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harfanfare · 19 days
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Idia drabble, fluff, lots of couple banter
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Your wishlist containing released games is empty.
In the next several minutes after saving a title to one, you can expect a notification that the game is getting downloaded, and a mere seconds after that—several messages from your boyfriend.
“thought u would never play it lol”
“weren't you supposed to be studying??”
He sends a meme degrading your hierarchy of values as if he were any better. It is followed by a request.
“stream it to me when you play it”
And you do, after thanking him yet chiding him for wasting too much money on you without a second thought. His reply was a string of emojis and guarantee that he is doing it all for himself, because “educating you on the topic of latest games is his duty” and he cares about “the boyfriend points”.
“I hope my love’o’meter for u was broken by all that pampering lmao”
“waiting for my cg to load up…”
[NAME]: “not enough affection points”
“damn”
“i need a walkthroughyt to this route”
Idia has you join a voice channel, with you sharing your screen. Playing a game in a separate dorm is a whole different experience than having him beside you, with his hands almost trembling to grab your controller if you couldn’t get past a certain level.
He would always wait for you to ask him for help, though. Then he could let the feeling of self-satisfaction sink in as he easily guided your character to another enemy to slash.
If he only has you on the voice chat, you might be able to finish the game almost fully by yourself.
You can hear the soft sound of his keyboard as he plays something as well. He divides his attention between you and his entertainment, and he throws in commentary to your playthrough, teasing you when you can’t find a secret key to the special gate, bullying you when you find the puzzles too hard, or when you pick the wrong dialogue option.
At some point, you might try to (playfully) mute his microphone, but you can only have eight seconds of silence before he hacks into the options.
“No need to be jealous of my gaming knowledge,” he exclaims, and you know he has that big stupid grin on his face. You huff, and he hums. “But if you want me to help, all you need to do is just ask.”
“I want to go through this game myself!”
“Okay, sure. But you know you have already missed the opportunity for the best ending, no?” He laughs. “That’s what you get for muting me, kitten.”
No need to spoil the ending just to get back at me, you’d love to say, but you learned that the shy boy who couldn’t hold your gaze several months ago is actually a big tease. You must’ve grown too much on him, as he would have continued the bickering even if you showed up in his room. No social anxiety towards you—that’s a bit of a shame, he was cute when you first started dating.
…Well, Idia you know now is a cutie as well, even if he can be very annoying sometimes.
“Enough. I’m going to play my otome games, bye.”
You log out, and shut the stream, chuckling all the time. A funny feeling tingled your heart, like always when you won (or have you?) in banter in Idia: your heart is warm enough to probably melt through the ribcage, but a subtle alarm rings in your head. Idia will probably take revenge for this.
He must already be in distress. He doesn’t like you playing otome games alone, as if you could have ever preferred a 2D boy over Idia. The thought makes you laugh.
You plop on your bed, unlocking your phone and tapping an icon of the name game you’ve installed. Although playing it with Idia would have been funnier, you are going to play him just out of spite.
…And after that, you will send him a wall of text about those handsome characters, because he needs to be updated on your current obsessions.
The title screen appears before everything crashes and the screen goes black. Several messages in neon-blue futuristic font colour appear one by one.
An error has occurred.
Caught exception:
Traceback (most recent call last):
File “characters”, line 46, in script
File “stats”, line 153, in script
File “story”, line 665, in script
File “achievements”, line 411, in log.1
File “backup_data”, line 139, in log
To continue:
“[Name]-san. Please come to our dorm. My brother is moping (so he won’t be finishing his project anytime soon, which is, really bad) and I would appreciate you having mercy on him.
Once you come, I will restore your data! It’s a promise :>
— ORTHO”
…Damn those Shrouds.
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harfanfare · 1 month
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I’ve just gotten introduced into the fandom, and the way you write Epel has me HOOKED. Love love LOVE your writing; I hope you know it has me over here kicking my feet and giggling at how giddy it makes me feel. <33333
Hehehe, thank you and welcome to the fandom!! I hope you'll love it here!
And to be completely honest, you boosted my confidence with this message a lot because every time I write for first years, I tremble in fear of mischaracterizing them orz
Thank you for making my day! 💙
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harfanfare · 2 months
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anon is so rude omg??? what happened to basic decency and just asking someone nicely. im sorry people lose their manners behind anonymity, haru :(
Ahhh, maybe I was more bummed out after last anon's message than I thought, but reading this message made me incredibly happy. You're really kind. Thank you for caring to write this!!
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harfanfare · 2 months
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“reader is referred to as girlfriend” then tag it as fem reader? omg? yall do anything but tag your shit correctly
Alright, done
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harfanfare · 2 months
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Idia drabble, fluff, female reader! ♡
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You know you’re in for a losing game when you have to ask AI chat to help you with date ideas.
Idia outrightly rejected places that statistically—he pulled up an unnecessary chart, to prove you—had many people visiting at every time of the year. Maybe for some exceptions for ungodly hours, but, while he really loves you, he would rather relax with you in a bed with a silly game on than wake up at 3 am to, whatever, go to the planetarium and stare at the cosmos.
And, we might do it in VR, either way, he argues with your every suggestion.
“Well,” you persist, glancing from the screen at Idia whose attention is divided between you with your half-hearted pleadings, and his game character who clears another villain camp with slashes of a grand sword and sharp arrows. “Can’t we get something to eat, then?”
“Instant soups are irreplaceable.”
“That’s why we should eat something else to confirm their superiority over other goods once again,” you lick your lips to hide a subtle smile as Idia grins at your debating point. It’s an unreasonable argument, yet you have known your boyfriend for long enough to know that these ones are the most convincing when you are out of ideas. “Like, churros maybe? Or those fine-looking cupcakes.”
“They have too much crème and are too heavy in taste. Have you ever tried one? They are like dry cake and sugar but with a fancy texture. Sooo unhealthy, mm.”
He says it as the bag that was filled with candy this morning, falls soundly from the desk. Idia was never one to say no to sweets, but only to the ones that suit his specific tastes: then, even the most logical reasons to eat healthier don’t come in handy. If it wasn’t for Ortho, and now you, he would’ve probably died from the excess of sugar from that sweet and sour gummy candy he loves.
You collect the bag before the little cleaning robot can ever reach it, and on the way to the trashcan, you bonk an empty plastic bottle on your boyfriend’s head. He should instil in himself some want of keeping his room tidy.
“So, the cafes are no-go?”
“Yeah.”
You take a seat again next to Idia and scroll down through the list of generated date ideas.
“Even the cat cafes?”
Idia opens his mouth to protest but finds that he can’t bring himself to do so. The silence is long enough that you stop reading the AI suggestions and lift your gaze up to Idia.
That’s the pause you’ve been waiting for.
“Then, it’s decided!” You clasp your hands together, and beam at Idia as he sighs at you. “I should have known that the virtual cats could never replace the real ones.”
Your boyfriend remains silent. The awkward expression he makes as two different parts of himself battle each other is entrancing; should he go mingle with other people to go to the cafe, or he will be better off remaining adamant about his vow of not going out anywhere? The fact he doesn’t roast you over this suggestion, makes it look like the former stance was a bit more appealing.
“Then I shall put them on your ultimate weakness list,” you say cheerily, getting giddy over Idia being wordless. It’s such a rare sight since he’s got used to the little acts of intimacy. Though you loved his stutters and furious blushes, the banter and suave smiles are welcome as well, of course. You can’t help but move closer to him and give him a peck on his lips. The single strands of his hair light up to pink, and you smile. “I am gathering an intel on you.”
Idia blinks and lays back in his chair, his game paused for a second. You know that gesture too well; in idianese it’s a sign that he changed his mindset to “it is what it is”, and decided that the worst case scenario might still be worth going to the cat cafe. In a fit of new resolution, his playful wryness returns in a heartbeat.
“Heh, yeah? It’s very wise of you to do so. How much data have you gathered already?”
You open a notebook app on your phone.
“Well, as I started putting it up just five seconds ago, there are… people… and me… And now cats,” you list out loud as you quickly type things into your phone. The basic font and too big characters make the list look like some kind of meme, which, in a way, it is. “And me, again.”
Idia snorts. “Basic info. Weak.”
“I could prepare your character profile. I know more of your strengths than weaknesses,” You say, and make a mental note to do a powerpoint presentation on Idia, this time with fewer memes and more candid photos of him. “But it's still enough to have you go on a date with me!”
He sighs again. Idia likes to make show off how much trouble he has to go through for you, but you don’t miss how his eyes light up, even if he rolls his eyes.
“I guess we can go for one short date there,” he tells you slowly, and before you believe once again that you have the magic privilege of a girlfriend, he throws a comment that quenches the flames of your self-satisfaction. “You are the one ordering, though.”
…No. Your fellow introvert won’t be dumping the trial of courage solely on you.
“Let’s take turns.”
“Offer rejected.”
“Let’s bring Ortho.”
“Offer accepted,” he lifts his hand as if he demands a pause in a game. “…But don’t you mind bringing my brother on a date?”
“It will be a “hangout” then. At least, until Ortho decides that we are too cringe and dumps us in the middle, then it’ll turn its status to a date.”
“Will he?” Idia ponders, but then his eyes land on you, and he smiles knowingly. “Oh yeah, he will. He might have implemented himself a module to go away if our cringe stat will rise over sixty per cent.”
“That’s a generous amount of cringe we can spread.”
“With you, I think it should be doubled.”
“Thanks, I love you too.”
“You’re welcome.”
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harfanfare · 2 months
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1000 followers! Thank you!!
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A whole, round 1000! That's quite a milestone, which I can't say I expected with my erratic posting schedule--so it is a bit of a surprise! Thank you for all your support!
While I won't be holding any event for that occasion, please accept my promise that I will still do my best, each time trying to aim higher and higher. Thank you for your kindest asks, delightful comments, heartwarming reblogs and warm hearts. I am grateful for writing for you.
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harfanfare · 2 months
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If that's okay could i request it for Epel?
How to win the heart of Epel Felmier?
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a/n: Thank you for requesting~~ Dear Readers, while I am not a native English speaker, I wrote this ff in the English-pronounciation (?) mindset that “Epel” and “Apple” sound very similar. If it’s not all that similar, may Reader be too obsessed with apples to have that selective hearing when it comes to Epel’s name or let’s blame it on the Harveston’s dialect, haha
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Be a zealous apple lover.
You envy this boy’s name.
“Apple”? What a majestic word to be named after. The first time you’ve heard a woman calling someone like that, you remember stilling in place and whooping your head at a ten-year-old boy who yelled that he was coming.
And he… doesn’t look like an apple. Maybe you weren’t expecting a walking apple, nor a boy with red hair dressed in all browns, carrying a big basket of apples (and of course, eating one in the other hand) like a character created for a show whose audience is a tad younger than you, but none of the apples you know turn purple.
Never have you imagined someone with such a beautiful name would move so wobbly in snow, the sledge he dragged behind definitely too heavy.
The realization of how unfitting this name was makes you lose a grip on the basket of fabric you got from one of your new neighbours. Well, everyone here is “new” if you just came into this little village just three days ago.
That boy notices you. He must have heard the news because a flash of recognition paints itself on his face. You didn’t return a shy smile at the staring, even if you wanted to. You remember your cheeks prickling from the freezing wind when you bolted home as the apple boy looked like he wanted to say something.
“He doesn’t look like an apple,” you argue with your mother that night, as she kisses your temple goodnight.
“Maybe not. But I would have loved you two to be friends…” Your mother stops in her words as you roll your eyes at her and pout with all your might. She suppresses a laugh that you would take to your heart. “…But, maybe I should be glad he doesn’t resemble an apple at all? You would have fallen head over heels in love with him if he did.”
Yeah, your mother doesn’t need to look so happy as you grew agitated.
“I wouldn’t!” You protest loudly and bury yourself deeper into bed sheets even if your face grows hotter. Maybe of the embarrassment, maybe of the fury, but surely not because of the boy. “I would never fall in love with a boy like him. And I don’t want you to talk about this to anyone!”
You remember your mother’s eyes twinkling with utter amusement. “Yes, yes, all right.”
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
2. Challenge Apple to a sled race.
Maybe it’s the fault of far too many action films being aired on TV, yet the idea of being able to win anything a fight was stuck in your head.
Some limited part of your brain thought that, hm, Apple might just give up his name to you if you won in this town’s most famous activity: the Harveston’s Sled Race. It seemed only appropriate for you to pick something the boy must know, even if you had only got your first sledge barely two weeks ago.
“Ya… want my name?” Apple blinks as you grow irate when you repeat your offer once again. You remember rolling your eyes ostentatiously at him, and Apple huffing loudly at you. “What does it even mean, duh?”
He crosses his arms and glared at you. He has the advantage of being just a little bit taller than you, but thankfully, his The-Great-Seven-Better-Bless-Her grandmother never ceases to dress him in fluffy, puffy clothes, always in pastel colours; the cute pompom on top of his beanie and shawl in the adorable pink shade made him much less imposing.
“Whoever wins in this sledge race will be called Apple,” you repeat. Apple squints his eyes at you. “I like this name so much, you have no idea. Please give it up to me.”
“Oh.”
You have no idea why his face slowly turned red. If you knew better, you would have used this opportunity to tease him, but little you didn’t want to mock a newly met boy, even if you just threw down a gauntlet for his name.
“It’s a normal name….” He mutters, and before you can protest, he draws his eyes to you, somehow redeeming you speechless. “…But I’ll challenge you if that’s what you wanna do.”
Huh. You weren’t expecting him to agree so easily.
…Nor were you expecting him to glide on the snow with his sledge. He looked frail enough to not care about things like rides and thought that it would give you the advantage. It did not. Apple flew or used magic, or illusions because he rode so fast the snow beneath him barely left a trace.
That was some cool skill, even if you hated how awed you were.
It seems like you challenged the wrong boy because this one wins with ease.
