Been Following You For Quite A While, And I Absolutely Love Your "How To Win A Heart Of" Series! Would

Been following you for quite a while, and I absolutely love your "How to win a heart of" series! Would you consider making for Trey as well?

No pressure though, and you can ignore if your req is not open, but I'd love to see what you come up with! Thank you for giving amazing contents

How to win a heart of Trey Clover?

a/n: Dear Anon, I hope you will like this one!

Dear Readers, for the plot enrichment, I gifted you with a (temporary) inability to bake. It might have highly affected the reader’s self-confidence, which is primarily pretty low, but grows with each sweet second when Trey is around. And then, the reader embraces the energy of positive chaos. And becomes chaotic.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

1. Ask for help from pretty stranger from the desk next to yours.

To say that you aren’t nervous would be an utter lie.

Your knuckles already whitened from the unwitting pressure you put in tightening your fists into a nervous grip, and your shoulders felt sore, reasonably sore, after being tensed for so long. Throat goes dry again, and words die on your tongue, just like every time your eyes dart to a green-haired student.

...You really need to talk to him.

Trey Clover, the unfamous vice-dorm leader of Heartslabyul, is probably the greatest pastry chef in NRC’s history and the only person who can help you at the moment.

A baking club entry exam, that is.

...

The problem is, you suddenly forgot how to talk to people.

You could swear everything was alright just a moment ago when your friend casually complained about the lack of seasoning in the cafeteria’s food. A huff, an eye roll and a sarcastic comment were almost obligated.

Now you can’t remember how it felt to be relaxed.

Should you just say hi and casually tell him about your problem? Would almost strange classmate care? ...If he disagreed, it would be a bit embarrassing, and it’s not like you could avoid him when his desk is next to yours. Maybe you could ask any of your friends if they could introduce you... But does any of them know Trey?

You look up at Trey once again, as if it could help you find a solution, but quickly shift your gaze to your hands.

Maybe you should just read more culinary books... A theory might not be enough, but it will spare you from any embarrassment that might—and with your luck and undeniable skills: *will—*happen.

...

No. You need to be brave.

How will you go through life if you can’t talk to strangers? Trey seems like a kind person, so he might help you... or just reject your ask without putting up a show.

And all you need to do is to start talking.

All you need to do is—

“Hey, can I help you with something?” A voice, a really good sounding voice with the texture of melted chocolate startles you, and you look cautiously up. “I noticed you were watching me.”

...Of course, he did.

All courage you mustered up was now just a faint memory, untraceable and irretrievable. With sympathetic eyes in the colour of cinnamon and gold on yours, you swallow some saliva, hoping it will dissolve the stress that gripped your throat.

“I’m so... so, very sorry... I didn’t mean to stare.”

“No need to apologize,” he smiles warmly, which makes your gaze drop to the floor in silence. “You’re [Name] [Surname], right? I don’t believe we have talked before, but I heard—and saw, believe me—that you are a very lovely person.”

...

What? What?

“Thank you...?” You pull the words into your mouth because leaving the comment in silence would make you feel guilty. Also, it was a compliment! Sensing you want to ask him for something, he gives you a smile. So, before the rest of your courage has a chance to flag, you speak up. “I... Or rather if... If you have any time to spare me, could you help me- pass- my- baking- class?”

He almost grins at your question. ...Huh, was it funny?

“You are a member of a baking club, aren’t you? I’m honoured you reached out to me, haha!” He regards you with a warm look, and you feel almost happy that you’ve decided to talk. “And sure. I will help you. Just... don’t be so nervous around me? I don’t bite... but I sure can serve you something worth tasting.”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

2. Share your thoughts.

There is that unnamed excitement hanging in the air.

You aren’t sure if it comes from the late hour when most school halls are abandoned and left only with some candles as the source of light, or is it Trey himself, who stands behind the kitchen counter with a cookbook loosely in his hands.

“So,” he starts, and the polite smile he wears seems to brighten up the whole room, “I might not be a member of the baking club—even if it sounds really fun, and I am, in fact, a little bit envious—but I heard about the criteria of the tests. They let you create a custom recipe, which you will have to re-do in a certain amount of time, under the eye of the club president... Is that right?”

