Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If you think about it, a bad person doesn't worry about being a bad person.

A bad person doesn't regret the things they have done. Not once, not at all.

A bad person doesn't stop and go ‘What am I doing? This is wrong.’

But I have.

Which, technically excuses me from being a bad person.

Let's say I'm kind of in the middle. Leaning a little towards the bad side, yet, not quite there.

I'm self-aware. I've always been. I've had my good days, bad days, then the horrible days, not to mention the awful ones. And it's normal, we all do. It's just a part of being human, I guess. Would be kind of boring to have a great life. Where's the plot, you know what I mean?

So what if I'm not perfect? Nobody is. If you think about it.

Mother Theresa probably had challenges of her own, but it seems like people just go ahead and judge other people based on what they see wrong in themselves, nowadays.

We. All. Have. Flaws.

It's just about accepting them, coming to terms with them.

And I have.

So, technically, I, Jeanne Allen, am not a bad person.

If you think about it.

***

How Jea got through school, she didn't know. She was halfway into Junior year already and life right now, in her own words, was a massive shithole. Well. Maybe not massive, but it was a shithole, for sure. Yet, she managed.

One would think being in a prestigious boarding school can be fun. Living with your friends sure makes the bond with your classmates stronger, and you all just become one big family. Not to mention, the Golden Institute campus had it way better than any other school. The campus was big and well-maintained, with lots of green space, resources, you name it. But of course Jea had to ruin it for herself. She always did.

She would always find a way to rope herself into some sort of drama, fight, rumor. But what was her life without a little bit of plot? Nothing. Until it would suddenly become too much plot, and then, she could not stand it.

The hallways were the worst part of her day. Not only did she have to deal with the constant whispering and snickering from the girls, the whistles from the boys, but she also had to deal with her.

Veronica.

Vecky for short, but she didn't like her enough to call her by that name. Veronica Laurent was the student council president, and she sure acted like one. All high and mighty, like she was better than everyone else on campus just because she could decide if she could lower the snack prices this school year or not. And everyone seemed to admire her for it. Jea didn't.

Christ, she hated her guts. Okay. Well. She didn't hate her. She hated the way Veronica looked at her. Every morning, before first period, Jea had to walk through E-Hall. As much as she tried to avoid it, that was the only way she could get to Mrs. Sanchez's class, and Mrs. Sanchez took tardies very seriously.

E-Hall had all of the bad classrooms. Bad in a sense that those were the classrooms one would  try to avoid. Dean's office, the chief guard’s office, the vice-principal's office, but most of all, at least for Jea, was the student council room. The bastards had a whole room of their own since they were too arrogant to just take one that wasn't being used after school. That wasn't the problem with it, though. The real problem was E-Hall being Miss High-Thigh-Stockings-Tie-Wearing-Goodie-Two-Shoes's natural habitat.

She'd always be there, leaning against the corner of E-Hall, which opened to the General Hall, sometimes talking with a teacher or a student, sometimes on her own. But she never missed a chance to make eye contact with Jea. Even if she'd desperately tried to make her schedule inconsistent, Veronica would always give her her daily dose of eye contact. Her heart would drop every time their eyes met, even if it was for just a split second. It was like it just grounded her. In a bad way.

It wasn't even a nasty glare. More like a glimpse. Yet, it felt so scary. More so when Jea was around her friends, or even worse, a boy. It felt like Veronica's eyes humbled her with just a look. Reminded her of who she was, or, at least, used to be. And that would never fail to make her smile falter just a little bit.

Vecky knew too much for her own good.

***

"Almost late, Miss..." Mrs. Sanchez began, pausing to look down at Jea's name tag, which had her last name engraved on the golden plaque. "Allen."

Jea could've sworn that there was a mocking undertone to the woman's voice, but she shook it off with a huff. She wasn't trying to get into any trouble today, especially not in front of Lance Hansen. She and Lance were not a thing. Well, they were. But it was like an on-and-off thing. Maybe a help-each-other-get-through-Mrs-Sanchez's-class thing. Nothing else, at least not yet.

After Mrs. Sanchez's little lecture on why being on time for class was crucial, Jea grumbled under her breath, taking a seat on her chair and hanging her bag over the backrest of her wooden chair.

"Mornin', Miss Allen," Lance spoke up with a grin, leaning over to her on their shared desk.

Jea rolled her eyes. She turned to Lance, giving him a sidelong glance. "Shut up. I wasn't even late." She shoved him playfully, and she couldn't help but giggle at his teasing, which was so early in the morning, yet already had her weak in the knees. Even if she was sitting down. Lance just had that kind of charm, which, apparently, worked on half of the school. But she wasn't even going to comment on it, she was just as popular as Lance in that field. Although, maybe Lance was a bit more around than her.

"Right, right." Lance chuckled gruffly, turning back to his backpack and busying himself with getting his notebook out. Jea followed, taking out her pencil pouch and her notebook.

Jea didn't even know why they even bothered to take their stuff out. They'd always spend the class giggling and joking and shoving each other around. Today, though, not for long.

"It's just a little quiz, to recap what we've seen so far this quarter before winter break." Mrs. Sanchez paced around the room, stopping by every column of desks, counting with her eyes, and giving the students at the front a little pile of papers so they'd pass it back.

Oh, she was screwed. Once she got the paper and read the title, she just knew she'd flunk it. While the rest of the class spent their past few weeks learning arithmetic with polynomials and rational expressions—whatever that was—Jea had spent her time studying Lance-ithmetics. Haha.

Her point was definitely proven when Lance and Jea were pulled by Mrs. Sanchez to stay after class. Jea reluctantly made her way up to her desk, standing next to Lance and waiting with Mrs. Sanchez for the rest of the class to scurry out of the classroom. Lucky bastards, she thought.

Mrs. Sanchez cleared her throat, looking up at the pair as she finished grading on one of the papers.

"I don't think you guys know just how privileged you are for being able to study here, at the Golden Institute."

Here it comes. Jea fought an eye roll while Mrs. Sanchez began working on yet another lecture about privilege and gratitude. She was beginning to understand why she was the sponsor of the debate club.

"I try not to make my classes too difficult. They shouldn't be. You two are in this school for a reason." Mrs. Sanchez gestured at the two with her finger as if it was supposed to get her point through somehow.

"Yeah, well, I'm here because my—" Lance chimed, yet was interrupted by the older woman.

"Because your dad pays, Hansen. I know, I know." Mrs. Sanchez sighed and shook her head. She then turned to Jea. "But you, Allen. You have no excuse." Her finger was pointed at her again, making Jea tense up slightly for some reason.

Her eyes darted around before settling back on the teacher. "’dunno what you're talking about." She mumbled under her breath.

Mrs. Sanchez, having enough of the two, pinched the bridge of her nose before pulling two papers out. Their tests. Lance absolutely flopped his. 62. Probably one of his bests. Jea, however, got an 84. Oh, wow. If Lance wasn't around, she'd probably find herself frolicking around the classroom, maybe twirling in the air. She kept her act up, though.

"You are a very smart girl, Miss Allen. You've just got to stop hanging around the wrong people." Mrs. Sanchez gestured subtly to Lance, who just scoffed in disbelief. "You were doing so well last year, whatever happened to you and—"

"I got a 84, didn't I?" Jea interrupted, "I think that's pretty good." Her gaze was fixed down on her paper, her shoulders stiff.

"Yes, you did. But I won't settle for just 'good'." Mrs. Sanchez replied, crossing her arms over her chest slowly.

"Well, I will." Jea almost snatched the paper out of the desk, throwing her bag over her shoulder and walking out into the hallway.

She didn't even realize how clenched her fists were until she finally left the room.

***

Vecky always complained about how tutoring drained her. Yet, here she was. She sat at the library after school, finally out of her slightly restricting uniform and into something more comfortable. Her leg bounced slightly as she waited for him to show up.

She stretched back into her chair, grunting slightly out of boredom. Leaning back against the chair, she closed her eyes for about 6 seconds before impatiently opening them again and glancing at the clock on the wall. It was past 4:30 pm, and this prick still didn't show up. She was just wasting time here. With a deep sigh, she straightened up and began gathering her stuff, but was soon interrupted by someone who had just walked into the building.

"The Vecky Laurent is gonna be my tutor?"

Vecky's head snapped towards the voice, eyes slightly wide, and she felt like straightening up in her chair again, just for good measure. Yet, she slumped back into her chair at the sight of him.

Lance Hansen.

It's not like Vecky had a personal problem with Hansen. She had a general problem with the kind of person Hansen was. Back in sophomore year, there was a bit of an issue with people, people like Hansen, sneaking out of their dorms in the middle of the night and meeting up with other people, to say the least. And who had to fix this problem? Vecky. She implemented night patrols, and there was a small period of time where both teachers and students hated her for it. She'd be mad too if she had to take turns walking around school during the night just to stop people from meeting up and doing grace-knows-what until they found actual guards to get the job done, but it was for the sake of this school. Everything she did was at this point.

"Why am I not surprised it's you here?" Vecky asked, a hint of irritation behind her words. Yet, she still outstretched her hand to shake Hansen's out of etiquette.

Hansen, however, took her hand into his and brought it up to his lips, kissing her fingers softly in lieu of a greeting. Her mouth gaped open in surprise, and she took no time to yank her hand back once he was done with it, even wiping any feeling of Hansen's lips off with her skirt when he wasn't watching.

While Hansen sat down and took his stuff out of his backpack, Vecky cleared her throat and piped up.

"They said you need Algebra tutoring?" Vecky asked, looking down at the little folder of information Mrs. Sanchez gave her. Seriously, Hansen? Algebra's not that hard.

"I don't need it," Hansen replied, still rummaging through his backpack in search of a pencil.

Vecky's brows furrowed. "That 62 says otherwise, Hansen." She muttered under her breath while her thumb fiddled with the edge of the folder, loud enough for him to hear it. She wanted him to hear it.

Hansen stopped searching through his bag for a second to straighten up and look at Vecky. She wasn't surprised at the fact that he probably wasn't used to people disagreeing with him, but as handsome as he was, Vecky wasn't going to budge. Instead, she leaned back into her chair, crossing her leg over the other and looking back at Hansen.

Her gaze flicked from the desk to Hansen, then back at the desk, and back at Hansen.

"You got all your stuff out?"

Hansen's lips tugged into a smirk.

"Didn't know we were in a rush, Pres." Replied Hansen, setting his backpack down on the carpeted floor once he gave up on finding a pencil in there. Vecky quirked an eyebrow at the nickname.

"Pres?"

"President," Hansen explained, "You got a pencil I can use?"

Vecky sighed slightly. "One second."

She reached over for her bag and took her high-capacity pencil case. Typical for Vecky, making Hansen chuckle a bit at the sight. She opened it and looked for an extra pencil she could give him because she was definitely not giving Hansen her own. She'd lost too many pencils from just giving them away to anybody.

Vecky rummaged through her pencil case, getting slightly more desperate when she came closer to the conclusion that she, in fact, did not have extra pencils for Hansen. Hansen just watched from his side of the desk, a bit amused at the little show Vecky was giving him.

"No?" Hansen queried.

"No, I don't."

"Your pencil case is full. 'M sure you got somethin’ in there."

"The library gives away free pencils, just go get one from the desk." Vecky gestured to the front desk of the library.

Hansen frowned slightly. "I am not talking to the librarian."

"What's wrong with Mrs. Williamson?"

"She's scary."

"She's not?"

"She is when you hit on her daughter."

"Ah."

"Can I just have your pencil? For now?"

Vecky hesitated slightly, looking at her pencil, which suddenly seemed too precious to her now that she was aware Hansen wanted it.

"It's just a pencil, Pres. I'll give it back."

With a resigned sigh, Vecky reached into her pencil case and pulled her pencil out, handing it over to Hansen, who almost snatched it out of her hand.

At least he was a bit excited to start the lesson.

***

"So, to recap, you just start with the base function, which is—“

"Function of x. And the function of x equals..."

"The square root of x. And when you apply the horizontal shift, which, again, is inside the little check here, it determines whether the graph goes left or right. So if it's, say, negative three?"

"The graph goes to the right?"

"Uhuh. If it's negative it goes to the right, if it's positive…”

"To the left. Okay, okay, I think I…”

"You think you got it?"

"Mhm."

While Hansen wrote a few notes down in his notebook, Vecky looked back at the clock on the wall. 7:34 pm. Dang. The sky had gotten a little darker outside of the library building. The street lights on campus started to turn on automatically as the sun started setting in the distance.

Hansen was surprisingly easy to work with, 3 hours snapping by just like that. Sure, he asked a shit ton of questions, but at least he tried to learn. The more questions, the better.

"That's pretty much it for today." Vecky gathered her stuff, yet got no reply from Hansen.

She took her notebook into her arms, and turned to Hansen slightly, only to notice he was just...looking at her. She looked to the side and back at him, but he didn't budge at all.

"What?" She finally asked.

"That's it?"

"Huh?"

"That's the whole lesson?"

"Pretty much."

"...huh."

Hansen looked at the clock himself, staring at it for a few seconds, almost as if he was absorbing the fact that it was past 7. She couldn't blame him, the lesson had gone by quickly for her, too.

"You know, Pres," Hansen mused, his eyes lowering from the clock back to her, "you should be a teacher."

Vecky blinked. "I am a teacher, what do you think I'm doing right now?"

"But when you grow up. You should be a teacher."

"I am not becoming a teacher, I've already had enough of being SCP for years." She replied, and started putting her stuff away.

"I haven't."

Vecky looked back at Hansen.

"Excuse me?"

"I still feel stupid, I need a good teacher. Like you. You're good."

Vecky blinked once more, slowly zipping her bag up.

"It's not that I'm 'good', Hansen. It's just that Algebra's easy." Vecky stood up, throwing her bag over her shoulder and fixing her skirt slightly.

"It's Lance," Hansen replied, his voice coming out a bit more stern than he intended to, "call me Lance." He added, his voice now a little softer.

Vecky pushed her chair back in, looking at Hansen as he stood up. There was an even louder silence now that the library was pretty much empty besides the two, Mrs. Williamson somewhere in her office.

Seeing that Vecky wasn't gonna speak up, Hansen broke the silence. "Nobody actually calls me Hansen, you know." He pushed his own chair in.

"Nobody calls me 'Pres'."

Hansen threw his backpack over his shoulder before running a hand through his caramel hair. "What, you don't like it?"

"It's new." Vecky readjusted her bag with her shoulder.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"…Hm. I don't know."

Hansen stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Vecky shifted on her feet slightly. This was the first time she'd ever had an actual talk with him that wasn't school related. She didn't understand why everyone said he had a way with words. He didn't, he was so awkward.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go." Hansen's voice burst her out of her bubble. She didn't notice she had spaced out.

"Ah, me too." Vecky nodded to herself, and before she knew it, her feet were already dragging her out of there.

"See y’around, Pres." Hansen called out, making her turn her head. He was taking the other door of the library, the one that was closer to Bradford building, the male living quarters.

"Yeah," Vecky hesitated, she had almost called him Hansen again. "Bye." She waved him goodbye before walking out of the library.

It wasn't after she'd finally arrived at her dorm and slammed the door shut that she realized just how hard her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Oh, Vero. You're back." Her roomie, Yanira, peeked from the wall of the kitchen.

"I'm back." Vecky echoed, leaning back against the door.

"Guay, whatever happened to you?" Yanira stepped out of the kitchen, holding a bowl of soup in her hands. Vecky didn't reply, and just stared straight ahead. Yanira quirked an eyebrow, finally walking up to her.

"You ran here or what? You're as red as a tomato."  Yanira noted before bringing a spoonful into her mouth.

"Yeah, I…” Vecky muttered, pressing her hand against her hammering heart.

Thump Thump. Thump Thump. Thump Thump.

Vecky took a long, deep breath that almost seemed to soothe her heartbeat at least a little bit.

"…I ran here, didn't want to get in trouble for being out so late." She sighed softly.

Yanira almost snorted at her statement. "You? In trouble?" She said between chews. "You're crazy."

Yanira turned back to the kitchen, walking back inside. "Come on," Yanira invited, "I saved you some sancocho."

Vecky was too focused on her racing heart that she didn't notice the delicious smell of stew lingering in the air, urging her to follow Yanira back into the kitchen.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." Vecky pushed herself off the door and took her Mary Jane shoes off before tracking behind her roomie, still feeling some butterflies from earlier.

Oh, this was bad.

Really, really bad.

Chapter Text

"An 89?" Jea asked, looking down at Lance's grade on the functions test.

"Yes, ma'am." Lance smirked cockily, leaning back against his chair and putting his feet up on the desk. He was quick to put them down once Mrs. Sanchez called him out for it.

Jea stared at the paper, looking between her grade and his. This was the second test of the week, and this time, she had gotten a 79. To make it even weirder, Lance had actually tried this time. Was it to impress her?

"Wow, that's just...that's pretty good, Lance." Jea muttered, her gaze fixed on his paper, "You finally found some motivation to study?"

Lance was leaning back against his seat, spinning a pink pencil with his fingers. "I didn't. Mrs. Sanchez assigned me a tutor after you left yesterday." He replied while looking at the pencil slide through his fingers with ease.

"And you actually listened to them?" Jea chuckled incredulously. "No pranks? No nothing?"

Lance shook his head in response.

"Nah." Lance stopped spinning the pencil and just held it in his hand. "I did steal her pencil, though." He raised the little stick of wood to prove his point.

Jea froze on her seat.

Her?

Lance's tutor was a her?

Jea's hand twitched in her lap, almost as if it wanted to move on its own and slap the shit out of Lance just for mentioning another female. Instead, it settled for gripping the hem of her skirt. It's not like they were boyfriend and girlfriend, not even close, but, Jesus, Lance.

She should've figured it was a girl when Lance took out a pink pencil out of his backpack earlier in the morning, but knowing Lance, he'd probably just pick up anything he found on the floor instead of actually bothering to get one of his own. If he ever did, it'd be gone in four to five hours, anyways.

"Ah," Jea nodded, "you stole her pencil, huh?" She gritted through her teeth, staring at Lance, who seemed oblivious of her jealousy.

"Not like I meant to actually steal it," Lance gave the pencil one last spin before pocketing it, "I just forgot to give it back."

Jea's gaze followed his hands as they moved about, stuffing the pink pencil into the pocket of his pants with such care. She clenched her jaw slightly, but she wasn't going to make herself look bad in front of him just by getting a bit jealous of a freaking pencil. She wasn't a bad person.

"So who's this tutor girl anyways?" Jea asked, shifting on her seat a little bit.

"Oh, she's good. I think you'll like her." Lance answered, but that didn't give her much of a reply.

Jea scoffed internally. This idiot...

"Yeah, but..." Jea paused, not wanting to seem so desperate, "Who is it? Like—who's tutoring you?"

Lance grew a little smile and he leaned back further against his seat. "It was actually a bit of a surprise, but I—"

Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!

"Would ya look at that." Lance smirked, straightening up in his chair once the bell rang.

For the love of God. The students started getting up from their seats and rushing out of Mrs. Sanchez's class. This is when Jea realized she'd been too busy trying to physically stop herself from beating Lance to even notice she had to pack up. Jea quickly started shoving her stuff back into her bag, even faster when she noticed Lance was standing up and taking his leave too.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!" Jea threw her bag over her shoulder and kicked her chair back into the table.

Mrs. Sanchez reprimanded her from her desk about being more careful with school property, but she couldn't care less, already on her way out and trying to find Lance to keep questioning him about this tutor girl. By the time she had spotted Lance, it was already too late, as he was busy talking to some other girl all the way across the hallway.

Jea clenched her fists and grumbled under her breath. She could've stomped on the ground and thrown a temper tantrum on the spot if it wasn't for the fact that there were people behind her trying to make it to their next class. She inhaled deeply, fixing her bag before making her way to second period too.

***

"Just drop it, will you?" Alissa said between chews, stopping to pop another gummy worm into her mouth. "You're not finding anything in there."

"There's gotta be something in here." Jea scrolled through her phone almost frantically.

Jea had spent almost the whole lunch period stalking Lance's social media, trying to find something, anything, that would help her find who this tutor chick was. Alissa, Jea's friend and roommate, sat across the little round table, slumped back against the chair while snacking on some gummy worms.

"You're obsessed." Lis added, eyeing Jea's lunch tray, which had been barely touched since she got it. "Are you eating the pudding or can I take it?" She asked, yet her hand was already outstretched and hovering over the little cup of vanilla pudding.

Jea looked up from the phone's screen, peering over her untouched pudding and Alissa's hand. Good person. With a resigned sigh, she nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Go ahead." She mumbled, waving a dismissing hand and turning back to the screen to keep scrolling through Lance's following, stopping at every single female she saw. She stopped by a certain profile. Bella Phillips, the girl from the hallway. She had somehow managed to bring up a forkful of the school's mac and cheese into her mouth, chewing slowly while pressing into her profile picture to get a close-up of her.

Jea shoved her phone into Alissa's face, gaining a small yelp from her part.

"She's gorgeous." Jea said, gesturing to the picture of Bella, which was just her standing in the middle of a beach.

"Jesus, Jea," Alissa lowered the phone with her hand, "She is. Doesn't mean she's smart or even strong enough to tutor the Lance Hansen."