“Sorry,” he says with flushed cheeks, and his deep breaths create little warm clouds in freezing air. He lays on the snow, and his fringe sticks to his forehead. He has won, and it was a tough victory yet a well-earned one. “I will still be the only Epel in this town.” He shifts his gaze on you. “So. What’s your name?”
Well, he is a (treacherous) winner. You give your name to him.
He smiles slightly, he repeats it slowly and goes quiet. You look over to see him open his eyes from reverie and bright lights dance in his eyes.
“It’s nice. I think it suits you well.”
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3. Have some baking skills.
“Epel, dear. We’ll be having our little neighbour helping us this year’s festival, so please show how responsible can you be and teach [Name] how to prepare apples for the pies.”
Ugh. If only Grandma Marja wasn’t so kind, you would have been protesting more.
Apple looks at you and you frown slightly as he sighs at your sight.
“You again?”
And because Grandma Marja already left, you feel free to announce your displeasure with the situation as well. Sadly, there are no other kids your age in this village, so you are probably bound to accompany him for the rest of your whole life here as he’s your only peer.
“Unfortunately.”
Apple hands you an apron, before ordering you to wash your hands. Because the kitchen island is too occupied with other dishes and too high for any of you without a stool, you take a seat next to a coffee table that was impractically set between the salon and kitchen, leaving just enough space to create a narrow route from one room to another.
“Have you ever baked an apple pie before?” He asks and you shake your head. His brows furrow slightly as he thinks whether you will be a help here at all. “So, it will be a long day…”
He better not write you off before you can even start.
You cross your arms. “Test me first, complain later... if ever.”
“I’m not complaining. But we have a knife and a peeler. Oh, and it hurts if you get cut. You should take it slowly and be careful,” he adds and hops to the other room to grab a basket full of apples. He lays it between you two.
Apple doesn’t let you use a knife.
“I am older than you,” he says and takes an apple from you to cut it into even pieces. You don’t notice the skill he has to make careful cuts precise and clean, as you glare at him.
“Barely.”
The few-month gap in your age isn’t enough to stop you from insisting that you can do more complicated things than just peeling apples. That’s some arduous work, especially when the peeler doesn’t cooperate and the thin fruit’s skin gets stuck between the blades.
So, Apple, who couldn’t contain that last annoyed sigh, finally lends you a knife. He instructs you, but after several times that you tell him you know what are you doing, he hesitantly goes back to his work. You could feel a worried gaze at you nonetheless, and at one time you looked over your shoulder to see him staring at you.
And that’s when the knife slips from your hands.
You don’t scream, but a gasp and a sudden flinch gives you away.
“Aaaand that’s what I was saying,” he immediately drops the apple he was taking care of, and stands next to you, scrutinizing the cut. It’s not bigger than a paper cut, yet it’s a bit deeper and stings as much. You quickly hide your hands from him. “Go take your hand under the cold water. I will get some bandages.”
He gets some. He then orders you—” I am the older one here and I was right before, so I am in charge between us two,” as you were told—to sit on the sofa as he carefully wraps one bandage around your finger. The gesture it’s almost cute from him, but it doesn’t lift your foul mood at all.
“I made more trouble than I’ve helped,” you say quietly. Epel looks at you, a bit surprised.
“You sayin’ that this little cut is making you quit?” And now he has that stupid smile on his lips that makes your blood not boil, but warm up at least five degrees. “Awh, poor thing.”
You get up in a hurry.
“…I didn’t say that.”
“Then don’t give up like that,” he chastises you, but he can’t hide a (still very stupid) smile when you pass him to get to the kitchen counter. “But be more careful from now. No one wants to eat a bloody apple pie.”
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4. Get into NRC and survive a shock.
Over the years, you’ve become friends, close enough to plan to go to college together, if the opportunity arises. It did.
“Cheers!”
The perfect way to celebrate getting into NRC is with a soft drink, sparkling soda and a big plate of snacks. Although you bought chips for the occasion, your and Apple’s parents prepared a pile of homemade goodies and they couldn’t compare to those store-bought.
Your can clinks against Apple’s and you take a sip.
“It’s not like I ever thought of Night Raven Collage rejecting the best candidates ever,” Apple says with a sigh. Only today you can notice how stiff he was before; although he’d been playing it cool, he was tense all the time. “But that’s one burden off your chest.”
You nod in agreement and look at the acceptance papers once again. When a time will come, carriages with Gates will come for you two… And that’s a thrilling thought.
“This document looks so official,” you say. “What a pretty paper. It looks so elegant.”
Apple empties his can and briefly glances at you.
“Nothin’ special about it…”
And because you want to see the comparison (maybe there are hidden hints where you might be allocated to by the Dark Mirror?), you take his document. The first thing that crosses your mind, is that there is something wrong with his name.
“Wait,” you shriek loudly, and Apple shudders from surprise. He would chastise you for screaming so loud if you didn’t look so worried. “They spelled your name wrong!”
“Huh?” Apple feels a pang of horror, the same you feel when you tap your pockets in search of your phone. As if he found it, once he reads the top of the document again, he relaxes. His lips form into a thin line: he thinks you are pranking him. “No way. Everything is correct.”
“No, look here. Your name, Apple!”
“It’s… Correct.”
“E- P- E- L. And your name is A- P- P- L- E, no?”
“…What?” Epel, not Apple, looks surprised but not as surprised as you. “You thought my name was ‘Apple’ for all those years?!”
You bite your lip to not question it. Is it not? Your cheeks burn from embarrassment, and your heart feels heavy as if you have just betrayed your best friend. It never crossed your mind to have him write down his name, and there wasn’t a reason for him to do so: in this small town there is no school, neither are there the tests you need to sign.
“…I’m sorry.” You stutter, and Epel brushes the crumbs off from his blouse and gets up.
“Goodbye,” he says, making his way towards the door. He doesn’t seem that upset over the whole thing, as much as confused. Tomorrow everything will return to normality, but Epel will have a top-tier teasing material for years. “That’s too many revelations for today.”
“Wait, Epel!”
“Go to ya Apple boy.”
“No!! I said I’m sorry!”
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5. Get sorted into any dorm but Pomefiore.
“Stop laughing.”
“I can’t…! Ha…”
You take a big breath to calm yourself down, but once you look up at Epel and his grimace, it’s impossible to not burst out laughing so loud and so breath-taking you drop to the floor. Epel nudges you. You might be in his room, yet he knows if he’ll be too loud, someone will come to shush you two.
And maybe they will punish him, but Epel isn’t familiar with Pomefiore’s customs, so he doesn’t know what to expect.
“How come you got sorted into another dorm, while we are practically the same?” Epel mumbles, lying down on his bed. The sheets are heavy yet comfortable, luxurious like the whole room. It feels like a museum here, where each item is more valuable than your life and you need permission to rearrange the interior.
To Epel, Pomefiore is the worst dorm. He remembers you teasing him about getting sorted to Pomefiore, but neither of you thought it would come true. It’s too stiff, too restrictive and cares too much about appearances. Epel’s heart feels heavy at the thought of the next four years here.
“Maybe Dark Mirror doesn’t sort the dorm judging by the alikeness of two last brain cells but the shape and colour of the soul,” you nudge him back, waking him up from his reverie.
“Or maybe it didn’t get any input of brain cells from you.”
“Well, your desire to be the prettiest boy in the town got to it, so I think it functions well.”
You chuckle at the dead glare he throws you.
Epel finally sighs.
“…I would like to change the dorms.”
“I don't know whether the Dark Mirror accepts complaints,” you tease him. The gloom is abruptly replaced by irritation, and that’s nice. An angry Epel is better than a devastated Epel. “But if you ever want to escape for a while, you are welcome in my room. We can have a sleepover whenever you want.”
“…Thank you.”
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
5.5. Sorted into Pomefiore exception.
“You ain’t elegant at all, though.”
“It seems like my elegance bleaks in comparison to yours, pretty boy.”
“You are blind.”
Epel tries to push you away, but you sidestep while giggling. He glares at you, and thankfully, his eyes don’t seem that sad. When he returned to his seat after getting sorted to Pomefiore, he looked bewildered, as if he suddenly wasn’t in the NRC he dreamed of but some other, less-dreamlike school.
You remember him blinking back tears, but maybe not from sadness—thankfully, Epel doesn’t pity himself—but melancholy, as if he just lost something he didn’t even have. Maybe also fury and confusion.
“It will be fun to stay here together,” you prompt, and Epel sighs but a trace of a smile appears on his lips. Thank Great Sevens for the little lights that brighten the azure tones in his eyes.
“Guess I’m stuck being your neighbour forever.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“No?”
“Of course not. You already know how great friend I can be.”
“…I guess you’re right,” he sticks out his tongue. Vil will have a lot of work if he wants to make him a fine gentleman. Well. You will take any version of Epel, even the pettiest and most teasing one, so it’s Vil’s burden to bear. “Kind of.”
You pout at him, but a quiet smile breaks your coolness. “So petty.
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
6. Listen to your manly man complain about Vil.
After several weeks in NRC, you could tell Epel still hasn’t gotten used to Pomefiore, and especially its leader.
“I can’t handle him pointing out each… well, everything!” He hides his face in his hands and sluggishly rubs his eyes; he looks tired enough even if Pomefiore must have those eight hours of sleep every night mandatory. “He would find wrongdoings in the way I breathe.”
“I would too. You don’t breathe as much through your nose as you think you do. That’s so very unhealthy, Epel. Your skin will be ruined in the next week of running.”
Epel throws you a warning look as if you had hit the nail with your talk. “Stop or I will strangle you with a pillow in your sleep. I already have Ace on my list.”
You chuckle at a threat, and Epel rolls his eyes. “How dramatic.”
“I have enough drama in my life,” he continues, and you can feel from his tone that he either suppresses the sigh. No apathy or fury anymore, though. Pomefiore must be slowly growing on him, and you take it as a good sign. “My two upperclassmen are going to be a death of me. I don’t know how could I end up in Pomefiore. This kind of lifestyle doesn’t suit me.”
“You complain about them a lot, but, in reality, you look up to him, no?” You tease. “Even you can say the beauty he possesses is influential and somewhat powerful.”
“He might look majestically but it doesn’t make him any less annoying. Now, let’s stop talking about him.”
“Why not? I might become Vil Schoenheit’s fan.”
He clasps his hands on your mouth, so you have to fully focus on his glaring.
“You can’t. You are my fan.”
You pout but after he takes his hands off you, a lopsided smile cracks your lips. “I guess you’re right.”
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7. Argue, duh.
That’s a hobby of you two, although a risky one. It always leaves a weight on your heart, because you cannot not care for Epel. While jokes and sarcasm are never intended to hurt any of you, and you can almost always distance yourself from teasing comments, his every word is precious to you.
“Don’t be a killjoy,” would make you roll your eyes if Epel didn’t look so serious. Your smile falters, and something in your stomach twists. You know this conversation was going to end in an argument even before he glowered at you.
“Hey, don’t say it like that,” you stutter the words, placing a hand on his arm. It would come as a reassuring gesture, yet Epel made an effort to move a seat away, and your arm fell aimlessly, sadly. “I am just worried about our grades. That have. Uh. Dropped marginally.”
You stare at your shoes because listening to your best friend being displeased with you so greatly is heartbreaking.
“We have the whole weekend ahead of us to study,” he argued. “Be serious. You don’t want me to go, because you weren’t invited, isn’t that so?”
You sigh. You’ve never expected to be invited to each of their meetings: they are Epel’s friends, and you have yours.
While you knew Ace and Deuce were delightful company, you always thought Epel would choose you over them, even if you suggested something as unentertaining as studying because you would do the same.
You were wrong, after all. Maybe that’s the difference of willpower between a just-a-friends mindset and having a crush on him. Do you really have a crush on him, though? Or maybe you’ve expected too much from a childhood friendship.
“Well, no. I mean, I would love to be invited, but—”
“We don’t need to hang out together every time we have a spare afternoon,” he said, and while it was a true statement, it hurt. If you weren’t able to somehow steel your nerves, you would know you wouldn’t be able to bear the prickling in your eyes. Epel’s next suggestion comes as a whisper. “Sometimes… We should take a break from each other, ya know? And I need to figure, uh, something out.”
The news shocks you so much, that you don’t notice how he visibly abstains from lifting a hand to his chest.
Well. You always knew you were a hopeless romantic.
“Breaks from each other, huh…”
You take in the phrase in silence. Epel takes this chance as an opportunity to gather his things and pack them.
“…I’ll be leaving. Good luck studying or whatever.”
“…Alright. Have—” fun, you wanted to say, but the door shut and Epel left you alone.
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
8. Go through the silent treatment phase.
After a week of awkward conversations, Epel has forgotten about that talk. The pain in your chest dulled and you were growing indifferent as if you were watching a show—your life—that started to bore you, not engaging you at all.
You stared blankly at the screen of your phone.
— today —
Epel: Hey
Epel: are u free todya?? you’ve been so absent last weeks >:((
Epel: Grim and prefect invited us for gaming night
Epel: dont ya DARE do skip it again
— seen: now —
…Yeah. You feel nothing, maybe only a little sad at the memory when you felt so vivid and happy when you got a message from Epel.
“No, sorry, I am busy with studying lol,” you type, and while you know that excuse will wear out in the next few days, for as much as you’ve been using it for the last week to avoid hanging out with Epel, your (ex-?) best friend starts to type something. He will protest and argue and try to convince you, but you don’t want to talk today. “Maybe next time.”
So you turn off your phone, sinking deeper into the pillows on your bed.
You don’t have the energy to confront Epel right now.
And that’s it.
You fell into a slumber deep enough to not hear the hesitant-turned-frantic knocking to your room.
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
9. Let Epel hear the advice of unreliable gurus of love.
They are really unreliable, look messy, and they judge you. The worst kind of people to go for (love?) advice, but Epel assures himself that he needs honesty, not a pat on his back or a shoulder to cry on. He also is out of other options.