You nod.

While you could, of course, learn a recipe from the most mysterious and unknown book that has barely seen sunlight, your club’s president has his ways to check if the work was plagiarized. So, your ‘quest impossible’ is to think of a pastry no one ever thought about.

It’s hard to believe every member of the club had to do the same.

“We need to start with a goal,” Trey guides you to take a pencil and puts an empty notebook on the counter. “And we need to get a little bit creative here.”

He stands where he was standing before, but he seems a little bit closer than before. You take a little step back at the sudden realization, and Trey chuckles softly as he sends you an apologetic smile and moves a bit away.

“So, to know what we want to do...” You aren’t sure if he stands that much away because you hear his voice well. Very well, every change in his tone is neatly observed and noted in your thoughts. “Tell me, what you dream of. Even the most impossible idea.”

He smiles encouragingly. You aren’t sure if you’d like to reveal any of your secrets to a stranger, but then Trey flips a recipe book and your eyes land on several images one of of the most enticing cakes you’ve ever seen.

Trey knows he has your attention. His finger slides from a cookbook to your blank notebook, where you will have to write down some ideas. “The best way to learn is to do something you want. And to do that, I need to know your preferences a little bit better.”\

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

3. Try your hand at pastries. Again.

‘00:36’

Your phone buzzes once again, and for the seventh time, you tap the screen to delay the alarm. It is a simple move, but it reminds you of hours you have spent in the kitchen.

You are tired, and at the moment, you wish nothing but to tuck yourself in the bed and be late for morning classes. It’s not really an affirmable desire, but a needed one.

“Should we put it in the fridge?” You ask, looking at the fresh-made cake. It is beautifully decorated, but, to make sure the cream is right, you will have to leave it somewhere cold overnight.

“This one?” Trey corrects his glasses. “Only if you wish for some other students to steal it for their breakfast.” He smiles faintly, the lost hours of sleep getting onto him as well. “And that is another rule to learn: do not trust anyone your baking goods unless you’re prepared for the loss or you have your ways to find the culprit.”

A wry, hesitant smile stretches your lips. “...Is that from experience?”

“You would be surprised how often it happens,” he sighs and your mouth quirks up. “How trustable are your dormmates?”

“I... think I wouldn’t like to test out.”

“Okay, yes. I understand, I would probably do the same,” Trey laughs at your response. “But, well, would you trust me with this cake, please? I will bring it on a lunch break when we will try it out and think about improvement.”

“Sure...” You look at him from under your lashes and smile. “I will give you a benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you!” And another smile returned. A smile does really suit him. “I will not let you down.”

Then, he said his goodbyes and left, the only trace that he was here being the blush that slowly perfused your cheeks.

He is too kind...

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

4. Beware.

There are always some eyes on you, and that’s the thing you need to remember in NRC.

And because people here are very observant, just by watching a person for a while, you can get a nice grasp of someone’s personality, judging them by their words and actions.

It also makes some students cautious—aware of being observed, they put up a show of being someone they aren’t. They can look stronger than they are, to look respectable, or feel timider, to cover the abilities they would like to save for later.

Either way, you’re a really bad liar.

Trey notes that when he notices you talking with your friends. There are no feigned emotions across your face, the tone of your voice bewrays everything you’d like to hide. Even falling quiet tells him a lot, and he has no trouble with saying if the silence is a peaceful one or a distressed one.

He doesn’t know why his gaze always searches for you in a crowd. Well, he doesn’t know why he was helping you without getting paid back. You aren’t influential in this school, but maybe, your passed test will be a bargaining chip when the time comes.

...But was that a reason?

A pondering sigh escapes his lips.

When you catch him staring, you wave at him discreetly.

He nods his head at you, in greeting, and a soft smile blooms up your face.

...

Yeah. You’re wearing heart on your sleeve, but that’s a part of your charm.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

5. Take a joke seriously.

Emptied bottles of oyster sauce lay on the table and you can’t contain the sigh when you glance at them.

