Chapter Text
It was morning. Saul had just sat down for breakfast but it was obvious that Becca was already peeved. She didn’t show any reaction when he kissed her cheek as she was making breakfast, didn’t say a word when he spoke about the weather, didn’t even acknowledge him when he read aloud the headline of an article regarding her favorite author (who was apparently about to release a new book). It was only when he asked what was wrong did she raise her head, her brow knitted, looking at him in an annoyed/surprised kind of way as though he had accused her of being prissy.
“Nothing. Why do you think there was anything wrong?”
Was that a test? Lately it was either a hit or miss on this. Most times, she was just too preoccupied in her own little world which, let’s be honest, she used to share with him all the time. But there were also instances where she was just unwilling to outright tell him what bothered her.
But it was only morning, not even six-thirty; she wasn’t this vexed last night. He couldn’t imagine what he could have done between then and now, unless it was something in her dreams.
He shrugged and ate his breakfast, trying to convince himself that this was normal. She was already dressed, ready to go to work, but didn’t leave until she had finished her tea. They started work about the same time though the difference between them was that, he was only a ten-minute walk from his whereas she was a thirty-minute drive and liked to come in an hour before official working hours. She didn’t use to before, but lately it had become a habit.
“Don’t forget to take out the trash,” she said before planting a brief kiss on his forehead and leaving.
It shouldn’t bother him, but maybe he also woke up on the wrong side of the bed because he walked to the College in a bad mood. He just came to the realization that, for the past few months, living with Becca had become stifling. It was like she was always on her period and he had to get out of her way or else set her off. It used to be fine because it was only one or two days a month. But now, he was tiptoeing in his own home. Every single day. For the past five months.
What happened?
He supposed it was the stress of her job. She worked for a financial institution and half the things she said, he didn’t understand. She was recently promoted, which she was only too glad to have, but the downside was that she worked crazy hours. He wanted to be supportive but doing that meant giving her space, which should have been offset with intimacy the rest of the time but, slowly, the basic things began to disappear—talking, going on dates, sex.
Were they on the verge of falling apart?
The answer was immediate, hitting him in the face: yes, they very much were.
These were hardly the type of thoughts one wanted to have at seven-thirty in the morning on a Monday, so he tried to think of the work ahead. He had reached the College and was about to go in the building, when he looked behind him and saw another early bird who just happened to be his least favorite person.
Dawn.
It wasn’t like he hated her. It was more that she hated him. He didn’t know why or since when, but he didn’t interact with her that much so he left it alone. It might even go back to their days as students here in Alfea, but they moved in different circles then. She dated some dick who happened to be royalty from some other country (she was actually known as the girlfriend of that royal dick—that and a stupid rumor that got around), while he was being groomed by Rosalind along with Farah, Ben and Andreas. And they still moved in different circles now, him being Headmaster of the Specialists, her being in the Farah's fairy faculty.
Any other day, he would do the same thing he normally did whenever she was around, which was remain civil and then move on. But having come to the realization that he had been staying out of his own girlfriend’s way for the past five months, he found it impossible to do that. In fact, he was feeling petty, never mind that it was directed at the wrong person. He was bound to piss her off no matter what, whether he kept his mouth shut or not. And it wasn’t like he didn’t occasionally talk to her and then inadvertently ruin her day for some reason.
She pedaled her bike to the wide driveway and arched toward the cycle rack at the side of the building. Already, he caught her eye and, already, there was the immediate frown on her face. She dismounted and was soon bent down, taking her time locking her bike, no doubt expecting him to be gone by the time she finished. But he didn’t move from his spot by the entrance. He felt a strange kind of satisfaction in watching her stand up slowly and further delay herself by rummaging in her bag, giving him time to disappear. They were a mere ten steps apart but, aside from that first instance when their eyes met, she avoided looking at him, pretending he wasn’t there. She continued to dig through that grocery-sized bag hooked on her shoulder, not at all taking a forward step.
