceiling. 

Out the window, into the rainy night. 

Anywhere but at the six pairs of eyes staring into them.

Then, in one quiet, bitter, wrapped-up moment, they utter a simple: “I want to go home.”

They don't even flinch when the words escape them, even though they clearly didn't mean for them to. It's no surprise, considering they're someone whose entire life in Twisted Wonderland has always surrounded that which they cannot control.

(Not that it makes it any less tragic, of course.)

With a dead look in their eye, they pick up their grocery bag off of the table and head towards the infirmary door to stage their less-than-graceful exit.

“Yuu, wait.”

They stop dead in their tracks, hand on the doorknob. “What, Kalim.”

“We love you.”

Yuu doesn’t react beyond a slight downward tilt of their head. They don’t even turn their head. “Yeah. I love you, too.”

Despite knowing it has to be the truth, the words sound entirely hollow coming from them — much like the pit forming in their stomachs.

And before any of them have the chance to blink, they vanish like a ghost in the night.

Silence reigns throughout the infirmary, save for the sounds of worried, muted whispering occurring from just beyond the door. 

Then, a series of heavy footsteps are heard carefully walking away from the infirmary — and away from all the weight of their pain.

Notes:

up next: another intermission with the housewardens before we reach the final gauntlet.

Chapter 9: intermission (ii)

Summary:

Another light intermission before we dig our claws into the real meat.

Notes:

OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAYOKAYOKAYOKAY THIS IS NOT A DRILL, I REPEAT THIS IS NOT. A. DRILL. WE ARE REACHING ENDGAME TERRITORY.

Chapter Text

“Well.” Azul starts. “That was not what I expected to happen at all.”

“Me neither.” Kalim agrees, sounding meeker than anybody’s ever heard him be before. 

“Somehow.” Idia mumbles under his breath. “You’d think the last six times would’ve warned you, but nooooooo.”

“Oh, shut it, Idia.”

“Vil, I’m feeling kinda—” Kalim whines as a wave of nausea hits him, hugging his stomach and keeling over in pain. “—kinda woozy…”

Vil leans over the side of his mattress and puts the back of his hand against Kalim’s forehead, grunting softly as he feels the sheer warmth radiating from him. “Your flawed potionmaking strikes again, Kalim. You’re not quite as bad as Riddle, but you’re nearly there. I suggest taking it easy for a bit.”

“Here Kalim, have one of my diet smoothies.” Azul offers, thrusting one of the plastic cups in his face. “They have nutrients in them that will speed up your body’s natural healing processes. It’ll hopefully be able to get rid of your headaches.”

“Thanks Azul.” Kalim reaches out a hand, but falters before his fingers make contact with the cup. “Wait— you’ve already drunk from this one, right?”

Azul raises an eyebrow, but answers with a hesitant, “Yes?”

“Thanks!” Kalim eagerly grabs it and starts sucking from the straw like a thirsting man in the desert. His excited disposition falls immediately as the taste actually catches up with him, and he starts hacking it up. “What did they put in this?!”

“Spinach, carrots, and a hint of strawberry.” Azul answers succinctly. “The ingredients are written on the back, I believe.”

“It’s from the “Mirror, Mirror” line of health drinks. They’re better for the skin than most of those fad shakes in all of the commercials.” Vil comments, as he takes a healthy slurp of his own cup.

Kalim purses his lips and puts his smoothie down on the table, clearly not having a taste for the drink anymore — though whether it’s because of the unwieldy combination of ingredients or the heavy thoughts that came with the encounter with Yuu not even a full 15 minutes ago remains uncertain. 

“Do you… Do you think there’s something we can do for Yuu?” he asks tentatively. “I mean, there has to be, right?”

“You mean besides finding a way to send them back to their own dimension?” Azul remarks regretfully. “Nothing that’ll stick for long, I’m afraid. Everyone knows that the individualistic culture of this school is too insidious to be rid of.”

Kalim makes a sad little noise before putting his smoothie down onto his bedside table. “I guess it makes sense I’d end up with the one first-year I can’t help.”

“Now, now, Kalim don’t be so down on yourself.” Azul leans over and pats Kalim helpfully on the shoulder. “Let’s be frank: out of every housewarden here, you have the least fault in Yuu’s plight.”

