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The door to the room opened with a thud and a rectangle of light burst into the darkness, interrupted by a black figure leaned against a doorjamb.
Throughout the day he had remained the usual stoic President of the Student Council, rigid and cold, unaffected by the events of the previous night and the defeat of the greatest and most dangerous battle of his life, as if he had not tried to eliminate all the wizards in Twisted Wonderland and lost to three of them. Even at the final celebrations, he had remained impassive. Now that he was alone, however, he felt shortness of breath.
He pushed himself away from the wooden jamb and locked the door, then staggered through the moonlit darkness, trying to reach the desk. He hardly recognised himself, he did not understand what was happening to him, it was not like him to feel that way. He grabbed the President's hat and tore it from his head before throwing it on the table.
The exchange was over, he would never meet those disgusting wizards again in the short term, or maybe ever in his life. As for the plan to eradicate magic, he had already said that he would try again and that he would do it seriously as soon as he had perfected it. That was not what bothered him so much.
His hands fell weakly to his sides, dragging the stoles of his uniform behind them. All he had to do was change into something comfortable for the night, but even that simple gesture was exhausting. The only desire he had at the moment was to throw himself between the sheets, try to close his eyelids and ignore the experiences of the last three days. As if nothing had happened.
He dragged himself to the bed and slipped into the warmth, stiff, his face turned towards the ceiling, his eyes wide open.
Something was disturbing him and he did not understand what it was that was keeping him awake. The Night Raven College guys were gone, they would no longer be a nuisance, and no one but them knew that he was the mind behind the appearance and proliferation of the crimson lotus flowers. Why, then, did he feel as if a boulder were pressing down on his chest? He struggled to breathe, his hands clutching the sheet on which they lay.
The three main Villains who had beaten him at the top of the bell tower had put on a pretty good show to end the exchange, and everyone seemed to have forgotten what had happened the night before. Everyone except her.
"President, go ahead. She's alone," his vice-president had urged him on, and Rollo had turned to look at him.
"Where shall I go?"
"That girl, (Y/n), she's alone! Invite her to dance. It could be your last chance!" the assistant had continued.
For a moment he had believed it. For some absurd reason, a seed of hope had been planted in him and, watching her from afar, he had convinced himself that he might have a chance, the only one who could dance with her. After being forced to dance with Malleus, if he danced with her too, it would go unnoticed. So he had plucked up the courage and decided to get closer.
Putting one foot in front of the other without staggering had suddenly become a challenge. His vision was blurred and swayed with every step he took. Everyone else had disappeared from the room, leaving only him and his beautiful target with a sweet smile. His heels resounded and were covered by the music when he stopped a few metres from her. He cleared his throat, stiff as ever.
"(Y/n)-san," he called to get her attention, but when (Y/n) saw that the caller was the President who had risked her friends' magical talents the night before, she backed away, hiding behind the arm of the person closest to her, asking for protection and looking at him in fear.
What had he done...?
Rollo felt a stab in the centre of his chest as he saw those eyes glisten with fear, and for a moment his own sockets opened wide, bringing a hint of expression to his always apathetic face.
"Forgive my interruption, I will take my leave."
He had left without even asking her if they could dance together. He had wanted to avoid a direct refusal. The fearful look on her face was more than enough to make him realise what the outcome of the request would be.
In bed, Rollo inflated his lungs to the limit and exhaled slowly, trying to relieve the nagging pain that was stabbing him. It was as if his greatest fear had come true.
"President, then?" his colleagues asked anxiously when they saw him return empty-handed.
"Miss (Y/s) declined my invitation, as I had planned," he repositioned himself at the edge of the room and continued to observe the festivities with a detached gaze.
"President..."
"I'm sorry, President..."
Both were sorry, but their pity annoyed Rollo.
"I don't need compassion. I knew exactly how this was going to go. I. Told you. So," he hissed the last words between his teeth, pouring his grief on them as contempt.
It was true, he knew it would end like this if he lost the battle. The Villains had prevailed over justice this time, and (Y/n) now feared and hated him.
He tossed and turned in bed, dragging the blankets behind him and hiding better under them. The windows were closed and he was not cold, but his body refused to stop trembling and his face frowned towards the middle, trying to cope with the pain that ran through his torso, from his stomach to his chest, and that clouded his mind. He no longer felt himself (*), he did not understand what was happening to him.
He turned over again, looking up at the ceiling with his eyes wide open.
Throughout the evening he had not moved from his chosen spot on the edge of the floor. Now and then his faithful would leave him for a few dances, then return and leave again. He was the only certainty in the room: wherever they were, they would find him, no matter what time it was. The only leisure he allowed himself was to scan the area with his eyes out of boredom. He had judged all these people with hidden contempt, sometimes interrupted by a silent mental silence when he met (Y/n).
She was... beautiful.
Despite the rejection and what he had read in her eyes, Rollo was still drawn to her and wanted to get closer, if only to speak to her. A few words, a smile would have been enough for him, but instead he received contempt. Often (Y/n) noticed that she was being stared at from a distance, and as soon as it happened, her expression changed: she became sombre, she lost her smile.
I take your contempt… (**) I accept it.
Then someone would call out to her, or invite her to dance, and she would look away. When that happened, Rollo felt a pang in his stomach. A hateful look was better than being ignored, if it came from her.
Rollo turned over in bed again, completely sleepless, and lay on his stomach, arms and legs spread wide, face buried in the pillow. It should have been a day of victory, or at most a day of despondency over the failure of the plan. But he could not find peace because of a girl. The only relief was that he would never see her again in his life. He turned around again.
He could still see the dress fluttering around the room, dancing with some of his wizard friends, laughing and having fun, and one hand automatically reached up as if to grab it, before pulling it back in embarrassment.
Pathetic... I just wanted... a smile...
He rolled over onto his side and pulled the pillow beside him. His arms wrapped around it, his fingers sinking into the fabric with a claw-like grip and he pressed it tightly against his torso.
I know you're not mine... (***)
The look she gave him from time to time, when she realised she was being watched, burned into his retinas like a brand. It was unbearable.
I know that I am hated by you... (****)
He breathed in the scent of the pillowcase, as if it might contain traces of her scent somewhere, even if she had never been in Rollo's bed. He would have liked to take her to that bed, to see her eyes filled with pleasure instead of hatred, to sink his fingers into her flesh instead of the cold fabric of a pillow. He would have liked to have her, to possess her, but any desire for her would have remained a desire forever. The plan to eliminate the wizards could always be redesigned and reimplemented, but she... she was gone forever. All she had left was her dress.
His tensed muscles relaxed as soon as he realised that what she had worn had been returned to the school and that he could request it, hold it close to him and smell it for the last time and for the first time so close.
He let go of the pillow and settled onto his back for good, before a strange light attracted his attention. Through the half-open curtains, he caught a glimpse of the sky, from which the stars had begun to disappear and whose colour had brightened: it was dawn, and he had not slept a wink.
The rock was still on his chest, rest had never been his that night, so he decided to wait out the few minutes before the alarm went off, staring motionlessly at the ceiling, reliving the closing party and remembering the elusive eyes of (Y/n), full of fear and hatred.