Tap tap tap. The sound of your feet padding against the concrete. It was soft, delicate even, but even the mightiest of figures can sound just the same when these great halls of Night Raven College drown out most sounds. Just as this place can lull you to sleep within its protective walls, it serves to intimidate just as well.

This memory consisting of the sound of your footsteps, Dire Crowley finds that it lingers longer in his head than most other things. Just as your premature awakening in the gate stayed behind his eyes, so did the blood stamps on the floor your heels left behind.

That little raccoon monster made you run, trying to burn you to a crisp as a slave to its instincts, and it wore down the skin of your feet.

That won’t do, Dire thought, this won’t do at all.

No identification, or currency. Not even shoes to your name.

While Dire felt he has done enough, giving you shelter, food, and an odd job that he’ll play plentiful for, any little thing that is remotely colored in red forced a harsh reminder to the forefront. A reminder that you were outlier in everything that these college stood for. A steady history to be broken by your very presence, a reminder that you were brought here with so little and yet changed so much.

That blood you spilled on your way to the Dark Mirror, to be judged, were bookmarks that can never be removed upon the pages of Night Raven College’s history.

But, Dire can’t find it in himself to be irritated. No anger, no resentment to be found.

Nothing more than pity, Dire thought as he gathered bandages and disinfectant, It’s no different than caring for an injured animal or pet.

You were still seated on the sofa, now remarkably free of dust and cobwebs, still eating when Dire came in without so much as a knock. You nearly inhaled your food, but a few simple coughs were all you gave.

“Hmm?” you hummed after clearing your throat, “Did you forget something, sir?”

“No no, nothing of the sort,” Dire dropped his makeshift first-aid kit on the coffee table, “I simply can’t leave an injured student here without at least some treatment. Now then,” Dire guided your shoulders backwards towards the arm of the couch, “lay back. I need to see the severity of it. What would the students and staff think of me if they find out you’re working with sores on your feet.”

“Uhh,” while you didn’t fight him, you clearly weren’t expect any of this. It’s only natural, his kindness is baffling even to himself sometimes. “I mean, I suppose.”

Dire cradled your ankle, using a single claw to move the stirrup legging out of the way to view your whole foot. The skin was badly scraped, already scabbing over in some places but the majority of the injury was still raw. While magic has done many wonders, unfortunately there have been no significant breakthroughs in the medical field with it’s usage. Injuries must still heal on their own. Potions can certainly speed up the process, but it’s never instant.

Dire wiped down the dirt, sprayed your foot and was quick to wrap it up. Rinse and repeat with the other and the job was done. Dire would like to think he did impressive work with the wrappings. Not too tight, merely snug.

“There we go.” Dire said, “Now, that should help it heal easier.”

“Oh.” You sat back up, lightly swinging your feet, testing out your mobility, “Well, doesn’t sting anymore. Thank you, sir.”

Dire Crowley only shook his head. “Don’t be reckless now.”

There’s a certain affectionate, if somewhat derogatory, tune to calling a student a lost lamb. There have been no shortage of them. Gates have a tendency of leaving some students a bit more fog minded than others, but almost, if not all of them, were always excited to be here even as they lose their way trying to find their class. Their precious eyes gleaming with wonder has always left Dire with a sense of pride.

And yet, Dire has a difficult time labeling you with such a nickname as you walked from place to place, away from the gate you were supposed to stay put in. You looked around, eyes vacant of any mystic, not taking in the beautiful structures of this college. Instead, it seems as though you’re looking for something.

Perhaps a familiar? There was a burnt gate. And a lid snapped clean off.

“What sort of monstrous familiar could’ve caused that much damage?” He muttered as he walked towards you. Not only that, but the fact that it’s possibly running loose in these halls. If there’s any more destruction, he will make sure to bill you later for the damages. But for now… “Hey, you! Yes, you there, standing with no shoes!”

Have you ever looked into the eyes of a sea creature, living deeply in the sea? Have you ever look up into the vast blackness of space, of the void the surrounds the stars, the moon, and the earth itself? Have you ever wondered to yourself what the difference was between the emptiness in their eyes and the lull of the peaceful dark?

“Hello,” words, oh so polite, fell from your lips. Somehow, Dire felt as though the string of letters was a mockery of the actual word. “Is something wrong, sir?”

Dire let his cane touch the floor, tapping a decorated finger on the hilt. “Is something wrong, of course it is! You’re supposed to gather for the ceremony. Not here, playing around!”

