Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crunch of snow beneath foot has an odd way of setting ease to Jack’s shoulders as he comes to a gradual decrease in speed, air puffing in wispy white clusters with each exhale. It’s early—earlier than even the moments when Vil would join him for a morning run. 

A solitude needed after the headache of so many individuals in his home.

Winter break. A once-reprieve, now out of reach from a convoluted tangle of eagerness and curiosity.

His lungs burn as he comes to a stop in front of the burning light of his home, windows hued with the soft yellows and oranges of the gathering room’s lamps and hearth set aflame. Above him the sky twinkles with the stars that are often so difficult to make out amongst the buildings and crags of Night Raven College, the moon coloring everything a light glow.

“Started without me, then? How rude,” it’s a soft huff of words as Jack’s gaze slants to the bench his parents often perch to watch over his younger siblings during their play. Vil’s hair hangs in his eyes, finger curled in the heel tab of his shoe. “To think that you of all people would lose your manners while home.” A quieter mutter, an allowed undignified display in its teasing if only because they’re alone, “What if there’d been another snowstorm, hmm? I doubt you’d enjoy being stuck with our entourage while sick.” 

(Vil has always been a forthright person in his opinions, desires, and expectations—it’s a trait to be celebrated just as it can be one of his greatest faults depending on the situation. Still, together, like this, the teasing edge to that trait comes easier to the other man.

Sometimes, Jack forgets that he’s even the reason there’s a faux-distance between them at school. It’s such an odd thing, to think about how as children they only shared a school year or two, and it cemented something all from what, in all rights, was a chance meeting due to would-be bullies.

Yet, for all that it could be considered a short time to ‘know’ someone, Vil is someone he respects, despite the way time and circumstances have complicated it all. Really, in the end, it’s just another hurdle to deal with and improve upon.)

The callback to the event makes his ears twitch, tail swishing with well earned admonishment as Jack clears his throat to move on. 

“It’s always been coincidence that we start at the same time,” Jack says, a not entirely untrue statement in the grand scheme of things. Then, because it’s quiet, nothing but the woods to play witness (—and it’s Vil, despite the mess of that statement— ), “I didn’t expect so many of them to opt out of staying at your place.” 

The Schoenheit estate has always been a roomy thing as far back as Jack can even remember it. He remembers being small and staring up at the door as if it were something indomitable, as thick as the oldest willow trees, looming with its presence when compared to the other homes along the street. Modern, is the word to describe it now, Or sleek, as Vil might put it; difficult to understand are the words Jack would use, personally, to describe the interior and all of its eccentricities. 

Still, when compared to his own home, it would have more room to house the headache that is the other students of the college. 

He can only blame the ill-planned curiosity of his fellow students as the reason they’re all camping out at his house after the mishap that brought them all here in the first place.

Jack sighs as he thinks about it all. Ace and Deuce could really get into it sometimes, didn’t matter what the debate or fight, or whatever it is they would get into for the day could be — as much as he could respect their passion for it, they were such trouble — but physically bulldozing several people in the mirror hall is a bit much even for them. It provoking Floyd’s interest of all people just led to making the entire event even worse. 

They’ve ended up with a ragtag group all things considered. 

“Really?” Vil questions with a click of his tongue, as if they’re children once more. “Not even you found my home very welcoming, Jack.” Big, sturdy, odd, all things Jack has thought of the Schoenheit estate across the various times he’s been invited, but welcoming…homey, have never been on the table. Vil tucks his hair behind his ear as he looks out across the well trudged track of space Jack has already made his rounds, lip quirking up. “Besides,” Vil continues, “There’s always been an appeal to your cavalier attitude. It really shouldn’t be too surprising.” 

“Always talkin’ about things I can’t wrap my head around,” Jack huffs. “At this point I’m just going to look at all of this as a way to test my patience.” 

There’s a laugh, soft, clipped, amused in a way that makes Jack rankle if only because he knows Vil is finding enjoyment in his annoyance. “Always so passionate about the oddest things, hmm?” Vil’s hand is cold when it comes up to pat at his cheek ( like they’re small again, a once common action, endeared and familiar, a bygone era now returned in their bubble, waiting to be popped by the ensuing current ), a gentle thing that matches his smile; snowflake soft. “I really shouldn’t be being so kind to you this morning after you so rudely refused to wait, but…Floyd is already up and about with your siblings.” A pause, almost hesitant, nearly an afterthought “Doing remarkably well with them, really.” 

The sigh that flows out of him has Vil chuckling, the curve of his smile hidden against the back of his fingers. “You’d best get going then shouldn’t you Jack?”

“There’s still a chance you could end up hosting them,” Jack says as he strides past the other man. What a headache—the sun has just barely started its upward crest for the day and he’s already got to contend with the biggest obstacle for peace. 

Though, part of him can’t deny the interest in fielding whatever it is that’s going on in the house, he’s always been a fan of challenges to test himself.

(His siblings have always been early risers — a family trait — so Jack had expected them to either go looking for him when he returned from his run—the outcome he’d hoped for—or they’d venture to bother one of their guests—the outcome it seems they went with—while their parents attended to last minute call aways from the day prior. 

They’ve always been opportunistic little things ever since Jack could remember; he’s quite sure he still has a scar from the time one of them bit him on the thigh when they realized they’d had sharp teeth. 

Having new people over just a few hours before they had to head for winter camp was always going to be a situation ripe for them to take advantage of to satiate their own curiosities. 

It had been a long night having to continuously herd the two of them back to their rooms after Jack had situated everyone else in the living room. Utterly laughable that the two of them thought their stomping through the house was in any way stealthy.) 

It’s why walking into a kitchen that’s not a mess comes as a bit of a surprise. Jack’s aware that Floyd cooks more often than not for Mostro Lounge — the day he’d worked there had revealed quite a bit more of the guiles of that trio just as it had a few more…regular traits all things considered. He can still feel hands all too presumptuous, cloying, heavy on his hair and fur, twinned as tight as a cord, annoying in their coy slyness — but Floyd’s easily changing moods he knows of even better.

His younger siblings are in a word: handfuls. Active, chatty, so full of personality they could put the brightest of stars to shame with how attention calling they can be. Messy, playful, bundles of chaos that befits their ages alongside the independence that the Shaftlands cultivates in all of its youths. 

Their attempts at cooking with their mother is often a messy and loud affair, which is why he’s left in a bit of a bewildered calm as his younger brother sits politely on a stool, not a drop of anything messy on his hands or skin or clothes. “I don’t want fruit for mine,” he’s saying, nose scrunched and face twisted. “D’you think we could do something different for mine?” 

His sister, younger, often more impulsive and nearly always on the counter itself to, in her words, help their mother is actually on the floor, tippy-toed as her cheeks puff in a sign that Jack knows is distaste and disagreement. “That’s not fair if you’re getting something different! He’s gonna make it all pretty an’ colorful so you gotta eat it.” 

“I’m not the one who kept buggin’ him. It’s just toast anyway—you can’t make that special.” 

“Can to!” 

“Last time mama made you pretty toast you cried because you couldn’t bring yourself to eat it,” his brother huffs, “and when nii-san tried to make something for you, you said it was too ugly. You’re just gonna be picky.”

“Will not!”

Toast. Of all the things to argue over. Mouth curving upward Jack makes a move to ease further into the kitchen if only to distract the two from what would be a debate so early in the morning. 

The only thing that stops him is the little laugh Floyd lets out as his hand comes up to ruffle his sister's hair, soft and easy, gentle in a way that’s got Jack’s nose scrunching in a brief confusion. It’s not an image he has of the older boy. “Don’t worry about that, you’re having fun aren’t you kiddo? It’s really not such a hassle to make something like this,” a hum as he watches Floyd move to pick something up. It smells sweet. “You wanted flowers, yeah? Does this look good enough?” 

Her tail makes an audible thwacking noise from where it makes contact with Floyd’s leg. “Can we add some more blueberries? Just a couple? Please?”

“You’re not supposed to be having too much sugar in the morning,” Jack pipes up, something fond in his chest as he looks at her. It smells like cream and blueberries and bananas, sweet as can be. There’s a pout on her face that he huffs at before smoothing down the mess of her hair. “But…considering it’s your last day before camp, if you can find someone willing to share some with you, we can put some more on there.” 

She’s off like a shot out into the living to wake up one of their other guests, and knowing his sister he’s willing to bet she’ll end up returning with Grim and the prefect or Lilia over Jamil. Or, if Vil were still in sight anywhere, she would choose him over anyone else. 

“And you,” Jack says, giving his brother a once over. “You’re going to ask him to make you eggs on toast, something you know how to do.” 

His brother’s grin stretches to show off his teeth. “Can’t blame a guy for trying can ya? Besides, she's the one who thought he looked like you in the dark.” 

“Floyd-senpai doesn’t have ears, nor a tail, and last I checked I wasn’t sleeping in the living room.” 

He shrugs. “She still thought it.”

Jack huffs. “Sure. Make sure you’re both all packed and ready for later, I’ll take over here.”

His brother gives a lazy little salute before he leaves and Jack rolls his eyes at the movement before he starts to gather everything from the fridge. 

“I wasn’t going to bite them, sea urchin~” It’s irritatingly playful, almost sing-song beside him as Jack spreads sour cream over two slices of bread. A little laugh, “Hardly any meat on them, they’re teeny.”  

“I didn’t want to end up owing you anything.” Jack says, as he moves on to creating a wall of mayo along the inside of the edges. “I’ve already been on the receiving end of Octavanielle’s unscrupulous business practices.” His lip curls, the crack of eggs loud in the quiet of the kitchen. “The three of you are difficult employers and I would rather never have you touch me so familiarly again. I detest acting buddy-buddy with others.” 

His ears press flat against his skull when Floyd makes a move towards them. “Such a meanie, sea urchin, all we were doing is telling you how much of a good boy you were — Azul was impressed with you.” Jack ducks out of the way of his halfhearted swipe as he carries his little tray of egg covered pieces of bread to their toaster oven to pop them in. Floyd looks at him with hooded eyes and a smile full of teeth; predator watching believed-to-be prey. “Nee, why don’t you give it a second thought? We’d take real good care of you, no tricks. Octavinelle is full of a compassionate sort.”

Blunt: “The matter from before has already been settled—I refuse.” 

“So stubborn, you’re real irritating sometimes,” Floyd says, and for all that Jack’s had to personally interact with him, being irritating or boring is typically the best way to get the other boy’s interest to fade.