You tried everything.

And it still didn’t taste good.

You don’t know how to add oyster sauce, the special ingredient Trey revealed to you in utter secret, to make... anything savour better, but you aren’t going to give up yet.

The cake gets too salty after adding it to the dough, so you figured out it would probably have to go with something either sour or refreshing. The vegetable paste would fit quite good if the dough was overbaken, but then you couldn’t really call it a cake.

Then, when you added it to the cream, the texture got soggy and tasted awful. There was nothing that you could cover a taste with.

And while you wanted to give up, it was Trey who trusted you with his baking secret! If you won’t master it, how will you ever progress?

“Oh, my...” You hear a disbelieved gasp and turn quickly to see Trey eyeing your baking experiment. Noticing the empty bottles of sauce, he immediately knows what’s going on. “[Name]! How could you take that joke?”

You blink slowly.

Oh.

...

“...Shame on me then, hah.” You shrug and smile awkwardly, but your feeling is mixed. Should you be happy that you didn’t do anything wrong, or cry, about the stress you’ve come through...?

“I am truly moved by your faith in me, even if it was misplaced this time,” Trey says and your mouth forms something between a pout and a grimace.“...But oyster sauce?”

“I know--!” You bring your hands to your face and hide from his gaze. “...It still hurts that I’ve spent so much time figuring out the ingredients! ...Now I know that I shouldn’t trust you with questionable recipes.”

You reposition some of your fingers on the face to glare at Trey.

Trey chuckles but also seems gullible.

“Sorry, I’m sorry, don’t be mad,” he reassures you, putting a hand on your shoulders. A sudden strike of electricity goes through your body, freezing you. “I need to say, that, nevertheless, it looks very appetizing.” Trey doesn’t seem to notice your tensing shoulders when he walks to the cake and digs a fork into a cake.

A pleasant crunch fills the air. “The texture is great,” he says with a smile on his face. It becomes a little bit forced when he takes it to his mouth. “But yeah, it’s still not so very edible. Your efforts, though, are paying off. If there wasn’t any oyster sauce, it would have a very rich flavour.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he confirms, and you can’t help but smile. Compliments from Trey are not uncommon but they can move your heart every time. “I will treat you with something if you help me. So, pay attention to me, alright?”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

6. Make him a gift.

You’ve passed the baking test.

It’s hard to lock your excitement within your body, but the little stars in your eyes reveal the truth.

You’ve passed the test and you know that the strawberry shortcake is the result of hours spent in the company of the greatest pastry chef of Heartslabyul, if not NRC.

But not only that. You’ve gained a real... friend. And you could say that it was the real treasure, but it would sound too cliché, and a passed test is not something you could grumble at. But yeah, now Trey was in your life and you can sincerely say, that you enjoy your time with him.

“It’s for you.”

A thin, beautifully decorated box is in your hands as you say those words. Trey grins instantly and looks at you with surprise and joy in his eyes. When he opens it, mini-cakes are revealed. Really beautiful ones—the cake seems super light (probably also vanilla flavoured, he guesses), and the cream is rich in field berry. Candied flowers shine courteously in the sunlight, and Trey can’t help but feel proud of you.

You interpret the silence in the wrong way, letting your gaze down and making a wry face. “...If you don’t want it, I will take it.”

“No!” Trey immediately protests. “You can’t take back a present, [Name].”

“Then don’t make me regret giving you anything!”

Trey laughs and takes the box from you, with the grace of a dancer rather than a chef.

“Thank you for the cake. I will treasure it by eating when the time is right,” and he looks at you, weighing his words. He smiles mischievously. “But... Are you sure there isn’t any oyster sauce in there?”

“Trey!” You punch him lightly in the arm. And then you stop and take a box from him. “You know what, give me a bottle of that. There is never too late to add special ingredients, and now I want to poison you.”

“[Name], no-”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

7. Endure teasings. (Warning: They come from every side)

Ace Trappola is a tease of a man, whose eyes could never miss the chance to make a comment that will either make the room laugh, sigh or smile hesitantly.

