Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This time, when the war broke out, it was Musse who fired the first shot. 

For most of their second year at Thors, Ash’s afternoons followed a comfortable routine. He would go about his sacred duties as the branch campus’ Student Council President - i.e. stomping down the vaunted halls, walking unannounced into every club in session, and occasionally scaring his fellow students shitless. But only occasionally. To his great disgust, all of his fellow second-years were completely unphased by his gruff demeanor - they knew him entirely too well - and over the course of the semester, that herd immunity slowly spread to even the shyest first-years.

But after Class VII’s return from the shit Cedric tried to pull up in the Nord Highlands, everything abruptly changed. His rounds are constantly interrupted now - by sidelong looks, swallowed grins and barely audible giggling. He does not need to rely on his sharper than average instincts to know at once what is going on. A rumor is winding its way through the branch campus student body, and whatever it is, he is at the center of it.

There is only one logical suspect, but he refuses to give her the satisfaction of asking her to elaborate. Surely that is exactly what she wants - for Ash to come crawling to her so she can lord her smug superiority over his head.

Instead, he beats a strategic retreat to the Chess Club. 

What had once been the domain of Kurt and Sidney alone is now infected with a gaggle of first-year students. Most clubs are; tragically, enrollment is way up since the branch campus played an instrumental part in saving the whole damn world. Ash silences these interlopers with a glare and stomps over to his peers. 

“Spill it, Vander.” 

“I don’t suppose you could be more specific?” Kurt says, but he’s trying and failing to hold back a smile.

Buoyed by his success in dealing with Prince Cedric, Kurt exudes a new, quiet confidence… that makes him a real pain in the ass. He’d also gotten over himself long enough to formally invite Juna to the end of term dance. Thankfully for his gag reflex, Ash had been elsewhere on his rounds at the time, but what he heard from Altina is the stuff of nightmares. Apparently he’d done it in front of the entire tennis club. There had also been flowers. All the romantic cliches Juna could’ve asked for, plus the excitement of a noble asking out a commoner… 

… Matter of fact, the student body should still be giggling about it - as far as he knows, Ash hasn’t done anything to make himself hotter gossip than the new couple. 

“How come every first-year and half the second-years are starin’ at me like I’ve grown a second head,” he says through gritted teeth. 

Sidney makes a sort of choking noise halfway between a laugh and a gasp. Ash immediately turns the full force of his scowl against him. Kurt might have grown a pair but surely Sidney isn’t completely immune? 

“It’s Musse!” the sniper immediately confesses. Jackpot. “She told all the girls, and then, y’know how things spread-”

“Told the girls what!?” Ash snarls. He fantasizes about seizing the other boy by the collar and shaking the info out of him. Only the thought about how Principal Le Guin would punish him for conduct unbecoming keeps his hands clenched into fists. 

Kurt, finally taking pity on the both of them, clears his throat. “She claims that you asked her to be Student Council Vice President because you are passionately in love with her, but too shy to ask her outright. Additionally… she made extremely suggestive implications about your conduct during the meetings.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Ash sees the first-years hanging on every word, but suddenly can’t bring himself to care. It’s entirely too late, in any event.

Ever since Musse had manipulated him into winning that damn election, and he’d paid her back by forcing her to participate as well, he’d almost been dumb enough to think that had been the end of it. Instead, these past few months turned out to be one of those Non-Aggression Pacts that held up well enough until the very moment it didn’t. 

Ash had a pretty good idea what had prompted her to start the war. The last two field exercises had dragged everything out into the open for the four of them - first, via the Juna Incident; then by Kurt divesting himself of his remaining baggage with Prince Cedric. Ash honestly hadn’t put much thought into what he and Musse would be going forward, not yet - but she clearly had. She wanted him, which was great… but she also wanted to make him come crawling over for her own amusement, first. 

Fine. She wanted to play? He could play. He’d gotten the last laugh on that Student Council President thing, hadn’t he? He could take her.

Probably.

