#rexii writes

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Laundry Day

floyd and jade learn how not to do laundry.

cw: none

also on ao3

note: this is a vignette from a collection for a full-length fic, but there are no spoilers in it and I like it as its own thing.

Floyd tapped the window of the washing machine with a suspicious expression. “Are you sure we’re doing this right?”

Jade was reading the instructions on the bottle of detergent. “I am mostly sure,” he replied. “I measured everything carefully.”

“Hmmm.” Floyd looked and sounded skeptical. “Are you sure we put enough bleach?”

“Again, mostly sure,” Jade replied. He hummed and set the detergent down. “I suppose we shall find out in due time.”

“Ehh, I don’t know about this thing.” Floyd was treating the washer as if it had challenged him to a staring contest.

Jade understood his skepticism to a point. Much to his personal embarrassment, they had never actually done laundry since moving ashore. At school the staff had handled it. But it could not be terribly difficult if most humans managed it on a regular basis.

What he found particularly fascinating was the way stains worked. A stain was all but impossible underwater, but they interacted with different fabrics in unpredictable ways. Blood, for example, needed to be rinsed in cold water immediately if there were any hope of eliminating it. Dirt and mud were more easily dislodged, while any sort of oil-based substance was much more difficult. He was already devising all kinds of experiments that would answer his questions.

“It will never dry anything if you continue opening the door,” Jade said when Floyd checked the contents of the dryer for the tenth time in almost as many minutes.

“It’s taking so looooong.” Floyd threw himself down on the floor with his limbs splayed out like a starfish. “I demand entertainment.”

“I have not connected the TV and such yet,” Jade answered, which elicited another groan of potentially fatal boredom from his twin. “Check the games cupboard.”

That certainly perked him up. Floyd got to his feet and went to rummage through their collection. He returned with Battleship and a glowing grin.

Jade cleared a space on the floor. Moving was an exhausting process, and he was beginning to think furniture was more trouble than it was worth. They set up the game, each of them trying - and failing - to fold their excessively long legs into a comfortable seating position. Floyd gave up and stretched out on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. Jade felt awkward doing the same and settled for keeping his legs off to the side and leaning on one hip.

“E5.”

“Miss.”

Jade placed a white peg on his side.

“Hmm…C4.”

Jade blinked. “Hit,” he replied and added the red peg to the bow of his destroyer. His gaze flicked upward to meet his brother’s with a slight edge.

Floyd giggled. “It’s your favorite stable plastic explosive.”

Jade sighed. “Am I so transparent?”

“Yes. C5.”

Another hit. Jade decided he really must learn to be more surreptitious about his preferences.

Floyd had decimated Jade’s fleet and was about to deal the final blow when there was a knock at the door. Jade went to answer it, grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs.

“Hello, Azul.”

Azul strode in. “Greetings.” He scanned the mess of the apartment with barely-concealed dismay. “How are things going?”

“We’re playing Battleship!” Floyd cried from his place on the floor. Then the dryer alarm sounded to announce that it was finished, so he rolled to his feet and went to open it. He removed an armload of clothes and carried them into the bedroom. There was a soft whoosh as he tossed everything on the mattress. Then he returned to move the next load from the washer to the dryer. “Play with us!”

Azul shut his eyes for an extra-long blink and willed himself not to react. “You should fold or hang up clothing immediately after removing it from the dryer,” he said flatly. “Otherwise it will be wrinkled.”

“Laterrrr,” Floyd whined.

“And Battleship is only a two-player game,” Azul continued as he removed his shoes to leave them by the door.

“Uhh, yeah, maybe if you don’t have six copies of it.” Floyd rolled his eyes and went to collect the other five.

Azul frowned at Jade. “Why?”

Jade shrugged. “Object permanence.”

Floyd cleared out their current game and swiftly assembled the playing field so that each of them had two boards. He took his spot on the floor again and gazed up at the others eagerly. “Come onnn.”

Jade gave a tiny, helpless shake of his head and went to join him. Azul followed with tangible reluctance.

“I offered to help you organize things,” he said tartly. “I have a schedule, you know.”

“Should’ve written a contract,” Floyd giggled. “Now you have no choice but to have fun.”

Azul resigned himself to it. He had an easier time sitting with his legs crossed on the floor than Jade, who kept changing his position every few minutes in a futile attempt at comfort.

Jade looked around at the state of their new apartment while Floyd explained his ludicrously complicated house rules for Mega Battleship. It seemed impossible for them to own so many things. When he last spoke to their mother, she assured him that once they had everything put away, it would ease his anxieties. He did not like for things to be out of place. It would be too easy for someone to cover their tracks if they had broken in, if they were lying in wait for him-

Jade shook the thought out of his head with a twitch and reached his arm across to rub his other shoulder. It did not truly hurt anymore, but the thought continued to pester him.

“H10,” said Azul.

“Miss,” said Jade, glad that he had managed to get his thoughts back on track before either of them noticed. “D9.”

“Miss!” Floyd grinned. “J8.”

Jade sighed. “Hit. You have eliminated my submarine.”

“Knew it!”

“I mean this in the most polite way possible,” said Azul, “but how the hell are you so good at this game?”

Floyd shrugged. “I’m not. You two are just so obvious.”

They played through two rounds of it, then took a break to do some actual work. Azul and Jade set to patiently organizing things, putting things away, and hanging up the clothes Floyd had so eloquently discarded on the mattress. It was sitting directly on the floor, and Jade was seriously considering leaving it there, even though Floyd had threatened to build a tent over it and pretend they were camping every night.

“When will your furniture arrive?” Azul asked after a while.

Jade was spending a little too much time flattening the collars and lapels of every shirt and coat in the closet. “We have not purchased any yet,” he said. “I have not found anything to my liking.”

“Hmm,” Azul said. “And Floyd?”

“He finds everything to his liking.” Jade imagined that a room designed by Floyd with an unlimited budget would look patently ridiculous. In the same trip to a furniture store, Floyd had decided he wanted a bean bag chair, an inflatable couch, and a hot tub that would have cost several thousand dollars. (“In the bedroom?” “Uh, duh? Where else?”)

Jade was surprised to sense Azul coming suddenly toward him, leaving enough space for his comfort, save a hand reaching out to rest on his shoulder. He turned away from his anxious fingers, making no effort to hide his distress. There was no point in trying to conceal anything around Azul; his senses were as finely tuned as the eels’, and that aside, Jade trusted him.

“It’s alright,” Azul said simply. “I ensured those responsible were dealt with.” His eyes gleamed, and his jaw was firmly set. “Comprehensively.”

“Of course.” Jade let his gaze drop to the floor of the closet, where Floyd’s shoe collection was spilling over onto his side. “I know that, logically, the odds are quite low that it would happen again.”

Azul took hold of the hand that was once again rubbing his shoulder. Jade had not even realized he was doing it again. “It is also logical to feel lingering effects, Jade.”

Jade closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath that turned into a sigh.

“Food’s here,” Floyd yelled from the living room.

Jade hung up one more shirt before following Azul to the kitchen. They had little choice but to eat at the counter, but Floyd merrily unpacked the boxes of sushi and seafood and spread them out buffet-style. He pushed the box of sashimi in Jade’s direction and hoarded the spicy tuna rolls for himself. Azul and Jade picked at various items with their chopsticks since apparently they had not purchased any plates yet, either.

Floyd opened the next box and froze. “Uhh, who ordered this?”

Azul and Jade peeked at the contents. “Ah, that’s mine,” said Azul.

Floyd and Jade just stared at him as he separated a piece of grilled and glazed eel meat from the others and lifted it to his mouth. He seemed to enjoy it a little too much.

“What?” he asked with feigned innocence. “It’s good.”

Floyd made sure to stare at Azul with his most unhinged expression as he sucked down an entire octopus arm between the points of his teeth like a second tongue. “Serves you right,” Floyd said when Azul’s mouth twitched. “That could’ve been my grandmother. At least your fricken arms grow back.” Floyd paused, as if silently wondering whether this would still work in Azul’s human form.

“Don’t get any bright ideas,” Azul said, pointing the chopsticks at him.

The dryer alarm went off again. Floyd all but leapt up to go open it. When Jade looked at him curiously, Floyd just grinned. “It’s warm and soft,” he explained. When he opened the door, several strips of what looked like paper fluttered out of it with a puff of dryer lint. “Whoops.”

Azul thought nothing of it at first, but his attention snagged on something. They couldn’t have been receipts. Receipts that went through a wash-and-dry cycle turned into little annoying balls of wadded-up paper that shredded all over the place. “Floyd,” he said with intensifying alarm, “what is that?”

“Uh, my favorite blankie and pillowcases. Also the money.”

Azul all but choked. “Excuse me?”

Floyd shrugged. “I washed it. No big deal. You’re welcome.”

Azul tripped over his own feet as he staggered to the dryer. He snatched up the pieces of material and examined them with growing horror. “Floyd,” he said again, “what did you do?”

Now it was Floyd’s turn to look at him like he was crazy. “Did you forget already? Just did what you asked.”

The bleached, worthless bills slipped from Azul’s quavering hands.

“Are you alright, Azul?” Jade asked from a safe distance.

Floyd, ignoring the unraveling of Azul’s temperament, removed the rest of the bundle from the dryer and walked it to the bedroom, leaving a trail of shattered dreams fluttering to the floor behind him. “I don’t know what you’re upset about,” he said indignantly. “You’re the one who said to launder the money.”

Jade was certain Azul was about to faint, if he did not explode first. His eyes bulged behind his glasses, and his voice came out in a soft, raspy, desperate scrape against his throat. “That is not what I meant.”

[scorpiuslucci]

Romeo scowled on his way out of Hyde's stupid fucking office. He didn't care that Ritsu trotted to keep up, pestering him further about the Laurel Crown and probation and contract and on and on until his watch alarm chirped to let him know he was off the clock for the day and he evaporated.

Romeo scowled all the way out of the main building, across campus, to Obscuary, along the twisting forest paths, through the gate, then the door, then the entrance to Rui's bar.

Rui was more or less accustomed to this by now, but his chipper demeanor could hardly be contained. "Hey, Romi! Got some sparkling wine made fresh, just for y-"

"Vodka."

Rui blinked, still stuck at where he'd been cut off mid-sentence. "...what?"

"Vodka, Rui. Real, actual, wash-this-fucking-day-away alcohol."

Rui recovered with the grace of an Olympic gymnast. "Oh! Right! Must've misheard you. Umm...gimme a minute." He ducked into the basement for a few beats before returning with an unassuming bottle.

Romeo was taking a distinctly ungentlemanly approach to this, but by the time the mouth of the bottle met his, he had really stopped caring. Rui, to his credit, did not appear remotely fazed.

"I'll, um, check in on you later. Oh, hey, Leo!" He directed his dazzling smile toward the first-year.

Romeo's fiery gaze cut across the room to search for his friend's comparatively laid-back expression as he casually strolled into the bar. He jerked his chin in the direction of the seat next to him. Over here, Kurosagi. Now.

@ficoandleo

[scorpiuslucci]

It felt nice to have grass and sunshine in his hands again. Their desert biome wreaked havoc on his skin, only magnified the tension and misery that had become his second language.

Romeo would have rather shot himself than be assigned to Jabberwock, but it wasn't so bad to visit. The grass and sunshine reminded him of home. His real home from a long time ago.

"Did I tell you he used to play the piano?"

Towa's soft, gentle features reflected his surprise and joy at Romeo's words.

"No, then?"

Towa, lying flat on the shaded ground adjacent to him, lifted one hand and patted the grass. Romeo sighed and lay down, not entirely caring about dirt or bugs or whatever. Towa seemed to have an effect on any anomalous animals, as they tended to avoid him. The field itself was anomalous, too - extra long, thin blades of sweetgrass ideal for the grazing animals.

He gazed up at the clouds. He remembered calling out shapes in them, trading simple vocabulary with Taiga as they tried to learn each other's tongues.

"I never expected it from someone like him. I had tried to learn, over the years, but it never quite stuck. And he just...waltzed into my life one day with flawless talent." Romeo did not care for the word 'talent.' It erased one's grueling years of discipline. But it was well and truly the best description for the way Taiga played. "He has perfect pitch. Did you know that?"

Towa let out a pleasant, musical laugh.

"I know. It's extraordinarily unfair." Romeo's smile, the smile he didn't realize he'd acquired, like a secret gift to himself, softened into something else.

Warning Taiga not to go in the conservatory that night, in case the noise would wake up the house.

Taiga not caring. 'I'm not gonna play any music,' he said in jagged Italian with his perpetual grin. 'Relax.'

Taiga sitting on the floor in the middle of the spilled moonlight, patting the space in the shadows next to him to encourage Romeo to sit down. Romeo did so. Taiga scooted over so there was room for both of them to share the light coming in through the picture window.