Moreover, he would like to cry nowhere near Ace, who would obviously mock him. Even now it’s hard to have a heart-to-heart conversation when he and Deuce chomp on some type of dessert and some awfully happy music from videogame plays in the back of the room. “So? What did you do?”
“Ace,” Deuce is kind enough to elbow Ace in the stomach when Epel’s stoic expression falters.
His shoulders drop. “No, he… He is kinda right.”
Ace throws a winning smile but moves too far away from Deuce to have him punch him for the cheekiness. “’ Kinda’?”
“…Totally right,” Epel finally admits. “[Name] has been avoiding me and I have no idea what should I do,” He throws his arms on the table, and almost hides his face in the palms of his hands. Instead, he moves away the strands of his unruly hair. “Ugh. Why I am even asking you guys to help me? You’re even worse at this kind of thing.”
“Speak for yourself. And Deuce,” Ace cuts him off. And before Deuce can do anything else than glare at him, Ace shifts closer to Epel and throws an arm over his shoulder so he has to hunch. “Epel, question: what is “this kind of thing”. You mean… as in friendships or dating?”
Deuce looks shocked, even so more than Epel. “Dating?!”
“Why are you even so shocked?” Ace asks him, furrowing his eyebrows. When Deuce starts to ponder over his words, he rolls his eyes. “[Name] probably have had a crush on this imbecile”— he points his fork at Epel—” for damn years now, if I had to guess”.
“Years?!”
“Thank you for the dramatic echo effect again, Deuce,” Ace snarls and finally focuses on Epel. Too distracted with a bickering between his friends, his spirits lift up a little. “And you, Epel. Pull yourself together. Do you want to sever the relationship? Do nothing. Do you want to be friends? Apologize to [Name] and try to patch the bond. Do you want to be in a relationship? …Welp, figure out that for yourself.”
“Amazing advice, Ace,” Deuce claps his hands theatrically.
He sticks out his tongue and winks. “You could never give a better one.”
Epel gets up from his seat.
“Thanks, you two. I… will do something.”
“Good luck,” Ace waves at him as Epel makes his way over to the door. “If it works out, you owe us a free drink. Especially me.”
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
10. Have Epel fight for your love!!
It’s hard to find someone when the person knows your schedule and actively tries to avoid you. Choosing more roundabout corridors and sacrificing your wallet to have most of your meals in Monstro Longue instead of the cafeteria are only some of the things you did to avoid encountering Epel.
But he didn’t give up, and maybe his tenacity is what makes you oblige Epel once he finds you.
You don’t question him when he grabs your hand and asks you to skip the last lesson with him that feels almost unimportant as his intertwined fingers warm yours. You don’t comment on how his grip is stronger than usual and how he doesn’t let it go when your hands begin to sweat.
But as you leave the main building of NRC, the curiosity gets the better of you.
“Where are we heading to?”
Epel looks over his shoulder to blink at you. “I…,” he stammers, as confused enough to leave you wondering what is your final destination. Or what was your final destination, Epel seems to have forgotten whatever plan he had in mind. “I guess it can be here.”
He ushers you into one of the side alleys, a bit distanced from the main street and sits you down on a bench. You eye him curiously as he slowly lifts his hands to your face—and that is the first time he let go of your hand—and cupped your cheeks.
“Let me be clear. I- really like you,” he said loudly, gazing into your eyes. “And I know I… overreacted earlier. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to avoid me.”
You breathe out slowly. The heat from the “I really like you” moment prickles and makes your face hotter. It doesn’t help that Epel doesn’t shift his gaze from you nor that he has his hands firmly on your cheekbones as he awaits your answer.
“I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have been getting between you and your friends.”
Epel eyes you, bewildered. “Why are you focusing on that part?”
“Huh?”
“Ah. Maybe… I will phrase it differently,” He hesitates and his tone wavers, but he says the words without a stutter, as if he’s been practising them in front of the mirror, effectively. “I love you.”
“And I- I want to be friends even if you don’t feel the same.” He rushes with an explanation when you don’t answer as your mind goes blank. “Because. I don’t want you to… avoid me anymore. A-actually, you don’t have to rush with your answer. Just, decide, someday, in the near future, haha? I will wait.”
He glances at you and you know he won’t be able to bear long without hearing your answer. As he rushes past you, you think you heard a hushed whisper.
“Dear Sevens, I said it…!”
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harfanfare · 4 months
Text
miscellaneous fellow honest headcanons
These aren't following any prompt in particular, these are just thoughts I had when I saw the guy hammin' it up and then turning on us.
Some of these headcanons are informed by fan art I've seen and discussions I've had with friends, while others are purely me.
Curiouser and Curiouser...
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He calls people “little lads” and “little ladies”.
Fellow has a very noticeable laugh. Like, he grunts and snorts and has tears rolling down his cheeks. (He tends to laugh at others’ misery, thinking of it as “retribution” or “payback” for the injustices he has suffered himself.)
Bro shaves using a knife (yes, he shaves because he is a grown ass man) because razors are hella expensive.
He uses that cheap cologne and cakes it on THICK. This, in his mind, gives off the impression that he’s a well-off and put-together individual you should tooootally trust.
Also the type of person that lays it on thick with his words. If he’s trying to impress a date or something, he’ll shower them with so many compliments it almost seems fake. But no, he’s just the type to simp hard when he happens to be genuine 💀 most of the time he’s faking it though—
He’s very street smart, but in a way where he confuses hostile people by talking over them and acting overly friendly. They usually stuns them long enough for him and Gidel to skedaddle.
If he gets dumped, he'd be the pathetic whimpering boyfriend that begs for his ex to take him back. When they inevitably don't, he mopes all day about it.
He chain smokes and aggressively drinks as a coping mechanism on his bad days 😔 and sometimes he gambles (like, on those scratch-off cards) hoping that he'll strike it rich and buy him and Gidel a better life...
Basically, he generally does not have his shit together but tries his best to pass like someone who does (and usually succeeds at it).
Fellow appears in public wearing his full suit, but at home (ie whatever ratty temporary housing their boss found for them before they move on to the next place) he just wears a T-shirt and lounges around in boxers (and sometimes socks with holes in them).
He uses those disposable eyeshadow wands that snap in half at the slightest bit of too much pressure. Fellow acts like the Claire’s kid makeup he uses is the luxury stuff, but Vil can tell the pigmentation isn’t all there and there’s MAD fallout.
He may be broke AF and have his moments of emotional spiraling, but he has pretty decent budgeting skills. Fellow lives for sales and does extreme couponing to stretch their money as far as it will go.
He invests in other cost-saving methods like wearing shoes until the sole is literally flopping off and just adding water to residual soap in a pump bottle to make the soap "last longer".
Fellow is really good at cutting food (bread, beans) thin to conserve it. Yes, this is a reference to an old Mickey Mouse cartoon—
When he was younger, he had dreams of being an actor (and, more specifically, starring in musicals). That's why he's often humming, swinging around his cane, and/or whistling as he's on the prowl for idiots to sucker—they're remainders of his thespian days before his dreams were crushed into itty bitty pieces.
Man looks like he'd be great at tap dancing.
Before his current gig, he tried a bunch of other scams including a MLM at one point to get by. His signature spell came in pretty clutch in those days too.
Fellow’s not that good at reading or spelling—in fact, he was never a particularly strong student. (“I didn’t fail school!! The schools failed ME!!”) He’s easily frustrated by academics and thinks there should be more hands-on and practical skills taught in learning institutions.
I think it's a given that he and Ruggie would be besties since they both want to eat the rich but I also think Fellow would kiss ass to Azul and then rage about how shitty + entitled Azul is (Azul reminds Fellow of his boss)💀 Scammers hate other scammers because they're both competing to scam the same people--
Even though Fellow is an asshole to most others (well, when he’s not flattering them to lure them into a trap), he’s always nice to Gidel and puts him first. If there’s ever a situation where they’re short on something (clothes, food, etc), Gidel gets priority. This is why Gidel has a full outfit (even if parts are patches or mismatched) whereas Fellow himself has a glove that is so worn out there’s a hole in one of the pinkie fingers.
Fellow may not be blessed with a bounty of magic, but he’s quick on his feet and good with words. Because of these skills, he’s talented at spinning bedtime stories, which he often tells to Gidel to help him fall asleep on nights that are particularly cold and nasty.
Gidel still believes in Santy Claws and wishing upon stars, and Fellow doesn’t have the heart to tell him the truth. He’ll figure it out on his own one day, Fellow thinks. He just doesn’t want to be the one to ruin those childhood joys for him.
Playing pretend is another shared past time of theirs. It helps Fellow get into character before he goes off to swindle people, and it gives Gidel a way to express himself in spite of being mute. They have a routine they do together where Fellow pretends to be a doctor diagnosing a patient and Gidel takes down notes for him as his medical scribe. Yes, this is a Pinocchio reference—
They actually have many more games they play (mainly because they cannot afford other forms of entertainment). Some of the games are clever ruses conjured by Fellow to teach Gidel survival tips and tricks: the who-can-make-their-piece-of-bread-last-longer game, hide-and-seek (from the authorities), etc.
For special occasions, Fellow saves up some money on the side to grant Gidel little luxuries, like a box of crayons to doodle with.
Gidel hugs Fellow’s leg or waist to cheer him up when he’s upset. He also hides behind Fellow when he’s scared or feeling shy.
He’s just really attached to Gidel cuz they have no one else in this cruel world, just them against the world 😔 He sees a lot of his younger self in the little boy… the opportunities lost because of their circumstances… “It’s alright, Gidel. Leave it to Fellow-sama.”
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harfanfare · 5 months
Text
Unique Kisses: Honest Fellow
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Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow
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a/n: fluff, implied female reader (”princess” pet name). I have no idea how to deal with the brainriot that came with the appearance of this shady man, like what.
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Honest Fellow (teasing kisses)
“My little star,” Fellow’s lips trail your knuckles, and you can feel a smile against your skin as he senses your pulse quicken. He has the audacity to look so gentlemanly, oh so very blithely, as if this idea has just struck his head under this evening’s romantic atmosphere. “May I have this kiss?”
You’d like to reply, really, but in the next second there are lips on your jawline and a glowed hand that raises your chin; the words you had on your tongue die as you gasp slightly, your eyes fluttering open by the sudden sensation.
Well, you’re charmed. Infatuated with love or ensorceled by a thick layer of Fellow’s unique magic, you don’t reject those dramatic touches, scenic enough to feel like being pulled into a play where a gentlemanly prince kisses a princess.
And while Fellow might have the reputation of being a gentleman, he’s too impish, too rouge to be one. He can only play the role, the facade might even drop, but dumb princesses—you dare to compare yourself to one as Fellow uses that pet name, among countless others—are known for falling even for twisted men.
“Why so quiet?” He asks, and you quiver with frustration, as he seals your lips again. That damn bastard; he thinks the navy suit he wears makes him look sleek and the way he tucks his holey gloves off is luscious enough to make your cheeks blush. He isn’t that wrong, yet…
…It is infuriating to dance to Fellow’s tune in a choreography he is a lead to. Even if you love him.
“Stop… teasing me like this,” you manage to lift your head enough so that you break the kiss. Fellow snorts at your poor attempt to catch a breath and at the weak try to keep him at your elbow’s distance, as he holds you close to his chest. The sweet scent of the cologne he wears makes you even more dizzy.
He moves his hands to your hair and tucks the stray locks behind your ear. If he could grab the camera, he would capture the adorable expression you wear—but he doesn’t want to waste his time searching for that fickle thing, no, no. He isn’t able to concentrate on anything else, and he needs to satisfy the whim of alluring you (once again) before he’ll be physically able to move away.
“My, you don’t sound very convincing,” he smiles and strokes your cheek so gently. “But I will believe you. Loveliest, just say a word, and I’ll just kiss you goodnight for the last time.”
Like you could’ve expected, you aren’t granted a chance to say anything else. He kisses you more and more, and at this point, the most fastidious princess would be already satisfied.
…Fellow might be scared. He might not want to hear your answer, even if the look in your eyes and the way your heart beats should be enough to suffice any of his questions.
If you could utter a word, you would confess your love once for the thousandth time.
“That’s right. The silence says it all,” he whispers as his thumb traces your lips. “You are so gorgeous, and you are mine.”
Like a doll. But you’re no doll, you’re more beautiful than any masterpiece magic could ever create. You’re free, and you choose to stay with him. There are no strings attached to your hands that keep him at his side. There is just one, tightly knotted on your heart and it’s a cherished bond you put on yourself.
He doesn’t have a puppet in you. He has a lover who will shower him with selfless love, yet he still can’t believe anyone would have given it to him for free.
So, he must’ve stolen it.
He smiles. “By obligation of being a thief, I will steal your heart all over again, and keep it safe with me.” I love you. "That’s the duty I owe to myself as you are my treasure.”
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harfanfare · 6 months
Note
Not Livi bullying me with this screen a few days ago:
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Hello Livi <33 May I request reader being housewife for Riddle? I would love to hear your thoughts about that. Thanks in advance!!
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Sweet Marriage [Riddle Rosehearts]
╰ Every time you see someone from your high school on the street and talk to them, they can't believe who you ended up tying the knot with. In fact, even Ace and Deuce were shocked when they received an invitation to your wedding, even though they knew you two had been dating for so long.
╰ Ace was absolutely convinced that one day you would eventually break up with Riddle due to his specific nature, but being one of the best men at your wedding was definitely not something he could have expected.
╰ As for you, well, you still can't believe you're finally married to the man you love. One of your favorite things to do when Riddle is at work is looking at the photos from your wedding. The professional ones you keep in a photo album, while the others are in the gallery on your phone, most of them being the ones Cater took and sent to you later.
╰ No matter what other people say, you couldn't ask for a better husband than Riddle. During your NRC days, he was often insecure and worried that he might do something wrong and, worse, hurt you unintentionally. He had never been in a relationship before, so this was all new to him. But over time, with a little bit of your help, he was able to gain some confidence.
