Chapter Text
He has to make up his mind.
You repeat that same thought all afternoon, night, and in the morning, too.
It echoes off the stone walls of your mind, following you down the cold, quiet hall of the school at first light.
Does he hate me, or does he not?
You peer out from around the corner, spying for nosy student council members or gossipy janitors. You haven't seen a single person in the school besides he who you will not dignify by name since the vote, but, well… it doesn't feel right just to stroll into the Headmaster's office.
Creeping down the cold, empty hall, you nudge a certain wooden door with the toe of your boot- it gives. Excellent. Just as you had thought, no one but Rollo would be in school during break, and Rollo would never steal from the Headmaster.
Not that you're stealing.
Just… browsing!
Some light post-Christmas window shopping, for a certain cocky blond…
You push the door open and slip inside. It closes behind you with a graceful, sweeping thud, rattling the bookshelves lining the walls of the enclave of academia. Two doors- no, three. Headmaster's office, teacher lounge, bathroom.
But you're not looking for secrets. You're looking for school files. And school files would be…
You eye an ornate wooden desk by the door. Receptionist.
Jackpot.
…
With Phoenix's address tucked tightly under your arm, scribbled onto a piece of scrap paper with one of the fancy office quills, you venture out into the city.
Whether or not you return tonight depends wholly on how this goes.
In short, you're done trying to play Rollo's little game of tug-of-war. He pulls, you pull harder. He pushes, you push back. You stretch and tow and tug until you tear yourself to pieces… like yesterday.
No more guerrilla warfare. If Rollo wants to ruin his life, fine.
But he's not dragging you down with him.
You can at least get a little satisfaction out of the situation, though. Which brings you here, to a gated neighborhood of high roofs and chandeliers, fountains and garden statues, houses lined in black marble and gold, and a number nailed to a door.
6991 Rue Apollon. Phoenix Bussiere, third year, transfer from Royal Sword Academy, said the student records. Not surprising- he has the look of a prince.
And the palace, too.
You almost whistle at the marble monster you stop in front of. As blue as the sky, ornate details carved into the stone, curling in leaves and flowers and symbols you don't even recognize, reaching to the heavens with open palms. It's a sight to behold, but not exactly a pretty one- the snow here is muddy, and there's grime set deep in each crack in the stone.
You swallow something- fear, rage, pride, whatever- and pound on the door with the lion-faced knocker.
No one answers.
You try again.
Nothing.
Not one to give up without a fight (actually, you just don't feel like walking the hour and a half back to school while your legs are still wobbling), you knock again.
This time, an older woman answers the door. You might have mistaken her for Phoenix's grandmother, but she's dressed in an apron and dish gloves. Maid.
Right, these are rich people.
"Bonjour. Puis-je vous aider?" she asks.
…Uh…
"Hello," you try, "Is Phoenix here?"
She doesn't seem to really understand you, but she gets the picture. Wow, you really take the translation spell at Night Raven College for granted.
"Monsieur Phoenix!" she calls into the house.
He must be home, then. And sure enough, a few minutes later, he comes down the stairs, in a blue sweater and brown slacks.
…Too casual for the handsome student council vice president you're used to.
"Oh," he says when he sees you, "Hi."
"Hi,"
"What are you doing here?"
"I came to see you,"
He blinks. Either oblivious or overeager (or both?) he opens the door to you.
"We're about to have lunch,"
…
The dining room is long. Too long. And narrow. More of a hallway than a room. You barely have enough room to pull out your chair, but you squeeze in anyhow.
Even the fireplace is condensed, packed tight to fit between the wall and the door, as if sucking in its breath.
"…"
You stare at Phoenix's parents. He doesn't bother telling you their names.
They're maman and papa, and that's all.
You sit next to Phoenix. His parents sit across from you. Father, quiet and vacant. Hasn't even looked at his plate. Just sort of stares at the window with no real curiosity, intrigue, or even boredom in his eyes. His mother is the complete opposite, twitching and fidgeting, crossing and recrossing her legs, drumming her fingers on the table. The only thing they have in common is that neither has eaten anything yet. Phoenix is sitting on your left, boxing you in against the wall, as if protecting you.
From what? You wonder.
"C'est qui, déjà ?" his mother asks.
You blink, turning to Phoenix for help.
"Une amie," he answers. "A friend. I told you a few minutes ago. Remember, maman?"
"Ah, c'est vrai,"
You shift uncomfortably. You're really very hungry, and their chef had served a tantalizing, savory stew, but you can't eat under this stress.