Romeo pointing out other words they hadn't taught each other yet. 'Music stand.' 'Harp.' 'Curtains.' 'Window pane,' which was different from 'window.' Receiving Taiga's translations in kind.

'That's a pretty one,' Taiga mused when Romeo pointed at the moon and said it was luna to him.

Taiga's fingers stroking his hair. 'You're prettier, though.'

Romeo's heart trying to burst out of his chest like it was escaping prison.

Taiga's breath murmuring into his ear while those fingertips brushed his hair aside. 'You're the prettiest thing here.'

His lips fairly quivering, eyes lolling shut as Taiga's mouth connected with his. The fireworks that bloomed in his blood. Daring to flick his tongue in an effort to learn more about what hid behind those teeth, wondering if he might be sliced open on their edges, and finding himself matched with another languid tongue instead, wanting to learn the secrets that he hid behind his pretty words and pretty lips.

The sweet nothings that were actually sweet somethings. The fingers in his hair and the firm, muscled chest against his hands. The floor being not nearly as comfortable as he imagined a bed would be. Taiga lying about not making any music.

Romeo did not realize he'd stopped talking until Towa none-too-gently punched him in the upper arm. He sat up suddenly. "What?! What did I do?"

Towa pointed at his face and scowled.

Romeo was so stunned by the tears that he did not react to them right away.

"~~~~🎵🎶" Towa said in his unique song-speak.

Romeo could do little else but stare at the ground, at the grass beneath his hands, at the sunshine splashed over his perfect hands. "It was a long time ago," he whispered. Another time, another place. Another version of them that was dead, except to hang suspended in a world that no longer existed.

No one else needed to see what it did to him.

running that towa account is so much more fun than i expected, and it honestly got me thinking about, like, what his interactions with the other ghouls would be like??

like, can you imagine a conversation (or lack thereof) between him and Romeo? this time, Romeo would be the one trying to guess whatever the hell Towa is talking about. or maybe he’d understand him just fine? lmao

and do you think if Sho ever tried to give him actual food, he would just eat the garnish and give the rest of the food back to him? Would Sho be offended by that?or just confused??

and lastly, would Towa get along with Taiga? He doesn’t really care about the well being of anomalies, so do you think he’d just give one to him if it was bothering him too much? (personally i think he’d try to feed taiga flowers at first lmao)

idk i’m just having a lotta towa thoughts now and i need to yap about them wajdjsjd

[shannadreamgoddess]

Been thinking a lot about Team Moonlight.

I adore the story of Rexii a lot. There's a lot of weird, lonely sadness I want to tap into for the story.

It's kind of a joke amongst my friends and I that I can't write proper fluff to save my life without turning it into a miserably sad story. Maybe that's just the way I am!

I'd honestly love to try and write something more traditionally fluffy but fluff is harder than you think and I have a lot of respect for anyone that can write really good, genuinely warm fluff in PMD...or anything, really ♡

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Closet Prison

“And those pitiable robes return once more to their closet prison.”

You get trapped in Malleus’s closet. Well done.

malleus x reader

cw: none

also on ao3

You are starting to wonder how many different job titles you have collected so far in your short tenure at Night Raven College. Even if you gathered several of them under the ‘Janitor’ heading that Crowley had so proudly bestowed upon you on the first day, there were enough now to make for one hell of a résumé: Glasswork Repair Technician, Antique Plumbing Specialist, Magestone Recovery Agent, not to mention every version of the word ‘therapist’ that existed. Now, you suppose, you could add Laundry Cleanliness Coordinator to the list.

“I demand to speak with someone at once! This is an outrage!”

Ah, yes. How could you forget Customer Service Punching Bag.

You peek out to the front reception area, hiding between hanging garment bags and swiping your over-steamed hair out of your face. You could have easily - and correctly - guessed at the owner of the voice for several reasons, primary among them 1. This happens every week and 2. Anyone would know that voice because no one ever gets to stop hearing it.

No one is coming to his rescue, even though you know you are not the only one on a shift today. But you are the closest one to the door. You balance your fingertips on the white paneling and close your eyes, steeling yourself for battle, your best and brightest fake smile serving as both armor and weapon. You tuck your lint brush into your back pocket in case you need something portable that won’t leave a mark.

“Why, Sebek, fancy seeing you here,” you say in a voice not your own. Your Customer Service Voice is a different person. You don’t know her. “You’re looking very well.”

“No, I am not!” he shouts, rattling the change in the tip jar on the counter behind you. Before you can have a chance to react, he shoves a garment bag with a paper receipt into your face. “You have made a grave error, and you must pay for it immediately!”

Your smile wanes, but you stay strong. “Me? In particular? Are you sure?”

“Who else would have committed such an unforgivable act, human?!”

You fold your arms patiently. “Perhaps you could enlighten me as to the error of my ways?”

Sebek flings down the garment bag in disgust. You catch it, somewhat, but its heft and size make for an awkward movement, something Sebek no doubt enjoys. “Since humans are of such feeble mind, I shall, as they say, ‘spell it out for you.’”

His chest heaves, and you brace yourself for the volume that’s about to assault you and anyone else within a three-mile radius.

“You have misplaced the ceremonial robes belonging to the great Malleus Draconia!”

The urge to beat him over the head with the tip jar strikes you abruptly, but you file it away. Inside, a very small part of you does panic - did Malleus bring some valuable, irreplaceable robes from home? But then you realize what Sebek means, and all you can do is wonder whether you could make assault with a deadly weapon look like self defense.

You put on your Voice again. “Like, his orientation robes? I didn’t even see those come in.”

“Of course not! And now they have landed in someone else’s filthy, unworthy hands!”

“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” You hang up the offending garment bag and check the receipt. Sure as shit, it has Malleus’s name on it. You refrain from suggesting this is all part of an elaborate prank. It would be funny, but you’ve heard enough of Sebek’s voice for one day. “I’ll get it sorted out.”

“See that you do! And that you prepare an apology for Lord Malleus at once!”

You force yourself to take a deep breath and hold it until he storms out the door. The tip jar lives to see another day.

You go over the books and cross-check a few numbers. A simple mistake - someone accidentally skipped a line on one side of the page, so now the entries are misaligned. You check the tag on the inside of the robes and find Leona’s name embroidered on the lining.

The prospect of hiking across campus with a heavy garment bag longer than you are tall is hardly enticing, but you don’t have much of a choice. The last thing you want is for Sebek to come back in ten minutes demanding to know why you haven’t fixed everything by now. You pull on your coat and head outside.

It’s cool and cloudy out - probably normal September weather for some, but you hail from somewhere hotter this time of year, and you’re already cold. The chill hastens your steps as you make your way across the stones and grassy pathways to the Hall of Mirrors. You wish you had a giant mug of hot cocoa or spiced apple cider. One of each, you decide as you step through the Savanaclaw mirror.

The jump still leaves you queasy, but the warm humidity of the pocket dimension embraces you and eliminates the cold clinging to your shoulders. You wander past groups of students, trying to catch glimpses of their faces while avoiding eye contact. You don’t recognize anyone, so with a sigh, you plod toward the main building.

A tall beast-eared student leans against the wall of the entryway like some kind of bouncer. You’re hoping he’ll ignore you, but he stands to his full height and blocks your path.

“You lost?” he asks gruffly.

“I need to give these to Leona,” you say evenly, losing some of the bravado that empowered you against Sebek earlier. “His robes got mixed up with someone else’s.”

He leans in and sniffs the air around you, prompting you to move away, bringing a satisfied glint to his eye. His ears twitch, but he finally backs off and resumes his post. “Go on.”

You find yourself breathing a little more deeply in a vain attempt to slow your heart rate. It would not do to pass out from a panic attack in the midst of all these predators. It occurs to you that you don’t know where to find Leona, but you really don’t want to ask any of these people for directions, so you start wandering. You’re up the stairs and halfway down the hall when a door opens and a familiar head of sandy brown hair ducks out of it.

“…last time I help that guy with anything,” he grumbles to himself. He glances up at you, and his dour expression lifts a bit. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“Hi, Ruggie,” you say, breathless from the stairs. “I have Leona’s robes.” You have to pause for one huge breath. “They got switched around at the cleaners.”

Ruggie cackles. “That explains a lot. I’ll swap ’em out - he just went back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” You hand him the garment bag. He disappears back into the room, then returns with a different bag. Unfortunately, it’s no less long or heavy. You decide to fold it in half, hoping it will be a little easier to carry. “Best of luck with…whatever he’s having you do this time.” You gesture vaguely at the closed door.

“Haha, yeah.”

You’re almost too warm from all this manual labor by the time you re-enter the Hall of Mirrors, but the shock of cold that smacks you full force on the other side of the Diasomnia mirror leaves you instantly shivering. Is it always this cold in here? How does anyone stand it? The fog curling around the clusters of thorns at your feet does not help. Unlike at Savanaclaw, you don’t see any students milling about here. Just a long, lonely stone walkway winding up through the mist to the castle.

You hope just a little that the doors will be locked and you’ll have to leave, but no luck. The massive wooden doors are propped open, though nobody is standing guard here. They probably assume (correctly) that no one would waltz in here without a reason.

You try not to make it too obvious that you’ve never been in Diasomnia before, but there are plenty of things to gawk at in the lavishly-appointed lounge. Fine leather seating, antique wood tables that look like the much nicer versions of the ones in your dorm, expensive imported rugs - yet even with all that, and the flickering green candle flames dotting the room, the whole space feels…vacant. Lacking. And cold. So cold you can smell the stone.

“H- hello?” you call out, losing what little courage you had remaining. You consider leaving the garment bag on the nearest chair and escaping to safety, but a set of footsteps catches your attention.

“Why, good afternoon,” says a sunny, cordial voice completely at odds with your surroundings. He smiles and tilts his head to one side. “What can I do for you?”

“Lilia, right?” you guess, and to your relief he nods in response. “I’m just returning these.” You set the garment bag down, suddenly aware of how badly you were scrunching it. “Malleus’s robes,” you add.

Lilia blinks his bright cerise eyes. “Oh, that must be where Sebek went in such a hurry.” He allows himself a light chuckle. “You didn’t need to come all this way just to bring these back.”

“Yeah? Sebek was ready to burn me at the stake for it, so…” You frown over the state of the garment bag. You didn’t mean to crumple it so badly, but it just got so freaking heavy after more than a few minutes. “Would it be alright if I brush these out before I go? They probably got wrinkled, and I’ve reached my quota of stake burnings for the month.”

“Of course!” Lilia seems a little overjoyed at the idea of a visitor, but at least he is polite and appreciative of your efforts. “Right this way.”

You have to endure another set of stairs, passing by an enormous bat-winged chair at the top that would be practically comical in any other situation. Lilia trots along merrily ahead of you, humming to himself as you study the iron latticework of the huge windows lining the hall. Outside, you catch glimpses here and there of the gargoyles that stand guard along the parapets. The green firelight casts shadows through the grating that appear to bring their carved stone faces to life.

“Do you like architecture?” Lilia asks, bringing you out of your musings.

“Yeah, I guess so. This is all…very different from what I’m used to.”

“Well, you are certainly free to stop by at any time. We love having visitors.”

Lilia stops at a set of double doors and tugs them open before leading you inside. He looks about to say something when his watch chirps at him. He checks it curiously. “Hm? Oh, of course. We have a club meeting - I nearly forgot.” He offers you another kind smile. “I’m afraid I must take my leave, but I trust you can find your way out?”

“Pretty sure.” You balance the garment bag on one arm while you try to open the closet doors with your other hand. There’s an absolutely frigid draft in here, strong enough to disturb the curtains, and you wonder if Malleus is one of those monstrous types that sleeps with the windows open. “Thanks.”

“Oh, and be careful with that door. It can stick a little.”

With that, he bounces out of the room.

You hook the hanger over the closet railing and unzip the bag. The damage is minimal, actually; the robes’ heavy brocade fabric is pretty resilient as long as it’s dry. But you spot a few dozen hairs that must belong to Leona. You’re glad you brought the lint brush now.

The cold draft of air spills over your shoulders and freezes your hands. This is getting downright ridiculous. You step back into the main room and go to close the windows, but they’re already closed. The breeze is just there. You grumble to yourself about having two hot cocoas and two apple ciders upon your return home and go back to your work.

Malleus’s entire room looks like it hardly receives any use at all. Whether due to his position as housewarden or his family name, his closet is larger than what you would expect for a dorm room, large enough to stand in comfortably. (Although, for him, you think, perhaps not, as his horns might brush the ceiling. That would be funny.).

You can hardly concentrate because it’s so damn cold. You finally get fed up with it and pull the closet door most of the way shut behind you, leaving just enough of a gap for light to enter. The relief is instantaneous.