Dire will not poke nor confront you. There is no need. He’ll let his own words distract you from whatever turmoil is blooming in his gut. Let his own voice become a wall from the curiosity that grips him so tightly.

Whatever danger you are, as unproven as the sentiment was, you are still wearing your robes. You are still decorated in the clothing that you were deemed worthy to wear. That is an absolute, and Dire will dare not question it.

“Now come, follow me,” Dire turned on his heel, not needing to see if you were following him. It’s hard to ignore the black maw contained within those eyes of yours.

A child runs out of his house, curled hair bouncing with every step, hands clenched deep in his pockets as he runs to a tree a large crow was spotted on. He shouldn’t be out here, young as he was, but there was no one to stop him. This little boy knew of the stories, knew of a special crow that brings either fortune or ruin.

There was not a bird but a man instead, resting against the tree, hat tilted over his head as though taking a nap. To any other adult, they would be fooled. They would think him an eccentric noble roaming this lands, but to this child, he was a crow made human.

He had a feather cap, a mask with a beak, and his eyes had a harsh glare like a crows, so he must be a crow, right? He has to be.

The little boy stumbled to a stop, his pocketfuls of seeds slipped and tumbled to the grass. When he got on his knees to pick them up, the man with the crow feather had woken up. Or perhaps he wasn’t napping at all.

A shadow cast over his small frame. He had to look up, he can’t keep him waiting. He has to be polite, like his parents taught him.

A clawed hand reached out to him. The boy froze in place, but the hand went past him. The man reached to the side of him and delicately plucked an ajuga seed from the pile he dropped.

The Crow smiled in silence as he pocketed the seed. It was an acceptable gift. The boy grinned brightly.

He wanted to yell his thanks, but he also knows that crows are scared of loud noises, so he hushed up. He waved as enthusiastically as he could after pocketing the rest of the seeds.

He ran from the tree, excited to go home and tell his parents that he just brought them good luck. He turned around one final time to give another wave, but by then, The Crow had already left.

This lesson was an old one. Passed down from generation to generation. The Crow was old being, spreading his wings out through the eras, witnessing the rise and fall of empires and cities alike. And yet, all it takes to avoid disaster was a couple of flower seed?

Such thoughts would never enter this boy’s head until later on. All the boy could think of was, “Who are the seeds for?”

This field you and Dire were in was once barren. Wiped clean, as though even the plant life itself was considered unfit for this new world. It was an ugly thing to Dire and he’s more than sure that you would think the same, but you weren’t awake.

This island was all that’s left of what was once considered home. Look at how wretched it was, with not a single thing beyond soil to remind him that your world was lost. That it was wrong. That it had to be wiped clean so it could be better.

The island’s place here, in Asgard, it may as well be nothing more than a memorial. A reminder of your worlds past failings. Of his home’s disgrace.

And yet…

The both of you arrived here, practically in one piece, and only he woke up. Gods like you can’t die, only fade. The fact you were merely asleep meant that there’s a chance of your awakening, that you might someday greet him as you once did when he was nothing more than a bird by your side.

Perhaps Dire should consider himself lucky that you didn’t have to witness what this land had become. Perhaps he should be thanking fate and the grace of time that he was able to bring new life to it. Dire wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if the first thing you witnessed was a burnt floating clump of soil.

Right now, you rest in a small home that he built, within a plush bed that you always craved but never dared say. You always wanted to experience the simple joys of a mortal, didn’t you? To be able to sleep in, to take off your chipped armor and spend the hours away sharpening your weapon as you wait for your food to stop cooking. To be able to recline in a bed that embraced you back.

See, all of these simple joys are waiting for you, dear. All you have to do is wake up. Wake up and enjoy what duty would never give you. What his previous, weaker self couldn’t give you besides guiding you to a most beautiful flower field.

A flower field, of course he must give that to you too. And this one was of his own making. Each flower you will see, all of them he grew with his very own hand. A bird with a flight of fancy streak he no longer is. He can do more than just follow you around now.

Dire has faith that you will wake up. He has no choice but to hold it dear to his heart. When the day comes, will he curse fate for making him wait for so long?

“As usual, your fashion sense never changes, but, I can’t say it’s unfitting.” A laugh, right there on his doorstep.

Or will he thank it for finally waking you up?

“As if yours is any better, always donning that heavy armor of yours. Do you ever change?” A waver than a hitch in pitch.

Well, only time will tell.