Maybe if you had felt this uncomfortable in the bell tower, you wouldn't have fallen asleep.
Rollo has never frightened you. Even when upset. Even when petty and spiteful. Even when fire lotuses were spreading through the city like plague…
"You there," his mother addresses you in a shaky accent. You look up.
"Ehh… 'ow is school?"
"Good," you say. Maybe you should've paid more attention to Rook Hunt's idle chit-chat… you might be able to respond in a language she understands.
"She's watching the bell, maman. Working with Rollo Flamme," Phoenix says. His sincere tone hits you with a wave of guilt, and you can no longer stomach the thought of lunch, becoming yet another victim to the stillness and inaction of the household you had stumbled into.
"She took my place. Remember, you didn't want me to go? You thought I might get sick?"
"Oui, je m'en souviens," she mutters. "Tu serais mort de froid."
Phoenix sighs.
You lean in to him. "What did she say?"
"That I would've frozen to death," he whispers back.
You say nothing to that. Now is not the time to bring up your most recent mistake…
His mother stifles a sob in her napkin, startling you. When did she start crying??
"Tu t'obstines à faire des choses dangereuses. Pourquoi veux-tu briser le cœur de ta mère ?"
You don't ask what that means. Something tells you that it's too long of a story to be whispered over cold stew.
His mother openly weeps into her hands. His father sits there and does nothing.
Phoenix takes his napkin off his lap and smooths it on the table. You watch him stand, and gesture for you to follow.
…
Stepping into the afternoon makes you realize that the house was no warmer than the winter morning outside of it.
"We have a heating system now," Phoenix explains as you walk down the road. "But she doesn't like using it."
You follow him, footsteps packing snow and frost into the earth in your wake. "The cost?"
He shakes his head. "She thinks dust is toxic. She doesn't like that the vents can't be cleaned,"
Huh. Considering Phoenix's relative normality, especially compared to Rollo, you never would have pinned his family as the eccentric type.
You don't even ask about his father.
"Do you get along with them?" you ask. "Your parents, I mean."
Phoenix shrugs. "They're my parents,"
He says nothing else. You don't push it.
You wonder about Rollo's parents. Are they the same type of out-of-touch rich people? Vacant, neurotic, suspicious? He mentioned that he had a difficult time with them, but never said why.
You suppose you'll never know.
"So, what now?" you ask.
"Now?" Phoenix raises an eyebrow. "I thought I was walking you back to school."
You resist the urge to make an expression of pure disgust. Rollo is probably counting on that- you crawling back to the bell tower, begging for another chance…
…It's what you've done all break, after all.
He's likely waiting right now. Seated neatly. Legs crossed, hands folded in his lap, expression stern.
You almost chuckle at the mental image of him brooding on that tiny stool.
"Uh… if it's all the same to you…" you say, glancing at Phoenix. "I wouldn't mind spending the day together."
His face goes through a few different phases. Confused, then curious, then elated.
"Well, who am I to deny a lady?" he says, holding out an arm for you to take.
…
"How have you been enjoying the city?" he asks, dusted in powdered sugar and icing.
You offer a napkin before answering, and he mops up the remains of the pastry on his chin. Very suave, you think with a chuckle.
"I haven't been," you say, and then- "I haven't seen much of it, I mean. I've mostly been in the school."
"Yikes,"
"Yikes" is correct.
"I mean… it's a nice place and all, but, you know… an empty building for two weeks?" he whistles lowly. "Must get lonely."
You almost correct him. You almost remind him that Rollo's there, every day. Sweeping. Dusting. Shining the Bell.
But you don't. The words won't leave your mouth.
Your eyes fall to your feet. "Yeah. Lonely,"
The silence only lasts for half a second. Phoenix clocks that look on your face, and instead of letting it linger, or silently brooding about it, or whatever the hell That Guy would do, he smiles.
"Well, then… let me give you my special, exclusive, sun guard city tour!"
You glance up at him, lips twitching, threatening to smile. "Your what?"
"Oh, heh," he grins, patting the crest on his sweater. "The guard of the city are called the Sun Guard, after this one famous hero who saved a falsely-accused criminal from being arrested inside a cathedral… but, uh, that's just where the name comes from. It's really just paperwork. My dad was in the force, and his dad…"
"…And… you, too?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
Phoenix's expression tightens. "…Yeah. Someday,"
He doesn't say more than that.