So when he sees you, you can’t expect that you will escape with an unscratched mood.

“Oh, you are the student who keeps our vice dorm leader away from us, huh!” Ace greets you with cheerfulness, and for a second you aren’t sure if he’s talking to you. When he confirms with a nod of his head, that he actually is, you look shocked. He has no qualms to stop teasing you when his voice rises again. “He is so often outside that the whole dorm started to miss him!”

“...Sorry?” You smile awkwardly, not sure how to respond.

“No, no, don’t be sorry, we have so many more treats every day,” Ace waves your words off, but winks at you. “...Unless you did something to be sorry for?”

“Of course not,” by the time he grins widely, you regain some of your lost calmness. “You know, most people would probably be happy when the person who checks if you follow the rules is out.”

“You picked the wrong person then, duh!” He sounds and looks pouty as he throws his half-complaint at you. “Riddle is in charge of everything... He probably has a sweet side, but I can’t really see him dating anyone.”

“Well... Trey and I aren’t dating.”

Ace sounds surprised. “You are not?”

Another voice sounds surprised. “We are not?”

“No!” You turn instantly to Trey, who smiles unapologetically at you. “Trey, you aren’t helping my case.”

He chuckles. Ace shoots you an unimpressed look as if your protest was a lie. You bite back a sigh.

“Sorry!” Trey says. “I couldn’t help but join this very interesting conversation.”

He looks at Ace and smiles slightly.

“But, yes, we aren’t dating,” and there comes the wink and a silent word, “yet.”

He hopes.

He hopes?

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

8. Laugh for him.

Laugh is made of sincerest smiles, and a smile is said to be a half of a kiss.

Your chuckle is surely enough to give him a heart attack.

And maybe because he craves it so much, he's a bit envious of the student you’re talking with...

He isn’t sure how he remained to hold up his composure. Maybe only Cater noticed that something was wrong—other students picked up on the questionable crush only because of the amount of time Trey spent in your presence—but Trey concluded his reactions were a little... delayed.

And thank goodness for that.

The solemn facade is still up when he walks to you and the boy you’re talking with, wide grins on your faces as you share some inside joke. A—nameless, for Trey—boy whispers something enthusiastically, and you burst out laughing.

You’re happy. Trey should be happy. But it’s hard not to feel a weight on his chest as he walks to your table. And he doesn’t want to say that he’s jealous, seeing you laugh your heart out with another dorm student, but... Well, something twists in him.

“Oh, hello Trey!” You notice him when he’s not so far away from you. The other boy just nods in greeting but looks a little bit distracted. “Would you believe that now people are asking me for baking tips?”

“Congratulations. It’s huge progress... especially after adding oyster sauce to the dough,” Trey teases, sitting next to you. Very, very close to you, but you’re too fed up with his comment to notice his proximity.

The boy that was sitting on your other side, somehow, takes this moment as an opportunity to leave.

Somehow, a delight floods Trey’s body.

“Don’t bring it up in every talk about my progress!” You cross your arms and your lips form a thin line. “It was your fault too, you know.”

“...Anyway, did you know that mayonnaise can make a cake moist and fluffy?”

You look at him cautiously. He grins, politely.

“...I will research it,” slowly, warily, you answer. “You see, what you’ve done to me? I have now trust issues!”

Trey chuckles. “Too bad then. I have so much more things to share with you.”

You laugh charmingly.

And his heart skips a beat.

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

9. Get invited to the Unbirthday Party.

“Is that an invitation?”

“Mhm.”

A beautiful letter is packed into a chequered pattern of paper that, by its function, resembled an envelope. It’s sealed with magic and wax, and as you break the stamp, the black and white squares shift from their places, to reveal handwritten words of invitation.

You read the whole thing twice, holding the letter lightly, too afraid to tear down the paper. Trey waits for your response, occupying his hands with a leaf that had fallen on the bench you were sitting on.

Finally, you take a breath and turn to Trey.