She decided that it was the phone she had been looking for, which she now took out and browsed through, still not walking.
He grinned. Whatever kind of morning he had, he was now enjoying himself.
“Good morning, Dawn,” he yelled.
The woman feigned absorption in whatever she was reading on her phone and didn’t greet him back. But she had to move some time, and he was willing to wait. She tapped, tapped, tapped on her phone, engrossed, until finally, she put it away and looked up at him.
Her lips curved into an unmistakable smile, although one would be forgiven in describing it as a forced one. There was a marked tightness on it, as though she was just preparing for a sigh, making her way toward the entrance and him.
“Mr. Silva,” she nodded when she was near enough.
“Please. Call me Saul.”
The smile that didn’t reach her eyes widened. “I see you’re earlier than usual.”
She went ahead and passed him to get to the entrance and he followed.
“Don’t I usually come in at this time?”
“No.”
“I could have sworn.”
“I usually come in at this time.”
“How come we never see each other then?”
“Because you don’t come in—” she stopped, realizing she was about to repeat herself. Instead, as they turned to the left wing, him on his way to his office while she headed for the teacher’s lounge, she asked, “How was your weekend? Finally took a shower?”
He shrugged, keeping up with her deliberately quick pace as though she had forgotten that he had larger strides. “Played football with the lads.”
“Huh.”
“What? Don’t think I did anything fun?”
“Didn’t think you had lads.”
“Oof!” he overacted being hurt as he walked next to her. They passed by wide halls and marble floors, into a narrow corridor with windows and sunlight on one side, and offices on the other. He said, “What about you? Did anything fun this weekend? Insulted someone’s clothes? Made some little girl cry?”
“Got my hair done.”
She didn’t turn to brandish whatever change happened to her hair. And, he supposed, if he talked with her more, he would know what change this was. But all he saw was the same long red hair, cascading down her back.
Nonetheless, he said, “Did you break the barber’s hand then?”
“No, paid him in full. Plus tip!” She turned to him, having reached the teacher’s lounge with her hand on the door’s handle. “And it was a stylist, not a barber.”
She then opened the door and went in, shutting it on his face. But he merely followed her in, changing his mind about going to his office first. There was tea in the lounge and, even though he already had a cup at home, he thought he’d have some here. He was sure that he had work to do but, for the life of him, he couldn’t think of doing that now and leave antagonizing this woman for another time. It only seemed reasonable.
She went for the kitchen and put water in the electric kettle, while he leaned on the counter.
“I gotta be honest,” he said, “I don’t see anything different with your hair.”
“I’m not surprised.” She turned the kettle on and took out a cup from a cupboard. Just the one, not asking if he wanted tea too. He elected to get a spare cup himself (his was in his office, probably needing some washing). She said, “It’s been layered.”
“Layered.” He nodded. “What’s that?”
She frowned, which was just too funny. Her tiny nose did this thing when it flared, and the freckles on her cheeks seem to redden even more as she averted her suddenly bright green eyes away from him as though she didn’t want him to see that he had succeeded in getting a rise out of her. But he thought the temperature in the room had risen somewhat. Fairies and their emotions. Ha!
“It’s this,” she pointed to her head.
Knowing she would hate it, he got closer and touched some strands, sliding it between his fingers. “Yeah, you’re gonna have to explain it to me.”
He could see that she was keen to put some distance between them and push his hand away, but she endured it until he had let go of her hair.
“Or you could always look it up.”
He acknowledged that with a slight tip of his head as she opened another cupboard and took out a mason jar full of tea bags.
The thing about Dawn was, she was actually pretty. More than pretty, she was stunning. That was, if she didn’t have a permanent stink eye directed at him. There was a softness in her features that he sometimes was privy to, a kind of otherworldliness in her downturned eyes and her soft round lips. As she opened the jar, her lashes fanned her cheeks and her skin seemed to glow, or that might be due to her being an air fairy—he wasn’t sure. But he swore that there were days when he saw her walking the school grounds, just one woman among a crowd, and it seemed like there was a spotlight on her so she almost always stood out.
