Chapter Text

0.

Even after his dramatic reveal and subsequent rise to fame at the Music Festival, the thing Purson Soi, proud Misfit and the Pixie of Babylus, valued above all else, was some measure of peace, quiet, and privacy.

He loved his class, certainly, loved being included among them and finally being able to participate as an equal and beloved member - but they were also a bit much, sometimes (all the time), and just from time to time, Purson liked to retreat for a little while and just sit in calm silence, being alone with his rambling thoughts and humming melodies under his breath he might try out on the trumpet later.

(He wasn’t really calling it composing, just yet. It was just idle messing around, and Kalego-sensei would always tell him that, if he truly wanted to pursue a career in music, he would have to be serious about it.

One day, Purson suspected he might be - but that day hadn’t yet come, so he wrote down his idle little tunes and didn’t think too much about the future just yet. If he ever did decide to become serious, he was certain Sensei would guide and support him to the best of his ability once more - and so would his family, even, which was a thought that still made Purson feel a little warm and fuzzy inside.)

He used to go up on the roof for that, actually play and earn his Pixie nickname; but seeing as people now knew of his existence and his trumpeting usually attracted an audience, Purson had relocated his alone time to more private quarters and relative silence, practising at home or together with his classmates instead.

Recently, he’d found his refuge in a little storage room in a corridor so out of the way and unused that even the spiderwebs there had spiderwebs in their corners, and the dust devibunnies were only a few misplaced crumbs of magic away from achieving sentience.

It was quiet there, away from the hubbub of everyday life at Babylus, and nobody had any reason to bother him here, or a way to find him when he didn’t want to be found. Purson enjoyed it, just letting himself drift off into invisibility, becoming one with the world around him, the words and melodies in his head, and returning to classes and study groups refreshed in body and soul.

There was only one tiny, minor, yet strangely persistent problem.

Which was, to put it bluntly, the fact that some people, usually in pairs, used out-of-the-way storage rooms not to meditate and maybe-almost-compose, but to engage in the kind of behaviour one engaged in when being somewhere isolated with another person they had Certain Interests in.

And they never realised the room was already occupied.

To Purson’s great misfortune.

1.

The first time it happened - just like every subsequent time, frankly - Purson had been minding his own business in a mostly transparent state, embarking on a stream-of-consciousness journey which today revolved around chord progressions, as well as the most recent Babylus eating competition and where in Hell Iruma put it all, blissfully oblivious to what awaited him.

Then, suddenly, there was the sound of the tired old door hinges creaking open, and Purson was jolted out of his pondering and back into awareness, as well as entirely out of existence, purely on reflex.

“Alright then, I’ll bite.” Shax Lied, of all the people in this damn school, skipped into the room, settling down against and curling his tail around a crate of textbooks so outdated that they still named Delkira “the young Future King”. “What secret is so terribly shameful and embarrassing that we have to go hide in here for you to start telling me?”

(Purson’s invisible ears perked up, and he leaned forward slightly, completely attentive all of a sudden. Perhaps it was his bloodline’s legacy, but the moment someone mentioned “secrets”, Purson was overcome with the urgent need to know, to pluck that secret out of another person’s confidence and safely stow it away in his own mind. Not for malicious reasons, mind - he would never want to seriously blackmail or extort any of his friends - but just to satisfy his own overwhelming curiosity.

And this… oh Devi, this seemed like a juicy one.) 

“It’s not- I’m not ashamed of this. Not anymore.” Jazz slunk into the room as well, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. “It’s just very private. Iruma-kun already knows, he found out on accident, but I’m not ready to have everyone know. So I’m just. Just telling you for now.”

“Aww, Jazzy! I’m flattered!” Lied grinned from ear to ear, patting the ground next to him until Jazz joined him there. “Shoot. I promise it’ll stay between us two.”

(Well. Us three, actually. Purson added mentally, feeling no remorse at all. His father and other assorted ancestors would be so proud.)

“Okay. Here goes then.”

Jazz took a deep breath, raising his hands in the air. Lied leaned forward - and so did Purson, his demonic hindbrain chanting secret secret secret!!! with an almost primal excitement.

Jazz shouted something - a flash of light, shaping itself into the unmistakable shape of a summoning seal, a cloud of smoke, which gradually dissipated to reveal…

“This is… Spoo. My familiar.” Jazz muttered, cheeks reddened, reaching out to pat the near-circular puppy with one hand. The puppy yipped excitedly and pushed into the touch, adorable beyond words. “I know he looks kinda. Well. I love him, of course I do, but he’s not really what people expect, so I’m a bit. Shy about showing him off, still. And fair warning, if you say anything mean about him, I will cry.”

“Anything mean? Dude, why would I!?” Lied bent down, eyes sparkling as he went face to face with Spoo’s grin, cute little dog tongue lolling out as he panted happily. “I love the little guy! I mean, look how cute he is, Jazzy! Look at his little paws! Yeah, who’s a savage demonic hound without mercy? You are! Yes, youuuu!”

(Purson couldn’t help but agree, unable to take his eyes off the newly-revealed Spoo. He’d never been allowed to have pets, but found them exceedingly cute as a rule, and this really was a particularly adorable puppy. Sticking around to witness the reveal of this particular secret really had been more than worth it.)

“...you honestly think so?” Jazz watched in awe as Lied made Spoo shake paws with all due enthusiasm. “Not that he looks silly? That he doesn’t fit me at all?”

“Nahhh. He fits you just fine, Jazzy.” Lied shot him the same blinding grin Spoo had been grazed with since his first appearance. “I mean, I don’t know him all that well yet, but he strikes me as a reliable little guy. A proper good boy. Someone who wants people to be happy. And that’s pretty much you, isn’t it?”

“That’s… more or less what Iruma-kun said, too, yeah.” Jazz’s blush was only intensifying, fingers nervously toying with something that looked like spare ancient school pins he must’ve nicked from some stash here in the storage room. “I’m glad that’s how people see me, I really am. That that’s the parts of me Spoo represents.”