Kalim gives Azul a shaky smile, but it falls apart as soon as he turns away to look back down at his hospital gown.

The Octavinelle housewarden frowns. “You’ll have to get it together soon, Kalim — I don’t think this night is quite over yet.” Azul casts a look over to Leona, who seems to have caught onto the same inevitable realization everyone else must’ve reached by now, his ears standing at attention and his tail flicking widly. “We have one more emotional revelation to go through before we can rest.”

“Indeed. And do be quick about it, Kingscholar.” Malleus says, summoning his handheld virtual pet from whatever pocket dimension he typically keeps it in. “My little friend here needs to be fed diligently everyday at 8 o’clock in the morning. I need to sleep soon so I can wake up on time for that all-important appointment.”

“Not to be that guy, but I’m, like, 99.9% sure that whatever Leona and Jack need to hash out is way more important than a tamagotchi.” Idia points out dryly.

As if on cue, there’s a sudden well of shouting from behind the infirmary door, including a lot of “Come on!”s, “Don’t be stubborn”s, and scratching noises that sound a lot like socks sliding against a rug.

The door suddenly swings open, hitting the infirmary wall with a loud bang!

Leona splutters in disbelief, his ears splaying back and his pupils dilating. “Jack, what the hell are you—?”

Braced against the doorframe is a 192-centimeter white wolf who is desperately doing his best to resist being pushed inside the infirmary. To that end, he’s doing surprisingly well, especially considering the five pairs of hands that are pressing against him with no mercy.

“Sorry, housewarden— Sebek, stop pressing on my tail!”

“Well if you would stop being so obstinate, I wouldn’t have to resort to such underhanded tactics!”

“Shut it.” Jack rumbles, though the aggressive gesture is only met with groans of annoyance.

“Look, dude,” Ace begins, taking on a distinct “don’t-argue-with-me” voice that sounds eerily reminiscent to Riddle’s usual commanding tones, “we all agreed to do this, and we promised that you would get to go last. Now it’s time for you to hold up the end of the bargain!”

“You can do it, Jack!” Deuce encourages. “Don’t let your dreams just be dreams! Failure is not fatal! Believe in yourself!”

“Deuce, please tell me you haven’t actually been using that stupid motivational quotes calendar Cater gave you on your birthday.”

“…Maybe.”

“They’re not so bad.” Epel muses. “Rook made me a homemade one for my birthday, and it’s been surprisingly inspiring… if a little creepy, sometimes.”

“Everybody stand back!” Ortho calls out. “I’m going to attempt something!”

Jack lets out a relieved breath as all of the hands retract from his back all at once, but it quickly turns into a startled yelp once he notices Ortho holding a familiar golden emblem and accompanying piece of yellow-and-black fabric. 

“Ortho, why do you have my armband?!” Jack demands.

“I swiped it from your bag and pocketed it before we left.” The little robot states matter-of-factly. “I figured we would need to use this as a secret weapon at some point!”

“Ortho— wait, wait, wait, don’t—”

Ortho rears his arm back like he were pitching a baseball, and throws Jack’s armband into the infirmary. Instinctively, Jack lunges for it before it can hit the ground, and as soon as they see that Jack’s inside, the other freshmen reach for the door handle and slam it shut. 

The whole operation goes suspiciously smoothly — almost like they’ve done this multiple times. 

(Which would mean Jack has fallen for this exact same trick every single time, to the point where the other first-years have become 100% certain of its functionality. It’s a little bit concerning, but Leona quickly decides that’s a problem to deal with another day.)

“Guys!” Jack growls, turning around and trying to push his way out of the infirmary. “Let me out!”

Unfortunately for Jack, the hands that had been pushing him inside the infirmary were now pushing against the door keeping him stuck there. And as strong as Jack is, even he can’t match up to the combined strength of a half-fae trained by one of the greatest generals in history, an idiot duo of card soldiers who are much too foolhardy to know when to quit, a surprisingly aggressive country bumpkin, and a particularly determined robot.

Eventually, Jack gives up with one final kick against the door and a disgruntled mutter that sounds remarkably like: “I can’t believe I fell for that again.”