At the moment, though, she was being her usual aggravated self to him as she took a step back so he was no longer invading her personal space.
She put tea in her cup and, before she could close the jar, he dipped his hand in and took one for himself. He didn’t know whose it was—it was possible that it was the College’s supply—but he was almost sure that it was hers, which would explain the dead eyes she gave him.
“Thank you,” he said more as an indication that she could now close the jar than being grateful.
“Don’t you have better things to do, Mr. Silva?”
“Classes start at nine, Dawn.”
Taking the same tone he used earlier, she said, “Please. Call me Ms. Ninomae.”
“But that has three syllables.” And they’ve known each other since high school.
“Get used to it.”
He pressed his lips together, suppressing a smile as they heard the kettle boil. “Sure,” he said.
He beat her at getting to the kettle first. When he finished with his cup, he asked for hers. The reluctance on her face was there, but still she handed over her cup. Then he was getting a carton of milk from the fridge, the both of them not saying anything.
When the ceremony of it all was over, Dawn swiftly turned around and headed for the door. She didn’t say any parting words, not even a nod to imply that she was leaving. He decided not to follow her out since he felt he had annoyed her enough already.
Even so, when her hand was back on the door’s handle, about to pull it open, he said, “See you, Dawn.”
She paused and he could just imagine her face huffing at that before she finally left.
_*_
At the end of the school day, Saul sat in Farah’s office for a meeting. But since he was too early and they weren’t in a hurry, they first had a friendly chat about work, which evolved into the personal as she asked how Becca was doing. He could only groan in response and Farah seemed to understand already. But also, he wasn’t yet willing to discuss it since he hadn’t yet internalized the revelations he had this morning. He buried himself in work, cramped his head with the names of all his students, what they were best at, where they needed improvement, finally paid attention to the administrative work that he had piling up, avoided Dawn but also hung around enough for her to notice that he existed and she had to get used to him, talked to Ben about it who was uncommonly supportive of his childishness. Farah, though, she didn’t share his glee in provoking anyone in her faculty, even if said faculty member was a pain in the ass. She ends up knowing about it anyway—he probably should stop discussing it with Ben. At least she yet hadn’t called him out on it today.
He was sitting on a chair in front of her desk, where she half-leaned, half-sat. They’ve been here for maybe a good ten minutes and still Farah hadn’t yet gotten around to discussing what this meeting was for. At some point, she looked at the clock hanging on a wall, and then glanced at the door.
He said, “Are we waiting for someone?”
“As a matter of—” she was cut off by the sound of knocking on her door. “Come in.”
The door opened and…
Saul frowned.
Dawn was still holding the doorknob, a smile on her lips directed at Farah, but which withered when she saw the other person in the room.
“Oh,” she said. “I can come back…”
“No, no.” Farah waved her in. “It’s the both of you.”
She was already circling her desk to get to her chair, while Dawn just stared at her then at Saul who stared back. Then she took tentative steps forward and straightened herself up as though to make herself taller, but all it did was push her chest forward and make her waist smaller. Again, he was struck by the fact that a bitch should be inside that package.
“Right,” Farah said when Dawn was settled on the chair to Saul’s right. Farah intertwined her hands and set them on the table, giving off a non-threatening smile—the good teacher about to pair off reluctant lab partners. “You may have heard from the news, Prince Cecil is visiting Solaria.” Her eyes were directed at Dawn while saying this, who seemed to tense up just hearing the name. “We all know that he’s an alumnus of this school. And so, Alfea have been sent an invitation to attend a dinner party in welcome to his visit.”
She held the envelope in her hand, tapping it against her palm, as she waited for their reactions. But, at the moment, neither of them was capable as her meaning came to them.
Dawn was first to speak. “And you’re going, right?”
“No, I am not.”
“But you’re the Headmistress.”