“Call me what you want, this is a matter I will not budge. Such a situation would be a poor fit.” A shady trio like that would no doubt concoct a way to receive compensation or recompense for any little thing. “I’ve got no intentions of willingly takin’ orders from your lot.” 

The only interest he has in those three is their strength, and even that’s been tested and defined; the further he can get from having to interact with any of them the better. 

“Aha~ You’re really the kind of person that gets me excited,” Floyd laughs, high and easy, as Jack eyes him. “Nee, li’l sea urchin didja know that the best part of one is when you crack it open? It makes the perfect snack. Ah—but I’ll squeeze you very gently as a sign of hospitality.”

“You’d have to catch me first,” Jack returns, only turning away when the oven finally dings. A chuckle escapes him; “With this terrain around us? It wouldn’t even be a fair fight for you.” 

Floyd’s smile widens, eyes curling into crescents. “Invitin’ me to play? Haven’t found too many people that’ll let me go all out. You’re really different, huh.” 

“I have firm likes and dislikes.” 

“So prickly,” Floyd hums.

“You’ve been given two warnings already,” Jack says placidly as he passes the older boy, ears pressed flat to his skull. “Unlike at school there are no rules in place to keep things civil . You’re nothing I can’t tackle on my own if need be.” Not smug, not prickly, a comfortable kind of nonchalance: “You’re not the only one with teeth that aren’t just for show, Floyd-senpai.” 

“Sounds fun, call it a date sea urchin~” Floyd says, mirth thick on his tongue, steps light despite his size—fitting for an ambush predator—as he trails just a pace behind him. Something like fervor to his tone when he slips from his slouch to his full height, gluttonous creature revealing its hunger, mouth as close to Jack’s folded ears as he can get—”Hey, you’ll promise you’ll be able to go for more than a few rounds won’t you?”—quick as a shot before dancing away, laughter echoing down the hall as he keeps speaking, uncaring of the noise as he stops just shy of the living room. “I can’t even remember the last time someone even promised me a good time, let alone one where I can let loose, so you can’t disappoint.” 

 In any universe or version of time  this is never going to be the way Jack wants to start off breakfast for his younger siblings just hours before they’re to be picked up by his parents to enjoy their winter sports camp. 

(He’s not quite sure what makes the entire thing worse after Floyd’s general well — everything. The fact that this entire situation has occurred at all, or that he has to physically be present and deal with. Regardless, in the present and very high on his list, is Grim going from a half-asleep muttering menace to attempting to claw up his leg in the search of a sandwich that was promised to him.

It’s not even Floyd and his presumptuousness, or even that it’s loud so early in the morning. It’s the first year he’ll be missing out on joining the sports camp because of uninvited guests.  

It’s going to be a very trying winter break.)

Jack can feel the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Less instinctual wariness and more a distaste at such pervasive scrutiny. 

(Too familiar, searching, seeking; challenge in silence — looking for weakness. An assessment that one doesn’t know the criteria of to pass.)

“—Jack.” He blinks, ears swiveling, a quick inhale—sandalwood, rosewater, light and unobtrusive to the nose. Familiar, not a threat. 

“Apologies, Jamil-senpai,” He says after a moment, attention switching back to the shorter boy. The soft click of heels is loud as he fights the urge to keep the individual making him so twitchy in his sights. 

(There’s been lessons on it since he’s was a boy — the supposed or believed distinction of ‘animal-like’ traits versus the more ‘human-like’ traits of humans — of how beastfolk should be, or that they’re more likely to display certain actions or reactions to stimuli simply because of their counterparts.

Some actions are simply instinctual; ears swivel, a tail wags, his mouth curls to show his teeth when he’s upset. Some are biological; a better sense of smell, a sensitivity to his hearing. Being looked at, feeling someone check over and scrutinize him is just another instinctual reaction.

It’s different from the presumptions of the other students at NRC. The laughable assertion that carnivorous beastmen can’t eat anything vegetarian in nature. The derision in comments about how some beastmen fit better with a collar. That due to the genus of certain families that beastmen should follow those ascribed traits; aggressive, docile, friendly, as if it’s a one to one conversion and not a matter of preference and personality.

Throughout his youth Jack has listened in to various attempts at describing the dichotomy of beastfolk versus their animal counterparts; how deep the connection runs, the prejudice, the old studies, quips for fun and those made to deride versus his own staunch understanding and comfort to the fit of a hierarchy. 

A messy, convoluted thing that to this day he doubts he could really explain or put into words. Some things rankle him like nothing else, others are as set in stone as needing to breathe.) 

He looks out further down the street. “Ruby berries are still in season at this time.” He says, can smell them even from here. Ripe and sweet as they glisten like fresh drops of blood from a wound without the copper taste. “There’s also quite a bit of different meat used out here for cooking. Hunting isn’t an uncommon practice out here so alongside lamb, or beef, and pork, sometimes there’s duck or other small game.” A glance downward at the slip of paper held loose between Jamil’s fingers. “ Vil-senpai would be a better choice to follow with the things you’re looking for though. My mother’s recipes are…a much heavier meal than what it seems like you’re looking for.”

“It is true that my eye for beautiful things does extend past just people,” Vil says, an acquiesce from a few paces behind them. He’d only been roped into joining for a walk through the market due to Jamil’s promise of making something that wouldn’t be terribly greasy or run the risk of making him feel bloated afterwards. “And this does look promising.” 

“It’s just a preference for making something I already have practice with.” It’s muffled, a soft thing even when compared to Jamil’s standard pitch, due to the borrowed scarf tucked around his neck. For all that the Scalding Sand’s nights can be cold, thick snow and a persistent chill was enough to convince the older boy to take it when offered (“Don’t misunderstand me, it doesn’t make a difference to me, but if you aren’t built for the chill there’s a closet full of my old winter stuff.”) instead of toughing it out. 

(It’s a funny thing seeing his classmates tucked in his old mittens, hats, and scarves when compared to his and Vil’s own dress. Jack had expected the prefect to bundle up built like a waif as they are, had even expected them to somehow retrofit an old baby scarf around Grim’s neck to replace the typical bow. Jamil had followed soon after, a bit more slowly, but as the temperature started to truly dip yet a few more items went missing from the storage closet.

The biggest surprises came in the form of Floyd snatching a cardigan — which had given him pause considering he was quite sure he remembered the merfolk mentioning at some point prior that they had a resistance to the cold — (and yet, Jack could say nothing because. At the end of the day, despite his dislike for the duplicitous nature of the older boy, it would be an unfair thing to strip access to items already offered to others on the off chance he really did need them.), and then Lilia donning a jacket from his teenage years, patches fixed and repaired with his father’s signature steady hand, a most quizzical curl to his mouth as he did so.

He’s wearing it still, today, hair brushing Jack’s arm. There’s a stain on the cuffs his parents could never get out. It makes his fingers numb, his nails ache, hands itchy with cuts that aren’t there. ) 

“It sounds like it’s settled then,” Lilia pipes up, low and always bordering on playful. Jack glances down at him when he feels a hand slip through his arm, a twitch to the muscle, a subdued recoil, as he refrains from shaking the grip off. Something tells him it’d be harder than it looks, a fight not worth picking in the middle of the market. Lilia’s smile is bright, friendly, but there’s always a kind of edge to it, not quite a play at friendliness, nothing faux about it, but like it takes more effort. “Jamil and Vil will finish gathering the ingredients for dinner later tonight. Floyd and that prefect of ours will return with ideas of how to spend the day, and,” there’s a gentle tug to his arm that Jack allows himself to follow out of curiosity. It ends with the two of them being spun on their heels as Lilia tosses over his shoulder: “I will gladly take advantage of having a local guide to question about the local sights for the next time I want to drop by on my own.” 

There’s something like a sigh, the swish of hair, as Jack lets himself be led along. “Take care with the weather,” Vil calls, and there’s a warmth to it as he says it. A fondness that Jack doesn’t want to think about. “And don’t you dare think of trying to leave Jamil and I alone with Grim and Floyd on our own — there’s no telling what ideas they’ll have in their heads when they’re done exploring.” 

Lilia’s laugh is tinkling. “Such spoilsports. I’ll have Jack back in time for dinner, promise.” 

Of all the people that ended up as tag-alongs for winter break, the Diasomnia vice housewarden is one that Jack has… the least experience in interacting with, or knows anything about. His hobby of traveling and general— presence about him is perhaps the only thing he knows.

Their first real interaction, of sorts, had consisted of Leona’s overblot incident as well as its aftermath, and that. Well. It left a poor taste to the mouth , was perhaps not the most gracious way to be introduced to another individual. Any interactions after have been brief, fleeting.

Outside of Sebek as a fellow first year, everyone in the Diasomnia dorm is uncharted territory. He knows titles, names, years, the basics, but everything else is up in the air. 

Yet, the comment made toward his own house warden still rings in his head with a frequency that grates. Jack has his gripes with Leona and all that—he could do , if only he put the effort into it, if he clawed his way and took things with his own hands, if he would just put the faith Jack and the rest of the dorm put into him care a little more. He recognizes the man’s flaws, respects him still despite them; the ring of men like you are much more suited for a collar than a crown echoes in his head, the derision of it, the intent of it to condescend, it sets him on edge. 

The circumstances of royalty are different—there’s no denying that. He doesn’t understand the intricacies of it, and he doubts he’d ever really like to. He just knows that particular instance — after things, when there was time to process and think, and wonder, digest — rubs the wrong way even if he can’t fully put into words why.

“Thinking rather deeply there, aren’t you? Lilia says amusement thick in his mouth, melted honey warm. A playful gesture of his hand to his chest, smile showing off his teeth, teasing, teasing, teasing; playful for a man that exists in the pages of their history books. “I admit my cuteness is something that leaves people pondering, but for it to so deeply affect even one of you first years, why is it rather flattering to the ego.” 

It gets a snort out of him. “I’m not the kind of person that really focuses on that kind of thing. I’m wondering more on why you think I’d be a better guide. Vil-senpai is the one that’s been all over the Shaftlands. Outside of Sage’s Island I’ve really only been to the uplands with my family.” He ends with a shrug. 

“Perhaps I just wanted a bit of company for a walk then,” Lilia says. He’s looking out towards the edge of town, where the ground starts to slope upwards into a hill, where the trunks of trees grow thicker and thicker. “Or, perhaps, I’ve learned a bit of tact when it comes to my curiosity as time has passed. I didn’t think my questions would be something well received in front of others.” 