"But I saw them," Jea replied, her voice a bit muffled by the food in her mouth, "this morning, they were walking and laughing. Lis, they were laughing." She slammed her fists on the table as she repeated herself. Alissa, however, wasn't phased at all.

"That doesn't mean she's his tutor. Also—you do realize this is Lance we're talking about, right?"  Alissa began, taking the cup of pudding and her spoon, "You're not the only girl he knows. Let alone talk to—let alone laugh with. You know this."

Jea stuffed more mac and cheese into her mouth out of frustration. "I neechew feegew outgh who dis tewt-or gwuorl ish." Jea babbled between furious chews, clenching her fists in determination.

Alissa blinked slowly, trying to figure out what she had just said.

"Fwhe hash her penshol, he schtowl ich! Dash not cashewal, attal!!"

"Would you please swallow your goddamn food?"

"Gokish my ash."

"So we all have decided the theme for the winter dance, which is Winter Garden, correct?" Vecky stood in front of the board, holding a paper list of different themes the board had picked for the upcoming winter dance.

While all the other students had already left the building, the student council had stayed for their daily meeting. They had just begun to organize the winter dance, and, as always, Vecky was in charge. She bit the inside of her cheek and placed the list back on a nearby table. "Winter Garden, it is." She mumbled under her breath, writing the theme on the board with a red marker, while the rest of the council clapped at their own choice.

"We got the theme down, the budget, and..I'm hoping to talk to Mrs. Bullock so we can get it approved." Vecky explained, already making a small list of chores in the back of her mind as she spoke to the rest of the board. She lifted her wrist and pulled her sleeve back slightly to check the time on her watch. 3:48. She had a lot to do, so she wrapped her speech up, fixed her uniform and got her bag.

"That's pretty much everything from me, gotta run." Vecky pulled her bag over her shoulders.

"Garcia, I still need the poster design, if we could get that done by Thursday, it'd be amazing. Harrison, Keller, finish those lists. Connor, if you could talk to Mr. Lane to get the DJ approved so we can get that done early.." Vecky threw commands all over the room on her way out, stopping by the door to point at the vice-president. "Bennett, you're in charge for the rest of the meeting. See you guys."

Vecky stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her. She closed her eyes and sighed softly, pinching the bridge of her nose as she enjoyed the bit of silence she'd gotten for the first time in hours. Or so she thought.

"Pres."

"Jesus!—" Vecky jumped, backing up against the wall. She looked up, only to notice it was Hansen.

Vecky inhaled sharply. "Hansen, you can't be in here past 3." She explained, pushing past him. Hansen followed.

"Didn't I tell you to call me Lance?" Hansen stuffed his hands in his pockets as he walked next to her.

Vecky stopped in her tracks and looked at Hansen, who had stopped too.

"First of all, Hansen, you don't talk to your president like that," Vecky pointed her finger at Hansen, who put his hands up in mock surrender, "second, I forgot. I have a lot going on right now."

She turned back on her heels and began walking again. As much as she would've liked to reprimand Hansen for a good hour, she had places to go to. Hansen smiled slightly, still following Vecky like a lost dog.

Vecky could still see him from her peripheral. "What do you want, Hansen?" She finally asked, stopping in her tracks. Hansen didn't reply, reaching into his pocket and pulling a pencil out. Her pencil.

"Forgot to give this back to you." Hansen held the pencil out for her to take. Vecky eyed her pencil for a bit. He was up to something. She hesitated for a second before snatching it out of his hand, but to her surprise, he didn't pull it back.

Vecky looked down at her pencil, which was still in a decent state after being in Hansen's care for a few hours. She looked at him warily, then back down at her pencil. "Thank you. Now go. You're not supposed to be here after school hours." Vecky reminded him, picking up her step once again.

She wasn't surprised when she still heard his footsteps echo behind her, even less surprised when he asked the next question, "Do you have a number?"

Vecky scoffed, "Everyone here does, Hansen."

"Right. Can I have it?"

Vecky gave him a side glance, which was pretty much a silent 'no' from her behalf, yet Hansen didn't quite get the clue. Misunderstood it for her asking him to revise his language, if anything.

"Oh. Sorry. May I have it?" He corrected himself.

Vecky stammered, "I wasn't—Why do you even want it?"

"Maybe I just do."

"Vague. Find a better excuse." Vecky replied almost instantly, as she was already approaching the door that led her out into the campus. She pushed the door of the glass hallway open and walked outside.

As she distanced herself from the building, she couldn't hear any other footsteps but her own.  Only then, when she had made sure she wasn't being followed, was when she finally let out a sigh she didn't know she was holding back.

But it wasn't an annoyed sigh.

And that scared the shit out of Vecky.

"So, uh," Jeanne began, fiddling with her fingers as she tried to build up the courage to ask Lance the following question. She was nervous despite the fact that she had been rehearsing this all morning and making a fool out of herself in front of Alissa. She was about to make a fool out of herself in front of Lance, too. "The winter dance is coming up."

Lance was digging through his school bag, yet stopped at her observation. "Yeah," He agreed, looking at his table partner for a second before focusing back on searching his bag.

Jeanne cursed internally for not coming up with a better way to approach the subject, but she couldn't just drop it now. The winter dance was in a matter of weeks and she had to snatch Lance as a date before any other girl did. Clearing her throat, she continued. In whichever way she could think of.

"Haven't found a date for it yet, though." Jeanne glanced down at her fiddling hands, and clicked her tongue. "Have you?"

"Do you have a pencil?" Lance suddenly asked, turning his body towards her and supporting himself on the table with his arm.

"What?" Jeanne blinked, not really expecting a question for an answer. She shook her head with a scoff, suddenly remembering who was also competing for Lance's hand: tutor girl. "Didn't you have one? Yesterday?" She replied, unable to hide the annoyance in her voice completely. Not like Lance would notice it, anyways.

"I lost it. Well—I gave it back." Lance explained at her confusion.

"You gave it back." She replied in disbelief.

Lance wasn't really surprised of himself. He glanced at his sides then back at Jeanne with a raised eyebrow. "Uh, yes."

Jeanne wasn't sure of the exact amount of self-control she used to physically hold herself back from standing up and lunging towards Lance for a beating, but it definitely wasn't enough for her to hold back the scoff that escaped her mouth.

"What?" Lance queried, his lips curling into an amused smirk at her visible irritation.

"Nothing, Lance, it's just—you never give pencils back." Jeanne replied.

Jeanne's answer seemed to amuse the man further, for his smirk just grew wider and wider as she spoke.

"You jealous?" Lance followed up to his previous question, smugly leaning against the table and watching her squirm under his gaze. He knew damn well what he was doing.

"Well, I—" She stammered.

"Ever considered why I gave it back, Jea?" Lance interrupted, the nickname spilling out of his lips so naturally. So perfectly, Jeanne thought.

Lance took her silence as his cue to continue, tilting his head and leaning the slightest bit closer, knowing even the smallest things would drive her wild.

"Maybe I just needed a chance," He murmured, his hand almost seeming to reach for her cheek yet going for her pencil case instead, "to ask for yours."

Jeanne didn't answer to this either, still blinking the disbelief away. Lance wasn't done yet, though.

"And maybe, I'll give it back to you at the library Friday night." Lance finalized, leaning back on his chair and returning to the original distance they had, now with one of Jeanne's pencils in his hand.

"At the library? Friday night?" Jeanne repeated his words in a questioning tone. What did he want her in the library Friday night for?

"Yeah," Lance confirmed, "You wanted a partner for the winter dance, right? 'M sure we could figure something out then."

Lance casually leaned back against the wooden chair and looked back at the board while Mrs. Sanchez explained some sort of mathematical method, but Jeanne's eyes remained fixed on him, wide and shocked. Did he just?

No way.

No freaking way.

***

"Why did you even bring me in here? There's nothing fun in the library." Alissa questioned, skeptically following Jeanne through the loads of bookshelves the building had offered for them.

"I'm telling you, I gotta practice for Friday night!" Jeanne replied for the thousandth time. She should've been bothered by now, but she couldn't blame Lis. She herself couldn't process the fact that Lance had asked her to meet him later on this week either. But she gladly took his offer, even if it meant her pencil would be held hostage until then.

As soon as the school day had ended, Jea had run to her dorm and dragged Alissa into the library with her, babbling the explanation on the way. Lis used to be a theatre kid back in secondary school, so that automatically made her a good pretend-Lance in Jeanne's mind.

Alissa, though, didn't enjoy it as much. She awkwardly came to a stop where Jeanne had told her to stand before speaking up, "I got things to do, Jea."

"Your boyfriend can wait, this is gonna be quick." Jeanne reassured her, trying to fix Alissa's stance into something more Lance-ish. Like standing against the bookshelf, with his arms crossed. Wait, no. Too smug. Maybe he was casual. His hands in his pockets. His hands technically lived in his pockets.

After a few minutes of fussing over Alissa's stance, she nodded confidently. Walking back a few steps, Jeanne began to play out the script in her head. "Okay, so Lance should technically be standing there, and I'm gonna come in through there, since there's less guards patrolling that side of campus, and then..."

The clock struck 4:25 p.m, and as always, Vecky walked into the library for her tutoring shift. She greeted Mrs. Williamson at her desk with a polite nod and took a seat at her usual table.

She put her bag on her lap and started taking out her things calmly. She still had 5 minutes to prep everything up. Even more, considering the fact that she had Hansen today for another lesson, and that he was always late.

Today was no different. Vecky had her things set up at the desk by 4:33 and Hansen had remained a no-show. Then again, anyone could be running three minutes late. Pausing her music, Vecky took her earbuds off and stored them back in their case. Only then was when she noticed the library was uncharacteristically noisy.

Vecky looked around until she recognized the source of the sound. Apparently, there was a pair of students behind one of the bookshelves. Probably just chatting, but her first instinct as the president was to make sure there was nothing bad going on or being talked about. Or that was just her excuse to be nosy and listen into the conversation without feeling guilty about it.

"Okay, so what, you’re just gonna ask for it or are you gonna be flirty about it?" One of the female students asked.

Huh. Vecky recognized that voice, McClain. Alissa McClain, to be precise. One would think it would be easy for Vecky to recognize any student's voice due to her knowledge and position as the SCP, but she actually recognized McClain for a very different reason. For another person. And that person was no more and no less than—

"Pfft—hehe, no! I gotta be cute about it."

Jeannie.

Well—Allen. Jeanne Allen.

Vecky straightened up at that, her eyes widening at the sound of her voice. She fully turned towards the bookshelf, trying to confirm Allen's presence behind it even if she couldn't really see the two students through the books and hard wood.

It's not like she could creep over there and check it out in person. What would happen if she was right and it was Allen behind that bookshelf?

So, Vecky, still a little tense, opted for staying seated and just listening in.

"Sure. So what are you even gonna say to him, then?" McClain continued.

Okay, they were talking about a boy. She wasn't sure who exactly, but knowing Allen, it could be anybody at this point. That concerned her even more.

"What should I even say?" Allen wondered out loud.

"I don't know dude, not like it matters. You always tell me you're gonna say something and then you come back and tell me you said a whole different thing." McClaim deadpanned.

'That's because it takes her a little to memorize things, McClain.' Vecky berated internally, yet she shook the thought away before it distracted her from the conversation.

Was it a boy she liked? Was Jeanne crushing on someone? Not like Vecky was privy to Allen's personal information, but there was still something stubborn in her that made her want to know. Maybe even help her? She wasn't sure if it was either the President in her or actually Vecky who wanted to. That line was really blurry when it came to Jeannie.

"Hmm. Maybe I should just let the looks do the talking?" Allen suggested.

"Like what? You wanna look cute instead of acting cute?"

"Yeah! Should I wear something cute?"

"Girl, it's gonna be the middle of the night; I don't think he's even gonna notice."

"Oh, trust me. I'll make him notice. You think I could borrow that one dress of yours?"

"If I say yes, can we leave? I really gotta call him before he thinks I'm cheating on him."

Soon enough, the two voices started becoming faintier and quieter as they left the library through the other door.

"Evenin’, Pres." Hansen's sudden voice burst Vecky out of her bubble, startling her while he was at it.

Vecky jumped in her seat, inhaling sharply and looking at Hansen with wide eyes. The sight made him chuckle. "Concentrated much?" He asked, taking a seat across from her at the table.

Vecky blinked, taking a second to relax from the little scare Hansen gave her. "Formal much? 'Evening'?"

"Figured that's how y’greet people." Hansen shrugged, taking his bag and setting his things up as well.

"I'm a normal person, Hansen. I'm fine with a 'hi'." Vecky replied, a little offended by his assumption.

"Lance." Hansen corrected her.

"I'm not calling you Lance after you made that disrespectful assumption about me." Vecky quipped, her eyebrows furrowed.

Hansen just chuckled at her attitude, setting his notebook on the desk and flipping through the pages until he found an available one. Not that it took long, he barely took any notes during class. Probably just the important things and then called it a day.

"What's with you and callin’ people by their last names anyway, Laurent?" Hansen asked, dragging her last name with a poor excuse of a French accent in an attempt to pronounce it right. She decided to dismiss it, either way.

"Same reason as the teachers'. Makes it easier to memorize everyone," Vecky explained simply, "There may be lots of Sophias in the institute, but I can assure you none of them have the same last name. That's also why the plaques only have the last name engraved on it. As much as everyone wants their first one on it, I'm afraid I can't do much about it. That's how Mr. Yellow wished for it to be."

Hansen hummed, a little pleased by her thorough explanation.

"Mr. Yellow," He huffed humorously, "Calls himself 'the principal', yet I haven't seen ‘im do much for this school. Always makes you do all the stuff." Hansen gestured his hand at her.

Vecky shrugged, fiddling with the pages of the Algebra textbook she had brought for the lesson. Hansen was right, but she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. "Well, I am the Student Council President for a reason." She muttered.

Vecky peered at Hansen for a second, surprised that, this time around, he did have a pencil of his own. "You ready, then?"

Hansen nodded in confirmation, and that's all Vecky needed to straighten up on her seat and begin the lesson.

***

And just like routine, another three hours had gone by fast. Hansen finally seemed to understand the topic, so that was enough for Vecky to meet their stopping point for tonight.

The two began packing up their things in silence until Hansen eventually broke it. "You noticed I finally got a pencil?" He asked with his signature smirk.

"I did." Vecky replied flatly, zipping her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "Did you finally overcome your fears and asked Mrs. Williamson for one?"

Hansen chuckled at that, shaking his head. "No. I got it from this girl in my first period."

"Yeah?" She asked, just to humor him while she fixed the chairs.

"Yeah. Jeanne Allen."

Vecky stopped pulling her chair back in at that, but quickly recovered and went back to her task. Hansen seemed to notice it though, as he continued with a question. "Yeah...weren't y'all friends or somethin'?"

Vecky settled the chair back into the desk, her hands stopping on the backrest as her thumbs gently grazed the wood, her eyes unfocused. "You could say that, yeah." Vecky uttered, a hint of softness behind her words.

"What do you think of her?" Hansen continued, making Vecky raise an eyebrow at the question.

"Nothing. She's okay. Why?"

Hansen shrugged, following suit and fixing his own chair in. "Just, girls usually don't end friendships on good terms. It'd be interestin’ to see you in some sort of drama, Pres."

"You sure have an interesting mindset, Hansen." Vecky sighed, rolling her eyes slightly before fixing her skirt.

"Heard she goes and meets boys every night in the auditorium," Hansen began, sliding his hands into his pockets while watching Vecky fuss over her uniform, "Didn't you forbid that last year or somethin'?"

Vecky's hands stilled on the hem of her skirt at Hansen's confession. She didn't take him for a snitch. Or maybe he was making up rumors about Jeannie and trying to stain her reputation.

"And how do you know this?" Vecky asked defensively, looking up at Hansen with a skeptical look.

Hansen huffed out a chuckle at her stern look, slightly surprised. "Chillax, Pres. Just somethin' I've ‘eard."

"From other people or from her?"

"Ah, whatever."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Don't believe any rumors unless the person themselves tells you it's true." Vecky finalized. She was done fixing her skirt and also done with Hansen's messy attitude. So, she picked up her step and began heading to the exit.

"Or maybe we should see if it's true." Hansen suggested, which managed to stop Vecky from leaving yet again.

"Huh?"

"Friday night. We should meet up here, then go to the auditorium and check if the 'rumors' are true." He said with a shrug.

"Hansen, that's the job of the guards."

"Guards can't go into the buildings without probable cause, Pres. We can, we're students."

"Why are you so heroic out of the sudden?" Vecky turned towards Hansen, her skepticism growing. "As far as I've heard, you're not very ahead of those same rumors yourself; so don't go assuming things about Jeanne when people assume the same things about you."

"But I haven't told you they're true, have I?" Smug bastard, using her own words against her.

Vecky scoffed in disbelief, about to protest before he continued, speaking in a softer tone to ease the tension.

"I just wanna help, alright? Maybe I can prove to you that I'm not the guy those rumors say I am?" Hansen let the offer linger in the quiet library air, and Vecky hated herself for even considering it.

Taking one look at Hansen, she thought things over. Sure, rumor had it Hansen was pretty much around the institute and had a very good sense of sharing. But how could Vecky know? Last time she had assumed something about his kind of people, it turned into a complete misunderstanding and she ended up looking—and feeling—like an asshole.

"Fine. Friday night, you said?" Vecky gave in.

Hansen almost smirked at the sound of her air of defeat and nodded at the question.

"Yeah. We can meet around 9. In here, ‘cause there's not a lot of guards around the library."

"Well, of course you'd know that." Vecky muttered under her breath, pushing the glass door of the library open.

Hansen, though, heard it, and chuckled warmly at her quip.

This was Jea's lucky day. Or, well, night. It took a little bit of bargaining—and some begging—but Jeanne had managed to convince Alissa to let her borrow one of her cute dresses. Nothing special, but enough to make Lance consider her as a fit date for the winter dance.

Oh, how she couldn't stop giggling when she pictured it—walking into the decorated ballroom with Lance, holding his arm while everyone else gasped at the sudden (yet needed, Jea swore) hard launch. Maybe then she could also prove to some stuck up people that indulging in this lifestyle of hers wasn't so bad after all, if it got her to pull one of the cutest guys in the institute.

Plus, her popularity at this would skyrocket. Not like she wasn't already a bit popular—for the wrong reasons—and not like she really cared about it. But if she wasn't one of the gifted geniuses, promising athletes, or company heirs that managed their way into the Golden Institute, Jeannie had to find a way to stand out for herself.

So she had to take this very seriously.

As soon as she made it back to her dorm by 4:20, she ran to the shower, she shaved every little inch of her body, she scrubbed and moisturized her skin until it smelled like it could grow flowers where she touched, she placed her makeup on her features as delicately and precisely as if she was painting the Mona Lisa, she blew her hair out and made sure her waves and layers settled down in the way stylists would use on models, and she sprayed her nicest perfumes on—just to make sure that the flowers that grew around her step would at least be pretty too.

By the time she was sure she was ready, she checked the time on her phone and realized it was already past 9, so she took no time to quickly say goodbye to Alissa for the night—who was just glad Jea would be gone so her boyfriend could come over—and rushed to the library building.

Jeanne already knew the guards' nightly routine, since they had made it so predictable, so, it was quite easy for her to make her way outside the living quarters without being caught. Even easier because they seemed to be gone tonight, for some reason.

She slowly pushed one of the glass doors of the library open and snuck in, using her phone as a flashlight to guide her through the dark room and towards the certain spot she had planned to meet up with Lance at.

It was quite hard to walk around the library now that it was dark and isolated. Well, that was what Jeanne thought until she came to bump into somebody, which jumped the shit out of her bones. This was a trap. This was a trap and she was gonna get in trouble. Fuck, she used her nicest sugar scrub for nothing.

The person that she bumped into immediately reached out their hands to steady her.

"I'm so sorry, are you alright?"

Jea's heart dropped even more once her brain recognized that voice. That touch. Slim, dainty, and cold hands against her skin.

It couldn't be.

Jeanne's trembling hands slowly raised her phone's flashlight up at the person in front of her. Her eyes widened and she suddenly felt weak in the knees.

"Jeannie?"

"Veronica."

Chapter Text

The clock on Vecky's desk marked 8:55 p.m. She could stay here, in her dorm, for the rest of the night and dismiss Hansen's proposal, or she could go and give him a chance to prove himself despite of the constant word around school. What could she do, considering the fact that she had buried herself into her work for the last four hours and didn't have any assignments left to do? Yanira was out for the night for an away Lady Lions basketball game, so they couldn't have a movie night either. What was the point of watching a movie alone if you didn't have anyone to talk about it with?

Maybe she should find something to do. Anything, just to excuse herself from going out and risking getting in trouble. Although, the chances of getting caught and in trouble ranged from slim to none. If Vecky was to be spotted by one of the guards outside, they wouldn't rat her out or even acknowledge her. They recognized the girl that basically handed them a job at one of the most prestigious academies of the country with one simple duty: to catch anyone sneaking out of their dorms at night. Maybe she should've made it clear that she wasn't an exception, because at least that would give her another excuse to stay at her dorm for the night.

But there wasn't. There really wasn't.

