Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s barely past lunchtime which leaves the potions classroom blissfully empty and for once quiet enough to hear the steady whirring of the sewing machine. Nobody has quite expected the fairies to be cheeky enough to dare steal the magical stone, let alone leave the school in utter disarray, but considering the head of the faculty was a rather cheap crow who lacked the intelligence of his kin it’s also not all that surprising. Not to Crewel, at least, who absolutely despises Crowley for making him work overtime.

The lead of Vil’s pencil breaks and Crewel watches him inhale deeply through his nose, exhale through his mouth.

“Do you need help with that, pup?” Crewel asks but Vil is already sharpening the pencil and gets back to work not even thirty seconds later.

“No thank you. I’m about finished anyways.”

He should be. They finished designing what the Night Raven College representatives should wear at the Fairy Gala yesterday. They’d pretty much done the impossible – building up an entire wardrobe for the upcoming event, sketching the design, picking the fabrics, cutting patterns and sewing countless pieces together in the blink of an eye. What’s left is only the details which are always for Crewel to finish. He’s rather particular with how he wants things done – which is right and proper the first time around, excellent and efficient in every which way. And Vil certainly could and would provide subpar results, meeting every standard he sets, but Crewel is still a teacher and that means he has to – reluctantly and unwillingly – take care of his students.

Kingscholar is a handful and a half, Asim far too excitable and distracted, Bucchi too greedy to keep his mind focused on merely one goal. It’s only Viper who he has any faith in and with Ramshackle’s prefect and stray joining the mix of unruly teenagers he’s already scraping the bottom of the barrel. Vil is the only one keeping this whole mission running somewhat smoothly and if he wants five minutes away from the mess that will undoubtedly await him in Pomefiore’s ballroom then Crewel could certainly understand. Too many times has he spent sandwiched in between sleep-pill Mozus and perpetually foul-smelling Ashton in agonizingly long school meetings not to. And Vil doesn’t even have a well-hidden flask to lessen his pain. But Vil is his star student and Crewel could make an exception and let him loiter around just a little longer than necessary if that’s what he wants to do.

“There’s only one more piece left to hem.” He tells Vil so he can mentally prepare himself for what could possibly be the worst disaster the insides of the Pomefiore castle have ever seen. “You should head back to the ballroom then. They won’t make it without your help. Especially not Kingscholar.”

“That, unfortunately, is true.” Vil sighs but doesn’t stop drawing. “But if you don’t mind, I will wait until the garments are finished. In case you require some help in the finishing touches. And I can take them with me then for the final fitting.”

“Do as you see fit.”

People, Crewel muses as he watches Vil’s concentration return to the paper in front of him, are just like potions. Not all that difficult to understand if you know what to look for.

They both know Crewel won’t need his help. The majority of the work has already been done in record time and this is child’s play for him – embroidering little details, adding golden trimmings to the hems and tassels to the scarves. By all means, the Pomefiore Prefect was welcome to leave any time. But this, Crewel knows, is the only downtime he’ll get today – or until the fairies have finally moved on to better things than hogging vital school equipment. So Crewel leaves him be as for now. Vil might have years of professional acting experience under his belt but Crewel is a potions teacher and in this line of work perception is crucial, no detail too small to notice, every change in color, consistency, fragrance in his potions telling him what’s missing, what was too much and what should have been done differently. And no matter how complex people like to pretend themselves to be, everyone can be boiled to the very basics of their being. Vil is certainly no exception to the rule. Let him simmer, perhaps give a little shake to mix things up and watch them unfold – it’s really not unlike potion making.

He finishes the last of the drapings, every stitch now perfect, the trim catching the light beautifully, but behind him there’s still the telltale sound of pencil against paper and considering how much time Vil has put into this particular drawing, Crewel doesn’t need to look to know whose face is staring back at him.

“Got a particular design stuck in your head?” Crewel asks while he scans the garment in his hands for any imperfections but naturally finds none.

Vil’s eyes don’t leave the paper but he pushes a strand of champaign colored hair behind his ear. “I need to get this idea out of my system so I can focus properly. There’s still much work to be done and I can’t afford to be distracted.”

“Not when it comes to Kingscholar.” Crewel agrees. With a satisfied nod, he folds the very last piece into a neat little rectangle and puts on top if the others. “He’s an absolute mess.”

“Sadly yes.” Vil sighs and Crewel can’t help the chuckle that escapes his lips at how entirely done Vil sounds. With nothing else left to do he crosses the distance between them in three confident strides and leans over Vil’s shoulder to inspect his drawing.

As expected, familiar hunter green eyes stare back at him.

Like the designs they’ve been slaving over yesterday, Vil’s drawing is beautiful, every line carefully placed and every detail threateningly life-like. Broad shoulders are wrapped in fine fabrics, intricately embroidered along the seams and looking luxurious in the way Vil has placed the shading, smooth like silk and soft like cotton. The general vibe of the Fairy Gala is definitely still there but Crewel doesn’t miss the nods to traditional clothing of the Afterglow Savanna, the pants narrowing at the ankles instead of being straight cut, a sleeveless gown thrown over the ensemble making it a three piece set instead of the two parts they chose to accentuate with accessories, flowers and scarves. It’s less of a kurta than the others, more resembling an agbada in style if Crewel’s knowledge on the matter can be trusted. Certainly an interesting approach but not at all surprising.

The corner of Crewel’s lip twitches upwards.

“Itching to see Hunt dressed in all white already?” He asks, unnecessarily pleased with himself when Vil’s ears dust a lovely shade of pink. He really does make it easy if one knows how to look for the little cracks in the façade. The devil is always in the details and Crewel is not kind enough to turn a blind eye to even the smallest of changes.

Vil coughs twice, tries to hide his blush behind the back of his hand but the damage has already been done. Crewel has already licked blood though he has to admit it’s rather cute watching Vil get flustered, how he thinks he’s been finally caught in the act. As if Crewel hasn’t known from the first time Vil has scooted his chair ever so slightly closer to the hunters, thinking no one would notice.

While he waits for Vil to regain his composure he snatches the pencil Vil has dropped from where it’s threatening to roll off the table and absentmindedly adds ranunculi and peonies to where Vil’s design still lacks detail. A rose for good measure just to see the way the pink spreads from his ears down the back of his neck only to disappear underneath the collar of his button up.

“There’s still much I want to do, both academically and in my career.” Vil begins after another few halfheartedly played off coughs. It’s not exactly the answer Crewel wants to hear so he stays quiet and lets the silence pressure Vil into continuing his speech. Which he does not even two minutes after he snaps his head towards the cracked open window – the opposite direction of where Crewel was still leaning over his shoulder and happily sketching away. ”… but perhaps some time in the future.”

“When the day comes” Crewel says, putting down the pencil once the last petal was drawn. There wasn’t that much free space to begin with. Vil has made sure every little aspect has already been thought of but, objectively speaking, there’s always room for more flowers in any design for special occasions like the one Vil was dreaming up on a small square of paper. “I expect to be in charge of designing your attire.”

The pink turns an adorable shade of red. “If you insist.”