“I didn’t take you for someone that’s nosy.” An honest admittance from the sheer lack of much interaction to base things off. Lilia has always been — playful, certainly, from the stories Grim and the prefect have shared in class from hanging upside down to scare other students, to engaging in whatever it is Cater does on magicam, to the occasional bit of fun in history classes. An old war general that loves to giggle, apparently. “You’ve…always seemed very candid.” 

“It is true I do not enjoy mincing words, or hiding my thoughts or expectations of things, but,” There’s something wistful as he pulls the two of them to a stop, eyes set out as if seeking for the mountaintops that exist well beyond their line of sight. “Even I have come to learn a bit of gentleness maybe from time.” 

Lilia feels old. It’s the only way Jack can really think of putting it. Childish in his pranks and manners of presentation at times, lackadaisical and willing to banter with students younger than him just as he is with those in the same year, a contradiction of history; violent malice buffed into softened smile, playful grin, a predator that has forcefully blunted its teeth, to hold something between them soft and sweet; teeth at the throat yet no offering to be made on the tongue, blood warm. 

His picture is etched in their history books and he plays with his age, and yet he always feels so old. Like the willows and evergreens of the forest, like land that has been shaped and molded and yet contains the same dirt as when it all began. 

Jack sighs, an acknowledgement as much as it is an acquiesce to the fact he’s stuck in this spot until Lilia has decided to move on. With Lilia looking at the mountain, it makes him curious, if only for a moment, if the man is reminiscing about something from his own memories. “Then what was it? The questions you had that you think wouldn’t be appropriate around others?”

“You don’t like wishing wells do you?” For an inquiry that makes him twitch it comes out soft, careful treading, almost kind. It would have been better if nothing had been asked at all. Lilia continues in that same soft, almost-kind musing, “ I couldn’t help but notice that you steered us away from all the ones in sight within town, and I thought it was an odd thing to do for a place known for them—” 

“We’re not known for them.” His fingers ache, he can feel dirt and moss beneath the nail, his lungs heaving from the strain. “It’s more that the story about them is known—a girl making a wish upon one, that sort of thing. The wells themselves just…became more numerous because of the story that’s all.”

“You think it a childish endeavor then?” Lilia says and out of the corner of his eye he catches the way Lilia is peering down at the sleeve of his jacket. It’s a shame they never could get the dirt stain out of the fabric no matter how much any of them scrubbed. His fingers trace it, a far away look to him as he does, tone a low murmur, “Or scary, perhaps? Anything can be frightening to children considering the circumstances.” 

 “No,” Jack says, tone clipped and tail bristling, uncaring of which part Lilia takes it as an answer for. Perhaps in the beginning when he’d first fallen, first had to come to terms that he was out in the woods alone, but there’d been no fear once he’d climbed his way out. A tired kind of realization, a painful euphoria at what he was capable of. 

He takes a breath, a little more subdued before he sets a hand over Lilia’s own, plucking his fingers free from his arm. “I don’t think it’s a childish endeavor. Plenty of people use them as a way of hope if you can believe it or not. For someone that’s supposedly so worldly you have a habit of assuming quite a bit.”

Lilia’s laughter comes out in wispy puffs, eyes crinkling into crescents. There’s mirth in his mouth as he slips his hand free from Jack’s grip. “Well people say old dogs can learn new tricks, it just seems I have quite a bit more tact to learn. There really was no intention to dredge up unfortunate memories, I simply… let my curiosity get the better of me.”

“A traveler letting their pursuit of something new get to them? What a wonder.”

Hand coming up to hide his curling smile, Lilia looks up at him. “My, Sebek truly was not exaggerating when he said you’re a no-holds-barred kind of human. How refreshing.” 

“I see no reason to make compromises of my expectations of others or when I dislike something,” Jack says with a sigh, the words familiar in his mouth with the amount of times he feels he’s explained this. “If one is going to have expectations or beliefs, what is the point of setting the bar on the floor?” 

“A commendable personal code,” Lilia tells him and for the pause it gives Jack, it doesn’t sound like a jest. He looks considering as his head tilts in thought. “Certainly something that makes you a prickly human to others though, hmm?” He continues, in that same soft musing before his countenance perks up, as he takes a hearty step in front of Jack, fingers resting on his chest with a smile that shows off his fangs. “I want to know — what do you think of me? No sugar coating!”

It is, perhaps, a terrible thing that the first word that enters his mind to say is: old. He doesn’t out of respect for a senior if nothing else, but it sits there on the tip of his tongue for several moments. 

(It doesn’t fade despite anything, though. Lilia Vanrouge is old — there’s no real confidence, yet, about how old he is, but hundreds is the easiest assumption. For as youthful as he may appear, or as easy going as he presents himself, there’s something weary to the man that only comes with age and experience.

Even without their history books and the, admittedly, brief lessons about the human-fae war Jack thinks he’d considered Lilia far older for other reasons; being fae is the easiest, but he smells old — skin picks up time and experience in funny ways. The places people have been, the magic they use, the clothes they wear. 

Lilia smells aged; wine that has been allowed to sit on a shelf unaltered until it's time comes to pop the cork.) 

He mulls on it, words rolling about on his tongue, syllables pushing up his throat to be rounded out by his teeth and lips. It’s the first time any one has ever really asked Jack for his thoughts on them. He’s never really been one to mince words or soften the blow of his interactions, and yet. 

Yet it gives him pause. What does he think of Lilia Vanrouge? What does he know of the man?

“Starving,” he settles on, a slow consumption, building curl of conception, word working its way out syrup thick, heavy on the tongue; a steady unfurling of an idea the more he gives it thought. “I think you’re starving, gluttonous for all that you can experience as you desire, whenever the whim to do, or have something, hits you.”

It’s an unflattering utterance at the very least and he knows this. It isn’t meant to come across as unkind or brusque and yet Jack knows that someone with thin skin would only perceive it as a slight against them. 

He doesn’t have the means to express it well, feels as though an attempt to break it down and explain would only make things more convoluted. 

Lilia Vanrouge seems— unfulfilled to him. Someone always seeking more of. Anything. A hunger that runs through the bones, hooked into the flesh, a dizzying, drowning desire to experience all that he can in whatever degree catches his interest. Fickle whim to satisfy whatever curiosity crops up. 

No end to his interest in the world and what it has to offer him so long as there is something to offer to him. Lilia Vanrouge is an unrepentant traveller and eager tourist, indulging in all that catches his eye with the voracity of a predator that’s found an easy to devour morsel after a long winter. Curious, cruel in his nature if only because it is nature.

Lilia looks at him, head cocked to the side, hair framing his face as he takes it in. He looks young, fragile, a well made mask to hide the influence of the past. One of his hands comes up to cover his mouth, cheeks  flushing with color as his eyes crinkle, an almost delighted tinge to his laughter. “What… a unique answer,” Lilia manages after a moment, and with his laughter gone and his eyes lidded, Jack feels as if he’s being studied in turn. It makes the back of his neck prickle. 

“Mmhm,” Lilia continues, almost considering as he taps a finger against his cheek. “I think I find that answer acceptable.” Another hum, a louder noise, warmer in a way as he nods to himself. Satisfied with something Jack has no inkling of. A strange man, truly. 

“Do you?” It comes out dry as Jack looks at the smaller man. “Most people would take my observations of them as an insult.” 

“It’s refreshing,” Lilia tells him, gazing up at him with a curl to his lip. His hands are now firmly in his pockets and yet Jack gets a feeling that if he were given the option Lilia’s arm would be linked through his own to drag him along as he wished. “People are so rarely blase with me, and no one has ever described me as gluttonous before.” 

“You always want more,” Jack says. “though perhaps insatiable or filled with wanderlust may have been better fitting terms.”

“Either way, I think I’d like you to join me for company again some time,” for as warm as the words come out they make Jack twitch, his nose curling. Troublesome is what that would be. Lilia laughs, his heels clicking against the road as they meander their way back to the busier part of town. “Come now,” he says, “don’t make such a face, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“We’re not friends,” Jack sighs out, leaning away when Lilia shifts closer as if to bump their arms together. “You’re bothersome.”

“Oh, but Jack,” something viciously playful in the tone as Lilia skips in front of him, walking backwards as he keeps pace to look him in the eye. “I’m a terribly insatiable man when there’s something I want, wouldn't you say? Why I think I’ll just have to make my evening time walks around the Savanaclaw dorm for a little while.” 

“Has anyone called you cruel, Lilia-senpai?”

“In the past, but it’s been a rather long time since someone has used that to describe me. Why?” It’s genuinely curious as Lilia keeps that smile on his face, all while Jack feels a headache creeping its way to the forefront of his mind.

Cloud of air puffing out as he exhales, Jack shakes his head as he grows tired of keeping pace with the shorter man and speeds up just enough to make Lilia have to spin on his heel to catch up. “You may want to reconsider if you’re undeserving of the word right now.” 

Lilia laughs again, once more, as he has several times during their interaction as if everything is fun and games, as if he’s well and truly enjoying himself and it’s — it shouldn’t be a thing. It’s warm and unwanted and far too presumptuous of his time. Playful, still, despite everything. 

It’s. Confusing in a way that he wants to look away from. 

(Troublesome, bothersome. Those should be the words he thinks of when it comes to interactions like this and yet it isn’t, not really. Tiring in a way, certainly, but it’s different.

It won’t be a thing, though. Jack can’t let it be a thing , no matter what the weird puff of heat beneath his skin is saying. He’s just tired after the past few days is all, it’s not even all that important. Yet. Jack lets that feeling curl over him. That confusing heat under his skin, the quick bite of a reply to keep digging.

Just this once.)

“If you keep eating like that you’re going to get left.” It’s placid as Jack continues to stack ham and cheese together until he’s got a decent height for several ‘patties’ of a sort. In front of him there are little trays of flour, milk and breadcrumbs that he works the stacks of meat and cheese through before setting them on a plate to rest. 

“If you fill up on this stuff you won’t be able to enjoy any of the fish we might catch,” it’s cajoling as Jack catches the way the prefect taps at one of Grim’s paws in an attempt to keep the gluttonous creature from stealing more scraps. “It won’t be tuna but there might be a catfish to try!”

“All I’m hearing is I’ve got multiple opportunities to swipe somethin’ — I gotta fill up now while I have the chance!” With how much Grim can stuff away — regardless of if it’s wanted or not — it’s a wonder the direbeast is understandable at all. “There’s no tellin’ how long it’ll be until dinner and if I’m gonna be starvin’ later anyway so I better fill up the tank while I can!”