Vecky scrolled and scrolled through the school platform, trying to find something to assign herself—something to do and spend the night working over. Unfortunately, due dates were the death of her, so she had gotten everything done before the workload that would come with organizing the winter dance was dumped on her because, as always, Mr. Yellow's work was technically hers at this point. Hansen was right about that.

Hm. Maybe she judged him too hard. Vecky's fingers stilled on the touchpad of her laptop, her eyes unfocused as she, for the thousandth time that night, thought it over.

Why was she even considering it? Why was she even trying to justify that, if she was to go, it would be for a good reason? She had gone deeper into this rabbit hole of her duty as the President that everything she did had to somehow benefit the school in some sort of way. Maybe she could fix him.

She could fix Hansen, yeah. If she fixed Hansen she could inspire many other boys and girls like him to maybe change themselves as well. Like a chain reaction. That'd be nice. Good enough of an excuse to change out of her comfy clothes into her uniform again just to make sure that, if she was spotted, at least it would look like she was out for school-related business. Maybe to try to convince herself too that this was school-related business and not her heart's.

So Vecky took her phone on her way out and made her way to the library building. It was honestly easier than expected. There weren't any guards around, but she figured it was because they were changing shifts. Still would let students sneak out like she was right now, so she'd have to talk to Mr. Yellow about that.

She didn't use the elevators. Instead, she took the emergency stairs and quietly crept her way out of the Silverage building, the female living quarters.

Vecky then walked all the way from Silverage to the central park, where the library building, between others, was located. She looked out for any signs of Hansen outside of the library, but when she didn't notice any, she figured he would already be inside.

She walked up the three little steps to the library and pulled the glass door open, walking inside while letting it close slowly behind of her.

The library was at its quietest possible, quite dark too. But since Vecky hadn't used a flashlight on the way here, her eyes had already adapted to the darkness of the night. Not like she didn't know the library from inside out already from how much time she spent here tutoring her peers and volunteering to help Mrs. Williamson organize it every Wednesday morning.

Problem was, they didn't really discuss a certain spot to meet up at, so Vecky spent about 3 minutes going from shelf to shelf trying to find Hansen waiting for her.

Vecky thought her efforts finally gave fruit when she came to bump onto somebody. While she was turning a corner, she collided with another person who seemed to be heading her way. Only that this person in question was much shorter and much slimmer than Hansen. Smelled nicer than him, too. It was a girl.

Immediately, Vecky reached out to steady her before the girl fell back onto the hard-carpeted library floor. The girl seemed to be holding a flashlight herself, the phone's bright light that flashed Vecky during the collision blinding her for a good second.

Only once she recovered was when she noticed that the girl in front of him just wasn't any girl. It was—

"Jeannie?"

"Veronica."

How could've she been so stupid? This was clearly too good to be true. There had been a thought lingering in the back of her mind of the chance that it wouldn't work out for her, but fuck. She didn't even realize Veronica was out for her again to teach her another lesson.

This is why she couldn't have nice things, because Miss Laurent wouldn't let her. She hadn’t even done anything to her in the first place! Jeanne had been good to her, and let her stay in her little high bubble of "duty" as long as Veronica didn't bother her back. She should've known that snake was out for her from all the looks she gave her every morning.

What was even more confusing, was how, if even, Veronica and Lance came to know each other. They were from two completely different worlds, yet…

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck no.

"Tutor girl!" Jeanne gasped, trying to leverage herself away from Veronica, yet the other woman's grip remained steady on her sides.

"Huh?"

"Let—me—go!" She gritted, finally managing to push confused Veronica away, wiping any feel of her hands off her skin.

"Who's tutor girl?" Veronica asked. Jeanne scoffed at that. She was definitely acting stupid.

"You, of course! You're the one who has been tutoring Lance, giving him your pencils and being all over him!" Jeanne accused, jabbing her finger at Veronica's chest.

Veronica's eyebrows furrowed, her hand reaching down to grasp Jeanne's wrist and pull it away from her.

Jeanne was quick to yank it away from her grasp. "Don't touch me."

"You're here for Hansen?" Veronica suddenly asked, completely dismissing Jeanne's anger.

"I—and of course you have a nickname for him, you're obviously—"

"Jeannette." Veronica interrupted her, successfully shutting her up at the use of her full name. She then repeated her question. "Listen. You're here for Hansen too?"

"Too?" Jeanne repeated in disbelief, "You're not here for me?"

"Why would I be?"

"I don't know, that's why I'm asking you!? I thought I made it obvious I didn't want anything to do with you anymore!"

"Okay, Jeannie, calm down." Veronica tried to ease her, putting her hands in front of her as if she was being cornered by a wild animal. She technically was.

"DON'T 'Jeannie' me, Veronica, you know damn well what we—" Jeanne began to burn up with anger again, until she processed Veronica's question and stopped. "What?"

"What what?"

"What did you say?"

"Girl, I just told you to calm down."

"No—like, what did you ask me? About Lance?"

"That if you—"

"HE ASKED YOU TO MEET UP TOO?"

"Uh—" Veronica began, but Jeanne's mind was already working on the answers to her own question, her eyes widening once she finally came to a conclusion.

"Oh. My. Gosh."

"What?"

"Veronica."

"What?"

"Ew!"

"Jeanne, what?"

"Why are you here?"

"I was going t—"

"Uh-uh. And in your uniform, too?" Jeanne almost grimaced at the idea. Veronica seemed to catch onto Jeanne's assumption, which made her straighten up in surprise.

"Huh? No! Eugh!"

"Now I know you love your little position as the president but..."

"That's exactly why I would never do that."

Jeanne huffed. "Still too prideful to admit it, huh? I guess you haven't changed at all."

Veronica scoffed in reply, her eyebrows furrowing again. "Well, you have."

"But I'm not denying it like you are."

"Sure. I'm guessing you're not gonna deny that you're here for the same thing you're assuming I'm here for either?"

Jeanne rolled her eyes, giving her a once-over before replying. "At least I came prepared."

"So Hansen was right." Veronica replied with an air of disappointment.

Jeanne stilled and looked up at Veronica again, tilting her head. "What? Right about what?"

Veronica looked at Jeanne for a second, hesitating before she replied.

"I'm here because Hansen told me you...go and meet boys at the auditorium every night," Veronica explained, erasing any smugness from Jeanne's features, "I didn't want to believe him, so he said we should meet here at 9 and go check if it was true."

Jeanne's jaw dropped. "That cunt."

"Now, Jeanne—"

"As if he was any different!" Jeanne scoffed in offense.

"That's what I thought at first, but then it turns out he was right?"

It was probably the fifth time Jeanne scoffed in disbelief into the conversation. "I knew it."

"What?"

"You think I'm a whore!"

Veronica groaned in frustration, her hand reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath to calm herself down. "When did I ever say that."

"Tch—Well, if Lance is calling me a hoe and you think he's right, two plus two is four and—you think I'm a whore, Veronica. A slut, dare I say. Admit it!"

"No one ever—"

"And that Lance wanker, once he gets here, I'm gonna—"

Veronica placed a hand on her bare shoulder, the coldness of it immediately shifting Jeanne's focus back to her.

"Now, calm down. You know how the school code feels about fighting." Veronica reminded her, only receiving a sidelong glance from Jeanne.

"Doesn't mean I care about your stupid code! Where's that good for nothing piece of shite at?"

Veronica sighed, shaking her head. She scanned their surroundings, confusion etching into her features.

"Where is Hansen? It's past 9."

"I don't know, you tell me, tutor girl."

Veronica seemed visibly confused by this nickname of Jeanne's, yet still decided to dismiss it. She turned to face Jeanne again.

"Do you have his number?"

Jeanne smirked. "You don't?"

"No. He asked me to exchange numbers but I declined."

Jeanne's smirk faltered. "Oh."

"Maybe I should've, now that I think about it..." Veronica hummed.

"Well, you didn't. So I'm gonna call him."

Jeanne unlocked her phone and began to scroll through her contacts. Her finger tapped continuously on the screen as she scrolled and scrolled and scrolled through her added numbers. Veronica's eyes widened bit by bit the more Jeanne took just to get to the 'F' section.

"What do you need all those numbers for?" Veronica asked.

"To hoe around, what else?" Jeanne replied, obviously being sarcastic.

"Don't joke about that, Jeanne." Vecky sighed.

Jeanne rolled her eyes in response. Eventually, she just gave up and searched up Lance's contact just to make this faster—to shut Veronica up too.

Once she finally found his contact, she tapped on the 'call' button and raised the phone up to her ear.

The two girls stood there in silence while they waited for Lance to pick up the phone. Veronica looked around, trying to hear Lance's phone ringing somewhere in the distance to see if he was close. Her brows furrowed once she didn't.

"He's not here at all." Veronica observed.

"You don't say." Jeanne uttered, tapping her foot on the ground impatiently.

Eventually, Lance picked up the call.

"...Hello?"

The two girls straightened up in surprise, Jeanne taking her phone into both hands as she began to yell at it.

"You think you're so funny, don't you, Lance? When I catch you, you good for nothing shite, I will—"

"Hahaaaa! Kidding, this is the voicemail. Leave a message." Click.

Oh, this little..

Jeanne suddenly took Veronica's wrist and started dragging her along.

"Th—What are you doing?"

"We're gonna confront him, that's what."

"What, to his room?"

Jeanne stopped walking to turn to look at Veronica over her shoulder. "No! We're going to my room and see if we find him there."

Veronica blinked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeanne scoffed and continued. "Of course we're going to his room. Where else would he be, other than in the library, meeting up with girls every night?" Jeanne tugged on her wrist, pulling her along again. "Let's go."

Veronica, though, stood still, slowly pulling away from Jeanne's grasp. "Now, Jeanne, don’t you think we've done enough sneaking around?"

Jeanne turned to face Veronica, not in the mood to deal with her stuck-up bullshit right now.

"Oh, please. You're already out, anyways."

Veronica huffed slightly. "Yes, I know, but that's because I wanted to see if Lance was right about these...rumors of yours."

"And you don't think the fact that you came here, in the middle of the night, to meet up with the Lance Hansen is gonna keep your oh-so-precious president reputation clean?"  Jeanne took Veronica's silence as her cue to continue. "He used you, he's gonna start rumors about you too, and we gotta go confront him before it happens."

Veronica remained silent, taking Jeanne's words into consideration. After a few seconds of thinking, she sighed in defeat and nodded. "Yes, you're right," Veronica replied, walking ahead of Jeanne towards the door that led to Bradford building. "We've got to be careful of the guards out there, though."

"That you implemented?" Jeanne quipped, following behind Veronica as she went.

Veronica didn't reply directly, just giving Jeanne a look over her shoulder that was uncomfortably fond. "Yes, yes, just—come on, Jea." She huffed softly, pulling the door open for Jeanne to walk through.

"Yeah, and drop the nicknames, too." Jeanne added before she made her way out of the library, Veronica following from behind.

The two girls then made their way from the library through central park and to Bradford building. They repeated the same routine, which was as easy as the first time they snuck out because no guards were on sight on the other side of campus either.

They walked into the building, sneaking up the emergency stairs to the 3rd floor where Lance's room was located.

Once they came to stand in front of dorm 322, Jeanne held up a hand to Veronica to stop her from knocking or doing anything else. Then, Jeanne pressed her head against the door, squinting her eyes in concentration.

"What are you doing?" Veronica whispered.

Jeanne didn't reply, pulling away from the door instead and digging through her small purse.

"Had to make sure his roomie isn't here." She answered after a second.

She took out a keycard and pressed it against the sensor of the door, a little click indicating it was open.

Veronica's jaw dropped open at that. "You do know keycard duplication is forbidden, right?"

Jeanne rolled her eyes again, reaching for the door handle as she did. "Mhm."

She pulled the door open and stepped inside, expecting Veronica to follow suit. The two made their way into the dorm, Jeanne scanning the room sharply for any signs of Lance.

"He's not here either?" Veronica called out from deeper into the room. How had she even gotten there so quickly?

Jeanne caught up to Veronica, walking into the bedroom where the other girl was and finding her looking under the bed. Lance's room was a mess. His bed was unmade, his desk scattered, his closet wide open and showcasing the untidiness of its insides as well. Jeanne looked around herself, her gaze landing on a certain thing on Lance's desk.

"Hey, my pencil!" Jea gasped, snatching the pencil that Lance had been holding hostage for the last few days. Her focus on the pencil didn't last long, though, for she found another thing on his desk.

His phone.

Jeanne's brows furrowed, picking the device up into her hands and tapping the screen to check if it was on. After failing the first attempt, she now tried turning it on by pressing the button on its right side.

Veronica didn't seem to find anything interesting under the bed, so she stood back up with a sigh and quickly brushed the dust off her uniform. "We shouldn't be here." She spoke up, the doubts catching back up to her.

Jeanne rolled her eyes internally, sparing the woman a glance from over her shoulder.

"Well—we're already here anyways, so..." Jeanne began with a huff, about to make
a smartass comment when she took one good look at Vec, who just stood there, clenching and unclenching her fists slightly as she let Jeanne's gaze penetrate her soul.

Noticing Veronica's anxious expression irked Jeanne a little, especially because she tried to hide it beneath a nonchalant façade when it was so blatantly obvious that the poor girl was one more broken rule away from shitting her pants. It just made Jeanne feel uneasy, as much of a pussy she knew Veronica was, it never failed to make her heart feel heavy.

Jeanne sighed softly, her hand clenching the gadget in her hand slightly in hesitance before she spoke up. "Look. We're already out here, so we might just try to figure out where this prick is, yeah? I found his phone, so…”

Veronica's eyes focused back on her, gazing at the phone in her grip before meeting her eyes. "Does he usually carry it with him?"

"Who doesn't?" Jeanne huffed, trying to turn it on but only getting the dead battery icon once she tried. "...Huh. He usually charges it."

Veronica glanced around the room to see if she could spot a charger anywhere, only to be distracted by footsteps approaching the room. But not just any footsteps. Heavy footsteps, as of combat boots.

With a soft gasp, Veronica muttered, "The guards."

Jeanne, who still hadn't heard the footsteps from outside, was caught by surprise when she was suddenly dragged towards the corner of the room, right behind the wooden door of the bedroom. She felt Veronica's cold hand press against her mouth, muffling any yelps from possibly coming out, while the other wrapped around Jeanne's waist and kept her close to her body in a firm grip.

"Mph—" Jeanne began to protest against Veronica's hand, trying to pry it away from her face, but was interrupted by Veronica shushing her sharply.

Just then, the door of the dorm opened a few feet away, the same heavy footsteps walking inside. Veronica tensed up and held Jeanne tighter.

"Kid's finally gone," One of the men spoke up, the gravelly voice inching closer to the bedroom.

The second man followed behind the first."Yeah. What do we do with his stuff?"

"We leave it. For now." The first one replied.

Both footsteps stopped in the middle of the room, the men oblivious of the two girls hiding behind the bedroom door. Jeanne and Veronica stayed as still as they could and tried to remain quiet, both hearing with wide eyes as the guards went about searching his room.

After a few moments of silence, the first man continued, "But he did tell us to get his..." He began before stopping abruptly. "Where's his phone?"

The two girls tensed behind the door, Jeanne's eyes widening an inch and Veronica's grip just tightening around her body.

"His phone?" The second one repeated in confusion.

"Yes, damnit, his phone!" The first man replied, his voice raising in anger, "That's the one thing he asked of us!"

"Maybe it's in his pocket right now?" The other suggested.

"No. As if we'd let him keep his phone in there. Someone was in this room." The first muttered, the prolonged silence afterwards making both Jeanne and Veronica feel like the men were watching them through the door they were hiding behind.

"We need to find that phone, now." The first continued, "Send out the rest, search for anyone outside of their dorms. If they find 'em, send them to UnderGround too."

"Yes, sir." The other replied, and as soon as they came, they left, shutting the door of Lance's room behind them.

Veronica sighed shakily, her relief not lasting long from the sharp pain of Jeanne suddenly biting down on her hand to make her let go.

"Gah!" Veronica yelped, quickly unhanding the other woman. "What was that for?"

"Don't, touch me like that again." Jeanne warned her between breaths, stepping back into the bedroom.

"You're worried about me touching you rather than the fact that there's guards looking for us?" Veronica asked with an air of disbelief, clutching her injured fingers and trying to soothe the ache of Jeanne's bite down.

"You're more worried about the fact that the guards are looking for us rather than the fact that Lance is missing! Why do they need his phone? What is 'UnderGround'? Why did you touch me?"

"All I know is we need to get out of here now. So stop complaining for one second, and just follow me, alright?" Veronica commanded, walking out of the bedroom and expecting Jeanne to follow suit.

Although a bit reluctant, Jeanne knew coming with Veronica was her best shot at making it back to her dorm safely, so she followed behind the woman's trail and outside of Lance's bedroom.

First thing Vecky did the following morning was one of the things she did best: work. But she didn't work on finding answers, or looking for Lance, no. Instead, she decided to focus on what was really important, which was the winter dance coming up in a few weeks.

Maybe it would distract her from the events of the night prior. Maybe it would remind her that it had actually all been a dream and that Lance was probably back in his bedroom—or another girl's. Or maybe it would just make her curiosity worse.

As she and other student council members helped the arts and crafts club make some handmade decorations for the dance, Vecky heard a commotion happening outside the classroom.

"No! I've got to see her. Move!" A female voice pitched from behind the door. A voice she, for once, wasn't too happy to recognize.

Without giving Vecky any chance to react, the girl in question bursted into the room unannounced, gaining the attention from everyone inside.

Jeanne.

"Oh my God.” Vecky uttered under her breath.

"Student Council President Veronica Elle Laurent." Jeanne started, dragging her name out like a slur.

Vecky sighed quietly, as if to prepare herself for whatever Jeanne had in store for her today. Raising her head from her work and glancing over her shoulder, she met her hazel eyes.

The rest of the council and arts and crafts club members stared quietly in surprise. The hallway supervisor that had been chasing after the other girl followed into the room to restrain her. "What are you doing, coming into the school during—"

Vecky raised a hand, stilling the official from doing anything just yet. "Wait," she began, turning around to fully face the two. Vecky tilted her head slightly, silently asking Jeanne to go on.

Jeanne hesitated, looking at the guard that was still clinging onto her. "Yeah, get off me." She gritted, shrugging the man off, "…prick."

"How can I help you, Jeanne?" Vecky spoke with an undertone of impatience.

"So you're not gonna talk about it?" Jeanne asked in disbelief.

Vecky tensed. She had an idea of what Jeanne wanted, and that definitely wasn't something to be discussed here, around the student council—let alone the common students. She made her way up to Jeanne to take her wrist into a firm grip, dragging the other woman out of the classroom and ignoring her protests.

Once they had a fair distance from the classroom, Vecky dropped her calm demeanor, her frustration evident on her features once she faced Jeanne.

"You don't just interrupt my meetings like that." Vecky gritted, keeping her voice at a low so guards nearby wouldn't hear.

It seemed Jeanne didn't instantly get the memo, for she replied in a not-so-discreet tone, "You don't just ignore Lance's disappearance like—"

Vecky's eyes widened out of panic before she quickly shushed the other woman.
"Stop. Stop talking. Hush."

Jeanne's mouth bucked shut, her expression surprised at the disrespect.

"I know," Vecky whispered, "I know. But look around. There's a time and place, Jeannette."

Jeanne's brows furrowed, almost as if she was upset at being scolded like a toddler would. Vecky was aware of this, but she was also aware that this is the only way Jeanne would ever take something seriously. Or at least as seriously as she wanted Jeanne to.

"This is the time and the place! Can't you see that a—" Jeanne urged, stopping to glance around for any guard or superior nearby. Then, she dropped her tone at a whisper that closely resembled Vecky's, "a person is missing. Missing!"

"I understand that, but you're interrupting my meeting." Vecky replied, gesturing to the arts and crafts classroom, a few people staring through the little window of the door in an attempt to tune into their conversation.

"To hell with your meeting!" Jeanne whisper-shouted exasperatedly, which only got Vecky more riled up.

"See? You always do this, Jeannette. You always—" Vecky gritted through her teeth, squeezing the bridge of her nose in an attempt to calm down.

"Yeah I always do something, I always am the one in the wrong." Jeanne scoffed, her hands dropping to her sides and away from Vecky's hold.

"Are you really gonna start right now?" Vecky pestled, running the same hand over her face.

"Oh, you want me to start? You want me to start now? Because—fuck it, Veronica, I'll start. And I won't stop and you—"

"Stop," Vecky snapped, her voice rising in the slightest yet still managing to make Jeanne tense up in surprise. "Just—stop, Jeanne."

A heavy silence lingered between the two girls. Vecky knew a conversation with Jeanne right now wouldn't take them anywhere, so she decided to go back to her duties to calm down.

"Find me later, in my office. That's the time and place. We'll sort it out." Vecky quickly dismissed the other, turning her back on Jeanne and beginning her way back to the classroom.

Jeanne sighed in disbelief once again, gritting her teeth at Vecky's excision.
"You're unbelievable!" She scoffed.

Vecky ignored her, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she kept walking back to the room she had come from.

"You—you ignorant piece of shite! You only care about yourself! Competitive ass bitch!" Jeanne called out, another attempt to turn Vecky around. "Fuckin'—what a poor excuse of a president!"