Crewel shoots him a smile, just this side of teasing to make Vil narrow his eyes at him skeptically once the pink in his cheeks has mellowed out to the faintest shade of peach. “Good” he says, ruffling perfectly styled hair with gloved fingers and no small bit of satisfaction. “I’ll hold you to it.”

“It’s just one little selfie.” Cater explains, whipping up his best puppy eyes. “It’ll be over before you know it. Scouts honor.” There’s no need for Vil to know that Cater has never been and does not have the intention to ever join something as outrageously uncool as the boy scouts.

“I already said no.” Vil insists, flipping the page of his history book. The dictatorship of Prince John. That’s not even a fun chapter.

“C’mon, Vil. We’ve known each other for what? Basically forever now.” Cater begins, leaning over the table until he’s face to face with Vil. “We’re even from the same hometown! So it’s weird that we haven’t taken a photo together right? Totally weird, actually. Don’t you agree?”

“Not really.”

“But it is.” Cater insists, throwing his arms in the air for good measure. “I’ve taken a photo with everyone at Night Raven College except for you. I’m not letting you ruin my streak.”

“I already told you” Vil says, eyes still lazily scanning over the paragraph about the death of Eleanor of Aquitaine “If you insist on a photo then that can be arranged. My beauty, however, does not come cheap. If you’re willing to pay the price then I’d be more than happy to indulge you.”

Well, Cater can’t say they haven’t been over this. Several times. And always with the same outcome. He slumps his shoulders and because that’s not enough to physically portray how he feels he lets his head fall onto the desk too, right next to where Vil flips to another page.

“… and if I don’t upload it to magicam?” he tries. It’s a last-ditch effort. One he’d desperately hoped to avoid but oh well, anything to continue his steak. Even if he was the only one to ever see the photo. Maybe Trey, but Vil doesn’t need to know that either.

Vil turns the page again. “Empty words won’t sweeten the deal.”

“But they’re not!” Cater insists, head snapping upwards again though Vil is still too busy scanning over never-ending clusters of words to grace him with his undivided attention. “I promise, Vil, I won’t do it.” And when Vil doesn’t respond he adds, “Listen, like I said, we’re from the same hometown, right? If I really were to hypothetically upload it – which I 100% won’t – you can just tell my mum and she’ll have my head. Or Riddle. Riddle works too. Or both. I mean, they’d for sure kill me and you know it.”

Cater’s not sure if he’s imaging the way one of Vil’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows quirks upwards but he’s willing to cling onto every bit of hope. He’s been trying for a selfie with Vil for three years now. This just has to work.

“The movie appreciation club is shooting another short film” Vil says, tracing the corner of the page with a manicured nail. “If the light music club will take care of the soundtrack in addition to you keeping the photo to yourself, I might consider it.”

“Deal” Cater shouts immediately, completely forgetting they’re in the library and receiving a handful of threatening shhhh’s in return. He throws up an apologetic peace sign and slinks back into his chair. “Deal.” He repeats at a much more appropriate volume.

“And one of Trey’s strawberry pies.” Vil adds nonchalantly but Cater doesn’t even sigh, just extends his hand directly into Vil’s face and blocks him from reading another word.

“Deal.”

The corner of Vil’s lip lifts ever so slightly upwards as he holds out his own hand, sealing their little agreement with a surprisingly firm handshake.

“Very well then.” Vil says, closing his book without marking the page. “Come over to my side then. The lighting’s better over here.”

With a hasty nod Cater scurries to Vil’s side, phone already in hand. As expected of a model, Vil is particular with the way the picture ought to look but he’s giving Cater instructions as to how to angle the camera, then his face and when he finally gives the go for Cater to press the button the first photo they take ends up perfect. The whole ordeal doesn’t even take three minutes and for once Cater’s phone isn’t flooded with forty variations of the same picture afterwards.

But just because he promised not to upload the photo doesn’t mean he wouldn’t edit it. Vil watches him try out different filters with careful eyes but eventually picks up his own phone once Cater starts slapping silly stickers onto his face. Not even Cater would upload something as ridiculous as the giant mouse ears he slaps onto Vil’s head, or the blue sailor hat he puts on his own so Vil decides to leave him to his own devices.

And well, if Cater chances a glance at Vil’s screen when the other isn’t looking then he’s really not to blame. Everyone knows he’s always at the heels of the newest gossip and chances like these don’t present themselves every day. He half expects for Vil to somehow sense the way his eyes flick towards where his fingers are flying across the screen, and halfway expects to see some sort of ridiculously busy schedule or reminder for another photoshoot to pop up but Vil doesn’t notice and Cater watches him type out something in a rather lengthy looking private chat.

That’s not too far away from the library. Vil writes, I’m about done anyways. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes then. We can walk back to our dorm together.

The phone in Vil’s hand vibrates not even ten seconds after he hit sent. It’s a selfie of Rook giving an enthusiastic thumbs up, something toxic looking smeared across his cheek but still smiling brilliantly at the camera, a confused looking Trey in the background. Next comes a purple heart, then something in French that Cater doesn’t understand before the three dots stay for a little while longer as Rook types out a lengthy reply. Amethyst eyes crinkle slightly in the corner and Cater is used to listening in on private conversations, conveniently overhearing heart to heart talks in dark corridors and just so happening to pass by confessions made in the many hidden nooks and crannies of the campus but somehow this feels different, much more intimate than anything he’s poked his nose into before, like he’s intruding something he doesn’t quite understand the gravity of.

Cater watches the phone vibrate again, Vil smiling softly at his screen while he shakes his head. He shuts his phone off before another text can appear and pockets the book he’s been reading in his carry on bag in one swift motion.

“If that’s all” he says, scooting his chair back into its proper position and miraculously not making a sound when spindely legs scratch across old hardwood floorboards, “I’ll be off then.”

“Where are you going?” Cater finds himself asking even though he already knows the answer. He’s seen the picture, knows Trey told him the science club would be doing experiments in the greenhouse today. Something about mandrakes that Cater doesn’t quite understand.

“The conservatory.” Vil tells him. His phone vibrates in his pocket again and Vil reaches for it reflexively before he continues. “Is there anything else you need my presence for?”

Not really. Cater has simply made an observation. One he will only share with only few select people of course because not even he is stupid enough to do anything to get on Vil’s bad side. Vil glances towards the clock on the ceiling, watches the hands move impatiently and Cater is reminded of the way Trey acts whenever Ace and Deuce keep him out of the kitchen with their ridiculous problems for too long. It’s the kind of impatient you only get when you really want to do something. Like try out a new recipe for a pie or sneak a picture of a certain someone baking said pie. He can’t help the smile that stretches across his face.

“Nope” He says, popping the p for emphasis and shooting Vil a lopsided smile. “Just curious. Have fun!”

“Thank you.” Vil says, gripping the strap of his bag tightly as he turns on his heel. “I’ll see you tomorrow in P.E. then.”

“Sure will. Bye Vil.”

With a short wave goodbye, Vil is off, making the twenty minute walk to the conservatory in ten and not caring that the greenhouse is in the exact opposite direction of the hall of mirrors.