Leona lowers his head and rubs the corners of his eyes. Nothing’s even really happened, and yet he’s already sick of this nonsense. He hasn’t even been able to get a wink of sleep since this whole mess started.

How does the saying go again? “Rip the band-aid off?”

…No. That’s not quite right.

“Curiosity killed the cat”.

Yeah. That sounds more apt.

“Jack.” 

Jack whirls his head around, retracting his teeth back into his mouth. “L-Leona, I—”

“Stop. Don’t even bother.” Leona massages the bridge of his nose. “Out with it already.”

“What?”

“Yuu’s a lot of things, but pretentious isn’t one of them—” Pained as Leona is to admit it. “—they wouldn’t have brought you here if they didn’t think they needed to.”

Jack goes radio silent at Leona’s words— a victory that Leona doesn’t relish in.

They’ve done this before, haven’t they?

There are differences, of course — this isn’t Leona’s room, it isn’t Spelldrive season, there isn’t some nefarious plot of sabotage hanging over their hands, and there’s an audience watching them with bated breath, just to see how this already-unstable ship is going to sink — but they’ve done this before.

And patterns go on indefinitely, Idia’s voice whispers wickedly in his head.

Leona shakes it loose and growls somberly. “Let’s just get this out of the way. What is it that you wanted to say to—”

Chapter 10: you built a giant castle with walls so high

Summary:

Jack, Leona, and contradictions.

Notes:

fun fact i purposely saved this chapter for last because i knew it was going to be the hardest to write. THERE IS A REASON Y I RARELY EVER WRITE LEONA AND JACK AND THAT’S BECAUSE THEY’RE REPRESSED. AS. HELL.

that said, i hope i did a decent job. their relationship is genuinely so fascinating.

The chapter title is a lyric from "logical" by Olivia Rodrigo.

(oh, and the alternative title i was considering was “i guess love is never logical”. make of that what u will.)

THERE IS ONE MORE CHAPTER PLANNED AFTER THIS ONE! HANG IN THERE EVERYBODY!

Chapter Text

“Let’s just get this out of the way. What is it that you wanted to say to—”

“I hate you.” Jack says, before Leona even really finishes asking.

Jack’s eyes go wide and his ears press themselves flat against his skull, like he wasn’t quite expecting that sudden burst of vitriol himself.

Leona, himself, is unfazed by how quickly Jack answers. The more you repress a truth, the harder the truth potion works against you. It’s common knowledge. Baby stuff, really — something that’s in all the books about magic that Royal Sword Academy provided Falena during his freshmen orientation. Books that, as Leona realized one dusty afternoon when he found himself bored enough to actually pick one up, were obviously written with toddlers in mind instead of teenagers.

Leona has never read one of those books all the way to the end. They’re too pathetically sappy for him to stomach all of it. Even though Cheka is unsurprisingly obsessed with them and forces Leona to read them to him before bed, Cheka’s never awake long enough for them to even come close to finishing one.

There’s probably a moral at the end, though. There’s almost always a moral, as far as Royal Sword Academy is concerned.

Not that Leona’s ever been too concerned with morals. So he feels no shame when he echoes: “You hate me,” dry and utterly unsurprised, even when it makes Jack look at him like a scared bunny shivering in the dark instead of the wolf he really is. 

It’s not a look Leona’s used to seeing on his self-assured freshman. He’s only ever seen it once, and only for a brief second — right before Leona’s vision was clouded with rage and inky shadows and every bad memory he’s ever had.

(…That’s enough of that.)

For both of their sakes, he needs to end this as soon as possible.

“Could’ve said that sooner, you know. Would’ve saved me the trouble of being nitpicked.” Leona snarls, sending a glare over to the other people sharing the infirmary with him. 

None of them look terribly apologetic, which pisses him off more. Azul even shrugs, before gesturing for them to continue and taking a sip of his smoothie, as if this is all just a soap opera for his entertainment. Leona makes a mental note to get all of Savanaclaw to eat up the Mostro Lounge’s entire supply of meat tomorrow, just to see that octopus’s smug smirk twitch.

Leona sighs roughly, turning to Jack with a vague look of sympathy on his face. The little pup’s always been too sensitive for his own good, no matter what his prickly disposition might tell you. “If this is all you were workin’ yourself up over, don’t. It’s not a big deal—”

“Don’t say that!” The wolf snaps. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself like that!”