Vecky simply slipped back inside the quiet classroom, letting the guards choose if they let Jeanne stay in the building or not. Despite all eyes being on her, she remained calm and walked back to her spot at the table.

"I'm sorry about that. Let's continue, shall we?" Vecky proposed, getting the rest of the students to, although awkwardly, pick up on the work they'd been doing.

As the room once again started light chatter and crafting, Suarez, a student council member beside Vecky, leaned in curiously.

"What was that about?" Suarez whispered, gaining Vecky's attention.

"Uh," Vecky replied, her lips pursing into a straight line for a second as she focused on precisely cutting the tissue paper, "that was Jeanne."

"Weren't you two friends?" Farinas, another council member queried from Vecky's right side.

"I thought y'all were dating," Suarez chimed. Vecky blinked and looked at her in confusion.

"I'm not—no. We were just friends. That's all." Vecky shook her head, as if to get rid of the thought of Jeanne.

"I never understood what happened between you guys." Suarez continued, half-focused on her craft, half-focused on Vecky.

"What did she want?" Farinas followed up.

Vecky clenched her jaw faintly, putting the scissors down as she replied, "She's just...obsessed over this guy."

The two officers remained quiet, and Vecky knew they were expecting her to elaborate further.

"Lance Hansen, I think."

"Oh frick no." Suarez scoffed.

Vecky shrugged, already aware that Hansen's reputation within the student council wasn't as golden as it was with common students.

"I tutor him, and…” Vecky muttered, taking the piece of paper and folding it carefully as she spoke, "Jeanne seems to have a problem with that."

"Is that why she came here?" Farinas scoffed, giving the closed door a second glance.

"I guess so," Vecky lied. She couldn't risk anyone but her and Jeanne knowing about Hansen's possible disappearance.

"She needs to stop obsessing over boys and obsess over her grades instead." Suarez piped, gaining a few nods from Farinas by the other side. Vecky remained quiet.

"Especially over Lance. She could at least be obsessing over a, uh, I don't know, a high-ranking student!" Farinas contributed, gesturing wildly at the air.

"She already is," Suarez huffed humorously, nodding her head towards Vecky to her right, "don't you see how she just came into the school building to see her? On a Saturday morning?"

"I mean Lance is only good-looking. That's all there is to him." Farinas explained, looking back down at the blue handmade flower she was working on.

"He's not hard to tutor." Vecky justified, hesitantly.

"Oh, you're not defending him, are you, Vec?" Suarez asked.

"No, I'm just saying. He has the chance to...redeem himself." Vecky shrugged. "I mean, people would still miss him if he…suddenly disappeared, or something."

Suarez and Farinas exchanged a confused glance.

"That's one way to put it." Farinas hummed.

"I wouldn't. He brings enough problems to this academy." Suarez quickly replied to Vecky's last comment. "We'd be better off without him."

Farinas nodded once again in agreement, but Vecky remained still. Something about what Suarez said hit something—a certain spot inside of her mind, which echoed the same thought over and over: Better off without him.

Better off without Hansen.

Better off without…

Vecky's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on her door, drawing a sharp breath from her lungs and making her look up from the desk. She was back in her office. Once again, she had gotten too absorbed into her mind that a whole day of working went by like the blink of an eye. It was now 6:38 PM according to the clock she had hung right above the door to her office. Her gaze darted down, and she spotted Jeanne standing right outside. The source of the knocking.

Vecky looked down, noticing the papers on the desk she had been apparently working on for the past few hours, holding her pen tightly by her right hand. "Come in." She hesitated.

Once Veronica gave her a green light, Jea opened the door to her office and made her way inside with sheer determination.

Veronica looked so out of place in her own office, or maybe it was just Jea's presence alone that fazed her so much. She couldn't help but grin at the thought of tormenting Veronica, even without even trying to, at times.

"Did I scare you? Thought this was 'the time and place.'" Jea said with a smirk as she slipped into the office and closed the door behind her.

Veronica just gave her a dismissive shake of her head in return, letting the pen in her hand drop to the desk in order to rub her eyes as if to wake herself up from something.

"Did the guards give you any trouble?" Veronica asked, although it didn't really sound like she cared if Jea had actually gotten in trouble with the guards on the way to her office—which was also inside the learning building, which was out of access during the weekends and after school, which made it very inconvenient. That was Veronica: Inconvenience.

"No. Just snuck back in, they didn't see me." Jea replied casually, shrugging before coming to a stop in front of Veronica's desk.

Jea could see the way Veronica's body tensed up in the slightest, like it did every time Jea did or said she did something that could get her in trouble. It got on the former’s nerves. And she'd keep doing it. Jea had a thing for pissing her off as much as she could because she knew Veronica was too much of a pussy to actually do anything about it.

Veronica finally had the guts to meet Jea's eyes and ask, "What did you want to talk about?"

"About yesterday, are you serious?"

"Just making sure, Jeanne."

"Why else would I come here and talk to you?" Jea chuckled, as if the thought itself was ridiculous.

"You always did," Veronica replied, her voice not too far from a murmur.

"Well, I don't anymore for a reason, don't you think?"

Veronica's eyes softened in such a way that her gaze almost resembled a kicked puppy's, and Jea scoffed. She wasn't going to have it anymore, if that was what Veronica was trying to achieve. Jea was standing on business, hard.

Veronica changed the subject, moving her eyes away from Jea and finding an excuse to busy her gaze with as she continued.

"So, Hansen." She almost coughed out.

"Lance." Jea corrected her.

"Same person, Jeanne."

Jea scoffed, shaking her head as she did not want to start bickering with the other woman again. "We need to find him. We need to get answers."

"We still don't know if yesterday was actually something." Veronica exclaimed, resting the weight of her head on her fingers as she fiddled with one of the many pens she owned. If she wasn't careful enough, the digits of her hands could probably break from how heavy her big, smart-ass head was.

Jea huffed in disbelief, "You don't believe that Lance is missing? We literally saw—the guards were in his room! They were looking for his phone! And look," —Jea argued as she reached into one of the pockets of the blazer around her waist— "I still have it!"

That got Veronica's attention, the mention of Lance's phone managing to stick her eyes off of her pen and to the device Jea was holding.

"You haven't given it back?" She asked with a sudden sternness.

"No? This could help us get major clues! We could find out where Lance was taken, then save him from whatever UnderGround is!" Jea reasoned, but as she pointed out her reasons, Veronica was already standing up and making her way towards her, almost snatching the smartphone out of Jea's hand.

Jea gave a sharp step back, drawing the phone as far away from Veronica as her arm allowed her to. "Woah—what are you doing?"

"Give it to me." Veronica ordered, holding out her hand.

"Uhm, no. I'll take care of it."

"Give it to me." Veronica asked again, her tone becoming more authoritarian with every word.

"I found it, I'll take care of it, Veronica—"

"Give. It. To. Me. Jeannette. I am not playing around—"

"No! I don't trust you!"

Veronica stilled at that, looking at Jea with an almost shocked expression. She slowly retroceded, her body stiff as she did so. Even as she had backed down, the atmosphere remained as tense as it already was while Veronica tried to diffuse the situation.

"We shouldn't be doing this much." Veronica said, and her tone had lost a bit of its firmness after the confrontation.

"What? Too much? You think this is too much?" Jea exclaimed in disbelief.

"I know you're worried,"

"As one should be."

"But—this could be good, you know?"

"Good?" Jea scoffed.

Veronica hesitated as she tried to gather the words to try and convince her that, somehow, Lance's disappearance was a "good thing."

"I mean, he only brings the school trouble. He always...stirs up drama, and…"

"Are you fucking serious, Veronica?"

Veronica remained unfazed at Jea's incredulity. "The institute would probably be better off without him," She reasoned with a shrug.

Jeanne took a moment to just stare at the other woman in unbelief as she processed Veronica's words. She swore she could feel the blood in her veins heating up in rage at how unreasonable Veronica was being.

"That's what matters to you? How he affects the institute?"

"It's my job to do what's best for the—"

"You selfish cunt. You're just doing this to look good, aren't you? That's all you care about."

Veronica sighed.

"Yeah, all you care about is to look like a good president just so you get elected again because that's literally the only interesting thing about you. You don't even care that Lance is missing because, what, you're trying to sleep with him and if it gets out they're gonna see you as the slut you really are?"

"Oh, I'm the slut." Veronica muttered, getting Jeanne to stiffen up.

"What did you just say to me?" Jeanne gritted.

"I'm not saying anything, you're just....very men-driven nowadays." Veronica huffed, shaking her head slightly.

"So I care about a guy gone missing and that makes me a slut in your book? Noted!"

"It's not that."

"What is it then, huh?"

"Don't think I don't know what you've been doing, Jeanne." Veronica met her eyes, giving her a plain yet disappointed look.

Jeanne hesitated. "Okay, so what? People talk crap, and it's not like it's any of your business what I do with my time anyways!"

"It is my business." Veronica insisted.

"No it’s not! Who do you think you are!?"

"I'm your fucking president, that’s who I am!" Veronica snapped, raising her voice at Jeanne.

The former didn’t pause for long.

"I'm your president, I'm your friend, and I am supposed to look out for you! I've given you enough freedom, and this is what you've done? What is your mum going to think about," —she gestured wildly at Jeanne— "about this?”

Jeanne scoffed, eyeing herself down as Veronica's hands pointed vaguely at her. "About what?"

"Look at you!"

"What does that even mean?" Jeanne cried, her brows knitting.

"Who are you?”

A heavy silence fell over the small office, both girls staring at each other.

Veronica exhaled again, looking at Jea with guilt in her eyes, "Jeanne."

"No, fuck you, Veronica. Seriously." Jeanne spat, gripping Lance's phone tighter now. "And you wonder why I walked away."

Veronica clenched her jaw. "Yeah, well, how is that working out for you?

"It's working out just great!" Jeanne scoffed, turning her back on Veronica to make her way out.

"Yeah? You enjoying those STDs?" Veronica replied, making Jeanne spin around almost instantly.

Jeanne didn't hesitate to charge towards Veronica, delivering a harsh slap across the other woman's face and sending her stumbling back.

Veronica supported herself against her desk, her eyes wide as she gingerly touched her stinging cheek. She grounded her teeth, barreling to Jeanne who flinched under the assumption that she was going to be struck back. This gave Veronica the chance to steal Lance's phone away from Jea's hold and making a beeline for the door.

Jeanne gasped and followed behind. "What are you doing!"

"I am tired of your bullshit, and I'm giving the phone back. You're only getting us in danger and you're feeding yourself with delusions and stupidity." Veronica replied with a stern determination as she walked down the dark, empty hallways of the learning building. She already seemed decided on where to go.

Jea tried to keep up as best as she could, but it turned out to be hard because Veronica's long legs made her storm faster. Even now, she wondered why Veronica hadn't ever tried out for the track team here like she had back in middle school.

The chase followed from Veronica's office all the way to the other end of E Hall that connected to the faculty building, where Jeanne got locked out from since Veronica was quick to use her access card to slip inside and shut the door before Jea could catch up to her.

"Fuck!" Jea spat, running towards the closed door and slamming her fists against it.

"Come out, Veronica!" Jeanne called out in frustration, "This isn't funny!"

All she got in reply, though, was utter silence.

And an impending worry in her gut.

Vecky slammed the door of the faculty building behind her, panting slightly from the adrenaline of the chase. She quickly composed herself, fixing her short, dark hair along with her uniform. She had to find Mr. Yellow. As she made her way to his office, she tried to come up with a story that got any suspicions or blame off of her and Jeanne's back. She wasn't given a chance to think, however, as something else caught her attention.

The faculty building always had a quiet atmosphere to itself, usually completely silent during the weekends because teachers weren't working and guards wouldn't check in in a while because of the later curfew students were given Fridays and Saturdays. At least one would expect it to be. That's why Vecky quickly stopped in her tracks when he heard a group of voices ushering behind a half-open door on her way to Mr. Yellow's office.

It was probably just some guards on their break hanging out, Vecky shrugged mentally, about to pick up her step again when another familiar voice chimed into the conversation made her come to a stop again.

"Any leads yet, then?"

Mr. Yellow. Ah, there he was. She'd stop by, give him the phone, then—

"I need his phone as soon as possible, understood? We can't risk anyone telling Mr. Hansen about his son just yet."

"Yep Yep!" The group of guards agreed in unison.

"Bring me the thief of the phone as well. Send them to UnderGround, actually. Just throw 'em in there, yeah?" Mr. Yellow casually ordered. Once again, the guards all collectively agreed.

Vecky stiffened, looking at the same phone in her hand that the guards were so desperately looking for. She hadn't stolen the phone herself, but she had been in Lance's room last night, and she didn't want to throw Jeanne under the bus just for trying to find some answers, but damnit, Jeanne should've left the phone back at his room.

Okay, change of plans. Veronica slid Hansen's phone into the pocket of her blazer, turning around to head for the exit. Just a few seconds later, though, her own phone began ringing out of the sudden. Her eyes grew in panic as she fumbled with it, pulling it out of her other pocket.

Incoming call from: Jeannie. 

Probably calling to tell her to come back and open the door. Her fingers quickly moved to hang up on her, but it seemed the noise had already caught Mr. Yellow's attention.

"Who's out there?" The principal asked as he stood outside of the now quiet room. Vecky slowly looked over her shoulder, her heart nervously pounding on the walls of her chest.

As soon as the older man recognized her face, his own expression warmed up at the sight of the beloved president. "Ah, it's just you, Laurent!

Vecky hesitantly stepped back around to face Mr. Yellow, hiding her fear behind an awkward chuckle. 

"Ah, yes! I just came to, uh, update you on the progress of the winter dance. Seems you're busy, though, so I was just on my way out." She explained, gesturing behind her.

Mr. Yellow nodded comprehensively. "It's fine, you can update me right now." He assured Vecky.

"Right, well," she began, but the words quickly got stuck in her throat. Crap. She had spaced out for a while and didn't remember a single thing she had done as of "progress" during the day.

As Vecky uncharacteristically stammered over her words, Mr. Yellow's head lightly cocked to the side.

"We worked on a few crafts and handmade flowers, and uhm. The—uh.…"

"You're not here to update me, aren't you." He deadpanned, his warm expression gone in an instant.

"What? No, I—" Vecky began.

"Gentle." Mr. Yellow ordered, looking over her shoulder.

Before she had a chance to turn around, a quick, steady hand struck the side of her neck strategically from behind, knocking her out cold.

Veronica's body fell limp on the ground, Hansen's phone dropping out of her pocket. Mr. Yellow let out an amused scoff, bending down to pick up the device as the guard that had come behind her wordlessly picked the woman up into his arms.

"What do we do with her?" The guard asked, adjusting the unconscious woman in his hold.

"What did I just tell you to do?"

"Miss Laurent, though?"

The principal spared Veronica a glance.

"She was bound to find out soon, anyways." Mr. Yellow answered, once again meeting the hesitant guard's eyes.

"She's not any different," he continued, "Send her to UnderGround too."

Chapter Text

His house was technically a few hours away by plane, but Lance never really figured out where his home was. He considered himself to be a tenant everywhere he went and lived in. A tenant in his body, a tenant in his dorm, and a tenant in his gilded estate back in New York. He had no sentimental attachment to any place he’d been in. They were just places of residence. A roof over his head.

Matter of fact, he had no sentimental attachment to anything, period. When his family’s legacy was one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the US, he was taught that the real medicine for the heart were things like Diuretics and Nitroglycerin and not hugs and real connections. Take it from his parents, Hank Evan Hansen and his mother, whose name was so prohibited in his household he eventually came to forget it. 

Good riddance, his father would always say. The woman was nothing but a poor excuse of a wife and a mother, eventually filing for a divorce and leaving Hank to take care of the child by himself. He was barely even 3 by then. He didn’t even have a name yet—usually just referred to around the nannies of the Texan household as “the baby” or “it”. But he’d make one for himself.

And that’s how Lance Ian Hansen was born. Not through big, athletic or academic achievements at an early age like the people he surrounded himself with, but, according to himself, it was pretty much the scientific breakthrough: His understanding of women.

Understanding, not in the sense where he empathized with women and cared about them deeply, but in the sense that he knew how to play them like an instrument. He knew what to do, when to do it, and how to do it to keep a lady coming back to him or even from leaving him at all. And he had no one but his father to thank for it.

From an early age, Lance watched as his father’s “new friends” came and went by the week, by the day, and sometimes even by the hour. They were all nice, gorgeous ladies. Some of them, so sure of themselves, even tried to get him to start calling them “mom,” but Lance was smart enough to understand he’d only see these women maybe once or twice in his life. That was the way his father worked, refusing to commit to anyone else after the divorce and focusing on his business instead, which really paid off in money and fame. 

Hansen Pharmaceutics was highly praised for developing Butyldecanoid, a medicine that enhanced the performance of the muscles of the body in an effect almost identical to steroids. Only difference? It wasn’t banned from sports just yet. Famous athletes, fitness influencers, and people in general spent their money and built the golden throne Hank Hansen sat in, also allowing him the chance to buy an estate in the hills of Eastern New York by the time Lance was 10. He was then enrolled into a private school somewhere in Manhattan to continue his education in both academics and girls.

Puberty arrived as a blessing to Lance, making him grow into the school’s ‘pretty boy’ by the age of 14 and gathering the attention of every single teenage girl in his grade. Yet, he only had his eyes set on one. Believe it or not, there was once a time where Lance stayed determined on—or rather, committed to—one person, and that girl was the one and only Sophia Atkinson. Daughter of Luke Atkinson, one of his father’s coworkers, but she had a legacy of her own. Gorgeous butter blonde, blue-eyed girl with delicate features that landed her a modeling career since she was 8. She introduced the concept of love at first sight to Lance, and wasn’t he a fool. From the moment she set foot in his 5th grade class, Lance already knew that she was all he wanted.

And he got so close to getting it.

Starting from just sharing a class, to being lab partners, to befriending each other, to hanging out outside of school at a point it almost became a daily thing. 

Eventually, her presence to him felt homely. Safe. She too lacked the presence of a mother in her life, she too had moved from place to place and felt so distant from her life as it went by in a blur. She was relatable and comfortable. Not only had he fallen for her looks, but her personality. Her being. He liked the way Sophia felt familiar to him. The way he could see a future with her, the way he could love her, despite her flaws. 

And flaws she had.

Sophia, being so popular at a young age, was exposed to this certain lifestyle so early. So early, she reeked of it at just 15. And she knew nothing but this, and this only. And only this was what Sophia knew what to do, to expose Lance to this lifestyle. The lifestyle of drugs.

When the two hung out and were alone in her apartment, she’d sit him down on her couch, smash pills into dust and line them up, all in front of him. They would share deep conversations just to get high afterwards to forget all of it. And when he’d feel unsure, Sophia would tell him the sweetest promises. That it wasn’t as serious as the other pills, that it’d be fun. He’d enjoy it, she’d say, as much as she did. Despite this, despite this nasty habit she’d had him exposed to, Lance couldn’t say his father disapproved of their ‘relationship’. Or maybe he was just unsupervised. Because he definitely was.

So, unsupervised, Lance caved in. 

And unsupervised, Lance met the consequences.

He remembers how nervous he was that day. That same day, he was willing to, for once, take the step forward and ask Sophia out on a proper date. Obviously, he lacked any experience in real relationships, so he couldn’t find the right words to say once she answered the door. He struggled to utter anything as she dragged him to her living room with excitement. All the same, he hesitated as her hands playfully sat him down on the leather couch. He managed to utter a meek ‘Would you’, but didn’t finish his sentence before she was on her way back to the kitchen. He managed to clear his throat eventually, but the girl was already smashing the pills into the pile of dust and lining them up accordingly. 

He berated himself for being so anxious, wiping the palms of his hands with the fabric of his pants as they sweated while he couldn’t help but admire her even as she did such distasteful things like setting up lines of whatever medication she was using this time on the surface of the table.

He had, long ago, promised himself that he’d help Sophia out of this habit of hers if they were to marry. He wasn’t sure if he was going to stick to this plan now, because all it took from her was a little coaxing and he’d be on his knees by the edge of the coffee table, snorting those same lines he’d sworn to take away from her someday.

Someday, he promised again. But that fateful day, lines were snorted, lines were blurred, and when the blurriness in his vision for once faded earlier than it should’ve, when the effects felt numb to its accustomed host, was when he realized he was under the influence of not just any drug, but GHB. And she was very well aware of it and what it could do to a person.

Her hands had been working on unbuttoning his white shirt with familiarity, as if they already knew their way around his body, like they had been there before. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure if it was shock or the Gamma-Hydroxybutyric Acid in his body that prevented him from stopping her. But something did, because he couldn’t prevent her from unbuckling his belt and pulling his clothes down as if his privacy was something to be disregarded. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t tell her off, but his breath could hitch once the hands found their way around him and manipulate his blood to rush down along its wake.

He couldn’t move. But he could focus on something else, like how hot the leather couch felt under his sweaty skin, or the pattern on the ceiling. He couldn’t move, but his body could. He only watched as his own flesh and bones moved on their own to betray him and make it seem like he was willing to do this when, once again, He. Couldn’t. Move.

