#although its unlikely i'll get tired of it anytime soon

[roomsofmyheart]

Darling, there's a part of me I'm afraid will always be Trapped within an abstract from a moment of my life - Abstract (Psychopomp) by Hozier

[takuyakistall]

red | vil schoenheit

I will provide no more context other than the title itself, @courtlyharlequin happy birthday !! ilysm I hope you find this somewhat okay 💖💖💖💖💓💓💞💞💕💕 simp.

Red, such a striking colour. Usually used to portray passion, danger, and most of all—love. It was funny how Vil held a bit of contempt for the colour red despite almost wearing a red piece of clothing or accessory every day. Love, Vil didn't have time for that nonsense. He was somewhat someone who always wants to reach his goal no matter what the cost, it was admirable to say the least but it can get a tad overbearing at times. He'd never given love as much as a second thought, it was a waste of time for him.

Red, Vil saw it every day. His eyes could never manage to ignore the bold colour invading his vision—how annoying. He wished he couldn't see it as much as he currently did but, he knew deep down that he wouldn't be able to even if he tried. Red, there was too much red for his liking. How irritating. "This isn't Heartslabyul for Seven's sake." Vil clutched his head lightly, creasing his eyebrows as he paced back and forth inside his room.

It was messy, his room was oh so very messy. It was so unlike him to allow his room to turn into such a mess—even Rook had to blink thrice in surprise when he entered his room, uninvited, to ask Vil about some matters concerning the Dorm. "Ah, Roi du Poison!" He let out, throwing his hands back dramatically when he caught sight of his beloved queen.

Vil's room wasn't the only one who was a mess, Vil himself looked like a mess too. It was very unusual; odd. Vil wouldn't let himself look like this, even when he's inside the comfort of his room. He looked fatigued, his hair unkempt as he tried to prop himself up with his elbows against his desk. "Oh, it's you." He muttered in a mock-disdained voice. Vil tried to fix himself up but in the end, refused not to when he saw the countless red strings adorning the walls of his room—emitting another tired groan.

Rook immediately knew it was one of those days, Vil would see nothing but red and eventually overwhelm his whole being. Vil should've gotten used to it, he'd been able to see these strings ever since as a child and growing up with the ability to do so should've given him the chance to build up immunity. Although, it seems like that wasn't the case here.

Rook rushed to his side and provided aid to Vil, gently taking hold of his hand to help him up. Rook tried to keep his mouth shut, he really did but his concern was far bigger than his will to shut up. "Vil, you know you can't avoid it forever." Vil shot him a glare, of course, he knew he couldn't run away from his problems forever. Vil's gaze landed on the red string tied around Rook's pinkie, only he could see it. It frustrated him to no end, there was too much red.

"I know." He replied through gritted teeth, it was funny how Vil—up to this point—still hasn't cut his string yet. It was the only plausible solution to his problems and yet he was hesitant, a small part of him didn't want to cut his string. He sighed and looked down on his pinkie, once again seeing red. 'Cut it,' he thought, he made up his mind.

There was no more reason to keep this in his life, he wasn't looking for love—less, finding love through this way. Why did he even hesitate in the first place? Was it because every time he thought about it, he would think about the person that he shared his string with? Did he feel bad? Even in the slightest? It was confusing, Vil didn't even understand his own feelings. He decided, he'll cut off his string tomorrow��then he'll be free from seeing all this red, exactly how he wants it.

Rook shot him another look, it was hard to know whether it was one of pity or concern. Knowing Rook, he probably already knew what Vil was thinking of. Was he going to stop him? Rook will not, he will let Vil do as he wishes.

Vil held a pair of scissors in hand, his graceful poise made it look like he was doing something delicate. He fixed himself up—as if yesterday never happened—His hair was tied up, his crown in its rightful place atop of his head, and his robes kempt and worn properly. He was alone in Pomefiore's common room, no one was about to disturb him anytime soon; they wouldn't dare to. He gingerly took hold of his red string, admiring it for the last time—such a gorgeous shade of red, it was a shame he was sick of seeing it.

He was about to snap the string into two, ready to end this migraine of his but he suddenly hesitated for a hot second. He shook his head, pushing away all of his doubts into the back of his mind—there was no more room for hesitation now. Once again, he steeled himself and got ready to do it but then suddenly there was a loud knock on the door—Vil's eyes widened when he saw his red string move on its own, falling from his hands. How odd.

Without Vil saying anything, you let yourself in—out of breath—uninvited. How bold of you, Vil was sure he gave out a fair warning to the students. Though he didn't recognize you, truly, how curious. You straightened your back, your hands moving to place themselves by your sides and Vil could see his red string moving in the corner of his eye, surely this couldn't be—!? His gaze wandered to your pinkie,

"Dorm Leader Vil, I-I'm the new transfer student! I'll be in your care starting today!"

Ah, connected.