Instead of dragging out the lingering tension, he grabs you by the hand and pulls you deeper into the snowy city, leaving footprints as proof of your existence outside of the walls of Noble Bell.
…
The air, though dry, still feels inviting and soft.
Snowflakes dust your cheeks and cling to your coat. Steam rises from chimneys and warmth follows you through every open door.
The shops in Fleur City had returned in full swing, promising new year deals and post-Christmas gift sales, chocolates wrapped in paper, toys boxes adorned with ribbon, winter hats and scarves in bag after bag…
Phoenix dusts some snow off your shoulder. "Pretty, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Your breath is visible in the chilly air. "Much different from Sage's Island."
He grins. "Completely,"
You blink, and then remember what his school file had said. Transferred from Royal Sword Academy.
"You're, er… familiar?"
"I went to school at Royal Sword Academy. I'm not sure if you know it,"
Oh, don't you. The boys back at Night Raven would totally lose their minds if they knew you were casually strolling down the sheet with a Royal Sword Academy student.
…Well, a former one, anyway.
"Why'd you transfer?" you ask, narrowly dodging a woman lugging grocery bags full of ingredients for dinner. The baguette sticking out of one nearly decapitates you.
Phoenix shrugs. "My mom wanted me closer to home,"
Ah. Not his choice, then.
And not unlike Rollo, he just accepted it. That word comes back to mind, ANANKE.
"Do you miss it there?" you ask. "…I've never been inside Royal Sword before."
"It was pretty spectacular," he says, "…But nothing beats the holidays in Fleur City."
You smile warmly at that- not necessarily agreeing, but… appreciating that he's sparing you his complaints. Or maybe he's just that positive.
He's a sunny guy, after all.
"Oh, here we go. C'mon, candles!" he says, dragging you towards another specialty shop.
…
The sun is setting.
You had long missed the sound of the noon bell, no doubt drowned in the stifling walls of Phoenix's home, and the afternoon had escaped between the chocolate tastings and candle selections.
Now it was late. You weren't quite ready to go back, yet.
"Well, I think that about sums it up," he says, leading you out of your fourth or fifth toy store of the day (browsing the rows of hand puppets and specialty wooden blocks). "Anywhere you want to go?"
You blink at that. What a funny thing to ask.
Before today, you wouldn't have known a single place in this city by name.
The sky darkens. Gold melts into periwinkle, and the first stars of evening come out of the clouds. The snow had slowed, and then vanished, some hours ago.
Candles, adorned with holly and pine, burn in windows across the city. The streetlamps light the bridges and cast a silver glow over the frozen waters of the river. The city is colder, darker, emptier… and yet…
"Oh, wait," you say, perking up, "I think I know a place."
With the image of a time table on the wall of a coffee shop burned into your head, you make way for the only place Rollo had taken you with certainty. An hour before closing means pastries are on their way to the trash at that very moment…
If you're lucky, that means free dinner.
Would Phoenix be impressed with your savvy money-saving schemes? Grim always was (or he was just happy to get free food).
Either way, it's a place you can take him to stall. Night in your bed in the bell tower has never sounded so unappealing before.
"Here we are…" you say, holding the small coffee shop door open for Phoenix. He nods his thanks to you and wanders inside.
Forty minutes before closing… oh, you're being such an annoying customer, you think, but you can't be too hard on yourself. Anything to keep you away from That Guy…
He's probably sitting up there right now, brooding over his precious Bell. Complacent in his own self-defeat and misery. Tried one thing, failed, will never try anything again. How does that work??
…And all the goodwill you'd given him…
Does he not understand that you don't really care about the Bell, or the school, or the fire lotuses, or any of that useless crap?
Does he not understand that it's not about magic or a lack thereof? That it's not about grudges or choices or destiny or fate or God's plan or ANANKE or whatever he calls it?
Does he not understand that it's about him?? That you're doing this because he's him, and you're you, and he's the only person who treats you like…
…Like…
…Like you're worth all this damn trouble?
And you just need him to know that he is, too?
Worth all of the fucking headaches, the obstacles, the lectures, the betrayal, the pouting, the drawing nearer and then abruptly pulling back, the closeness then the coldness, the brutal routine that he's been putting you through for days?
Even if he doesn't believe it himself? Even if he thinks of himself as a failure, a loser, a monster?
Doesn't he understand that people think of you in the same way?
Most of all yourself?
"You okay?"