“That’s funny,” he hears himself say, as if from a great distance. “Cause from where I’m sittin’, it’s been the other way ‘round. She’s practically beggin’ for it.” 

Kurt, unimpressed, rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. “Are you quite sure you know what you’re getting into?” 

Even if he hadn’t, the die is cast. Sidney practically falls out of his chair in his eagerness to grab his ARCUS and start messaging everyone he knows. 

For a military academy, everyone sure is fiending for gossip. 

Ash’s flippant response spreads like wildfire until - under two hours later - seemingly every student understands the situation.

“-so they’re secretly in love with each other,” a wide-eyed first-year girl explains, gesturing wildly with both hands, “but! That represents a stalemate. Because whoever confesses first gives the object of their affection all the power for the rest of the relationship. There can only be winners and losers in the game of love!” 

“That is not how that works. That is not how any of that works,” Altina says. She attempts to enlighten her junior with the emotional intelligence she’d fought hard to obtain: “A relationship features open and honest communication between equal parties.” 

The first-year gives her a pitying look. “What are you, 13? You’ll understand when you’re older.” 

Luckily Juna arrives in the nick of time, intervening before Altina can commit a murder. The nameless first-year receives a vintage Crawford tongue-lashing before she’s banished to clean up the tennis court.

Unfortunately for him, Ash shows up a moment later, when Juna is already wound up and ready to keep punching. 

Metaphorically. 

He hopes.

“Okay, Ash. Lay it on me. Do we need to have another talk,” she growls, cracking her knuckles for emphasis. 

He rolls his eyes. “Slow your roll, filly. This is just between me and Egret.”

Altina stares at him, utterly unimpressed. “You are currently the subject of gossip for the entire student body.” 

“... Okay, yeah, but I meant - y’know - us. It’s not gonna spill over to us,” Ash says, gesturing to indicate the three of them. “Pretty boy included. This is just her revenge for me stickin’ her on the Student Council; it’s targeted, not a backslide. You could go ask her yourself-”

“Don’t think I won’t!” 

“So do it and stop yellin’ at me,” he grumbles. “It’s not like I disagree. I’m pretty sure she’s just havin’ a laugh, but it’d be good to make sure she’s okay. This is the first I’m hearin’ about it, same as you.” 

Juna chews on her lip, her anger fading almost as quickly as it had flared out in Ash’s direction. “Let’s say you’re right. Has it ever been a good idea to try to beat her at her own game? Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” 

“Don’t you guys have any faith in me?” he complains. “I can keep up with Phonylocks just fine.” 

The pronouncement - delivered with the utmost confidence - goes over about as well as if he’d declared himself the new Emperor of Erebonia. Juna laughs out loud; Altina smirks, actually smirks, and pats him on the lower back in a manner that somehow feels just as patronizing as she’d intended. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re getting into?” Instructor Rean asks, looking at Ash very seriously over the frames of his vanity glasses.

“Nope. We ain’t doin’ this,” Ash growls, and turns on his heel.

The fact that Schwarzer chose to ambush him in the bathroom makes his retreat less dignified than he’d have preferred. He hopes there isn’t any wider significance in that. 

Finally, the moment of reckoning arrives. 

The moment of reckoning is a special evening session of the Student Council. 

Normally, they meet a couple times a week; but Thors’ branch campus is preparing for an exchange event with some fancy prep school from Calvard. Given the Everything, the Erebonian government is coming down hard to ensure it’s a success. And since Aurelia Le Guin goes to the school of throwing kids into the deep end until they figure out how to swim - or drown trying - she hasn’t lifted a finger to help ‘em with the logistics. 

It all adds up to one overworked and stressed-out President… and a Vice President who’d chosen the most effective moment to attack.  