“‘Course Iruma-kun would say that, he learned how to judge people well from me, his big bro!” Lied puffed up proudly.

“Sure he did. Not the other way around at all.” Jazz chuckled, elbowing Lied. Lied elbowed him back, the two of them engaging in a playful little shoving match.

(Purson ignored them in favour of watching Spoo trying very hard to chase his sparkly little tails despite the fact that he was far too orb-like to even see them.

This would soon prove to have been a mistake.)

The shoving slowed, gradually. The two were suddenly very close, Lied leaning up against Jazz in a way that was getting increasingly less bro-y.

“And, y’know…” Lied muttered softly, eyes flickering over Jazz’s face, dipping down to his lips now and then. “He’s really cute. That’s another thing you two have in common. Being the cutest guys I’ve ever seen.”

Jazz’s eyes widened. His mouth opened, and closed again, cheeks now so red they were giving the crimson blood moon a run for its money.

And then, on impulse, he leaned forward, and clumsily pressed his lips to Lied’s.

Lied, with the eagerness of someone entirely inexperienced and the short reaction times of a seasoned gamer, grabbed Jazz’s face to keep it in place before he could pull back again, and kissed back enthusiastically.

It was around this point in time that Purson picked up on the strange movement at the edge of his vision, and he dragged his gaze briefly away from Spoo to-

Uh.

Purson was rather certain he materialised at this point purely out of shock, but that hardly seemed to matter, seeing as the other two people in the room were very caught up in awkwardly pressing their mouths together in what was obviously a first kiss for the both of them, hands shyly finding each other and fingers threading together.

Purson’s jaw dropped.

(Spoo noticed him and yipped a cheerful greeting in his direction, absolutely delighted by these developments between his Master and the little yellow one, as well as the presence of a purple new friend.

Purson’s opinion on the matter differed dramatically, to say the least.)

He calmly, serenely, internally-screaming-ly assessed the situation.

Shax Lied and Andro M. Jazz had intruded on Purson’s fortress of solitude. A secret pupper had been revealed. Kissing had ensued. Kissing was, in fact, continuing to ensue.

Putting all these facts together, Purson decided he wanted to be very much Not Here, and exited the room at some speed.

(Spoo yipped a goodbye to his new purple friend. Neither Lied nor Jazz - nor even Purson - noticed.)

Once outside, Purson decided he was just going to forget this ever happened, and never mention it to another living soul for the rest of his existence.

Yeah. Seemed like a plan. And hopefully, he would never have to witness people he knew try to eat each other’s faces off in a romantic way ever again.

(Little did Purson know, at the time, that some higher power had heard this desperate wish, and committed itself to making his life, specifically, absolute hell.

He had, for the information of the Esteemed Reader, done nothing at all to deserve this.

Sometimes, fate was just cruel like that.)

Chapter Text

2.

Well. Alright then. He’d seen certain classmates of his swap spit in the one spot he’d considered a safe haven. Horrible, obviously, Purson would give his right hand - or, even more valuable, his trumpet - to go back in time and prevent his hapless past self from witnessing it; but surely, it was a singular occurrence. No reason to assume it would ever happen again.

So Purson thought - and the Esteemed Readership can surely already tell that he thought very, very wrong.

The second time snuck up on Purson like - well, like the way Purson himself snuck up on people, invisible until he stood right behind the person, and discreetly and smugly coughing to announce himself, usually followed by a terrified shriek by his victim. Great fun if you were the sneaker - not so much, Purson found out that day, when you were the sneak-ee.

This time, the intrusion in Purson’s space - interrupting his ruminations on the nature of musical key changes (and whether or not he should finally try and stick a “#1 tsundere teacher <3” sign on the back of Kalego-sensei’s robes, which had been a long-held dream prank of his, despite the obvious danger of it) - took the shape of two members of the Student Council.

Among most students, they were known as “spiky-blond with freckles” and “black-and-white glasses”, but Purson, making it his business to gather as much information as demonly possible on everyone in the school - yes okay he was nosy, sue him - was of course well aware that their names were in fact Kimaris Quichelight and Zagan Johnny Western respectively.

Overall, Quichelight and Johnny Western’s presence - they were intruding on Purson’s secret sanctum, that necessitated first-name basis, as far as he was concerned - wasn’t particularly unusual. He’d had found some evidence on the Student Council including this room (his room, as Purson privately thought) in their patrols before, so he was confident they would merely check that no mischief was being done in here, and then be on their way. Purson resolved to ignore them, for the most part, only listening in with his usual baseline of snooping.

“Nothing untoward here, either.” Johnny Western concluded, after a cursory sweep of the room. “So that should conclude our… what did the President call it, again?”

“Date, Senpai.” Quichelight provided.

(‘Date’? Purson had never heard that word before. Was it another one of Iruma’s strange inventions, perhaps? He did come up with such funny terms, at times.)

“For the last time, don’t call me that!” Johnny Western snapped. “Anything else we must observe to carry out this special date-patrol to perfection?”

(Oh, a special type of patrol! That made sense, Purson supposed. You learned something new every day, didn’t you.)

“Weeeeeell, from the Prez’s distracted mutterings that I wrote down…” Quichelight flipped open a small notebook, Johnny Western leaning over to read the notes there. “Dates are conducted most often by two people who are quite close (which we are, right, Johnny-san?), must go off without a hitch (no serious issues discovered this time!), can optionally include getting sweet food together (we got some ice cream from Come-come’s shop, should cover that) or holding hands (sorry again for my sweaty palms), and should end… end with a kiss before parting ways.”

(Purson’s heart skipped a beat at the word “kiss”. Surely, surely he had merely misheard, due to the lingering trauma of the last such… interaction… he had witnessed in this room. Yes. That had to be it.)