»»——>@ʙʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ-ᴅᴀʜʟɪᴀ<——««
╰ After your wedding, Riddle became even more affectionate towards you. Even when he's at work, he can't help but call you whenever he has the chance, just to ask how you're doing and tell you how much he loves you. The best moment of the day is when Riddle comes home and you can finally throw yourself into his arms.
╰ Sometimes you get the feeling that Riddle is overworking himself a bit, but every time you try to look for a job, he assures you that everything is fine and that you don't need to do that, because the last thing he wants is for you to overwork yourself as well.
╰ Of course you do things like cooking and cleaning every day. At first you thought that Riddle might be angry with you if he found out that you missed a few spots while cleaning or didn't do anything at all on a particular day, but it quickly turned out that he could be more understanding than you would ever imagine. That's mostly because you're his wife, whom he loves dearly, and not some random troublemaker like Ace and Deuce.
╰ The house you live in once belonged to one of Riddle's relatives, but since they moved out a long time ago, they gladly decided to sell it to you. It's not a super exclusive and luxurious mansion or anything like that, it's rather a small and cozy house, just perfect for you two. You also have a garden that you always take care of.
╰ On weekends, you two always go shopping. You can't even count how many times you've asked Riddle not to spoil you with gifts he buys for you behind your back while you're shopping, but you can see he doesn't care. He strictly follows the belief that a wife must be spoiled a lot by her husband.
╰ There are moments when the two of you argue. It is not often, but your fights can be really intense sometimes. However, Riddle can quickly turn from angry to concerned and ashamed the second he sees you crying, no matter who started the fight. He just hates to see tears streaming down your face.
╰ The thing you definitely avoid the most are family meetings. While those with your parents are somewhat tolerable and quite enjoyable, those with your husband's are the exact opposite. You're thankful they don't happen often, since you are probably at the top of your mother-in-law's list of people she hates the most. Every meeting with Riddle's family so far has just been you trying to hold back your tears until you finally get home.
╰ When there is nothing to do while Riddle is at work, you often hang out with your friends. Most of the time, they like to tease you about being a married woman so soon. To be honest, you are surprised about it yourself. Who would have thought that Riddle Rosehearts would propose to his girlfriend right after she graduated from NRC?
╰ Riddle himself also keeps in touch with some people from your high school, the main ones of course being Ace, Deuce, Trey and Cater. Obviously you knew it would be the last two, but the troublemakers came as a complete surprise. Riddle somehow learned to tolerate them instead of yelling at them every second, especially since they are not in Heartslabyul anymore. Once, however, he loosened up to the point where the Adeuce duo got him drunk as a silly prank. Poor Riddle has never experienced anything like this before and became extremely clingy to you when he, thanks to Trey, returned home. Eventually he ended up crying, so you had to comfort and cuddle him until he fell asleep, but you didn't mind it at all.
╰ It is obvious to Riddle that you would never cheat on him. But there are still times when he can't help but get a little jealous. He spends most of the day at work, so he doesn't really know what you're currently doing unless he calls you. Also because of this, the two of you don't spend as much time together as you'd like. He understands that you might feel lonely, so as long as you don't cheat on him, you can hang out with whoever you want.
╰ When it's your birthday, Riddle always has something special planned for you. He even leaves work early to surprise you with a fresh bouquet of your favorite flowers and then takes you on a date to places such as a restaurant and theme park. When it's Riddle's birthday, you always try to bake his favorite strawberry tart, but you fail anyway, so you call Trey to come over to help you. For some reason, Trey always comes with Adeuce duo and Cater, which results in a huge party for your husband.
»»——>@ʙʟᴏᴏᴍɪɴɢ-ᴅᴀʜʟɪᴀ<——««
╰ Eventually, one day you apply for a job of your choice. You know that Riddle wouldn't have to work so hard if you could also earn some money. It was not easy to break this news to him, but in the end he said that it was your own decision and that he would support you no matter what.
╰ Sometimes your friends ask when you and Riddle will have children of your own. You're both still very young, so he isn't going to force you to have them now, but if you decide one day that you're ready, he would love to have two or maybe even three. Riddle doesn't feel confident enough to tell you this yet, because he's afraid that you might think it's too much for you, or perhaps you don't want to have children at all. Still, he finds you to be a very gentle and caring woman, and he's sure you'll make a perfect mother in the future.
Thank you for requesting!
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harfanfare · 6 months
Note
Hey! I really love your "how to win the heart of." Can you do one for Vil? If not that's totally fine I'm just curious.
How to win the heart of Vil Schoenheit?
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Be a fan.
You like to think that the oldest memory you can recall is how you became Vil’s fan.
Until then, the recitals your school took you on were boring. Only in fifth grade, the teachers realise that, hm, maybe ancient plays might be a bit too much for those little brains, and in a spark of determination to change something, your class was taken to watch a staged version of a fairy tale, played by youngsters for youngsters.
The memory of Vil, the villain of the story, entering the scene is much more vivid. Even as a child, he was inarguably elegant and strikingly beautiful, it left you agape and your curious heart beating loudly in your chest.
“It’s better than having a completely fictional crush,” your classmate said after you confessed how much endeared you were by Vil and his acting. You listened as you typed a password to a newly-created Magicam account, solely for following him there. “There is a chance that you and him will be together.”
“A big chance?”
“Uh, like this?” She tries to show how big your chance is with her fingers. She wants to leave a gap between her fingers, but ultimately, they touch, and she puts her hands down. “I mean, we are almost the same age, so maybe you can go to the same high school as him? In a very long future…”
“I am not delusional…”
Nonetheless, the thought did make you hope.
After you reached the age of sixteen, the invitation came. For a whole year — since you saw Vil’s post on his new college choice — you’ve been pondering whether you’ve possessed enough magic talent to get into Night Raven College, the school of chosen. In good dreams, the Magic Mirror deemed your soul to be solely fit for Pomefiore. In nightmares, you were doomed to… well, any other dorm, if you were a student at NRC at all.
And maybe dreams really come true because the future you’ve anticipating has turned into a reality.
“Alright, is everyone from Pomefiore here?” Your heart stops when you hear that wonderful voice, this time not from your phone nor from 100 meters away from the speakers. You turn around, and there he is, Vil Schoenheit in all his glory stands and guides the students to the hall of mirrors. He looks like a portrait, and even if you saw his face thousands of times, the glint in his eyes redeems you speechless. “Congratulations, everyone. We will hold the welcoming introductions at our dorm. Follow me!”
Yes, Vil Schoenheit is your idol. And in the first seconds of meeting him, you were ready to follow him to the end of the world.
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎
2. Get rejected. Have your heart broken.
“I apologize,” Vil says slowly, and you notice how his voice is a little monotonous. Just a bit, as if he had repeated these words countless times like the lines before a recital. “And while I wholeheartedly appreciate your feelings, [Name], I want to focus on my studies and career. It’s a bad time for me to think about dating. Nonetheless, thank you for being brave and sincere enough to tell me all of this.”
You nod. The pain in your chest gives you goosebumps. It makes your head spin so fast your legs feel unstable as if there is some shift in gravity. You bow with curtsy because every Pomefiore student should be able to do so elegantly even on a space station. “Thank you for listening to my confession.”
“Of course,” he says and looks down at the letter he got from you. It’s neat, somehow cute with how carefully his name is written on it. He holds it gently so as to not crinkle the delicate paper. “I will read the contents tonight.”
“Thank you. No need to write a response,” you force a little chuckle and excuse yourself. You will be overthinking how could you say something like that after you get over your stupid letter and even dumber confession.
Vil doesn’t say anything as you walk a little too fast to keep the step elegant. He sighs at this view and mindfully tucks your letter amid the pages of the book. Now’s the time for history class. He shouldn’t get distracted—
—and soon enough, you’re out of his mind.
That is until he reads your letter.
It's a beautifully crafted confession, put into elegant lettering and a pale pink envelope. It's sealed with red wax in the shape of a perfect heart; if you haven't used magic, it must've taken several evenings to get the precision you wanted.
You’re his fan. He knows it even if you hadn’t pointed it out; the well-tailored sentences betrayed your utter attention on him in the last several years. You’re his fan, but you don’t cheapen yourself. He is the idol you admire and love, but you don’t degrade yourself to a servant or a worshiper. And that is, unexpectedly, uncommon.
The letter is—also—a challenge to yourself. “If you were to reciprocate those feelings, I will prove myself worthy to stand by your side,” it reads.
He likes that letter. Once he finishes it, he skims over the text one last time and puts it between many other letters he has gotten. Between them, another envelope seems unremarkable, yet the words there…
Unforgotten.
He sighs. Maybe he will pay more attention to you from now on.
‏‏‎ ‎
3. Don’t remember all the etiquette rules.
“You wrote in your letter that I've inspired you to learn. Go on, then. Show me how motivated you are.”
So, now Vil bullies you over your letter.
He can’t be satisfied with your scarce etiquette knowledge—he wouldn’t be content if it was decent, as it would be a dishonour to Pomefiore—but amusement crinkles in his eyes at your utter confusion over the numerous forks, knives, spoons and glasses. They’ve been spread out in several rows and columns varying from the oyster forks to champagne flute.
You hesitate. Maybe you could point out which one is the butter knife or sugar spoon, but you never cared enough to discover which fickle knife is a fish knife. Should you be looking for the one with grooves or an extremely thin one? Would it hurt to use a normal knife to eat the salmon?
Oftentimes you’re thankful there is no awkward silence between you and Vil after your confession, but you can’t shake off the impression he’s been harder on you.
“On second thought, maybe I wasn't motivated enough to learn all the names of cutlery,” you say, not daring to try your luck in labelling each piece.
To your surprise, Vil smiles and uses a teasing tone that leaves you stunned and wide-eyed. “Is that so?”
You take a breath and huff, lowering your eyes. “Yes. The power of—,” unrequired, you bite your tongue on that bitter word, “—love ends here.”
Vil cracks another delighted smile. You start suspecting that someone drugged him with a smiling potion, as you should have received a severe scolding by now. You don’t have anything against the change, so the mention of Vil’s (relative) laid-backness goes unmentioned.
“I will have you seated next to me on tomorrow's dinner, so don't even think of slacking off,” he says, putting a hand on your lower back and gently pushing you towards the next table where the heavy textbooks look so very uninviting. “I won't have any student under my wing not know the basic etiquette. Especially if it’s my fan.”
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4. Have opinions and the courage to voice them.
Because standing for your own makes you flourish in your own colours and not blend into the monotony of the mainstream. Seek truth, good, and beauty and you will bestow the brilliance upon yourself.
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5. Try to have a healthy lifestyle.
You’ve never imagined Vil barging into your room with a tray of food. Why would he? But here you are, sitting in front of an aesthetically pleasing breakfast, mouth-watering pancakes with cream and a bit of honey, and the deep green shake in question that suits the colour palette but probably tastes awfully, like all good stuff packed with vitamins.
“You should never starve yourself if you want to live healthy.”
It’s hard to swallow anything as your dorm leader glares at you, but Vil refuses to leave you before he sees you eating the stuff he brought. You wondered if he prepared the breakfast himself. Probably not.
“No? I thought that keeping a diet is good.”
“If you are dieting you eat,” Vil hisses and sinks a little more into the couch. He brings a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as if he suddenly got struck with a headache. “Oh, heavens. What am I going to do with you?”
“Maybe—”
“Quiet,” it apparently was a rhetorical question. Maybe Vil would be mad at any answer from you as he considers you a fool. He waits until you take another bite of the pancake. “A dinner break will be in two hours, and I expect you to be there.”
“I think I will still be full by that time,” you admit, glancing at a pancake and a half. “These pancakes are savoury but so very filling.”
“Savor them as much as you like,” Vil says somewhat proudly. …Maybe he did make those pancakes? No. He wouldn’t bother this much. The satisfied note in his voice makes you ponder nonetheless. “But you have no excuse for yourself not to sit with us on the meals. Also—”
His gaze grows unexpectedly impish as his eye catches something.
“I will reeducate you on the topic of a healthy lifestyle,” he glances at the bowl of bland lettuce you prepared for yourself. He smiles, either in amusement or light pity. “It should have a little more… spice.”
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6. Take an interest in high culture.
“It feels like the hellish lessons of Heartslabyul…”
“The Queens’ 810 rules?” Vil’s smile is lopsided and his eyes render into a knowing look once they meet your gaze. “They are nothing compared to a number of customs in etiquette.”
You take a turn. The classes for today might have ended, but if hearing all that useful stuff meant you would walk with Vil back to Pomefiore, you could bear another few minutes of a lecture. You know that everything he tells you about, he already mastered. He wouldn’t teach you anything half-heartily.
“The etiquette of speaking, the dress code, the knowledge of dinner manners (well, you’ve mastered some part of it already, with the cutlery lessons), the control of body language, the indication of voice, the honorifics, the art of writing letters and emails… You don’t want me to list all of the things I expect from you?”
You would like to, because Vil’s voice is beautiful, but the student part of you takes over control and shakes your head. Just like Riddle, who has a reputation for demanding impossible care and inquiring rules, your dorm leader is not much better — maybe even worse, because while Heartslabyul has to oblige the absurd in chosen hours or circumstances, you are on your toes in every moment.
“So much to master in just four years in the NRC…”
“It’s a lot,” Vil says, and he’s the only person you would doubt if he speaks the truth in that matter. Especially if through your walk his strides seemed perfectly calculated and hand gestures finely planned. “But if you put a mind and heart into it, you will learn all of this in no time.”
You hum. It’s hard to think of having any more motivation than from where you were a zealous Vil fan.
You ask (ponder) and he delivers.
“Actually, I have an offer: if you’ll learn it all in ahead of time, I will teach you a dating etiquette.”
What?
