Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Impulse checked his equipment, making sure everything was set up correctly. Jimmy, another host of the station, had a bad habit of messing up the presets that Impulse meticulously tweaked to perfection (despite the fact that Jimmy should never be in Impulse’s presets to begin with). Satisfied, he watched the timer tick down on the monitor, fading out the default song as he boosted his voice. 

“This is KOHU 87.4 Hermitton,” Impulse started, keeping his voice smooth and soft. The clock had just struck 2 A.M., and if there was anyone listening he didn’t want to disturb them. “This is SV checking in with you tonight. I hope you’re doing well, and that the cold isn’t getting to you yet.” Despite the natural urge to pause, he pushed through. “I want to play a song for you before I get started on the latest news, so stay tuned.”

Impulse faded in the next song, muting himself and turning to his laptop. He flipped through his tabs– homework, homework, homework– until he found his notes document. He edited a few things, double checking that his anonymous sightings inbox was empty, before returning back to his broadcast. 

This was how Impulse spent three nights of his week. He hosted the late-night portion of his university’s radio show, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. His co-host and friend, Pearl, broadcasted on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, and his friend Ren had a special broadcast on Sundays. His broadcast was the highlight of his week, guiding him through the day-to-day slog of college life. He lived and breathed his broadcast, despite the fact that his degree was in Information Technology and Cybersecurity. 

“Today,” Impulse started, unmuting himself. “A spectral figure was reported by the McClure Life Sciences building. An anonymous source said they spotted the specter at approximately 3:30 P.M., staring at them from one of the second floor windows. The source said that the ghost stared at them for a few seconds before disappearing. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty scary to me. Aspiring ghost hunters might want to stop by McClure and see if they can gather any more evidence. As always, if you want to send any spooky sightings, the form is available on the KOHU Hermitton website.”

“In other news,” Impulse carried on, scrolling down on his notes. “The vaguely ominous flyer about dreams that many of you have reported has been reportedly confiscated by the Dean of Students, with an investigation pending. Further details will hopefully be following in the next couple of weeks. And with that, I present ‘Dancing in the Dark’ by Bruce Springsteen.”

~☾~

Skizz hummed along to the song, pleased with the familiar lyrics as he tapped his pencil against his desk. His roommate, Zed, had gone to his chemistry lab hours ago, so he felt no need to keep his volume down. His notebook was illuminated by the soft orange glow of his lamp, messy and scribbly, his laptop screen off and reflecting back at him from being idle for so long. 

Skizz spent his Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays nights listening to SV. It had started months ago, when Skizz had stumbled upon their booth at a club fair, spending less than a couple of seconds in the sweltering heat surrounded by sweating bodies on the contents of the booth. But he had noticed enough to see the frequency, and a couple of weeks later he tuned in, desperate to keep putting off his homework. 

Skizz had heard SV then, explaining a listener-submitted UFO sighting. He was immediately enraptured, and liked the company. And the song choices. 

Skizz, however, was… sensitive, as a way of saying it. He could see ghosts, sense unholy objects. He knew more about the “underworld” of the campus, as Impulse called it, than Impulse ever could. There was an underworld, but it was so far hidden that anyone who wasn’t in the loop was unlikely to ever find it, and almost nothing that Impulse reported on was truly unnatural, rather, a couple of sprinkles of truth in a marred mess of fabrication. 

The McClure Life Sciences building was not haunted; the scariest part about it was the mold growing in the vents and the asbestos that was due to be replaced thirty years ago. Likely the listener had either made up the story or spotted a reclusive student, but Skizz was so endeared by Impulse’s enthusiasm that he could suspend his disbelief. The flier wasn’t culty in nature, it was the work of one of his fellow bored psychology students– likely harmless, likely a social experiment. Either a grad student or a freshman, if he had to venture a guess. 

“C’mon, Skizz…” He grumbled to himself, swiping his finger along the trackpad of his laptop. “Essay time.”

~☾~

Impulse hiked up his backpack over his shoulder, yawning. The coffee in his yellow travel mug had long since gone cold, the cheap thing doing very little to keep his beverage-shaped lifeline warm and drinkable. The November sun was weak and watery, clouds threatening to unleash another torrent of rain. Impulse skillfully dodged another puddle that was well on its way to forming a lake, nodding his head along to the Le Tigre song in his wired headphones. 