“Which, I mean,” Quichelight shot his fellow council member an uncertain, nervous glance. “We, uh, don’t have to, if you’d rather not…”

“And disappoint the President by shirking our duties!?” Johnny Western adjusted his glasses with a distinct air of indignation. “Quiche, I can’t believe you would suggest something like that! She trusts us to carry out every order, and if you’re so willing to just halfass our work, maybe you should just-”

“Hey! Don’t put words in my mouth here!” Quichelight heatedly defended himself. “I would do anything to serve Prez and the school, I just assumed you-”

“Well, you assumed wrong.” He was cut off with a sharp glare. “Now let us get on with it, we have paperwork to fill out after this.”

“Sure, let’s!” Quichelight nodded firmly, and they brought their heads together in a perfunctory, business-like meeting of the lips.

(It was rather short, too, so short that by the time a shell-shocked Purson had the bright idea to close his eyes against the terrible sight, it was already over.)

There was a brief pause - which Quichelight eventually broke with an increasingly nervous and awkward laugh.

“R-right then, date-patrol done!” He ran a hand through his hair, fiddled with his horns, a faint blush on his freckled cheeks. “Time to report back, huh, Senpai?”

Another beat, treacherous hope that this was all he’d have to endure today rising in Purson’s chest.

And then, Johnny Western grabbed Quichelight by the uniform collar, and bent him backwards over the nearest stack of boxes, doing his best to crawl into him mouth-first in a display that was not even remotely perfunctory or professional, and involved far more tongue than Purson - poor, horrified, kill-me-now Purson - thought healthy.

(It went on for a good deal longer, too. Purson managed to slap his hands over his eyes about halfway through, but the damage was already done, forever seared into his retinas.)

Finally, they detached with a positively disgusting wet sound.

“How many times, idiot,” Johnny Western snarled, hauling a rather stunned (but happily so, unlike Purson, who was stunned in a far more despairing manner) Quichelight back up into a vertical position. “Do NOT call me Senpai!”

A giddy grin blossomed on Quichelight’s face, even as Purson was invisibly grimacing.

“Can I call you honey instead, then?” He asked, smirking, even as he was dragged to the door. “Darling? Sweetheart? Lover? Jocchan?”

A glare.

“How about none of those?” Johnny Western snapped, and Purson couldn’t help but agree.

They left, still squabbling about names and how sweaty Quichelight’s hands were - they had started holding hands again, for some unfathomable reason that surely boiled down to wanting to torment Purson specifically - and Purson remained, trying very hard to pry the memory of what he had just seen out of his brain and toss it into the deepest of the Pits of Damnation.

He wasn’t very successful, overall, and ultimately had to admit to himself that he wasn’t going to find any peace and quiet on this site of brutal kissage today, with the memories still so fresh, and left with his stress levels up far higher than they’d been when he’d attempted to escape the humdrum of school life for a precious hour or two.

How unfortunate, that it had happened again - but surely (or so Purson prayed) this would be the very last of it.

After all, what were the odds of illicit-romance-lightning striking thrice in the same spot?

Very low indeed, that’s what they were!

(But, apparently, not quite low enough.)

3.

If there was one thing Purson could say about himself, it was that he was stubborn.

Even when his family had still placed restrictions and high expectations on him, he had never stopped playing music, never caved and concentrated only on being the perfect heir, and finally gone and stood in the spotlight at the Music Festival no matter the consequences. Purson had always been the determined sort, quietly persevering throughout hardship, and taking any change he could get to indulge himself.

So he wasn’t going to give up on his new favourite refuge so easily, that was for sure. Certainly, those past experiences still haunted him, but Purson was stubbornly determined to sit things out and not make any changes to his established routine. That was just what they (the rogue kissers infesting this school) would want. No, Purson would make his stand here and now, and do his family’s legacy proud - mostly by lurking in the shadows and refusing to budge. Well, proud was proud, no matter the details of the affair.

Therefore, when his ruminations (this time on three-eleventh rhythms, and whether or not Kalego-sensei and Balam-sensei were An Item and/or would ever admit to such publicly) were once again interrupted by an intruder, this one slinking into room with a distinct air of subterfuge and secrecy, Purson simply squared up his shoulders, and resolved to glare at them until the vague aura of murderous intent he was exuding chased them out of the storage room again.

During said staring process, Purson noted that the person who’d entered appeared to be a girl around Purson’s own age, wearing not the standard Babylus school uniform but a bloodball cap with the brim pulled deep into her face, as well as an open hoodie over a loose tank top and shorts, a mane of blond hair haphazardly pulled back into a messy ponytail, and sunglasses over her eyes.

(The whole ensemble was steeped in detection warding magic, but he would be a poor member of the Purson family if that kind of thing had any effect on him.)

The girl looked around, nodded to herself, and then leaned back against the far wall as if waiting for something, pulling off her sunglasses and tucking them away in her hoodie. Now that her eyes were uncovered, there was something familiar about her, even though Purson was pretty damn sure she wasn’t a Babylus student. But he had seen her before. During an event, maybe? Or on TV-

Oh.

Purson’s jaw dropped as recognition struck. That was Gyari, THE Gyari, standing in this little storage room, boredly fiddling with her phone.

Oh Devi. Oh Devi. Purson might genuinely faint. He’d always admired Gyari, her passion and improvisation talent unmatched even among other top evidols, and her stage presence the thing of legends. Oh Devi, and here she was now. Purson was breathing the same air as one of the greatest musicians of his generation, perhaps only matched by reigning Evidol Games champion Kuromu. If they ever ended up collaborating, Purson was not going to survive.

What was he going to say? Was he going to say anything? Would she maybe sign something for him? Oh Devi, was his hair in order? Did he have something stuck between his teeth???

Purson quickly turned to the stack of partially-rusting weaponry from the Combat Education classes of ages past to check his reflection in a still-somewhat-shiny scimitar blade - which was of course nonexistent, seeing as he was still in invisible mode, and unlikely to get his anxious excitement under control enough to reappear again anytime soon. Well.

He was still trying very hard to convince his body to materialise, and his mind to go and approach Gyari with an admission of how big a fan he was, when the door opened a second time.