With Grim’s next swipe toward the counter Jack lifts the plate he has the food resting on to instead let it chill in the fridge, far, far out of reach. The knife he grabs makes a solid thunk against the cutting board when he breaks through a head of lettuce with it. “You let him get away with too much,” Jack says as Grim eyes the lettuce, clearly debating on if he wants a mouthful or if he’s going to wait for something else. 

“He’s got a one track mind,” the prefect returns with a little laugh, but they curl their fingers around Grim’s middle pulling the direbeast into their lap. “Though, don’t you think it’s a little too early to be doing meal prep?”

Honestly speaking, Jack is on the tail end of completing meal prep , considering he’s already got a little cooler filled with already chopped onions, peppers, shredded meat and cheese that have been separated into little bags. There’s even a travel bottle filled with a dozen or so cracked eggs in it. This is more or less going to be walking food or lunch. 

“Considering I’m only doing this because several of you kept fussing about wanting to do activities out of town ,” Jack has never been one for impressions, but his tired attempted pitch at copying Floyd earns another quiet laugh as he finishes the lettuce to instead start setting up a pan of oil to fry the patties in. “Then no. If anything it’s pure luck on everyone’s behalf that my family enjoys camping.”

Grim peers up at him, tail swishing, eyes round as a doorknob. “But more importantly — you’re good at fishing right? You have to make sure my minion can catch enough fish until I bust!” 

Jack eyes him. “With how much he eats, maybe you should consider using him for weight training.”

Grim huffs, his mouth opening only for the it be snuffed as the prefect covers the direbeast’s mouth with their hand. “I’ll give you that he can be a bit of a handful at times—” there’s a muffled noise of offense,”—but I think that’s also a little bit of his charm. Really though… Do you really have everything ready?”

Jack sighs, careful as he pulls the food from the fridge to start frying them. “...Usually my family either attends a sports camp together or we go camping out in the woods. The tent gear and everything has practically been ready since you all dropped in uninvited.” 

“Ah,” the prefect lets out, a high, awkward bite of a laugh before they sigh. “We really are sorry about just crashing into your break like this.”

Jack shrugs. “What’s done is done and there’s no taking it back now. I’ve just been looking at all of this as a different way to train.”

(It’s still a pain that it happened, and truly — if given the option to go to camp with the rest of his family he would. They’re not a headache, and with school… it really has been a good chunk of time since he’s gotten to see them, but.

His parents for as brief as Jack got to see them this trip had been excited at the prospect of him bringing people to visit; they know of Vil but that’s. Complicated. Messy. More set in stone than Vil’s father has, and yet.  

He’s quite sure if he kicked all of them back through the mirror he came from as soon as he got the opportunity that his mother would pull at his ear until he cried. 

It’s the only reason he’s putting up with them; the only reason he’s catering to their wants and needs and silly demands of things to do. 

It has to be. That’s the only thing Jack can let it be.)

“Still,” they start a hand coming up to scratch at their cheek, “I know it’s been a lot. Even now,” they huff out a laugh. “Grim kinda crashed your quiet time. Sorry about that.” 

Much of the travel gear and general fishing equipment is always put up and tucked away in a manner that makes it easy for them to grab and go when it comes to their trips. Jack had gotten up a little earlier than usual just to double check a few things — if anything had any particular wear and tear to be wary off, if the sled would still drag without issue, grabbing a few extra sleeping bags; the simple shit you check to make sure you’re not miserable — with the house quiet and still. It was really only when he got to the actual food making that brought about new company in the form of Grim dazedly scrambling across the floor, the prefect not far behind him pspsps-ing and whisper-yelling oh no, no Grim c’mon, you can’t just ransack the kitchen, this isn’t the cafeteria! we’re not on a budget, please! when the former didn’t work to keep Grim from operating solely on his stomach's desire. 

“You’re keeping him from eating everything in sight so we can consider it even.”

It isn’t terribly often, but compared to his upperclassman or dorm mates, the other first years are the main sect of schoolmate he’s interacted with to a decent degree. While Ace and Deuce typically got into a competition on who could lose their brain cells the quickest, the prefect while prone to being dragged into their shenanigans rather often, could on occasion be decent enough company,

They were a bit like Epel; an occasional trouble magnet, but with enough sense to at least try and make up for it when they could. They had a code of sorts they followed and Jack could respect that.

The prefect’s jaw cracks as they try and fail to bite back a yawn, eyes blinking in a futile attempt to fight the lingering tiredness of waking up to keep Grim out of trouble. “I know you say that, but is there really nothing else I could do to help out?”

“Go back to sleep,” it isn’t unkind, even as the prefect frowns. His classmates, or at least, his fellow first years aren’t morning people. They enjoy sleeping in when they can, and a trip through sleet and snow to make it to one of the lakes that hasn’t frozen over yet isn’t going to the easiest trip without rest; even his younger siblings for their energy and interest tend to trade off who gets to sit in the sled, or cling to his back to rest when it comes to longer treks. “Vil-senpai should be here in a little while with a few extra supplies. You can help him load the sled when he gets here.”

They sigh even as they adjust their grip on Grim who grumbles about a promise about getting food later. “You’re sure that’s all you want us to do?”

“Mmhm,” he starts as he finishes putting the sandwiches together, parchment paper crinkling as he grabs it to start the wrapping process. An old habit from when he started to help his mom pack for his younger siblings. “You’ll be put through plenty of work later. If you don’t sleep now you’ll wish you did later when you’re trudging through the snow.” 

He’s more than a little certain that the act of having to help in pitching the tent will make them more sore than they’ve ever been. Chopping wood for the stove might kill them.

They give a sleepy blink as they process before giving a hum of their own. “Fair enough. Cmon Grim, the more sleep the both of us get the greater chance we’ll have at snatching you up more food at dinner time.”

There’s a half-assed wiggle from the direbeast and a whined out unfair! unfair! this is prime pickings and you’re choosing sleep?! as the prefect totes them along with quiet placation and promises that will no doubt cause problems at camp later on. 

Grim is a little creature, it’s simply in his nature. He’s mellowed out the slightest bit since the start of the school year — Jack will willingly give him that — but at heart he’s still an impulsive little thing despite the fact that on occasion he chooses to behave for the prefect. A dysfunctional duo. 

It’s a quieter affair when even the prefect and Grim’s hushed whispers fade with the rustling of blankets to signal their return to sleep, and yet everyone’s presence remains so loud as he moves on to the next bit of prep. Out of their group he’s not the real cook. He knows simple things, easy things, family favorites and the like; enough to get by.

Jamil cooks often—is even the one that’s really going to be dealing with the actual cooking once the hot stove and camp are properly set up, Jack is just breaking down the time it’ll take later on by getting the prep out of the way. There’s less waste and space taken up by chopped fruits or vegetables. 

He’s a loud sleeper. Jamil. In odd ways. 

His heart is loud as Jack focuses on cutting up everything the older boy wanted for a stew. All of them are, really, but Jamil’s is the loudest. (Floyd sleeps still and languid, not unlike his nonchalance in the waking hours, but he’s so oddly still it makes Jack’s ears strain to hear the soft puff of his breathing. His mother would kill him if there was dead fish on their floor. Lilia’s breathing is steady, a cadence easily countable but he shifts in his sleep, his back never to the door, always settled in a way to be the first person encountered in the room. He talks in his sleep, quiet unintelligible mumbles that make Jack’s ears twitch. Grim is a soft crackle, claws catching on the fabric of his shared blanket with the prefect. All such odd habits and movements Jack has had to become aware of because of how easily they’ve disrupted his once routine).

Jamil doesn’t snore, he doesn’t move very much — Jack hasn’t even been able to figure out the patter of his steps when the floorboards creak in the middle of the night when one of them wakes up — but he’s so loud in his disposition from when he’s awake to when he’s resting. 

It is inhales that are so deep he can picture the rise and fall of a chest, yawns that crack the jaw, the glide of nails over fabric when one sinks into rest. He’s loud in a rare enjoyment of comfort, an unwinding that he doesn’t understand. 

Jack understands physical comforts; the softness of items, the fabric of clothing, a nice meal after a long day, but he’s never quite been able to relax fully in many places unless, in some way, he’s come to consider it home. 

(The Savanaclaw dorms with four people to a room for first years took what had to be months for him to really start to relax and wind down on his own without a work out or deliberate focus. He likes routines and dislikes troublesome or annoying people. It had been an—event to get where he is now with his roommates, let alone the upperclassman in the dorm.)

Jamil rests here as if he’s been around for years. Even in the waking hours the older boy has made himself comfortable in what feels like every corner of Jack’s home. Jamil is still borrowing one of his old scarves, there are jarred lentils on his counter, there’s a little notebook filled with his handwriting filled with places and things to see that he’s gotten Vil and Jack himself to talk about. 

Even here as Jack peels and chops potatoes, carrots and more his presence lingers in the kitchen in ways Jack is unaccustomed to. It smells like Sandalwood now when before there was nothing new scent wise to pick up on from how drenched in familiarity it was. 

(It isn’t unique to Jamil, not really, every single one of his classmates and upperclassmen have made themselves comfortable in his home in ways that make him want to recoil. It feels like being cracked open. The soft curve of his belly split open like one does a deer on the altar, the shepherd’s most trusting lamb before its throat is cut, unfamiliar hands reaching in, in, in to unspool him at the seams just to see how he’s tailor made. 

Intrusive, unwelcomed, foreign, a prickle to the skin he can’t explain as they breach and breach and breach; hungry in ways Jack is unused to. They’re exhausting, ravenous. Fitting themselves into his space, his life as if it’s the easiest thing to do in the world, expected of them. 

Tiring even as it brings a heat to his skin that makes Jack feel as if he’s martyral meat on a platter.)

His waking hours are no longer quiet and if he lets the noise sit for too long he starts to think— what ifs, and that. That’s dangerous unfamiliar territory. 

He keeps busy in the wee hours, knowing that rest will come much later in the day than anyone else. When his lungs are burning and his muscles are sore from a day full of labor, that his skin will be warm from a tended fire, his hands further callused from care. 

It’s all muscle memory as he packs all the food away in the food box, divided bags, bottles or wrappings, when he avoids the creakiest floor boards to start the packing in earnest; the chill of the outside gives him only a moment of pause before he’s setting the various packed up bags and tank on the edge of the porch steps so he can heft them onto the freight toboggan. 