A certain Mr. Dire Crowley has a nasty habit, a most peculiar and irritating of way of wording and phrasing things. As in, he never get to the fucking point. He dances around the issue, preferring to whisper the direct answer under a layer of wordy nonsense that means nothing to you. He wants to flaunt his feathers first, as though waxing poetic about his own graciousness will somehow soften the blow of a less than ideal answer.

“So, that is to say, in all my boundless graciousness that I have given to you, my special janitor who has saved this college and make it shone all the brighter,” Fuck, now he’s lathering you up. That’s even worse. “…”

He stopped, mouth still smiling but the sweat coming from under his mask tells all. Milking the tension for all that it’s worth, clearly just wanting to be anywhere but here. While it’s nice to know that he fears you, you do not have the patience to deal with the bullshit you’re about to pry out his mouth.

You didn’t even sigh. You grabbed at his tie and dragged him close to your face. Just to be polite, you gave a smile of your own, tense and ready to show teeth despite the way Dire threw up his hands in submission.

“Payment. Will I be paid while you’re on vacation, dear Dire Crowley?”

The students have the gift of celebrating the break with their loved ones, however you have nowhere and no one to go to. Well, most students are going but your point still stands! You’re stuck here and you still have to clean and take care of the fairies here, but the man in charge of giving you your money is going to fuck off and do whatever it is birdbrains like this man do. And you’re very sure he isn’t the kind to know how to wire your money directly to your account.

Dire’s smile was gone, a mere puckering dot on his face.

“…Maybe?”

Your eyes thinned to slits as you pressed closer, ignoring the passing students that stared at snickered at Dire’s demure hunch. Hs eyes were entirely locked onto you, unable to escape your encroaching wrath.

You gripped his collar and pulled it tight around his throat. Dire coughed but didn’t choke. Nor did he even push away. He was under your will, forced to listen to your every word.

Honestly with the amount of times you put your hands on this man, you’re starting to suspect he likes it. You’re more than sure he can fight back. Sure, you’ve seen the way the students like to mock and slander Dire’s name but never do they bother to physically fight back. Sure, it could just be a set of institutional rules stopping them—if you managed get kicked out of the NRC, good luck being worth anything with that stain—but you’re sure there are students that want to try.

But they don’t. Which brings up the question on why Dire even tolerates your behavior that’s on grounds of being fired. And yet here he is, mind still working its gears before he finally gave up and submitted to your demands.

“…You’ll be paid. Extra even, for overtime.”

You let him go. Dire caught himself and adjusted his hat. And now he’s back to that high stance of pride, albeit just a bit chipped.

“That’s a good boy.” Shit, Divus is rubbing on you. Oh well, it’s worth it. Dire shoulder’s twitched, the light sway of his head almost mechanical. “Glad to see you’re a fair man, Dire.”

Sure, you won’t get a vacation but eventually you will! Especially with all the money you’re getting.

Never underestimate how long faeries can party. You knew what you were getting into. Why else would you prepare five days worth of food, water and a sleeping bag? You were invited and you had no way of rejecting it lest you gain their ire. Especially when apparently your little faerie buds blabbed about you to their queen.

You felt the way Vil, Leona, Kalim and Jamil were gazing at you when you showed up with that heavy bag. They were going to go in and out. You were not. You were stuck.

And fuck man, you are sore.

You really didn’t want to get up. You just wanted to lay there, and sleep the century away. But no. You have money to make.

But, turns out, when you dragged yourself to the pathway containing those large and detailed statues haunting your dreams, you found that red headed coyote, Mateo aggressively sweeping the stone path. Behind him, two students from Heartslabyul were stuffing dead leaves and garbage into a bag. And a student from Pomefiore was meticulously wiping the statues clean of any moss.

The first ones to notice you were the two friends of Mateo, all of them big in built, but had the tiniest of ears.

“It’s the Janitor!” They yelled in unison.

Since when were you a celebrity?

“…mornin…”

Your heavy leaning against the statue caught their attention. Mateo, always eager to please, pushed the Heartslabyul students out of the way and grabbed the bags filled with only leaves.

And promptly made a make shift throne for you to sit on. Apparently word of your five days of partying did not go unheard. And, in response to that, apparently a “Clean Up Crew” club of sorts was established.

“You don’t have to do anything Chief,” Mateo brandished his broom while the other students shuffled behind him, packed together in classic Savanaclaw solidarity, “Just leave this mess to us!”

“It’s… Beautiful…” Ah, there he is, the man of the hour, the bird that you make pay and pay plentiful. “Ah, the camaraderie, their admiration of you that inspired them to come together and establish this club for themselves!” Dire wiped a tear, like his face wasn’t completely soaked in tears and snot. “Never in my years have I seen such a precious thing!”