You carefully brush and straighten the robes, ensuring all the stray hairs and lint fluffs are removed, trimming a stray thread here and there. You run your fingers over the specially tailored openings in the hood. They’ve been hand-sewn by an expert, even adorned with their own decorative embroidery. You appreciate the craftsmanship, knowing that few people would notice it, let alone care.

As if enraged by your attempts to thwart its presence, the draft of air returns with a vengeance and slams the closet door. You jump - at the noise, the sudden inky darkness, the freshly chilled breeze - and, feeling indignant about it, you push on the door.

Only, it doesn’t open.

You try again to no avail. Then you try pulling on the door, just in case, but it budges even less. You push against it with your shoulder, wondering if this is Sebek’s magical idea of a joke or a punishment, but you’re fairly certain he would rather die than leave you unattended in Malleus’s room. You listen carefully, but you hear no footsteps or voices. Lilia already said he was leaving.

Okay, calm down. Think. And keep throwing yourself into the door while you do it.

You can’t understand why it’s not working. Maybe there’s a magic seal on it. Or maybe you’re just weak. Weak and pathetic.

Frustration turns into a combination of anger and fear and sad. You hate that you’re not able to open the damn door. You hate that you’re getting so worked up over not being able to open the damn door. You hate that thinking about that isn’t enough to make you stop.

“Hello?” you try calling out, but there’s no response. You yell a few more times and knock on the wood for good measure. It changes nothing.

You slump down to the floor and try to breathe. It’s not the dark or the enclosed space that gets to you. Good thing, too, or orientation day would have been a lot more graphic for your audience. It’s just that the whole thing makes you feel…

…stupid.

Your eyes are adjusting to the dark, for all the good it does you, which is hardly any. And the cold breeze has now permeated the supposedly impenetrable barrier, so you’re shivering now, too. You reach up and feel the hem of the robes that caused you all this trouble.

Well, it hardly matters now.

You tug them off of the hanger and snuggle into them. A gentle, woodsy perfume wafts up from the depths of the silk lining, subtle but strong in the enclosed space. You press the fabric to your face and draw in a deep breath. The smell soothes your nerves - fallen leaves, pine needles, fresh rain, even a touch of mycelium.

You don’t have forests around where you’re from. You’ve been to them a few times, sure, on camping trips and one brief foray into the world of hiking, but none of them smelled quite like this.

You lie on your side and stare up in the general direction of the ceiling. The breeze hits your face, so you pull the hood down to shield yourself. You would laugh at how ridiculous this is, but you’re too worn out to care. You roll onto your side and let your eyes loll shut.

“-classes today?”

You mentally tell the voices to go away. You haven’t slept this well in ages.

“They were adequate. I shall go to the library later to acquire some other materials.”

You don’t want to get up. Even though you’re not really that comfortable…

“Excellent idea, my liege! I shall be honored to acquire all the necessary books for you!”

Your eyes shoot open. You’re not dreaming anymore.

The past few minutes - hours? - come back to you, and you scramble to sit up, fumbling with the robes you were using as a blanket. You’re about to try the door again when the voices come back.

“Do not trouble yourself on my behalf, Sebek. I am quite capable.”

“It’s no trouble, my liege!”

You sink back against the wall and try to control your breathing. You don’t even want to imagine what Sebek will say if he finds you like this. Whatever it is, it will cause permanent hearing loss.

You sit in the dark and wait.

“Very well, Sebek.”

“Thank you, Lord Malleus!”

You grit your teeth in annoyance and wish Sebek would go buy a personality since he doesn’t have his own. No wonder Malleus looks to be in such a dour mood all the time. He must have eternal patience to tolerate someone like that. You wouldn’t last ten minutes-

Light suddenly bursts in front of your eyes and blinds you. You squint and hold up one hand to shield your face against the brightness.

Malleus blinks down at you.

You wonder, briefly, what this must look like to his eyes. You, disheveled, wrapped in his ceremonial robes, on the floor of his closet. You are positive that every blood cell in your body is rushing to your face.

You don’t even have time to stand up.

Malleus steps inside and closes the door, plunging you into darkness once again.

“Wh-?”

“Shhh,” he whispers with hardly a breath of air. A rustle of fabric, and his hand locates yours without any of the blind searching you would have done. He helps you stand.

“Behold, Silver! I have been chosen to accompany Lord Malleus to the library!”

“Sure thing, Seb…”

You giggle before you can stop yourself, then clamp your hand over your mouth in a vain attempt to shut yourself up.

“S-sorry,” you stammer hopelessly. “I didn’t, um. It’s a long story.”

Heat soars to your face when Malleus closes his hand over your mouth.

“Shhh,” he says again. You can’t see a thing in the dark, but you can tell he’s listening. He must still faintly hear their voices. You have no idea. You can’t hear a thing over the fervent hammering of your blood against your bones.

You have no idea how long you both stay like that, unmoving, but eventually he pulls his hand away from your mouth. You take several panicked breaths even though you were breathing just fine.

He seems alarmed. “Have I injured you?”

“No, no. Sorry.” You give up and laugh, first from nerves, then relief. “I’ve just been stuck in here for…hours, I guess.”

A bulb of green firelight winks into existence and hovers above your head, where it casts sharp shadows over Malleus’s features. You think of the gargoyle statues. But rather than fierce and intimidating, he looks amused.

“Lilia mentioned that you dropped by to return my robes,” he says. “Did he not warn you about the door?”

You scoff. “He said it sticks a little. Not that I would need inhuman strength to open it.”

Malleus reaches forward and gently tugs the hood off of your head. You forgot you’re still wearing the robes and start to pull them off, but he stops you.

A smile seems to flit across his face, though it may be a trick of the light.

“They suit you,” he says with a low, delicate laugh that turns your heart upside down in your chest. “At least someone has found a use for them.”

“It was cold in here,” you reply lamely.

He leans in close enough that the heat from his breath dances across your nose. “And now?”

You are certain he can hear your pulse louder than you can. One hand is still holding yours, but the other he lifts to the side of your face, brushing the backs of his fingers over your cheek and ear before sweeping through your hair. You close your eyes and sigh into his mouth.

He holds you as though you are fragile, yet something he does not intend to let go. He mirrors your movements, letting you choose how deep or delicate the kiss, sliding his hand down your back to hold you closer. Everything shows that he wants to be careful with you.

Fireworks burst in your heart and under his hands. You reach up to his face, run your fingers through the liquid silk of his hair. Forest and rain and fresh earth overwhelm you, and you realize faintly that it’s not a cologne or anything artificial. It’s the smell of his skin.

You barely nudge the side of his horn with a fingertip. He laughs against your lips and has to pull away.

“Sorry,” you say breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to…”

Malleus brushes your fingers against his mouth, then cradles your hand to the side of his face. “You simply caught me by surprise. That is all.”

“You first.”

You catch sight of his grin before he snuffs out the green flame. “I only wish this had happened sooner,” he says, wrapping both arms around you. You do, too, though what he next murmurs against your ear suggests that his reasons differ slightly from your own. “What a marvelous hiding place.”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Bittersweet

malleus as therapy.

cw: mental illness, suicide mention/ideation, overdose mention, psychological trauma. no gore or horror though.

(wrote this a while ago. based on a real life event for me.)

“It is difficult for me to understand.”

Malleus’s voice draws me out of the fog of my own mind and back to reality like the tether of a wayward life preserver. I wonder what he would think of this comparison.

“What is?” I ask, hoping not to make it too obvious that I wasn’t listening. I was, at first. I just have a lot going on right now. I always do.

He slow-blinks, catlike, lizardlike, dragonlike, his spring green eyes focusing on me a bit more purposefully. “That humans treat birthdays as occasions to celebrate,” he says, possibly repeating himself, to my sheepish guilt. “They have such short lifespans, yet they are so eager to lose another year each time.”

“Oh.” I clutch my stomach. I feel sick, and not because I ate too much cake. “Well, it’s not that simple. I-”

Deuce and Ace and Grim have started a conga line. I instinctively wince away from the noise, even though they're my best friends and I love seeing them happy, because the whole room is too loud and too close and I really think I might hurl.

“I, um, I’ll be right back.”

I set my paper plate aside and dart - slink - scrabble away from the chaos. I feel an episode coming on, or maybe it’s been playing for a while now, like a show I put on Netflix and left forgotten on autoplay until it asks me if I’m still watching. The brambles of unwanted memories tug at me with sharp fingers.

I wind up in the Diasomnia courtyard. It has benches under trees. It has a fountain. It has fog because of course it does, it’s Diasomnia. I sit on a bench and shut my eyes and grit my teeth against the acid burning through my stomach.

[ ping ]

My phone wants my attention. Normally it’s superglued/surgically attached to my hand, and muscle memory politely shoves me toward checking it, but I can’t look.

[ ping ] [ ping ] [ ping ]

The messages flicker before my eyes as clearly as when I first read them.

[ ping ]

It was weird, I had thought at the time. A couple vague posts from my friends popped up in my feed at random. Eventually I messaged one to find out what happened.

[ ping ] [ ping ]

Overdose, they’d said. Insulin and antidepressants. A month’s supply of hoarded medications. Suddenly the posts made awful sense. Claws gripped my heart and made it hard to breathe.

[ ping ]

“I had almost forgotten that humans can tell lies.”

Malleus’s voice startles me out of my woeful thoughts. “What?” I ask stupidly.

He gazes down at me. His features are shrouded by the dark, but I can see the downward turn of his mouth and feel the intensity of his eyes. He’s concerned. “You said you would be right back.”

I turn away from him and look at the ground. “Sorry,” I mumble. “You wanna sit down?”

He does. His presence warms the air next to me. I want to isolate myself - it’s so easy - but I make myself scoot closer to him so he can at least hold my hand.

“A lot of people hate birthdays,” I blurt out abruptly. “Like, they gripe about getting older, usually.”

My hand curls up tighter. He’s so different from me, all soothing heat and composure and grace to my sharp edges and cold, jittery nightmare of an existence.

“Is that what troubles you?” he asks quietly. His voice helps.

“No.” My voice wobbles, about to fall off the balance beam. This was not how I pictured having this conversation. In fairness, I had hoped it was a conversation I would never need to have. “A couple years ago. Something bad happened.”

Malleus is yet unfamiliar with many a human habit and social convention, but it seems he has learned at least one from me. He lifts one arm and rests it along the back of my shoulders.

My voice goes strangely cold and steady.

“My friend died. Killed herself. She overdosed and had seizures for ten days until they took her off life support the day before my birthday.”

The words linger like the bitter fog of my breath in the air. He says nothing.

“I hate my birthday now. I’m mad at her for doing this to me. I hate myself for being mad at her. I hate it because it could’ve been-”

My voice hitches as if caught on a sharp edge. If I open my mouth to try again, I know I’ll choke on tears.

“It could have been you?”

He poses the question as delicately as the touch of a fallen petal.

I’ve already cried over this so much that I don’t think I can ever cry again. But I’m finding it hard to breathe, the air escaping from my chest in erratic puffs of visible vapor.

[ ping ]

I hated the group chat they’d made. A dozen semi-strangers propping each other up with worthless promises that she would be okay, even though I knew the moment I heard the news that she wouldn’t make it. So many people lamenting how sad it was. So many “my door is always open”s.

“I think I understand.”

Malleus speaks close to my ear. I fall into his embrace as though collapsing under the weight of my words.

“It is not about celebrating the loss of a year,” he says in a soft murmur, “but the completion of one that might have been lost.” He strokes my hair. “As if conquering a great foe in battle.”

“Mhm. Slaying the dragon.”

It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. But he laughs.

“I should hope not. It is my birthday, after all.”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m making you miss it.”

“All is well.” He leans his head against mine. “I do not believe I am missing anything.”

I want to accept this as a wistful sentiment, but I make myself stand up. “Well, contrary to popular belief,” I say, taking both of his hands in my own, “birthday parties aren’t exclusively for you.” I give a light tug to pull him to his feet, and he rises with the poise of a dancer. “They’re also for your friends to eat cake and play games and be super obnoxious. So you shouldn’t leave them hanging.”

I never thought I would find the lights and crowd noise of a party welcoming, but I welcome it. Malleus keeps a hand around my shoulders - protective, comforting - until he’s certain I’ve recovered enough to stand on my own. I’m not quite up to joining the conga line, but I help myself to another slice of cake and some bonbons and a cup of punch.

“Feeling better?”

Lilia winks into existence next to me.

I’ve given up asking how he did that or when he showed up or anything else to the tune of fact-checking him against reality. “I forget you two can hear a pin drop in the next zip code,” I say as flatly as I can.

He gives a light laugh and pats my head. “I only want to make sure you are well,” he says.

“I think given my track record it’s safe to say that I’ve never been very well, Lilia.”

A strange expression settles over his eyes. Something knowing. Something…aged.