Leona surveys the scene in front of him with calculating eyes. Things have started out pretty good but VIl is smart and has managed to put him in a rather precarious position once he realized Leona had already written their game off as won and began to slack on his defense. Still, Leona was not keen on losing and the battle was far from lost. He’s got hours of practice on Vil after all which allow him to successfully pull off some of the stunts he’s had to make to secure his win in the end.

“Checkmate.” He says, knocking over Vil’s king with his knight. The piece falls quietly and Vil blinks at the chessboard several times before he sighs and claps his hands together, admitting defeat.

“Well played” Vil says as he leans forward to survey the board, mentally going over their last few turns and looking for the flaws in his strategy while he thrums his fingers against the edge of the table.

Leona watches him for a moment longer but the incessant drumming is nothing short of nerve-grating. “You were playing it too safe” Leona tells him, not wanting to wait for Vil to figure out where he went wrong. Vil’s a perfectionist. If Leona doesn’t cut this short they’ll be here for another four hours. Or until Crewel comes in to kick them out, the conservatory slowly but steadily turning into an extension of his potions classroom and a second home to the professor. “You could have gone harder on the offense. My bishop was wide open two turns ago. You should have sacrificed your rook to take it and put me in a tight spot. You still couldn’t have won but you might have been able to force a stalemate had you also given up your queen. Risky move but you probably could have pulled it off.”

Vil hums in acknowledgement, replaying his moves in his head and ultimately coming to agree with Leona. The thrumming stops and Vil reaches to toy with his rook instead.

“If only you directed even half of your analytical skill towards your studies.”

“Oh shut up” Leona scoffs, letting himself slide down the bench into a much more comfortable, much more horizontal position. “’s not my fault they make classes so goddamn boring.”

“Some might call them educational.” Vil challenges, sliding his phone out of his pocket and halfheartedly scanning through his mails.

“Not me though.” Leona replies, giving a loud yawn for emphasis. He’s basically asleep already anyways. Their game has finished and they’d miss curfew if they started another one, which Leona wouldn’t mind but Vil holds himself to much higher standards in every possible regard, even silly school rules nobody cares about. He would already be peacefully dozing off but something shiny catches his eyes before he can close them for good.

“Didn’t think that was your style.” Leona says, nodding towards the little charm dangling from Vil’s phone. It’s, by all means, nothing special, not like Cater’s sensory overload of a phone case or the little fish stickers Floyd puts on his own. But Vil’s has always been the sleek and simple kind of guy. Elegant would probably be the better word for it but Leona doesn’t want to acknowledge Vil’s sophisticated appearance and make his ego grow any bigger than it already is. Royal purple phone case, no glitter, no gemstones, no stickers, now adorned with a single golden charm in the form of a little drawn bow. “Thought you were all crowns and apples.”

“It appears you thought wrong.” Vil say, holding up his phone so his newest accessory could reflect the last rays of sunlight and sparkle prettily.

“Gift?” Leona asks, knowing smirk stretching across his lips. Just because he’s lazy doesn’t mean he’d let a chance to get on his peers’ nerves slide, especially when they were picture-perfect Vil Schönheit who’s been on his shit list since even before sticking stupid flowers into his hair at the Fairy Gala.

“No” Vil explains, turning the phone around to trace his finger along the curve of the bow. “It caught my eye when I was at Mr. S’s Mystery Shop.”

“Couldn’t leave it behind, huh?” Leona teases, not able to resist the urge to bear his fangs just a little. Naturally, Vil doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You’re right.” He says, transfixed on the small charm in his hands. “I couldn’t.” And Leona doesn’t really like the look in Vil’s eyes. Honesty’s never been his strong suit but Vil makes the way he looks at the golden charm with equal parts gentleness and pride look so effortless he has to redirect his eyes. It’s awfully soft and real and reminds him of all the hurried glances he wasn’t meant to notice over the last three years. They’ve perfected the way look at each other and it’s ridiculous. It’s ridiculous how soft a smile could be when Vil and Rook don’t even have a proper name for what they have yet. It’s ridiculous how they don’t even care. It's ridiculous because Leona can tell that when Vil looks at Rook his world suddenly becomes sharper, brighter, no longer diffuse like the light filtering in through the windows. It’s ridiculous because Leona watches something pink and hungry wake in Vil’s chest and can pinpoint the exact moment he manages to wrestle it back into the pits of his stomach.

Vil squeezes the charm in his hand affectionately and swiftly stands up, pretend-dusting off his pants. As if he’d ever allow for dust to settle on his ridiculous designer outfits.

“Same time next Thursday?” Vil asks, acting like they haven’t been meeting up for the better part of half a year for their weekly chess game. If Leona wanted to stand him up he’d have done so already. But Vil doesn’t need to know that. instead, he gives a noncommittal hum, letting his eyes drift shut.

“If I feel like it.”

“You always do.” Vil says, shooting him the kind of arrogant smile that Leona doesn’t need to see for the hair on his nape to stand up in sheer annoyance. If he weren’t lying down already he’d have half the mind to punch that look off of Vil’s face. But he doesn’t. Not because Vil Schönheit is definitely not the kind of person you want on your wrong side, and certainly not because breaking his nose would result in ending their games of chess for good, but perhaps a little because he really doesn’t want for Vil to unleash his stupid hunter onto himself again.

With a curt wave of his hand, Vil is off and Leona is finally left in peace, making a mental note to bring up the little charm in front of Crewel during their next shared potions class.

Compared to the work Azul has him do on an everyday basis, this is easy. Tranquil even. Jade plans Vil’s day, fits in dorm leader meetings and photo shoots, makes mental notes of offhanded comments that will surely come in handy later on and takes care of what Vil asks of him otherwise at a moment’s notice. But he’s free during lunch and typically Vil leaves him to his own devices two hours before dinner and Jade finds himself with too much time at his hands than he knows what to do with.

In Octavinelle Azul runs the kitchen so naturally him and Floyd aid him as much as possible – which usually mostly consists of Jade trying to reign in Floyd so their dorm head can act freely without the looming threat of a well-intentioned disaster. Then there’s classes followed by Azul-like schemes and hunting down possible prey during the breaks, standing imposingly next to Azul as he procures up contracts takes up the better half of lunch and the afternoons are spent at Mostro Lounge until they’re back in the kitchen again.

But he does have the hiking club which both of his companion respect as his time and when Azul is off playing board games it’s just him and Flyod doing their best impressions of their dorm leader in a closed down Mostro Lounge and when Floyd is out during basketball practice Azul grants Jade some down time, sifting through paperwork while Jade stares at him adoringly from where he has his head rested on the other’s lap.

That really is all the free time Jade needs because he’s been feeling restless and antsy pretty much from the start of day two when he woke up in an oddly colored room all alone and wasn’t pressed tightly in between two warm bodies during breakfast. Worst of all, since him and Azul are officially fighting he can’t risk sneaking off to Octavinelle even though he has more than enough time for the thirty minute trek to where his two companions are currently working Ruggie to the ground to make up for Jade’s disappearance. And all that to get Vil to promote a new drink Azul is planning to sell at Mostro Lounge.

He's on day four now and slowly starting to lose his mind.