Huh.

“You didn’t make the club yourself?” You wouldn’t past him to make this club and subtly force students to participate. “I’m shocked.”

Dire choked on his spit before whipping to you in shock. “Do you think that low of me? To take advantage of students and levy my own work?”

“Yes.” He ain’t subtle about it, and you’re number one example of such a thing.

“Can you at least let me enjoy this beautiful moment?” Dire wiped at his face.

“Nope.” As long as you’re resting up, you’re gonna torment him just to entertain yourself.

You’re not a teacher. You don’t have to worry about events and class plans beyond being mindful of the hours of when they end so you can quickly get in, clean, and get out. As such, Dire not doing his paperwork and coming up with every excuse under the sun to avoid it wasn’t something you minded too much. He pays you and he pays you on time, generally speaking.

However, you just so happen to be a convenient ear for one of your coworkers. Divus specifically. Mozus had his grievances but was more content to be snippy rather than drop the weight of a rant on you. And Vargas… just continues on unbothered. That man does what he wants and will bulldoze his way into getting his plans done no matter the setbacks.

It didn’t bother you, Dire’s neglect of his work. You just let the professors rant as much as they want because you had assumed that it wouldn’t effect you in the least.

That was until you were called to clean up Dire’s office for the first time. Perhaps you were being punished for not taking Divus’s complaints seriously at the time, either way, it clicked in your head that Dire’s mess, when it becomes big enough, will suddenly become your mess.

You got paid extra at least, but your wrists had an annoying amount of pain in them after sorting through everything.

So, here you were again, in Dire’s office with a mountain of papers looking down upon you. Practically reached the ceiling.

“Hmm,” you frowned, then grumbled, “no.”

Even with the extra pay, you know very well what’s going to happen if you clean up with mess, again. Let a person be comfortable with extra services and they’ll come to assume you’ll do it without saying. You’re not an office assistant. Sorting papers is not your job and you’re not used to knowing which should be thrown and what should be kept. You know next to nothing about this world, you should not be in charge of these kinds of delicate matters.

To the side of the room, belly first on a sofa you knew wasn’t there before, was Dire Crowley snoring away way too loud to be anything but fake. His hat was on the floor while his mask leaned against the side of it. Probably was actually napping before you came in here. If he wanted to get away, it’s too late now.

“Hey, Dire,” you walked over to his couch and knocked on his head, “Get your sorry ass up.”

He flinched and clenched up every muscle, his fake snores now incredibly shaky and almost whistle-like, but he continues to play dumb with you. Wow, he’s really dedicated to avoiding any and all responsibilities like a kid, huh? Bastard.

He had his chance and you were, unfortunately, very irritated. You reached and grasped the back of his collar in a tightened fist. You lifted Dire just a bit, only enough to make your point. “Hey,” you whispered after leaning down, your torso practically consuming Dire’s, “Get up. I’m not organizing your shit like some greenhorn office worker. If you don’t get these papers done, I’m going to burn them all. Got it?”

You let go and hopped back just as Dire shot up and shoved his hand over his face. Without his sight, his knees slipped and fell sprawling on the floor. You gave him the slightest of mercies and nudged his hat and mask towards his searching hand.

Once his mask was situated on his face, Dire coughed into his fist but continued to kneel on the floor. It’s a weird habit Dire’s recently gained but you won’t complain about it. At least he knew his place.

“I’ll,” he cleared his throat again, rubbing at the red skin of his neck before gripping his knees tightly, “I’ll get the paperwork done…”

“Good,” you said before kicking back on the couch, “I’ll wait here.”

Wow, this is a good couch. Comfy. Yeah you’ll probably take a nap on it while Dire does his things.

“Now this one,” you pointed to the group photo with a dinged up Grim, Ace and Deuce while you stood in the middle completely blemish free, “this one was the first photo I’ve ever taken with the camera. Right after the we came out of the mines and Grim and I got admitted.”

The mask in the mirror squinted before letting out a small, “Hmm,” of acknowledgment. “Admitted as a half of a whole student, if I remember correctly.”

Bitterness built up in you at that. Not even considered a full student but half a student. As though your lack of magic made you less than a person. And what doesn’t help is that your input on a lot of things held less sway than Grim because he had magic. Dumbass he may be, a lot of folks seem to gravitate towards asking for his opinion first.

Dammit, you came in the coffin. You’re an official student because the damn horse brought you here. Whatever qualifications this college had, apparently you made the cut despite what you lacked, so the fact that Grim of all things was your only ticket in kinda pissed you off. And the majority of your grade depend on him too.