Food box at the very front, the stove bag at the very back, followed by the heaviest bags settled in the middle within the tank. His fathers voice in his ears as he settles the lighter bags on top filled with the sleeping bags, talking him through the instructions on tightening the straps the way he did so many years ago when he was considered big enough to really be able to help out.

(When they got a smaller toboggan all so Jack could be in charge of pulling his younger siblings safe and secure, their laughter in his ears spurring him along down hills and man made trails. When they egged him on in his bet with a local reindeer in these parts for a run. 

His own voice firm and steady as he talked them through how to secure the freights when they grew big enough.) 

His fingers are cold against the strap buckles when he feels the brush of something soft start to curl around his neck. It smells familiar—floral, fruity, a zap of citrus. His breath puffs as he looks up, “Vil-san?” 

Vil huffs something like a laugh, his fingertips warm where they brush against his jaw as the older boy fixes the scarf more securely around his shoulders. “You can’t seriously think I’m going to let you join us all dressed like that can you?”

“I would have been fine,” Jack says after a moment when Vil’s hands pull away from where they were fixing the scarf. “I was going to head back in to start getting ready in just a bit.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” it’s followed by a huff as Vil shifts to crouch in front of him, hands plucking Jack's own away from the straps. “I’ve just decided that you’re going to hurry back inside quicker than planned. If you’re going to be the main guide for this you’d best be ready to set an example for the others.”

“Pushy,” Jack says, no snark, no bite, a resigned kind of familiarity tinging it. “You’re saying that like you're not going to take over the setup at camp. Remember all those designs for snow sculptors you made as a kid? Brutal perfectionist.” 

“I wouldn’t hold anyone else to a standard I wouldn’t expect from myself.”

“At least we’re still the same in that regard.” He sighs, rising from knees to stand. He drags a hand through his hair, snow falling, chilling his fingers. “We know our limits and we play within them.”

“We do,” Vil agrees and he’s slower at the remaining straps but nonetheless continues to fasten the top bags over the tank. “So you’d best run along and present that confidence for everyone else.” With a huff Jack shakes his head as he spins on his heel for the door. A shower before changing into proper gear as everyone else will no doubt start to get up. “Oh, and Jack,” Vil calls as the door creaks. “Feel free to keep the scarf, I have an extra. The last thing we need is for you to catch a fever again like you used to from your own stubbornness.”

His nose curls at the reference to his youth, tail tapping at his thigh. “I won’t. Letting any of them see me in a way they can take advantage of is as likely to happen as finding an ice egg.” 

The idea of being sick in a tent with these people…he can’t stop the involuntary jolt that works through his body as he makes his way back to his room. Vil he would probably be fine with — it would become another thing to pick fun at and. He’s fine with that. It’s familiar enough to allow and be comfortable with. 

The others. It’s a vulnerability, a discomfort. An opportunity for Floyd to dig his nails in and bother him all while Jack doesn’t have the energy to tell him to fuck off. Jamil would probably be fine, all things considered, there is no. Snake in the grass behavior as far as he’s seen yet despite Leona’s grumblings. The others would just be. Tiring. In vastly different ways.

(Lilia and his traveling, his penchant for wanderlust. The weather being able to take a turn for the worst. Snow squall or blizzard, a messy affair either way. The prefect and Grim — trouble in the simplest form by simply existing. Tiring, tiring, tiring.

Getting sick isn’t really an option in this setting.)

They’re all a lot, too much, even, in a way. 

Maybe that’s what makes the time pass in a blur as he warms up from the cold and tucks himself into his gear for the coming morning, Vil’s scarf tucked under his chin as he makes his way back into the main room of the house. There’s noise now, chatter and yawning, the crack and pop of jaws and other bones as people stretch and finish their own preparations. 

They all smell like him. Dressed in pieces off his own old clothes. It’s disconcerting, a messed up mirror of an image to the senses. 

Jamil is the most active, Jack’s own scarf still stolen away by him since the day he made mention of his old things. It’s rucked up high over his chin as he fiddles with a bag. It smells earthy, almost nutty. His own snacks, Jack is certain among other things—he’d made mention of wanting to bring a few extra things in case. 

(A part of him wants to mention that at this point it’d probably be better to switch the scarf for a buff but—how hypocritical would that be with him keeping the one Vil gave him? He’ll just make sure everything else is fine; that they’re wearing proper layers, that they’re wearing their snowshoes or setting up their microspikes correctly, all dependent on how the conditions of the terrain is.) 

Jamil has always seemed like the kind of individual to take such things into his own hands rather than rely solely on a proprietor or leader of whatever troupe he’s found himself in. Jack can respect that. It’s a good thing to prepare for the things others might not consider.

“I take it we’ll be heading out soon then?” 

“Soon as everyone’s ready. I’ll be pulling the main freight while the rest of you either focus on following behind or pull a smaller sled depending on what else you’re bringing.”

“Mmhm is the l’il sea urchin giving out free rides?” It’s languid, syrup thick as Jack eyes where Floyd is stretched out in a chair, loosely bundled up when compared to everyone else. His smile is lopsided, eyes lidded as he slips on a pair of gloves Jack is rather certain were originally in his backpack. “I’m callin’ dibs, I’ve always wanted to go on a sled run.” 

“I’ll make sure you end up abandoned in the snow.” Jack deadpans. “Unless you’re really saying you don’t think you’ll be able to keep up with the rest of us.”

Flyod’s expression twists, smiling widening as he leans forward in his seat. “Nah, nothin’ like that. Just tryin’ to make the trip less boring—skijoring seemed like it’d be the perfect activity if you’re doing the pullin’ puppy.” 

“Catch frostbite.”

His laugh is oddly warm sounding. “I’m not hearing a no!” 

Jack takes a deliberately deep inhale before he turns on his heel. “It’s because you’re too delusional to deal with. Finish getting ready or you’ll get left.”

It’s not even worth mentioning that if any of the students are getting a free ride out of him it’s the prefect and their demented familiar. No magic to their name aside from a direbeast that’s rather trigger happy, and of their entire group they’re the lightest and prone to well…less than stellar results during P.E if he’s being honest.

If he makes them trek the entire distance Jack’s about seventy-percent sure they’ll keel over when they even find a proper camping spot. Getting them to help put up the tent, let alone help with finding and chopping wood for the stove will become a fever dream. 

Even as he heads toward the porch his ears twitch when he hears a low murmur from Jamil, a tired: you’re really not going about this in a way anyone would consider successful, you know that right? It’s followed by an almost considering hum, the rustle of clothing, an all too self-satisfied: I’m not tryna be like anyone else! It’s workin’ you just can’t see it sea snake.

Delusional. Utterly. 

With a sigh he starts to collect the snow shoes by the entryway bench. Best for the first leg of the trek when the snow is fresh and deep from last night's collection. 

“My, aren’t you looking rather tired for someone that’s supposed to be taking the lead?” Somehow after the several days cooped up in the same space as these people Jack has stopped being surprised when Lilia pops out of nowhere. It’s why he only blinks placidly down at where the older man has made himself comfortable on the bench. 

“Because you’re all exhausting.” Too chatty, too nosy, too friendly . “I’m tempted to let you all figure this out through trial by fire.” He says dryly, mostly joking despite the waning reserves of social battery he has left.

Even if some of them get on his nerves more than others, or annoy him in ways that should be studied with how quickly they can get under his skin, Jack can’t abandon them to wander about in the woods. His parents raised him better than that, not even getting into the fact that right now most of them are, unfortunately, under his care because of the trip. His pride wouldn’t let him just shake his hands of them and call it a day.

(It’s not really abandoning them though is it? Not when Vargas had dropped almost all of them off in the mountains during spring — they weren’t entirely unprepared, not really. They knew how to do certain things, they’d been tested on how to start fires, setting up tents, how to fish. The weather is different, the means of doing things is slightly skewed is all. 

Lilia was a general — if there was anyone that would know how to deal with rough experiences it would be him. They’d be fine if he really let them go off on their own. They have equipment, gear, and proper clothing.

If only it were that easy to let himself accept that logic instead of going along with them all.)

“Leave us all out on our own and miss the chance to prove yourself against the odds?” Lilia says after a moment of visible musing, mouth curled into a knowing smile. His hands are laced in his lap as he looks up at him, a bite to his tone. “Sounds rather cowardly, no? Hardly like you, don’t you think.”

It makes his tail swish in agitation despite knowing it’s all a play at riling him. “I said I was tempted, not that I was going to — don’t put words in my mouth.” 

“Nothing of the sort,” Lilia says almost a play at demurity as he shifts to sit a little straighter, gaze held with his own. “I’m merely musing aloud is all. I think you should…how do I put this? Try and enjoy yourself instead of working yourself up into a fit.” He says it as if it’s something so, so—easy. Lilia sighs, and Jack feels the hair on the back of his neck raise when the older man reaches to tug at his elbow until he sits down on the bench beside him. 

It was slow. A steady, slow, fully telegraphed movement that he could have drawn away from, even shrugged off and yet. Yet like their walk Jack lets it happen. Sits stiff, spine stiflingly straight. 

“You’re never going to admit it, not really,” Lilia starts, quiet in a way that makes Jack feel younger than he is, as if his voice is lowered for something private, familiar, as if he cares about the possibility of someone overhearing them. “This isn’t what you wanted for a trip home, but what’s done is done. Take a breath, unwind. If you keep looking at all of this as a miserable and tiring thing, that’s ultimately all it will be.” He sighs again, a deep thing as his tone shifts in a way Jack doesn’t want to take the time to unpack. “This is all quite a bit for you, and that’s understandable, but… is there truly no way you see yourself enjoying anything with us?”

A part of him wants to keep a stubborn silence, an almost petulant, childish stance on the disruption of the time he gets to spend with his family. Instead he exhales, shoulders falling as falls from the rigid way he was holding himself. “There is,” he admits after a moment, skin prickling with the way he can feel Lilia’s eyes on him. A burn to the back of his neck at Lilia’s coaxing hum. “You’re just—” 

There’s plenty of things to say: grating, exhausting, playful in ways he doesn’t understand, expectant of a closeness or an allowance of interactions that Jack can’t doesn’t want to give. They’re not horrific people, they just burn through his reserves of interactions like nothing else when put into a confined space with no buffer zone. 

Jack gets annoyed with his own roommates, even his own dorm. It’s nothing personal, it just is. The same could be said for Leona — he respects the man, but even with that respect Jack can’t count the number of times he’s wanted to shake the older man because of the way he goes about things. 