“Yes, but…” she set the invitation down and, using her sympathetic face, she said, “I just received a call this morning from Cecil himself, asking that you attend on my behalf.”
It looked like Dawn had forgotten to breathe, completely frozen for a few seconds, until she exhaled. But after that, he could see her jaw working as she ground her teeth. She was more than unhappy at this turn of events, she was livid. He thought, any second now, the room will turn warm, but somehow it didn’t.
To Farah, Saul said, “But I’m not attending, am I?”
“Oh, you definitely are. You’re the Specialist’s Headmaster.”
“Is there a particular request for me too?”
“Yes, this invitation, signed by the Queen.”
Saul rolled his eyes. “Luna? That’s not a special request. Inviting her,” he thumbed at Dawn, “doesn’t mean you can’t attend.”
“Except, the invitation is only for two people, one representing the fairy school,” she nodded at Dawn who was still internalizing, “and another representing the Specialists.”
This seemed too convenient, so he stood up and snatched the invitation from her desk. As he opened it, Dawn appeared next to him, peering through his shoulder. Her earthy fragrance wafted to his nose, making him scowl even further as he read that the invitation was exactly as Farah had described.
“You can bring plus ones!” At this point, Farah had dropped all masks of formality and didn’t hide her delight that she wasn’t attending.
“Yay,” Saul said without enthusiasm. The thought of bringing Becca to this made him internally groan.
He handed Dawn the card and sat down, deflated.
Dawn, still reading it as though the words would change, said, “This is just…”
“Yeah!” Saul seconded.
“It is what it is, guys.”
Dawn placed the card back on the desk and then slumped back down on her chair. “Next Saturday.” She stared at the ceiling and, probably because she couldn’t think of a good excuse, said, “I don’t have a dress!”
Saul pointed at her as he spoke to Farah. “And I hate tuxes.”
“I’d like to be compensated for the dress.”
“And the tux.”
“And I hate him!”
“And I hate her.”
Farah said, “Saul, she’s talking about Cecil.”
“Him too.”
“Who am I even bringing as plus one?” Dawn implored as though Farah could pull out a date out of her drawer. “It’s a four-hour drive there.”
“And I can’t bring Becca to that.”
“Why not? She might enjoy it.” Farah said.
“Why don’t you tell her that? See what happens.”
This went on for a couple more rounds and, even though Saul was aware that Farah was only indulging them and there was no way she could let them off the hook, he didn’t stop until Dawn ran out of things to complain about and he ran out of things to back.
Though, perhaps Farah wasn’t as indifferent to their plight because she said, “I’ve allotted a budget already for this, so yes you can be compensated for your clothes and the travel and accommodations, but anything beyond the budget you’d have to cover.”
This was hardly something to celebrate, but at least they didn’t have to worry about all that.
“And I want receipts,” Farah added before they filed out, defeated.
Outside, as they walked through the corridors, Dawn might have forgotten who she was with because she started acting more casually and said, “The nerve of that guy!”
He didn’t say anything just in case she decided to push back. That guy was her ex after all.
“He hates you, you know,” she said next.
“Me? What did I do to him?”
“You were popular.”
This was news to him. He was top of his class, sure. He had friends. He partied. But popular was excessive. “He’s a prince!”
She just gave off an ironic laugh at that, staring straight ahead. “Why the fuck would he specifically ask me to attend?”
Now, he thought she was just talking to herself so he kept his mouth shut. They were about to go their separate ways anyway, as soon as they reach the end of the corridor. Yet, he couldn’t help but ask, “What happened between you two?”
Their whole time in Alfea, they were together, almost as soon as school started. He didn’t think they’d end up married simply because one was royalty and from a different country at that, but it wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities. Still, her reaction upon hearing his name made him wonder.
But she only scoffed. “None of your fucking business.”
She then went on her way, taking a right when he was about to go left. He nodded to himself—yup, he had that coming, asking her a personal question. Maybe one day he’ll get around to asking why she hated him instead.