“…Dating etiquette?!” You shriek so loudly, that several students turn their heads. You cover your mouth as if it would do something, and ignoring Vil’s delighted gaze, and lower your voice to a whisper. “There is such a thing?”
“Of course. Who should invite who on the first date and where, what gifts can you give and what can you accept, and how to behave with your loved one, like,” he pauses a little, and you almost know he bites the sides of his cheeks to contain himself from smiling, “How to kiss someone in particular situations.”
You want to die. How else should you react? How can he tease you so much when he rejects you? (Not like you were expecting much at the time, yet…)
“There is no kissing etiquette. You tease me…”
“Just a little,” Vil laughs, and you slowly relax. “But take my proposal seriously. If I can give you another motivation to engage in your studies, then I will by all means do so.”
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7. Get an access to his private Magicam account.
“Do you have Magicam? If you want to, you can add me.”
Vil asks the question. He should have chastised you for mindlessly scrolling through social media because you can probably put your mind and hands to better use. The casual tone surprises you, but the inquiry gets you defensive as if it questioned you being Vil’s fan.
“I’ve already been following you for years,” you declare and pull up your phone.
Before you get to his profile, Vil sighs.
“Not the promotional account,” he says. “Mine.”
You frown. Many times you’ve seen Vil posting the photos on the “promotional account” with his personal thoughts. Maybe because you've been blinded by the elegance and harmony of every post, the idea that he would operate the Magicam profile solely for business purposes has never occurred to you.
“You have another account?” You ask, flabbergasted.
Vil rolls his eyes at the surprise in your tone and sits next to you. Your phone beeps as you get a notification about a new user following you. In a heartbeat, you follow the account back. You almost gape at the pictures there; they are beautiful, elegant, and all in Vil’s manner, but he looks like… a common student. Not ethereally, not otherworldly, but still enchantingly.
“It’s a private profile, so I ask you for discretion. I would like to keep this one for my close friends and family,” Vil says, and you hastily nod, your heartbeat sounding like a drumbeat in your ears. Having access to his personal account felt… personal, ironically.
I would like to keep this one for my close friends — he said that, didn’t he? Does he consider you a close friend?
That’s more than you ever imagined.
And yet you dare to dream for more.
You pull your phone close to your chest. “I feel honoured.”
Vil smiles at the statement. “Of course. As you should.”
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8. Let yourself be pampered.
“Don’t move,” Vil asks for impossible because you want to bolt as he leans to you once again and only the glare he staggers you with as you push away the urge to close your eyes. You hope the foundation is thick enough to cover a blush that creeps on your face. “You will ruin my work.”
You give up and glance down, earning another heavy sigh from your superior.
“Maybe I should finish the eye makeup myself?” You offer. “I am unused to anyone doing my makeup, so it’s hard not to flinch.”
Your good intentions get ruined as the question aggravates Vil even more because he frowns at you. Staying put and keeping quiet about that whole ordeal would seem like a lovely idea, you question whether your heart could manage another hour in this setup.
“Don’t be absurd,” he says. “We need to handle your sensitivity to the touch or you will struggle in the future if you decide to be a model.”
“I am not—”
“Stop.”
“I—”
“Silence. Be quiet, potato,” he presses his finger to your lips to seal them shut. You feel something sticky, and as his finger traces your lips, you realize it’s the lip gloss, and it’s a very good-smelling one like a strawberry; you didn’t expect something so sweet-tasting to be in Vil’s liked products. “You are under my care now. It also brings me satisfaction to see my skills used on someone.”
“Vil—”
“Shut up,” it’s hard to get offended at him, as he uses such a gentle tone. He takes a good look at your lips and as he glances up at you, probably to see if the colours of the whole makeup are consistent, your mouth goes dry. “Before I tell you to do so, don’t speak. You will mess up with the lip gloss and it’s… difficult to apply one on you.”
What? It’s difficult to apply the lipgloss on you?
Alright**,** you nod, pondering if the lip makeup is really that difficult. Do you have an unusual shape of lips (it’s probably not that?), or is this balm so hard to spread? You sit still, as Vil moves closer to you.
Yeah, except for the touch you need a way to ignore the beating of your heart.
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9. Move on from your heartbreak.
“Would you like to go out with me today?”
A kind smile convinced you to agree, although you barely recognize the name of the boy standing in front of you. His voice was hopeful, and you were reminded of the time you bore the same expectant expression.
You had no heart to let it fall, not right now, not so quickly, so you paint a delighted smile over your face. “Thank you. I would love to.”
You should’ve done this a long time ago.
For the sake of your friendship with Vil, you decide to stop hoping that the man of your dreams might change his mind after getting to know you better. He found a friend in you, and you would hate to disappoint him with your longing for him.
So, you should distract yourself from him and fall in love with someone else.
Today’s date will be a perfect opportunity.
You dress quite stylishly, not enough to steal all the attention, but enough to impress your date. You put more effort into the makeup this evening and spend some time picking the most fitting jewellery. The perfume you picked is subtle but alluring and chic, an excellent concoction, but you could’ve expected nothing less from Vil’s recommendation.
…It feels kind of wrong to use everything he taught you to prepare for a date, but you would’ve used this knowledge one day either way, no? It’s not like he is your first… and last love.
“I heard a boy from Scarabia have confessed to you,” the familiar voice you love but don’t want to hear like now spooks you. Vil leans on your door frame, and you wonder how much he has stayed here.
“I just agreed on a date,” you say, standing up and adjusting the folds of your outfit. You look him in the eye. “How do I look?”
Vil snorts, and his lips stretch into a mean, devilish smile. “Are you expecting an approving comment from me?”
Asking the fashion icon to rate your outfit might’ve been a wrong move. You shake your head.
“Nevermind. He’ll have to deal with however I am if he doesn’t want me to be late,” after glancing the last time into the mirror and receiving a smile from your reflection, you pick up your phone. “Well then. I shall get going.”
Vil is still, as if he hasn’t been blocking the exit or as if he wanted to keep you here. You would have loved for him to stop you here. It’s hard to stop the disappointment from flooding over your composure when Vil moves away.
“Alright. Your look is satisfactory so that Scarabia boy better be grateful for being able to go out with you,” he says something ambiguous again, and you feel bad for your date who will have to deal with such a lovesick fool as you. “Enjoy your date.”
The pang of pain pierces your heart. You smile slowly and leave the room.
The heartbreak better goes away as soon as possible, or you’ll go crazy if the thought of dating anyone else hurts that much.
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10. Look kissable.
“You’re late.”
Maybe you are, but you haven’t been expecting Vil waiting for you. He sits on a sofa, a book is in his hand and the tea that was served in front of him looks cold. You can guess he’s been sitting here for a while.
“How did it go?”
“It went well, I think,” you say. The date went well. Yet, you couldn’t have enjoyed it. The throbbing pain in your heart strained each of your smiles, and it surged when the Scarabian student started to be flirty. You felt as if you were cheating. “He is a kind guy. He has some hobbies and is quite charismatic, so… He’s alright.”
Vil hums. “Will you settle on ‘alright’?”
You stare at him wide-eyed, but he doesn’t look bothered at all. He didn’t lift his gaze from his book, and his tone was nonchalant, so he almost seemed not interested. He was. He is because Vil never asks the question to whose answers he doesn’t want to hear.
“Pardon?”
He spares you a glance.
“I thought your resolution was stronger. What happened to the person who confessed to me and was so willing to determine their worth to me?”
“Are you jealous?”
“I am furious,” he lifts from the sofa, the book forgotten. The air around suddenly grows warmer, and the shiver you didn’t mind that much runs down your spine. Vil’s strides are slower than usual, creating an imposing image of himself before he stands just before you. “If you want to set the bar so low, go on. But let me give you a taste of ambition.”
He twists his head so his eyes meet directly yours. He doesn’t touch you — not yet — but you can feel a warm breath on your cheek, and the scent of his light perfume envelops you. You have the urge to move away and cling to him at the same time. They balance, and you stay still.
A taste…
Vil puts a hand on your cheek. The gesture is much softer and more benevolent than when he was putting makeup on you. His eyes lock with yours, your heart stops, and then they drop to your lips. He moves a thumb over them.
And he kisses you.
In your dreams, you had him kiss your hand, the top of your head. The corner of your mouth. In your boldest wishes, you wanted him to kiss you like that, so lovingly, with so much care. It makes you want to push away for more air, but it makes you worry Vil will disappear if you break the kiss, as all the dreams shatter upon the morning.
He moves away, not breathless, yet not unaffected either. His cheeks burn slowly into a red shade, and his eyes look somehow glassy. “I told you, I will give you just a taste.”
How disappointing.
Before you can say something, he pushes a letter between your fingers. Its envelope matches the one you gave him several months ago. “Read it. I want an answer by midnight.”
The big clock on the wall shows you have over three hours. So much time, and you already know the answer. “You will wait this long?”
“I am giving you a chance and hope,” he says with a subtle smile. The blush on his face makes him more beautiful than you’ve ever seen him. “It’s my duty of your idol to do so.”
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harfanfare · 7 months
Note
OPEN THE CURTAINS
LIGHTS ON
* FANTASTIC JAZZ MUSIC ON * Don't miss a moment of this experiment~~ Oh, the book is strange like clockwork orange~~ Keep your eyes buttered till the end~~
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(The urge to play this song right away:) I wasn't expecting anyone to recognize the lyrics, so I gasped at this ask hahaha It is also very funny timing because I've been listening to Mili for months now, yet I bought the Library of Ruina just a week ago (5 days, exactly). I take this ask as a signal to try playing it again, but the gameplay rules are too complicated for me hshshshs
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harfanfare · 10 months
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I like to think that romance with Idia widely differs depending on the time you’ve been in a romantic relationship.
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1. “Just started dating” stage.
If you're reading Idia fanfiction, there is an 80% chance this is the stage your relationship is on.
Idia is… treating you like a very precious stranger. He's on his toes and seeks your approval in whatever he's doing. He is going to great lengths to understand the theory of dating and your hobbies - so you can maybe share even more interests - but won’t really act on anything.
He’s constantly surprised by every romantic move you make and you have numerous occasions to adore his cherry blush and various puckles of hair igniting with pink and red. He stutters a lot and can’t focus on anything in your presence.
Idia will outright reject any suggestions for bolder moves. He’s unprepared, and although guilt is eating him from the inside, he is not up to anything you two weren’t doing as friends. Well, maybe handholding, kissing, and cuddling get a (hard) pass, but you are the only one initiating these things.
He will try his best to reciprocate effort, though.
2. “Have been dating for a while” stage.
It’s an interphase between two very different stages, so he’s a funny mix: a very shy outsider and a cocky genius at the same time.
Gaming sessions will be the centre of your couple's time. Idia regularly invites you to his dorm, sometimes even on spontaneous sessions when a new event comes up or he has found a new game that looks very cool. You share snacks, drinks, and clothes (read: you have unwritten permission to claim his blouses).
This boy would be dead without you and Ortho, and with that knowledge, you make it your mission to (somehow) tidy up his room, buy some cosmetics, healthier food, etc. If you are up to organizing a “self-care evening”, he will be hesitant at first but will be looking forward to it after a while, with some older anime. (I like to think it would be a magical girl series like Sailor Moon, Tokyo Mew Mew or Chobits, or some shoujo).
In exchange, he might construct some little gadgets (maybe anime-themed?) for you, helps you get the merch you want, and supports you in your games.
At this point, he doesn’t weigh his words much. He’s still easy to fluster, but he comes with comebacks right away. The most flirty he gets on the phone when it’s late at night and you are using a chat to talk, especially when you are not in the same room. 3. Long-term relationship stage.
He knows you are doomed to him and shamelessly takes advantage of that.
He has no claims against calling you in the middle of the night to watch him sharing his screen when he pulls for a character he wants to get in the gacha system. He believes your presence brings him luck, so he must have you when he does crucial things!
Idia disses your taste in fictional men. Sometimes, he reads the dialogues out loud from the otome games you play. He may alter them, which can make you either huff or laugh. If you read or write fanfiction, he might read them too, giving you an out loud commentary on some fragments and asking you if you are that desperate for dates so you are sending fanfiction to inspire him. If you say yes, he will hum and return to whatever he was doing before, but he might plan something out that you will preferably be able to do in his room.
Chatroom with him and Ortho is quite calm, almost polite, but your private chatroom with Idia is the most chaotic one you’ve ever been. You learned to not leave your phone openly if you don’t want to explain some inside joke with a layered backstory. An app you use to chat with Idia is the one your screen time is counted on most, and writing with Idia is your guilty pleasure.
If you are interested in IT, he might program you an app or something to help you with it! He will give you the best feedback ever, and although it may be harsh, the last thing he wants is to discourage you from learning further.
On one anniversary of your dating, he will gift you this kind of couple bracelet which lights up if the other person touches it. He created them himself. When he receives signals throughout the day, he thinks of them as a promise from you, that no distance can sever your bond.
If you bring up some serious talk, you will be bullied with memes. It’s Idia’s coping mechanism. He will plan his future with you, don’t worry, but wait for him to muster up the courage to get on one knee and ask the question.
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harfanfare · 10 months
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Malleus drabble, because the idea has been haunting my head. Chapter 7 part 3 spoilers!! Please don't look if you hadn't read the latest update yet, you will spoil your fun :(
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Malleus Draconia would like to say that everyone is equal in his eyes, the eyes of a king akin to a god if you consider the amount of magic power he could drain from his surroundings with a mere flick of his hand.
They are not, and Malleus has no lying talent to convince himself otherwise.
A good ruler watches over everyone, but as his lover, you are granted more attention and, by that, a better-tailored dream. He knows you well and knows what will keep you on the dreamers' side, not even bothering to think that your life is going too well. No one is very concerned when lady luck finally blesses your life, right?