Of all the people Purson would have expected to enter at that point, Kerori, his shy, quiet, surprisingly-passionate-about-music-and-choreography classmate Kerori, was rather low on the list.

(Had she, too, recognised Gyari, and followed her in here? What was Gyari doing here in the first place!? All very confusing, this.)

“Well, fi-na-lly!” Gyari exclaimed - and if Purson had any doubts regarding her identity, then they went out the window the moment he heard her voice, completely unmistakable as that of the top evidol she was. “You kept me waiting, honey-”

She paused.

Squinted at Kerori, who was pointedly avoiding her gaze, staring down at the tips of her shoes.

“Sorry, beautiful, but I’m waiting for someone else.” Gyari finally shrugged, somewhat apologetically. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a cutie, but I’m a one-woman girl now, so…”

“Don’t be an idiot, Gyari!” Kerori hissed - hissed!? Purson had noted increasing levels of confidence in her, but being openly hostile towards someone who had their name plastered onto billboards was certainly new - and ripped off her glasses. “It’s me!”

It occurred to Purson then, in that very moment, that this was the first moment he’d seen Kerori without glasses, and that they really changed her facial structure drastically. And her stance, come to think of it. And her expressions. Everything, really.

He made it his business to know his classmates inside and out, be aware of every little detail about them - but even though this girl in front of him had Kerori’s hair and her face and was wearing her modified school uniform, he could hardly recognize her. All of a sudden, she looked a lot more like… like…

“...Kuromu?” Gyari breathed, her entire face lighting up like the sun had risen behind her eyes - and this, too, seemed to spill over into the rest of her, her relaxed sprawl snapping to attention, body swaying forward eagerly towards Kero- towards Kuromu.

And Purson’s jaw dropped even further, breaking through the floorboards and not stopping until it had reached at least the basement, if not beyond.

Kuromu. Gyari and Kuromu. Who was also his classmate, Crocell Kerori.

Okay, he might have to. Sit down somewhere. Kerori. Devi help him. He’d been going to school with an evidol for nearly a year and hadn’t noticed!? Well, that was just plain embarrassing. For them both. But mostly for Purson.

(...asking for autographs was definitely not an option anymore, was it? Not if he wanted to avoid incurring Kerori’s unending wrath. Oh, curses.)

“Woah, you’re real cute like this, wifey!” Gyari grinned, pocketing her phone and strolling over in a manner that was deliberately casual at first glance, but was practically brimming over with giddy, almost-nervous energy if one bothered to look a little more closely. “Love the blue hair, fits your pretty eyes. Bit of a crime to hide them behind glasses, though the nerdy look is pretty adorable.”

“The glasses are necessary.” Kerori demonstratively took a step back at Gyari’s approach - but then moved back no further, even though there was more than enough room still to evade her. “I don’t want to be recognised as Kuromu at school. Two of my classmates already know, and- well, it’s a pain, but at least I can exploit them for free labour.”

(If Purson had been capable of coherent thought at this juncture, he might’ve pounced onto this tidbit of information and immediately speculated about who knew, and what kind of jobs Kerori had made them do; however, he was very much incapable, meaning that the comment completely passed his utterly-thunderstruck self by.)

“Good for you, Kuro-darling.” Gyari paused. “Hey, don’t feel obliged to answer, but… does this little ice princess standing before me got a name of her own, too?”

“...Kerori.” Kerori offered, after barely a split second of hesitation. “Crocell. Crocell Kerori. Yes, those Crocells.”

“Damn. Nice.” Gyari whistled. “I mean, I was gonna marry you regardless of what family you belong to, but I figure my parents will be stoked to hear my wifey comes from nobility and isn’t after the family fortune. All my aunties and uncles keep warning me not to become the sugar mommy of some sweet babe - but if it was you I was sugaring, I wouldn’t have minded.”

“So nice to be the exception.” Kerori muttered sarcastically, looking mostly annoyed, but also a hint flattered. Just a bit. “Glad to know everyone you’re related to will stop calling me a gold-digger now.”

“Sorry, babe.” Gyari, to her credit, looked genuinely apologetic. “If it helps, I’ve always considered myself your trophy wife/arm candy, personally…?”

“That does not help, no.”

“But! Thanks for telling me your real name, cutie.” Gyari, perhaps sensing how the room was getting colder the more unamused Kerori looked, resolutely steered the conversation back on track. “And meeting me as… well, this other part of yourself. I really appreciate it, and am glad you trust me that much. I already love Kuromu, and I think I’ll fall for Kerori-chan real quick, too.”

“You know enough personal details that you could’ve figured it out yourself.” Kerori waved her off, a blush rather prominently rising on her cheeks. “Especially after I brought my sister to the Games. But even before that, with all the information you had about my school, my family’s bloodline magic, my habits and everyday life, it would’ve been easy to get my real name and identity too. I honestly thought you already knew.”

“Nuh-uh, babe.” Gyari vehemently shook her head. “You’re grossly overestimating my smartness.”

“Intelligence.”

“Whatever.” A dismissive wave. “Besides, I didn’t wanna snoop. Your real name was yours to give, not mine to take. Figured I’d find out when signing the marriage registration papers, and that was good enough for me.”

(That was all… kind of sweet, actually, Purson dimly realised, still somewhat preoccupied with reeling over the realisation that he’d been sharing classes with a professional evidol, and hadn’t even known. He was bringing shame upon the Purson name, he really was.)

“Marriage registration? How optimistic of you.” Kerori crossed her arms, giving off every impression of cool haughtiness - but Purson could tell how pleased she was from the way she bit the inside of her lip, the way she stood more on her left leg than the right, and drew her shoulders up slightly to hide the way a blush was creeping up her neck. These things, these inconsequential little details, he knew about his classmate! Just not her secret idol career, apparently. “You still believe that I’m going to marry you?”

“I don’t believe it, sweetheart.” In a move that was almost impossibly smooth and spoke of years of practice, Gyari swept forward and Kerori off her feet, dipping her low with one hand supporting her back and the other cradling her cheek. “I know it.”