The plant in the corner of his room – lovingly named Flyod – is looking like it mocks him and the apple-shaped pillow – equally lovingly named Azul – might be squishy like his dorm leader but doesn’t melt against Jade when he squeezes it tight. So maybe it’s best not to return to his room immediately the moment Vil once again sets him free far too early for Jade’s liking, if only to save himself from repeating his argument with plant-Floyd from yesterday. At least plant-Floyd is the same kind of crazed yet underrated genius as his brother, making a valid point as to why the inclusion of bunny outfits was absolutely necessary to Mostro Lounge’s future success.

“Are you sure there is nothing else you require my help for?” Jade asks, placing a hand over his heart and shooting Vil his politest smile.

“You’ve done plenty today.” Vil assures him again, filing the last of the papers he’s been reviewing into his bag. “Use your free time wisely and relax. Tomorrow will be another busy day for you.”

“Thank you. I will.” Jade says, forcing the smile to stay in place. It’s even earlier than yesterday. Three hours until dinner and he won’t tire for another two after that. He’ll die of boredom before he’ll be served Greek salad and steamed tofu. At least he won’t have to pretend to like the food if he stops breathing before then. Perhaps he’s simply spoiled by Azul’s and his mother’s cooking. If Jade knows one thing then it’s that Miss Ashengrotto’s food remains unrivalled both on land and under the sea and as of late Azul has been giving her a run for her money the few times he ended up preparing the food himself instead of directing everyone else. “Though if I’m not mistaken, earlier today Epel has handed in a request to leave the school grounds together with Deuce Spade that still needs your approval and next week’s meal plan needs revision. If you wish, I could take care of all the necessary paperwork and come up with individual diets for the first years.”

“Thank you Jade but that won’t be necessary” Vil says, checking his reflection one last time in a handheld mirror before flipping it shut. “I intend to go over what we didn’t finish with Rook once he returns from his club activities so there’s no need for you to overwork yourself. You can use the rest of your day freely now.”

“But why wait if we could be finished by the time he returns?” Jade tries again, faking a placatingly sweet smile. He will not spend another hour alone with pillow-Azul who is this close to convincing him leaping out the window and making a run for Mostro Lounge is worth real-Azul’s wrath.

“He’ll be back in less than thirty minutes” Vil informs him, shooting him an equally appeasing smile, “we wouldn’t get anything substantial done before Rook returns.”

Funny, Azul would rather be caught dead than repeat such a ludicrous sentence, always out for profit no matter what lengths he has to go to or what little time he has at his hands. “You underestimate what’s possible within half an hour.”

“I don’t.” Vil says, glossy lips pulled tight ever so slightly. “I’m more than aware of the kind of work you manage to get done in shockingly short periods of time. You’re an outstanding assistant after all. But I assure you, there is no need for your work anymore today.”

“Is my work, perhaps, not satisfactory for you?” Jade asks, trying to suppress the twitching of his eyebrow though he’s sure Vil catches a glimpse of it anyways.

“Not at all.” Vil reassures him, waving him off with one hand. “Like I said, your work is exceptional.” And when Jade doesn’t answer and keeps looking at Vil like he expects a more in-depth explanation the model eventually sighs but continues, if albeit a little reluctantly, “With you helping me out these past few days the time Rook and I have spent together has decreased” he explains before letting out a rather heavy sigh and a curt shake of his head, looking more glum than Jade has ever seen him, a faraway look in his eyes “and while your assistance is much appreciated, this is a rather unfavorable result. Rook needs to take his duties as my vice more seriously anyways. He’s been slacking since you arrived and I take it upon myself to remedy that and remind him of his responsibilities. I’d hate to have to replace him.”

Ah, well that, albeit unexpected, Jade can certainly understand. If he were given the chance, he would have returned to Octavinelle mere hours after he left. He’s in no position to blame Pomefiore’s prefect for wanting … something more substantial that the work-relationship they’ve developed over the course of the past three days. If the bond between Vil and Rook is anything like the one he shares with his brother and Azul then Vil must have been pretty restless for a while now too.

“I understand.” Jade says, bowing his head slightly. “Shall I escort you back to your room then?”

“No need” Vil answers, gracing Jade with a more genuine smile, “I’ll be waiting for Rook in the Hall of Mirrors.”

“If that’s the case the I bid you farewell for today. Though in case you do end up requiring my help-”

“- I know how to reach you, thank you Jade.” Vil finishes for him. “Now be off and enjoy the rest of your day. Like I said, I’m planning on working you to the bone during your stay at Pomefiore so you best be well rested in the morning.”

“I’m counting on it.” Jade says, giving a curt bow. Vil nods and heads in the opposite direction, leaving Jade alone in the empty classroom. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Rook hurry across the courtyard, bow clutched in one hand and hat in the other.

It seems he’ll just have to make do with the company of plant-Floyd and pillow-Azul after all. Well, they’re certainly better than any of the other Pomefiore students though Jade will take extra care in making sure he’ll get that photo Azul has his sight set on tomorrow. He will not spend another day apart from his loved ones, and he’s sure Vil shares that sentiment.

It's nice to be back home with his siblings, the snow and the promise of a steaming cup of hot cocoa. Jack would be lying if he said he didn’t miss his hometown, especially the mountains and their slopes painted white and sparkling like the ocean’s surface. The air is just a little thin, not enough to be concerning but just enough to make him question whether his lightheartedness comes from the excitedness at finally getting to ski again after so long or from the altitudes. Probably both.

He’s a little out of practice, reaching the bottom of the slope not quite as fast as he used to but that might also just be the additional muscle mass he gained while away – Savanaclaw’s trainings before breakfast, morning runs with Vil, the track and field club and the occasional magift game Epel likes to rope him into having left their marks on his physique. And well, now that he’s actually where the slope isn’t as steep anymore he might just come to regret to ever have reached the bottom at all.

Considering it’s relatively late already and technically they’re off-piste there’s not many people around. His siblings have left about an hour ago already which is good. Like this they wouldn’t get caught in the crossfire, the previously quiet and peaceful scenery now having turned into an absolute battlefield in the fifteen minutes he’s been away.

How things escalated like this he isn’t sure. When he left Vil was still busy trying to teach Rook the proper technique to mastering the snowboard even though neither him nor Jack have any actual practice in snowboarding, both having grown up on skis instead, so albeit well-intentioned, his advice was probably a little less than educational. Still, Rook has fared surprisingly well, taking up snowboarding rather quickly once he was done gushing about literally everything – the sparkle of fresh snow, the crisp cold, the pretty purple color of Vil’s skis, the way Vil looks against an all-white background, and everything else Jack has decided to politely tune out.

But now, neither of them were currently anywhere close to making progress in helping Rook master his new hobby, both too busy viciously launching tightly-packed snowballs at each other at alarming speeds. And if you know Vil and Rook you also know that neither of them ever does anything halfheartedly so calling what they were doing a snowball fight would be an understatement. No, this was a massacre.