The Barge, a café that he and his friends frequented, was warm as he slipped inside, immediately releasing a needling pain upon his frozen fingers as he stepped inside. His roommate, Tango, waved at him from a corner table, sheets of math homework spread across two different tables. Tango’s boyfriend, Zed, appeared to float between the piles of math, squinting at his laptop with his nose crinkled. 

“What’s up, guys?” Impulse greeted, throwing his backpack down on the tiled floor. Without sitting he cleared a space around his chair, setting up his laptop and mouse. He needed to grab a drink before he allowed himself to sit, or else he wouldn’t be getting back up.

“I have a microbiology exam on Wednesday, and I think my head is going to explode.” Zed groaned, shutting his eyes against the glare of his laptop and rubbing his temples. His blond hair was disheveled and unkept, falling into his eyes despite his best efforts. “I know you’re asking, Zed, what does microbiology have to do with chemistry? I don’t know!” Zed left out a short, pathetic laugh, full of suffering and despair. 

“So, not going well. Tango?”

“All of this is calc three.” 

Impulse whistled, looking at the tables full of work. 

“Heard loud and clear.” 

Tango slumped over, resting his face on a worksheet that was more scribbles than equations. When he sat back up, the sheet was stuck to his face, and instead of dealing with the situation he just sighed dramatically. 

Impulse excused himself to get a drink– black coffee with a splash of vanilla syrup– before returning, plopping his password into his laptop to get to work. He allowed himself the privilege of scrolling idly on his phone as he loaded up his assignment, dismissing unimportant notifications and responding to things that needed his attention. He checked his student email– boring junk about surveys that he won’t be doing– then moved on to his station email. He prepared himself for the same empty inbox that usually greeted him, checking more as a habit than anything-

There was a new email. 

Impulse nearly dropped his phone fumbling to open it, then dropped it on the table and opened his email on his laptop. Emails to his station inbox was a laptop activity, because that means that someone had sent in a report to the website about supernatural activity-

And it was an ad. Someone had sent him a spam ad. He deleted it with a sigh. 

“Waiting for a text from someone special?” Tango teased, wiggling his eyebrows. Impulse kicked him under the table, nearly spilling all of their drinks in the process. A second of yelping and scrambling later, the table finally settled down. 

“No, I just thought someone had sent an anonymous sighting.” Impulse sighed, reopening his report on internet mapping. 

“You and that radio station.” Tango muttered, an amused, lopsided grin on his face. “Maybe you should marry the broadcasting equipment.” 

“Hey-”

“Didn’t someone marry the Eiffel Tower?” Zed asked, not once breaking concentration on his screen. 

“I’ll Eiffel your tower-”

“Stop!” Impulse groaned, covering his eyes. “No flirting at the table you two, I don’t want to hear what you get up to in your free time.” 

The three descended into mad giggles, oblivious to the angry glances from other patrons. The countdown to finals season was really getting to them. 

“Seriously, though, I like it.” Impulse sighed, shuffling his items around the table. “I mean, I’m tired, but I like it. I don’t want to mess around or make a bad product.” 

Zed and Tango nodded solemnly at Impulse's earnest tone, before sneaking cheeky glances at each other and falling into another fit of laughter. Impulse shook his head and smiled. 

~☾~

“Good evening, everyone.” SV spoke, voice slightly grainy through Skizz’s earbud. He crouched down low to a wall, peaking across the darkened campus. Water soaked into his sneakers, making his socks squishy and unpleasant. 

“I don’t have any stories or updates for you today.” SV continued. Skizz squinted his eyes, watching the two figures he’d been tracking as they pulled to a stop near the oldest white oak tree on campus. From the distance he was at, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but that’s how the underworld kept itself so secret. “I guess nothing exciting is going down on campus.”

A very faint glimmer settled over the object one of the figures was carrying, faint enough that one could pass it off as a trick of the moonlight. Skizz knew it to be the mark of magic. If he could get closer, see it better, he could determine what the pair were up to, and if it was a threat or not. Generally the answer was not, no one going above an inconvenient prank, but Skizz had been feeling anxious recently. 

“Anyway, here is ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ by Joy Division.” The sound of guitar filtered through, as Skizz started to bop his head and move his shoulders in a shimmy, before stopping himself. Focus up. 