“It is never easy to face a monster in battle,” he says. “No matter your experience, your skills, your preparation- every confrontation is unique.”

I hold eye contact with him and sense I am speaking to a very different man.

“Do you know the meaning of bravery, young one?”

“Something something not being afraid of things?” I offer.

His smile politely declines my suggestion. “Silver made that mistake as well.” Lilia reaches over and taps me on the nose. “To be fearless is not to be brave, child of man. True courage lies in having fear and choosing to fight regardless of it.”

My gaze sweeps back to Malleus. Sebek is losing any composure he might have had due to a smear of frosting marring his lord’s white blazer. I look down at the half-finished cake in front of me. “It never stops, does it?” My voice comes out in a half-whispered croak. “I’ll never win.”

Lilia ruffles my hair. “You won’t know unless you try, young one.” His smirk never wavers, but it looks more genuine. “Besides,” he says with a knowing glance at my band of idiots - Grim balancing precariously atop Ace’s shoulders and trying to place a birthday tiara around Malleus’s horns - “it is hardly as though you are fighting alone.”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate

azul's diet includes salad dressing and the blood of his enemies.

azul x reader

cw: mild blood, biting

also on ao3

gift for @boundlessentity 🐙🧡

1

“I learned some cool stuff in bio today.”

Azul glances up at you as he takes a bite of his salad. “Hm?” He has too many manners to talk with his mouth full.

You have a habit of eating much faster than him. Probably why you get the hiccups so often. But hey, food is meant to be enjoyed. “Yeah, like, all octopi have venom in their spit.”

He chuckles and dabs at his mouth with a napkin, then takes a sip of water. “‘Octopi’ is not a word.”

You scoff at him. “That’s your takeaway? First of all, language snobbery is classist. Second, I will die before I use ‘octopuses’ as a noun on purpose. I will accept ‘octopods’ as a compromise but it’s on thin ice.”

He merely smiles into his glass of wine. “What else did you learn?”

“Uhhhh.” You glance up at the ceiling like the air overhead holds the answers. “You don’t actually have tentacles, just arms?”

“Correct. I do, in fact, have arms.”

“Shut up. Also you could get eaten by a shark.”

“So could you.” He spears the last few leaves of arugula on his fork and swirls them through the lemon pepper vinaigrette. One of Vil’s recipes that probably cost him one of his eight (ten?) arms. “This does not sound like a terribly informative class.”

“Can we go back to the poisonous spit?”

“Venomous.”

“Whatever. Does your therapist tell you you deflect this much?” You take the last two pieces of bread and load them up with olive oil and salt.

“I am merely ensuring you do not commit false information to memory.” He repeats the napkin-and-water-sip ritual. “For something to be poisonous means that it causes damage by being ingested, inhaled, absorbed, things of that nature. Eating a puffer fish, for example.” His eyes take on a different cast as he gazes at you, though he rests his chin atop his hands with his elbows on the table, a tiny concession to the side of himself with fewer manners. “Venom, in contrast, is injected into the victim, as it must enter the bloodstream to work. Merely touching it poses no danger, assuming no other toxins with adverse effects are present, or the surface is not already compromised.”

You just sort of blink at him. “Is it, um…like…has it touched me?” One hand hovers over your mouth as your fight-or-flight response helps you vividly imagine what it would be like for your face to go numb with a deadly neurotoxin. He wouldn’t do that.

Though the hunger in his expression suggests otherwise. You really wish he would quit this diet nonsense.

“Perhaps.” Another laugh ripples out of him. The sound makes it feel like you’re underwater even though you’re in the dining room. “What would you do if I said yes?”

You have the abrupt, terrifying mental image of him climbing onto the table and crawling towards you, knocking all the plates to the floor, licking his lips and holding you captive with too many arms, watching you squirm until he bites you and you can’t move anymore.

Then his face lightens and he laughs cheerfully. “I am joking, my love. Besides…you would have noticed.” Another smile, another sip of wine and then water. Vil said it helps to cleanse the palate of any lingering acidity to preserve one's smile.

How reassuring. “This diet is messing with your head.” You aim your bread at him. “You need more protein.”

He has taken to running one finger around the rim of the wine glass, sending a whine through the air. “Perhaps you are right.”

You wish he would stop looking at you like you’re the protein.

Dating Azul Ashengrotto should have been frightening for reasons that mostly did not involve the man himself.

His line of work, somewhat. His clientele, certainly. But him? He had always treated you differently. Protective. Gentle. Sweet, even, though nobody would believe you for it. What he saw in you must have been special, because you had nothing to offer that would be of any measurable value in return. And not once has he roped you into a client’s contract or put you in danger.

The hell with it. You stand and go around to his side of the table to give him your favorite kind of hug, where you drape your arms over his shoulders from behind and bury your face in his luxuriant hair. He hums contentedly and lays one hand over the point where your arms cross, near what you are pretty sure is the space between his second and third hearts. His other hand finds your hair in return.

“You smell nice,” you mumble.

“You are much too kind.” He turns around in his chair enough to look at you, close enough to kiss but not actually doing it. His eyes drop to your mouth before moving back to meet your gaze. “And much, much too good for me.”

At least he does finally kiss you after all. And it doesn’t even taste like salad dressing.

{1} | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Jk.

I am just here to beg for the Rui crumbs once more

*bangs my tin can against my prison bars*

Plz I am but a poor

Bartenders have been famous for lending a listening ear and a friendly smile since the first time one person handed another a drink. Rui thinks about this a lot. He hears it all from his fellow students: classes, exams, training, missions. Largely complaints.

He serves them all with a smile, exuding a confidence and flirtatious demeanor that masks a hollow, lonely darkness underneath. What he wouldn't give to go to class without worrying about someone dropping dead if he brushed past them in the hall. What he would do to have the chance to take an exam and fail it and commiserate with his classmates about the professors and the cafeteria food and lamenting the fact that all the cute girls were taken.

Rui wants to say that he would even take up regular missions again, if it meant his curse would be lifted, but that thought gives him pause. It's how he'd gotten into this sorry state in the first place. He was the answer to 'What's the worst that could happen on a mission?'.

Rui sighs and polishes the next glass.

"You're quiet tonight, Mickey."

Rui's façade never lasts terribly long when Romeo is his only company. The effervescence that makes his drinks so pleasant does not linger in his faded ruby eyes. He looks over at his friend and sees Romeo twirling the stem of his wine glass between his two fingers.

"Just thinking," Rui says with a sigh that is downright morose.

"About?"

Romeo is content to let the question hang for as long as Rui needs it to.

Rui pushes the glass aside and sets the cleaning cloth next to it. "The things people take for granted," he replies. "You know, little things, like...sitting next to strangers on a train. Getting boba with your friends after school. Going to the movies." His heart feels heavier just voicing the words he constantly thinks but never says.

Romeo nods to acknowledge him. "I can understand that," he says. "I took much of my life for granted until the incident that landed me here." He takes a generous sip of wine. Romeo's eyes are another pair of gemstones, twin flashes of deep, fiery purple and scarlet. They flick over to meet Rui's. "We're not alone in this feeling, though. Everyone experiences it, at some point."

"I'm not sure if that's helpful or not." Rui can't help but smile a bit anyway. "I can't imagine what you were like before Darkwick, Romi."

Romeo gives a light shrug. "Does it matter? That man is gone."

Rui's smile softens, becoming a little less spirited and a little more real. "Yeah. For me too, I guess." He chuckles a little, staring into the bottom of the freshly-cleaned glass to glimpse his reflection. "You'd be a good bartender, y'know. You're good at listening."

Romeo takes visible offense to this. "Please. I would shoot myself before I would listen to these people gripe and moan. I'm honestly not sure how you do it."

(Romeo's compliments were really something.)

Rui finally brightened a bit. He reached for the bottle of prosecco he'd made for Romi and topped off his friend's drink, then poured himself a glass and raised it in a toast. "It's not too bad, really," he said as they clinked their glasses together. "I've had a lot of practice."

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Maestro

romeo complains. yuri attempts to cheer him up. (not a ship.) sidecar of music theory free of charge.

also on ao3

cw: blood, gory deaths.

words: 2,393 plus a few unrepeatables from romi.

Romeo had a surprisingly good singing voice. He’d been formally taught the basics as a child, inhaling correctly and enunciation and so forth, but the soulful part came to him as naturally as breathing. The lyrics of this particular song seemed to tumble straight from his heart by way of his tongue.

“~passigiar…sott’er cielo de Romaaa~”

Yuri chuckled to himself. “Homesick and nostalgic today, are we?”

An exasperated sigh broke off his singing from the other room and left the vintage record to continue on without him. “You have no idea,” he lamented. There was the clinking of glasses and liquid fizzing briefly before he returned with one perilously-full drink in each hand. He passed one to Yuri on his way to his favorite chair, but from the way he collapsed into it, it was rather evident that he would prefer to be sprawled across the couch cushions instead.

Yuri sipped the top layer off and closed his eyes to savor it. “Ahhh, so refreshing,” he declared before setting it aside.

Romeo took a healthy swig from his own glass. Yuri guessed this was not his first or second drink of the afternoon. Perhaps not even his third. “These idiots must convene every day to decide how best to piss me off.” He took on a mocking tone. “‘Oooo, look, everyone, four o’clock, what asinine ideas did we come up with today? Gasp! Great thinking, Kaito! That will infuriate him for sure!’ Fucking hell.”

“It would not surprise me.” Yuri passed him a sympathetic look. “We are surrounded and, regrettably, outnumbered.”

“I swear to god, if you start singing Hamilton right now, I’m going to push you in front of a truck.”

Yuri cackled. “I’ll generously attribute that insult to your blood alcohol content. What are you by now, point-oh-five, oh-six maybe?”

Romeo gave an irritated growl. “Whatever it is, it’s not high enough.” He emptied the rest of his glass with an aggravated, less-than-gentlemanly sigh. A watery glance at the goblet told Yuri he was thinking of throwing it in frustration, but a sluggish mental calculation of the monetary value stayed his velvet hand. “Is this better or worse than shooting something?”

“Well, I do advise against the consumption of more than one alcoholic beverage per day, as a matter of course.”

“Why did I invite you?”

The corner of Yuri’s mouth twitched. “Because, my morose little Sicilian transplant, I always know how to cheer you up.”

Romeo’s eyes focused a little more certainly on Yuri. “That sounds like you have an idea.”

“I do have an idea, Watson.” Yuri picked up the leather briefcase at his feet and offered it to Romeo, whose gemstone eyes regained some brilliance at the sight. He set his glass down and took the case.

He spun the codes, and the brass latches snapped open at his touch. He opened the case. “Ooooo…” He gingerly removed a glass vial from the set. “It’s not even my birthday!”

“I presumed you have at least a few specimens available at all times.”

“You presume correctly, amico mio.” He nodded at Yuri’s drink. “Finish that first. We do not waste liquor in this house. And don’t make me wait.”

“Demanding. I shall have to take twice as long now.”

“Non ci pensare!”

Yuri drained the rest of his glass and took both his and Romeo’s back to the private kitchen. Romeo had decided that, due to their repeated incompetence peppered with instances of treachery, he could no longer trust any of the employees to do menial tasks for him - at least, nothing that would allow them to be in his suite unsupervised. Yuri quickly rinsed and dried the glasses before returning to the lounge area, where he found Romeo examining the rest of his new collection.

“May I do the honors?” asked Yuri.

Romeo snapped the case shut and stood. “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

Yuri entered the weapons vault and arranged the various unassuming levers and switches to unlock the hidden door, then they both stepped forward into darkness. Romeo’s mood had improved substantially; he was humming now, halfway through the next verse of the song he’d left unfinished, about a couple disappearing together beneath the blanket of a summer night in Rome.

“I don’t suppose you ever listen to real music,” Yuri said snidely.

Romeo called him a word he’d never heard before (and one he suspected Romeo’s mother would slap out of his mouth). “Take that back.”

“I will not. It is just as Mozart says in the film: ‘the only sound Italians understand is banality. Show them one interesting modulation and they faint.’” He didn’t have to see Romeo’s face to know what sort of fury he was igniting. “The Germans are unmatched in their creation of the world’s finest composers. Strauss, Bach, Handel - Beethoven, for god’s sake! Mendelssohn! Wagner!” Yuri had a particular fondness for Wagner. “I could go on for days.”

“And I thought you were here to cheer me up,” Romeo said with disgust. “I don’t need to be insulted like this. Besides, if Germans are such renowned musicians, why is Italian the language of music, hm? All the terminology, the notation?”

Yuri had to bite back a laugh that bordered on maniacal. “So they could take notes on how it should be done.”

It earned him another verbal slap, but it was worth it. Short was the list of people who could get away with taunting Romeo in such a way.