Pathetically pining after his own classmate, not having the balls to simply ask her out, wasn’t a good look. That’s why his first thought had been to simply flip the script. The rumor mill wouldn’t believe it instead of - they’d believe it in addition to. Give the whole thing an air of forbidden romance. Commoner and noble, just like pretty boy and the filly. They’d eat that shit up - instant romance best-seller, and Ash would know, ‘cause he’d read just about all of ‘em-

- Okay, enough stalling. Moment of truth. He shoulders the door open. 

Thanks to his rounds (and associated drama), he’s the last one to arrive, which puts him at an immediate disadvantage. Musse surveys the room like a general addressing her most trusted adjutants; Stark is typing furiously on an orbal laptop, while the other two seem to be hanging on her every word. 

“Yo,” Ash says. 

Stark keeps typing, but Leonora and Tatiana both look up at him… and the latter looks pretty flustered. Well, he thinks, with a tiny stab of guilt, this Musse rumor can’t be easy on her; her crush on him ain’t exactly subtle. So far, he’d done his best to quietly discourage it without damaging their friendship. That’s not gonna work anymore. 

“What’d I miss?” 

“Nothing of consequence,” Musse lies with a smile on her face. “We were simply discussing the logistics of housing the Aramis students. A hotel in Heimdallr would be the most logical option, but presents additional security challenges to the interim government, especially with the recent decommissioning of so many RMP officers. They’ve expressed their concerns to Principal Le Guin.”

Who naturally foisted it off on them. Typical.  

Ash only has to think about it for a minute. “What if we put our students up in Heimdallr and give the exchange kids the dorms? Then the RMP’s only gotta plus up their cordon on campus, and it’s way easier to inspect all the trains at a single-track station.” 

Musse bats her eyelashes at him and - he hasn’t heard this one in a while - lets out that high-pitched schoolgirl giggle. “A brilliant suggestion, Ash! To cut so elegantly through the knot that had confounded even me… I do admire a man of intellect.”

That was some old-school Phonylocks horseshit, because there’s no way she hadn’t immediately thought of it herself. Which meant this was part of her game. Which meant everything since he stepped in the room had been a performance - an opening act for the benefit of the rest of the Student Council.

Now, if only he could figure out how exactly her playing dumb had anything to do with his supposed feelings for her, he’d be in business. 

“... Yeah. Whatever. What’s next?”

Tatiana, still red in the face, powers through admirably, presenting the proposed budget for the exchange event with barely a stammer. The sheer tedium of finances is almost enough to lull Ash into a false sense of security. Almost, but not quite. Whatever Musse had been telling the others before he entered the room must be relevant to her next tactic in their quickly escalating war of rumors. 

“-mira to hire a live band for the dance following the event,” the Treasurer says, and Ash feels chill fingers down his spine. Of course. It all makes sense now.

“Since when could we afford a whole-ass dance?” 

Tatiana blinks owlishly at him. “Since Musse made a direct donation to Thors to support it. I thought… you knew?” Her voice trails off into the merest squeak; her stammer reasserts itself. “Con-considering…” 

“Considering!?” 

“Don’t be a brute, Ash,” Musse chides him. “I’ve already told the others how you begged me to accompany you; there’s no sense pretending otherwise.” 

Well, that explains what they’d been chattering about when he came in. In retrospect, Ash should’ve predicted this. Of course Musse would react to his rumor by escalating with a new tale of her own - using his own words, too! Of course she’d drop more mira than he’d ever earned in his entire life to buy her way into the perfect story. 

After all - there was no tale more compelling to their fellow students than who had asked who to the school dance. 

He’s caught off-guard - but he doesn’t intend to go down without a fight.

“That’s not how I remember it,” Ash drawls, faux-casual. “You were droppin’ so many hints, I might’ve called you… desperate.” 

Musse’s lips draw back from her teeth. The resulting expression is far too predatory to be a real smile. “Keep telling yourself that. Whatever it takes to balm your wounded pride.” 

Ash leers back at her. “Only thing wounded ‘round here is your ice-queen act, Phonylocks. We both know you wanted it more-” 

“So it’s true!?” Tatiana interrupts, her mouth hanging open.

