Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

"And this year's Grom King is... Kevin Creeley!"

A million pairs of eyes snapped towards Kevin as Hexmaster Singh's announcement rang out through the auditorium.

Poe voiced his discomfort with a throaty caw that had Edgar shushing him as whispers rose around them. He settled atop Kevin's head like an omen—a harbringer of death and bad luck, as crows are, as though Kevin needed any more of that.

Hexmaster Singh went on with the rest of assembly as usual but it became increasingly clear that the entire Second Year was hardly paying attention. All focus was on their Grom king, wide-eyed and pale-faced, stone still in his seat, his friends squirming to try catch his eye. Edgar was only a few seats away, leaning over Brandon's shoulder to look at him. Roland was in front, whipping his whole body around in his chair and desperately searching Kevin's blank face. And Monty was the farthest, not even attempting to find his friend through the sea of students, a protective growl building in his throat.

Hexmaster Singh didn't seem too bothered by the fanfare. He went on with the assembly, having already gone through this routine so many times before, not even letting the children silence themselves before he continued with his congratulations and the rest of the housekeeping. When it finally came time for everyone to stand up and begin filtering themselves out the hall, there was no insignificant number of students starting to crowd around him and ask him if he was excited, if he was nervous, what was his plan, why wasn't he talking?

"Kevin?" Roland said once they were out the doorway and students had started to scurry back to their dorms.

Kevin turned around and ran.

He hadn't been so terrified at the idea of Grom a few weeks ago.

In fact, Kevin seemed quite giddy at it, terrifying as it was. Most of the boys in their year were, having only experienced one in their time at St. Churnley's. Now that they were Second Years who'd seen Grom be easily put away by a Fourth Year who'd lassoed it up and literally dragged it back into its prison, the idea of holding a party and watching one of their fellow students fight a mind-reading goop monster was a little more enticing.

The event had been announced in that morning's assembly and had everyone immediately whooping and leaning towards their friends to whisper about the possibilities of that year's king. Hexmaster Singh had quieted them but excitement was still simmering in the air even long after they'd left the hall and the Second Years were scurrying into the Understanding tower.

"Alright, alright, settle down!" Mr. Hinks said over all the commotion. The boys hurried to shush each other, eager to hear more about the event. "I know we're all a bit hyper after this morning, but it is more important than ever that you listen to today's lesson... right, thank you. Now, I'm sure you all remember last year's Grom fondly, and I'm sure you're quite excited for this upcoming one—especially considering that since you're all Second Years now, you've officially been entered into the ballot as Grom royalty nominees. Which means," he asserted, dampening the rise of excited chatter and nervous tittering alike, "it's essential that we do a quick recap so you'll all be prepared, should one of you be chosen."

A hand shot up. Its accompanying crow cawed. "Yes, Mr. Allan?"

Edgar adjusted his glasses. "Uh, what exactly are the chances that a Second Year is chosen as Grom King?"

"Well, the likeliness of being chosen increases as you go up the year groups, but a Second Year king is certainly not unheard of. Now, can anybody tell me what Grom is short for?"

Christopher raised his hand and answered, "Grometheus the Fear-Bringer!"

"Yes yes yes, quite a foreboding name if I do say so myself. 'Fear-Bringer' is a title given to Grom by St. Churnley's founders, long before they came to understand how it worked or how to weaken its powers the way we do now. Over decades, we eventually started to get a better grasp on it and its abilities—an ever-shifting, amorphous creature that takes the form of its opponent's worst fear in order to paralyse them long enough to be consumed."

The classroom burst into morbidly excited giggles, the same way it had last year. Mr. Hinks brought it to silence with a wave of his hand. "Gruesome, isn't it? I remember thinking the exact same thing when I was your age. Though it should please you to be reminded that since its imprisonment, Grom has failed in every one of its plights to eat St. Churnley's students, and that's in part due to the magical-dampening prison we've sealed it in under the school. Though this doesn't quite stop it from trying to break free every year, which is where you all come in. Some weeks from now, a member of our esteemed student body will be chosen by Hexmaster Singh to help us re-seal it back in its enclosure, and keep the school safe for another year. Yes, Mr. Gill?"

At the front, Aaron dropped his hand. "Why is a student picked instead of the teachers, again?"

He snapped his fingers. "Excellent question, yes yes! I understand it's easy to have your doubts about such an event, but our staff have always agreed it's important to let you children—and especially you cursed children—understand what it's like to face something as scary as that, whether you're a witness or you're the one in the arena. It's also why we like to celebrate the ordeal with a party; it's a performance more than it is a fight, a showcase of all your incredible skills and powers, yes. But as exciting as it sounds, with any luck, none of you fresh faces will have to face such a beast until you're much, much more powerful."

His gaze lingered on a group of four students in particular. "Some of you, however, might not have to wait so long."

If they took any notice, they didn't point it out, and the classroom descended into chaos once more.

