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The dinner party today sure is quiet.
Normally, it would be clamorous at a dinner party in Heartslabyul, like all the birthday parties and Unbirthday parties and other forms of parties they hosted. But, perhaps tranquility was better suited for a farewell like this, thought Cater. The dishes were delicious, every plate enjoyed and emptied aside from the slice of blueberry tart left untouched in front of him.
“You're not going to eat the tart?”
“Not right now,” he replied to himself with a sigh. “I never liked sweet things to start with, y’know?”
The copy of himself stared at him oddly, then shrugged with a helpless smile. “Take your time with it, then.”
If the grandfather clock would make any sound against this deafening silence, Cater wondered if his heart would beat less quickly, soothed by the sound of the swaying, or perhaps even the ticking. Or maybe not the ticking, as it would continuously remind him that time was passing, and before long, the time he spends here would come to an end. The clock had come to a stop minutes ago, and now he only has the time on his phone to rely on. His phone, which neither ticks nor tocks, nor rings a silly chime at the arrival of every hour.
Had Riddle noticed the clock stopping, he would have most certainly demanded one of them to use their magic and wind it again. Had he been awake, and if he had demanded Cater to do it, he would have gladly obeyed. However, there was something else that he, that ‘they’ were here to do today, and Cater had little time to spare winding up clocks.
“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” asked another copy of himself. “It’s better to eat the tart now, or you know you’d overthink everything again.”
“I’ll be fine~”
The copy of Cater standing behind Trey’s chair sounded a little too similar to him, always nagging Cater about what he should do and whatever. A feeling of unease wormed into the part of his heart he hadn’t managed to steel just yet, as Cater was reminded of how close he had gotten to them in the past three years. Not a comforting thought considering what he was about to do.
Trey’s body slumped, and his head drooped towards the table, every slow exhale sending a leftover crumb or two skipping from his plate. Across from him was Deuce, head lulling back, audible breaths coming from his open mouth. Beside him was Ace, leaning sideways against the chair’s armrest. Cater couldn’t see his face from where he sat, but the position looked rather uncomfortable.
And Riddle, his dear housewarden, sat across from him. Straight in his chair, eyes closed, arms neatly folded into his lap, like he was silently pondering how to rule better the students in his dorm. Every bit of his dignified presence remains, and Cater’s heart almost chilled, wondering if he would suddenly open his eyes, and stop Cater right in his tracks with a yell of “Off With Your Head”.
“Riddle-kun, will you forgive me for this?” he whispered in a voice just loud enough to reach across the table. When no one replied, he smiled ruefully at himself, thinking that the curse he had practiced so much in the past few months worked a little too well.
“The preps are all done, mes!” The three copies of himself in charge of dealing with physical traces came skipping into the dining hall, and Cater leaned back in his chair with a sigh.
“Guess it’s time then.”
There were better methods than having to meticulously change things like this, he’s sure. Altering the past or mass-rewriting everyone’s memories sounds nice and convenient. It would be a lot less work than having to find everyone who knew him, work sneakily to suppress each of their memories, and erase all the traces of himself he had left in their phone gallery, chat history, yearbooks, and the likes. But alas, he was no Malleus Draconia. It’s a good thing Cater had always been good at paying attention to little details.
It was a dinner party for five, a night of farewell for one. They were graduating, but he was sure that they’d see each other again and again in the future.
Again and again, and the period between each meet-up would begin to drag, longer with every year passing. Until one day, they’d become strangers in each others’ lives again. Chats would go from several a day to one every few months, dwindling until a tiny heart on each other’s feeds is all that remains.
That was how the story always went for Cater.
Sparks floated from their heads, almost like the bubbles that would rise from their cauldrons during alchemy class, popping when they floated a little too high up. Each copy of Cater stood behind his friends, eyes closed, raising their magical pen in the air and muttering ancient enchantments in sync. If he were to ignore the nature of the magic, he thought he’d actually find the sight to be quite pretty.
Insignificant as they seemed, every one of those sparks were a fragment of their past three years together. Helping Deuce rebake a tart he botched up, losing rounds after rounds of Cheat to Ace, dragging rebellious first years to the court with Trey for Riddle to off their heads. With every memory that sprung back into his mind, the more he began to cherish the sight in front of him. It was like watching a meteor shower that would only happen this once, where every single star that burned was a forgotten tale, a hidden story that would never be remembered again. He couldn’t tell which fragment of memories every spark represented, but just a little, he found himself guessing, whether certain sparks that appeared to shine brighter belonged to larger events, and the ones that danced around like diamond dust, if they were the mundane conversations they exchanged from day to day.
Cater felt a lump in his throat as the fifth clone of his approached him. “Cay-kun,” he said quietly, “we’re almost done.”
“Gotcha.”
“So you should eat that tart already.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The blueberry tart still looked unappetizing, and the sleep curse he had cast on it made it all the more unappealing to eat.
“Cater,” he reminded, a little more sternly, dropping honorifics like Cater knew he himself often did when he’s being serious. “You know it’s your turn next.”
He sighed and looked up at his clone.
“On second thought, I really don’t feel like eating something sweet on an important day like this!” he said with a laugh, pushing the dish away from himself. The rims of his eye hurt, but he willed himself not to shed tears at a time like this.
The last spark faded into the air, and all five of his clones turned to stare at him in concern.
“Sorry.” Cater stood from his chair, keeping all his turmoiling emotions carefully sealed away.
“You sure you won’t regret this?” one copy of himself asked, tipping his head.
In all actuality, he knew there was no necessity for this conversation to happen at all, as the conversation shared between himself and his clones was just another way to quell the deafening silence.
He cast a spell in the direction of the leftover tart. It sizzled and, along with the plate, evaporated in a cloud of smoke, drifting into the air. Some of his clones chuckled, and the others grinned in acknowledgement.
“Seems like you’ll be okay,” said one with a nod of his head. A blink of his eyes later, they were gone, leaving him the only one standing in the now empty-seeming hall. Wistfully he smiled, and tucked his chair under the table.
Sometimes, he wished that the magic would continue on forever, and whenever he ends up thinking like this, it would almost certainly come to an abrupt end. He didn’t want to go through drifting apart anymore, especially with these guys. Cutting everything off cleanly at graduation would be the best way to end things and preserve a pretty memory of his college life, but he doubted anyone would agree with his sentiments.
Call him selfish, though this was the most painless way to go for everyone.
Yet he couldn’t bare to separate himself from these diamond dust-like memories. Over time, and without himself noticing, they’ve piled up and became something he valued too much.
Well, if they were to become too painful for himself one day, he supposed he could just take them away then.
“Bye-bye,” he whispered with a gentle smile. There were no responses, but he didn't expect any. And when they wake up, there'll be no trace of a fifth person having ever been with them.
He picked up his bag and left the table, sending a spell towards the grandfather clock to wind its chains and fix the position of the hands. As it began to tick and sway once more, the bell sounded, crisp and vibrant and echoing across the hall.
Some part of his cheerful facade crumbled, and he found himself glancing back at the dinner table once more.