He crept along, shoulder scraping against the brick. Keeping low was hard when you were tall, but Skizz managed as much as his poor college-aged knees would allow. The pouch of salt that he had attached to his beltloop tapped his thigh, reassuring his beating heart that this was probably fine, and if it wasn’t, he was more than prepared to deal with whatever was thrown at him. 

He watched the figures speak in hushed tones, hands gesturing wildly as they appeared to have an argument. The magic object– a book, maybe?– glowed brighter and brighter every time it passed closer to the tree. Skizz scrunched up his nose, turning his head to the earbud-free side to try and listen in. 

“And that was Joy Division.” SV spoke, making Skizz flinch slightly and glance away from the pair. He hadn’t realized that the song had ended. “It’s funny, because my best friends are in love and–” 

A flash of light erupted from the pair and Skizz stood up with a start, blinking the black dots out of his eyes. By the time he wasn’t blinded, no one was in the vicinity, leaving him alone in the quiet, SV droning on in one of his ears. 

He rushed up the tree, using his phone as a flashlight. There were deep scorch marks in the bark, ash littering the ground. Skizz took a picture of the mark– an eye with an arrow above it, pointing up, and a small circle near the left corner. Confused, he reached into his pockets and reluctantly dumped out the pretzels he had stashed in a ziplock bag in his jacket pocket and collected some of the silvery dust. 

“Dammit.” Skizz sighed, rubbing the side of his face. It was going to be a long night. 

Chapter Text

Gem, the red-headed anthropology major that Skizz was lucky enough to call his best friend, scrunched up her nose as she peered over her glasses at the picture on Skizz’s phone. 

“I’ve never seen it before.” She hummed, turning her head to the side. “I’ve seen things like it, but never that.”

“Like what?” Skizz asked, the question muffled by the pastry he had unceremoniously stuffed in his face. Powdered sugar fell down his shirt and into his lap. Gem made a disgusted, yet fond face.

“I mean, obviously the evil eye… unless it isn’t.” She started, turning the phone back to Skizz. “The arrow could mean anything. Spirituality, progress, determination, north. The circle could also be anything; wholeness, kinship, female.” Gem shook her head and sighed. “It’s hard to tell with no context.” 

“No worries, Gemstone.” Skizz shrugged, not overly disappointed. It had been a long shot, and he was thankful for any help that Gem could give him, not only as an anthropology student but a full blooded, 100% certified witch. 

Grian– shift lead of the Barge, architecture student, part harpy, and certified menace– sat down at their table in the café, groaning. He had a London Fog in one hand and another sugary pastry in the other. Gathering himself, he handed the pastry off to Skizz. 

“Long day?” Gem inquired, going back to her laptop to type away. 

“You have no idea.” Grian huffed, running his fingers through his dirty blond hair. “Some lady yelled at me for like, five minutes because I couldn’t accept a coupon that expired twelve years ago. Twelve, Gem! I was still in primary school!”

Skizz accepted the pastry, happy to chow down on it. He could feel the imminent sugar high (followed by the imminent sugar crash) but was accepting of any of the help he could get. It had been a long night, he’d slept maybe an hour before getting up to go to class. Stupid mandatory attendance. 

He listened idly as Gem and Grian chatted with each other, teasing and carefree. Skizz extended his focus to the couple by the window, then the group of three who were frantically doing homework, then to the guy who was on the phone far too loud in a public space. He mentally chastised himself for being such a failure last night, for getting so distracted that he missed what happened to the couple, and the steps that led to the burn marks. It wasn’t like he was some sort of supernatural superhero, but he did let something so… public… happen in front of him. Secrecy was important, especially for the wellbeing of some of his best friends. If anything nefarious was going down and he missed it, he would never forgive himself. 

Grian nudged him, bringing him back into the conversation with a jolt. Both of his friends looked at him expectantly, a spectrum of worry and amusement, obviously waiting for him to answer an unheard question. 

“Sorry, what?” He asked sheepishly, swiping away at the sugar on his lips. 

His friends laughed at him, and despite the chill in the air, he felt warm.

~☾~

“By the way, happy Friday, everyone.” Impulse smiled into the microphone, illuminated only by the screen of his laptop and the station monitors. “Or Saturday morning, I suppose. We’re winding down here tonight, in a few I’ll be gone for the weekend.” 

Impulse paused, despite his training telling him not to do so, but he assumed that any listener could forgive the amateur radio host just this once. He chewed on his lip, debating his next words. It had been a year and a half since he had started the show, and he didn’t particularly allow himself to be vulnerable, or to say much that could lead people back to him. Sure, his friends knew about the show, but he didn’t want any random person to be able to track him. Only weirdos listen to the radio this late at night anyway. 