Stark types even more furiously. 

Leonora clears her throat, glaring at everyone in turn. “Since our business tonight is concluded, we’ll be on our way.”

She practically has to drag the Treasurer and Secretary out by the collars. Ash isn’t quite sure how she has the limbs free to slam the door behind her, but she manages it somehow; the resulting boom feels pointed. 

For the first time since this stupid war began, he and the supposed object of his affections are alone together. Which - Ash realizes with a groan - will just add even more fuel to the fire. Stark was probably typing up a play-by-play for the entire student body.

“Great. Now I gotta find a suit,” he mutters, slouching down in his chair with a huff. The ensemble he’d worn to the Prince’s wedding had been rented, of course - he was attending Thors on a scholarship and too busy with the Student Council to pick up a part-time job; he wasn’t made of mira, unlike his opponent.

Musse smiles at him - a sweetness laced with poison. “You may admit defeat at any time. It will only take me a moment to clear the matter up.” 

“Fuck no. I can take whatever you’ve got, Egret.” 

“Perhaps you can,” she laughs. “At the very least, you’ll keep fighting long past the point where a normal person would admit defeat. That’s what makes you so… interesting to play against.” 

“Play with, you mean. You’re like a cat with a dead mouse,” he says, kicking his feet up on the nearest desk. 

“In that case, you’d be a dog with a bone.” 

“Stubborn?” 

“Prone to making a mess on the nice carpet,” she says, faux-innocent, “and in need of a proper leash.” 

Ash doesn’t actually fall out of his chair, but it’s a close-run thing. Before he can muster a snappy comeback, Musse is already gliding out of the room, not even looking back at the scene of devastation. They both know she won that one.  

This time, he doesn’t need someone else to ask it for him: Are you sure you know what you’re getting into? 

Not really, no. But he’s from Raquel; he was raised to never fold when there’s still a chance you could bluff your way out of a bad hand.

Or as some fancy-ass poet had once said: the only way out is through. 

Chapter Text

As the exchange event approaches, Ash’s life spins more and more out of his control. Each Student Council meeting is a ridiculous escalation between himself and Musse - a constant war waged over the disciplinary committee, school lunches, fundraising dinners, and - on one memorable occasion - literal guessing games. 

But he’s held out. He hasn’t given up. Now all he needs to do is… pretend to go to the dance with her as if they’re dating. Which is exactly the same thing they’d do if they were actually dating. Except this is for the bit.

Huh. Maybe Altina is right to scoff and roll her eyes every time she sees him these days. Well, it’s too late to reconsider now, Ash thinks, surveying his dorm room with hands on hips as Kurt whines at him from the depths of the closet: 

“Is this seriously your entire wardrobe?” 

“Not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouths, Vander!” 

“Be that as it may, what exactly was preventing you from ironing? This one’s wrinkled,” Kurt complains, jabbing one finger at a pale blue shirt, complete with a wilted collar, that had spent the last few months of its life stuffed into the very bottom of Ash’s suitcase. 

“Why did you call me,” Altina asks flatly from the doorway. Finally. She took her sweet ass time responding to her Student Council President’s urgent summons.  

“Intel,” Ash says bluntly, smoothing out a crease in another shirt. “I’m sure that Egret bought some some fancy-ass dress, but - how fancy-ass are we talkin’, exactly? If I walk in there without sleeves-”

His classmate doesn’t even pause to consider before shaking her head decisively. “No. Sleeves are mandatory.” 

“Dammit. I was afraid you’d say that.”

“Knowing Musse, I’d invest in a suit jacket as well,” Kurt says.

“Yeah. Great idea, genius. I definitely own one of those.” 

“You may borrow one from Instructor Crow. You are about the same size, are you not?” Altina suggests.

Ash shudders. “And deal with him pokin’ his big nose into my business?” 

“It seems as though you have no other choice,” Kurt says.