Phoenix's voice draws you back to the moment. You blink at him, and he waves awkwardly from the counter. A twenty-something barista waiting for their order just sighs.
Long day for everyone, it seems.
"Oh," you say. "I mean… yes. Yeah. I'll have that, and anything you're about to throw out…"
You sit on the other side of the room. From where you and Rollo sat last time, you mean.
Why does your brain work this way…?
"Tapping out?" Phoenix asks, taking a sip from his mug and then wincing at the scalding temperature.
You smile a bit. "I guess. Yeah,"
"Hey, no worries," Phoenix grins. "It was a rough day. And cold. Heh, you're glowing."
He reaches out a hand and brushes his thumb across your cheek. You can only smile back as he withdraws his hand and sets it in his lap.
You raise your own mug to your lips (to blow, not to sip), when the door slams open with such a fury of wind and force that half its contents spill on the wooden floor below.
The twenty-something barista sighs louder and grabs the mop.
Your eyes turn to the intruder at the door, and there stands That Guy. In the flesh.
Fuming.
You share the sentiment, glaring at him as he storms over.
"Come," he says, voice as cold as the snow.
You turn away from him, crossing your arms. "I'm not a dog,"
"I was not-" Rollo takes a sharp, hard breath. "Please come."
"Where?"
He grumbles under his breath. "Back to the College,"
You probably should. But his attitude lately has been pissing you off, and you're not really in the mood for another guessing game. And now, the million dollar question: What's going through Rollo Flamme's head this time??
"Why should I do that?" you ask. "I'm obviously not wanted."
"I never said-" another hard breath. "Yuu. Listen to me."
You don't even dignify that with an answer.
Phoenix looks between the two of you with wide eyes, wearing a sort of… well, not confused, but not-totally-comfortable expression.
He intervenes on your behalf exactly once. "President Flamme, I don't think-"
"I don't want to hear a word out of you,"
And then he shuts up.
"Yuu," Rollo repeats that word. "I'm sorry. I was… wrong."
Your heart stills. You almost look at him- really. Your composure cracks and crumbles into a sad little pile of dust at his feet in three words.
You're not relieved, not reassured, moreso…
…Well…
…Floored.
An apology? A given. Rollo Flamme is a humble man, at least to the public. Polite, cordial, with a deep investment in social formalities. But the sound of his voice. The quiver in the admission. Simple. Plain. No explanation. No defense. Three words, I was wrong.
I was wrong, you were right. Here was a magicless nobody from a school he loathed, who had done nothing but push the limits of his patience from the moment she arrived, and here was him submitting to her.
You stand, slowly.
"You mean it?" the words tumble from your mouth before you can control them.
Rollo huffs. He crosses his arms. His gloves are scrunched and his scarf is askew, as if he just threw them on before rushing out of the school to find you.
"Yes," he says, "I was wrong to punish you for an… accident."
…Huh.
Even Phoenix, the unlucky audience to this confrontation, looks shocked.
"Well," you say. "Alright. Bye, Phoenix."
He waves, half-heartedly, as Rollo herds you out the door.
…
He stares at you.
His eyes don't leave you for more than a minute at most- intervals to think, and then reconcile with those thoughts, whatever they are.
The rest of the time, he stares.
Never too long in one place. Your eyes, your cheeks, your chapped hands, your paint-stained felt coat, your boots, your mouth, pursed lips and all…
After a little while, he gives you his scarf and his gloves and ignores you when you try to give them back. But even after that, he has a difficult time keeping his eyes to himself.
About halfway back to the school, he clears his throat.
"I expect you to be up early tomorrow to tend to the Bell,"
You glance over at him. "But I thought…"
"Never mind that," he says quickly, decisively. "I overreacted. I was only concerned that you would… hurt yourself. In the bell tower."
He mumbles those few final words, as if he was embarrassed. As if there was something to be embarrassed about.
…Was there?
You stare back. "Well… I'll be careful,"
You don't bring up the irony of him losing his mind because you might neglect yourself, when he eats a meal and a half a day and doesn't sleep. Ever.
Rollo sucks in his breath, breaking the silence.
"I dislike Bussiere," he says, "I would prefer if you did not seek out his company again."
You blink. He continues without prompting.
"It's… only… practical,"
Every syllable of that is forced. The liar. It's not practical, nor is it professional, nor is it anything but emotional. A personal dislike of Phoenix.
…And a personal… something of you.
You won't let yourself believe that Rollo was envious. Not yet. Not today.
But the thought lingers with you well into the college.