Next thing he knew, he was standing in his shower, with his arms wrapped tightly around his body as if they were afraid that, if they were to let go, it would bring him back to the leather couch. He didn’t know how he had made it home. He didn’t know how to feel about what happened. He didn’t know why he felt so scared, shocked, dirty, if it was her who he had wanted all along. Who he loved, or at least, promised himself to, despite her flaws. 

And that thought exactly is what got him to come back to her again, and again, and again. To let his body be used to her desires over and over and willingly bringing himself to the same couch he desperately tried to avoid under the assumption that it was true love. And by the end of it, he’d find himself standing under the pressure of his shower time and again, with arms either embracing his own body or trying to scrub the evidence of her sinful hands, mouth, flesh off his skin at a point it burnt. At a point he couldn’t stand it. He didn’t want to feel like a tenant in his body, forced to watch as it was taken advantage of over and over. He wanted to be in control.

“I want to move.” He managed through his teeth.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ian, you’ve got it all here.” His father replied, not even sparing his son a glance from his newspaper. 

He had built the guts to come to his father’s office one early morning. He needed to share this truth with someone, and he had no one but his father to share it with. But he wasn’t ready to be dismissed so easily. Clenching his fists, he repeated.

“I want to move.”

This time around, his father looked up and noticed him. The man raised an eyebrow at the absolute mess he was.

“What’s with you?” He asked.

Lance stood by the doorway, breathing shakily as he hesitated to speak.

“Father, I...” He began.

He looked at his father, getting more overwrought at the situation. His father, even more confused, sat up straighter to look at him.

“Dad.” Lance croaked. He wanted to say a million things, yet they were all held back on his throat, making it sound like a choked sob.

“Ian?”

“I wanna move, dad. Let me move, please.” 

“Why? What’s wrong with you?”

“I wanna move, far—very far away. Please, dad. I can’t—I cannot be here anymore.”

His protests were pitiful enough for his father to consider sending him somewhere far away, but he never actually asked Lance to elaborate or tell him just why he wanted to move out so badly.

So that’s how Lance found himself, somewhere in some city of some country in Northern Europe, in the office of Dr. James Yellow, the founder and principal of the Golden Institute, who just happened to be one of his dad’s connections. He had his full scholarship paid for and began taking classes there halfway through sophomore year. It was back to the starting point for Lance once he stepped into his new dorm, having to make it familiar for himself again.

And he’d do just that.

Easily finding some willing people, Lance found temporary warmth in the bodies that he brought to his bed. One after one, it became more of an addiction rather than a way of reassurance that he, in fact, could move. That he had control and grasp over what his body did and when it did. 

And it helped him, somewhat. It sure got him the popularity he used to have back in America. But that wasn’t really what he was looking for, was it?

It was not what he needed.

So, when the same room he had worked so hard on to make personal for himself—to make his—was ambushed, when his hands and feet were bound to prevent any struggle, any ‘progress’ he had made went straight out the window. If, there was one in UnderGround, that is.

The room he was thrown in lacked any ventilation or light sources besides a small gap underneath the metal door, which barely even let him see his own chest that fell and rose swiftly with the fear of being alone–of being unable to move again. 

But not even being kidnapped alone was as surprising as seeing another body be thrown into UnderGround the same way he was. And not even that was as surprising as seeing that the person thrown into UnderGround was, also, the most unlikely.

This would’ve been probably the nicest sleep Vecky had gotten in a while if it wasn’t for the fact that she was woken up by being roughly grounded onto the concrete floor.

And by a voice.

“Pres?” That voice hurriedly asked as it shook her awake with the sole of a shoe.

“What…” Vecky muttered in confusion, her eyes fluttering open and looking around. Though there was nothing much to look at. Besides Hansen.

Wait.

“Hansen?” She asked, not too far from as hurried as the other before she realized that Hansen’s dirty wing-tip-derby-shoe sole was pushing and prodding at her shoulder. “Hansen! Get your shoe off me!”

“My hands are tied, woman!” Hansen snapped, yet obediently removed his bound feet away from her with a slight hesitance.

Vecky, not restrained herself, warily sat up in an attempt to fully regain her consciousness. 

The last thing Vecky remembered was her argument with Jeanne — the shouting, the struggle over the phone, she even could still vividly feel the sting of Jeanne’s fingers against her cheek if she focused on it enough. But how’d she’d gotten to this dark, square room with Hansen cinched by his arms and legs, her memory was still quite blurry.

“What are you doin’ here?” Hansen queried, his eyes wide and darting over Vecky with a sense of worry as the other came to her senses.

“What are you doing here?” Vecky shot back, finally turning back to face Lance.

“I don’t know, Pres, but I need you to untie me.” Hansen demanded rather quickly. He must’ve realized this, as he corrected his tone straight away. “Please untie me. I need to move.”

“Ah,” Vecky muttered in realization to the other’s predicament, crawling to the young man’s aid and hastily working on the zip ties that bound Hansen’s arms and trying to ease them open.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Miss Laurent.” A deep, almost robotic voice emerged from the opening metal door, getting both Hansen and Veronica to shift their attention towards the entering person.

A tall figure, dressed in black tactical gear from head to toe stepped into the room, the thuds of his heavy combat boots the only sound in the chamber as the two poor students were silenced in fear. A guard.

Hansen shot Vecky a glance, a panicked one, as if her high position in the school hierarchy could somehow get them out of this situation and he was expecting her to do something.

“She can’t help you, Mr. Hansen.” The guard interrupted his thoughts, walking deeper into the room until he was standing closely to the two. He unexpectedly grabbed Vecky by the back of the collar of her blazer and yanked her off of Hansen roughly. “She ain’t no president down ‘ere.” 

Vecky fell by the feet of another guard who they hadn’t noticed was in the room with them, and he knelt down to sit her up and cuff her hands behind her back with a zip tie. 

“What is this?” Vecky asked, struggling against the second guard’s grip.

“Let her go, asshole!” Hansen snarled from the other side of the room, only to receive a fist to his cheekbone as a punishment.

“Oh, no, no, no, Lance. You won’t be disrespectin’ us like that. Not when you’re this deep in trouble.” The first guard threatened, watching as Hansen recovered from the punch.

Trouble? Hansen was in trouble? Vecky would’ve known by now.

Four other guards entered the space, all which worked together to get Hansen on his feet and escort him outside despite his protests. 

“Hansen! No! Where are you taking him!?” Vecky cried in panic, trying to stand up and follow behind yet being stopped by the second guard placing a stern hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about Lance, Miss Laurent. He’s gonna be fine.” The guard standing behind her assured her, keeping the young woman down from trying to struggle or pull away.

Another group of guards came into the room and now came to tower over Vecky, getting her to rise to her feet as well.

“As for you, though…” The guard calmly continued as one of the men tied a piece of fabric over her eyes, “...we got other plans.” 

Chapter Text

The crowd roared loudly in pride and celebration of yet another win of the Golden Institute’s Lady Lions. The institute was on a roll, with 7 wins and 2 losses so far in the season, two wins being this weekend alone. Yet another foreign school left humiliated by the prowess of the absolute ‘Beasts’ (as coach liked to call them) the Lady Lions were while the victorious team made their way back to the locker rooms with pride on their chests at their paid-off hard work. 

But Yanira stayed behind on the court. She stood by the door that led back to the showers, dabbing a small towel on her sweaty skin as she hopelessly waited.

“You good, Candella?” Coach Cooper’s voice emerged from behind her, and she could feel the older woman place a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Yes, ma’am, I’m just waiting.” Yanira explained, nodding her head towards the emptying court as her eyes searched and picked out at the crowd. 

Earlier in this Sunday morning, when Vero missed their weekly online mass, Yanira just figured her roommate had busied herself with the preparations of the winter dance. She didn’t hold it against her, especially when she had been warned by Vero that the winter was a very loaded time for her due to the work preparing the annual winter ball brought to her already busy table. So, she had just taken the online mass on her own.

But Veronica never missed one of her home games. Not only because she wanted to come out here and support her, but also because, as the Student Council President, she had to be there to additionally represent the council, monitor the court, support the basketball team in general, and socialize. They had to make it a duty just so Veronica felt like doing it.

And she did, she always did. So the fact that she hadn’t seen her once tonight was slightly alarming to Yanira. 

“No signs of Miss Laurent yet?” The older woman asked, her own eyes darting over the stands and moving people.

Coach Cooper was aware of this little routine Yanira and Veronica had, and she too had expected for her athlete’s roommate to come and congratulate them for today’s victory. 

“I should go look for her,” Yanira muttered, about to head to the flow of the crowd before the coach's hand squeezed her shoulder tightly.

“Don’t.” Coach Cooper commanded, to which Yanira raised a questioning brow to.

“She’s probably with the press right now,” Coach explained, coaxing Yanira to begin heading down to the door behind them instead, “And you’re gonna miss wings night. You’ll probably see her tonight at the dorm.”

“Ah, okay, okay, okay. Yeah, I want wings.” Yanira nodded, walking to the door behind them before hesitantly glancing back to the court.

Sunday night went by like a blur as Yanira laughed, danced, and celebrated with her team while eating wings at the Golden Institute’s Lion Lounge. She almost forgot about Vero’s absence for the day until she came back to a cold, empty dorm by 11:30. 

Yanira called out her name a few times, checked in the kitchen, then her bedroom, bathroom, couch, desk, anywhere. But Vero simply wasn’t there. 

That was odd. Veronica lived afraid of ever breaking the curfew set by the school faculty, so she’d rarely be out by now, 4 hours past 7:00 p.m. It made her almost take out her phone and call her until she heard a frantic knock at the door.

“Ay, Vero. did you forget your keys?” Yanira sighed under her breath, feeling a sense of relief as she walked up to the door and unlocked it. But she was received by someone else.

“You thought you were gonna get away, didn’t you? Well, I–” The young woman before the door growled as soon as the door opened, but she dropped the threatening tone as soon as she realized whoever opened the door was not who she was looking for, staring up at Yanira instead, dumbfounded.

“Excuse me?” Yanira asked, eyeing the smaller girl down. What was this girl coming to her door so aggressive for?

“You’re not Veronica. Who are you?” The woman asked, her eyes darting between Yanira and the door number, questioning if she had gotten the right dorm to knock at.

“I’m Yanira. Yanira Candella?” Yanira asked, cocking an eyebrow and hoping her last name would do its work and make the other instantly recognize who she was. Apparently, this girl didn’t care for the institute’s basketball team, because it still didn’t click. With a sigh, she continued, “I’m Veronica’s roommate. Who are you?”

At the word roommate, the shorter woman knitted her eyebrows, her mouth slightly turning down to closely resemble the aggressive frown she’d worn when Yanira answered the door. 

“Roommate, huh?” The other scoffed, her eyes moving from Yanira’s feet up to her eyes and back down her body disapprovingly before answering her question. “Name’s Jea. I’m looking for my ex-roommate.” 

Yanira’s expression darkened slightly. Jea, as in Jeanne Allen. She hadn’t really met her in person before, but she’d been told a lot about her from Vero. From what she’d heard, Jea wasn’t the kind of person she’d want to be around.

“It’s you.” Yanira muttered, watching Jeanne as she walked into the dorm uninvited, still persistent on her search.

“Veronica tell you much ‘bout me?” Jeanne asked with a light huff as she came to stand in the living room and scanning the space with her eyes.

Yanira would’ve probably kicked Jeanne out by now, but something about her presence gave her the feeling that it would somehow bring her answers as to what happened to her roommate. So she slowly closed the door instead.

“You sure left a mess behind you.” Yanira replied, only gaining a quiet scoff from the other, who turned to look at the athlete in disdain.

“Let me guess. Vecky made you pick up after me instead of doing it herself?” Jeanne asked, the sarcasm evident in her voice. When Yanira didn’t reply, only furrowing her brows, Jeanne took it as her cue to continue, “Classic Veronica.”

Jeanne turned back and kept searching the dorm, going about the same way of looking for Vero as Yanira had a few minutes ago. “Speaking of Veronica…” Jeanne hummed.

“She’s not here.” Yanira interrupted before the other could even begin.

“Not falling for that. I know she’s hiding from me.” Jeanne insisted, now charging towards the bedroom and coming to stop once she noticed both beds empty, Veronica’s looking like it hadn’t been rested on for days. Still, Jeanne was sure she was hiding somewhere. “Nice try, Veronica, you can come on out!”

“Dio’mio contigo, mujer, I’m telling you she’s not here.” Yanira groaned, catching up to Jeanne inside the bedroom as the other, once again, turned to look at her.

“How do I know you ain’t lying to me?” Jeanne challenged. 

“Because lying is a sin and I’m a child of–”

“Stop talkin’ bollocks and just tell me if Veronica is here or not!”

Yanira scoffed exasperatedly. Just how many times had she already told Jeanne that Veronica was not here? She ran her hands through her face, clenching and unclenching her fingernails against her palms in an attempt to calm herself down and not snap at Jeanne. Though the idea was very tempting. It just made her wonder how Vero had dealt with her on a daily basis.

“I haven’t seen her all day.” Yanira managed to mutter, her patience leaving as quick as her mumbled words.

“Wha’ about this morning?” Jeanne followed up.

Oh, she was really testing her, wasn’t she?

“Tu si ere’—I said all day.” Yanira gritted through her teeth.

“Not even last night?” Jeanne added, to which Yanira shook her head to.

Jeanne hummed, seeming to process the information in her head for a few seconds before pulling out her phone. She dialed what Yanira guessed was Vero’s number and walked around the dorm as if she expected to hear it somewhere.

Yanira steeled herself with a deep breath and continued to follow the shorter woman around the space. “Why are you even looking for her? I thought you guys broke up or something.”

Jeanne shot her a sharp glance over her shoulder at the question. “It wasn’t—She really—Ugh.” Jeanne scoffed at her own stammering, taking a moment to compose herself. “Did she tell you about Friday night?” Jeanne asked, more steadily than before. 

“I was out.”

“Out?”

“I had a game.”

“Oh.”

“Last time I saw her was Thursday night, after she came back from…tutoring. Even then, she was acting kind of nervous. You wouldn’t know why that is, would you?” Yanira asked, raising a suspicious brow. 

Jeanne just stared at Yanira, noticing how she probably was connecting the wrong dots together. “No. God, Yanira, no.” 

“Then what is this whole ‘Friday night’ thing about?” 

“It’s—a long story. Point is, she’s got something that is mine, but she turned it in to the principal and I need it back. Like, now. Emergency now.”

“What is it?”

“A phone.” 

Yanira’s eyes trailed down to Jeanne’s hand, which was still holding the phone that she used to call Vero with. “You got that phone.” 

“Well, yes, but it’s not my phone I’m lookin’ for.” 

“Then don’t say Vero’s got something that ‘is yours’ when it isn’t.” 

“But I need it!” 

“Why?”

Jeanne groaned in frustration. “Do I really have to explain every single bloody thing to you?”

“If you want to find Veronica, then, yes! You do!” 

Like a petulant child, Jeanne groaned again. “Fine!” She reluctantly scoffed.

Yanira crossed her arms expectantly, looking down at Jeanne as the other seemed to be coming up with the right way to explain whatever situation she had gotten herself and Vero into. She didn’t like the idea of Veronica hanging around Jeanne again, especially if everything she heard and learned about this woman was most likely against Yanira’s values and beliefs. Also, most likely, against her own will.

“Vecky is tutoring. I’m not bluffin’, she’s tutoring Lance Hansen. And he, just went missing.”

“How did he go missing on school grounds?”

“I’m getting there. There’s this thing, or—or place. ‘S called ‘UnderGround’ or something. I think that’s where they took ‘im.”

“What?” 

“We went to his dorm. As in me and Veronica. And he wasn’t there, and there were these guards, that—”

“Vero doesn’t ever break into rooms.”

“Can you shut your gob for a second? I’m getting there, damnit. Believe me, Veronica did not want to be there.” 

“Then why was she there?”

“I forced her to be there.”

“Because of course you did.”

“It was for a good reason! I wanted to—ugh. As I was saying, there were guards, and they came into the room, and they started talking about this ‘UnderGround’ place, and how they were looking ‘round for his phone, but they didn’t find it, because I had it. Right?”

Yanira nodded reluctantly. “Right.” 

“This phone could be a major piece of information to find Lance, and Veronica, in her pissy mood, took it to the principal! And now, she’s hiding from me because she knows I was gonna track her down here.”

Yanira sighed quietly. She took a moment to try and come to understand Jeanne’s story, although the events sounded like straight bullcrap she had just come up with on the spot. 

People going missing? In a boarding school? Veronica breaking and entering into dorms? ‘Under ground’? Did Jeanne really expect her to fall for something like that?

“And when did Veronica…take this phone?” Yanira asked, almost wary of this story of Jeanne’s. 

“Saturday. It was like 6. We argued, got a little heated, and I—she took the phone. Then she went to the faculty building and just locked herself in there. Ignoring my calls an’ everything.” Jeanne elaborated.

Yanira granted her another silence as she thought about her reply. She raised a hand to her mouth in deep pondering as she herself tried to recall ever seeing Vecky in any instance after Thursday night. 

“I got back from Liverpool around 8 last night. I didn’t really see her, but I just thought she was working late again.” 

Jeanne furrowed her brows again, although it was now in contemplation instead of anger. “Do you remember the time you went to bed?”

“Knocked out as soon as I got here.” Yanira replied simply.

“Ever woke up during the night? Maybe saw ‘er on her own bed?” Jeanne followed up.

“I’m a deep sleeper, so no. I did wake up at 5 to go for a run, but she was gone again.”

Jeanne’s eyes were fixed on the floor, and Yanira just assumed she was still ruminating on the facts she’d just been given. Though she didn’t enjoy the hint of panic behind the other’s usually calmly careless expression.

“What if she has been gone this whole time? Since Saturday?” Jeanne asked, her tone so uncharacteristically quiet it agitated Yanira to a certain extent.

“What do you mean?” 

“This UnderGround place. What if she was taken, too?” Jeanne explained.

Yanira huffed lightly. The idea of this hypothetical place Jeanne kept bringing up seemed a bit ridiculous to her, but she wouldn’t reprimand the other woman for feeling worried about Veronica. To be fair, she felt worried too. 

“Jeanne, you still don’t know if this ‘underground’ place is real or not, it could still just be…” Yanira began to try and ease Jeanne down, though she trailed off once she noticed Jeanne’s gaze had widened slightly as she glared at the front door. The small gap under it, to be precise. 

Without a word, Jeanne made her way to look through the kitchen cabinets with a quiet hastiness and hid on the first that seemed empty enough.

“What are you—” Yanira began to question, only to be shushed by Jeanne as she closed the cabinet door on herself.

Before Yanira could even bring herself to doubt Jeanne’s strange behavior, she heard the faint ‘beep!’ noise from the front door that indicated someone had unlocked it with a keycard.

The door softly croaked open, and in came Veronica.

Yanira straightened up, her eyes widening slightly as she—for the first time in days—met the sight of her roomie, who was walking in ever so casually and sliding off of her Mary Jane shoes as if it wasn’t almost a quarter before twelve. 

“Veronica?” Yanira croaked, finding her throat to have become slightly dry from the surprise. 

“Hi, sorry. I fell asleep at my office.” Vero apologized, brushing past her roommate as she made a beeline for the bedroom. 

Yanira raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the kitchen, where she noticed Jeanne peeking out of her hiding spot, as visibly surprised as Yanira herself was feeling at the moment.

Vero came to a stop in front of the bed, not minding to close the door as she abruptly moved to unbutton her navy blazer and shrug it off, letting it thud to the ground. 

“Uh, Vero, if you–”

“Were you talking to someone, just now?” Vero suddenly asked, turning around to walk up to Yanira as her pale hand came to loosen her red tie with a slight jerkiness to her movements.

Yanira’s eyes followed the journey of Veronica’s hands, which now came to unbutton the white long-sleeve underneath, and she took it as her cue to peel her eyes away. 

“I was FaceTiming my mom,” Yanira lied, “I had to tell her about today’s win. Which, uh—makes me wonder…did you miss the game? Today?”

“I had a very hard day at StuCo.” Veronica murmured, and even if Yanira wasn’t exactly looking at her, she could feel her dark brown eyes staring into her soul from her peripheral, almost expecting something out of her. 

“Oh, is that why you…”

“I swear I could’ve heard Jeanne’s voice in here, before I came inside.” Veronica interrupted, making Yanira tense up. She couldn’t imagine how Jeanne was doing, hiding inside the cabinet under the sink. 

“Jajaja…really?” Yanira nervously replied. She wasn’t one to be threatened by Vero much, but something about her brusque demeanor tonight made Yanira want to avoid the possibility of her roommate ever finding out that Jeanne was, indeed, in their room right now.

Veronica shouldered her shirt off, letting it fall to the ground as she kept her eyes on Yanira. “...yeah.” Veronica replied, though her tone didn’t even challenge a soft mumble. 

Yanira stayed quiet, her eyes glued to the ceiling as she awkwardly stood there, her hands buried in the pockets of her pants. Though, she could feel her roommate’s darting from her jersey to her grey sweats.

Breaking the silence, Veronica spoke up. 

“...Do miss her, sometimes,” She breathed, turning back and padding to the bedroom with an almost defeated pace.

Yanira sighed. She couldn’t tell if Veronica was just tired or was really having one of those episodes again. “We went over this, Vero.”