“Sure I do. Lil’ bunny here could stealth up and go start a fire in the kitchen while I break into his room and-” 

“I am not doing that,” Altina says firmly. “In fact, I have spent too much time on this farce already. I have homework.” 

“Whose side are you on,” Ash mutters, glaring down at his pitiful array of shirts and snatching up a lint brush.

“I am on nobody’s side! You are both being absolutely ridiculous! Preparing for an actual date would be easier than this… this posturing!” And with that, she stomps off, grumbling further insults under her breath. 

Ash grins after her retreating back, amused in spite of himself. He still gets a kick out of hearing the once emotionless Altina actually tee off on someone - even when it’s him. 

“She has a point,” Kurt says, trying and mostly failing to stifle a laugh. Perhaps he feels the same way. 

“Noted,” Ash growls, attacking a shirt with the brush, “and ignored. I’m gonna win this thing - you just watch.” 

The fact that Altina had echoed his own thoughts from just a few minutes prior is considered - and immediately discarded. 

At long last, the day of the exchange event arrives. 

Then, inevitably, the evening of the exchange event arrives.

The frantic preparation that has dominated Ash’s life for the last several weeks had exactly one benefit - even if he’d lost his nerve, even if he’d broken down and admitted defeat in Musse’s game, it’s not like he’d’ve actually had any time to ask her out for real. Every spare moment of his life was spoken for, tied up by coordinating with vendors and the RMP and his Aramis counterparts. This simple logic buoyed him when he was at his lowest. 

Now - lurking just outside the auditorium with Principal Le Guin, waiting for the RMP to finish scanning the room for possible threats - Ash’s main focus is fighting valiantly against the urge to tear off his itchy, borrowed suit. 

It fits, mostly - feels tight in the shoulders, which is gonna be fun to lord over Crow if Ash does end up taller than him - but that part of him he’ll never be rid of, the part he imagines with slicked-back hair and a stolen butler’s uniform and the Curse burning in its eye, is being a damn loudmouth. 

This is Calvard’s best and brightest. Rich kids whose mommies and daddies are senators, or business tycoons, or remnants of the old nobility from Oración. You think you belong in the same room as them? You? The failed assassin? The punk from Raquel?  

He scowls and picks at an imaginary thread on the jacket’s sleeve.

“Cease your fidgeting,” Le Guin says. Ash jumps - the inner voice had been so loud, he’d almost forgotten she was there, which said a hell of a lot about him. The woman’s about as subtle as a hurricane. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“Just impatient to get this thing goin’. RMP’s taking their damn time,” he lies.

“You’re lying.”

“... Yeah,” Ash says, not even attempting to bluff her. There’s no point.

Le Guin always sounds and looks stern, but he’s seen her actually going all out - that fight against the Lance Maiden is something nobody who was there was ever gonna forget - and this ain’t it. She almost seems amused. 

“Do you doubt my judgment, Ash Carbide?” 

Well there’s a trap if he’s ever heard one. And thanks to being classmates with Musse, he’s heard plenty. “Uh. No?” 

“Would I have approved of a Student Council President who I did not think was fully capable of performing his or her duties? Of representing the values of Thors Military Academy to students and visitors alike?” 

“Nope,” Ash says faintly. This whole thing feels like an out-of-body experience. Is he really standing here in Crow’s old suit getting a fucking pep talk from the fearsome demon they call the Golden Raksasha.  

“Good. I expect you to live up to my faith in you tonight.” 

He should just keep his damn mouth shut, but this conversation is so weird he can’t help himself: “... This ain’t another recruitin’ pitch, is it?” 

She scoffs with thunderous force. “Obviously not. You are crude, undisciplined, and don’t have a patriotic bone in your body. I cannot think of anyone more ill-suited to serve in the finest army in our nation.” 

“Gee, thanks...” 

“However,” Le Guin says, “it has always been the Thors way to prepare its graduates for both military and civilian life. I intend for these two years to leave an indelible mark upon every one of my students - you included.” 