“I need space.” Jack settles on feeling the words out, a hesitant olive branch. “Time to do what I need to without interruption. I like being left to do things on my own.” 

He doesn’t mind—company. It’s fine. Companionable, even. It’s the noise, the casual touching, the expectations of something from him that makes his skin prickle. 

Lilia is quiet for a moment before he nods. “Alright then, surely Vil and I can keep things to a degree that you find acceptable.”

Jack side eyes him. “Really? You expect me to put my faith in that like nothing?”

“Not at all. As you’ve stated before, you only believe in the things people are capable of with their own hands without cowardly means. Instead I am asking you to give us a fair period of judgment to prove we’ll keep things in line as I’ve said. Fair?” for a good moment Jack just scrutinizes him, looking for any hint of treachery or insincerity before heaving a sigh, and a wry mumble, you realize this is essentially a promise right? Don’t make yourself out to be a liar. Lilia just gives him a smile, head tilting, mouth dripping with a play at coyness. “Me? Oh I wouldn’t even dream of turning myself into such a villain. Now, on you though? I do like to imagine you might actually have some fun, you stuffy boy.” 

He huffs. “Just know the bar is set real high.” 

“It’s a rather good thing then, that Vil nor myself are individuals that allow lackluster results.” Lilia says rising to his feet, hands carefully tucked behind his back when he turns on his heel to face Jack. “Now, run along and get yourself harnessed while I rally the troops.” 

His gaze narrows. “Don’t start tryin’ to order me around just because I’m giving you a shot.”

“Apologies,” Lilia says, not all sounding as if he means it with his mouth still quirked into a curling smile. Playful, like usual, as if he’s amused by something only he understands. 

With a huff Jack rises himself brushing past the smaller man with a few skis in hand to start collecting them out on the porch. He isn’t wrong about Jack having to fit the harness around himself for pulling but something about it rankles him all the same. 

It’s tucked in the side closet near the front door alongside the others he’ll have to instruct the others on how to put on, adjust and connect to their individual sleds if they’re pulling. Vil isn’t outside anymore. He must have gone inside and spoken to Lilia at some point. He’s not sure how he feels about that just as a general — fact, idea, consensus. As. As anything.

Vil has always been a very forward boy, and he’s only continued to be in all the years Jack has “known” him. Even more so with the new experiences at NRC. There’s no real surprise, when he thinks about it, that Vil would take the initiative to speak to someone else to ease something in a way. 

It still feels odd in a way. That it’s being done for him in the pursuit of him enjoying himself. 

He’s not sure if he really wants to think about it. What that means, what Vil might want in return, if he even wants anything in return, if it’s behavior that will continue in regards to him when they return to the college. 

Things turn into a blur as he finishes fixing the harness over his clothing, hands the only thing left uncovered to the elements until they’re ready to leave, good and proper. 

He can hear the others padding their way closer to the doorway as he pulls out the other harnesses in case. Vil will have one — he uses a pulk over a toboggan but it’ll work just as well, all the same. He’s tempted to have Floyd pull something, but settles against it due to his shifting interests and moods. Jamil is more reliable in that case. He’d get the smallest thing to pull; any extra bags or backup gear on his own sled, the first aid kit in his backpack if he didn’t mind. 

“So you are giving out free rides?” It’s gleeful in a way that makes him twitch as he gestures toward the prefect and Grim to come a little closer to the back end of the freight. Floyd leans over the back curl head on his arms as he looks at the prefect with a pointed grin. “Neh, c’mon little shrimpy why don’t we trade spots? I called dibs, an’ all.” 

Jack looks at him. “Learn how to ski first. You’re practically begging to be thrown into the snow.”

Floyd just hums, fingers tracing over the curve of the back. “I could learn while you’re pullin’ them too. Wouldn’t be too much of a challenge for you to lead three of us would it?”

“Hahaha,” it’s a high bit of noise as the prefect eases onto the freight, Grim held in a death grip in their arms, with a rare moment of wisdom choosing to stay quiet. “Maybe it’d be better to do something like that when there’s, ah, actual hills or mounds to send you flying? It’ll be no fun on smooth ground, right Jack?” 

“You could say that,” he settles on after a moment. “At least, not the kind of fun that Floyd…senpai is looking for. Honestly, if you wait for us to find a place to camp you’d be better off just making a man made mound or track.” 

There’s a hum. “You makin’ a promise there li’l sea urchin?”

He twitches, ears folding back even as he considers it. It would mean however-long-this-trek-is of peace, but it would also very much mean holding himself to doing something he really, doesn’t fucking want to.  

(Terrible thing is he had actual hope that Floyd wouldn’t even bother with taking the bait. The long game hasn’t always been the things the older boy has seemed interested in, far more drawn to an immediate interest or benefit over something earned over a significant period. 

What a time to have that twisted on its head.) 

Still…there’s merit to a semblance of peace in the form of getting Floyd to cooperate to a degree. 

“Fine,” if it’s the slightest bit gritted out, that's no one’s business. “So long as you uphold your end of the bargain I’ll hold up mine. Don’t cause trouble until we’ve found a place to set up camp.”

“Still so prickly sea urchin,” Floyd sighs out, lurching up from his perch to instead rock on his heels, uncaring of the snow. “You’re lucky I’m in such a mood to try it out, so it had better be plenty of fun, or I’m going to squeeze you real good for not paying up.” 

There’s something acrid on the tip of his tongue only for it to fizzle out as Vil clears his throat, harness fixed around him already. “Not to interrupt…whatever it is the two of you have going on right now, but Floyd I’ve already told you there will be plenty of rewards for you if you wait until we stop for the day.”

“You did,” Floyd says an almost languid slouch to his posture, something gleaming in his eye as he gestures to them all. “You might wanna get your eyes checked bettachan-senpai, we’re stopped for the day.”

“You know for a fact that’s not what I meant.” 

At his side Jack finally notices Lilia, a hand being used to try and hide his amused smile at the display between the two. Always one to find a bit of fun in any situation. An odd talent as far as talents can go. 

“Mah, semantics,” he huffs, pace a stroll as he makes his way to the steps for the skis, a self-satisfied curl to his tone, head cocking in Jack’s direction. “‘Sides,” he continues, “the sea urchin is right here to mess with. Why would I wait if I can do that anytime I want~ If you wanted to rope me into behavin’ you shoulda phrased it in a way that would’ve made Azul proud — until we’ve found a place to set up camp.” The imitation of his tone makes Jack’s nose curl. “No wiggle room there, just a whole period of waitin’ for a payoff.” 

“Oh,” Vil says, eyes curved into crescents and smile terribly placid. “That sounds quite a bit like you’re attempting to weasel your way out of our bargain.” 

Vil’s boots crunch in the snow as he strides to the porch, sled dragging after him as he comes to a stop to tower over Floyd — currently sitting to figure out the skis — arms crossed, and dripping with malice in his stance. It is at this moment that Jack sees an opportunity. 

“Get the straps either in your hands and hold tight or tie yourself in,” he says to the prefect, the freight jostling as he moves closer to Jamil to fix the older boy's sled to the back of his harness. “We’re going to get a little head start while they work things out.” 

The snow is fresh, it’s falling slow — it won’t be a problem for Vil to catch back up to them afterwards. 

(Floyd isn’t even a concern. The man would be able to find them through his sheer ability to be wherever he needs to, to piss Jack off the most. You could throw him into the sea, or into the woods and the moments Jack expressed any kind of appreciation for the peace he’s experiencing the Leech would be there.

Another talent of a kind that brings nothing but annoyance into his life.)

There’s a part of him that considers using his unique magic, if only to increase the distance he covers in as short of a time as possible, but the way it eats at his reserves let alone the possible exhaustion that would greet him once it’s dismissed makes him set the option aside. 

It’s best to just stick to the usual method. 

(There’s no telling what jokes or snark Floyd may have after catching sight of his unique magic, either. At best he might just try to rub at his ears or bug him to shift all throughout the rest of this trip while at worst he might try to pet him or cuddle with him like he was no better than a regular animal. The idea of it makes his hair stick on end.

The other reason is that—it would make the distance travelled faster, but unlike his family, or even his younger siblings, Jack is doubtful they’d be able to keep up with his whims. Too often his peers have made comments on his energy, or his discussions of his family’s energy. 

To have them keel over in the snow all from the effort of attempting to keep up isn’t something Jack is keen to see. In the end it would just mean having to look after them if they catch a cold or hurt themselves.

To put himself in a nursemaid’s position is only asking for trouble.)

There’s a strain to his body as he moves. Familiar in its intensity, if a bit more prevalent than the other times he’s dragged a freight if only because the bodies as an entity are larger than his siblings. Despite the ache he knows will come later from the weight and the pulling and the general — activity of it all. It puts him at ease in a way he didn’t expect.

It’s familiar. Something he’s used to and enjoys in an odd way. It’s the—doing. An activity that leads up to the things Jack enjoys on these trips. The walking and hiking and the dragging of heavy equipment is all hard on the body regardless of who does it, but there’s a kind of accomplishment one feels when you finally find a nice place to stop and set up camp for however long you’re out for. 

It’s peaceful in a way, even. There’s a bit of chatter — Grim and the prefect, low murmurs and quiet laughter, a grumble he thinks from Grim about not being allowed to climb along the length of the freight for a snack — but his younger siblings do the same thing when they get bundled up on the freight. 

There have been trips that have lasted a week where he remembers his dad making a shelter from the woods all around them, an effort that he would include them in to teach them or have them feel included if they were really small. 

Mostly though he remembers how things slow down. Nature experiences time with indifference to however hurried of a state he’s in. It’s when he’s away from the noise of home and all the people that he remembers how to slow down himself, to align with the wilderness’ pace and let things go. 

There’s still a business to him — the action of collecting firewood for the stove, foraging for the occasional fir-spiked tea, or as brushing or protection for a tent, to taking time to fish for both a meal and an enjoyment of it. There’s something self-satisfying about being able to take care of himself or survive despite less than favorable conditions. 

He doesn’t think he can really put it into words, not as eloquently as he’d like to hope or in a way that will really explain his interest or attachment to the activity outside of the fond experience with his family.

It’s complicated. 

It’s probably that musing that makes the time seem to pass as quickly as it does. There was even a moment when the chatter in his freight quieted down and he looked back to see the prefect and Grim curled up for what had to be an uncomfortable nap, but it happened all the same. 