Jack is used to the sight of snow. It’s what the Land of Pyroxene is known for after all. Snow upon snow upon snow and more frozen water than actual ground but never has he seen snow this … disorganized. Not a single patch of white has remained untouched, either turned into a fist-sized weapon or makeshift cover. Both of his Pomefiore seniors take great pleasure in being off campus where there are no regulations on the use of magic which means throwing spells into the mix of their downright war is apparently fair game, little purple explosions going off every few seconds and lilac sparkles making the snowballs fly just a little farther, a bit faster and no small amounts of less forcefully. One of them goes a little rouge, Vil not really caring where he deflects the snowballs Rook fires at him with scary accuracy to as long as they don’t hit their target. Naturally it lands square on Jack’s chest, making him fall to his butt unceremoniously upon impact. He’s pretty sure he’s flailing his arms on his way down and one of his poles gets lost somewhere amongst the mess these two created. If it weren’t for the undignified yelp he accidentally lets out then he’s pretty sure neither of them would have paid him any mind but as things stand he sounds pretty much like a puppy getting run over by a bike, making two heads snap towards him in unison.

And Jack is not scared but he does hold his breath until their pupils return to a more normal size than what they were currently, blown up to the point their eyes were practically entirely black.

“Oh, you’re back already.” Vil says, halfheartedly brushing off the snowflakes that have gathered on his shoulders.

“Yeah” Jack huffs, a little out of breath but not because of the actual skiing he’s done. He watches Rook eye him carefully, eyes sharp and dangerous as if he were seizing Jack up as possible prey before returning to his usual weird happy gleam.

“Beauté!” Rook says, clapping his hands together in appreciation as he comes to stand next to Vil. “Your white hair really does look lovely cushioned against the fluffy snow.”

And Jack isn’t really used to compliments, not beyond slaps against his back and hands ruffling his hair so how Vil doesn’t turn as red as a tomato every time someone praises his beauty him is beyond Jack. Especially when it’s Rook who has this kind air around him that makes everything 160% more intense.

“And naturally, you’re beautiful as well” Rook continues, turning towards Vil to shoot him a dazzling smile. “Though you do look stunning no matter the environment.”

Vil only barely manages to resist the urge to roll his eyes. A hand comes up to push a lilac strand behind a pink ear but the moment Rook’s fingers connect with Vil’s skin, Vil’s eyes turn big again and he suddenly looks awfully offended.

“You’re freezing.” Vil accuses, taking hold of Rook’s hand to rub his fingers in between his own while he glares at their entwined hands as if they had personally insulted him.

“Ah, it’s not worth mentioning.” Rook assures though the hand not currently clutched in Vil’s comes to rub at his neck sheepishly and Jack notes how nimble fingers move just a tad bit rigidly.

“You should have said something.” Vil chides, unwrapping his scarf to coil around Rook’s neck instead. And that’s pretty much the beginning of the end because Jack spends the next twenty minutes listening to Vil chide his vice dorm leader about not having had the foresight to dress appropriately for the weather. Jack doesn’t mention how he saw Rook hand his gloves to his little sister earlier after she’d fallen face first into a cloud of snow and returned with only one glove and no goggles. But he does trail after them while he scrolls through the first year group chat on the way down in the cable car, trying to ignore how Vil hasn’t let go of Rook’s hand the entire way.

The trek back is spent much the same. Vil’s house is closest so of course Jack walks them home but the moment they arrive at his doorstep, Vil and Rook flank him on either side and barrel Jack inside.

“It’s cold even for Pyroxene standards.” Vil says while they’re tugging off their boots in the entryway of the biggest house Jack has ever stepped into. “I can’t let you go without you having warmed up properly beforehand.”

That’s how he finds himself in Vil’s kitchen, waiting for the milk to boil while Rook takes a hot shower upstairs.

“So” Jack begins just to fill the silence as Vil rummages absentmindedly through the cupboards.

“So?” Vil repeats, putting a plethora of ingredients on the countertop before he sets to cutting the chocolate in little pieces.

“You and Rook, huh?” The milk begins to bubble at the edges and Vil watches it just a moment longer than strictly necessary before turning down the heat.

“Me and Rook what?” He asks, adding finely chopped chocolate to the milk that looks so smooth and dark Jack is afraid to ask how expensive it is.

“You’re-” Jack tries, doesn’t know how to continue so he gestures something through the air and mentally slaps himself for acting like Sebek. The chocolate has completely melted by the point he finally finds the right word. “close?”

“He is my vice.” Vil says, pouring part of the chocolate mixture into a cup, leaving more than half still in the pot. Jack has never seen someone crack an egg so elegantly but Vil flicks his wrist a second time and Jack kind of loses track for a second as he watches Vil whisk the yolks with two tablespoons of hot chocolate. “Why are you asking?”

“Oh no, just cause-” he begins, watching Vil dump the egg mixture back into the pan and bring up the heat again. He’s not sure why he’s asking or even what he’s asking but somehow it feels important that he knows. Whatever it is he wants to find out. “I don’t know it’s just you two – and Rook’s so … much. … He’s not bothering you, is he?”

Vil actually chuckles at that and Jack takes a moment to appreciate how long it’s been since he’s heard him this happy. “No, not at all.” Vil says, turning his attention to the cup he poured out earlier. “I’m rather fond of him, actually.”

And the way Vil sounds is just … Jack doesn’t really have a word for it. He sounds like shooting stars, like this is a secret so rare and precious he keeps it tight underneath his tongue where it’s the perfect distance between his heart and his head. It’s an odd realization that Rook’s name is safe withing Vil’s mouth, like what you talk about in blanket forts when everything feels important and the ecstasy of hushed whispers washes all your doubts away and somehow, he just knows that Vil and Rook will only ever feel like that when they’re with each other, even if Jack doesn’t quite know what that means.

He watches slender fingers move with the kind of grace he’s only associated ballerinas with before, adding sea salt and brown sugar to the cup. He’s never heard of putting salt in hot chocolate and brown sugar also wouldn’t be his first choice but Jack doesn’t know the first thing about what models eat and he trusts Vil to know what he’s doing. Healthy versions of unhealthy food always are a little weird, so he chooses not to comment to save himself from the possibility of a lecture about proper nutrition. Though he does eye the mug skeptically for several long seconds.

He's saved from coming up with an answer by Rook sauntering in through the door in pants that are just a little too long for him. For someone who was only moments away from hypothermia he’s rather chipper, all happy and looking just this side of ridiculous with his hair wrapped up in one of those towel turbans that his mother and sister always keep their hair in after washing it. Jack has tried many times to recreate them but never successfully managed to replicate something even close.

Rook comes to stand next to Jack against the counter. With the sudden proximity and his hair out of his face Jack is also met with the frightening realization that Rook Hunt is pretty, especially when a grin nearly splits his face in half as soon as Vil hands him his cup of hot chocolate – the weird one, with salt and brown sugar and Jack vaguely wonders if this is Vil’s version of payback for not wearing gloves in the cold.

“Merci beaucoup” Rook says and takes a sip from his still steaming drink. It’s ridiculous, the cup Vil has pushed into his hands is dubiously edible and Jack’s own drink is still so hot he had to put it back onto the counter immediately but Rook doesn’t seem to mind, singing his praise as he goes for another swig.

“Beauté. It’s perfect, Roi du Poison, thank you.”

Vil shakes his head fondly and brings his own cup to his lips. Neither of them acknowledges how there’s salt in Rook’s drink or how Vil takes Rook’s cup out of his extended hand and takes a curious little sip himself.