“Should I... bring anything?” You ask anxiously. A Heartslabyul party! Were you really invited to the famous event at your school? At the one of the grandest of the Unbirthday party, since the day of invitation was told to be a date of least people having a birthday? “Is there a dress code? Or, can I help you with preparing food?”

“No. You’re my guest and you need to take it easy,” Trey laughs your offer off. He shows you his appreciation with a light touch on your hand, but you do your best to not be distracted by that small (but purposeful, oh so very purposeful) gesture.

“But then you’re the one who bakes everything!” You protest. “Won’t you be tired after doing all desserts alone for such a grand event?”

“It’s all good. I need to keep my thoughts from something, so it’s a great thing to be occupied.”

When he looks at you, guilt twists your expression. You look at Trey sadly, but before you speak up, he doesn’t know what words caused you to have so heartbreaking emotion take over your appearance.

“’Thoughts from something’?” In a whisper, you repeat those words carefully. “Oh... Trey, do you have a problem? Can I be a help to you? I’m sorry I didn’t notice.”

“...Soon,” he licks his lips in a nervous gesture. Were they always this dry? His touch on your hand tightens, and soon he seems to be reassuring you more than you reassured him. Though, no, your appearance was always nothing short of comfort to him. “Soon, you will hopefully end my... problem.”

‏‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

10. Recieve chocolates with love filling.

“Are you waiting for certain someone~?”

Trey rolls his eyes, but his heartbeat still drowns out more of Ace’s upcoming teasings. It gives him an answer he could hardly admit to himself.

He really was nervous.

“No...” He says, but, on second thought, he moulds his response again. “...Actually, yes. Have you seen [Name]?”

“Ha! I knew it!” Ace grins, his teasing eyes having Trey duck his head slightly. “But no, I don’t believe anyone had a chance to see [Name] before you knew.”

“It’s not as if—,” Trey’s breath suddenly frozen; no words could be spoken.

Because you entered.

Your outfit, you think, could be a little overdressed, but it was a grand event, and Hearslabyl dorm was very content with weird clothing, as long as they fit within the rules. A red fabric covers your body with elegance, and roses dipped in gold are neatly attached to your hair and belt.

There is only quiet rustling when your elegant shoes move through the grass.

“...Hello, [Name],” he greets you with a smile that blooms wider every step you’re closer to him. You grin in response. Before Ace can even greet you properly, Trey grabs your hand gently and guides you toward the gardens. “Let’s go. No need to bear with anyone.”

“Hey!” Ace’s way to greet you is blocked by Trey’s arm. “Trey, that’s called possessiveness, duh!”

But you two already walked away.

...

The talk you have is about everything and nothing. The party, though you escaped only after being there for two minutes, was the easiest topic to talk about, as the happy voices from afar reminded both of you of the event.

“The cakes at the party look marvellous,” you say, ready to get the recipe out of him. He smiles, but it’s not the teasing grin that you get from your words. He’s just happy you’re here with him. “Though, that’s expected from you... You know, it’s so random but, whoever will you be with in the future will be a very lucky person! Anyone can just look at-”

“...Would you like to be the one?”

“-you and tell that... you...”

...

What?

He just confessed.

Now you notice that there is a box of chocolates in his hand, decorated with some paper origami in the shape of little roses. Somehow, you can’t tear your gaze away from it.

He prepared to confess.

“I like you,” Trey breaks the silence. For the first time, you see him so clearly unsettled. “I like you a lot, [Name], but if you-”

“No, wait-” You stutter out a protest. The situation of what just happened got to your body and allowed you to take a proper breath. Checks heated up, and tears “I- Trey, I do like- I lov-”

“...Wait,” he stops you gently, and the surprise and confusion paint your face. He smiles, and the stress that was just overtaking his body feels to dissolve. “At first, let me court-... Seduce you properly.”

...

That charming bastard.

He knows your answer and now, secure from immediate rejection, decides to tease you.

You believe it’s to reduce your tension, but you don’t believe whatever he’s about to do, will take off the crimson blush from your cheeks.