Ash will never know how he was supposed to respond to that, because at that moment the RMP officers return to wave them inside. Almost like the golden demon had planned it all out to the second. He would not put it past her. 

He barely remembers the speech. One moment he’s climbing the stage; the next he retreats under the cover of polite applause. 

That had been the easy part. Now come the hours of mingling.

Ash is buffeted around the room - mostly by the Aramis students, who for some reason seem to think he’s the best one to answer all their questions about Erebonia. It’s probably the Student Council President thing. His smile feels forced at first, but when Calvardian after Calvardian greets him without a single dig at his itchy trigger finger, he almost starts to relax. He almost starts to enjoy himself.

He catches glimpses of his classmates once in a while. Kurt and Juna, who’d attended together, both cleaned up damn well, drawing a crowd of admirers. Altina, happily surrounded by her Swimming Club classmates, her silver hair tied up in a fancy new arrangement that makes her look at least a year older. Hell - had she gotten taller? 

And then there’s Musse, of course. She glides across the room like the Queen of the castle, wearing a gauzy dress that might’ve cost more than a year of Ash’s rent in Raquel. One moment, she’s at his side and hanging performatively off his arm; the next, she’s inserting herself into the event logistics, solving problems before they arise.  

She’s engaged in the latter task when everything starts to go wrong. 

Another Aramis kid - a tall-ish boy in an expensive suit, worn with the ease of one accustomed to such finery - marches across the room towards Ash. Though all of his interactions with the other school’s students have been perfectly pleasant, something about this guy immediately puts Ash on edge. Could be the arrogance of his posture; could be the fact that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which remain cold and calculating. 

“Ash Carbide?” the boy asks, then - instead of sticking his hand out to shake - he merely tilts his head back so as to literally look down his nose at him. “Ronald Griffith. I’m on the student council at Aramis Academy. Next year I’ll be the President.” 

“Oh yeah? That’s early - our election isn’t until the end of the term,” Ash says. Might as well give the kid the benefit of the doubt, though he’ll doubtless trample on it the next time he opens his mouth.

“Oh, no,” Griffith sneers, trampling on the benefit of the doubt. “We’ve yet to cast our ballots. I simply have no doubt that our student body will act according to its own best interests. Which means electing me,” he adds a moment later, taking Ash’s bemused silence to mean he’s some type of moron who needs it spelled out. 

Ash decides to test the waters. “Thought you Calvardians were big on ‘fair and open democracy.’” 

“We are,” Griffith says proudly. “My father is a senator. As such, I am the natural choice to lead my fellow students.” 

He should really make up some excuse and walk away, except - except he just can’t resist the dig. “Lemme get this straight - you deserve to get shit handed to you ‘cause of who your daddy is? Damn. You’re readin’ off the same script as our nobles. Ain’t that ironic?” 

Griffith smirks. “Ah yes. I’d wondered when your utter lack of class would assert itself. It’s funny that you should speak to me about fathers, given your position.” 

Ash goes very still. A smarter man would recognize this as the stillness that proceeds sudden violence. His opponent, however, is not that man. 

“I couldn’t believe my ears when I was told the prestigious Thors Military Academy elected the bastard son of a common whore to lead its student body! Granted, this is only her branch campus-” 

‘Seeing red’ is usually a metaphor, but for him, with the phantom pain of the Curse lurking in his eye, it’s been literal before. That dark part of him - that sneering voice which had echoed Griffith’s own words not two hours prior - does not recognize the irony. It does suggest he cut off the stream of drivel by knocking the other boy’s teeth out.

“-making a mockery of everything the institution stands for, honestly-” 

Those recruiting pitches he’s so fond of complaining about would dry up real quick if he got arrested for assault. Government wouldn’t be too happy about him ruining this exchange event either. Hell, he might actually face some consequences for his actions for once; now there’s a tempting thought. The punishment he deserves - delivered by his own fists. 