They emerged from the corridor and into the crimson shadows of the auction hall. Yuri could only make out a few faint movements in each of the tall, golden cages, but he could hear the mumbles and groans of the casino’s latest merchandise within them, and it brought out his most sinister smile. He watched Romeo set the briefcase on a table and reverentially open it again.

“Well, well, where to start, where to start…” He swept one finger back and forth across the row of vials as if expecting one to jump to his hand magnetically. He finally selected the one in the center.

“Excellent choice.” Yuri adjusted his gloves and grinned.

Romeo uncapped the vial and poured the contents into his palm. Having honed his abilities over the years, it was nothing for him to control his stigma with a delicate hand, the way a conductor would lead an orchestra through a soft, intricate passage, with mindful restraint and a gradually warming pull through the opening crescendo. He inhaled, then lifted his hand and blew the powder away with a kiss.

The powder thinned into silken smoke that spilled over the cage before him. When he heard the first subject fall with a clang, a little shiver of excitement teased his heart. The others followed immediately and rattled the cage from the impact. Romeo thought he might faint for completely different reasons.

“Incredible,” he whispered as the smoke dissipated to reveal the collapsed bodies. “And without an obvious trace, I assume,” he added over his shoulder without looking away from his work.

“Naturally,” Yuri said with a roll of his eyes. “This is hardly amateur hour.”

Romeo took the liberty of crushing the nearest subject’s fingers beneath his heel as he made for the adjacent cage.

“If I may suggest a prescription,” Yuri said with a sneer as he offered up a second vial.

“As my father would say, ‘You make-a terrible sentences.’” Romeo took the glass tube and uncapped it. The powder within shifted like crushed rubies. He glanced over at Yuri with elation glittering in his eyes and saw his friend pulling on a face mask.

“Best aim carefully with that one.”

O, be still his trembling heart. Romeo could hardly stand it.

He tipped a small amount of the substance into his hand and blew a breath over it. Rather than soft smoke, it shattered into a trillion shards of light that settled like a delicate veil over the test subjects. Just as their voices began to swell in a chorus of pain, Romeo, their brilliant conductor, charged them to sing instead with the blood bubbling up from their vacant mouths like so many fountains.

The choir died as a collective, strangled song.

Romeo felt the shiver again, reverberating through his ribcage with thunderous applause. He could hardly hear his own awestruck voice over the roaring admiration ringing in his ears.

“Che bello.”

Yuri gave a dark laugh. “I’m pleased to hear it.” He removed his mask and offered Romeo the third vial, which contained a thick, clear liquid that moved like warm syrup. “Now, let us say, for the sake of argument, that one of your lieutenants has, unfortunately, killed an informant from whom you had yet to extract information.” Yuri often spoke as if he were a tenured professor at the center of a lecture hall, complete with pacing back and forth. Romeo folded his hands in front of himself like an attentive student. “Or let us say, for instance, that you come upon the scene of a massacre and have no one left alive to interrogate.”

Romeo nodded along obediently.

“This one is of particular value in such a scenario,” Yuri said with a devious arch to his eyebrow and a wicked smile, neither of which he could contain for long enough to pass as a respectable man. “It can be applied using any of the standard methods. Go on.”

Romeo inspected the substance. Liquids were far more difficult to control via his particular stigma, given that few explosives existed in such a state. Solids were easy; powders, convenient; vapors, manageable. But liquids just had minds of their own.

Still, he couldn’t exactly let Yuri show him up on his own stage.

He spread a small amount on the nearest subject’s forehead, channeling the thinnest slice of his power, a mere grace note leading into the intended tone. It suddenly sparked beneath his fingertips and burned quickly into the subject’s skin with an ugly char. He leaned away in disgust, more at himself for failing than at the sight and sound of seared flesh. Heaven knew he’d done worse.

The subject opened its eyes and tried to scream, but the blood coating its throat merely gurgled along.

It was over in moments, and it dropped dead again.

“I suppose I need more practice,” he said with the ghost of a frown.

Yuri tapped his chin in thought - a habit of which Romeo had tried to break him many times. “I suppose it makes sense,” he said contemplatively. “If the subject’s injuries are such that they would be prevented from speaking, they would not be able to respond to questioning.” Romeo noticed belatedly that he was holding a familiar recording device in one hand. “Consult texts in aisle eight, section twelve, rows…five and six, I believe. Need to reformulate to lessen the chance of unexpected combustion.”

Well, at least that made Romeo feel a little better. “Did you steal that from Shinjo?”

Yuri’s mouth curled. “Borrowed, thank you. Mine took an unanticipated leap into the hydrostatic weighing tank.”

“Ah.” Romeo slipped his phone out of his pocket. He swiped away all of the notifications and opened Spotify, then navigated to his usual playlist and hit play.

Yuri shook his head as the opening bars of ‘That’s Amore’ rose in volume around them, courtesy of Romeo’s very expensive sound system and led by his signature serenading tone. “Always have to show off that famous Lucci family singing voice, don’t you?”

There was an audible tinkling sound as Romeo brought his rifle out to play. “Why not?” he asked as he loaded the last of Yuri’s prototype vials into the modified chamber. “It’s not like I’m going to inherit anything else from this fucking family.” He racked the round and briefly closed his eyes to let the song wash over him to clear his head of everything else. The fizz of sweet prosecco and the bitter citrus of aperol lingered on his musical tongue and reminded him of home.

Perhaps he had drunk too much wine. He bent back, aimed high, and shot the light fixture at the center of the ceiling. It exploded and plunged the room into darkness, but the flash powder burst into glimmering stars that rained down in a slow shower like his favorite kind of fireworks, the one that spread glittering strands in all directions and fell in the shape of a weeping willow. Or a chandelier.

As the screams of the remaining test subjects withered into cries and moans beneath the swell of the music, Romeo watched the stars he had wrought into existence shimmer and finally fade into the black.

“I always hated that thing,” Yuri concurred with a nod.

“I need a chandelier. A real chandelier.” Romeo ejected the empty vial from the gun and flicked it back onto its keychain, which he twirled thoughtfully around one finger. “I would invite you along on the trip to Venice if you would not be insufferable about it.”

Yuri scoffed. “I resent the implication,” he said indignantly over crossed arms. “I would behave in a perfectly reasonable manner on the way to Lauscha.”

“And what makes you think I would accept anything less than the finest quality?” Romeo let a bit of the flash powder residue flare to life in his hand so they could find their way to the exit. It flickered in his gemstone eyes.

“Documented reliability,” Yuri said with a smirk and a wave of his borrowed voice recorder. “You consistently choose your arrogant, misplaced pride over objectively better options.”

“You are not my psychiatrist, Yuri.”

Yuri snorted. “Of course not. Such a profession would drive me mad.”

Romeo wondered, sometimes, about whether he should make a foray into another area of his expertise instead of committing his life to the ailing family business. Music, perhaps. He could quite easily imagine himself conducting a one-hundred-piece symphony orchestra at the center of a concert hall. One he would have designed and constructed in order to best showcase his prowess.

Beneath a distinctly Venetian chandelier.

“Very well,” Romeo conceded to his wistful imaginings. “You may serve your German gingerbread as concessions at my concert hall in Rome.”

“What the hell are you talking about, mein Freund?”

Romeo chuckled. “Nothing,” he said. “Just the musings of a genius.”

x

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

chocolate

lilia being an emotional support bat dad.

cw: panic attack, mental breakdown, depression, grief.

Maybe it’s cause I grew up in a desert. It’s common to find other biomes more exciting than your own. I usually gravitate to the ocean - beaches, salt in the air, still warmed by the sun since I’m no good in the cold. Ever since I moved, though, I think more about forests.

It’s really beautiful in the fall, when the aspens light themselves on fire, searing golden and magenta streaks among the black evergreens. The chilly mountain wind that whispers the coming of winter on the back of my neck. I’m cold as fuck.

“I did not expect to find you here again.”

I’m sitting on the forest floor, mud soaking into my pants, creeping in after it’s already engulfed my boots. Staring into the infinite distance, like I might spot a deer. The slick leaves aren’t the best seat cushion.

“You either.”

Lilia scuffs up some of the slop a few feet away until it’s loose enough for him to jam the magearm into it. The mud is thick and strong enough to hold the weapon upright when he lets go. It reminds me of the time he made coffee-flavored cake batter with, like, a pound of corn starch because it was “basically the same as powdered sugar,” and it solidified so much that I snapped the spoon in half trying to extract it from the muck. A smile taps at the corner of my mouth.

“What?”

I keep staring at nothing as he sits down next to me. “Lucky it’s not a wooden spoon.”

“Ah, of course, my famous mocha rocky road cake.”

“Complete with actual rocks. And probably pieces of road.”

He ruffles my hair before sitting down next to me.

I twist to reach back behind him, and I watch him tense proactively, ever the fighter, ever prepared for a world that no longer exists. His eyes follow the path of my hand and then flick back to my face. I wrap his ponytail around a few fingers and sweep it forward over his shoulder.

“So it doesn’t get muddy,” I explain.

“Hm.” Lilia pulls the length of hair into one of his own hands and studies the ends of it. “I never thought about that.” He lifts his gaze to the gray sky, framed by flakes of gold leaf and dark pines. “Why do you keep coming back here?”

My heart trips over the question. “Why do you?” I ask, because I have no comeback.

“I asked you first.”

Now that it’s been unseated, my heart quivers uncomfortably in my chest. “Thinking.” It threatens to tighten up the way it does when I’m about to cry. “Thinking a lot, lately.”

Lilia makes a sound of affirmation. “Understandable.” He looks back down at his hands, no longer seeing the black and red ribbons of hair woven around his fingers. No, I can see it on his face. He’s seeing black and red of a different kind. Stains that soaked through his gloves and skin and down into his bones.

“Your turn.”

He blinks his way out of it. “Mm…I suppose I find myself thinking a lot lately, too.”

“Great. Good talk.” It has a sharper edge than I intended.

But he smiles before I can apologize. “I worry about you, little one. My memories are not a place meant for mortal feet to tread.”

“Heh. The inside of your head’s a lot fucking better than mine.” I bend my legs so I can rest my elbows on my knees. The undersides of my calves and thighs are cold. “At least your shit’s already over.”

“Is it?” Lilia gazes at me as if gazing through me, as if I’m the ghost, making him question whether this is a dream or a memory or merely the hope for one. As if I’m the one forcing him to live in the past. Maybe I am. What a piece of shit. “I scarcely allowed myself to even think of a time when that might be true.”

My eyes and nose start to sting. I sniffle and am rewarded with the acrid bitterness of wildfire smoke shoved down my throat. A remnant of a time when it wasn’t the trees lighting themselves aflame with fall colors and raking burning claws down the mountains’ slopes, when it wasn’t a misty autumn day, or if it was, you’d never know it because of the thick clouds of death churning in the sky. “Same. Except I know it will never be over for me.” Different sniffles now. “Not til the very end.”

Lilia clasps my upper arm as if to anchor me before I can drift away. I wait for him to counter my words with wisdom, for a lecture about hope or attitude or what the fuck ever that I’ve heard so many times already.

The concept of ‘hope’ has bothered me for a long time. It laughs in the face of reality. Some things are left to chance or possibility, but some things aren’t. Some things are inevitable. Some things just really fucking suck.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just holds on to me as a tornado of panic abruptly unravels me and tries to rip me away to fling me into the sky. I know a lot about tornadoes, actually. I know a pretty decent amount about panic, too.

“Start counting.” Lilia doesn’t lapse back into his commanding officer voice very often, but it’s not the kind of thing you say no to.

My voice is a tangled mess of knots strangling my heart. I hold on to him and try to remember what numbers are.

“I s- s-see- um, trees, and…leaves-” That’s as far as I can get without a sob cracking me in half. That was only two. I need five. “…dirt and…sticks…?” Running out of ideas, I glance over his shoulder. “Big green rock.”

“Mhm. Next.” Same intense, unwavering voice.

“Uh…h-hear…leaves rustling, and…um…wind…” My heart seizes again like I’ve been stabbed, a silent shriek of agony that won’t let me go. A bit of it snaps off and escapes as a thin, painful whine. I can’t keep going. I can’t.

“And?”

Humming. He’s humming.

I grasp for another breath. “Your singing.”

“Good. Three is fine. What else?”

I tighten my fingers around a clump of wet, dead leaves. Leaves were the answer to everything today. “Feel cold…mud. Fabric.” I think about the texture of the cloak over his shoulders. Hand-woven, strong. Softer than you might expect. When did he start hugging me? I don’t remember that happening.

“Very good,” he says soothingly. “What can you smell?”

I burrow my face into his arm and inhale sharply. Smoke. Oil. Dirt. Old blood. “Rain. Rain and…” I frown a little, opening one eye in suspicion. “ …sugar?”