“To be honest, listeners, my inbox is getting a little lonely. Not even a single update about the dream flier. I know this campus is haunted, but nobody seems to have anything to say about it. Or they’re not listening.” He laughed, trying to keep the tone light. He had been truthful with his friends; he liked doing the show, and he was very serious about it. He also decided to do the late night slot, so whose fault is it that no one was listening? His, obviously. So why was he so upset about the silence when it was his design?

“Anyway, to keep with the theme, here is ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ by The Smiths.” Impulse smirked to himself as he faded in the song from the queue, taking off his headphones to run his fingers through his short-cropped hair. He didn’t know why he had been feeling so pessimistic lately– maybe the lack of sun, the looming finals, the idea of finding an internship? Everyone around him was struggling too, which made him feel a little bit better about everything, but not enough to fix the melancholy that settled over his shoulders. If anything, he should be doing better than them, and that made his state worse by comparison. Not in a condescending way, of course, his friends were the most capable, intelligent, and talented people he knew. He just expected more out of himself than anyone else. Something, something double standards or whatever. 

Impulse toyed with his keys, trying to keep focused on the task at hand as his eyelids drooped. It was almost four in the morning, when he would turn the station back over to the auto-queue and drag himself back home for a quick nap. He would tiptoe into the apartment, taking off his shoes quietly, dropping his keys in his designated bowl, and try not to wake up Tango as he prepared himself for bed. Tomorrow, or today, he would be able to sleep in and procrastinate being useful for a solid ten to twelve hours, before the pressure of not doing anything would get to him. If he was really lucky, Zed would come over and make dinner for the three of them so Impulse didn’t have to worry about feeding himself for another day.  

He yawned again, stretching out his arms. The glowing digital studio clock ticked over to 3:59, the red particularly harsh on his eyes. Lazily he turned in his chair, wiggling his laptop mouse and wincing as the screen lit up, far too bright for the hour. Impulse’s eyes scanned his tabs, making a mental note about what he needed to save–

He had another email.

The bracketed one next to the tab title taunted him as he sat up with a jolt, scrambling to open his email. He glanced up at the studio clock, huffing in dismay as he noted that he had thirty seconds until the auto-queue took control away from him. 

The singular email was jarringly lonely in his inbox. The title seemed promising– ‘Weird Marking On Campus’, it read. Impulse hesitated for a moment, anticipation driving him forward but dread holding him back. Something, somewhere told him to stop, turn back, delete it. That would be ridiculous, this was literally his thing, dropped directly in his lap, or inbox. This was directly up his alley, his niche. What could possibly go wrong anyway, it was just an email?

Impulse pushed through the primal hesitation that held him back, grabbing the mouse firmly and left-clicking the email. 

~☾~

Skizz scrolled on his phone, idly scanning his assigned reading on Freud, because of course it was Freud, that asshole, as he waited next to the student union building. He could see his breath forming in the air as he rocked back and forth to keep the feeling in his toes. It was dark, the moon not even daring to peak over the clouds, and no one was stupid enough to brave the cold.

He had heard a rumor through the grapevine (aka, his group chat with his friends and a couple of other supernatural or supernatural-sensitive people that he was at least friendly with) that there had been a couple of vile oblakinje causing mayhem. Skizz was just restless enough to care about checking it out, and just foolish enough to stand outside in the freezing night keeping his eye on the suspiciously snow-laden looking clouds. Most people spent their Saturdays partying, but he was spending his developing frostbite.   

Skizz sighed loudly, puffing out his cheeks as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. It was freezing, quiet, and worst of all, boring. His eyes scanned the deserted quad as he blinked the dryness of winter away. 

Giving up, Skizz turned on his heels to leave. He was already mentally envisioning his perfectly warm apartment; the thermostat set to a perfect 69 degrees, a comfortable pair of sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, maybe a hot chocolate. The unfortunate side effect would be him actually having to do his homework, but at this point he’d give anything to have feeling in his hands again. 