“-suit that isn’t even tailored! Really, it’s disgraceful-” 

Ash takes a deep breath, letting Griffith’s prattling fade fully into the background. The fantasy of violence is just that - a fantasy. He’s fought for too long and worked too hard to throw it all away over one stuck-up prick. Ellen had been called a lot worse by a lot of folks, and she’d never let it provoke her; she’d be ashamed of him for even considering it.

So would his friends in Class VII - all he had for family, now, but it was plenty. He wasn’t alone. He didn’t have to avenge every insult with his own hands. He can just walk away-

“There you are, Ash!” 

He’d recognize that voice anywhere. He’s smiling before he opens his eyes - the smile of someone who knows they’re about to watch a master of their craft run circles ‘round an unschooled novice. 

Griffith has no idea what he’s stepped into by inviting the wrath of Musse Egret. 

“Ah, Lady Mildine!” The Calvardian’s whole manner changes in an instant, sloughing off his sneering contempt to play the preening peacock. He smooths down his hair, adjusts his tie, picks invisible threads from his sleeves. She, he’ll shake hands with - his is already out and waiting for her. “It’s a pleasure to-” 

She walks past him as though he does not exist, as if Ash is the only person in that corner of the auditorium. Only when she’s pushed herself into Ash’s side and under his arm - he lets it happen, bemused, ready to back her play to the hilt, whatever it might be - does she deign to notice the other boy. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, blinking with wide eyes, “who are you?” 

“Ronald Griffith. My father is Senator Griffith,” he boasts, but he’s distracted. Narrowed eyes bore in on Musse and the way she’s pressed right up against Ash.

“Ah, so you’ve no accomplishments of your own to speak of; I understand,” Musse says, smiling with all of her teeth. “No wonder you’re so threatened by someone who does.” 

“Well, that’s - that’s simply not true. I am the future Student Council President! I-” 

“What you are is boring me,” she interrupts, already looking past him. “Oh, look - the musicians are taking the stage. May I have this dance, Ash?” 

Griffith, red-faced, hands clenched into tight fists, grows steadily more incoherent: “You can’t be serious! Are you - are the two of you - a Duchess and a mere commoner!?” 

“You’re not worth the time it would take to explain,” Musse murmurs, steering Ash forward by the arm. Like most bullies, Griffith is all talk; he does nothing to impede them as they turn their backs on him and walk away.   

“Guess I should thank you for the save,” Ash says, once they’re well clear of the unpleasant Calvardian, “not that I needed it.”

“Of course not,” she says, “but this was much more amusing. Did you see the look on his face? I only wish I could have taken a picture.” 

The only disadvantage of backing her play is that the band has started up; now they’re effectively trapped in the middle of the dance floor, all eyes upon them. It’s just more fuel for the fire of his supposed obsession with her. Plus, there’s the rumors Griffith will doubtless run off to spread with his cronies. Tomorrow, Musse’s narrative will-

-ah, to hell with tomorrow. Ash can’t even remember why he was so determined to win such a pointless game. He steps forward and takes her boldly in his arms - the expected lead position for the - whatever this dance is called. (He’s mostly going off his vaunted instinct here. The beat and rhythm of the music inform his steps). 

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of watchin’ you tear someone to shreds with nothin’ but your tongue,” he says, bending down a little so as to be heard over the swelling music.  

Tossing a softball like that, he knows exactly what she’ll serve back. A tailor-made flirtatious line. Another round of their little game. That’s not all I can do with it-

“I said he was beneath my notice,” is what she actually says, her fingers tightening around the back of his suit jacket, “but that was a lie. I wanted to destroy him. I created and discarded a dozen plans for the political, economic and social ruin of his entire family as I was walking over to rescue you.” 

“Wow,” he says. He’s not really sure where she’s going with this, actually. “What’d that take you - ten seconds?”

“Closer to twenty. I was very angry; it slowed me down.”

Ash blinks. “You were right the first time. I’m surprised you actually got pissed. He was just a cheap bully - wasn’t worth your best.” 

“No,” Musse admits. Then, after a moment’s pause: “... but you are.” 