“Hah. Dream on.” Kerori scoffed… but she was obviously forcing down a smile, hands coming up to bury themselves in Gyari’s hair. “Not in a hundred years.”

“You know I’ll keep chasing you forever, right?” Gyari’s eyes were blazing, but at the same time intensely tender. “Hundred years, thousand, a million. I’ll never let you escape.”

“Good,” Kerori said, with vehemence.

(And it was at that very moment that Purson recalled the tumultuous love affairs/engagement scandals that were the hottest discussion topic on every Gyari, Kuromu, or general evidol message board, and what people who confessed love to each other on stage and flirted relentlessly at every opportunity did when it was just the two of them in a cluttered storage room.

Please, no, he begged any and all higher and lower powers in the vicinity. Don’t do this to me again, I can’t, please, spare me!

He was not spared.)

“So,” Gyari murmured, still very close to Kerori’s face, raising a suave eyebrow together with an insufferably superior smirk, “since you called me over to see your school, are you gonna give me the grand tour now, really show me around the place, or-”

“That’s not why I told you to come here, and you know it,” Kerori hissed, and… yep, there went her legs around Gyari’s waist, and her hands pulling Gyari’s face down, and…

Yep.

Yeah.

There it was again.

Third time was said to be the charm, but Purson couldn’t find anything particularly charming about the repeated invasion of his private retreat and continued pollution of the same through kissing.

With tongue, it seemed like. Ugh.

A mean, spiteful, and just very done part of him wanted to go ahead and snap a photo, and then sell it and the information regarding Kuromu’s real identity to the highest bidder… but no. No, he would never. He greatly admired both Kuromu and Gyari, and Kerori was both his classmate and a dear friend, he could never.

(Some secrets ought to stay secret, after all. Iruma had said something similar, back when they had spent hours talking about everything and nothing, indicating that there were some stories he couldn’t tell without breaking the trust of others.

…funny, now that Purson was thinking about Iruma and evidols in close connection, that up-and-coming idol Irumi-chan rather reminded him of…

But no, no, that was surely just a coincidence.)

Neither could he bang his head against the nearest wall, at the moment. Even though it seemed like neither Gyari nor Kerori were paying much attention to any part of their surroundings, rather more invested in wrapping themselves around the other, he felt like the sound of his forehead repeatedly making contact with a hard flat surface would alert them to the presence of someone else in the room - and if there was one thing Purson had learned from the fan recording of the meet’n’grate where some Gyari fan had thought it prudent to insult Kuromu, then it was that Gyari had a mean right hook when provoked (or, it was likely, when spied on).

So Purson was just. Just gonna walk out of here. And find someplace in Royal One to lie face-down and contemplate how what by rights should be the best moment of his life - meeting two of his musical idols in the flesh - had turned into one of the worst experiences of his life just because THEY’D SO RUDELY STARTED PDA-ING IN FRONT OF HIM. AGAIN!

This was the third time, now, and that did not bode well for Purson at all.

Once was unfortunate. Twice was a coincidence.

But three times? Three times indicated a pattern. Purson did not want there to be a pattern. He hadn’t wanted for there to be coincidence or misfortune, either, come to think of it.

And yet, here they were. At a pattern.

Devidamnit.

Chapter Text

4.

Once more, the door clicked open, and Purson folded his immaterial hands together, praying to Satan for patience. Could he not have one hour of peace and quiet each day, without having to watch someone suck face? Just one hour to think about music and life in general? Finish today’s thoughts on atonal 666-tone compositions, and whether Poro-sama’s impressive knowledge of and passion for music was really worth listening to him cry about Delkira for at least three hours at each mentoring session, if not longer? Was that too much to ask???

However, when he turned to see who had entered, Purson smiled to himself.

Ah, his good, sweet friend Iruma, and his faithful friend and companion, Asmodeus. Now here were two people who wouldn’t bother him through the undue swapping of spit in his vicinity. Iruma was rather innocent in such matters, he’d learned that from some of their deep conversations about life, the universe, and everything; and Azz, while quite evidently smitten, was the reserved and/or repressed sort of noble who considered handholding before marriage a scandal, never mind the fact that he was entirely friendzoned.

No, Purson thought with a little sigh of relief, as he watched Azz hold open the door for Iruma, who thanked him with a brilliantly angelic smile, he would be safe with these two.

Perhaps he might even reveal himself and greet them.

The door closed behind the two, and before Purson could even rematerialise and get out a single “hey-”, Iruma had shoved Azz against a nearby wall, slammed one hand against it in a truly powerful kabedon that made Purson swoon slightly by mere proximity exposure, and yanked Azz’s head down with the other to…

To…

Oh Devi.

Purson stared at the scene before him with mounting horror, two bodies entangled in a kind of way that honestly seemed a little anatomically improbable, the back of Iruma’s uniform getting singed where Azz was grabbing onto it for dear life, and Iruma putting on the kind of display Purson would not have thought him capable of even in the darkest depths of his wicked phase. There was growling of Azz’s name and all, as well as some stern instructions to “stop encouraging the other students looking at you Like That when you are mine”, and threats of showing who Azz really belonged to via a hickey or two, which really was.

Rather.

Well.

So much, Purson thought, as he rushed out of the room as quickly as possible, invisible cheeks flaming red, for innocence.

5.

At this rate, Purson was getting close, dangerously close, to losing the last scraps of his faith in demonity.

It seemed like anyone and everyone - and he really did mean everyone, but for some reason his classmates especially - had chosen Purson’s quiet little retreat as their personal smooching spot, and it was slowly but surely driving Purson out of his mind. Just in the last week, he had witnessed liplocking from:

- Azz and Iruma going for a repeat performance, this time with Clara present, idly occupying herself by setting up an elaborate soap opera between the textbooks in the meantime, which Purson had almost wanted to stay and endure the making-out in the background for, seeing as the plotline had been very gripping and he’d found Torture-Studies-san very relatable;

- two second-years Purson didn’t know, but had seen entirely too much of before he could make his escape, as one had chosen to shed their shirt, and the other promptly followed suit;

- Gaap and Agares coming here to lie down together for a nap and sleepy kisses, which had honestly been kind of sweet, and almost like a welcome reprieve;

- Dosanko and Camui, of all people, which had been. Well. Purson chose not to think about it now. Or ever. That memory was gone.