It didn't take a genius to figure out where Kevin was. While Roland went to look in their room and Edgar scurried to Hexmaster Singh's office to see if Kevin was trying to contest his choice, Monty headed straight for the music room, where he found the boy sitting at a drumset and lazily tapping a cymbal with a drumstick, his head in his hand and eminating some faint music.

He didn't even look up when Monty entered the room, nor when he padded across the carpet to sit on the floor beside him. Nor did Monty make any attempt to be acknowledged, not even when Kevin started tapping louder and louder, faster, harder, his brow furrowing in concentration (or maybe fury, judging by his vice grip on the stick), a rapid tat-tat-tat ringing out through the room. It was hardly a gentle sound, too, more like the clattering of metal pans on the kitchen floor.

The tip of the drumstick slipped off the cymbal. Kevin made a quiet badum-tss before dropping the sticks to the floor and sighing, music stopping.

"I don't actually know how to play the drums," he mumbled, almost silent compared to the piercing cymbals.

Monty shrugged. "Neither."

Kevin nudged the sticks over to the bass drum, toeing at them until they were acceptably parallel. Then he slid out of his seat and onto the floor beside Monty, crossing his legs and leaning his elbows on his knees.

"Sarge said that whoever Singh picked for Grom King would only get chosen if all the staff agreed he deserved it," he said. "It's an honour, apparently. You're basically saving the school in front of the entire student body and getting celebrated for it."

"It... sounds scary," Monty said. "Having everyone see your biggest fear like that."

"I already know mine it is," Kevin grumbled, burying his mouth in the heel of his hand. "It's gonna be that stupid concert all over again."

"What concert?"

"The one where my curse first appeared. Everyone was laughing at me, and none of the teachers were doing anything, and I..."

He trailed off. Monty scooted closer to him, silently offering his shoulder, and Kevin gladly slumped his head onto it, his hands worrying the end of his tie. He'd never really been one for physical affection, even before his curse, but Kevin and their friends were a common exception.

"It was the first concert in years I'd even managed to convince my parents to come to," Kevin said. "You should've seen their faces when I found them afterwards, it was like, 'We could have been doing our Disney marathon instead of this shit'. Ugh."

Monty nudged their knees together. "I'm sorry."

Every story Kevin told about his parents made Monty's wolf seethe. Where was their love for their kind, talented, amazing son? Why had he seen Kevin play music more times in the past two years than they had in thirteen? Why had Kevin been the one to find his parents after his concert as though they hadn't even been looking for him? The thought dragged him back to his own parents, cheering and clapping for him in his school Nativity, sitting with him on the floor as he cried over a bully, kissing him goodnight and telling them how much they loved him.

What had Monty done to deserve what Kevin didn't have?

Kevin knocked his head into Monty's, his presence warm and solid. "I mean, I guess it might be nice to have a party about me that isn't Disney themed."

Monty tilted his head down. "I'm sure you'll do good. You've gotten really powerful since first year."

"Heh. Thanks.

"...Kevin, what if—"

Nevermore!

A swarm of black feathers flew into his face before he could continue.

Monty spat and Kevin jerked upright with a cry of, "Poe!", swatting him away as he circled the pair of them. He was about half the size he was when they'd first met him after his reincarnation and much more prone to getting into trouble because of it. He cawed madly as he repeatedly barged into Monty's face, as if calling out to say, Edgar, look, I found him!

"Poe!" Monty tried, though it was muffled between Poe's (admittedly gentle) attacks.

His human ward rounded the doorway a few moments later with a sheen of sweat across his forehead, breathlessly called out, "Poe, stop that!" The crow did little to heed him until Edgar pounced forward and grabbed him right out of the air, eliciting an indignant little squeak as his wings were pinned to his body. "Poe! Ah, sorry," Edgar said to Monty, who was gently placing down a single stray feather onto the table. Poe cawed again and, no longer one to stay mad at his familiar for very long, Edgar gave him a kiss on the head.

Roland followed in behind, brightening when he saw them all. "Kevin! There you—"

He stopped suddenly. His eyes rolled back and his hand went limp on the doorway.

Just as quickly, he shook his head and glared at nothing. "Shut up! There you are, Kevin."

"Hey," Kevin said with a wave as Roland skipped over, not acknowledging the brief stint with his god's voice. They'd long learnt to ignore those, especially since Roland was so much better at shutting it down. "You wanna sit?"

Roland smiled and plopped down beside him. Edgar joined, and soon enough they had Kevin was openly ranting about Grom and the hexmaster's desicion and his parents and Disney and the concert and his stupid, stupid curse...

And an idea slipped into Monty's mind.

"I could do it instead," Monty said over breakfast the next day.

Kevin stopped talking. His hands froze above his cereal where they'd been flying about as he rambled about Grom, clearly having not gotten any less nervous even after a night's rest. Roland and Edgar perked up too, breakfast forgotten and attention pinned on Monty.