He starts by making the moment you fell asleep blur. You don’t remember when you went to sleep, but when you “wake up” in your dream, Malleus is here to reassure you that you were tired “yesterday” and have gone to sleep sooner. If you will mention a “dream” of Malleus going overblot, he might discuss it with it but won’t own up to any of his actions.
Malleus is fond of your dream. As your lover, he can spend any amount of time with you, and you are still seeking him. In your dreams, time isn’t bounded by the clocks. After “a year” Malleus returns to Valley of Thorns, and “three years later” you are living there too. After “two more” you get engaged.
Your dream will be unbothered. Malleus will have it in utter control.
When he sees your sleeping features in dormant reality, how calm you look, he knows you will be heartbroken when you wake up from that dream. 
He glides his finger over your skin with a reassuring smile, which he also has on his face in your dream. 
"Don't worry," he says to your sleeping form, planting a kiss on your forehead. "I won't have you waking up anytime soon."
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harfanfare · 10 months
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Rollo Flamm x Reader || Rhythm
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Warnings: Understated jealousy (?), Reader can’t dance (wants to, though), provisioning of unrequired love, female reader.
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The girl that dances atop the stage is really pretty.
It’s not you, and with some kind of regret, you concede you’ve never properly learned to dance.
The girl is more beautiful than the starry night above the City of Flowers because she feels like a dream. Stars will be tomorrow too, but her? No one knows, so all eyes are on her, to balm each’s heart with her sight.
Her steps are graceful and the way she moves is enchanting. It’s not an easy choreography either - with so many jumps and twirls and turns - but she makes it seem so because a smile never leaves her face. The fabric of her dress follows her faithfully, and you imagine she will look incredible in every photo taken of her.
“She’s so… beautiful,” someone next to you breathes with awe.
You believe Rollo thinks so too.
Even if the thought of never being looked on like that stings, you can only blame yourself as he didn’t want to come here at all. When you suggested checking out the show that is being held in a Topsy-Turvy Event Hall, Rollo scolded you for distracting yourself. It might be a Friday evening when most of the students are already headed to the dormitory, but the work of student council members is never done. Before the weekend, at least.
Your whingeing has been guerdoned: Rollo agreed on taking a break. He was hesitant while doing so, and almost annoyed at the cheery smiles that appeared instantly on three faces, yours, the vice president’s and a school treasurer’s. The papers and cups of cold tea were left instantly, and in the next few minutes, all four of you were heading down the staircase.
A square is crowded every season with tourists, so neither you nor Rollo is surprised that the two other students got separated from you before even reaching the main stage. You are thankful for their attentiveness because it allows you to be alone with Rollo.
“They are selling enchanted drinks again!” You exclaim, pointing to a stall with indigo macrame hung around a tent. Some attractions were opened at certain seasons a year, and you remember the elixirs being a hit last year.
“It looks like so,” Rollo states flatly. “I wonder why people are so fixated on this kind of never-lasting things.”
Knowing Rollo is a man of harsh words, you brush off his comment.
Blue potion with edible glitter — you are sure it’s edible glitter because most of the useful mixtures are rather lustreless — catches your eye. It looks like a piece of starry sky tucked into a glass bottle. It’s also supposed to help you with your studies if you drink it, so it’s even more magical.
“Would you like to try one? This one helps you focus… But, yeah, I guess you already can do that perfectly,” you pick up the next vial. “Oh, after drinking the yellow one, you should be able to sing more professionally! And the green one is for rhythm… I would need that one. Yet, the most interesting one here is-”
- a love potion.
Even the vial is heart-shaped. The mixture inside is either pink or purple, you can’t really define it because of the amount of bubbles that constantly stir the mixture. You might not be the best alchemy student ever, but even you know that that potion has some enchanting aroma that might bind your senses.
Maybe that potion is your only chance ever to get with Rollo. Your heart is heavy at the thought of enchanting him to love you.
“I have no intention of buying anything,” Rollo’s curt voice slings you from your thoughts. He takes vials from your hands and puts them back, any moment ready to push them out of his mind. “Anything but croissants. I can treat you to one of those.”
…And that’s how you get free food, dear students.
“Will you? Thank you, thank you, thank you!” You would love to hug him, Rollo is… Rollo probably wouldn’t appreciate this kind of gratitude in the middle of the street. Or wherever. It’s hard to imagine Rollo being happy about a hug as he seems unused to physical contact, yet that might be a reason why you should try to open him up.
For a last moment you think about the enchanted concoctions, but Rollo turns around and you need to catch up to not get separated from him.
Way to his favourite bakery Rollo knows by heart. He guides you through the crowd and it’s easy to follow him as he stands taller than most people, the distance being even larger when you count his hat. He glanced over his shoulder to check if you were still beside him after you get out of the most crowded area.
“We’re here,” Rollo announces as if you hadn’t been accompanying him to the bakery whenever you had a chance. He strides to the counter, where several types of croissants under a glass cover are creating a delicious exhibition. “Choose whatever you like.”
It's a very tempting offer, and you decide to take it once you glue yourself to the glass of a counter.
“I…” You start, pointing at two specific desserts. Two croissants with your favourite fillings are too delicious to pick between them. “Can I get two? I will treat you something in return, once I'll have money on me.”
“You’ll get a stomachache,” he says curtly but slides his card to a lady behind a counter that picks up another baking for himself, halfway dipped in chocolate and topped with cut-dried strawberries. “Be careful. They’ve been just taken out of the oven, so you’d better don’t burn yourself.
“Thanks.”
You let yourself bite into the device, as you take another turn, this time the way leading into the main square. There is a grand scene that is always used for music performances.
There is one being held, a solo.
You glance at the dancer, and they look around the crowd. You think there are your two missing clubmates, and beckon Rollo over.
“Hey, there are—”
Your surprise silences you.
Rollo stays planted on the ground, eyes on the dancing girl with something like awe. You know that look. You caught a glimpse of it many times on the surface of the glass in student consul’s showcases; your face, so desperately stretching in a soft smile, not to look suspicious.
For the first time, you didn't like the idea of love at first sight.
You know where it’s time to step out. Many negotiations you held with people on behalf of students of NBC sensitised you to their expectations and what you should do.
You smile weakly, before gently tapping Rollo on his arm. “I… will get going.”
But Rollo, amazingly, has already shaken off from mysterious enchantment. If you could only do so as easily, permanently. “Are you sick?” He asks, and when you avoid his eyes, his tone voice drops half a tone. “What happened?”
“Nothing, it’s… Can… I… just go?”
“What happened?” Rollo repeats. His eyes scan you, the first time quickly, and when he doesn’t find anything visible, he gets more alarmed, actually looking stiff. “Did you actually burn yourself? I told you to be careful.”
You don’t know what to tell him but start with a measurement that doesn’t bring him any relief.
“It’s not that, Rollo. I…”
“Do tell.” He insists, although if you said a word, you know he wouldn’t question you any more about this. But he would find out in some other way, and he might think you don’t trust him enough - and this implication you really want to avoid - and… “Tell me.”
…And you want to believe that he’s worried for you.
You stare at the ground, and clasp your hands behind your back once you notice their subtle shaking. Why are you reacting this way? Ahh… “I just don’t enjoy dancing. I think I will just return to school and finish organizing the documents…”
“You’ve always liked to see people dance though.”
So he has noticed.
“I don’t have a talent to dance myself.”
“You just need to learn,” he says, his tone softer than you’ve ever heard him. And as you’ve been listening to his voice o lot, you think you might’ve imagined it. Rollo glances at his watch and urges you to come with him. “It’s almost time to ring the bell. Let’s go. I will help you.”
You don’t like climbing the bell tower, and going up hundreds of steps isn’t something easy even with Rollo as your motivation. It’s the anxiety that keeps you going.
“I didn't buy the enchantment, though,” you break the silence, and Rollo looks over his shoulder. He is one step in front of you, and he probably slowed his pace to let you catch up to him easily. He’s a master of climbing stairs and ladders after all. “To dance. The bell won’t do anything if… I don’t have any magic on me, no?”
“Don't depend on these kinds of things,” he grumbles. “If you do, you will never achieve anything. For example, if you drank the potion, of course, you'd know how to dance. But just for tonight.”
You question his motivational quote. “But isn't the magic helpful sometimes?”
“It makes one fully depend on it.”
And the conversation ends here because you’ve reached the top platform. Rollo opens the trapdoor and holds it for you. As you step out, you’re immediately hit with a breeze of cold air, but it’s more kind of refreshing than freezing.
Once the trapdoor is closed, Rollo awaits, frozen for a clock-measured minute and three seconds.
And then he rings the bell. It takes much force to move it, and you are almost sure Rollo doesn’t even boost his strength with magic. But, what’s unexpected, this one time he uses magic to repeat the movements of the bell and have it ring on its own.
DING- DONG.
DING- DONG.
DING- DONG.
He leaves it to ring at the same tempo and turns to you. The magical earplugs in your ears only moderately muffle the sound of the bell. No music from the Topsy-Turvy Event Hall reaches you anymore. You can only hear the rings clearly, and wouldn't hear Rollo if he said anything.
He doesn't even try to, and without even a shred of a smile, he takes your hand in his.
DING- DONG.
His right hand wraps around your waist, and the fingers of the left one intertwine with yours. He stands taller than you, mighty, righteous. His gaze lingers on you as if he judges you.
It’s never a fair judgement, because the slightly offbeat of his heart drives his reason senseless.
He takes the first step to the back, and you follow along.
DING- DONG.
Rollo's movements are fluid and graceful, yet precise and purposeful. He leads you with ease, his body guiding yours. Waltz is a dance that emphasises the partnership, but with you not knowing the steps, it feels to you like some sort of majestic tango.
You’re overpowered within the first seconds of dance.
DING- DONG.
DING- DONG.
Step, step, DING, turn, step, turn, DONG.
You know your cheeks are flushed, and you blame the height and cold wind for it. Maybe it is a tiring dance, and you believe it’s acceptable to be this tired yet happy if you are dancing for all of eternity. It feels like the bell started to strike the omnipresent tempo a lifetime ago.
Rollo knows when your waltz-tango should end. He stops the chime with a fluid movement of his hand, magic stopping the well-kept rhythm from a bell.
BA-DUM, BA-DUM.
Your heart maintains the tempo. Even if each beat is strong and loud, you worry about how it will come to a halt at any second.
“I’m surprised,” he starts, sounding unsurprised but kind…-ish, “that you aren’t in a dance-related club yet.”
You cock your head to the side. “Is this a… sarcasm?”
“No. I think that musical-related things would suit you better. You could dance on that grand stage we approached earlier.”
“Like that girl?”
Rollo frowns. “What girl?”
…He doesn’t remember? How could anyone forget for a second about a person one has fallen for? You couldn’t. You can’t. You’re dumbfounded.
“A dancer. On a stage. Today.” Rollo looks more confused with each suggestion. “She was dancing to a… fast music in a flowy dress?”
“Ah,” finally, recognition sparkles in his eyes. A wave of relief is followed by anxiety, but Rollo shrugs your both overwhelms off, with a flick of his hand. “Yes, like her or… even better. The piece she danced to would fit you if you only embrace your passion. I think your performance would be more dreamy.”
You chuckle.
“If I would do that, what would you do without me in the student council club?” By this slight teasing, Rollo stiffens a little. You place your hand on your chest. “But as your right hand, you can’t get rid of me so easily.”
You swear you see him smiling subtly, and it’s no trick of light.
“As my right hand, you have the power to do whatever you want.”
“Then I want to stay.”
“Hm,” Rollo ponders. As you notice his gaze, you feel as if he’s contemplating which future holds the best fate for you. He lowers his eyelids, sighing slightly. “Is that so?”
“Yes,” you smile. “But if I hold any power like you say, I would like to use it to have you dance with me again.”
“Strange request,” he says curtly but doesn’t deny your request. His follow-up question makes your chest fill with warmth. “Do you know any dances? Except for waltz,” he says as if you could call your ‘waltz’ anything other than pretending to know how to dance.
“Macarena?” You suggest and he looks at you sceptically. In response, you flash him a bashful smile. “No?”
He sighs but takes your hands in his.
“Let me teach you, then,” he says, slowly. “Let’s start with a proper greeting,” but his greeting isn’t proper, because he doesn’t look at you. Because he avoids your gaze, you can have a shameless view on his red face, that must match the temperature with his quickly warming up hands. You always thought Rollo’s hands were cold, until this moment. “An elegant bow…”
He bows and you lift the brim of your skirt in response, trying to copy the fluidity of the curtsy.
He brings your hand up so carefully as if it is made from the thinnest glass, and presses his lips to your knuckles. So cliche, so old-fashioned, but chivalry isn’t dead as it fills you with energy, surprise and some embarrassment that makes you want to live this moment forever. “And a kiss.”
“Now I’m charmed,” You laugh softly, a smile on your face, yet you were mentally prepared to faint. You wonder if doctors would detect you lovesick if your heart actually stopped. “What’s after that?”
Rollo glances up at you, his eyes brighter than ever. He brings you closer to him.
“Let’s talk about rhythm.”
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448 notes · View notes
harfanfare · 1 year
Text
Unique Kisses: Rollo, Che'nya, Neige
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Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow
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Rollo F. (no kisses)
“May I have a kiss, please? A kind word? Any form of attention?”
“Rather not.” 
Rollo does not lift his gaze from his book. He sits too far away for you to read the title — you're separated by the whole length of the coffee table on which the service with the steaming tea stands — but you wouldn't be surprised if he was reading something religious.
You have no desire to return to the Victorian romance, a heavy volume that spreads across your lap. Yet, there are twenty-five minutes left until the end of your reading hour, a meeting you arrange every day because books are cool. You feel like you will die of boredom in three.
Maybe not from boredom, but because of something that makes you unable to focus on the present moment. You feel bad about tearing your lover away from his reading, but finally, with a heavy heart, you get up, walk around the table and sit next to him.
Your thighs touch and you let your head fall against Rollo's warm shoulder.
Immediately, you feel a little better.