“It’s actually not bad.” Vil says, one eyebrow quirking up in surprise.

“Vraiment? Keep it then.” Rook says, reaching for Vil’s forgotten cup on the counter. “Your version of hot chocolate is delicious as well. Not a flavor combination I’d have thought of but it’s surprisingly rich in taste. But that much was expected of you, Roi du Poison. You never fail to impress.”

And it’s all a little ridiculous because Rook looks at Vil a little to brightly for someone who just received a salty cup of cocoa only to switch it out again and Vil’s ears turn a pretty shade of pink as he glances to the side – the closest thing to bashful Jack has ever seen him. it’s ridiculous because Rook has just taken a hot shower and if he really was still cold he could just warm his fingers up by wrapping them around the mug like a normal person would but Vil is already taking hold of Rook’s hand again, rubbing his fingers in between his own and Jack can practically feel his ears blush red at the motion.

So yeah, Vil and his vice. The one he’s rather fond of, and Jack doesn’t want to know any more than that.

“You’re going to wake up the mandrake if you’re not more careful.”

“I know.”

Rook walks further into the conservatory to lean over Trey’s shoulder, inspecting his handiwork and making Trey just a little more anxious than he’d like to admit. Mandrakes are difficult little things already, even without someone who hunts bunnies for fun looming over your back. Something about the hunter’s watching gaze just makes the hair at the nape of Trey’s neck stand on end but Trey has known Rook for three years now and while yes, he’d rather not fall prey to the hunter, he’s certainly no longer afraid of someone who writes poetry about his dorm head while extracting the nectar from flowers even though the process of getting the actual nectar out is definitely less than romantic – lots of beating and tiny syringes and not at all dreamy. But naturally Rook choses to focus on soft petals and floral smells and gnaws off Trey’s ear for the better part of an hour if he doesn’t manage to distract him before the hunter can open his mouth.

“Should I do it, Chevalier of Rose?” Rook asks, tipping his head to the side slightly. Considering Rook is practically pressed against his back it’s a miracle golden hair doesn’t suddenly cloud his vision like it does every single time Rook wants to get a closer look at what Trey is doing. But it doesn’t and Trey is eternally grateful, snatching the mandrake and firmly pulling it out.

Just when Rook has gone and gotten a bag ready for him, Trey doesn’t know but he places the small thing inside – still blissfully asleep – and watches Rook tie the string into a neat bow.

“Beauté! You handled this little friend with such care and consideration! Just watching moved this humble hunter’s heart. Truly, a chevalier in every which way.” Rook says, holding the bag up high against the light as if he were welcoming it into the world for the first time. The moment doesn’t last all that long and before soon he gingerly places the bag next to the five other ones Trey has already plucked.

“I said don’t call me that.” Trey says, wiping some sweat off his eyebrows. The mandrakes have grown ridiculously tall this season and their pots will end up suffocating the poor things if they don’t repot them soon. Too bad the first years have already learnt about mandrake maintenance and harvest but alas, it’s up to the science club to do the dirty work. “Crewel says there are thirty mandrakes we need to repot today. The rest can be done throughout the week whenever we find the time. He’s marked the really urgent ones. You can – oh.”

He watches Rook slide into his lab coat and raise a pale eyebrow at Trey’s sudden lack of words.

“Your hair.” He says dumbly, nodding in Rook’s general direction.

Rook brightens up immediately and Trey just knows he should have stayed quiet. “Vil did it!” Rook tells him, spinning around to properly display the intricate braids holding his hair together. Yeah, go figure, this is another long one, isn’t it? “There was still some time before his interview with Fierté and he knew I would be out working today. He truly is too generous, going out of his way just to aide someone like me!”

“It’s just a braid, Rook.” Trey cuts in before the hunter could get lost in his ramblings about Vil. He always is rather unrestrained once he gets going and Trey would like to leave the conservatory before nightfall.

“Oh non, Chevalier of Rose, it is not simply a braid but the thought and effort put into it, how he came up with such an elaborate design and chose me as his canvas.” Rook begins and Trey can already feel the beginnings of a headache coming. “It is an honor to wear something created by Vil. He puts more effort into what he does than you think and it shows in every strand of hair intricately woven together. This, Chevalier of Rose, is art.”

And well, yeah, it really is just a regular old braid if you ask Trey. “It’s pretty.” He agrees because it really is. It’s not as cute as the topknot Cater tries so hard to make look messy but it fits Rook, intricate and sleek and most importantly keeping his hair out of his eyes so he could repot the mandrakes faster.

“I’m glad you agree.” Rook says, smile big and bright again as he gingerly reaches back to trace his fingers over his hair. “It really is lovely.”

“Yes, yes, can we get to moving these little guys now?” Trey waves him off before Rook could really get going, “I promised Ace I’d make cherry pie for dessert so I’d appreciate it if we got done early.”

“Ah, what a wonderful sentiment!” Rook fawns, clutching his hand to his chest but finally stepping towards the sleeping roots. “You truly are worthy of your name, Chevalier of Rose.”

“I said don’t call me that.” Trey huffs, pulling another pot close. Rook has already bagged his first one in the meantime. It’s when he snatches a second one from next to Trey that he sees it. A golden barrette in the shape of a heart, one that he’s seen many times before on another head. And, well, he won’t comment on it because that would just spark another lovesick rant but he watches Rook trace his fingers over the shiny metal piece absentmindedly once he’s got mandrake number two securely wrapped in his bag.

“Hey Rook” he says, plucking a yellowish leaf from a sickly-looking mandrake and putting it aside for Crewel to look at later. “You should take some of the cherry pie back to Pomefiore. Ace will just eat until he gets sick if we keep it all and it would be a shame to throw it away.”

“That would be lovely, thank you!” Rook says, smile still firmly plastered across his face. “I’m sure everyone will appreciate it. A chevalier really is generous to a fault, non?”

“Just shut up.” Trey sighs though it does lack any heat. He stretches his hands above his head, watches the barrette in Rook’s hair sparkle in the sunlight prettily and tries to hide his smile when Rook’s hand comes up to trace the heart after another successfully plucked mandrake. They really won’t be finished until night falls if the hunter keeps this up but Trey supposes he could live with it just this once.

Though he’ll have to tell Vil not to distract his lab buddy when he’s not even on school grounds.

“It’s actually not that hard” Epel says, wielding the kitchen knife with far too much confidence for Vil’s liking. “You just cut off one side. Then the other. Cut off some wedges, not too big because then it will look bulky but also not too small because it needs to have enough structure or it will fall over. Then you do the same on the other side. Assemble, cut the head and tadaaa! A swan.”

He holds the apple up and places it in front of the ones Vil has mutilated over the course of the last half hour. They’re all, by most standards, prettily carved but Vil has never liked to lower himself to average performances when it comes to himself and Epel’s swan in front of him is nothing short of breathtaking, intricately designed, crafted with expertise and care and the end result truly worthy of his praise. His own just couldn’t compare, especially considering he’s spent the last fifteen minutes coming up with a design no one has written instructions about he could follow so Epel’s crash course on apple carving is all he has to work with.

“It’s beautiful.” Vil says, turning the plate the swan is rested on to inspect his handiwork. “Masterfully carved and exquisitely designed. Well done, Epel.”