He stepped off the main sidewalk, taking a detour through the frost-covered grass that crunched under his boots. Skizz took a left and then a right, passing through the shadows between buildings that had been devoid of life for hours now, humming along to the Electric Light Orchestra song SV had played not too long ago, the disco track getting stuck in his head as disco tracks tend to do. He passed by the yield sign on the south side of campus– a milestone notating that he was halfway home– reaching up to tap it lightly with his fingers. Skizz heard the metal rattle, and then… and then footsteps. Faint, purposeful footsteps.

Skizz whipped around, eyes scanning his surroundings, finding nothing out of the ordinary. He mentally chastised himself for being so paranoid, people were allowed to walk around at night, just as he was. There was no need to go full Karate Kid on some poor person who  probably just couldn’t sleep and decided to take a walk at one in the morning. 

Milliseconds later, when Skizz was gasping for breath with his back against the ground and his eyes on the spinning sky, he would barely register a tiny bit of regret for not taking his paranoia seriously. 

A weight settled against his chest, hard and unyielding, determined to push him into the dirt. Skizz flailed his legs, kicking and shoving despite the pounding headache forming in the base of his skull and the overwhelming feeling of breathlessness that seized his lungs. 

Panic surged through his veins. Skizz flung out one of his arms hard, making contact with the dark shape pinning him down. His hand didn’t stop at flesh, instead traveling straight through the figure. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Skizz snapped his head up, teeth clacking together as he bared them, only barely resisting the urge to bite down on his assailant, which would do absolutely nothing but hurt himself. A strong arm slammed his throat back into the ground, pressing, pressing, pressing until he was gasping for air. A fist forced his chin back so he could only look up and away. He wheezed, forcing himself to conserve breaths and sort through his racing thoughts. 

Okay, think. Breathe. In and out. 

He was going to die. 

Ghosts are incorporeal, but he’d never encountered any that could exert this much force. 

He was going to die and he hadn’t even graduated university. 

Think, goddamnit!

“E-exorcizámos te-” Skizz sputtered out. The figure pressed harder on his throat and he gasped to a stop, his vision filling with black static as he struggled to remember enough words to the rite to get this creature away–

“Ecerocizámos te, ómnis immúnde s-spíritus-” He sucked in for air, pushing against the ground with his elbows to try and give himself more room to breathe. Sharp claws dug into his chest, raking across in an x pattern leaving his flesh burning in its wake. “Ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio-” 

The demon screeched, a hideous sound that left Skizz’s ears ringing. It pushed down hard enough that Skizz lost his leverage on his elbows, falling back into the grass with another crack to his skull. He mentally lamented the Catholics and their long ass rites. 

“Ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et- et-” Skizz faltered, his consciousness threatening to slip away from him. This was it. He was dead. A couple more words and he would banish the demon long enough for him to go home and he was going to die. 

“Et virtúte Dómini n-nóstri Jésu Christi!” 

The demon disappeared into the night with one more eardrum-rupturing scream, leaving Skizz panting. He burned all over, the sensation of oxygen in his lungs overwhelming. After what felt like hours he finally rolled over on his side, reaching into his pocket to grab his phone. Blood welled from his chest, staining both his shirt and jacket, which was absolutely going to be a nightmare to clean up. 

He laid his phone in front of him, not having enough energy to hold it up. Slowly, painfully slowly, he pulled up Gem’s contact information, pressed call, and let it ring. 

“Hello?” Gem answered after four rings, groggy with a slight, biting edge of annoyance to her tone. Skizz only vaguely registered that he had probably woken her up. 

Skizz gasped, trying to find his words. They kept getting stuck in his throat. He coughed, wheezed, and tried again. Nothing. 

“Skizz? Hello? What’s going on?” Gem was more alarmed now. “Do you need help? Where are you?” Skizz heard rustling in the background of the call, most likely Gem grabbing her coat to head out into the night.

He tried again, letting out something between a whine and a sob. He still wasn’t sure that he was going to live. There was a lot of blood. 

“One word buddy, that’s all I need.” Gem coaxed, calm and soothing. “I have your location, alright, I’ll be there soon.” 

“Gem-” He gasped out, letting his tears finally start to fall. The cold was creeping back into his bones. “W-we have a problem.”

Chapter Text

Impulse was a man obsessed. 

The email was everything he could have hoped for; paragraphs of information confirming everything he already knew. The supernatural was real, thriving, just out of sight of normal humans. Yes, it was here on campus. No, most of the reports he got were not real– but did that really matter? He had the real deal right here, in the form of an anonymous email. He spent nearly five hours straight trying to figure out if he could use his education to figure out the identity of the emailer, to no avail. 