Lilia laughs, low and quiet. “Here.” He touches something smooth and cold to my lips.

I tuck it into my mouth and let it melt. “Chocolate.”

“Indeed.”

Lilia never lets go of a hug first. He always waits until I’m ready. Sometimes I feel like that will never happen, but eventually, I do feel a little lighter. A little less crushed. I wait til the chocolate has melted into a thin coating before I pull away.

“Better?”

I nod. I’m still crying - the cold air makes the tears sting - but I can feel the spike of pain retreating. It takes a few breaths to get my voice back under control. “Father’s Day was hard.” Saying it aloud relieves more of the pressure. It’s really annoying that therapy actually works.

Lilia nods. “The weight of our grief mirrors the depths of our love.”

I look down and gently close my eyes. Still raining. “It’s not just what I lost, it’s…it didn’t need to be that way. So many things didn’t need to happen. He didn’t…” My voice gets so soft it cracks. “…he didn’t need to die. And I’m so afraid that I’ll only remember the last couple years, all the bad shit, how rotten it all was, and…and the good memories will fade, and…I won’t…” I hiccup.

“Now, now,” Lilia chides me. “Some version of you knows better than that.”

“Yeah.”

“So perhaps we should listen to her.”

I hesitate. “…I guess.”

“Because she is the smartest person I know.”

I snort. That snaps me out of it. I look up and wipe my eyes a few times. “It’s true, it’s all true. You would all be lost without me.”

Lilia’s eyes have always intrigued me. The color shift must be an age thing, dark red when he’s younger, softening to raspberry pink as he gets older and lighter and sillier. At this point he’s somewhere in between. “They would,” he says quite seriously. “They really would.”

He lets it linger in the air between us before cracking a smile and giving my shoulder a playful shove. “Big green rock, huh?”

“Well, look at it and tell me that’s not what you see!” I cry with a gesture at his magearm.

“I cannot argue with such profound reasoning.”

“Damn right you can’t.” I stretch a bit before trying to stand. Lilia doesn’t quite spring to his feet so much as he floats up and lands delicately on the toes of his boots, then he reaches down to help me up. I brush my pants off the best I can, but I will be doing laundry later. “Ugh. Wet mud…this shit’s like superglue.”

“Precisely why I prefer the beach.” Lilia lifts his chin with closed eyes and draws a breath deep enough to pull in traces of distantly salty air. “Perhaps we could meet there next time?” he suggests.

“Perhaps.” Next time. There always has to be a next time, right? But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. If I have to have these dark days - if they’re going to happen no matter what - then I have to make it through them to get to the next good thing. The next day at the beach. The next questionable baking attempt. The next piece of chocolate.

“Good. It does get exhausting lugging this thing around.” Lilia glances down at the magearm where it sticks out of the mud. “No offense,” he adds apologetically.

“I’m sure it’s just glad to not be used as a kitchen knife again.” I snicker at the memory.

“What was I supposed to do!” Lilia cries indignantly as we walk away, leaving his weapon and all its memories in the thick of the forest. It gets warmer the further out of the woods we get. His eyes flash brighter in the breaking sun. “Nothing else was sharp enough to cut the cake!”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 2

“A party?” You give Ace your most suspicious look yet. Full-blown ‘Red is sus, vote him out’ energy.

“I will break this down for you in words of one syllable.” He even claps the words. “You. HAVE. TO. GET. US. IN.”

“Are you sure it’s not another weird insta rumor?”

Ace shakes his head fervently. “Nuh uh. Cater’s info is always good.”

Azul hasn’t mentioned a party. He isn’t the type to enjoy them as a guest, except the usual birthday things, since it’s the one day a year he gets whatever he wants without the hassle of making people work for it. During most parties at the Lounge, he waits in his office for the twins to shuffle prospective clients in and out during the cover of chaos.

Although, as usual, you are the exception to his rule.

“I guess I’ll ask.”

Deuce arrives as he usually does, skidding sideways into the booth like a one-man showing of Tokyo Drift. “Yooo,” he says as if he didn’t just crash into Ace, “are you guys ready for the test?”

“What, the one about octopuses?” Except Ace’s mouth is full of loaded nachos, so it comes out more like ‘offtofufef’ with a whiff of sour cream.

“God, I hate that word,” you add with a disappointed shake of your head. “What’s so wrong with ‘octopi?’ Or ‘octopods.’”

Deuce grabs the chocolate malt you always have waiting for him. “I thought it was octo-podes, like, toads.”

“As in, octopo-DEEZ NU-”

“Close, my guy.” Epel takes a handful of nachos. “It’s actually a Greek word, so it’s pronounced ‘oc-top-o-dees.’”

By the grace of god, Deuce manages to elbow Ace in the ribs hard enough to make him eat his words and choke down a glob of probably-cheese, with some fresh jalapeños for good measure.

You sigh. “I hate you all so much.” You figure you know the test material as well as you’re ever going to, so instead of cramming, you go find Cater’s instagram and tap through his story. He posts so often that it looks like a chain of dots across the top of the screen, most of them replays from whatever party he was at last night. But he does, in fact, mention a party at the Lounge. Tomorrow night, invite only.

You feel a twinge of pain in your chest at the idea that he wasn’t going to tell you about it, let alone invite you. But there must be a good reason.

“There is a good reason,” Azul murmurs into your lips, leaving behind a trailing chill. “I do not wish for harm to come to you.”

It’s hard to talk about business at a time like this, and not just because you’re still thinking about the venom.

“I figured.” This is all his fault, though, because he started it. You plant one hand into the couch cushions for support and kiss him more thoroughly. Actually, a lot of things are his fault. “But I also said I would ask.”

“Mhmm.” Azul tucks one finger beneath the strap of your tank top and caresses your shoulder blade. “I suppose if your friends were there, they could help look after you.”

You sit up a little, annoyed at him, even though he looks cute this way. “I don’t need looking after.”

He sits up beneath you and toys with a lock of your hair, curling and uncurling around his finger thoughtfully. He’s become so relaxed around you. He hardly ever wears his gloves anymore. “Of course not,” he says sweetly. “But anyone looking in from the outside would notice you far less in a group than if you were alone.”

You hook your arms around his neck and let your foreheads touch. “Am I going to be alone?” The question carries more weight than you intended for it to bear.

He notices, because he notices everything, but he pays it no mind. He wraps one arm protectively around your waist, hugging you close enough that his hip bones dent your inner thighs. “Never,” he reassures you. “Not as long as you are mine.”

Your next kiss turns deeply passionate out of nowhere. Yes, because he is exactly your type and you can’t believe this is real, but also because your heart swells every time you think about him, because the thought of losing him leaves you in the deepest despair-

You realize what you’re about to say too late to stop it.

“I love you.”

For once, Azul looks genuinely surprised. “Is that true?” Traces of his namesake color bloom through his skin.

“What? Of course it’s true.” You tuck his extra-long piece of hair behind his ear, as if the rest of it isn't thoroughly mussed from your makeout session. “I love everything about you.”

He recoils shyly, fending off a smile. “And here I was doing everything not to frighten you away by saying it first.”

You giggle and place both hands on his chest. You’ll take every opportunity to feel his muscles beneath the pads of your fingers. “You’re still allowed to say it.”

“Good.” He leans in close enough to speak against your lips again. “Because I do love you, my sweet.”

It feels like he’s pinching the skin on your back, though you quickly realize it’s not his fingers at all. His arm has shifted into that of an octopus from the elbow down, and the suction cups are clinging tightly to your skin. You wince uncomfortably at the feeling - not pain, exactly, but foreign and strange - but then he lets go just as fast and laughs lightly.

“Shall I take you shopping prior to the event?” he asks as if he did not just leave an octopus tattoo crawling from your shoulder blade up to your neck.

Your sigh is melodramatic. “I guess that would be okay.” You act like you’re going to kiss his lips, but you move to his neck instead. It’s only fair if you get to leave a mark of your own.

1 | {2} | 3 | 4 | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

How Not to Fall

malleus as therapy round two.

cw: suicidal ideation/attempts/methods, mental breakdown, severe depression, grief/implied death. discretion advised.

Flying is just learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss.

I would be lying to tell you I haven’t imagined this moment a hundred different ways.

Some versions are more involved than others. Sometimes the scene drags on for several pages. Other times it’s over in half a paragraph.

This time, I’m standing on top of a wall. It’s dark out, a combination of night and storm clouds, because it’s more dramatic that way. The wall is stone, black or dark gray, covered in moss and lichen that makes it look older and darker. Thorns crowd my feet. Also dark, maybe purple for a little color contrast, though.

“Why did you save me?”

My voice is as unstable as I am. In between blinks, my view of the wall changes. Sometimes it’s dozens of feet thick and I’m safely-ish enough in the middle of it. Sometimes it’s the width of a balance beam beneath the toes of my tired sneakers. Cold rain makes the vines and mosses grow thicker and the flat, grimy surface of the stone turn slick and dangerous. It also makes me shiver. I never was one for the cold.

“Are you asking me to save you again?”

Malleus. As usual. And, as he says, again.

“I don’t know,” I tell him, and it’s the truth.

“I would not be here otherwise.”

I squeeze my eyes shut against the rain. Tears burn their way out instead. Acid rain. Ha ha. “Maybe, then. I’m not sure.”

“I will leave,” he says slowly, “if that is what you wish.”

“No.” Panic takes hold and makes me shake, but I can’t move. If I move, I’ll fall, with nothing but an abyss to catch me. “Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

“Do you want me to-”

“No,” I say again, less sharply. “Just. Just stay there for a minute. And talk to me.”

“Alright.”

I listen to the rain and keep my eyes closed. I feel around for the limits of the wall with my toes, inch by centimeter. It turns out to be wide enough for me to sit on, so I do. I’m too scared to move more than that. I open my eyes after a bit and stare into the distance where the horizon would be if this were real.

Malleus walks close enough that I can hear the creaking leather of his boots and the heavy, hand-woven fabric of his cloak brushing against him. The wall must be wide enough for him to walk comfortably, then. I’m not that well-practiced at looking away from the dark, but thinking about little shit things like that keeps my head above the water.

(Water. Drowning. Fighting for air, swallowed by the sea. Monstrous things grasping at me and tugging me into the deep. Another time, another place.)

“Is there something you would like for me to say?”

His question snaps me back to the present again. For a second, it’s not cold, not raining. But a second doesn’t last long.

“Tell me anything.” I sniffle. “Anything to make me change my mind.”

“Do I need to change your mind?” he asks instead. He crouches next to me and brushes my shoulder with the lightest touch, as if afraid I will burst into flame at the end of his fingers. Maybe I will. That would be a way to go.

(Would the car have caught fire in the crash? Probably not. Modern cars are too fucking safe. Probably wouldn’t even let me crash it.)

I frown without turning to look at him. “I don’t know, do you?”

He laughs, the fucker. “You are still here,” he replies.

“Yeah, I can’t commit to anything. Thanks for reminding me.”

Malleus chances a firmer hold on my shoulder. “This is not a personality flaw.”

I scowl. “Are you seriously telling me ‘it’s not a bug, it’s a feature?’”

“Is it not a truth of being human? The will to survive the night, if only for the chance of a brighter tomorrow?” He sits down next to me, bumping my leg with his. “I think you agree, else you would not have suggested it.”

I don’t have an answer for that, even a snarky one. It’s quiet for a long time, except for the rain and the occasional growl of thunder in the purple distance. I can’t think about much besides the staggering pain in my chest, the stupid nerve behind my heart, stabbing, burning, aching, strangling pain, pain that hurts over and over again. I grind one hand into my sternum relentlessly, as if it will help, because it’s the only thing I can do. Well, not the only thing.

(I shut that idea down pretty fast. I can’t handle pain that well.)

“I hate being human,” I choke out.

Malleus looks at the horizon with me. “Do you really? Truthfully?”

“Yes!” I snap. “I- fuck’s sake, Mal, everyone around me is dying. Do you have any idea how many friends I’ve lost in the past couple years? My family? I’m not- this isn’t supposed to happen at my age.” I break off and start sobbing again. “Shouldn’t happen to anyone, but…you know what I mean. It’s not fair.”

He makes a sound of curiosity. “We have broached this topic before,” he says patiently. “About things being unfair.”

I can’t respond.

“I know you think I am unfair, as well.” This he says with profound sadness, a depth of guilt that shatters me all over again. “Rather, it is unfair that I cannot understand your suffering.”

“N-no, that’s not-”

“Shhh.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Many things are unfair, my friend, but you can be assured that this, at least, is a feeling I know personally.”

“Fuck. You’re right. I’m sorry.” How could I forget? It has to be bad enough to watch centuries of friends die around you. Worse still when it’s someone closer.

“You need not apologize,” he says softly. “Grief can be a wretched beast. And I am aware that I am not saying anything you do not already know.”