“Thanks!” Epel beams a smile at him, so big it takes up most of his face. “Grams showed me how to do it. She’s a real genius when it comes to apple carvin’. One time she made Cinderella’s carriage including the princess and the fairy godmother out of only one apple! It was insane.”

“I can imagine” Vil hums, picking up a smaller knife to define some of the details. There aren’t that many considering he’s still lacking experience but he’s adept at drawing and has carved pumpkins on Halloween before so at least he’s not completely lost on this one. Though the design is much simpler than what he would have liked. While technically he could enlist the help of Epel he’d much rather do the majority himself, only asking for few needed instructions so the end result could be entirely his. Not because he doesn’t want Epel’s help – there are about seven apple flowers they’d carved together after all, Epel doing most of the work at the beginning and explaining the basics as they went – but he doesn’t intend on keeping this particular apple and gifts should always come straight from the heart. His heart just so happens to be both a workaholic and a perfectionist.

His finger slips, the chunk he cuts out just a little too deep, so he scraps the apple entirely and picks up a new blank canvas to set to work again.

“You sure you don’t want any help?” Epel asks, putting his head on the table right in between the peels.

“Thank you but I merely slipped. I should be able to get it right this time around.”

“If you say so.” Then after another moment of contemplation. “I’ll make the hat.”

Vil is torn between sighing and smiling fondly so he does both and watches Epel take the biggest of the knives on the table even though Vil is sure that particular one would only hinder his movements. It’s all for the theatrics anyways, Epel always trying so hard to be manly, not aware that his stereotypical perception and idolization of heteronormative behavior is incredibly outdated.

“That would be greatly appreciated.”

It takes Epel not even five minutes to finish his task and by the time Vil has finished his own, there are mini-versions of himself and Epel sitting right in front of him.

“Tadaaa!” Epel proclaims, giving the plate a little spin to show off his craftsmanship. “It’s us!” And then in a much more impatient tone. “C’mon on now, add the missing piece!”

Compared to Epel’s work his own apple is … lacking. It’s certainly not ugly by any means but Epel’s extensive practice shows in the end result. He eyes his apple skeptically but Epel is practically vibrating in front of him, leg bouncing up and down and a determined glint in his eyes.

“Hurry Vil!”

“Don’t be so impatient.” Vil chides with a click of his tongue but he adds his little creation right in between apple-Epel and apple-Vil. Epel puts on the hat he made not a second later, securing it in place with a well-hidden toothpick.

“Apple-Pomefiore!” Epel cheers, pumping his hands up in the air triumphantly. “I’m gonna eat you, Vil.”

“Do as you wish.” Vil tells him, giving a dismissive wave of his hand as Epel takes a big bite out of apple-Vil’s face. A little less than half of it remains and Vil is only taken aback a little. He didn’t even know it was possible to devour an apple in only two bites though admittedly, he’s never seen anyone crazy enough to try.

“You’re not gonna eat Rook?” Epel asks, mouth still full of half-chewed apple.

“No” Vil answers, pulling apple-Rook closer and tracing his finger over his features. The nose is a little crooked but the smile is the same. “I think it that would be a shame.”

“It’s an apple.” Epel protests, giving him a rather deadpan look. But Vil is lost within his own world, turning apple-Rook in his hands carefully. It’s weird to see Vil so delicate, always strong and confident in every breath he takes but right now his eyes are infinitely soft, a kaleidoscope reflecting gold and dark crimson and soft hunter green around sharp edges and Epel feels like the whole zeroes in around them. Like suddenly everything is so bright and soft and alive and Epel just knows if he falls now it wouldn’t hurt. “It’s gonna rot if you don’t.”

Vil hums in acknowledgement, pushes the hat up just a little higher so it now sits properly on apple-Rook’s head but never looks away. “I’d rather waste food than hurt this little guy.”

“You’re not hurting anyone” Epel says, swallows once and tries to find his composure somewhere underneath his beating heart. “It’s an apple.”

“I’m aware.” Vil says, and it’s all wrong because a boy shouldn’t smile at another boy like that but suddenly Epel wonders what silver white hair feels like in between his fingers and if sun kissed skin really tastes like pears. “I’d still like to keep him alive a little longer.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Perhaps. Though I doubt you’d feel the same if it were Jack.”

Epel swallows the last of his apple, coughs a few times and slaps his hand against his own chest while Vil shoots him a knowing smile.

“I don’t think there are apples big enough to carve Jack.” Epel says, reaching for another apple and setting back to work again.

“But you’re still going to try your luck?” Vil teases, resting his head on his hand.

“Nah” Epel says, cutting out a crown from a separate apple. “Maybe later. I’m making you again.”

Vil raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“So we can give them to Rook.” Epel explains, sticking his tongue out in concentration. “He’s gonna love them and you were planning on giving yours to him anyways, right? It’ll only take a minute. We can give them to him and I’ll still make it to magift practice in time.”

“You don’t need to hurry.” Vil tells him, leaning back until he’s resting against the back of the chair, ankles crossed underneath the table. “Rook is currently asleep in his room. We can give them to him at dinner.”

“How’d you know that?” Epel asks, his eyebrows scrunching in concentration as he sets out to carve Vil’s cheekbones.

“He was out hunting all night. It’s only right he catches up on the sleep he’s missed.”

“That is allowed??”

“Not for you.”

“But I wanna skip curfew too!” Epel protests, head snapping up towards Vil, knife glistening dangerously in the artificial light of the kitchen.

“He’s not skipping curfew.” Vil begins to explain with a sigh. “The forests around Night Raven College are dangerous and Rook is an excellent hunter. He’s merely providing a service for the whole school. And pursuing his hobby simultaneously.”

“Can I go with him?”

“No.”

“Even if I’m careful and stick super close to Rook?”

“Especially when you’re careful and stick super close to Rook.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d only get in his way.” Vil says, watching Epel discard a rather big chunk of apple. “He’d have to be much more careful to ensure your safety and since you don’t know the first thing about hunting, you’d only be in his way.”

“… that’s pretty mean.”

“It’s the truth, Epel. Though I’m sure Rook would love to teach you the basics of the hunt if you’re interested.”

“Nah, I only wanna skip curfew like him.”

“Again, Epel, Rook is not skipping curfew. He’s got a special allowance to be able to stay out later than the rest of the student body.”

“How d’you know all that?”

“Who do you think signs those papers, Epel?”

“Oh, right.” Vil can practically hear Epel think, processing the information until finally – “so you could write me a permit too?”

“No.” He says firmly. “Not without a reason and even then I wouldn’t. There’s no need for anyone to compromise their beauty sleep unless absolutely necessary.”

Epel rolls his eyes at him. “You’re no fun, Vil.” But before Vil can chide him again, he holds up apple-Vil and pushes it right into Vil’s face. “Done. Now hurry or Leona will eat me for coming late.”

“I’d like to see him try.” Vil says, ready to put Leona back into place if he ever dares to lay his grimy paws on one of his Pomefiore students. “But like I said, Rook is asleep and you will not wake him up for something silly like this.”

“Eh? But he wouldn’t mind! I’m sure he’s awake anyways. I don’t think Rook sleeps.”