There’s no hidden double meaning. No layer beneath the layer. He’d say it was a rare moment of honesty, but that wouldn’t be fair; she’s changed a lot since they first met. So has he. So have all his classmates.

“I… well, thanks,” he says. For a moment he just focuses on his steps; then the song ends and the band changes to something slower, more intimate. A slow dance. Could be the moment to bow out, but Ash just goes with it; Musse doesn’t hesitate either.

How many rounds deep are they, now?

Doesn’t matter. 

“Listen,” Ash says. They are very close; he can practically whisper it into her ear. “I give up. You win, or whatever. If this is what the filly was afraid of, some attempt to push me away, I’m sorry, but I’m done playin’. I’m tired of pretendin’ I’m not crazy about you. We don’t have long ‘til we graduate and bein’ Duchess comes for you; I don’t wanna waste another moment of this.” 

He’s half-braced for mockery; her triumphant giggle, her victory lap as she reveals the earlier honesty was another layer of stratagem. Or maybe for her to freeze solid, a block of untouchable noble ice.

He is not expecting her face to twist into an almost childish pout as she huffs, “On the contrary. You win after all.”

“What.” 

“I can’t believe you confessed before I did,” Musse complains. “I had everything planned out to the second. This was supposed to be the perfect moment, my ultimate triumph, and yet you’ve beat me to the punch. Again.” 

“... Seriously?” he manages, still feeling a little lost. “If you were just gonna confess, what was the point of all those rumors you started spreadin’!?” 

“I knew - or thought I knew - that your pride wouldn’t allow you to ‘lose’ the ‘game’ once it began. It was the ideal strategy to maneuver the pieces into place tonight. But as usual, I managed to underestimate you,” she says, sighing prettily. “Perhaps that’s part of your appeal - these unexpected moments I can’t predict.” 

She’s not really upset - he’s still got the wits to tell that much. She can’t fight off the smile that keeps spreading, like a wildfire burning unchecked. 

“Nah, I underestimated you. That’s… I don’t even know where to start with that one.” He’d sure fallen right for it, though, only blundering his way out of her plot at the last moment. 

Altina was gonna laugh her ass off. Juna and Kurt, too. 

Unless.

Unless.

“... y’know, we got a chance to do the funniest thing, here.” 

She tilts her head back, her eyes bright, expression bemused. “I’m listening…”

“... have actually been dating for weeks,” Musse tells the group of gossipy first-years who cluster eagerly around the ‘new’ (but actually new) couple. “Did you really think we were merely spending all those late nights together planning this event? How cute.” 

Ash doesn’t have to pretend to look smug. He sees Griffith and his cronies gaping at them, which is just a fun bonus - this is the best possible revenge. Well, not quite. He’d still love to punch the guy. But the bloodless option really ain’t a bad runner-up. 

Juna, Kurt, and Altina push their way through the throng of children. Juna is clearly spoiling for a fight and doesn’t waste time on the preamble. 

“You guys had me worried!” she explodes. “I thought you might actually be pulling away from us, Musse! And it turns out you were just pretending!?”

“Yes,” Altina says, deadpan. Hang on - is she smirking at Ash? Since when did she go around doing that? “Pretending.” 

It’s hard to tell if Kurt sees through them or not; he doesn’t say anything, staring at their intertwined hands with a pensive expression. 

“Yes, I owe you an apology, Juna,” Musse murmurs. “I only intended to toy with the rest of the student body; I should have been honest with you from the start.” 

“It’s my fault,” Ash volunteers. “I knew you’d gallop off to spill the beans to everyone; you can’t keep a straight face to save your life.”   

Juna turns the full force of her glare towards him. “You - you - how dare you, Ash Carbide!!!” 

He shrugs, completely unapologetic. “The bit is sacred, Crawford. Look, I’m starvin’; why don’t we eat now and yell at each other later?”

“This isn’t over! You can’t just buy me off with event catering!!” 

And yet… they do.