I hiccup in a sad attempt to get my shit together. “I know.”

The clouds look thinner. I can see a few stars poking through. The pain loosens its grip, and even though I know it will squeeze me harder again soon, for now, it doesn’t.

I lean my head on his shoulder. “This armor is the worst pillow ever, man.”

He chuckles. “Sometimes one must choose between preparing for battle and hiding safely within a fortress.” He takes a slow, deep breath that moves his shoulder beneath my head. “Sometimes one does not have a choice.”

“Well.” I sniffle, probably getting unnameable goo on his fancy uniform. “I hope you get to choose for yourself soon.”

“I wish the same for you.”

“I think, um. I think I want to get down now.”

Mal snaps his fingers, and we are standing on the forest floor. The wall stretches high overhead now, past the trees’ canopies, up toward the clouds and the stars. I could imagine it still, hanging off the edge, clinging to his hand, the only thing keeping me from falling.

This wasn’t sleep. This was deeper, darker, solid. For once in my life, everything was silent.

Then someone else’s hand grasped my own.

Dark fog clouded my sight. I was afraid to move, because I knew I would fall. Down to the bottom of the abyss.

“Fear not,” said a voice, deep and dark and slow, like tree roots pushing through dirt.

I looked up to see a tiny glow of rich, spring green.

“I will not let you fall.”

“You asked me why I saved you,” says Malleus, “but perhaps the better question is why did you appear to me.” He tilts his head, horns and all, plucking the thought out of my stream of memories. “You needed help,” he says simply. “I needed to…connect with someone. And I suppose…I saw much of myself in you.”

He hugs me. Lets me bury my miserable face into his chest and doesn’t care how much I cry. Which is a lot. Endlessly, it seems.

“I know it feels as though this will never change,” he murmurs, “but it will. Everything does. And as Lilia said, you are not fighting alone.” He pulls away and looks at me. “I will go to war for you every time.”

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 5

Ace is absolutely incensed.

“I don’t know who he was,” you tell him.

“You have to go tell Azul,” Ace practically snarls. “Now. While the fucker is still up there.”

You look nervously in the direction of Azul’s office. “I’m sure Floyd already did,” you say meekly. “Or Jade. They never miss anything.”

He shakes his head. “You should do it yourself,” he says tersely. “I’ll go with you if I have to.”

You take a breath and sigh. “No, it’s okay. I can do it. I’ll go. …right now,” you add to further dissuade him.

“Kay, I’ll be watching.”

You don’t want to break the rules. There aren’t exactly rules, but you’ve never tried to interfere with Azul’s work before, as you got the impression all hell might break loose. This is different, you insist to yourself as you climb the stairs. This isn’t business. It’s personal. For him, too.

You can’t hear any conversation through the door. It’s heavily reinforced, both magically and mechanically, plus the club is much louder than usual. You chew on the inside of your lip as you debate your next move.

A thought drifts into your head. Something underhanded, clandestine, perhaps even dastardly, one might say. You abandon the front door and head for the second floor exit.

Azul actually owns the empty building adjacent to the Lounge; he just leaves the ‘Coming Soon’ sign in the dusty window so nobody will bother trying to lease it. You climb over the fire escape railing and make the unnerving step to the opposite one, then pull yourself through the unlocked window with only mild discomfort. You learned to do this in heels a long time ago, so you’re good at it, but you’re careful to tread silently, too. Then you open the false panel in the wall and make your way through the dimly lit corridor.

“I need to show you something.” Azul tilted his head a little and cupped his hand against your cheek.

“Like what?”

His hand slid to yours, and he kissed your fingers softly before letting go and turning to his desk. He opened a drawer and motioned for you to join him.

“You know I would never do anything to place you in harm’s way,” he said as he laid his hand over yours. Pearly, silken skin shimmered against your own. “But there may come a time that you need to leave rather urgently.”

He bent down slightly, taking you with him, and moved your hand to the inside of the drawer until it located a small switch. When you pressed it, you heard a faint grinding noise, almost that of wood sliding into place. You glanced up to see a space open in the wall.

Azul led you to it and showed you through the makeshift doorway. As the panels closed behind you, he pointed out the other switch to operate it from the hidden side, as well as a pinhole window to the office. Nearby was a small storage chest.

You became hyperaware of everything around you when he opened it. Inside was a backpack containing several grand in cash, as well as untraceable credit cards, two burner phones, and false identity papers. Next to the bag was a rather terrifying gun.

“You may need to protect yourself as well,” he said quietly. “Of course, we will do everything possible to render this place unnecessary.”

You hugged him and held on for your life. “I’ll be careful,” you mumbled over his shoulder. “You better be, too.”

You never told him there was a certain thrill that came with dating him. Being just close enough to the danger sent sparks through your blood.

You slow your steps as you reach the end of the hall. Now you can hear them talking. You place your hands against the wall and look through the tiny window.

The sight before you makes your stomach lurch.

Azul has his back to you. He is leaning casually against his desk, with his hands resting over the edge. His coat is hastily discarded on his chair, and his sleeves are rolled to his elbows. You try to focus on the neat lines of his suspenders, dividing his white shirt into puzzle pieces, and not on the other pair of hands planted on the desk on either side of his hips.

“I admit I would not have taken you for a man willing to accept a currency other than money,” says the stranger’s voice, smooth and seductive.

Azul’s laugh peppers the air. “Is it so wrong to want something for myself sometimes?”

“Not at all.” The stranger moves one hand to Azul’s side and follows the curve of his hip. “I would argue it is necessary for a man to take what he wants at all times.”

You reel back from the window and bite down hard on the flesh of your forearm to keep from crying, though silent tears spill over anyway. You know you’re shaking because everything blends together, and you wish you felt numb, but you don’t. You feel like you’ve been shot in the chest.

“Mmm…I can appreciate your logic,” comes Azul’s voice through the wall.

Whatever the stranger says is too muffled to understand.

“Though I must point out one microscopic - yet, I fear, insurmountable - flaw.”

“Oh?” The stranger’s voice turns curious. “Do tell, my love.”

Acid leaves a fiery trail as it crawls up your throat.

“You should never try to take something of mine.”

A sudden crash startles you. You scramble back to the window. Azul has the stranger’s neck in his mouth, though he abruptly lets go, leaving a bite mark that gushes bright blood. The man collapses with his mouth open in a strangled scream. Azul spits on the floor and wipes his mouth with a vile grin.

“Can you feel the venom?” Azul presses the sole of his fine leather shoe over the stranger’s throat, stifling his gasps for air. “There are two types, actually, that are racing toward your heart.” He begins counting on his fingers. “The first is called tetrodotoxin, which immobilizes every muscle it touches.” He chuckles. “To think, I used to take the nickname ‘pufferfish’ as an insult, when it turns out we can kill in such similar ways.”

Azul pushes the man’s head back with his toe, exposing the wound further. “It only takes about half a teaspoon to kill a man, but rest assured I gave you much more than that.

The man tries to grab Azul’s ankle with flailing hands. Azul crushes the useless fingers beneath his heel.

“The second is a blend of digestive enzymes that will break down your flesh on contact.” He tilts his head as if considering something. “You will be dead before it can do much damage, but I assure you that it will hurt the entire time you’re dying.” He raises his voice. “Floyd,” he calls, and the door opens in response, “if you could remove him before he ruins the carpeting…”

You feel like you’ve been injected with a numbing poison yourself. You melt to the floor and try to breathe as you process everything you just saw. Your head snaps up when you hear the secret panel slide open, and your breath catches when Azul steps through it. He’s on his knees before you in a moment, with worry lines creasing his perfect skin.

“Did he hurt you?”

Your crying has become a string of hiccups, so it’s a long minute before you can speak. “I’m sorry…I thought…I thought-”

Azul pulls you into a compressing hug. “I am terribly sorry, my sweet. I would never try to hurt you, especially in such an awful way…though I did not know you would be watching.”

Once you calm down enough to pull yourself together, Azul helps you stand and takes you into his office. There is no sign of the stranger, and Jade is setting the last few items back into place on Azul’s desk. He blinks at you.

“Thank you, Jade,” Azul says as he reaches into another desk drawer for a potion bottle with a sigh. He drinks from it, then trades it for the glass of salt water Jade has also brought him.

Jade bows his head politely and takes his leave.

“Are you alright?”

Azul sets his glass down and opens his arms for you again. You crush yourself against him. “There is no need to worry about me,” he mutters into the top of your head. “Are you alright? Jade told me what happened.”

Those two really don’t miss anything. Your breathing is shaky, but you feel better. “I’m okay now.” You twirl a lock of platinum hair around your finger. “But next time I’m not gonna invite myself to the party. Either party.”

Azul laughs brightly. “Even though that is how we met?”

You roll your eyes. “Is it safe for me to kiss you yet?”

He presses his delicate lips to your forehead, then your temple, then your jaw, pausing over your mouth long enough to murmur something only for you to hear. “Oh, my darling, you are always safe with me.”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | {5}

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Envenomate - 3

It’s never good to lose track of the eels.

Floyd was supposed to be at the bar, and Jade was supposed to be watching the door, but now neither of them is where they should be. ‘Worried’ is less the word you’re looking for than is ‘concerned.’

Your watch lights up and a text rolls across the screen. It’s just a string of emojis, but you get the message.

🐍🐟🚫🅰️😠

You sigh. You had hoped for a few more minutes to finish your makeup, but it’s probably best to resolve the situation before someone loses their patience. As it turns out, someone is Ace.

“Bro, we’re literally on the list!”

Floyd just laughs. “I don’t need to check a list to know that small fry aren’t on it.”

Ace is about to snap when he sees you. He waves frantically as if you’re not headed toward him directly already. “Hey!”

You fold your arms over your chest in a show of annoyance, though it conveniently helps you fight some of the cold air blowing in from outside while you’re at it. “Floyd, could you let my friends in, please?”

“Ehhhh…what if I don’t wanna, lil’ Seahorsie?”

You give him a look. He smirks maniacally, daring you. But you know him too well to back down. “Jade!” you call.

Floyd rolls his eyes and swings back to face the growing queue. “Fiiine, geez, you’re so boring. Don’t break anything, kids.” He ushers the squad inside.

“Thank you, Jeeves,” Ace snickers.

Floyd trips him accordingly, but Deuce reacts fast enough to catch him.

Another sigh. “Well, hey, you all made it. Please let that be the most chaos you cause tonight.”

Epel and Deuce nod as if they’re not the same classmates ready to square up with anyone who blinks at them wrong 100% of the time.

“How’d you do on the test?” Deuce asks as the four of you meander through the Lounge. “I got an 83.”

“Oh, damn, I forgot to check,” you tell them. “I def got the last two questions wrong, though. And whatever was on the bottom of page 3 really had me stuck.”

Epel waves off your concerns. “Eh, you probably did fine. I didn’t check mine, either.”

“Hope you told your boy we’re drinking on your tab tonight,” Ace says when he comes back with four bottles of beer.

You take a polite sip of yours and pass it back to him. “Here, extra one on me.”

Ace tilts his head in his silent way of asking you what’s wrong. You reply with your mild-wince-and-one-shoulder-shrug combination to tell him it’s nothing.

A leather glove the temperature of the basement storage room lands on your bare shoulder, uncomfortably close to your neck, careful not to hide the red circles adorning it. “Regrettably, it will be some time before Azul is available, little Seahorse,” Jade says in his usual honeyed tones. You can feel the wet warmth of his breath. Imagining the inside of his mouth makes you cringe so hard you might as well turn inside out.

“Yeah, thanks, I figured,” you say as you wriggle out of his grasp with less-than-casual urgency. “I’m fine here.” You throw yourself into the middle of your friends with all the subtlety of a kid doing a cannonball at a pool party.

Jade shrugs and leaves you with a smile that’s too small to show his teeth but too tight to hide the bulging shape of them against his taut cheeks.

You take your beer back from Ace after all.

“You okay?” Deuce asks with a glance at Epel, suggesting the ludicrous notion that they would fight Jade on your behalf.

“Yeah, fine. Don’t worry about the weirdos.” Ace made a pretty sizable dent in your beer, so you’re able to chug the rest of it in a few gulps.

It’s good that Azul wants to keep you safe, and it’s fine that he wants his twin mercenaries to keep an eye on you. It’s just that sometimes you wonder how safe you really are.

1 | 2 | {3} | 4 | 5

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 5

Knock, knock. Who’s there? Anxiety. Anxiety who? No, just anxiety. You know her well.

“It’s open,” you call down the stairs. Your hair seems to have survived the aggressive treatment you’ve given it over the past few months, tucking it under hats, knotting it to make it look shorter - you even tried to spike it once, and you were afraid you’d have to cut it off to fix that disaster. It brushes an inch or two past your shoulders now, so you were able to twist and pin it atop your head.