Jack rears back violently, and Leona gets the idea that he probably didn’t mean to say that.

(Leona hopes beyond all hope this doesn’t become a recurring trend. Otherwise this whole situation might end up being more trouble than it’s worth.)

Leona, on his part, is blindsided by how sudden it is.

“I… Leona, you— you’re a lot of things.” Jack looks down. He starts rubbing his hands together in a rare show of anxiety. “You’re lazy, messy, irresponsible, incorrigible, irreverent—”

“I get it.” Leona's heard the same thing from servants of the palace, the people of Sunset Savannah, his own family.

“—but I don’t like it when people say they hate you.” Jack says — so, so earnestly, Leona can’t help but snort. Almost a whole year spent at Night Raven College, and he’s still the same naive, silly little wolf that broke into his room all the way back in October to try and talk all high and mighty to him. “People who say that— they don’t know you at all. They don’t know how well you take care of Savanaclaw, even if it’s not always in the most obvious way.”

Jack winces as soon as he’s done speaking, perhaps hearing the hypocrisy.

Leona shakes his head slowly — incredulously. “That made absolutely no sense at all.”

“It does, in a way.” he argues. “I don’t really know you at all, either.”

“Not that. I was talkin’ about how you can go from telling me you hate me to defending me from myself in the span of a single minute. I don’t understand why you just—” Leona vaguely gestures to nowhere in particular. “—did that."

Jack squares his shoulders, pupils dilating. Leona’s spent enough time as Savanaclaw’s housewarden to recognize what someone looks like when they’re mentally preparing themselves for a warning, an argument, an insult, or whatever else of the sort. “Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?”

He says it in the same way he might say the answer to a history question. Firm. Knowing. Like that’s it and that’s all.

(Like that’s it and that’s all.)

Leona’s lip curls back. “But why?”

“I don’t know.” Jack responds frankly. “ I… I don’t know.”

It is, without question, the worst explanation Jack could’ve given him. Mostly because it’s not one.

And really.

No, but really.

What does the universe expect Leona to do with that?

“Do you—” and Leona hates to ask this, but some sadomasochistic part of him needs to hear it straight from the source, “—love me?”

A strained look goes across his underclassman’s face, like the Moon passing over the Sun in a solar eclipse. And just like a solar eclipse, it stings to look at. “Yes.”

Leona licks his lips as he tastes his next question like it’s dust in his mouth. “Would you— love me more if I was different?”

“No!” Jack shakes his head violently. “If you were any different, then— then you wouldn’t be Leona. And I love Leona. Not a stranger.”

Leona closes his eyes. 

Any other day, he’d turn this back around him. He’d do whatever he could to ensure Jack stays as far away from him as possible. It’d be better for them both in the long run, he reasons. Leona’s never been too concerned with morals, and Jack couldn’t be more moral if he tried. He can’t imagine a universe where this misplaced sense of affection for him ever goes well.

(It doesn’t matter how gentle Leona tries to be. Everything nice and wonderful he holds in his hands eventually crumbles away into sand.)

But today isn’t any other day, is it?

It’s the day Kalim decided to drop a literal truth potion on all of them.

“Jack,” he starts softly, in the sort of voice he usually only reserves for Cheka after he comes to his room crying after a nightmare. “I tried to kill you.”

Jack squares his shoulders. “You did.”

“I almost killed Ruggie.”

“You… did that, too.”

“I ain’t a good person. At all.”

“You’re not.” Jack hangs his head — like, somehow, between the two of them, he’s the one who ought to be ashamed. And, to be fair, maybe he should be ashamed if his heart still bleeds for a lion everyone else has given up on already. “Are you disappointed?”

The question is so sincere, Leona has half a mind to laugh at it. He doesn’t even know what Jack thinks Leona’s disappointed about.

Leona doesn’t laugh, though, because he’s not disappointed. He’s… something else.

It’s a feeling he can’t name. It’s warm and slimy. It wedges itself right between his beating heart and his ribcage, making room for itself despite how much his body protests against it. It sits there patiently and thrums ever so slightly in a bid to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

“I’m not disappointed.” he replies after a short while.

Jack nods slowly. “That’s— That’s good.”