“No, I know.” Veronica replied so simply, sliding her skirt off her legs and discarding it towards the other pieces of her uniform on the ground, climbing into her bed without even bothering to take off her thigh high stockings. 

“You aren’t going to hang your uniform?” Yanira questioned, looking at the pile of clothes left on the ground. She decided to bend over and help her friend put them away instead.

“I had a very long day at StuCo,” Veronica repeated, pulling the covers over herself and facing the wall as she closed her eyes, “and Jeanne isn’t here.”

Yanira stood visibly confused, carrying Veronica’s clothes in her arms now. She looked over her shoulder over to the kitchen, where she noticed Jeanne was still hidden in, probably too afraid to even take a peek. 

“Can you shut the door, please? The light from the kitchen, it’s…” Veronica nimbly requested, trailing off as she could hear Yanira step out and slowly close the bedroom door. 

Yanira shut the door, still a little bewildered from Veronica’s behavior tonight. She set the clothes on the couch, promising herself she’d hang them later before walking back to the kitchen. Yanira crouched in front of the kitchenette sink, opening the cabinet underneath to let the hiding woman know she was good to come out. 

Jeanne hesitantly crawled out of the cabinet, though her eyes were fixed on the closed bedroom door with an odd softness which just confused Yanira even more. 

Her caramel hand came to wrap around Jeanne’s arm, as she walked her out into the hallway. It wasn’t safe for them to talk inside of the dorm anymore. 

Yanira made sure the door closed as quietly as it could to not let Veronica know she had left, then turned to look at Jeanne to speak in a whisper.

“See? I told you there was no under–”

“That’s not Vecky.” Jeanne whispered back, although she sounded quite alarmed. 

“What?”

“Yanira, whatever you do, don’t tell her anything about what I just told you. No Friday night, no UnderGround, no Lance, nothing.” Jeanne urged.

“I–why? What’s wrong with Vero?”

“Meet me behind the learning building tomorrow at 3. We’ll—uh, we’ll figure this out. I gotta go before she notices I’m ‘ere.” Jeanne interrupted. 

There was a tone of desperation behind her words, so Yanira guessed the girl was being serious about all this. Still, she didn’t understand where she got the idea that the person in the room really wasn’t Vecky. 

Without letting Yanira get a word in, Jeanne was already swiftly rushing to the other end of the hall, presumably to make her way back to her own dorm before the guards began roaming the halls to look for anyone breaking the curfew.

What an odd girl.

Jea nibbled on the acrylic nail of her thumb impatiently. She’d spent the past minutes pacing in circles and waiting for this Pamela girl to make an appearance. Sure, she could do it on her own, but the thought of having to deal with the disappearance of Veronica alone and risk a visit to UnderGround wasn’t the most ideal outcome to the situation.

She pulled out her phone for probably the third time in the past 30 seconds to check the time once again as if it had somehow magically changed from the last time she did. It hadn’t. It was still 3:16.

Jea was getting a little irritated at the girl's unpunctuality, her feet subconsciously dragging her into another pacing fit. At least with Vecky, she didn’t have to worry about her being late to any of their meetups because the woman was such a promptitude freak.

As soon as she realized she was wandering in circles again, Jea forced herself to stop. She checked the time again and noticed one minute had gone by, which made her groan impatiently as she put her phone back down and let her forehead drop against the concrete of the learning building.

“What business do you even have at 3 in the bloody afternoon?” Jea grumbled under her breath. She was pretty much ready to start banging her head against the wall she was leaning on if she had to wait even one more minute.

“I got practice, actually.” A voice behind her made Jea flinch her way back around until she was facing Pamela, who had just gotten here.

“Pamela.” Jea mumbled, a tad bit startled.

“Yanira.” The other corrected, clearly offended at just how badly Jea had just butchered her name.

“Sorry, sorry.”

“How did you even mess it up that—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Seriously, people nowadays hear a hispanic name and they just…”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Common sense. Like, I at least know your name.”

“From how much Veronica has told you about me, I bet you do!” Jea huffed, shaking her head slightly before stilling. She shot Yanira a nervous glance. “How much has she told you about me, again?” 

“Enough.” Yanira replied, which did nothing to ease Jea’s worries. 

Yanira glanced at the building beside them, which was probably pretty much empty by now besides a few club members and the student council, who held their meetings after school. 

“So, what’s this all about?” Yanira asked, looking back at Jea as she rested her hands on her hips.

Jea took a deep breath, nodding as the conversation finally got somewhere. “Veronica. She, uh…”

“I still don’t understand why you said it wasn’t her.”

“Because it wasn’t. Didn’t you see how weird she was acting last night?”

Her missing you is not weird behavior, Jea.” Yanira retorted.

“I—Not that. The whole way she was behaving was off. It was like they…did something to her.” Jea uttered, bringing her nails back to her lips and chewing on them lightly in thought.

“Who’s ‘they’, again?”

“UnderGround, Mr. Yellow, someone.” 

“The principal.” Yanira stated flatly. She didn’t sound convinced.

“Well—she was on her way to Mr. Yellow’s office last time I saw her.” 

“You think the principal is kidnapping and cloning people.” Yanira added, still unpersuaded. 

“I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Jea sighed, and began to make her way around the building.

Yanira followed behind her trail, confused at what exactly Jea’s plan was. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going to get answers.” 

“Uh—don’t drag me into this. I gotta go back to practice, coach is gonna kill me if I’m not back by 3:30.”

Jea didn’t answer, coming to find the nearest door to enter the learning building. She tried pulling it open but was unable to. Fair enough, the doors did lock from the outside after 3:10. 

“See, that’s a sign it’s a bad idea.” Yanira spoke up from behind her. Even if Jea couldn’t see her, she could feel the other’s anxiety oozing out of her being. It reminded her so much of Veronica it almost made her roll her eyes. 

Jea reached for the pocket of her blazer, pulling out a white keycard and tapping it against the lock. The door clicked, and she was now able to go inside. 

Quietly, Jea pulled the door open, widely enough for two people to walk through. “You wanna do this for Vecky, yeah? I’ll have you back by 3:30, then. Come on.” Jea encouraged, nodding her chin towards the inside of the building. 

Yanira hesitated before tentatively making her way inside, and Jea followed suit as she shut the door with an accomplished smirk. She wasn’t too worried about getting in trouble right now. Any faculty members or security would probably figure they were just club members who had stayed after school making their way out. 

Obviously, that was not the case with Jea and Yanira, who instead of leaving, walked all the way to E-Hall. They lurked past the Student Council room, making sure they weren’t spotted by any council members before coming to a stop before the door to Veronica’s office. 

“Is she in there?” Yanira whispered.

“Doubt it. She usually leaves to the library ‘round 3:15 to go tutor. Last year, at least.” Jea replied, peeking through the small window on the wooden door to try and scan the dark room. Maybe the fact that the lights were off was a tell-tale sign that Veronica wasn’t inside. 

Jea took the white keycard out again, unlocking the door and parting it in order to peek inside. She looked back at Yanira with a nod, and the two women snuck inside, Yanira closing the door as quietly as she possibly could. 

“Guess I still got it.” Jea huffed humorously, walking up to Veronica’s desk and snooping around for answers.

“Weren’t we going to see Mr. Yellow?” Yanira asked, although she herself was also looking around the room curiously. She’d probably never been here before. It made Jea feel a little exclusive. 

“As soon as we get the faculty building keycard, we will.” Jea replied, walking around the desk and taking a seat on Veronica’s chair. Oddly enough, the fabric of it was warm. Recently sat on. 

“Can’t you just use the little keycard you have now?” Yanira questioned, also walking to stand upon the wooden desk. 

“It just works on the learning building and this office in particular. Veronica made it for me. She forgot to ask for it back, though, so I just…have it handy.” Jea explained, her hands carefully rummaging through the drawers of the desk.

Jea could only hope Veronica kept a copy of her keycard in her office. It had the authorization of almost every building and room in campus, and it would make things easier for the both of them tenfold. To be honest, Jea had been wanting to find this exact copy since sophomore year, but at least she now had a real, serious reason to look for it that wasn’t just for gossip and fun. It eased down her guilt of snooping around the woman’s office a little.

“Okay, uh, what are we looking for, here?” Yanira followed up

Jea looked up from the drawer for a second, her eyes darting from Yanira to around the office. 

“Uhh…try lookin’ for a keycard. A red one. Maybe just a keycard in general. That should probably get us into the faculty building.” Jea ordered before going back to searching. Yanira picked up on her own snooping as she went about raking through the office cabinets by the wall.

The search prolonged for way longer than Jea expected it to. Veronica’s office was a lot messier and unorganized than how Jea remembered. The woman’s mind was clearly all over the place, like the papers scattered on the wooden surface. It wasn’t dirty. More…unkept. 

Feeling frustrated that she wasn’t finding anything, Jea pulled the last drawer of the desk open. Only for this one to be almost empty except for a picture frame placed upside down that roughly bumped with the walls of the container by how carelessly she had opened it. Jea reached for the frame to check if anything was hidden under it before noticing the picture in question.

Her eyes softened as she flipped the frame and recognized the picture. It was them, after all, smiling under the winter sun on some beach in Bamburgh during their freshman year Christmas break. Even then, she hated this picture. Her smile looked off, and the bikini she’d chosen to take to the coast that day didn’t look flattering on her at all, all while standing next to Veronica, who basically looked like a goddess even if just awkwardly grinning and holding up a peace sign. 

She recalled begging Vecky to delete it and never post it anywhere. She thought she had. Apparently, the smug bitch kept it and framed it. Somehow, Jea couldn’t bring herself to be mad. Her heart instead swelling in her chest in a way she had even forgotten it could. 

“Jea, it’s 3:27. I really gotta go. I’ll help you tomorrow, okay? We’ll find this keycard.” Yanira called out, though her voice sounded kind of faint as Jea found her gaze fixed on Veronica in the photo.

“Yeah. Keycard. Tomorrow. See ya.” Jea mumbled, keeping her eyes on the frame as she heard the door slide shut behind Yanira.

Jea didn’t know how long it had been since she’d started staring at the picture, but noises outside of the office made her snap out of her trance. She muttered a string of curses, stashing the frame back into the bottom drawer and trying to set everything back to the way she’d found it before she started rummaging through her stuff. Jea glanced up at the door and felt a sense of panic once she recognized Veronica unlocking the door.

Finding nowhere else to hide, Jea crouched on the closed space beneath the desk, huddling into the corner of it where she knew she couldn’t be seen. 

Soon enough, the door croaked open, and Jea heard the unsteady thuds of Veronica’s footsteps come closer as she stepped in. 

Jea flinched as Veronica’s legs came into view from under the desk, slumping Veronica onto the office chair as if they were giving up on her on the spot. 

The same legs scooted the chair closer to the desk in order for Veronica to rest her head on it, making Jeanne crawl back against the corner even further. If she even could, at this point.

The woman seemed to be mumbling something under her breath in her native tongue that Jea couldn’t understand, but she could tell the other was searching through her drawers with a sense of desperation she’d never seen before.

“Mon tel…” Veronica mumbled groggily, opening drawer after drawer as Jea had been just a few minutes ago.

Jea recognized that word. Or sentence. Whatever it was, she knew it meant Veronica was looking for her phone. She tended to leave it at her office sometimes, so it was nothing out of the ordinary. Probably the first thing that wasn’t out of everything that had happened in the past 2 minutes.

That gave Jea an idea. If she let Veronica find her phone, maybe the other would leave and let her continue on with her search. So, she silently shifted to reach for the pocket of her blazer and pull her own device out. She quickly turned the brightness down so the other couldn’t notice the presence of someone under her desk, and then opened the phone app. She dialed Veronica’s number and turned her volume down, expecting it to ring somewhere nearby.

That’s why she internally panicked when it didn’t, her call going to voicemail after a minute or so of ringing. Veronica could easily check under her desk next, find Jea hidden in the corner of the cubby, and next thing she’d know, she’d be sent to UnderGround too. 

As she tried to formulate a plan in her head, she could see how Veronica’s hands lowered further as she jumbled through every drawer in her desk, coming to a stop in the last one and taking the frame out. Yeah, that was about it for Jeanne. Veronica would definitely search on the nook of her desk, and she’d be caught snooping around her office. 

Jea closed her eyes, preparing herself for the consequences of her actions yet still holding her breath as if it would somehow make her invisible if Veronica was to look under the table.

What she wasn’t prepared for, though, was for the door to open again, getting Veronica to stop the search as soon as multiple footsteps entered the office. They stormed up to the desk and made Jea tense up even more. 

The sound of the frame falling and shattering on the ground got Jea to open one hesitant eye, which only widened once she recognized the combat boots of presumably two guards that had come to stand behind Vecky and force her onto her feet.

“You were told to head straight back.” One of the guards growled, Veronica’s yelps making Jea’s heart drop. “Now you’re making people worry about you.”

“Just wait ‘till you hear what he thinks about it.” The second guard added with a mocking tone, the two almost dragging Veronica towards the door, shutting it roughly behind them and leaving Jea alone.

It took a good second for Jea to process what had just happened, her eyes opened to their full extent as she slowly lowered the shaking hand she’d subconsciously brought up to her mouth to muffle her own gasps. 

She tremorously reached for the same frame on the ground, the crystal now shattered all over the wooden floor and allowing the photo inside to slip out. 

“Shit–” Jea muttered quakily, reaching to take the picture and put it back in the frame when she stopped, noticing a piece of red plastic stashed inside the frame. The copy of her keycard.

Jea scoffed in surprise, her fingers reaching inside the frame and pulling the plastic card out of its hiding spot. But she had no time to celebrate. She made her way out of the footwell of the desk and warily checked her surroundings. Jea walked up to the door, unlocked it with the same keycard, and left the learning building as fast as she could.

Jea rushed to the basketball court with an urge she had never felt before. She stopped by the main entrance, attempting to pull the door open but forgetting she didn’t have access to it. Well, she did now. 

Jea pulled the red keycard out of her pocket and unlocked the entrance with it, stumbling inside as if she was being chased by a pack of wild animals of some sort. Not knowing her way around, she bolted around the hallways and tried to find a way into the court to tell Yanira to ditch practice because Veronica was clearly in danger and needed their help. 

It was until she hit a certain corner that she came to bump into someone, almost toppling back onto her butt before the gloved hand of the guard caught her by the bicep mid-fall. Shit. 

And as if things could get any worse, the guard in question shoved her into a storage closet nearby, her back slamming against the shelf, causing the cleaning supplies and game equipment to rattle.

The metal door slammed shut behind them, and although wearing a helmet, Jea felt threatened by the guard’s eyes penetrating into her soul through its visor.

“Jeannette Allen.” The guard gritted through his teeth, and Jea almost huffed at the full name. If she wasn’t obviously scared for her life. “We need to talk.”

“You could’ve said that before you shoved me into this—”

“Don’t get smart with me. If you don’t cooperate, I will have to take you to my superior.” The guard threatened, slamming Jea back against the shelf, though he nodded his head towards one of the discarded whiteboards resting against the wall of the closet.

Jea squinted her eyes, recognizing something written on the board despite the darkness of the room. 

‘Punch the microphone.’

Jea blinked, her gaze darting back to the guard, who was now subtly pointing at a small device attached to the tactical vest he was wearing.

“Uh, I—No! Piss off!” Jea scoffed, aiming at the small microphone and punching it off the tactical vest. As soon as it hit the marble ground, the guard roughly crushed it with his boot. 

“That was the best you could do? Thought you were taking theatre.” The guard scoffed, kicking the remains of the device away. 

Jea furrowed her brows. “How do you–”

“I don’t have much time, so you need to listen to me. I can help.” The guard began, reaching back to hold Jeanne’s shoulders, albeit gentler than before.

“What?”

“You’re right. ‘Bout everything. UnderGround, Veronica, it’s true. And I can help, but I need you to trust me.” He nodded, stretching one of his hands out, wordlessly asking for the red card Jeanne had just found. Meaning, he knew about what had just happened, meaning, she was probably being watched. This only made it the more scary.

The guard gave her a reassuring nod, and Jeanne reluctantly handed him the card. 

He then reached into one of the pockets of his pants, pulling out a white, normal-seeming card in return.

“This, works as good as the red one. But they can’t tell.” The guard murmured, placing the plastic keycard on Jeanne’s palm and closing her fingers. “Don’t go today. Go until Friday night.” 

“Friday night?” Jeanne whispered exasperatedly.

“She’ll be okay. I promise. Just wait.” The guard assured her again, nodding more as Jeanne sighed cautiously and pocketed the card she had just gotten. 

“This never happened, we never talked.” The guard straightened up, composing himself before gripping Jeanne’s shoulders with the same roughness she was met with just a few minutes ago. 

He escorted her out of the storage closet, finally letting go of her as they came to stand in the middle of the hallway. 

“So don’t go snoopin’ around business that’s not yours.” He spoke up again, as threateningly as he had been before. But now she understood. They were being watched.

Jea glanced at one of the cameras mounted on the walls, a small red light flickering as a reminder of their limited freedom of speech. 

The guard shot her a last glance, nodded at her, then made his way out of the building as if nothing occurred.

Jea only ever took the new keycard out again once she went back to her room, analyzing it over and over as if she believed she’d just gotten scammed. It looked just like an average dorm key, and this could’ve been just a trick by the faculty to get her to stop trying to look for answers. She couldn’t bring herself to trust him, yet…

“Jea, me and a few other girls are going to the basketball game Friday night, gonna get some cash, butyl, be out and about…you in?” Alyssa asked from their shared bathroom, getting ready to visit her boyfriend’s dorm before curfew.

Jeanne took a second, her fingers still fiddling with the plastic card. Swallowing quietly, she answered in a hesitant mumble.

“Nah. Got plans already.”

Chapter Text

Simon bent over the counter of his kitchenette, closing his nostril with a press of his thumb as he whiffed the singular line of Midas into his system.

He groaned quietly, straightening up with a soft sniff and wiping the dust under his nose away with the back of his hand. It was the only way he could ever start the day. 

He padded up to his nightstand, taking his black balaclava and slipping it over his damp head of hair. He then bent over to grab his tactical helmet next, which was by the side of the bed, and pulled it on, making sure to adjust his chin strap before pulling the black visor down. 

Before he left his room, Simon stopped by the mirror of his bathroom to check his appearance. He had to make sure to follow one of the most important rules of his duty: To never show even a slither of skin. 

According to his boss, they couldn’t risk being recognized by anyone in and out of UnderGround. Not even guards could expose their own faces to each other. Let alone names, which is why, outside of this small bedroom of his, he was reduced to a number. 

077.

077’s gloved hand pushed Veronica’s head onto the table, preventing any struggle with a firm grip as his partner prepared the pills on the metal surface. 

“Guys, I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding, please—“ The woman began to beg for the fifth time since she had been sat down in the interrogation room.

“Quiet.” 253, the agent in front of them interrupted as she crushed the medication with the butt of one of her knives into a pile of dust.

Veronica noticed the other’s actions, for her eyes had widened in the slightest and began to wriggle under 077’s grasp.

“Is this what this is about? I’ve been taking my dosage, I promise! I—I can even—“ 

“Quiet.” His partner snapped, raising her head from her work on the table and nodding at 077 in a silent command.

Silence her.

077 glanced down at the woman he’d been forcing down onto the table, and with a bit of hesitation, used his free hand to muffle her mouth.

077 and 253 had been the ones assigned to ‘take care’—if one could even call it that—of Veronica since she was brought into UnderGround Saturday night, now being just around 27 hours later. Apparently, she’d been working with Lance Hansen to stop the functionality of UnderGround altogether. 

At least, that’s what he’d been told by his superiors. 

They had, also, been told to be gentler with Veronica. To go easier on her. And though this wasn’t exactly the best treatment the woman had ever gotten, it sure didn’t compare to the brute force they were allowed to use on Lance, who was a few rooms down to be interrogated as well.

And it wasn’t even because Veronica was a woman. It wasn’t because this young woman, whose head was being rammed against the cold metal of the table, was the one who got him and every single guard down in the underground facility their job and a decent salary. It was because she was the public image of this school.

That is why they trusted 077 to be in charge of Veronica during her stay at UnderGround. He was loyal to the cause, he was committed to his job, and he knew how to measure his strength.

That’s how he wanted to go about it. He didn’t like being told he had gentle hands.

Dare one single agent send Veronica back upstairs with even the slightest bruise or scratch, someone would notice. And there went their job, and probably UnderGround in its entirety.

They couldn’t risk it.

They also didn’t know, they already had.

As agent 253 continued to crush the dose of Midas into dust, Veronica’s phone began ringing on the table. Their boss had left it with them so they could go through it, look for any suspicious content in it and interrogate her about it. See what business she had with Lance, and maybe any weaknesses they could exploit in order to stop this little uprising of hers. 

Well, interrogating hadn’t even started and they had already found one weakness.

Not hers.

Theirs.

The screen of the device lit up, one name highlighting their newfound concern.

Jeannie. Incoming call.

People were already looking for her.

The room slowed down. 253 stopped her crushing, 077 subconsciously uncovered her mouth and eased his grip on Veronica’s head, and Veronica’s wriggling came to a halt as the three of them stared at the phone.

“Jeannie,” Veronica almost seemed to breathe out, twitching slightly under 077’s grasp in blatant desperation to answer the call.