Even as you hear Jade’s footsteps climbing the stairs, you’re not sure about the dress. Not that you don’t like it - you do - it’s just a lot at once. Tiered layers of shell-pink chiffon gather in pleats at the neckline, an asymmetrical shape that’s flat across the top and sweeps over one shoulder. A sash tied into a loose bow accents your waist just enough to point out that you have one.

“You look lovely.”

His stealthy approach startles you as usual, though you’ve gotten better at controlling your reaction to it. You habitually raise a hand to rub the back of your neck out of nervousness, but you make yourself stop. It would mess up your hair, and for once, you might even care about that.

You smile nervously up at him. “You look really nice, too.”

He chose a suit in a warm, light gray with some of the same undertones as your dress, accentuated by the creamy pink hue of his tie and pocket square. The rich, sea green of his hair stands out sharply against it, and his magic eye practically glows.

You blink in surprise. “Oh, I almost forgot. I got you something.” You head for the closet, then pause to say over your shoulder, “not for this, I mean, just, like, in general. I keep forgetting.” You find the little box and offer it to him.

Jade carefully unwraps it and opens the lid to reveal a small piece of glasswork. He holds it at eye level and examines it as if he has never seen anything like it before.

Your heart lifts at that idea.

“It’s a tea infuser,” you say excitedly. “See, it has little holes in the stem, and then this lid goes on the top.”

You are certain Jade has never looked so incredulous. “It is a mushroom.”

“Yep!” You giggle a tiny bit. “I swear, I went through every inch of this town trying to find mushroom tea, but all the shop owners looked at me like I was nuts.” You leave out the conversation full of nervous hand-wringing that you had with Sam at the Mystery Shop as you tried to explain what you were looking for. “But as soon as I saw it, I was like, he needs that. They hav-”

Jade’s mouth silences yours. He catches you in the middle of a breath, delicately balancing your gift in his free hand while his other one caresses your cheek. You’re afraid to move too much, so you grasp blindly at the air until you find the hem of his coat. He seems so solid, so real, and it feels like the narrow space between you could collapse at any moment.

At once, he pulls away from you, flustered and breathless. “Please…forgive my actions,” he says as a blush lends an unusual warmth to his face. He seems to be struggling for words. “I have never…that is, no one has ever given me such a thoughtful gift.” He cradles the box in both hands, as if it is a baby bird. “It is perfect.”

Strangely, you find that you’re not self-conscious about this at all. Instead, it feels nice. You smile brightly at him.

“Don’t be sorry.” You wait until he sets the box down to take his hand. “We should probably go, though.”

The cool, fresh night air soothes some of the heat flushing through your head and neck. It seems to help Jade collect himself as well.

“Have you thought about what you are going to say?” he asks, lacing his fingers with yours as you walk toward the gym.

“Kinda. I think I’ll go for something between ‘moderately offended’ and ‘shocked at your stupidity.’”

Jade laughs under his breath. “Honesty tends to be the best policy in certain cases.”

You don’t have to worry about stealing any spotlights, thankfully, because Vil is already doing plenty of that. As usual, the paparazzi found out he would be at this event, trivial as it may seem. Between the cameras and the fans, no one has any reason to spare you a second glance until you’re inside.

Instinct compels you to cling to Jade’s arm, but after a minute, your apprehension starts to dissolve. The decorations are way cooler than you expected, with orbs of light floating overhead and blinking in time with the music, changing colors to match each song. There is, of course, a long table overflowing with food, where Ruggie has already parked himself. Your friends look like they’re having fun.

“Jay-Jaaaaaayy!”

Jade strategically twirls you out of the way so that only he takes the brunt of Floyd’s unwieldy frame slamming into him. He doesn’t look as irritated about it as normal.

“I am glad you decided to come after all,” Jade says, making little effort to hide a smile.

Floyd laughs. “Aww, look at the cute lil’ Shrimpy.” He bends down enough to be at your eye level and grins wide enough to show all his teeth. “Are you all better now?”

You frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Floyd just keeps on smiling. “Yep, all better.” He pats you on the head, somehow without upsetting your hair, and then skips away to find fun somewhere else.

Before you can comment on how bizarre that was, you recognize a few voices.

“Where did you find a suit like that? You said you weren’t even gonna go.” Deuce.

“Hehe, pretty slick, right? Don’t hate me ’cause you ain’t me.” Ace.

“Vil would probably say it’s too loud…or something,” Epel says hesitantly. “But I think it’s cool.”

No time like the present.

“Hey, guys!”

Three heads turn to look at you. Only two sets of eyes seem to figure it out.

“Hey, friendo!” Ace calls back, grinning all the while. “Nice fit. Couldn’t find a suit, though?”

“Ace.” Deuce looks like he might pass out.

“What? It’s fine! There’s no law that says-”

“Ace.” Epel is much more insistent.

You just give a tiny wave. “Having fun yet?”

Now holding the world record for slowest reaction time, Ace openly gapes at you. “You’re a girl?”

“Oh my god, Ace, you can’t just ask someone if they’re a girl.” Epel looks ready to strangle him on your behalf.

“You guys really didn’t know, huh?” You end up toying with a small piece of hair too short to tie up.

Then there’s a long, painful silence where they don’t say anything.

“You’re not…mad, are you?” You hadn’t anticipated this one. “We’re still friends. …yeah?”

Epel recovers first, but Ace recovers the loudest. “Pfft, duh! We’re just surprised is all. Right, guys?”

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

You glance over your shoulder. Jade has caught up with Azul, Vil, and Jamil, though he has made certain to stay nearby in case you needed him. He catches your eye and gives you a captivating smile. You know it won’t be long before everyone at the school knows, and, presumably, freaks out about it by extension. But you’re not as scared anymore.

“Okay, good. I’ll pretend to be only slightly offended that you thought I was a guy, then.”

It’s impossible to know for sure over the growing noise of the dance hall, but you would swear that you hear Jade laugh.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | {5}

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 4

“Glad you’re feeling better,” Ace says through a mouthful of sandwich (so it comes out missing most of the sharper consonant sounds). “Deuce thought you were dead.”

“I did not!”

Ace laughs and then starts coughing. “Dude, you take everything so seriously.”

You manage to laugh a bit. “Thanks, people.”

Then Ace looks at something over your shoulder and goes a bit pale.

“Wh-” You turn around and find yourself face to face with Floyd. Rather, with the buttons on the front of Floyd’s shirt, because he is very tall and you are sitting down.

“Shrimpyyyy,” he whines. “I’m booored.”

Why this is your problem will forever remain a mystery. “Okay?”

“Let’s go find Jade!”

It’s your turn to go pale. “I’m kinda busy-”

“Nahh, you’ve been nursing the same bite of spaghetti for twenty minutes. You’re fine.” He smiles gleefully and then, without warning, wraps an arm around your torso and hoists you out of your seat.

“What th- put me down!” You scramble to tug your shirt down. It wasn’t tucked in quite as well as you thought.

There’s no reasoning with him, so you throw a frantic look at Ace and Deuce.

“Nice knowing you,” says Ace with a wave goodbye. “Fs in the chat, sad reaccs only.”

You vow revenge if you survive whatever Floyd is going to do next.

Fortunately, when he skips joyfully into his dorm’s lounge and drops you unceremoniously on one of the leather sofas so that your head collides with Jade’s kneecap, Jade is just as shocked as you.

Several questions fight for dominance on his face. He finally settles on, “Why are you like this?”

“Welkies.” Floyd continues his skipping down the hallway, where you expect a panicked shriek to follow at any moment.

Jade sighs as you sit up and sort yourself out. You get your hair under control, but as you’re straightening out your vest, you realize the top button has disappeared. It must have been ripped off when Floyd picked you up.

“I apologize for his actions,” Jade says in the weary tone of one who has said these words for years.

No matter how much you try to adjust your vest, the missing button causes it to sit just wrong enough to make it extremely obvious what you’re trying to hide. Even buttoning your coat over it doesn’t really help enough. “Shit…”

“I can fix it, if you like.” Jade turns slightly so his back faces the room, subtly hiding you from the view of anyone who might be looking.

You’re in no position to decline this offer, so you just nod. He hands you two large textbooks, which you hug to your chest as if they’re going to keep you breathing, and you follow him down the hallway. You worry that you’re going to run into Floyd again, but then you hear Azul snap at him from the housewarden’s wing, which is the other direction, and you feel a little better.

Meanwhile, it doesn’t escape your notice that any wayward Octavinelle students all but throw themselves out of Jade’s path. Several cast you looks of pity, and it dawns on you that it must look like you’re being hazed - carrying his books and following at his heels like a leashed puppy. You would expect this reaction to Floyd’s presence, certainly, but for some reason, you didn’t think they would be as afraid of Jade. You wonder if you should be afraid, too.

He unlocks the door to his room and leads you inside.

It’s clean and organized to a fault - even his shoes are neatly arranged at the foot of the bed. He takes the books from you and sets them on his desk, then opens a drawer and retrieves a small sewing kit.

You shed your blazer easily enough and place it in a crumpled heap on the table, but for some reason when it comes to unbuttoning your vest, you find yourself incredibly embarrassed. You turn away from him shyly as you struggle with it. You feel like you might as well be wearing a tube top and a push-up bra instead of your oversized, long sleeved uniform shirt.

Jade takes the vest from you without a word and lays it on the desk, arranging it so he can get to work. You cross your arms over your chest out of habit - a habit you’ve tried to break to avoid drawing attention to yourself - but after a minute, you’re too curious to see what he’s doing.

“Do you like to sew?” you ask.

“Mm. It is less a hobby and more a necessary skill, I’ve found,” he says a little distantly. “My clothing has suffered no small amount of damage from being outdoors.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense.” You don’t know if you like to sew.

“Would you like to try?” He looks at you expectantly.

Your hands slide down from your shoulders a few inches as some of the tension leaves you. “I guess,” you say.

“It is quite easy.” Jade stands, gesturing for you to take the only chair. You feel unsteady as you lower yourself into it. “I have already secured the thread and placed the anchor point.”

Sure enough, a small gold ‘x’ of thread marks the spot on the vest where the previous button used to live. He rifles through a small tray of buttons before selecting one, which he hands to you. It’s gold, like the others, but shaped like a snail shell, with two tiny holes drilled through it. You set it against the x and awkwardly try to push the needle through it from the back. It keeps running into the button at first, but you finally get it. You push it through the other side easily enough.

You start to pull the golden thread tight, but Jade stops you briefly. He selects another needle and tucks it beneath the button.

“A trick I learned from Azul’s mother,” he says with a soft, nostalgic smile that hovers quite near your shoulder. “It creates enough space for the layer of fabric to fit around it, otherwise it would not stay attached, or break off again very quickly.”

You nod and continue. Bit by bit, listening to Jade’s advice, you sew the same stitch over itself a dozen times, until you’re certain it’s never coming apart. And you only impale your finger with the needle three times.

Jade severs the thread with a tiny pair of scissors. And just like that, it’s done.

“All better.” He chuckles. “Easy enough, yes?”

“Yeah. I’m still glad I didn’t try to do it on my own, though.” You’re about to reach for the vest, but Jade holds it aloft for you. You turn away from him and slip your arms through the openings. His fingertips brush the tops of your clavicles as he aligns the seams on your shoulders, his touch delicate yet certain, even through the leather of his gloves.

He never took them off. So he intended to have you do it all along.

You fasten the buttons and turn around to show him, rubbing the back of your neck and looking away as embarrassment creeps over you again. “Looks good,” you mumble. “Thanks.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Jade tilts his head curiously, one hand coiled beneath his chin.

Um, yes. “It’s not you- your fault, I mean. Um.” Your voice fades to nearly nothing. “I really…really like you.” You cringe and brace yourself for you don’t know what.

When you don’t hear any derisive laughter, though, you take a chance and look at him. His smile is captivating, drawn tighter on one side in a way equal parts delighted and devilish. You catch sight of a tiny dent on his bottom lip, and you realize it must be from the point of a tooth.

“How fortunate for me,” he says with a bubbly laugh. “As I find you quite charming, myself.”

It would be all too easy to overthink his response, so that is exactly what you do. With a side order of self-esteem issues, please.

“You sure it’s not ’cause I’m the only girl here?” Admitting your feelings already felt like ripping off a band-aid, so why stop there?

“Would it surprise you to learn that I have dated other students before?”

Actually, yeah, that’s a big surprise. Now you just feel judgmental. “Maybe.”

He shrugs. “Feelings are feelings.” And he seems content to leave it at that.

“Well, um. Yeah. That’s a good point.” You pull your blazer back on and clear your throat for no reason. “Do you still wanna go? To the dance, I mean?”

His smile evens itself out. “It would be my pleasure.”

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