Shit’s unfair.

“That doesn’t make you happy.” He simply stated, with no indication that it’s meant to comfort you, but still didn’t feel cold enough to tick you off.

“Of course it doesn’t. First few hours in this college and already I’m being looked down upon. Nothing says ”I’m lesser than you,“ then not even being considered a full student.” Probably not a good idea to vent, but you have a pretty good feeling this Dark Mirror isn’t one to prattle on on information not meant for the ears of others. “I know this is a place for magic to be cultivated, but ugh!”

You stuffed your face into your photo album. “I’d rather be a janitor than just a mere half student. But it’s too late to pull out now. It just, it just frustrates me that the only thing keeping Grim from being a full student is that the carriage didn’t bring him here.”

The mask blinked. “I suppose that is the case. Had he come in a coffin, he would’ve been assigned a dorm. But, I don’t look into those that haven’t been brought here by the carriage.”

You huffed. You weren’t really all the interested in being a student here. You’re more than content to just watch the others pop off their own magic while you stayed in the background doing cleaning and being paid, but, in your own need to have some protection, you kept Grim and suddenly Crowley decided your reward should be your admission. “If Grim and I end up separated, he at least has a good chance of survival, but I’d be dead within seconds if I meet anything with just a tiny ounce of magic. You’d think Crowley would give me some kind of accommodation or some magical tool to make up for my no-magic situation but…”

“I’m afraid such things either don’t exist, or are extremely limited.”

You scoffed. “Let me guess, it’s because people don’t want to waste resources on the non-magics when people with magic can use these tools so much better?”

“…”

You snapped your finger. “Figured. People in power really are predictable, aren’t they?”

You flipped through the album, adjusting the thing on your knees. “Well, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let me show you some fairies I took pictures of. They sure like to pose when they can.”

You were walking with your eyes more closed than open. The sunlight coming through the windows was just so warm, still delicate in its dawning hours, and the comfortable air inside this college was only making you more sleepy.

Grim was much the same, but he didn’t have an excuse like yours. He just decided to stay up late and watch movies while you were cleaning out empty classrooms.

You’re very grateful for the fairies and ghosts that swept down and helped you with your work. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten some hours of sleep.

“I wanna sleep more,” Grim whined as he entered his class while you stopped by the door, “Can’t I just skip?”

“And get my ass blasted for you?” You’re sleepy, not drunk and stupid. If you let him skip once, he will try and skip again and again until it becomes a habit and he’ll get kicked out of this place again. And getting yelled at would piss you off. “Go to your seat. It’s too late to back out anyway.”

Grim gave a sleepy growl, but floated away to his seat anyway. He promptly fell asleep on it, flat on his belly.

Divus had an eyebrow raised the moment your crass mouth opened. You ignored that and just nodded your head in greeting.

“Morning.” A yawn elongated the word. You covered your mouth in case spit flew out. You waved just as he nodded back, “Good bye.”

“Hold on,” Divus put down his papers. Probably lesson plans since he didn’t have his grading pen on the desk. “Come in for a moment. Class hasn’t started yet. We have more than enough time to chat.”

You really don’t want to though. You’re sleepy and your bed is calling out to you. The sheets were freshly washed too.

You shook your head, “I’m good. I just want sleep.”

Divus hummed, the smile undeterred. “Well, if you don’t want to talk, at least drink this. It took me a while to prepare, and I even went out of my way to get this pastry for you.”

The crinkle of parchment paper immediately parted the sleepiness clouding your mind. Your nose caught the wafting scent coming from his hands.

You narrowed your eyes at Divus, who’s smile went from confident to downright smug.

“You bargaining bastard.” There was no bite to your tone, only amusement as you walked in and grabbed the pastry he held out to you. You grabbed a chair and set it right next to his desk. You took a big bite just as Divus slid a cup close to your elbow. “So, what’s up?”

You know whatever gossip he had must be good when he took out his crop and gently tapped it against his hand.

“Well, let me tell you what happened earlier…”

“I hate you, Divus.” You sleepily mumbled on your chair, sending the entire classroom into an almost suffocating silence. Grim almost lost his grip on his potion had Divus not tapped him on the head.

“Can you at least keep quiet about your animosity towards me?” He wasn’t the least bit annoyed. If anything, he’s grateful for it. All the little pups here have finally shut their mouths. Though, he would love it if their attention was towards their work and not at you practically falling out of your chair in sleepiness.