“Uh-uh.” 253 denied, dropping her dagger to reach for the still-ringing phone. “You’re not gonna get this until you answer all of our questions.”

Veronica whined under her breath, unsatisfied with that answer. She began struggling under 077’s fist again, clearly not enjoying the way 253 held the phone up in the air in an almost teasing manner as she waited for the ringing to die down. 

Choosing not to answer it rather than straight-up hanging up was strategic. Made it seem like she just happened to be busy, instead of being held captive and interrogated by the same guards she had chosen to hire. Smart move for the school, just not for her in the long run.

This was the long run. Veronica seemed to become more desperate as she could tell it wasn’t long until the phone sent Jeanne to the voicemail and risked her most probable chance of escape.

“Please,” Veronica begged, rushed, “let me talk to her. I need to leave her out of this!”

253 didn’t reply, staring at the woman coldly through her visor as the ringing halted. Her phone shutting off.

The room went quiet. 253 put the phone back down and resumed her work on the pills, just for the phone to begin ringing again.

Jeannie. Incoming call.

“For fuck’s sake.” 253 scoffed, snatching the phone again and trying to figure out how to silence it. “077, get us through to Yellow.”

With his free hand, 077 reached for his comms device, switching to the channel that got him through his boss.

077 pressed the button on the side, holding Veronica steady as he spoke, “Come in, team Victor to Alpha 01, over.”

The two agents waited in silence as 077’s comms crackled into life.

“Alpha 01. Go ahead.”

“Sir, 077 here, we can’t commence interrogating; her phone keeps ringing. Someone might be looking for her, over.” He spoke into the radio, staring at his partner as they both waited for indications. 

“Send her out, over,” Their boss replied, monotone.

“What?” 253 whispered, and 077 shrugged.

“Say again, over.” 077 continued, waiting again for a reply.

“Dose her, send her out. Let them see her. Have her back by tomorrow afternoon to resume questioning, over.” Their boss instructed simply.

“Roger, out.” 077 finalized, hesitantly letting go of the button he’d been pressing on.

“I guess I’ll double down on the dosage,” 253 hummed, emptying a few more pills on the table.

“Wait, wait, wait. But we’re already giving her one dose.” 077 chimed, to what Veronica desperately nodded her head to.

“You and I are under one dose and we’re fine. You think she can go out there with one dose and willingly come back? She needs to be out of it.” 253 explained, casually.

The agent set up the lines in the middle of the table, nodding at her partner in indication to proceed with the protocol. 

077 nodded back, and in a slightly harsher manner, pushed Veronica’s face towards the lines of Midas.

“No, I can’t—“ Veronica angled her mug away from the white powder, but 077 quickly rerouted her head to face it again.

“Don’t make this difficult, Miss Laurent.” 077 gritted, pushing her head closer. Even if she refused to willingly inhale the drugs into her system, she’d feel the need to breathe eventually. 

“Just come on already!” 253 snapped. 

“If you don’t take the dosage right now, I’ll have this Jeannie girl sent to UnderGround too! See what she knows too, yeah?” 253 continued, threateningly. 077 found it sickening how she almost relished in making Veronica uncomfortable.

Still, 253’s method got Veronica to reluctantly whiff the white powder, with 077 guiding her head in order for her to not miss a single particle of dust. 

He pulled Veronica’s head away, letting her sit back on the chair and process the effects of the drug before they were to send her out.

They wiped any dust off her face, cleaned the dirt off her skin and half-assedly fixed her hair before escorting Veronica out of UnderGround. 253 and 077 walked her to the elevator, and got her up to the first floor of the faculty building.

“You think she’s good to walk?” 077 asked quietly, more like a thought in his head, a concern, rather than an actual question. 

“You care too much. This ain’t fentanyl, mate.” 253 huffed lightly, stopping by the door of the faculty building as she waited for her partner to unlock the door. 

077 took his keycard out and swiped it against the lock. The same one clicked, giving him the chance to open it and allow 253 and the slightly sluggish Veronica way into the learning building. 

“You are gonna go to sleep,” 253 began, slowly into Veronica’s ear, as if she was talking to a child. “You’re expected to come back ‘ere tomorrow by 3. Alright?”

Veronica mumbled the same commands under her breath quietly, nodding nimbly at the guard’s instructions.

“Go.” 253 nodded back, pushing Veronica slightly and watching with 077 as the woman laggardly made her way down the hall, headed to the Silverage building. 

Once their captive was out of sight, 253 turned around and headed inside the faculty building, expecting 077 to follow suit. But something in his gut told him that something would go very wrong with this plan.

Apparently, 077 was right. And sending Veronica out seemingly hadn’t been enough for her little calls to cease, for the same caller made its appearance the next day around 3:00. 

Once told, his boss–very much piqued at this point–sent 077 on a mission: To get rid of the threat.

Now, 077 could be a lot of things, but he was not a violent man. And while he could stand around and watch as these two unfortunate teenagers were locked away, questioned, and mistreated, he couldn’t grasp the idea of blood on his hands.

He eventually came to find in the school records that the Jeannie in question that kept ringing Veronica's phone was an infamous eleventh grader of the name of Jeannette Allen. As far as one outsider like Parker could assume, she was, by dubious chance, a friend of Veronica’s. But as far as an agent like 077 could assume, Jeannette was, most likely, involved with the uprising against UnderGround that the two young students captured in the facility were allegedly organizing.

This was because word went around school that Jeannette, days prior to Veronica’s abduction, had chased her around school and interrupted her presidential duties in a very reckless manner just to talk about what other students had overheard to be a “disappearance.” One could just connect the dots and figure that the calls were just another attempt of Allen to poke and prod around business that wasn’t hers, and this could eventually lead to the reality of UnderGround being exposed to the world above them. Which, just meant more trouble.

Despite all this, 077 could tell that the normal protocol as for “getting rid of a threat” wasn’t going to work on this young woman, for they already tried sending Veronica out and her calls persisted. She had also reportedly been overheard talking about UnderGround, so if she was aware of its existence, Jeannette could potentially reveal it to the outside world. Which, again, meant trouble.

This was his excuse to redirect his objective from a less violent one to a more peaceful and strategic approach, and after a bit of convincing, he was told to limit himself to give Jeannette a word instead of resorting to violence. A threat, more like, but his superiors tended to water down their terms so the reality of their work didn’t seem as brutal as it actually was.

So while Veronica was being taken into UnderGround once more, 077 headed straight to the basketball court, using a few shortcuts in order to make it there before Jeannette did.

He found a storage closet by one of the hallways, which he hoped to use to, well, threaten the threat. At least, to make it look like it in front of the cameras.

He went into the closet, spotting one of the discarded whiteboards leaning against the right wall. He looked around, finding a box of markers and struggling to open it with his gloved hands. 

He took one of the markers stored inside, popping the cap off and hastily scribbling a message on it.

‘Punch the microphone.’

Did he ever mention he was loyal to the cause of UnderGround? He wasn’t. Not for a little while now, that is. One small slip-up during his morning dosing a few weeks ago, and he found himself slightly more aware of the reality of his job. The violence of it. The seriousness of it, and what it meant for him if the truth was to ever come out and show that he had done nothing to try and stop it.

The dosing was on purpose. Mandatory. Protocol. All to stop the guards from speaking up, or from even thinking about it. They made it even more difficult by implementing microphones into their tactical vests, tracking their every word. 077 could only be grateful Yellow hadn’t found a way to track his thoughts yet, or he’d already be facing the consequences of treason. One thing was very clear to 077, UnderGround wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of him if it already didn’t hesitate to get rid of the very students that kept it running.

That’s why this had to be perfect. He put everything back into place, then stepped back into the hallway to wait. If he had assumed correctly, Jeannette would eventually appear, and he’d be able to get his plan in motion. 

He held himself in a composed stance, waiting under the gaze of the cameras for said target to arrive. Said target being his only salvation. The cameras noticed everything, but not the relief in his chest once he heard her footsteps rushing towards him.

He readjusted his stance, and prepared himself to catch her if she was to bump into him once she turned around the corner.

“You piece of shit,” One of the men spat, punctuating the insult with a fist to the right side of Lance’s already bruised face. “SPEAK!”

Lance’s head hung low, and he, in the dim light, could see the trail of blood-stained saliva dripping out of his mouth. His phone was set on the metal table of the interrogation room, open in his messaging app. It was his chat between him and his father, the very last texts being the guard’s main concern at the moment.

‘Thank you for opening up to me, Ian.’ His father had written, just a few weeks ago, around the start of November. ‘I’ll see what I can do to help you.’

His swollen brown eyes darted over the messages on the screen, left unanswered by him. Fairly, it looked that way. And he wanted it to stay that way, so he’d remained uncooperative for the past 4 days of his stay in the facility.

Sure, he got his ass handed to him for hours on end, but he knew he was too precious to the school for him to be killed off that carelessly.

Here was the thing. 

A few weeks ago, Lance took a week off from school and flew back to New York to attend one of his father’s ceremonies, celebrating 25 years of Hansen Pharmaceutics. He wasn’t usually required to go, and he preferred it that way. He had run away from America for a reason, and stayed in the institute for as long as he could, even if it meant he’d have to spend his holidays alone in his dorm in the desolated Bradford building.

This time around, though, was not the case. He had to attend because his father was planning to declare him a co-owner of the company as soon as he was to turn 18. 

Lance already had, back in August of the same year, but his father decided to announce it later in order to “save money.” Little odd coming from Hank Evan Hansen, the multi-millionaire founder of a thriving pharmaceutical company, but Lance decided not to speak against it. 

He, in general, tried not to make it as big of a deal as his heart told him it was. Just a quick trip, then he was back at the Institute. It had been nearly 3 years since the ‘incident’ happened, and Lance figured it was about time he’d move on from it.

But no one had told him it wasn’t an easy thing to move on from. That once he met the sight of her in the audience, he’d feel the same burning, punishing hands tear at his skin under his tailored tuxedo.

He tried to remain composed. To remain at his spot as his father proudly boasted about his son and his company. He made it sound like he cared, but he didn’t have a clue of the turmoil happening in his son’s mind at being exposed to the perpetrator of his assault, the artist behind the perpetual scarring in his heart and conscience, and technically the reason why he’d be captured and questioned in a secret facility underneath his school around 2 weeks later. To Hank Hansen, his son was still waiting until marriage to even lose his virginity.

But he could definitely tell something was wrong from the way Lance left the stage in an almost desperate manner as soon as he finished his speech, or how he stuck by the table of snacks like a chewed piece of gum underneath it, instead of going around and socializing with his coworkers’ kids like he used to before he moved to England. His son was no introvert, Hank knew that for sure.

But what you avoid is what you attract, and while Lance busied himself with mastering the art of stacking preheated cheese sticks onto his plate—which was already loaded with food he knew he wasn’t going to eat anytime soon—she approached his 7 o’ clock with an almost predatory intention. 

Lance took the very last mozzarella stick with the tongs of the self-serve buffet and carefully stacked it on top of the tower he’d been working on, but he didn’t get much time to appreciate his masterpiece before he felt a dainty hand land on the back of his shoulder and creep down to the side of his bicep.

“Golden Institute, huh?” That soft, corrupted voice coaxed Lance to turn his head towards her with surprise, “Didn’t take you for a smart boy.”

His eyes widened, and he swore he felt his heart drop all the way down to his feet. His breath was taken away—not in a sweet, alluring spell cast by the young woman’s beauty, but rather like a fist of sandpaper shoved down his throat and forcing all the oxygen out of his lungs. His grip on the plate weakened, and the tower of mozzarella sticks nearly lost its balance.

She seemed to relish under his fearful gaze. Maybe because she mistook it as a sign of attraction, that she probably still had him wrapped around her finger, for she grinned at his lack of words.

Lance barely choked out a stammer, and though he wasn’t under the influence of anything at that moment, it was like his body had automatically learned to stiffen around her.

“Sophia.” Lance croaked out.

“You look good.” She hummed, squeezing at his bicep lightly, examining his body. If only she could see the extent of the damage she’d done to it. “You’ve grown up, and you’ve been working out too.”

“I—”

“How’s England, so far?” 

Lance warily looked to his left and right. The room was stocked with people, which made him feel safe to some extent. Yet, he was still considering escape routes if things took a left turn. 

“It’s…uh, safe.” He managed to mumble, and took one guarded step back.

“Safe?”

“Yeah.”

She chuckled with a tilt of her head, and Lance didn’t miss the way her dark gaze flickered down to his crotch for an instant. His saliva felt heavy on his tongue, and he was forced to swallow it in order to feel able to breathe.

“I missed you. Why’d you leave without a word?” She questioned, and closed the gap with one more step of her own, insistent on the closeness. 

“Why are you…here?”

“Why am I here?” She echoed. Her smile widened, her pearly teeth underneath it looking ready to bite down onto his flesh. “My dad works here, silly. Remember?”

He paused, “Ah.”

“Plus,” She continued, taking one more step, “I knew you’d be here. I just wanted to see you again after you left so suddenly.”

Lance didn’t know what to answer, but he didn’t have to, for she spoke up again.

“We left things unfinished, don’t you think?”

If he was able to regain all the cockiness back into his stiffened body, he would’ve probably shaken his head and walked off, but he couldn’t. He just stood inert and stared at her, almost hoping that, if he stayed still enough, the floor would open underneath his feet and swallow him whole.

“Unfinished? No…no, I—”

“None of the guys I’ve been with compare to you, Lance.” She almost purred, reaching out to pat his chest.

Lance worked his jaw and followed the path of her thumb, which was fiddling with the knot of his tie.

“They’re not like you. They don’t do it like you do.” She whispered. It made him sick to his stomach.

“But I didn’t do anythin’.” Lance mumbled.

“What was that?” Her grip on his tie tightened. He glanced around them again, and once reminded that he wasn’t alone in this room gave him a surge of confidence. 

“You were the one that did everythin’. I didn’t start it—I didn’t want it.” Lance spoke up, his tone more assured than before as he gently pried her hand away from him.

“Don’t be silly. You literally–”

“I was drugged, Sophia. What did you think would happen?” Lance gritted through his teeth, keeping his tone at a low while a few people walked by the buffet table.

She momentarily looked at the people passing by, then stared at Lance with a dumbfounded expression.

“Answer me.” He pleaded, still squeezing her wrist in his trembling hand.

Her features, sweet and playful, soon darkened as soon as they were left alone by the table again. “What are you insinuating?” She whispered back, a threat lingering behind her words.

Lance didn’t break their eye contact. His jaw visibly clenched under her gaze, and his silence served as an answer to her question. She chuckled in disbelief, yanking her wrist away from his grip.

“You can’t possibly think that I—”

“You did.” 

“Then why’d you keep coming back?” She snapped, and his confidence faltered.

She must’ve noticed this, for a grim smile grew in her features. “That’s right. You liked it. And you should consider yourself lucky that I even bothered to try and get with you. Do you even know who I am? How many guys want to sleep with me?”

His dark brows furrowed; she scoffed in return, “I was wrong. You’re no different.”

Lance, with the remaining determination in his body, set the plate of food down on the table, ready to leave like he’d planned to when first approached.

As he turned around, a slim hand gripped at his wrist roughly, stopping him. Lance could almost feel the burn of her touch once more. Her almond-shaped acrylics dug into his wrist as a duress itself.

Then, her voice, now full of grit and anger, susurrated into his ear. “Say one word about this, and you’ll just look like a whore.”

She felt his hesitance under her grip, and tugged at his wrist in a final warning, “Go ahead. Blame it on me. I would love to see you try.”

She jerked her hand away, and watched expectantly as Lance scurried out of the event hall and into a separate hallway. 

The whole bit with his father is that Lance was found sobbing hysterically in one of the bathroom stalls of the facility after the encounter with Sophia, and this had served as enough of a sign for Hank Hansen to sit his son down and let him talk. In other words, let himself listen. Soon enough, he realized he hadn’t listened enough.

That heart-to-heart of theirs was the reason behind the text, and the reason why, the previous Friday night, his dorm was broken into. The guards unceremoniously tied him up and dragged him down to the facility underneath the faculty building, the last text messages from his dad being the main topic of the interrogation.

Just what had Lance told his father?

None of their beeswax. That’s what Lance had to say for himself, word for word. And he’d keep saying that if it wasn’t for the fact that he got a nice beating and a busted lip from continuously using that answer.

So now he didn’t even bother saying anything. He stared at his phone, and the time on it.

Mon 21:07. 

“So?” One of the men spoke up, getting Lance to lift his head up again. “Are you going to be useful and speak, or do we need to beat your arse again?”

Lance huffed, “Oh, no. Please don’t beat my arse. The horror.”

“What did you tell him?” The agent snapped, banging his fists on the table. The phone rattled under the vibrations.

“Fuck off.” Lance scoffed, sparing the man a glance from under his swollen eyelids.

The other sighed in exasperation and looked back at the rest of the crew, who stood there stiffly. Needless to say, the majority of his interrogators looked like they wanted to strangle Lance and get the job done with, but were leashed by their commands. Again, too precious to be killed.

One of the guards took over and pushed the main interrogator aside. He leaned against the table, looming over Lance. “You are going to speak, and you’re going to speak now. He is not selling to us anymore and we need to know why.”

A bang on the door made them stiffen and turn towards it, where a new guard walked in. “Higher-ups told us to let ‘im go for the night.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The new interrogator scoffed.

A smirk etched Lance’s features with a huff, but it was quickly removed by another fist to his face. Then, two guards moved behind him and pulled him up by the arms. He gained his footing and began to get escorted out of the room.

“You will speak tomorrow,” The same guard threatened, standing by the metal table as he went to grab Lance’s forgotten phone, “I’ll make sure of it.” 

“You can try.” Lance mused under his breath, only to be shoved once more by the guards as a warning to shut up and walk.

They came to stop before the door of the cell he’d been staying in for the past few days, and one of the two men dragging him back moved to open it. Once unlocked, the same man pulled it open. The lights of the hallway poured into the dark room and revealed a frightened Veronica in the corner, seemingly startled by the sudden amount of light.

His smug expression faltered, and he was caught off guard when the two men brusquely jolted him inside to let him figure out his balance by himself. The metal door slammed behind his unkind entrance, and in seeped the darkness again.

It seemed Veronica in the corner was already used to it though, for she gasped once she noticed the current bruised and battered state of Lance’s mug at the moment while he tried to push himself up by his elbows. 

“Jesus Christ…Hansen!” Her voice was croaky and weak, and held a bit of unexpected—but very much welcome—worry in it as she hastily crawled towards him.

“Even now you can’t find it in you to call me by my damn name?” Lance grumbled, managing to sit back on his rear after a bit of struggle. 

Not accustomed to the dark yet, Veronica’s cold hands cradling his jaw were sudden, and he couldn’t help but flinch in the slightest under her grasp. But the change of scenery from violent fists to Veronica’s medical yet somehow gentle touch felt nice, and sated Lance a little.

“They’re beating you.” Veronica noted under her breath, tilting his head from side to side and scrutinizing every little bruise on his face.

“Hi, Pres.” Lance sighed right after, letting his eyes flutter closed for the first time in a minute.

Veronica hesitated; it was either out of annoyance, because Lance could not drop that damn nickname in these circumstances, or amazement, also because Lance could not drop that damn nickname in these circumstances. But neither did she, so there was one thing in common with a woman so usually beyond his league.

“Hi.” She replied after a second, and her hands barely eased against his jaw. She felt the stubble underneath, and it served as a reminder that they had both been here for a while now. 

If, three to four days counted as a while.

“You’re back.” Lance spoke up, finally recognizing Veronica through the murkiness of the room.

She looked clean, somewhat. She too had the roughened up touch of UnderGround, but it seemed the staff cared about her enough to bathe her and dress her. Part of him was glad she wasn’t receiving the same treatment he was at the moment. This had been his plan, after all, and he would hate for her to pay for the price of his own selfishness.

“They sent you somewhere else?” He continued, clearing his gruff throat as he stared into her eyes, which were an even deeper shade of black than usual. 

“They sent me back out.” She replied and extracted her hands away from his face, probably realizing the touch was too personal for them. They found a home on her thighs as she sat back down on her knees, right between his own spread legs.

She struggled for a moment; her eyes glanced down at her own lap and brushed off a bit of dirt off her red skirt, like finding a pastime while trying to gather her words. Or memories, perhaps.

That’s when Lance got the hint.

“But they drugged you, didn’t they.” He muttered, his Southern drawl slipping through his bloodied teeth.

Veronica glanced back up once more. Curious, for an instant, at the foreign slip, but redirecting her attention to the question—or rather, statement—after a second. She glanced at his teeth now, and Lance hid them through a thin frown in a move of self-consciousness. 

He ran his tongue through them again, hoping it’d wipe some of that crimson away before humming. “Guess they knew you’d be too smart t’be sent out sober.”

Veronica managed a halfhearted smile, but her eyes drooped back down a moment later. She hesitated for a brief second before suddenly interrupting the tense silence.

“What is this about, Hansen?”

Lance stilled, his expression faltering. Their eyes met, and though her tone wasn’t as accusatory, it felt like her gaze alone could rip through all the onion layers he’d grown around him.