“—What about over there?” It’s a quiet call all things considered with the slush of their skis and the drags of the sleds, the bite of wind as it starts to pick up. There’s a cut of a conversation he’s missed if the look on Jamil’s face is anything to go by alongside Lilia’s prompting hum.

For a moment he processes looking out to where Jamil has gestured. They’re closer to the lake than he thought, the sun is high in the sky now, he can hear the trickle of some of the little rivers that run all year long, the soft crackle of ice and snow. They’ve made good progress, more than Jack thought they would. 

His peers look tired, or at least, Jamil looks tired. The Scalding Sands can get cold, he knows this, and yet its chill is nothing in comparison to the winter here. Behind them Jack can spy Vil and Floyd slowly yet steadily catching up to them.

Further, where Jamil has pointed toward, is the softened ground and thick collection of trees for what Jack knows to be the welcoming signs of the lake his family enjoys camping by. Too big to freeze fully aside from one instance that happened when Jack was a toddler. Perfect for foraging, fishing, with plenty of spots to act as wind break or protection from the blizzards that can kick up out of nowhere even if the weather has no warning for them. 

“That’s the way to it,” Jack says after a moment as he readjusts the fit of his harness, air cold in his nose as it is in his lungs. Crisp, clear, chilling. “We’ll have to clear a few dead trees and even out some of the snow for the tarp, but we’re just a bit away from the spot my family heads for if we stay by the lake.” He leans just enough to start tapping at the food box to get the prefect’s attention. “Start waking up, you’ll be on tent and firewood duty with me while everyone else gets everything else set up.”

There’s a grunt-groan, a mumbled, mmhf, ‘kay that Jack snorts at before starting up his pace once more to start winding through the thicker collection of forest. 

There’s a murmured how are you even so sure? he’s pretty sure is from Jamil that makes him want to huff in amusement. “Smell,” he says, honest as anything. With a nose as good as his you pick up on all kinds of things. Water, fish, the different kinds of trees, old, old memories and traces of a fond past. “Familiar territory,” he adds after a moment thinking of the various years they’ve come out to this spot as he grew. “It’s practically a second home at this point.” 

It’s an olive branch of a kind. It’s something Vil would already know, but none of the others would. It’s as best of an attempt as Jack is willing to give in engaging with them all with parts of his childhood and what it means to be doing this with them. Though, he really is doubtful any of them will care about the fact he’s shared it. 

NRC is home to a rather self-serving and self-centered bunch, to say otherwise is deluding yourself. There are moments of cooperation and genuine interest in others, real connections one could put it, but there’s a running theme with the people Jack interacts with at large; a shared flaw. 

It’s to be mortal. To be young. Expected, really in the grand scheme of things. He isn’t exempt from that flaw either, but he doesn’t put on airs about it either.

Slowly as he comes to a final stop he starts to undo his harness, shoulders rolling with a new appreciation for the lack of the strain. A good kind of sore. There’s still plenty left to do.

“The lake is just a bit further from here,” he starts as he unzips the tarp protecting all of the packed bags and items, the tent making a heavy thud against the ground. 

“You always make that look so easy, don’t you?” There’s a bite of laughter to it, voice louder than usual as Jack looks toward where Vil has come into sight. Beside him Floyd lets out a little whistle, an almost eager, mah, really makes me think of beans fest an’ how you got me all riled up just to leave me hangin’ There’s a snort from Vil in reply, a dismissive wave of his hand as he speaks. “Don’t go thinking you’ll be able to convince him to finish up your quarrel here, you’ll be wasting everyone’s time.” 

“You do certainly make it look easy,” it’s contemplative as Jamil looks at him, and for once Jack feels as if he’s being looked at as if he were under a microscope. Something to dissect and take apart for the sheer enjoyment in learning how he’s put together. “Have you ever considered putting that strength to work?”

“Not when it comes to anyone imitating any part of the scamming trio.” 

Jamil’s nose curls. “I would rather appreciate it if you didn’t put me in such a light without hearing me first.”

“Don’t look at me like they do then.” Jack huffs. “It’s nothin’ personal against you, but when you start sounding like any of them it pisses me off.”

“Nee, sea snake you can’t look at him like you wanna eat him, that’s my job,” Floyd says as if that’s something completely normal to announce whilst in the woods, to camp, in winter. “I already called dibs, it’ll be a real loss towards the fun for basketball but I’ll squeeze you all the same.” 

Ears folding back Jack snags a smaller bag from the freight to sling over his shoulder with one hand and the collar of the prefect’s jacket with the other undisturbed by the yelp or Grim’s mrow of confusion. bit of magic to drag a smaller sled after them. “We’ll be getting wood. Vil I expect that you’ll have this place all set up and ready by the time we’ve returned?”

“My, my, I see you are intent on seeing us hold our word aren’t you?” It’s dripping with an amusement that after the past few days has found new and irritating ways to get under his skin as Lilia tries and fails to hide his smile.

“I do. I already told you — don’t make yourself out to be a liar. Can’t stand the sight of them.” 

It’s Lilia’s tinkling laughter and Vil’s biting tone about starting on the tent that sends him away with the prefect in search of decent wood for the stove. 

There are several things Jack expected as he brought the prefect and their second-half out into the woods with him: confusion on how to cut wood, confusion as to what wood to cut, confusion on where the hell they were and how the hell they were going to get back.

All understandable and predicted. He did not, however, expect them to just lay out flat on their back in the snow with Grim snuggled up under their chin as the light of the day started to ebb, their stack of wood chopped and split, ready to be used as soon as they returned.

“I can’t go on,” the prefect says, voice muffled and breath puffing even with Grim blocking half their face. “I feel like a piece of jello, a wibbly-wobbly thing.”

“We’re done.” Have been for a decent bit honestly. They’ve been laid out on the ground for the past few trees Jack has decided to break into pieces small enough for the stove.

They make a half-hearted attempt to lift themself off the ground, Grim swatting at their nose with a disgruntled: “What good are you as a hench-human if you knock us both into the snow! This kind of exercise needs a feast when we get back.” 

“I think I remember telling you I was going to put you through the paces when we got out here.” Distinctly even when they joined him at the counter.

There’s a groan. “Hate to disappoint but I’m built for hijinks and whodunits—physical labor is not our forte.” 

“Clearly,” Jack huffs, amused despite everything. Collapsing the foldable saw and stuffing it back into the bag he slings the strap over his shoulder trudging toward them. With a grunt he curls them onto his back, Grim squirming to cling onto his shoulder to avoid being crushed. “I’m only doing this because I don’t want to get stuck out here with you. Don’t try to turn this into somethin’ it’s not, alright?” 

“Sure, sure,” they laugh, exhaustion easy to hear in their tone. “”s definitely not at all cause you care about me getting sick or anything. I hear you loud and clear.”

If they hit their head against a thin dead branch as Jack carries them as the sled follows them then there’s no evidence at all to suggest it was on purpose. 

“Maybe you should start following Jack’s routine to buff up,” Grim says, ears flicking against his chin, tickling if only for a moment. “Then you could carry me all the time and I wouldn’t have to waste the energy I could be using to be a super strong mage on walking around.”

“I practically do carry you everywhere.” 

“There’s always room for improvement!”

“Ugh, you’re telling me that?” it has a bite of laughter to it, their nose cold against the back of Jack’s neck. 

“Keep yelling and I’ll drop the both of you to crawl back to the tent.”

“Mean,” The prefect says, no bite to it as miraculously their strength to move their limbs returns as they curl their arms and legs around him in a fascinating imitation of Azul’s true form. “You decided to carry us so you gotta stick it out or I’ll start telling everyone that I and the great Grim were too much for you to handle.”

Jack rolls his eyes, hiking the prefect up a little higher on his back. They didn’t go so far that it would take them forever to get back to the tent, just far enough they wouldn’t be impacting any of the space around them. He can just make out the light of what has to be one of Vil’s lanterns. 

“As if anyone would believe that. They just saw me carry an entire freight with you two on it without any real struggle.” 

Their forehead thumps against his shoulder. “You don’t have to kill my chance just like that, you know. You could’ve played along for just a moment.”

He snorts. “And make it easy for you? Fat chance.” 

As they make it to the perimeter of camp Jack gives it a look over in appreciation. They did take care of it like Lilia said they would — more than Jack thought they would. 

The tent is up and steady, and the stove, while certainly not able to run until their return, is set up with the pipe and attachments in place. The sleeping bags are all unfolded and neatly placed along the floor of the tent, practically made homey with the way Vil has decorated with a makeshift cooking area and seating spot.

He’s always been good at that sort of thing. Designing. Meticulous about it in a way that Jack doubts he could really see himself doing without prompting. Still. It’s. Nice. Cozy. Homey . Acceptable.

With a grunt he drops the prefect and Grim onto one of the sleeping pads, uncaring of the prefect’s dramatic, wow just drop me like you did the logs, I feel so cared for! as he looks around, noticing one: there’s a hill of snow that wasn’t there previously looming a good twenty or so feet from their tent, with a path haphazardly constructed from top to bottom with the running grooves of a sled  all the way down it. 

“Floyd-senpai’s work I’m guessing?” 

There’s a laugh a little further into the tent, closer to the stove where Jamil has started to feed wood and shavings into it to get things started. “He did say he was going to try and make things fun for himself regardless of anything. We figured he just got bored of waiting on you to pester and started making his own fun. That was a little while ago though,” he adds after a moment, as if it were an afterthought. “He did say he wanted to take a look at the lake you kept talking about.”

“Does that mean I get his portion if he’s late for dinner?” Grim pipes up, fully abandoning the prefect to start sniffing at the locked food box that Jamil waves him away from. 

Jamil looks at him with a contemplative gleam in his eye. “I could be persuaded to give you a bit more if you’re willing to watch the fire through the night? Not for dinner, but a well deserved breakfast portion if you stick to your end of the bargain.”

The only thing that gives away Jack’s amusement is a whistle of air from his nose as he shakes his head at the plan to foist the arguably most annoying task onto their little dire beast. The prefect would no doubt be dragged into helping out, but isn’t it only natural if the two of them make up one whole student? Why wouldn’t Grim’s other-half-entity be pulled into his own mischief making or when he’s being tricked? 

Snake in the grass behavior at last, but far less conniving than anything Leona has attempted to posit about the other man.

“And Lilia-senpai?”

Jamil hums looking toward Vil, “Disappeared a bit ago after we finished setting up.”