“I’ll shove your head in a blender. I should be sleeping right now.” You pushed yourself up right, pressing your fingers against your eyes. Divus does have eye drops handy, grading papers is no easy task, but you’d reject the offer out of spite. “You know I work nightshifts.”

“I’m aware,” otherwise he wouldn’t have offered to give you the extra money that he knows Headmage Crowley won’t bother to pay, “However this particular day requires an interesting potion mixture. And said mixture can get a bit” An explosion of liquid and smoke come from Ace’s group. Of course. “-messy…”

“Haha…” Ace backed away from Divus with the smacking crop in his hands, “Oops?”

Divus cracked the crop against the lid of the cauldron. “You failed. Go get yourself cleaned up and be ready for a remedial course later.”

Divus had trained the students well enough to let them know talking back does nothing. Ace sputtered, but ultimately backed away.

“It hasn’t even been ten minutes…” You grumbled, hunched over. Divus supposes he was cruel in insisting you be here to clean up while he focuses on teaching. However, both you and him have jobs, and they must be completed.

…Divus will do something extra for you once this was over. Perhaps a head massage from yours truly to lull you to sleep? Ah, but you do throw yourself into your self study sessions, so there might not be much time for that.

Before Divus could get a word in to your comment, you walked over to the window and opened it.

You took a deep breath and shouted, “Whoever can clean up this classroom will get a Turkish delight!”

Divus shifted in his coat, listening to the quiet wind but found nothing else.

“What are you-”

A light buzz, then a storm of bells and fluttering fairy wings zipped past you and Divus. They clamored in his ears, little hands setting his hair strands back in place. Blue fairies used their water magic to pick up the gunk that spilled over the floor. Wind fairies carried the smoke out with a simple twirl of their bodies. Fire fairies relit the cauldrons.

Fairies hated the scents of those that weren’t like them, so to see them willing to even clean him and his students up had him frozen in place.

Once they were done, they all but dropped everyone in favor of clamoring over you. A green fairy even laid themselves on your head, patting your forehead to hurry up as you pulled out a crinkled bag of starch covered delights.

You pulled the tie off, opening the bag for them all. The scent of roses hit Divus’s nose. “Have at it.”

All swooped in and tore it apart, trying to steal the biggest pieces for themselves. Some of them chose to leave, but others chose to stay and sit on your shoulders, having their sweet lunch with you as you relaxed back in your chair.

Since when did you gain the favor of these fairies? They obeyed you at the drop of a hat.

Divus felt his smile grow sharp. Amazing. You have them all collared to your commands.

Before you changed into this outfit prepared by Divus, you almost had to physically fight the three little faeries that wanted to see you change.

Well, that sounds horrible, they just wanted a first look at what was given to you but you value your personal space. Yeah, you know they have a different perspective on nudity, little to no feelings of shame within them, but you don’t want to give the impression that they’re free to bother you at any time.

Well, at least they like you enough to be well behaved and willing to tolerate Divus, Vil, Leona, Kalim and Jamil all in the same room. You know they don’t like it, but you don’t want those little faeries to be in your space.

Anyways…

Divus really has his work cut out for him. If he wasn’t a teacher, you’re more than sure he’d be a high end fashion designer with multiple shops clamoring for rights to sell his clothing. On such short notice, you were expecting the fabric and the silver accents to be rushed, but the end results were something to marvel.

While it’s easy to see that teaching is his passion, this too was part of it.

As soon as you walked into the room, you asked, “How the fuck did you figure out my measurements?”

You’re not all that concerned to be perfectly honest. You’ve known Divus long enough to know he’s not a creep or a stalker. You just chalked it up to magical bullshit. Or scarily accurate estimations.

“What?” Divus had that specific smile that told you he ain’t telling you anything. His own little secret. Yeah, it’s probably just really good estimations. If it was magic, he would divulge it so. “You’re not going to thank me. Certainly I didn’t have time to go all out but it’s still my work you’re wearing.”

“Oh yeah,” you looked down, just to make sure it’s still just as neat to look at. It is. “It’s nice. Comfy. And stylish. Should get the job done.”

You could’ve given more details but you just to mess with Divus. You like the bastard best when he isn’t wearing that smug smile. The frown he has is funnier.

“Eloquent.” Sarcasm lathered his tone.

“I know.” You snorted.

A chorus of little bells came from above you. Rapid little chimes, high pitched, almost harsh.

“Huh?” You looked up, the little fire, water and wood faerie swooping down and buzzing around you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Those tones,” Divus crossed his arms, “are they angry, perhaps?”