He would have been persuaded into thinking that this email was a hoax too, someone trying to make fun of him for his interests. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

But there were pictures. And a video. 

The pictures were compelling. Firstly, the image of a symbol burned into one of the trees on campus. Impulse, using his superior detective skills, determined exactly which tree it was based on context clues, and when he went to visit the symbol was nowhere to be seen. There were also several blurry photographs of people with wings and tails and horns, photographs of rituals and spellbooks. Sure, all of them could have been faked. They all could have been the brainchild of someone who was good with photoshop and had entirely too much time on their hands. Impulse didn’t think so; he spent several hours pouring over each and every one, centimeter by centimeter, looking for oddities. And there wasn’t any. 

Then there was the video. 

It was grainy and dark, but clearly showed two figures walking towards a tree– the tree. They appeared to get into some sort of argument, and then a flash of light erupted from the object that one of them was holding, and by the time the camera adjusted back to the low light, the couple was gone. 

That was it. That was the whole video. There wasn’t even any audio. 

Impulse had searched the video for any artifacts that indicated tampering. He scrubbed through the timeline slowly, again and again and again until his eyes burned. It seemed legitimate, but people could be creative when they wanted to. Internet hoaxes were a thing, after all, and Impulse was keenly aware about falling for them, given his line of interest. Something just compelled Impulse to believe these were real though, despite the rapidly withering logical side of his brain telling him not to. 

It was Monday again, meaning radio show day, and he had spent all weekend looking at the series of twenty-five images and one video. He didn’t even do his homework, so wrapped up in discovering the truth. He was behind, sleep deprived, and struggling to keep up with the world around him. He felt like a rock in a river, watching his classmates filter in and out of his consciousness. 

He had also spent his weekend weighing the pros and cons of telling his radio show about the email. It felt private and targeted, something for his eyes only, but it did fall into the purview of his entire shtick, and he would be remiss not to mention it.  

“Dude.” Tango sighed, snapping his fingers in front of Impulse’s face. Impulse blinked into reality, struggling to focus his eyes on his roommate, who was giving him a look of despair and impatience wrapped in one. “You weren’t listening to a single thing I said, were you?” 

“Sorry.” Impulse frowned, feeling pangs of guilt. “Sorry, it was just a long weekend. Doing, uh, homework. You know how it is.” 

“Right.” Tango dragged out, lifting his eyebrows with suspicion as he took a sip of his coffee. Impulse felt himself blush, embarrassed by being called out. 

“Really, I swear.” Impulse lied, only feeling a tiny bit bad for subverting the truth to his best friend. What Tango didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and he wasn’t in the mood to be made fun of. “So, Friendsgiving plans? I was thinking we could host, and you could make a turkey.”

Tango groaned and Impulse laughed, just half a beat too late. 

~☾~

Skizz laid on his bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows with his laptop on his lap, an abandoned Magraw-Hill assignment open in one tab and a recipe for homemade holy water in another. The wounds on his chest burned and itched with every movement, and he had a rather nasty line of bruises across his throat that he attempted to cover with varying degrees of success. Gem, Grian, and Zed had been godsends, bringing him food and checking out all of the books in the library about demons that he requested (even if he just squinted at the table of contents and set them aside, deeming them to be useless for his purposes). 

He watched the clock tick over, opening the radio app on his phone to settle in and listen to SV’s broadcast. It was strange, he had never met the guy, but Skizz somehow… missed him over the weekend. He hadn’t tuned in Friday either, and he was starting to have an SV-sized hole in his heart, which was genuinely concerning and he figured he should probably see a therapist about it. 

A soft smile settled over Skizz’s face as the last song faded out and SV’s voice faded in, greeting the audience and naming the radio station, as he was probably obliged to do. There was a bit of small talk, quick witted, dry, and sarcastic, that Skizz fell into like a well-loved blanket. For not the first time, Skizz found himself wondering about SV. He obviously went to the same school, but what did he study? Did Skizz already secretly know him? What did he look like? How old was he?

Skizz opened another tab, tapping in the radio station name into the search bar and clicking on the first link. He first opened the ‘personnel’ tab, finding it just as devoid of information about SV as before– no more than a broadcast schedule. He clicked the link that would send him to the anonymous tips page, which, if Skizz was brave enough to fill it out, would send his message to SV. He hummed the intro to the Elton John song that SV had chosen to start the show with, fingers hovering over his keyboard as the cursor blinked at the empty text box. 