“Is it really?” Leona mutters, bringing up a hand to massage his temple.

Jack stares at Leona with wide amber eyes, like a predator waiting for his prey to make their next move before he pounces. 

“Do…” he trails off. “Do you love me?”

…Of course.

Of course he would ask this.

And of course, Leona can only answer in one way.

“No.”

If it was even possible for it to get quieter in the infirmary, then it did. Leona doesn’t have to look at anyone to know they’re all staring with varying levels of shock, second-hand embarrassment, and resignation. 

Sardonically, Leona thinks this is the perfect time to fall asleep— or it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that he knows if he were to doze off now, then Jack’s wide golden eyes, his folded ears, and his wounded expression would be forever burned into the back of his eyelids.

“Okay.” Jack says quietly, shakily. “Okay, um…”  Jack’s throat bobs as he swallows. He hastily scrubs his eyes even though there’s nothing there to scrub away. “I— I guess I’ll just… I guess I’ll just go then, um— I’m sorry for—”

“Jack.” Leona interjects, putting one finger in the air in a ‘stop’ motion. “Lemme finish.”

Jack, true to form, shuts up immediately.

“The answer is no. But the answer is also yes.”

The unhappy distress on Jack’s face is replaced with a look of pure confusion. “I— What?”

“You’re a little wolf pup who has no idea how the real world works. You talk about things you have no business talking about, you stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, and you love talking all high and might at every opportunity. You’re like my brother except ten times worse, and yet—” Leona throws his hands up. “—I still keep you around. And honestly, what does that say about me?”

Jack opens his mouth and closes it a few times in quick succession, like a gasping fish. “I don’t… understand.”

“I know, I know, it’s frustrating,” Leona says patronizingly, as a sardonic smirk spreads across his face, “but sometimes there is more than just one answer.”

The wolf clamps his jaw shut.

Finally, he says, “I love you, too.”

“…Yeah.” Leona’s smirk falters. “I know, frosh."

Jack stares down at the tile. 

Then he looks up, and slowly approaches Leona’s bedside. 

As carefully as he can, Jack drops to his knees and puts his head in Leona’s lap, wiggling it slightly as if to get comfortable there.

All of a sudden, Leona flashes back to when he was reading Cheka a book about a human baby raised by wolves in the jungle. He doesn’t remember all the details — and thank the Seven for that, too, because he remembers that book being horribly mindnumbing — but he does remember Cheka looking up at him and asking why so many of the pictures involved the wolves rubbing up against the baby. And Leona had explained that wolves rub up against each other to show affection, much like how lions do it.

Cheka had blinked uncomprehendingly at him a few times, as if he hadn’t quite considered himself just how much other lions rubbed up against each other in their day-to-day lives. The kid was only four at the time, after all. He probably hadn’t registered all the cuddling as any different than breathing or drinking, yet.

But Leona is 20, not four. He doesn't have the privilege of ignorance.

(Sort of wishes he did right about now, though.)

It’s awkward, not least because Jack is way too big for this and Leona is way too small.

But Leona doesn’t tell him to get off. He doesn’t even try pushing him.

He leans over, keeping his legs flat as he curls himself around Jack’s head slightly. He slowly runs his fingers through Jack’s hair and gently nips at his ears, eliciting a small, indignant growl.

“I love you.” Leona whispers, despite himself. Because of himself. Whispers it so softly and quietly, only Jack’s ears can pick up on it.

The words burn more than Leona ever thought they would. Affection and shame twists his stomach into knots, and it all burns.

(He wishes it didn't have to burn so much. Maybe then this could've been a good thing.)

(Even so, even if it's not a good thing, Leona doesn't think he'd change anything about this.)

Jack responds just as discreetly. For Leona’s ears only.

“Love you, too."

It's the last thing Jack manages to get out, before his breathing deepens and his eyes flutter shut.

Seeing Jack asleep seems to activate something in Leona’s brain. He’s not sure if it’s the flaw in the truth potion that knocked Riddle out cold, or if Leona’s only now realizing how much sleep he needs to catch up on, but his jaw unhinges like a snake as he yawns.

Leona lays his head down on top of Jack’s. 

His neck is going to murder him for this when he wakes up, but getting out of this position feels like a difficult task Leona’s just not up to right now.