The wood faerie stopped and tugged at your sleeve, wiping their hands over the silver accents as though it offends them. The water faerie was in front of you, looking between you and the group on the other side of the room practicing their routine, visibly distressed. The fire faerie was…

…they were heading right towards Divus. They spat fire from their hands, though Divus, with a quick flick of his whip, was easily diverted. Luckily it didn’t hit anything, and that was the only attack the faerie did.

Finally, the three little faeries cool down somewhat from their anger. You were able to listen to their bell voices now that they’re not blending together.

“…yeah I don’t think they like the outfit, Divus.” Shame, you liked it.

“I figured as such.” His eyebrow twitched. He crossed his arms. “And why is that?”

You strained an ear, listening to their chimes.

“Huh…” Oh boy. “’This outfit is not fit to dance with our queen,’ they said.”

“And while she never witnessed the bell, she was always enchanted by its sound,” Mozus’s voice was soft in the way one cups a flower blooming in the soft frost of winter: delicately, yet still filled with the strength of love.

“Oh? Tell me more,” you couldn’t help but lean into his view with an exaggerated stretch of your spine, arms gripped behind your back. “Remember, you promised me more stories about her, Mozus.”

Mozus didn’t twitch nor lose any gram of composure. His back was still straight, but it seemed as though gravity added weight to his shoulders. “I remember well. Though I must ask, why are you so interested about such a subject?”

“Because you practically grow twenty years younger whenever you talk about your wife,” it wasn’t a radiant glow so much as it was a gentle light that bloomed from within Mozus’s heart, blanketing his shoulders in a shroud of dancing spring air, “it’s very sweet, seeing how much you love her so. Of course I want to hear you talk about your fond memories all day.”

It was a rare thing to witness from Mozus, so of course you want him to continue speaking of those years, so as long as it doesn’t hurt him. He may be an older gentlemen, and while you don’t have a clue as to what age he became a widower, to lose his wife before the age of sixty seemed far too young to lose a loved one. When you hear of stories of old couples dying, you imagine their backs curved, hands knobby and skin slack with laugh lines so deep in their faces their eyes practically vanish, and yet the twinkle in them is still there.

You don’t know the amount of years that have past after Mozus’s wife’s death, but it seems to have been enough for him to have come to terms with his grief, to speak of her memory, both good and bad.

Perhaps it was too casual an action, lightly tapping your elbow on his arm to goad him into talking more stories, but there’s something about Mozus that you just can’t help but want to be a bother him a bit. And you’re happy when you heard that tired gruff of a sigh come out of him, like you’re an insistent kid from the playground that wanted to listen to stories instead of being on the monkey bars.

“Be patient,” Mozus shook his head but it wasn’t a verbal ‘no,’ “I’ll make do on my promise, but right now we’re on Noble Bell College’s campus, and we’d do well to listen to the years of history embedded within the walls and minds of the students here.”

“Gotcha gotcha,” you straightened yourself out, disappointed but not surprised, “I’ll be sure to remind you if you do forget.”

He won’t, you’re sure of it, but you may as well give him a warning in advance that you’re going to be a bother until you get those stories.

“—so retrace your steps and peel the skin from those fruits before just tossing them into the cauldron. Do you want to make noxious fume—hmm?” Ace nearly melted into the floor out of relief when Professor’s Crewel’s attention went right over to you, dozing away on your chair. Though, he couldn’t help the yelp escaping his throat when the crop snapped against the table. “Be a good boy and remember what I just said. If I smell so much as a hint of burning, you will fail.”

Ace had to keep the urge to kick out Professor Crewel’s knees inside when he turned around. Yeah yeah, he messed up and nearly knocked everyone out, but at least he disposed of it before it got too bad. Doesn’t he deserve credit for knowing how to do that? Apparently not, but as much as Ace wanted to bark all that out, he was more interested in Professor Crewel’s business.

Well, not just him, the part of the classroom that wasn’t made up of good little dogs all either slowed down or paused what they were doing as soon as the professor got within proximity of you. Ace can practically see all the perked up ears. Can’t really blame them. While a lot of things happen in this college, it’s usually of the magical variety. Nothing to do with personal relationships.

And this is Professor Crewel he’s talking about. Ace has been around campus long enough to know the sort of habits the professor had. Rarely did he ever get closer than crop whipping distance with anyone. Much like Vil, he kept a certain distance as though his very presence was a reward that should be seldom given, that one should be proud that they given you the time of day.