He must have zoned out, coming back to reality as SV began to speak again. 

“I have a special treat for you, listeners.” SV hummed out of Skizz’s speaker, usually smooth voice tinged with a hint of excitement. “I received an email on Friday, and it’s a big one. My big break, if you will, confirming everything I’ve been saying.” 

Skizz frowned, not liking the direction this was going. At best it would be another fake sighting, and SV would be crushed, but the world wouldn’t end. At worst, SV found out the truth and was at risk of exposing more or less all of Skizz’s friends. Had he found out about Skizz’s attack? Skizz hadn’t seen any witnesses, and nothing had surfaced on Instagram or yikyak or what-have-you, but it was hard to pay that much attention when you were actively dying. 

“It’s… hard to explain. I haven’t told any of my friends about it because I’m worried they’ll make fun of me but..” Skizz shifted forward, yelping as his wounds smarted against his movements. “It was a bunch of pictures and videos, and I know what you’re saying, ‘oh, they’re probably fake’ but I don’t think they are.”

“Mostly, notably was a picture and with a video of a strange symbol being burned into a tree. It was weird, and it… well, listeners, I think it was real. The anonymous source also told me to watch out for the ‘x’, which, I’m not sure what that means, but I think I’m getting closer to the truth. I think I’ll keep the rest of what I saw quiet until I can do a little more digging.”

Skizz couldn’t breathe. SV had to be talking about what he saw, there was no other explanation. He  hadn't seen anyone except for the couple there, but was it possible he had missed another witness? He didn’t think so, but at the end of the day he was still fallible and SV had to have gotten it from somewhere. If SV knew, even tangentially, about anything involving his friends or his attack then there would be serious consequences. Skizz mentally thanked SV for being a little more on the reluctant side to share the dirty details, but for how long? How much did he know?

Skizz had to find him. 

~☾~

Impulse hid in the stacks of the library, nose wrinkled as he looked at the dwindling collection of books related to demons and other occult symbols. Someone— or many someones, maybe it was for a class?— had checked out all of the books Impulse had been looking for, leaving him feeling only a tiny bit hopeless and decidedly out of place. STEM majors weren’t built for the library. 

He had been avoiding Tango and Zed, skipping their usual homework meetup at the Barge in favor of more research, under the guise of needing to focus on his upcoming finals. Which he did need to do, so it was barely lying, he just so happened to not be doing that right this second.

Impulse had been researching nonstop for days, until he hit about the tenth page of google results and realized what he was looking for wasn’t going to be on the internet. Sleep was hard to come by and focus for anything that wasn't the supernatural was even harder. To top it off, Tango had gone through with the Friendsgiving threat and he was expected to help host a bunch of people he didn’t know in two days. Fantastic. 

Just as Impulse picked up another book that practically fell apart in his hands, a blond man rounded the corner at full speed, knocking into Impulse and causing the ancient artifact disguised as a library book to go flying. Impulse rocked back on his heels before straightening, the man not nearly large enough to completely throw him off his balance. 

“Sorry-” They spoke at nearly the same time, a small echo of one another. They both stopped, blinked, smiled. Impulse huffed a laugh. 

“Sorry, I really shouldn’t have been moving so fast.” The man started, before turning his head slightly to the side, like an overgrown bird. “Do I know you– wait, yeah, you’re Tango’s friend, right? You spend a lot of time at the Barge.” 

Impulse frowned, blinking. The more he looked, the more familiar the man in front of him started to look. He’d seen him somewhere, surely, and the Barge… 

“Yeah! You work at the Barge, don’t you?” Impulse asked, the face finally clicking into place in his memory. 

The man– Grian, Impulse found out– and he exchanged some pleasantries. Impulse was surprised to find out that Grian had been invited to the get together, that Zed and him were good friends. Tango had texted him a guest list a bit ago, so that Impulse wouldn’t be blindsided by the new people invading his space, but he hadn’t, uh, really looked at it.  

“Shoot.” Grian mumbled, looking at his watch. “I’m going to be late for studio. Sorry, do you mind if I..?” He gestured to the shelf of books, and Impulse complied, taking a step back. 

“Do you think it’s a little weird that all of these books on demons and stuff are checked out?” Impulse asked, feeling a little brave as he watched Grian run his fingers along the spines of the leftover books, looking for the right call number. 