And then, the crowning glory, the President of the Student Council Herself, coming in here with that unassuming blond girl Azz had befriended. For a short while, it had seemed like Ameri had merely wanted to show Eiko some passages of texts that might or might not be forbidden; but then, Eiko had asked “s-so, I’m supposed to do it l-like that, President-san?”, while pointing to the book. Ameri had nodded - and then promptly been kabedon’d (an impressive feat, considering the size difference) against the nearest wall. An excited squeal of “kya~!” which Purson would never be able to tell anyone about, seeing as nobody would ever believe him that President Ameri was capable of such sounds, and then the scene had proceeded… well, the way these things went, with the distance between lips quickly becoming nonexistent. Devi knew Purson had had enough experience regarding similar events in recent times, regrettably.

But, honestly, if not even the foremost representative of the student body could be trusted to remain respectable… Purson was slowly beginning to despair. Was he never going to be safe in this room? Or anywhere? Were hormones truly running this rampant in the school!? At this rate, he wished he could see just one exception. Just one person coming to this room for reasons other than putting the moves on someone else, no matter who, no matter what! Just the once!

As if answering Purson’s desperate prayer - or perhaps to deliver a final killing blow - the door swung open.

Oh, thank Devi.

Purson relaxed, slumping back into his semi-comfortable seat on top of some decommissioned moth-eaten tapestries depicting historically-inaccurate battles.

It was just one person entering. And since kissing very much required at least two bodies with something vaguely resembling lips, Purson was going to be safe this time. Barring a spontaneous cloning event, no kissing could possibly take place.

(Watch me, said cruel Fate, and Purson was suddenly overcome with a vague feeling of dread he couldn’t pinpoint a cause of for the life of him.)

Purson squinted at the newcomer, vague recognition stirring. Schnell-senpai, wasn’t it? Leader of the Magical Apparatus Battler during Ami Kiriwo’s temporary leave. Iruma had talked of him - mostly in terms that told Purson that this was someone Iruma firmly disapproved of, if not outright despised, though of course the dear boy was far too polite to say so openly - and he’d heard a rumour or two from around the school. A terrible lech, by all accounts, obsessed with girls and their appearances while rude to most actual people, and therefore largely shunned - not someone Purson really wanted to share his space with, but better this than the threat of witnessing more kisses hanging over his head, that was for sure. He would simply tolerate Schnell doing… whatever he intended to do in here, and take some solace in the fact that not everybody who entered this room did so with romantic intent.

Somewhat disinterestedly, Purson watched Schnell putter around, muttering to himself. Finally, he shrugged off the bag slung over his shoulder, and, with a leering grin and an “at last, we are alone, my beloved waifu,” pulled something large and lumpy from it.

It was… Purson leaned forward slightly, squinting… a pillow of considerable size, by the looks of it, bigger than Schnell was tall, blank on one side, and the other printed with the picture of…

Purson went very, very still.

“My sweet Ameri- no, Ame-chan!” Schnell caressed the area of the pillow that was printed with the cheek of a drawing that superficially resembled Student Council President Azazel Ameri, but, with the subservient-lusty look and pose, was definitely entirely unlike the real deal. “I’m home from work!”

And then, in a high-pitched voice that, again, did not really sound like Ameri at all: “oh, my darling, how lovely! I’ve been pining for you terribly - what would you like first? Dinner? A bath? Or… me~❤?”

Purson still sat frozen in horror. This guy wasn’t seriously… was he!?

“You, of course, honeypie!” Schnell nothing short of drooled - and dove in to kiss the pillow.

Purson stared, the way people stared at a carriage pile-up, or at a rampaging demonic beast, horrified and disgusted but unable to avert their eyes, his mind spiralling deeper and deeper into profound despair and a crisis of his very self - until finally, something fragile and fraying deep inside him snapped.

There was no reprieve. There was no mercy. There was nothing but people making out in front of him. Purson was cursed. Cursed, he was!

With the calm of a dead-inside man walking, Purson got up, heading for the door.

Halfway there, he paused, and glanced back at the utterly deplorable things Schnell was doing to that pillow, recalling the way Iruma’s hands had tightened to fists as he’d told Purson about his perspective of the Student Council dissolution trial, the way his voice had sounded tight and sharp with anger when describing the way Schnell-senpai was objectifying someone so magnificent and powerful and cool as Ameri-san, who, in Iruma’s eyes, should always be respected as the proud, honourable demon she was.

Purson currently felt mostly numb, but he vaguely recalled having experienced a wave of anger then, on behalf of Ameri, on behalf of Iruma, on behalf of the entire Student Council, and all directed at Schnell.

He made a decision.

Still invisible, he walked back to where Schnell was indecently groping the poor body pillow, pulled back one foot, and delivered as firm a kick as he could muster to Schnell’s most sensitive areas - and then a few more kicks after he’d crumbled onto the floor with a pained shriek, just for good measure.

Having thereby accomplished this solemn duty, and done right by the President’s honour, Purson left, unwilling to remain in Schnell’s presence for even a second longer, and greatly in need of playing a dramatic trumpet solo to work through his emotions in a healthy manner.

Why him? No, honestly, why him!?

(Schnell clutched himself in agony, frantically looking around the room for his attacker - but finding none, the little storage room as empty as it always had been.

Except, of course, for him and…

And…

Schnell glanced over at where the Ameri body pillow had fallen against a stack of crates, towering above him. Was it just his imagination, or did that seductive expression on her printed face suddenly look a good deal less come-hither and more… furious and murderous, and very, VERY kick-happy?