Before you can say another word, his fingers are already intertwined with yours, firmly, confidently, so convincingly. He brings your hands to his face and lays several kisses in gentleman’s mannerism on your fingernails and though each feels very attentive, his golden eyes are focused solely on you.

Your heart beats loudly in a rhythmic begging that you’re sure Trey hears.

Only then, does he brings up a heart-shaped box of homemade chocolates; the love is written on the box, on his lips and eyes.

“[Name]...” He says with a low voice, as joy grips your throat and heart. “Will you accept these?”

Unique Kisses: Rollo, Che'nya, Neige

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

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

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.”

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.”

Rollo Flamm x Reader || Rhythm

Warnings: Understated jealousy (?), Reader can’t dance (wants to, though), provisioning of unrequired love, female reader.

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.”

If that's okay could i request it for Epel?

How to win the heart of Epel Felmier?

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

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.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

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.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

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!”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎

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.”

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

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…!”

A short announcement of a tiny surprise! Within a few weeks, I will post seven, each for a dormitory, fluffy works (not related to the "How to win a heart of..." series). Every NRC Twisted Wonderland boy will be there, so don't worry! I've written all scenarios by now, but I am in the middle of correcting and translating them. I hope it will be a heartwarming reading for you all! (Hearslabyul scenarios will be released in a short while... Savanaclaw scenarios are under correction...)

Unique Kisses: Savanaclaw!

I'm so sorry for the second notification, but the work didn't show up in the tags... orz

Heartslabyul || Savanaclaw || Octavinelle || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Rollo, Che'nya, Neige || Honest Fellow

Leona K. (lazy kisses)

You're not getting out of bed without a proper greeting.

It isn’t even morning, or evening, or any time that could explain why you were resting in Leona's room, away from the building where your next class soon will be held. It is midday, a while after lunch, and you knew you’ll have to walk at a brisk pace to make it in time for Mr Crewel's class.

“We have to get up...~” you say, gently touching Leona's shoulder. He doesn’t react, but you are sure that he is somehow awake (not by the touch, but by your soft complaints) and can hear you perfectly with his outstanding predatory hearing and you at his ear. But he apparently decides to ignore you because he doesn’t react when you start drawing circles on his hand with your finger.

You sigh, rolling over onto your back. You really don’t want to spend another break being lectured about your tardiness (caused by Leona) and hearing complaints alone (Leona is always late for his sermon. He is running off and doesn’t even ask if you’d like to join him).

You’ve already put your feet up on the floor and, for lack of a better idea to fill the moment, tried unsuccessfully to straighten a few unfortunate folds of your uniform.

Somehow, Leona's tail wraps around your waist as you try to get out of bed, and you notice the attentive but slightly lethargic gaze. By that, Leona completely underestimates any reason why you give up extra minutes of lying down.

“Come back here," he says, and you roll your eyes. And yet, you take a place next to him again.

His tail has completely loosened its grip, but now Leona's hands are on you. The fingers trail across your back until they are right next to your head, which Leona supported with his hand and gently forced it to lean towards himself. His distinctive scent mixed with the aroma of grass and flowers becomes more intense. For a moment the last emerald eyes are on you before he closes them just before the distance between you disappears completely.

Disappears—?

His lips fit into yours and his teeth press gently against your lips. Leona seems to be moving steadily closer to you, although it looks and feels more and more impossible with each passing moment.

Or maybe you just aren’t thinking soberly anymore.

Although you can’t taste anything—or did your taste buds finally go crazy?—you begin to get drunk on the very essence of this kiss. However, if it had a taste, you are sure it would have been intense, equally filled with fierceness to eclipse your senses.

...It's just a shame that Leona looks so triumphant while you are losing your mind and heart.

This is also the moment when Leona sighs sleepily, sinks on the cushions and says something about continuing a nap. You look at him reproachfully, beginning to regret that he isn’t going to continue stopping you from going to class. And he smiles involuntarily.

Ruggie (blown kiss)

Ruggie has always been a busy person.

You often pass him in the corridor when he is out running errands for Leona and trying to get his hands on Leona's next whim. Usually, his hands are busy, but the weight of the books doesn't seem to affect him as he walks down another corridor.