People like that naturally piss off Ace with only a smile. Makes him want to wipe it off by dumping paint all over their clothes. Yeah yeah, the things they’ve done to be the way that they are are impressive, but still!

So, of course Ace wants to see if the rumors about their relationship are true. Because then he can nag at you until you drop all the deets and little secrets you probably have. And then Ace can look forward to those A’s rolling right in.

“Is my class really boring you that much?” And already, Professor Crewel was way closer than he usually is with anyone. He wasn’t in front of you so much as he was to the side and leaning in, his smile promising mischief.

You didn’t react or retract back, as though this proximity was natural. You just nodded and propped your chin on the back of the chair. “I wouldn’t know. Wasn’t paying attention. Had to clean last minute last night, Crowley’s orders.”

The smile was wiped off and for a second Ace thought he was going to bring out the crop and snap it against his desk, but instead he actually set the thing down. He turned back and Professor Crewel cupped your face with his palms and tilted it towards him.

And you didn’t mind. You were practically too sleepy to do so.

“In that case, you should’ve messaged me. You already get little to no sleep as is.” Soft, Professor Crewel’s voice was soft as though he was genuinely concerned for you. “I would’ve understood. You’re practically falling off.”

“I’ll be fine, I just don’t want to leave it to the faeries. Don’t want to give the impression that I like using them,” you sighed out and opened your eyes, “Anyways, you can let go of me now, Divus.”

And he promptly retracted his hands, “My bad.” He said, even though the smile he has says the opposite.

You rubbed at your face, as though trying to get the sensation off, “Do I really look that bad? You keep touching my face.”

…wait a minute, so does this mean you and Professor Crewel aren’t in a relationship?

“Only sleeping for three hours at a time will make anyone look their worst.”

“That’s a yes then.”

What is going on? Are they shagging or not?

There’s really something unfair about the way magic works on your body.

You’ve seen the way bruises receded on pale skin, the way orange sized bumps became nothing without a stretch mark to be seen. You’ve seen the way gashes with gushing wounds would just close without needing so much as a stitch or a scar.

Like magic, injuries and wounds became nothing. Therefore, one could toss a fire spell, aim it at anyone and not worry about what’s left behind.

But, that’s how the bodies of these people’s work. Not yours. The wounds knit together just fine, but they always leave something.

Scars on your hands from swinging branches. Stretch marks from nearly being pulled apart. Patches of scars on your arms from when you nearly lost all the skin there. Little pinhole scars on your shoulders. Some on your thighs and ankles from when the skin sloughed off.

So many, all in a compacted space of time. You look in the mirror and somehow your brain just can’t register that this was you now. It’s annoying. Irritating. At least you have clothes and gloves. At least none of them are out of place.

“Well?” Ashton wiggled your new tracksuit in your face, somehow managing to drag you away from your books for some light exercise. The sleeves were too short.

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed out, tugging your fraying collar over your neck, lightly scratching the little raised bumps there, “No need for any of that.”

Something irritated you about the way Ashton didn’t push it. Just, gave in instead of doing that bulldozing over your answer until you gave in shtick.

Sam was…Sam.

“Sam, mind getting some clothes for me?” This wasn’t the first time. If anything, it’s become routine. Usually has some very nice clothing at decent prices.

“Of course!” He always happy to make a sale. “I’ll even throw in some gloves as a bonus.”

He’s been throwing in all sorts of clothing bonuses since…well since you started wearing long sleeves over anything. He doesn’t need to do that and yet he does so anyway.

Annoying, but you don the gloves anyway. They fit perfectly, as always.

Mozus is at least tolerable. He never speaks more than needed. He even closed his eyes when you had to take off your jacket to air yourself out when you were in the staff room.

You appreciate it, and yet it still rubbed at you the wrong way all the same. You never said you hated the way your skin healed over and yet Mozus knew enough to leave you to your privacy.

Divus wasn’t any better.

“You sure you don’t need any help with that?” He asked after you were sure he went to recount the ingredients for his next class…

“No, it’s fine,” you sighed out again after putting the box on the desk, gently rolling your shoulders, pain thankfully missing, “No need for any of that.”

He never asked before. Why’s he asking now? You’ll ask for help when you need it.

And Dire…

“Stop looking,” You scratched at your wrist, pulling up the sleeve to cover it, “it’s annoying.”

That mask does nothing to hide where his eyes are landing. Doesn’t help that his irises are just, bright little lamps.

Really, what can you do besides just live with this? Eventually, a new normal should set in. You just hope it’s sooner rather than later.