With a terrified squeak, Schnell scrambled away from the pillow, vowing under still-pained tears that he would never, never touch Ameri-sama again, and in fact get rid of his entire waifu collection to appease her in her wrath!

…or, well. Most of the collection.

Half.

Some, at least.

Definitely the pillow though. Yeah, definitely that.)

Chapter Text

+1

At this point, Purson’s horror at hearing the door of the storage room creak open on its rather less-than-well-oiled hinges was nothing short of Devlovian.

He readied himself for a desperate dash out the door, resigning himself to having to give up his refuge for the day once more - but it seemed like he could cautiously consider this his lucky day, seeing as it was only Kalego-sensei and Balam-sensei.

Now, Purson had, in the past, often mistakenly assumed himself to be safe, only to be shocked by the extent of the sheer depravity permeating the Babylus student body. But these were teachers, and, surely, teachers, mature adults, would not stoop to such lows. Yes, this time, Purson definitely had nothing to fear. 

(The universe played a faint song of foreshadowing, each and every note a dark omen. Purson chose to remain deaf to it at this point in time.)

And in any case, with the way Balam had closed the door behind himself and now stood directly in front of it, escape wasn’t exactly a viable option, anyway.

“Hm, I don’t think the maps you were looking for are here, Kalego-kun.” Balam peered around the storage room. “I rather think anything in here will still show the Northern Valleys in the borders from before the Third Satanic War. Perhaps even the one before that. Are you absolutely sure they’re not in the main map room?”

(Actual teacher business! Yessss! Purson let out a sigh of relief. No kissing business this time, no sir!)

“Forget the maps.” Kalego peered around the room suspiciously, his eyes sliding right over where Purson was still standing invisibly, at one both with the universe, and the wallpaper behind him. “They were just a pretence.”

“Oh?” Balam raised a curious eyebrow. “Were they, now?”

“Yes.” Satisfied that they were indeed alone, Kalego moved back to stand in front of Balam. “I needed to get you somewhere we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

(Purson, too, was curious now. Secret teacher business? What could it be? Gossip about the students? Exam planning? Evil demon terrorists infiltrating the teaching staff!? Oh, he was just dying to learn more!)

“Well, here we are now.” Balam gestured around them, the room (seemingly, Purson thought with a wicked smirk) empty. “What did you want from me, then?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A step closer, shortening the distance between them, so that Kalego had to crane his neck up significantly to still look Balam in the eye. “What I want?”

(A faint, worried suspicion popped up in Purson’s head. He carefully pushed it back down.)

“...oh.” Balam’s eyes widened suddenly, the light of realisation gleaming in them. “Oh!”

“Yes.” Kalego confirmed, nodding seriously, expectantly. “And?”

“I thought you said…” Balam fidgeted. “Not on school property, you said…”

(Oh no, Purson thought. Oh no. No, no, no.)

“I know what I said, Shichirou. Can’t I change my mind?” Kalego growled, reaching out to place his hand on those nervous fingers.

(Purson squinted, and thought he could see a faint blush rise on Sensei’s cheeks, not unlike that time he had tried to explain to them Lillith’s Love with a strangely faraway gaze, absentmindedly touching his ring finger.

Oh please no.)

“I know it was my idea to keep it secret in the first place, but… Shichirou, some days I want nothing more than to sink into your embrace halfway through the school day and forget all about our insufferable colleagues and all the pesky Misfits who Keep. Passing. Their. Exams. no matter how hard I try to fail them!” Kalego continued, frustratedly. “You’re the light of my life, Shichirou, you always have been. The eye of the storm, the moment of calm and quiet in all the chaos. I can’t be at peace without you.”

(And I can’t be at peace anywhere at all, Purson thought sourly, wishing very hard Balam-sensei weren’t still frozen in front of the door and thereby blocking his only escape route.)

“Kalego-kun…” Balam whispered, his eyes looking quite shiny. “I know how you feel. On the days I feel hardly able to show my face, even masked, around other people, the thought of you has always been what gives me strength. I too often wish to reach out for you and hold you close, at any time of the day.”

(Purson gagged soundlessly. These were sentiments which, while objectively beautiful and deeply romantic, he really would’ve liked to never hear from the mouths of his teachers, thank you very much.)

“Reach for me now.” Kalego purred, eyes half-lidded, pressing himself up against Balam, who was still blocking the door. Purson wanted to cry. Possibly tears of blood. “Perform your marital duties already - or will you insist on making your husband wait for what he has put forth a claim on long ago?”

Balam’s eyes darkened, and he reached up to remove his mask one-handed, the other snaking around Kalego’s waist.

(Purson considered passing out. Anything to remove himself from this situation.)

A soft whisper of “just this once, Kalego-kun,” and then there was messy, passionate, and very adult kissing, worse even than that display from Iruma and Azz, and only more terrible for the fact that these were people Purson considered the closest thing to parents right after his actual mom and dad. (Who he had seen kissing only once in his life, when he’d still been a toddler. The memory of said event still sometimes made him break out in a cold sweat of disgust, whenever he unfortunately remembered it. Ew.)

Purson’s soul gradually peeled itself off his corporeal form, well on its way to slowly floating off into the ether, leaving his body to remain with its head buried in its hands and yearning for death…

But then, caught in this strange, desperate fugue state, some part of Purson thought NO.

No, he was not going to put up with this any longer. This was already the worst day of his life, which he was going to need extensive therapy to work through. He was never going to be able to look his teachers in the eyes again no matter what. The damage was done.

So to Hell with the consequences. Nothing mattered, the world was already crashing down around him, and he was doomed anyway; so Purson embraced his newfound fatalistic nihilism, and decided to seal his fate for good.

“Okay, LISTEN,” he began - and the two teachers’ heads jerked apart instantly, necks craning to look for the source of the voice with visible panic and the first stirrings of fury; but finding none, since Purson had had the wise foresight to remain invisible. He had become nihilistic, after all, not suicidal.