“Why are they beating you?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, and shifted against the bindings of his arms. The atmosphere was getting tense again, and he would prefer it not to.

“‘Cause of my dad, apparently.” He grumbled, coming to meet her gaze.

“Your father?” 

Lance nodded. Veronica’s expression remained slightly confused, and in that moment, he figured he might’ve had to elaborate. 

“Y’know. Hank Hansen.”

Veronica blinked.

“Hank Evan Hansen,” he added, “the millionare. CEO.”

“Are you being sarcastic, or…?”

“Do you not know who my dad is?”

At Veronica’s perplexed mug, Lance almost chuckled in disbelief.

“Well, I’m serious. Not to brag or anythin’, but he is a millionaire. He paid for my scholarship.” 

“That actually makes a lot of sense.” Veronica hummed in reply, to which Lance actually huffed at.

“Hey!” He scoffed in mock-offense. 

Veronica giggled; a dimpling grin infectiously spread onto Lance’s features in return.

“Alright, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Veronica continued, raising one pale hand up to her mouth as if to stifle any upcoming giggles. It was silly. He’d never seen her laugh before.

Lance laughed now, shaking his head. “No, ‘s alright.” His eyes remained fixed on the woman before him, almost entranced by the side of Veronica he’d just recently discovered. “Didn’t know you had that sass in you, Pres,” he mused.

By the way her eyes crinkled behind that hand of hers, Lance could tell her own grin had widened at his comment.

“Well, Hansen—”

Harsh knocking on the door suddenly broke the comfortable atmosphere the two had managed to build in the room, just a moment before it croaked open widely enough for someone to toss a cardboard box into the chamber as if they were nothing but wild animals being kept inside.

Both had been here long enough to know it was feeding time, where the guards found anything they didn’t want in their kitchen anymore and gave it to their prisoners. And anything, meant anything. It usually ranged from things like stale crackers and leftovers, but Lance had gotten nothing but a rotten apple for lunch while Veronica was gone.

The latter had scurried over to the box and picked up what their captors had decided to spare for them that night. 

“This might be good tonight,” Veronica murmured, coming back to her spot between Lance’s legs.

“What is it?” Lance queried in reply. His eyes were too glassy to read the labels of the box. 

“Cereal,” she replied and gave the box a small shake, “and it’s heavy.”

“Must be new, then.”

“Or a—“ Veronica opened the box, giving way for a halfway empty bag of cereal closed with a hair tie to fall onto her lap, “—trap?”

“Looks like cereal to me,” Lance hummed.

He sat still, watching as Veronica pulled the hair tie off the plastic bag and spread it open. Her hands dug through the grains almost curiously, and Lance raised one questioning brow.

It was when she pulled out a small metal box that resembled the size of one pack of mints that his expression this time turned fully baffled. “Look,” Veronica urged quietly, holding the box in the palm of her hand.

“They’re feeding us metal?” Lance now asked, but gasped as he came to a realization, “Metal poisoning.”

Veronica paused and gave him a pointed look.

“What?” He scoffed, “It’s a thing.”

“I know, but…” Veronica sighed, and managed, with a bit of strain, to open the small metal box. To their surprise, the insides contained three pills, a sticky note, and a small pocket knife. 

Gasping under her breath, she brought the note up closer to herself so she could read the message on it more clearly. 

“What is it?” Lance asked, helplessly watching Veronica’s eyes go over the note. 

“A note. ‘Hang on until Friday. Help is coming. White pill is a painkiller, two purple pills cancel out the effects of the drug.’” She carefully reread, lowering the note once more to meet Lance’s eyes.

Though his vision was kind of blurry, Lance recognized a bit more of scribble on the back of the yellow paper. Veronica must’ve noticed how the former was squinting his eyes, for she flipped the paper around and read what was on the back aloud.

“‘Untie Lance with the dagger before he panics.’”

“Oh, yes please.”

Veronica took the miniscule knife out of the box then looked at Lance expectantly. He slightly turned his back so his tethered arms were exposed to the younger woman, simply bound with a pair of zip ties that she could cut through: one by the arms and another by the forearms.

“Just—turn back around.” Veronica muttered, coming to kneel behind Lance so the other didn’t have to tilt his body in a weird angle.

She exposed the blade of the pocket knife and went for the binding of his arms first. The knife wasn’t very sharp and the plastic was thick, so she had to serrate the dagger back and forth for a little while in order to cut through the restrictions.

While she worked, a question popped into Veronica’s mind.

“How would he know that?” Her voice, curious, pondered from behind his shoulder.

“Know what?” Lance asked in return, remaining as still as he could for Veronica to be able to cut through the zip tie.

“That you panic if you can’t move?” She completed; she also, in time, cut through the plastic that restricted his arms together. 

With his sigh of relief at being freed–even if only by one of the two zip ties—another question made its way out of Veronica’s mouth.

“Why do you panic if you can’t move?”

The question meant no harm. It was innocent, purely intrigued. Still, it made Lance stiffen up for an instant as the memories of the assault flashed through his eyes once more. He forced them away with a harsh blink, but it wasn’t fast enough for Veronica to just dismiss it. The discomfort.

“Is it…personal?” Veronica replied, almost apologetically.

“It is.” Lance bit out, harsher than intended. The sharp tone left an awkward silence behind.

Lance winced internally at his defensiveness. He felt her hands hesitate slightly before going back to work as an unspoken apology. Now he felt bad for being an asshole when Veronica didn’t even know the reason behind it.

Veronica finally cut through his tied forearms and gave way for Lance to roll his shoulders back and feel freedom for the first time in a while. She stepped back, and Lance swallowed.

“‘M sorry.” He sighed, looking at her from over his shoulder.

Veronica, who was discarding the zip ties to the corner of the room, just shook her head and sat back down behind him. Slowly, as if she was approaching a frightened stray. She, most likely, wanted him to have his space, but with their current predicament, didn’t feel safe by herself.

“It’s fine. I was being nosy.” Veronica replied. She still sounded a little ashamed of her question.

“No, no. That was rude.” Lance insisted gently, keeping his tone at a low now so he wouldn’t repeat his earlier mistake, “I just…”

He scooted a bit closer, just to let her know that it was okay. Maybe, if he wasn’t known for being an absolute malewhore, he’d even lean against her. Initiate any kind of touch. 

Veronica didn’t scoot away, and the two sat in silence for a minute.

Lance remained quiet, unsure of what to say. A part of him wanted to open up, but Sophia’s words resonated through his head like a broken record. 

‘Say one word about this, and…’

“I’d just look like a bigger whore if I told you.” Lance broke the silence with a self-deprecating quip.

Veronica, who was hugging her knees now—probably because of the chilly temperatures in the cell—looked at him once more. Her eyes had tenderized, and it weakened his defense. She was looking at him so softly, like she needed no explanation to immediately understand his struggles. The kind of gaze that earned one the spot as the President, because, dammit, it made him feel seen.

“You don’t have to tell me, then.” Veronica replied after a pause. 

“There’s just been somethin’ wrong with me,” Lance spoke, despite Veronica’s assurance, “for a while now.”

He mirrored Veronica and pulled his knees up to his chest. He supported his chin on his crossed arms, and fixed his attention on the ground before Veronica’s eyes could destroy his veneer. 

“Since I was 14, I’ve had–” He stopped himself, already feeling a knot forming on the inside of his throat. He shut his eyes tightly before any tears could form in its corners.

“‘M sorry.” Lance apologized once more. His cheeks felt warm from the embarrassment, and he, for one, felt glad that the room was dark enough to hide his flushed vulnerability.

His earlier wish was granted, though, for he felt a comforting hand on his back rub up and down on the grimy fabric of his blazer. Lance then let out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, and it left a slight tremor behind its wake. His only option then was to duck his face into his arms, and hope he hadn’t absolutely embarrassed himself in front of Veronica.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing.” Veronica hushed, keeping the slow route of her hand on his back.

“We all have issues, Lance, but…” she continued, her hand coming to a stop between his shoulder blades in order to brush a bit of dirt off the navy fabric, “Admitting it is a first step. A very brave one, in my opinion.”

A silence lingered behind her words. An assuring one. One that was abruptly broken by a shaky chuckle from his behalf. 

Her fingers stilled their fussing over the blazer at his response. “What is it?” Veronica asked, the confusion clear in her voice as it just spurred his laughter on. 

“Knew you had it in you.” Lance answered. His voice was still weak, but it had found some confidence in himself to speak with a slightly teasing lilt. His bruised eyes peeked at the other over his arms, crinkled and smug.

“What?”

“You just called me Lance.”

Veronica immediately scoffed afterwards and shoved Lance lightly with the same hand that had been trying to solace him just a brief moment ago. Lance chuckled and allowed himself to be pushed around, all while reminding himself that it could’ve been worse.

It could’ve been worse.

And it would get worse.

***

Cell walls were thin in UnderGround. One could’ve easily mistaken the fake material with real concrete, and if not, as a cheap choice. But UnderGround wasn’t cheap. It didn’t have to be, given that it shared the same funds of the lavish institute right above it. It was a choice.

Not like he hadn’t been aware that it wasn’t his sacred homeland, where he was guaranteed his dear amendments, liberties, rights, and whatnot, but it seemed Lance had gotten a bit too comfortable with his freedom of speech the night prior with Veronica. 

They’d listened into their conversation, and he had to figure it out the hard way.

Once more, he’d been forced down onto the seat the very next day for questioning. Even though he hadn’t ever gotten tortured before, he’d learned how to keep at least most of his sanity during the periods of interrogation. 

Lance initially figured this would be the usual rodeo. He knew he’d be fine as long as he knew what day it was by reading it on the phone’s screen, as long as the painkiller he’d taken the previous night made him numb to the physical abuse he’d go under, and, obviously, as long as he could move.

But that wouldn’t be the case for the latter.

The interrogators fastened his wrists to the arms of the chair with thick leather restraints.

“Thought you’d get away with it, didn’t you?” A guard, the man he presumed was the same one he’d pissed off last time, spoke. 

Lance could feel his cruel gaze on him as the rest of the crew bound his limbs to the chair tightly.

"We've been doin’ some digging.” The guard by the number of 030 continued. He carried a certain smugness with his words, as if he had just made the breakthrough of the century while the others tightened his restraints.

“Actually, not that much. You simply can’t stop talking about yourself, can’t you?”

Lance managed to keep his defenses up until another strap of leather was wrapped around his neck and forced it against the chair.

“Just had to impress Miss Laurent with your ‘vulnerable’ side, hm?” 030 crooned. With a nod of his head, the men adjusted the leather just tight enough to allow him some air. It added to the claustrophobic effect, and it raised a sense of panic in Lance that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Why’s that, Lance?”

“What is this?” Lance gritted, trying to shift under the ligatures before another one wrapped his torso against the backrest. The leather began feeling too familiar for comfort, and there was no wriggle room for him to try and escape it.

“Do you, perhaps, like Miss Laurent?” 030 dismissed the captive’s question with his own. Before Lance could refuse, another guard chimed in.

“He wants to add her to his collection.” The other by the number of 011 taunted as he came to step away from Lance’s restricted body.

“No, 011, this looks genuine.” 030 replied, yet held the mocking undertone in his voice, “One doesn’t chase a consumer this much. Let alone the bloody President. Quite ambitious, aren’t you?”

The main interrogator stepped closer to his body, then leaned down and observed him. Almost waiting for one of his cocky quips or smug remarks he’d usually make by then. When he didn’t, he knew they had gotten him right where it hurt most.

And it was time to twist the knife.

“Sorry to break it to you, but I think she’s over activators. And even if she wasn’t, we all know she wasn’t going to aim your way, mate.” 

The group of guards snickered behind the leader, but the man just studied Lance.

“I don’t want her, you dick!” Lance barked back, the apprehension already built in his tone from the restrainment. 

“Really now?” 030 replied through a smug grin. He placed one hand on Lance’s shoulder and squeezed, the grip too reassuring to be genuine. “I thought she was a lot nicer than Sophia.”

Lance’s blood drained out of his face, his body going into fight or flight mode. His brows creased, his heart pulsing at a quickened speed. 

“How do you know her.” Lance cawed, but his question was ignored anon.

“Then again, I figured you were more into blondes.” 

“How do you know her!”

“So this does bring you memories, Lance.”

Lance ground his teeth, his breathing sharp and loud. He shifted under the tight leather, but it was too tight for his comfort. 

“You won't have to stay like this for long. As long as you answer all our questions. Easy, yeah?”

Lance struggled, his weak attempts to writhe on his spot becoming more desperate by the second. He was being gripped by the throat and dragged down to that moment, that afternoon, that leather couch—all before the guards who watched in wicked amusement.

His breath at this point came through ragged bursts. “Kiss my ass.” He grit under his teeth.

“Watch it, mate.”

“Kiss. My. Ass.”

Another man, who had apparently stood behind him this whole time, stressed the skin strap around his stomach tighter. Lance grimaced in return, but still managed—or at least, tried to manage—to keep his expression defiant. The only thing clear on his expression was the mere disgust at the guards, at the situation, and probably at himself. He thought he had moved on. He thought he was doing better.

“It only gets worse if you don’t answer.” The main interrogator taunted.

Lance just clenched his jaw shut in response, a testament of his insolence. And it just angered the gear-clad hounds.

“But you sure couldn’t just shut that gob with Veronica, huh?” The leading guard spat, forcefully grasping Lance’s stubbled chin. He brusquely shook it, almost as an attempt to knock some sense into his brain. Lance’s teeth worked endlessly against each other, and the desperation to get even a peep out of him grew.

The guard yanked his hand away, his own breathing labored in frustration. He sharply turned his head to the rest, who straightened up at the authority of his gaze.

“Well, let’s bring her in, then!” He snapped at his men with a nod, and the labor looked between themselves before two of them decided to leave the interrogating room to fetch Veronica.

The commander glanced back at Lance, newly determined. “Let her see what you’re so terrified of.”

Lance’s expression fell again in realization. 

“No,” He choked out. He struggled for a moment, raising his tone to a plea, “No, don’t. Don’t bring her into this!”

The guards didn’t take long to bring Veronica into the room, the woman confused, disheveled, and worried once she got to see the state of Lance at the moment.

“Lance? What’s happening?” Veronica fearfully asked, blatantly not used to the interrogating methods Lance was undergoing. The poor woman was probably accustomed to a harsh question or two.

“Keep her out of this. She did nothing wrong!” Lance hurled and protested under the restraints of the chair.

“Well, one of you has got to speak.”

One of the agents that had taken part in bringing her to the room pushed her to the center of the crowd, where other guards grabbed her by the arms and waist, almost resembling the leather skin that bound Lance to the seat. Hearing her wired questions and quarrels panicked him further. She didn’t want his discomfort mirrored into her features.

“It's either you or her.” The chief guard threatened.

“What?” Lance rasped.

“You or her.” The guard repeated, and at his command, the rest forced her blazer open with a yelp of her behalf. The same agent that stood behind him did the same for Lance’s own coat. 

The reality of the threat hit Lance like a bullet between the eyes.

He scowled in pure revulsion, his eyes widening at an extent he hadn’t even fathomed until now. 

“Y’all wouldn’t.” He grated through his teeth.

“You or her. Clock’s ticking.” 

Their hands, unwarranted, roamed through Veronica’s abdomen and worked to loosen her tie. 

“Get your hands off me!” Veronica shrieked in panic.

“You disgusting animals!” Lance cried out and attempted to refuse the hand that came to roughly tug at his tie as well.

“Please, no!” Veronica pleaded out, and he watched in dismay as the men grossly fondled at her body and clothes. 

Before they could tear another piece of her clothing away, Lance snapped.

“Me!” He hurled. The room quieted down behind his cry.

The guards handling Veronica stilled. They seemed surprised, almost as if they’d believe this whole time that Lance would be selfish and save himself for once.

But that’s where they were wrong.

He took a deep, quivering breath, his head hanging low as his rebellion dimmed down. This was his greatest fear. But it didn’t mean he wanted to share it. He couldn’t live with himself knowing he’d be the reason someone else suffered this illness that was his struggle. Be as repulsed with themselves as he had been since that evening in Manhattan. Go down the path he had been dragged down on. Let alone Veronica, whose soul wasn’t poisoned and tainted by the sin of unsought hands.

So he’d carry that burden anew. 

“Me, damnit, me.” He hawked, closing his eyes in anticipation, “I’ll answer your questions—just…leave her alone.”

“Lance…” Veronica murmured in concern.

“‘Ronica, no.” Lance persisted with a firm shake of his head. “Just go, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, she’s not leaving anytime soon.” 

The two students whipped their heads at the guard who’d just spoken, surprise written in their faces. 

“One of you is going to say something, I don’t care who it’s going to be.” The man warned both of them as he threateningly gestured at them. “Until then, she’ll just watch your little demonstration.”

The guard that stood abaft Lance then unbuttoned his white shirt all the way down, just like she had years ago.

His breathing picked up and he squeezed his shut lids tighter in hopes of avoiding the memory that haunted him.

Veronica, from the other side of the room, grew a curious worry, yet refused to play by the guards’ commands. She duck her head down to face away from the scene, but a pair of gloved hands forced it back up.

“Look at him, Miss Laurent. Come on.” The voice behind the hands demanded. 

Lance’s breath, unsteady, just shook more as his abdomen came exposed. The agent working on his clothes now headed further south, following the route of the hands Lance had worked so hard to forget.

Veronica could see his body desperately jerk and convulse on the chair, grasping at straws for any sort of escapism. Once they began unbuckling his belt, she tried to look away once more.

The fingers dug into her skin and twisted it towards Lance’s way again. “Look. You look or you speak.”

Her eyes regarded Lance for a split second. The sight of him—a man so smug and sure of himself—panicking and on the verge of tears drove her to shut her eyes again.

“No,” she mewed.

“You ungrateful wench,” The same agent rasped in frustration, “Don’t you see that this could’ve been you? He’s giving you the chance to speak and you’re not taking it!”

“Speak. How are you two related?” The main interrogator, who’d been standing in the middle of the chaos, questioned.

“Don’t say anything, Pres!” Lance cried from his side of the room.

Veronica struggled, hesitating as the men didn’t look like they’d stop undressing him anytime soon. Lance looked absolutely terrified, and she was doing nothing to stop it.

“I-I can’t—” Veronica whimpered.

“Speak!” The agent demanded.

“‘Ronica, no!” Lance howled from his seat.

“How are you related? Come on!” The man in the middle repeated.

“We’re not—”

“You want this to happen! You want him to get raped again like the whore he is!”

“No!” Veronica keened.

“Then answer, for fuck’s sake!” The interrogator growled.

“Don’t listen to them!” Lance rebuffed.

The hands made their way to unzip the fly of Lance’s pants, about to tug down at the waistband of Lance’s underwear until—

“We were going to meet at the library!” Veronica cracked, dropping to her knees.

The guards perked up at the information, the main one almost grinning under his balaclava from ear to ear.

“Pres…” Lance exhaled. The disappointment in his face was clear, but the relief was discernable.

“Friday night, we were supposed to meet up and talk, that’s all I know, just…stop…”

“About what?”

“About…people sneaking around and stuff—it was nothing…” She confessed, finally able to hang her head low.

“So you’re not only onto UnderGround, but you’re still onto the system? After all we’ve done for you?” The man by Veronica’s back grunted, giving her side a slight kick.

“We took you out of the system as long as you promised to stop questioning it, and now you’re plotting around with activators and going into your office without our permission.” The leader added to the other’s observation. He peered at the younger woman for a moment. “Seems you’re hiding more from us than we thought.”

The head guard glanced up at the rest in the room, spotting the same men that had brought her in a while ago.

“Take her to intensive questioning” He commanded. With a nod, the duo from earlier hoisted her onto her feet by her arms and dragged her out of the room with a disregard of her protests.

The rest of the group began heading out behind them. The main man followed, but not before he stopped by Lance’s side—who was still pretty much down to his boxers, and roughly patted his cheek.

“Now, how hard was that?” He taunted  and slipped out of the interrogation chamber, leaving Lance shaken.

And very isolated.

Dragged into her own interrogation room once more, Vecky was forced down onto the same chair she’d been sitting in just a few minutes ago.

“Give her a hearty dose,” The man that grabbed her by her left shoulder commanded her two usual interrogators, who both seemed surprised at the sudden change of plans of questioning for Vecky.

“She’s already under one dose, as requested.” The female guard replied to a confused lilt to her words.

“Give her more. It’s not enough. Make her honest.” The other agent by her right shoulder quickly replied.

Both her  assigned interrogators glanced between each other, but the female wasn’t slow to take out the bottle of pills, spilling two onto the table.

“More.” The first guard demanded.

The other hesitated, and dropped another. 

“More.” He repeated.

The former looked up at the guard behind Vecky, almost questioning his words. The guard, in reply, just threateningly slammed his free fist onto the table, making the medicine bounce and rattle.

“More, damnit, can you not follow simple orders?”

With an exasperated exhale, she went by the guard’s command and shook a few more onto the surface, taking the knife to crush them into a concerningly big pile of dust. The worker by Vecky’s left shoulder then nearly slammed her head towards the table and forced her to inhale it all. To make her speak.

To make her, for once, honest.

But all Midas did as its effects settled into  her system, was to bring her back to what brought her here in the first place. 

To make her, for once, remember.