“The way he put it is that he intended to explore the interesting features around the area.” Vil offers rummaging through his bag for a bucket. “I told him about some of the caves by the lake and I think that got his attention. Lilia has always been a free spirit — I didn’t see any point in attempting to dissuade him.”

Hungry, starving, world-wandering, sumptuous wasteland in the eye of the beholder. A foolish task to try and talk that ancient man out of anything Jack is learning. Stubborn not in any old way, but in his new and foolhardy learned ones; the playful facade of youthful vigor he seeks to embody and express and explore, a ravenous maw, teeth primed for the picking, fingers drenched in the soil of whatever land he’s decided to sanctify in his memory.

An endless hunger if Jack has ever seen it. He can only wonder what will happen to that wanderlust of Lilia’s when he’s well and truly explores the ends of the world. What his new enrapturement will be. 

“If the winter kills him I’ll give Diasomnia my condolences for his thrill seeking nature,” Jack says with a huff as starts to stalk toward the tent’s entrance once more. 

Vil laughs, the sound tinkling, almost warm. “For a joke you’re starting to sound rather fond. Warming up to one of them now are you?”

His nose curls. “Hardly. Lilia-senpai isn’t as much of a handful as some of the others, but to say I’m warming up to him is as likely to happen as Leona-senpai having any lenience or patience for those younger than him.” 

Vil gives him a look, mouth curling in a way that irritates him as Jamil chuckles, quiet and restrained. “Perhaps you want to reconsider your criteria? Just a suggestion.”

“You don’t live in the same dorm as him.” Jack says, pointed as his tail swishes.

“If you’re so certain, ” Vil says after a moment. “He may be an entirely uncouthful individual despite his appearance but it seems there are certainly things you haven’t picked up on yet.” A sigh. “Still, why the hurry in heading back out when Jamil is about to start dinner for the evening?”

“If Floyd comes back and finds out he was the last person to eat he’ll keep us all up with his whining.” It’s deadpan. An annoyance Jack is very eager to avoid if given the option. 

Another bite of laughter as Vil shakes his head. “Alright…if you’re so insistent on that being the reason.” 

Expression twisting with distaste at the response Jack trudges back out, tired of the conversation, the supposed “reality” he’s missing. Vil really is the closest thing he has to a childhood friend at NRC, but the history of it all is complicated, made even more so when it comes to their individual views on the world and their peers, in what they want from others. What Jack knows he won’t get from others .

He’s tired, but less from that brief interaction and more from the movement, the work, the thinking he’s done over the past days with them all. Overloaded from the interaction making him snippy, bristly, as prickly as his beloved cacti. Hardy and yet still requiring meticulous care. 

They aren’t terrible peers, not really. Vil and Lilia are attempting to accommodate him and his draining ability to interact with others. The prefect, even without being the strongest individual, had done their best to pay attention to his instructions for the saws and chopped a decent handful even as they attempted to engage with him while out in the woods. Grim, even, hasn’t been as big of a menace as Jack knows he’s capable of being.

It’s all just — different. Different from the way his own peers from his own dorm interact with him, even before everything at the spelldrive tournament went awry. Things are. Complicated. A mess. Something he doesn’t want to dredge up thoughts on time and time again as the school year continues on, as things within his own dorm start to slowly shift in a direction that lets his hackles slowly start to lay down for rest. 

It’s better to just ignore it all as best as he can. Once they’re all back on campus things will go back to normal. Their interactions back to a minimum. Or, at least, as much of a minimum as he can hope for. 

It’s perhaps this stubborn insistence to not-think-about-that-which-doesn’t-matter that distracts him enough to walk all the way up to the edge of the lake, water attempting to leech into his shoes. Something to hang to dry by the stove when he’s back. 

There’s a shift in the water, a break in the stillness with a rolling curl of water, the small wave crashing against the rock, something gleaming in the moonlight bright and eerie. A flicker of yellow beneath the water, like when a cat stares at you in the low light, piercing, steady, hungry. 

He blinks, slow, unphased as Floyd starts to surface. It’s a slow breaching, languid, fingers webbed and nails sharp as Floyd digs them into the soft ground of wet rock and sand just in front of his feet. A part of him wonders if he’d be faster than Floyd if the other boy attempted to reach for him. He’s on land still, certainly, but Floyd in water is an entirely different beast. It would take one slip. 

His laughter is throaty, wet, eyes scrunched into near crescents, mouth full of sharp teeth. “Oh, did the li’l sea urchin miss me?” It’s teasing, a playful bite to it as Floyd looks up at him. Jack can see him in the water despite the darkness. The shine of his body is long, sinuous, deceitfully thin. His teeth gleam, the sharp edge of them bright as a blade in the moonlight. His fingers flex as he hefts himself up further, chin tilted up, gaze fixated on the space beneath Jack’s own. “C’mon, the water’s fine. I won’t bite,” it’s followed by another bite of laughter as in a blink Floyd slink back into the water, silent with just a ripple to announce his departure, reappearing further into the water, arms outstretched, annoying smile still in place, scales shiny on his skin. “Promise, the worst that’ll happen is I squeeze you just a li’l.” 

Briefly, annoyingly persistent in the back of his mind, in a burning flood of feeling that wells up in the expanse of his throat, licks at his teeth with the fervor of a fire, Jack feels the urge to say a succinct, fuck you at the display of it all.

A not entirely unfamiliar feeling when it comes to any interactions with anyone from Octavinelle, but it’s always particularly heavy around Floyd. A kind of instinctual bristling from his core. With an inhale that makes him feel heavy with the weight of it, he wills it away. “As if I’d ever miss you. If given the option I’d rather grab hot coals.”

There’s a pout, an entirely offputting visual if Jack has ever seen one on the older man’s face. “Still so prickly~” Floyd sighs, drifting closer once more to rest against one of the curved rocks that have long been smoothed out by the water to laze on, mouth crooked with a lopsided smile, eyes still annoyingly lidded as he looks at Jack as if this is all a fun game. “Seems like a real waste to walk all the way out here if you’re just gonna lie about missin’ me. Not even a congratulation for bein’ so good today, huh? Stingy~” 

His nose curls, a scoff falling unbidden as Jack looks down at him. “What am I congratulating you for? Not being as big of a pain in my ass as usual? I just don’t want to listen to your whinin’ all night long if we eat everything.” 

“Missin’ me,” Floyd says again, a snicker to it as he rests his cheek against the rock face, the long body of his tail, creating a lazy wave in the water that reaches to lap at the toe of Jack’s boots. “You know it too,” he hums. “Didn’t hafta come all the way out here to get me.”

“Do you ever listen to anything I say to you? Seriously? Because you’re always talkin’ as if we’re having two different conversations.”

“I’m listening,” Floyd says, an amused curl to his words. 

“For the love of — “ He sighs, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Starve for all I care.” 

“Nah,” Floyd says, a giggle to it as he drifts from the rock, water rippling, words tinged with something that sounds far too fond, knowing, assumptive for Jack’s liking. “Knowing you, you’ll make sure there’s a plate left for me.” 

Jack wants to throw a rock at him. A perfect replica of his head sized rock. 

It takes everything in him not to reach down and pluck one up from the ground when Floyd tosses a laughing: “See you in a little, sea urchin!” at his back as he heads back to camp. 

It’s no longer a quiet affair on the trek back to the tent. There’s new noise. The crackle of the stove at full use, the bubble of a pot full of whatever Jamil has decided to make for the night. The crinkle of paper, the bark of noise that is laughter and smooth chatter. Spice, onions, peppers, garlic, something earthy, something sweet amongst it all mingling and swirling in a cocktail of scents both disorienting and oddly soothing as Jack passes through the tent flap to plop down on an empty basket at the entrance to finally, finally start working off his snow and water soaked socks and shoes. 

“Back just in time I see,” It’s Vil, warm and smiling, hair tied up and out of his face, something knowing in the crook of his mouth. “The prefect’s been in charge of protecting your portion…though I’m not sure how much longer they’re going to succeed for.”

He huffs, amusement puffing outward in a cloud from the lingering cold. “You can’t tell me that little glutton has already eaten through all the sandwiches I packed?”

Vil laughs, hand coming up to wave off some of the snow clinging to his hair. A gesture that feels all too warm in the enclosed space of the tent. “Outside of a few that Jamil managed to save, that was the first thing he went for as soon as he realized how to get the box open.” 

“And it’s warmed up!” There’s a half-yelp that follows it that has his ears swivelling as he picks up the tell-tale sound of Grim causing havoc. “You seriously have to be a black hole. You should not be this agile after eating so much!” 

With a brow raised in confusion Jack enters the tent proper to find the perfect gripping Grim against their front with one arm, the other raised up high holding what he can only presume is one of the tin foil wrapped sandwiches he made, all while they’re on their back, a tipped over seat a few spaced away as Grim attempts to crawl up their front in pursuit of it. 

“If I called dibs it should be mine!” Is Grim’s indignant reply, as he futilely continues his struggle.

With a roll of his eyes and a careful maneuvering through the collection of sleeping bags and makeshift seats he grabs the wrapped sandwich from the prefect’s hand. “If you want it so bad you’ve got to work on being just a little bit quicker.” There’s a bit more of a hominess to the tent now, a little wood table and their plastic baskets for chairs, pillows and blankets from Vil’s bag. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Jamil setting a bowl down in front of him as he sits before grabbing a cup and pouring something new into it. 

It smells floral is the first thing Jack thinks of. Sweet, almost thick. A dichotomy between the red soup in front of him that smells earthy, savory, almost nutty in a way, the far less formal crunch of peppers, cheese, and steak on the sandwiches he made, and the sweetness of the drink Jamil has sat in front of him.  Different all across the board. 

“It’s shalab, I’m not sure how well it’ll go with everything everyone else brought, but,” he shrugs, oddly quiet as he mulls over how to put it. “I figured there’s no need to let what I brought go to waste.” 

There’s a ring of cinnamon sprinkled on the top of the drinks surface. There’s something hot in his chest as he sips at it before anything else. There’s probably a method to this, a proper way to enjoy this, but, really, in the end, Jack only knows how to: head first, sincere as he can manage. 

It’s an effort — all of this. Clumsy and annoying, and so terribly loud it grates on his nerves at times, but it’s. Warm. 

(It’s not a thing. Jack can’t allow it to become a thing , no matter how much the voice in the back of his head nags at him. But. Just — just this once, Jack will let himself make an exception.

Just this once.)