“Listen,” Purson launched into the most frustrated rant he’d let spew forth in a long time, “I don’t mean to criticise you or imply that I’m in any way against your relationship because I’m not it’s very cute honestly and I’m happy for you - though oh my Devi you were MARRIED and you never told anyone? That’s kind of messed up, just saying, nobody would mind and in fact probably support you and congratulate you why did you even think it needed to be a secret in the first place that is really stupid - and in an abstract sort of way I do want you to be a couple and do all the couple-y things you want like swapping flirtations, and some spit too I guess, as disgusting as the thought is but for Devi’s sake could you, like, not ravish each other on school property!?”

(Balam was starting to look visibly ashamed, covering his reddening face with his hands, while Kalego’s sharp and sort of manic eyes were still searching for the source of the disembodied voice admonishing them. But that didn’t matter - nothing in life did, anymore - so Purson ruthlessly carried on.)

“I mean I hope you weren't going to go beyond first base, slipping each other some tongue and all - Satan knows you wouldn’t be the first to do that in here, this is a really popular spot for it, as awful as that has been - and not anything even more inappropriate but honestly I still kind of think that it's already bad enough to do just that here where anyone could walk in or in fact already be in the room (case in point) so really you should keep it in your pants and do this somewhere more private rather than in these hallowed halls of learning, like, don’t you have your own homes, isn’t that the kind of thing you use your teacher’s salary for, to have a place where you can kiss your lovers other than school? Speaking of, I find this whole thing especially disgraceful seeing as you’re teachers and adults which means you should be holding yourself to higher standards of propriety than all these hormonal teenage idiots in the throes of their first love affairs and apparently incapable of controlling their urges - but so are you, it turns out, and I find that kind of sad you know and you have lost all right to lecture anyone about inappropriate behaviour on Babylus school grounds ever again, like seriously, I will never respect you the same way I used to, not after this, it just isn’t happening. Sorry.”

Purson nodded to himself, satisfied. Devi, it felt so freeing, saying these things out loud - especially seeing as he was perfectly in the right here, and had every reason to say it and drag his Senseis to Hell and back. Opportunities like this only came around once or twice in a student’s lifetime, and he was determined to savour this one as the only redeeming factor of this whole terrible experience.

Kalego’s eyes narrowed. “Purson Soi, is that you?”

“No,” said Purson Soi. “This is the voice of your conscience, and not the voice of anyone specific that you could theoretically give detention until the end of days if you felt like it. You’re just imagining it. Nevertheless, I hope you will take your conscience’s advice and either keep things professional on school grounds, or, you know, just admit to your relationship and own it so you don’t feel that urgent need to have illicit rendezvouses in hidden parts of the school when the yearning gets too bad.”

Purson paused.

“Oh and also if you insist on continuing to smooch please move away from the door so that anyone who might be caught invisibly in the room with you and is now feeling extremely awkward and horrified by having seen things they want to burn out of their memory with arson spells can get out of this waking nightmare.”

Balam and Kalego exchanged a glance, and wordlessly took a few steps to the left.

“Thank you.” Purson said, and, holding his head high, walked over to the door, an invisible force opening it while the two teachers watched with matching expressions of helpless horror.

They deserved it, Purson thought with a stab of vindictive glee. They deserved it all, and worse.

“And,” he turned to add, “keep in mind that I - your guilty conscience, not Purson Soi at all - am very disappointed in you, and the terrible example you’re setting for your students with this kind of behaviour. No wonder this little storage room gets more action than most marriage beds. They get it from you. For shame, Senseis! For shame.”

Having delivered this most cutting of reprimands, Purson closed the door behind himself with a pointed little >click<, and left the little storage room behind, uninclined to ever return. That room was quite obviously cursed, and by now he’d seen enough secret kisses to last himself a lifetime.

A slim chance at peace and quiet wasn’t worth this, all things considered.

(Purson briefly wondered if there was a sort of moral here as well about not sitting around in abandoned storage rooms and failing to announce oneself when people entered, in the faint hope that juicy secrets would be forthcoming.

If, perhaps, he had his own behaviours and habits to critically examine, and perhaps re-evaluate. That, perhaps, this was some sort of karmic retribution for his snooping habits, and a lot of grief could have been averted if he’d just said “oh, hi guys” once or twice, or even, Hell Forbid, openly admitted that he wanted some peace and quiet, and found a retreat in some part of Royal One, trusting his friends not to disturb him.

…

…no, no, Purson was pretty sure that there was no such lesson there for him to learn, whatsoever. He’d been in the right all along, and it was just the universe being cruel and merciless for no reason at all throughout. Yeah, yep. That was all it was.)

Epilogue

“Yes. Ehem. This is an announcement from Naberius Kalego to the student body. It has come to our- to my attention that you have been making use of a certain storage room in the north wing for… engaging in carnal enjoyment. Suffice it to say that this sort of behaviour will NOT be tolerated any longer, from anyone, and I do mean anyone. This is a place of learning, not a mating-battle arena, for Devi’s sake! Something like… ugh… love is for your private time, and other locations. Certain magical restrictions have been put in place, and anyone found liplocking in said storage room will find it impossible to lipUNlock again without the counterspell, which I hope will serve as sufficient deterrent.

Moving on to the second, entirely unrelated, part of this announcement: to appease… my conscience… I would hereby like to formally announce a committed courtship and marriage bond between myself and my colleague, Balam Shichirou. No well-wishers or Opera-senpais, please, just leave any and all wedding presents in front of the biology lab prep room.

That is all.

The Babylus teaching staff thanks you for your attention.”

Sitting amidst the other Misfits in Royal One - not so quiet, but maybe not so bad, either - Purson quietly smiled to himself. He’d become disillusioned with the common sense of his peers and superiors, somewhat, but it was good to know that, in some cases, there was a little hope to be had, still.

And then he put his trumpet to his lips, and began playing the chorus of Lilith’s Red Carpet.

It felt, in a way, like an appropriate conclusion to this whole sorry love affair.