Grian froze momentarily, long enough for Impulse to notice. His fingers twitched over the book he was hovering over, and Impulse suddenly worried that he had said something incredibly stupid. 

“Weird? No, why would that be weird?” Grian forced the fakest laugh Impulse had ever heard, grabbing a book from one shelf down and standing up straight. “Sorry, I’ve– I’ve gotta go–”

Grian was gone before Impulse could say anything, in front of him one moment and disappeared into the shadows the next. 

~☾~

Skizz winced as he stumbled out of Gem’s car and onto the wet sidewalk, sun having long disappeared as he stared up at the unfamiliar apartment. Against his will he had been dragged along to a Friendsgiving hosted by Zed, his boyfriend, and the boyfriend’s mysterious roommate. He would have rather spent his Thursday night resting and searching the internet for SV, but he was anything but a bad friend and slightly agreed with the sentiment that he should get out of the house and socialize more. 

A short elevator ride later, he was being pulled into a warm apartment by Gem and Gem’s friend, Pearl. Zed greeted them at the door, instructing them on where to put their shoes and coats, the space filled with the smell of food and spices. Skizz was just about in a trance, going through the motions and far more focused on trying to not let his pain show. In theory, just about half or more of the people here knew what happened to him, but he’d like to keep it to that number. 

“Everyone!” Zed called, inviting all of the attention to himself. Skizz looked up and blinked, nearly flinching as he finally registered all of the people around him. “Okay, introductions!”

Zed, very kindly, went through everyone. There was Zed, Gem, Pearl, Grian, and Scar (Grian’s friend and full blooded fae), which he knew. Then Tango (a wiry blond who also happened to be Zed’s boyfriend) and Impulse (the roommate). 

Impulse immediately caught his attention. Not in a love-at-first-sight, magnetic personality, most attractive person in the room way, though. In a this guy is trouble way. In a this guy knows too much and could be a threat way. 

But also he was attractive and, sue him, he had eyes, a type, and a functional brain about 90% of the time. 

Skizz plastered on his most charming smile, greeting Tango and Impulse like old friends. Sometimes he wished he had Scar’s natural fae charm. Somehow he managed to get everyone wrapped around his finger within seconds, and it was such a shame that Skizz had to work to be that magnetic and likeable. It truly was not fair. Damn fae.

Tango greeted him heartily, welcoming him in with an offer of either beer, cider, or vodka (Skizz chose cider, because he is classy, thank you very much). Impulse was much more reserved, distracted, and barely remembered to shake Skizz’s outstretched hand, staring at it for just a moment too long before getting with the program. He looked tired and worn out, but Skizz couldn’t really blame him for that, ‘tis the season for finals and burnout. 

They had barely been in the apartment for twenty minutes before Impulse made an excuse to leave, shutting his bedroom door behind him. Zed and Tango shared a look; Skizz tried his best to decipher what that meant and what Impulse leaving was about, to no avail. 

Grian pulled him aside, taking him to the living room couch. Skizz was glad to sit and give himself a little bit of a rest, but Grian’s serious expression sobered his joy and the small fuzzying of his edges due to a little too much cider and not enough food. 

“I met Impulse the other day.” Grian’s tone was quiet, urgent. “At the library. In the occult section.”

Skizz paused, choosing his words carefully. Grian obviously found this to be significant but there could have been a totally rational reason for Impulse to be there. People are allowed to have hobbies and interests, even if they do come dangerously close to the truth about the people around them. He trusted Zed not to let anything slip, but Impulse seemed sharp. 

“He could just have an interest.”

“No, Skizz. I- I mean yes, obviously, but I don’t know. I got a weird vibe. He’s… I don’t know.” Grian stumbled and Skizz frowned. Grian doesn’t stumble over his words, always sure and confident. He hadn’t known the man to make a habit of stuttering and doubting himself. Skizz trusted Grian’s gut feelings more than his own eyes. 

“I’ll look into it, okay?” Skizz reassured, placing a hand over Grian’s shoulder. “I trust you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

Grian nodded, and Skizz felt his soul warm at the trust that Grian put into him. It looked like he now had two mysteries on his hand, Impulse and SV. Well, three, with the demon. Or four, if you counted the mysterious symbol– okay, he had a lot of mysteries. And finals. And Christmas shopping. 

He had a lot of work to do.