When you have time, you are helping him carry more stuff to the dormitory, to Leona, whom you complain about along the way. You really doubt that even if he heard you, he'd care about the opinion of little people like you, but Ruggie warns you anyway when you enter a potential area under his attention.

Between classes, however, most of the breaks are short and the corridors - long, too long when getting from one class to another, located at the end of the building or even outside. You don't have much time for, well, anything to do with a casual, warm encounter with Ruggie between classes.

“Don't you need help with that?” you ask him when, between magic history and alchemy, you bumped into each other in the hallway. He seems to be in a hurry, wriggling dramatically, as if the few volumes he is carrying are more exhausting than Mr Vargas' lessons. But he shakes his head at your offer.

“Nah,” he flips his books under one arm to wave his hand at your words. A dramatic effect. “You have, I think, lessons in the opposite direction, and I for my hard work have a free afternoon,” he smiles with a look that read, *'You know, there are benefits after all!’. “*We can go get something to eat later. Because finally—attention, attention, I repeat!—I have the afternoon off.

The bell fills the corridors and you have to go.

Ruggie smiles goodbye and turns on his heel. He glances in your direction once more and when he saw that you are still staring at him, the corners of his mouth curve upwards even more. He kisses his fingers with his lips and then titles them towards you. He blows on his palm with a quiet "Shu~!", playfully blinking one eye.

You pretend that his indirect kiss had hit you straight in the heart; you put your hand to your chest.

You receive a giggle that was drowned out by other people's conversations and steps.

“Well, I'm off! Wait for a message from me!” He shouts his farewell—with another smile—and disappears around the next corner.

You are already looking forward to it.

Jack (kiss-bite)

The wolf is hungry.

You can easily tell because, despite Jack's best efforts, you can feel the urgent gaze on you, watching your every move. He tries to keep his gaze on the ground, but he prefers to look people in the eye when they are talking to him, and now you’re the one who’s speaking and...

Well, he had a dilemma, but he concluded that ultimately he much more likes to look at you.

A similar idea runs through his kisses—he is always watching. Slow, mindless gestures of love are unlikely ever to be his thing, when he likes to put his ambitions and beliefs, into everything he does. And Jack is sure that a lot of attention had to be put into the act of caring.

That's why he can’t take his eyes off you when every gasp and huff draws his attention.

That happens often because Jack always surprises you with his kisses. You should have gotten used to them by now—maybe, after so long—but you sincerely hope it won’t happen. And if it does, you know it will be later than sooner, because Jack’s kisses are special.

They aren’t perfect, because Jack never had the opportunity (or even the idea or need) to polish this skill. So, even as he is already embracing you—gently but firmly as if he held Life itself in his hands—you wonder what he is about to surprise you with. And then he draws closer until he fully covers your vision.

You can’t remember the last time you guessed what your kiss would look like.

His lips are warm, but you aren’t paying attention to those that much as to his fangs and tongue on your mouth, and although the pleasant sensation tingles in your mouth, you can’t hold back a quiet gasp as Jack closes his mouth slightly and his teeth gently dig into your skin.

“A-auh...”

He notices the twitch and, with some reproach, quickly moved away from you—as far as the reach of his arms, which still embrace you, allow.

“Oh, I- I hurt you, didn't I?” He turns his head slightly and for the first time takes his eyes off you to look into the empty space to his left. “I'm sorry.”

“No, no,” you reply quickly, placing a hand on his forearm. “It didn’t hurt. I'm just surprised… But, did you know it's always a nice surprise?”

“But still...”

...

“Should... we practice?”You suggest quietly. In your mind, this offer looked more dignified and encouraging than the words you present to Jack, who was beginning to look more embarrassed than you. You quickly add: "If you want to learn to kiss 'normally', we can learn to do that..."

”W... What...?” He looks at you, shocked. “It's a... a very strange offer.”

“But I'll admit to you, it's your iconic kisses that I adore," you continue, standing on your tiptoes to get even closer to his face, his lips, "So? What is your decision?”