“What are you doing?” Rollo doesn't seem to share your enthusiasm. He tilts his head so he can measure you with his eyes. If you looked at him even briefly, you would notice that his eyebrows have dropped slightly in an expression of concern, and his gaze has become investigative, piercing.
You sigh slightly in response, too listless to lift your eyelids, and unwittingly play with the soft tassels of his outfit.
“Please, let's do something else. The weather is so nice today...!” Your plea resembles the lament of a preschooler, especially when you bury your face in his shoulder. By that, some tension from Rollo escapes. He takes his eyes off you.
“I'd rather finish the book.”
“Then at least let me stay here, by your side. I feel extremely lonely today.”
You squeeze even more into his shoulder, warming yourself a little. His rochet-styled uniform wears the distinctive scent of incense, honey and disappointment, a perfume that is even more charming in a room that smells of tea and books. You let yourself inhale it until Rollo puts his hand on your head.
And now, you are distracted.
“Did something happen today?” He asks in a quiet, noticeably caring voice. You often hear a similar tone at night when you two return from evening prayer — whether you go there for God or for him — and Rollo is more inclined to care about everyone. Now all his attention is on you. You are a tad too intimidated and tired to respond. You only shake your head. “Well. Then let's go for a walk.”
That instantly enlivens you.
“Re... Really? You're not joking?!” You need confirmation because Rollo Flamm seldom changes his plans. You've already spent so much time with him that you can't imagine him missing a lesson for no more important reason than a bad morning attitude. And you considered yourself to be a rather imaginative person.
“You should already be aware of my lack of humour.”
You are. The little threads of romance in his body must have awakened, and you feel almost guilty for labelling him as the stiffest student in NBC. And since Rollo is being so gracious today...
“Then, can we hold hands?”
Your question throws him off balance, and you are ready to call off your request when he suddenly starts correcting the folds of his outfit to distract you and focus on staying carefree.
“...I apologize, but I might need some more time. I need to get accustomed to all that… romantic...” He starts, but then you grab his hand. The words of protest die on his tongue. He swallows the remnants of them as he grunts. “Alright. At least you won't get lost.”
(...No kissing before the wedding, though). /hj
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Che'nya (insufficient kisses)
“Strawberry.”
“No.”
“Raspberry then.”
“Also no. But you're almost there.”
Che'nya presses his lips to yours for the eighth time, and you cover the label of the drink you're holding in your hands even more tightly.
Your boyfriend has decided he can guess the taste of the orangeade you're drinking. You think he knew exactly what you were drinking from the third kiss: you shared a favourite range of fizzy drinks, and there was never any indication that you intended to change it. Che'nya would have forced you to convert back if such a thing ever happened.
“Hm~” Your boyfriend hums under his breath as he moves away from your face. When you look at him unmoved, he smiles broadly. “Cher- Chestnut”.
“Duh, you already know the answer.”
“So it's a Cherchestnut?”
You sigh, and Che'nya’s smile spreads even further across his face. His white teeth flash softly as if he hasn't eaten the entire basket of cakes you baked for him and his friends' first thing in the morning.
“Now you're just being mean,” you cross your arms to have Che'nya feel accused. He leans back in his seat, and his smile does not disappear from his face.
“Am I?”
“Aren't you?”
“If I were so sweetened by your presence that my senses were going mad, would my mistakes be ‘mean’ too?” When he says this, he sits up straight and leans beside you. He takes two steps onto the bench and sinks down into your lap, facing up — and by that — facing you.
He reaches out to touch the locks of your hair falling towards him.
“Are you a madman yet?” You ask, leaning towards him with your lips pressed together in a line.
“Am I? Or am I not? Who are we all anyway?”
“I know you're an annoying boyfriend. I don't like you from now on. Oh from now on, I don't like you,” you snap your fingers, and Che'nya smiles broadly. You try to push him off your lap, but he gracefully turns before you manage to do so and then wraps his arms tightly around you.
“My love will cover the two of us,” here he places his hands on both your cheeks and kisses the corner of your mouth. You try to swat him, but then he starts to disappear. His lips and words remain last with you. “But now it is time to withdraw. I feel a strong antagonism towards me here, and I shall take my leave.”
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Neige L. (the most common in a world of uncommon kisses)
Neige loves kisses.
For this reason, you find it hard to believe that he can't write a few sentences about them on his Magicam. You don't know how to prove it, though, because Neige has photos — beautiful footage from a recent photo shoot revolving around the theme of picnic and spring — that he needed to publish soon. They were now lingering in his gallery on his phone, waiting for Neige’s inspiration to strike.
“If I wasn't here, would you also have such a problem with a short description?” Your question sounded like an insincere accusation, to which Neige replied with a smile.
He had long since put his phone away in his bag. He always put it away when he wanted to give you one hundred per cent of his attention, but the subject of the photo kept hovering over the two of you because your boyfriend said he needed inspiration.
Every inspiration follows experience.
You're ready to help him any time, but not joshing with him first.
“I wouldn't write about them then. I would come up with something about spring or beauty...” He says, peering out of the wide window of his room. The view is lovely, full of greenery. Spring is coming. “But now that I have you, I can write about something as beautiful as love.”
“...Poser.”
Although that's the title you hail him with, Neige no longer responds. He cannot divide his attention, and what occupies him now is you, your face, your beautiful sparkling eyes, the shape of your ears, the lobes of which he runs his fingers over until they reach your jawline. There they stop as his attention shifts again: to your lips, the soft, smooth lips that he loves to kiss so much. And he kisses them, and everything around him loses meaning.
...
“How did it feel?” He asks, pulling you back onto the sofa. You sigh lightly.
“Is that survey to create an ideal description for the photo?”
“That's for me too. For contemplation.”
Neige looks at you with anticipation. When he sees that you need to think, he takes his eyes off you and pours fruit tea into the two cups in front of you, on the coffee table bordering a sofa.
“I don't know how to describe them. Either way, it's your job to think of something, so don't dump it on me,” you finally state, picking up the cup you've been given. You take a sip and decide to deflect the question. “And how do you feel, Neige?”
“Indescribably,” he says as he can't describe it either. Neige puts his hand over his heart and when he looks you straight in the eye, you are perfectly able to pinpoint why his fans love him so much - he looks princely. Neige sighs quietly. “I think I'm going to have to go with this spring because I don't know how to describe all the things that are bubbling up in my chest. I'll have to think about it longer.”
You pat him on the shoulder.
“Good luck with that. If you don't come up with any ideas, I can link you some fanfictions with nice descriptions.”
“Thank you, they will come in handy.”
“...They can be works with you, right?”
“...Ah.”
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949 notes · View notes
harfanfare · 1 year
Note
How to win the heart of jack how?
How to win a heart of Jack Howl?
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a/n: Dearest Anon, I hope you are still here. I tried my best to write a good story. I hope you and every other reader will enjoy it!!
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1. Get him to act as your boyfriend.
You don't know who that boy from Savanaclaw is, but at the moment, you can't care.
Your step hastens unwittingly, and you find yourself running towards the white-haired boy in a gymnastics shirt. He must be returning from daily training because even Mr Vargas doesn't torture his students so early in the morning. You glance at him once more, and you're sure that he will be a perfect fit for a plan you got into.
His ears twitch at the sound of your resilient steps, and he sharply turns your way before you bump into him. Of course, you would have slowed your pace and avoided any accident, but he catches your arms and stops you abruptly. You wonder how strong he may be if he didn't even budge.
"Uh... [Last Name]-senpai...?"
He looks at you with a slightly concerned look.
Oh, so he does know you? Wonderful.
"Hello there," you breathe out, gently getting out of his arms. You hope that being so winded doesn't leave a terribly unfortunate impression. "I… I know that we hadn't really talked with each other—yet—but I would… really, really appreciate it if you could help me with something."
A boy glances at you with vary.
You consider yourself lucky that he doesn't brush you off.
"…What do you need me for?"
You put on the most charming smile you can afford.
"It will sound really stupid, but… could you please act as my boyfriend? Be my fake date?"
"What?" A boy stutters the question. Before you can answer, he scrutinizes your surroundings. "Is someone stalking you?"
You shake your head energetically.
"No, no. I… just got into a bet with my cousin. And, well, to summarize the two-hour talk I may have told her that I will bring my boyfriend to a family dinner…" You watch how his expression changes slightly. Falls. "…But, obviously, I wouldn't drag anyone to my house. So, I was thinking about going with someone there and ' breaking up' in a few days. Oh, and I- I can pay you for your help!"
Your hands link in a plea.
"I-" Jack can't find any words he could offer you. Should he help you or just leave…? "[Last Name]-senpai, I really don't know what to say…" He trails off. "…Why me?"
His question animated you. You throw your hands in the air and wave in his general direction.
"I mean, look at you!" You exclaim, hoping a great amount of enthusiasm in your voice will work in your favour. "You seem like a hot, reliable guy. Kind. Charismatic."
Jack looks stunned. "Ah? W… What…?"
"You look exactly like the person I described to my parents!" You don't stop talking. His sudden bashfulness makes you speak even more confidently. "Please, if you aren't dating anyone right now, help me!"
Jack's eyes are avoiding yours as he scratches his nape. The silence stretches between you two, and you feel your heart sinking with regret each quiet second.
But then he coughs.
"…I don't like this idea," he mumbles, and his gaze meets yours. You notice the rosiness on his cheeks. The blush probably appeared because of the awkwardness of this situation and not because of a sudden crush on you, though. A pity. "But you look… desperate. You've got the spirit, and I will have you in debt. So… I will try helping you."
"Ah!"
You can't hide the smile that spreads on your face. You jump to Jack and pull him into a tight hug. He tenses under your sudden touch and lightly tries to push you off.
"Thank you so much…!" You cry out. After wiping a dramatic tear, you step back from him. You lower your head when you feel your face heating slightly in shame. "So… What is your name?"
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2. He's still not convinced. Do something.
The bright screen of his phone has his undivided attention. A beautiful moon in the sky is already forgotten even as it's dazzling in its full beauty tonight.
His eyes skim through the chat. The last message you sent was dated five hours ago, and he hasn't been able to push it to the back of his mind. It still clung to him when he listened to lectures and exercised. Now, when he had done everything he had planned for today, and it was getting dark, he can't stop from pondering.
He scrolled to a top of a chat and began going over the conversation for the tenth time.
Chat: [Name] sent you an invitation. Accept to friends?
Chat: Jack accepted an invitation. You're friends now!
[Name]: Hi Jack!!
[Name]: Thank you so much again for agreeing to such a weird deal hahaha
[Name]: Can we meet tomorrow during lunch break to talk about it?
[Jack]: Sure
[Name]: [happy sticker sent]
…Should he regret his decision? But, if he was to turn down your offer, you would have a serious problem, no? Maybe that's what you should get for lying—a lie always has short legs—but…
Jack can't bring himself up to call the whole thing off.
It's not because he is too shy to walk away from that situation. Maybe he doesn't want to leave you by yourself since you picked him from over three hundred students in NRC. And maybe he likes helping people. And your help - he has you in debt, hm - in his studies might be crucial in the future.
Or so he hopes.
Ping!
His heart skips a surprised beat when a sudden message appears after the sticker message.
[Name]: …I see you are still online
[Name]: Can't stop thinking about that chat? Hehe
Jack's fingers hover over the screen before he types a reply.
Jack: I can.
He lied.
Jack: That all just happened so quickly
[Name]: After sleeping, you might feel easier with that idea
[Name]: Tbh I doubt I will be able to sleep right now
[Name]: Soooo
[Name]: Wanna play something?
He doesn't even have a short moment to consider your offer before another notification pops up.
Chat: [Name] invited you to play a game of UNO CARD. Click here to join in!
Jack sighs.
And taps the link.
He will go to sleep soon. He can't miss his morning training, after all.
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3. Be a helpful upperclassman.
"Ah. It's that vending machine."
"[Name]-senpai…"
You lean against the cold metal, and Jack slowly looks at you. He heard your steps but didn't react until you made your presence too obvious to ignore. You smile cheerfully at him, not minding the stiffness he treats you with.
"Just [Name], Jack-kouhai," you tease and take two steps to stand next to him, facing the front of a vending machine. Behind the glass, colourful cans reflect the bright lights of corridors' chandeliers. "I see you have a problem here."
There is a bottle of pear-flavoured water trapped between the glass and a lower shelf, where lay packs of biscuit cookies. It doesn't seem to be stuck too hard to give up hope of getting it out, but neither are the other items on the machine. Everything is attached too loosely.
You believe that if you tried to tilt the whole thing, a bottle wouldn't be the only thing that would fall down.
"There are three ways you can get out your precious water, Jack," you hold three fingers in front of him. "You can buy something from a higher shelf—but both things can get stuck—you can punch the machine (gently, Jack, gently), or try reaching that bottle from below… Although it will hurt when you try to squeeze your arm through the window you usually take your drink from," you count solutions on your hand as you talk and then smile at Jack with anticipation.
"…I will go with buying something else, then." He looks like he'd rather give up on the water but still pats his pockets and takes another coin from his pocket. "…I don't have enough to buy anything more right now... Can you wait here while I go for my wallet?"
"No! …Can I have your change?"
…Well. With a grunt that resembles a resigned sigh, he hands you a coin.
You put it in the machine, along with several more you had on yourself, and tap a button next to the big pack of jellies on the highest shelf. With a soft clack! candy lands on a bottle, and with a hard crash, it makes it to the end. With a bottle.
It feels like a big victory when you squat to take both items out.
"We won!" You announce, throwing him his water, and then spare no time to open the jellies. "You can take half of them," As you shift the pack toward him, Jack hesitatingly takes a handful. You grin. "See? Having such a great upperclassman as me is an ultimate investment in life."
"Is that so," Jack ponders. ...Somehow, he feels entertained by your show. If you 'asked out' Ace Trappola instead of him, he would be your perfect partner in this kind of antics. "By the way, senpai, could you check an essay I've done? I need to turn it in tomorrow. That would be even more helpful than help with a vending machine."