“Everyone sleeps, Epel.” Vil says, arranging their little apple-trio so apple-Epel was wedged in between the other two, “and no, Rook might not mind but I certainly would.”

“But Vil-”

“I said no” Vil repeats, shooting Epel a poignant look. “Now come, Epel” he continues, pulling a piece of paper and fountain pen out of seemingly nowhere. “We can leave them at his doorstep if you don’t want to wait until dinner. He’ll know who its from.”

Epel watches Vil write a little note before he folds it in half and sticks it underneath his apple equivalent. It’s a little hard to see from this angle but Epel is pretty sure he can make out a small heart in the very corner.

“Okay” he says, eyeing the piece of paper for a moment longer but Vil is already on his feet and heading for the door. There’s a bounce in his step that Epel has never noticed before and Vil is absentmindedly humming a tune and Epel knows the song. He knows the song so well. He knows it because it’s the same song his mother had sung to him when he was still scared of monsters and the dark, the same song his cousin danced to so happily at her wedding, the same song he listens to when he thinks of pears and cacti and Epel just knows. Knows with his heart and soul and sometimes he still dreams of Vil and dark ink but now he knows. He knows because last week Vil has asked him to play the lead role in the newest short film of the movie appreciation club and when Rook and him had bid Vil their goodbyes at his doorstep Rook had hummed the same song once the door closed.

With a final glance at the table Epel picks up the plate their apple-trio rests on and hurries after Vil who is already halfway in front of Rook’s bedroom.

And Epel just knows they’ll be alright.

He sits across from Rook who is watching the tea leaves sink to the bottom of the cup and is reminded how, for the longest time, he did not understand Rook Hunt. Vice dorm leader of Pomfiore and pursuer of beauty. A kind predator, a hunter so skilled even Malleus seldom hears his approach. Undeniably in love with the world.

Which is where they struggle to see eye to eye.

Vil certainly has seen his fair share of beauty, knows the back alleys of the world of the pretty, has indulged in expensive and luxurious and tailored just for him but he fails to appreciate the magnificence in the simple things. Perhaps he just doesn’t have the time to stop and look like Rook does but he lets his eyes travel to his own cup and sees only what is there: leaves and crushed petals at the bottom of fine china.

Or perhaps he’s just more practical, so naturally when Rook speaks of the loveliness of untouched snow sparkling like gemstones, Vil sees frozen water and the hardened soil underneath. And when Rooks speaks of the splendor of ruins that have withstood time and weather, Vil thinks of stone and brick. Or when Rooks speaks of the simple beauty of a sunrise, Vil only sees the start of another day, much like the one that came before and much like the one that will come after.

And while he doesn’t necessarily see the beauty he does see the potential and part of him likes to think that even if he doesn’t understand he at least relates. Even if just a little. Yellow leaves pirouetting through the air, sunlight filtering through trees, salty turquoise oceans reflecting the moon on their surface were nice to look at, like paintings or statues or models. But he doesn’t fall in love with any of them, not with the remnants of spring, not with foxholes, not with the moon and poetry and shooting stars.

So maybe he never really understood Rook.

Until he fell in love with him.

Rook stirs his tea, lets the little spoon clink against the cup just loud enough to get his attention and only speaks once Vil looks up. “What are you contemplating so intensely, Roi du Poison?”

They’re sitting outside the Pomefiore castle on the steps of the back entrance to the far right of the courtyard. Mostly because only few students ever venture there but this is also a good vantage point for Rook to watch out for any movements within the surrounding woods, pointing Vil in the direction of a deer or fox that he would have missed if he were alone every so often.

“The movie appreciation club mostly.” He says, bringing his cup to his lips but stopping short when he sees golden hair dance in the wind. “We’ve been making great progress on our new movie. Epel’s acting skills certainly have improved from last time.”

“Oui, Monsieur Cherry Apple undoubtfully has a natural talent whether or not he likes to admit it. But it really is your script that lets our petit pomme shine.”

“Possibly” Vil agrees because he’s not above recognizing his own skill and the work he puts into what he does. He takes a sip of his tea, delicate and sweet but tart in aftertaste. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You were a great help today.”

Rook blinks at him but the smile he shoots him not even two seconds later is brilliant and leaves Vil just a little breathless. “Il n’y a pas besoin de louanges. I’m more than happy supporting you in every which way I can.”

Vil can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips. “I know.”

It’s a beautiful day, cloudless sky and birds chirping in the distance. There’s beauty in the way the grass rustles in the breeze and in the way the sun reflects in the tea in his hands and the laughter ringing through the cracked open windows above but Vil doesn’t fall in love with any of it. Not like Rook does. He doesn’t fall in love with nature and beauty itself but he falls in love with Rook Hunt and the world with him in it.

He falls in love with way the wind sweeps through hunter green leaves and dances in hair the color of honey and gold.
He falls in love with birdsongs and a voice like a galaxy, a smile that shatters the world around him.               
He falls in love with bowstrings and calloused fingers directing him towards the target.
He falls in love with beige combat boots and the way the grass scrunches underneath every careful step.   
He falls in love with poetry and thick leather-bound books and a language he doesn’t understand.

“Will you be busy with the science club tomorrow?” Vil asks, tracing the flower pattern on the cup in his hands with his thumb.

“Not if you require my help.” Rook says, discarding his own cup so he could gesture more feely. “There aren’t that many mandrakes left and the ones that still be to be repotted aren’t urgent cases. They could wait another day or two.”

Vil hums in acknowledgement. “I don’t need your help.” He says, watches Rook nod his head a little dejectedly. “But I’d like your company. The movie appreciation club is shooting until six tomorrow. You’ll be done by then, no? We could go to Mostro Lounge after that. Drinks are on me, of course, as a thank you for helping out today.”

If Rook keeps smiling at him like that Vil might just turn blind but he doesn’t have it in himself to look away. Instead, he shoots Rook a smile of his own.

“I’d love to!” Rook says, leaning in until their shoulders brush together. “You’ll be shooting at Main Street tomorrow, non? I’ll come pick you up then.”

“The conservatory is the opposite direction.” Vil points out. “I can just meet you at Mostro Lounge.”

“I don’t mind the detour.”

“I know.” Vil says, knocking their knees together playfully, and savors the small chuckle that follows. “Let’s meet halfway then.”

And well, this time Vil does have to look away. There’s fondness and adoration in hunter green eyes that make his heart leave bruises against his ribcage. What they’re offering each other isn’t much, not even worth mentioning but Rook just has a way of changing the air around him, making his palms sweat and heart beat faster and Vil just knows that this is it. That as long as Rook is by his side, hand on the small of Vil’s back, as long as his smile rivals not only the sun but the moon and shooting starts and every other celestial body in the sky, as long as spring sunrises drip from Rook’s lips, Vil will not ask for more. Because he loves this world and the universe around it as long as they have Rook in it.

He puts his cup down next to him on a step warmed by the radiant sun above, reaches over and laces his fingers in between Rook’s gloved ones. Rook squeezes his hand and Vil pulls their entwined hands into his lap after pressing a soft kiss to leather clad knuckles.

So yes, he finally understands Rook Hunt.

And Rook knows that.