The look he gives you says that he doesn't think you can correct his work to make it score top marks. You know you can't do that too.
"……..Heh."
So much for trying to be a helpful senpai.
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4. Get to know him.
"Do I really need to answer these questions?" Jack sounds concerned, and you can't help but chuckle at the hesitance in his voice. "They are weird…"
You take a sip of your drink. It is sour but in a very pleasant way. Well, you couldn't really expect less from the special item on a Monstro Lounge's menu. Even the occasional, time-limited and experimental dishes are quite tasteful here.
Jack sits across you, with his arms crossed as he studies the two-paged paper quiz you handed him. At his left, there is a glass of refreshing lemonade you insisted on paying for. Your fake-and-still-unsure boyfriend in question hasn't left yet, so you guess that treating him was a great idea.
"It's an instant way to know someone. I came up with the idea."
"That's the matter…"
He almost scowls, and you grin at the statement.
"We need to know some basics about ourselves. I wrote my questions for you on this sheet of paper," you point at a thin file in front of him, and shift another one in his direction. "And you can write anything you want to ask me here."
Hm.
Jack isn't sure if he wants to know anything particular about you. Anything more.
"…Okay," he replies, eyeing you carefully. Then, with a pen in his hand, he begins to write his questions for you.
It takes him several minutes to fill the page. When he hands it to you, his firm, right-slanting handwriting flashes at you. Your lips curve as you note that it fits him very much.
But then you start reading the questions.
And your smile drops.
"I can't answer these questions, Jack," you protest, and Jack squints his eyes at you in confusion. "I have no clue about the names of the muscles I focused on when we had a Vargas Camp," At your comment, he starts deflating, and you pause in a second. And then, after rereading the questions again, you pout sulkily. "…Couldn't you ask anything about my great personality?"
"…Then, is there anything I need to know before 'dating' you?" Jack scratches his neck, dropping his gaze at a lemonade before him.
"Now you make it sound as if I was dangerous," you laugh, but you can feel how your voice is a little strained. Just a little bit. "Either way, I won't tell you! You're getting me in a two-in-one special: you get precious me and my darkest secrets. It's a great deal."
"It's not."
You wave your hand as his response is as if it was physically brushed away. "The real question is: do I need to know anything about you?"
Jack huffs, but when he closes his eyes, you know he thinks about it seriously. It doesn't take a long while for him to speak up again.
"I think… I'm a pretty normal guy," he says and looks at you as if he wanted your reassurance. Your mouth 'no', and by the glance he sends you, you know how unimpressed he is. "I might not reach high standards if you or your family have any."
If he was sitting next to you, you would pat his arm, but you can only playfully step on his shoe under the table. You tap it twice, and when Jack looks up at you, a full grin plasters on your face.
You laugh. "You're good to go. I think you are more than living up to my parents' unfounded low expectations of my boyfriend."
"…Now I wonder why so."
"And you will keep on wondering. You won't ever hear this story~." You hum. "Well. Maybe one day."
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5. Have faith in yourself. (It doesn't need to be justified).
"Now we turn left…"
"It's on the right."
"It's left."
"Right!"
"It's left."
"It can't be left! On the left we have mandragoras..."
"We just passed the alley where they were, [Name]."
Jack sighs. Moving around the botanical garden shouldn't be this hard. You two have been there many times, but now the corridors stopped looking familiar as new roots started taking over the paths. It was a time for flowers to blossom.
Going there was a mistake. You can't even remember what were you going to search for here, but if you asked Jack, he would probably remember.
You don't want to ask him, though.
"Well, you can go right, and I will go left," you huff, crossing your arms. "We will see who will get out of here before the lunch break ends."
You turn around on your heel, and as you step to the left aisle, Jack catches you by the back of your shirt's collar and quickly jumps next to you. Then, by standing back to you, he grabs your arms from behind and pushes you forward. You began taking shaky steps towards the right alley.
"No," says Jack. "We will have a joint PE lesson. Both of us need to eat something before that. Let me guide, [Name]."
"I don't have a choice anyway," you note that although his grip on your arms is steady and would be hard to break out from, it isn't painful. It's almost gentle as he forces you to go ahead. "And don't assume I don't know the way…!"
"I hear the voices of others. I will find an exit faster," he says. "Bear with me, and we'll get out of there."
"…If we don't, you will have to admit publically that your sense of orientation sucks."
"Then, shouldn't you do the same if my lead is correct?"
You slowly start to recognize the plants and where you two were.
He is guiding you correctly.
"…No."
Jack hums, and you can tell he's amused by the disappointment in your voice.
"Then I will keep it a secret to myself."
"I have a great sense of orientation, just- not today!" You protest as you tug on his sleeve. He doesn't stop pushing you so slightly to guide you two to the exit. "Don't remember this kind of lies, Jack."
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6. Cheer on him.
"Here's water."
"Thanks."
Jack takes cold water and sits down next to you. A bench is sturdy enough that it doesn't squeak, even as you sit in the middle of it. With no problem, he takes off a cap you struggled with—he doesn't need to know this, however—and quenches his thirst.
He also accepts the towel your hand him with "thanks".
"You are going to have a match with RSA in two weeks, right?" Your question sounds more like a statement. Jack wonders if you would show up at his training if it wasn't for it.
"Yeah."
"Our school will have a whole day without lessons just to watch it."
Jack nods.
Maybe if it wasn't RSA, it wouldn't be the deal it is now. But you can count only on one hand the NRC students who don't feel competitive when the academy is mentioned. Even the people who aren't going to play, behave as if they were going to, with their cheering and hyping each other.
Cheering… NRC students will have to prepare some banners to support their team. And practice the cheer itself. Probably Pomefiore students will have to engage. They might not be very interested in sports events, but they won't let RSA beat them in terms of aesthetics.
Maybe the strong rivalry isn't that bad at all.
"By the way…" You trail off and don't speak again until Jack looks at you. "Even though we will be cheering on your team, all of my cheers are dedicated to you."
"Khe-"
Oops.
Jack chokes on his water in surprise, but when you move with concern to pat his back, he moves away, coughing into the crook of his elbow, and putting up his other hand to stop you. He eventually stops choking and sighs deeply.
When he looks up, and when you get to see his face, you notice a faint blush on his cheeks. His eyes crinkle wary. "…Are you trying out a pick-up line?"
And you tried being encouraging.
"No! I wanted to be supportive!" You protest. "Would you like it to be a pick-up li-?"
"No thanks," he says curtly. Then, clears his throat, and after making sure he can hold your gaze, he starts paying attention to his voice, to not have the next words come out as a mutter. "…But thank you for being here."
You smile softly and can feel your heart warm up.
But you ruin the atmosphere as the mischievous grin spreads up your face and meets your eyes. "Are you trying out a pick-up line, hehe? Don't look at me like that. I would very much like it to be."
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7. Have fake dates.
"Did you know that couples usually post some photos from their dates?"
You don't look up from your screen when you say it. Jack glances at you, who has been coming to his room whenever you had a chance. You started taking his bed as yours. He always grunts as you do so, but you noticed that a blanket you brought with you on a colder day is always folded and overhanging the headboard.
"What do you mean?" He asks, not stopping flexing his arm with the dumbbell. You turn the screen of your phone towards him, showing a Magicam profile of a girl he doesn't know.
"Like, uh. We should get some material to convince everyone that our relationship is very entertaining," you say, scrolling through the posts.
There are lots of pictures of said girl and her boyfriend. From amusement parks, oceanariums, festivals, bookstores, restaurants… You look at Jack as you got to the last image. "They look happy. And enamoured with each other."
Jack thinks about something.
"Do you think just posting photos is enough to prove the 'trueness' of our relationship?"
You grin. "That will convince introverts. All the people who didn't see us."
Jack actually laughs. "Right," he says, and as his voice steadies, he returns to doing his exercises. As you think the topic is ended, Jack speaks up so quietly that he almost mouths his words. "Then we can get… a few."
His eyes are intensely glued to the floor when you look at him.
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8. Talk about the rules. (Find out whether you can fake a kiss. (Fake kiss?)
"Are we ready?"
Jack asks, for the last time correcting the cuffs of his shirt. A suit he picked fits him; it's similar to the uniform he wears every day, but it's even more elegant. He leaves it unbuttoned, and whether he was wearing a tie, it would cover the little buttons of a white shirt he wears underneath.
He doesn't, though, but you don't say anything. You can't really say anything, because he looks so astonishing that something similar to awe grips your throat. Jack looks gorgeous. Not only in very classic clothes but also freshened up. His hair is puffier than usual, and you would love to play with it if it would ruin its tidiness.
You also dressed yourself up. You thought you were unusually pretty tonight, more than ever.
Jack doesn't agree but doesn't deny it either. He just stares at you, and by the way, his chest expands and stops, you start to wonder if he stopped breathing.
But he finally breathes out, and you don't dare to check if he has a desired blush on his cheeks or not.
You start walking toward the hall of mirrors, where one could take you back to your family home. Your home.
"Once again, leave all the questions related to romance up to me," you say, winking at him. "I read so much fanfiction I can come up with a realistic, heartwarming backstory of our relationship immediately."
"Don't tell them anything weird."
He says so, and you chuckle.
"They will probably tease us, so don't be shy to ignore them," you continue. By the time, you are standing before a big mirror. Its surface shines brightly, and in a brief moment, an image of your hometown is already displayed. Your house is close, very close. "And… just be yourself, you're charming."
"…If you say so," Jack says. He looks as if he wanted to say something, and you wait before he speaks up with hesitation. "Shall we hold hands?"
You didn't expect that.
But you aren't going to refuse.
You intertwine your fingers with his and grin. Your heartbeat rises once more again, and you know, that it won't slow down until you return back. Jack squeezes your hand back.
"Next step in our relationship, I see," you say with a smile. "You have warm hands."
You stand there for just a little while, stopping Jack from going through the mirror, but it's too long as another thought crosses your mind.
"Wait. Do you think they will ask us to kiss?" Stupid you, stupid you, stupid you, stop talking, stop talking, stop talking, laugh to cover the awkwardness and throw the topic away. You laugh. "No. They wouldn't. Never mind, don't think about that."
Now you try to go through the mirror. Jack's hand, which still holds yours, stops you midway. You have no choice but to look up at him and confront the gaze he wishes you didn't see.
"…If the situation will be tragic enough, we can do it," he says and coughs. "But it might be awkward, but I don't think I could fake a kiss."
"Neither could I," my chest will explode in a moment, you note. Somehow, you grin with mischief, but it isn't as malicious as you wished it to be. "So our very unfakeable kiss would convince everyone."
"Stop wishing for it to happen."
"I haven't been wishing! But well, maybe I might start doing so. Someday. Sometimes. Ah, let's just go!"
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9. Lose the previous reason to date.
The dinner went well.
You never once regretted choosing Jack as your partner in crime, but now you were so proud of yourself, as your mother talked happily with Jack, and dad listened to their conversation, sometimes commenting.
Your cousin was actually convinced about your relationship with Jack. She even offered to have a double date and recommended places interesting enough to have memorable dates. She felt happy for you, and it was warming your heart but also freezing it by turns.
You had to politely brush all her offers off because… Well, Jack agreed to be your date until today.
You've been painfully aware of it, as Jack's hand holds yours since you left your house.
Even when you got to the mirror, where no one from your family could see you anymore… Even when you got back to school, your hands were still linked, but you didn't want to point it out. Jack could have backed out and it was the last thing you wanted.
But everything must have an end.
"Thank you," you breathe and smile slightly at him. Looking him straight into the eyes beyond your strength. You part your hands very slowly before you turn to get to your dormitory. "Goodnight, Jack."
As Jack turns and walks back to his dormitory, he can't help but think about a single thing. Even the dinner he was stressing about him the whole day has been already forgotten.
The next morning you will wake up, and you two "won't be together".
Jack scowls.
If you ever have been.
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10. End the play.
"Thank you for your hard work~," you smile cheerfully when getting to his room. For the last time as a "partner", if you still hold that title. You put a glass bottle on his desk. "I've got you a pear compote, so you won't have the heart to throw it out."
"I… wouldn't do anything like that even if it wasn't it," Jack says, and doesn't move away when you sit on the bed next to him. He can smell the light perfumes you wore today and almost feels the warmth of your body, sitting so close to him.
There is a silence between you before you decide to break it.
"So… that's it, huh?"
You smile, and something in Jack breaks again. He feels as if was falling, but expected the fall itself… Since he met you properly, he knew you will part your days in a few weeks.
But if he could lengthen the time…
Even if it meant sacrificing the part of his pride…
He would try anything.
His face is covered with blushes, and his mouth twists with embarrassment when he notices how lame is the only excuse he can come up with now.
"Can-" He doesn't stutter but fights with his words. How can he say what he wants so you will understand? "Can we pretend for a little more? I'm sorry, but I told my mother that I have a partner, and she's excited to see you."
"So a next dinner!" Your hands clasp with enthusiasm, but you know you need to hold them to stop them from shaking. You need to keep calm and be a cool senpai. "Then, we are continuing our fake dating, hehe?"
Jack purses his lips, and to your surprise, he aggressively shakes his head.
"We can't. She will know if it's fake," he says in a dead-serious tone. Your mouth curls in a smile you try to cover with your hand.
"So we should be serious," you conclude, imitating the voice Jack used just before. And then you stand up from bed and make your way so that you are just before him. You put your hands on your sides. "But I am waiting for a proper confession."
Jack sighs softly.
"…You're making this hard for me," he says, but stands up. The morning rays of sunlight come through the window and enlighten his figure. His eyes shine with gold, and somehow you can't look away from them."…And it's weird because I wouldn't like it if you stopped complicating things." He puts his hand over his heart. "I simply want to stay by your side, now and… in the future… That's the only thing I wish now."
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