It was a thought that had been brewing in his mind since the music room—no, earlier than that, since the assembly when Kevin's name was first read out. And it had only got louder over the morning, Kevin's voice shaking as he went on and on, seemingly unaware of what and how much he was even saying, discordant notes piercing through the air. Even the cutlery was beginning to vibrate and float up; a side effect of Kevin being able to control his curse more. As it turned out, his voice was an additional source of magic, and that proved to be both very useful and very inconvenient.

A fork was a centimeter away from jabbing Monty in the eyeball when everything dropped suddenly, Kevin turning to Monty with his mouth still parted. "You what?"

"Grom King," he said, nudging the fork away. "I'll do it. Instead of you."

A sharp, hysterical laugh bubbled its way out of Kevin. "Yeah, very funny, but—"

"I'm serious. I'll take your place as Grom King so nobody has to see your fear."

"What? ...why?"

He shrugged. "Everyone already knows I killed my family." Even now, he said it so nonchalantly, like it was juct a fact of his existence rather than any sort of blemish on his conscience. A fun fact. Something everyone needed to know whether they wanted to or not. "Nobody's gonna be surprised when they see what my fear is. And—and I can control the wolf better now, too. I might be able to defeat Grom before it even really gets to me."

He scoffed. "And what if you don't?"

(Kevin couldn't quite help the hostility that seeped into his voice. The idea of one of his best friends fighting one of his battles for him and getting hurt or worse in the process made his stomach turn in both fear and anger. Of course he needed somebody else to fight Grom for him, of course he was still that weak.)

Before Monty had to answer, Roland leaned in, his face the picture of worry. "Monty, are you sure?"

He nodded.

Edgar frowned too, shifting in his seat. "That's—that's a very big responsibility."

"I know," he said.

Roland floundered with his words for a moment, before turning to Kevin. "Kevin, you know I don't actually want you to face your biggest fear in front of the entire school. But, Hexmaster Singh picked you for a reason! Are you really sure you don't want to do it? It's supposed to be quite an honour."

Bitterness passed over Kevin's face; just a flicker, then it was gone. "It's only an honour if you want to do it in the first place. But, Monty, you don't have to—"

"But I would," he said, something more intense seeping into his voice.

"Seriously, mate, just leave it—"

"I want to do it."

Kevin regarded him for a long few moments: the determined shine in his eye, the wolfish way he licked his teeth, the steel set of his jaw. An immovable object. "You'd do that for me?" he said incredulously. "You'd—you'd take my place, and you'd fight Grom, and you'd face your biggest fear in front of the entire school. For me?"

And Monty just nodded again, like it was the easiest decision in the world. "You were the first person who wasn't scared of me after you knew about my curse. I..."

A silent I owe you hung in the air between them.

He pressed on, "And I really, actually want to do it, anyway. I want to show everyone that I can control my wolf properly. And that they don't need to be scared of me anymore."

Lost on Monty's ever-blank face, Kevin looked to the other two.

"That's very brave of you, Monty," Roland said quietly.

Edgar adjusted his glasses, meeting Kevin's eyes. "I—I mean. Sounds like you'd be doing him a favour, really, so...?"

"You would," Monty said. "I promise."

For a long while, Kevin said and did nothing, only stared into Monty's eyes like he was trying to call a bluff. Many would call the boy unreadable but Kevin knew better than that, and right now there was nothing but stark, sincere honesty swimming in the golden brown of his irises.

Then he nodded, so small and slow it was barely even a movement.

"Alright..." he said. Then, louder, "Alright." He broke out into a grin. "Alright! Yeah! Let's do that! Are—are you sure?"

"More sure than I've ever been. Ever," Monty affirmed, eyes sparkling.

Kevin swallowed. "I... alright! Let's fucking do it!" He raised his cup and clinked it to Monty's. "To our Grom King!"

"To our Grom King!" Roland and Edgar chorused, clashing their cups together.

At Edgar's side, Poe cawed, low and warning.

An omen of death, indeed.

When faced with two children in his office asking about taking the faculty-assigned Grom King's place, Ranjit Singh could only think, Were we ever that small?

The boys' eyes were impossibly wide and pleading as they awaited his decision, Monty especially, looking like a lost puppy compared to Kevin's more anxious demeanour. They'd been rambling for a good two straight minutes about why Monty should be king instead, and now that they were quiet, the room felt uncannily silent, its eeriness only exacerbated by the shadows cast upon their faces by the overhead lanterns.

"Well," Ranjit finally said, and the boys sat to attention. "You've both pled your cases, I suppose. I'll admit, this isn't the first time someone's offered themself up for the role of Grom King in place of another, but it is certainly the most compelling... and, perhaps, impassioned case I've heard so far." He cleared his throat. "So. Um."

"Please," Monty repeated for the umpteenth time.

Ranjit met his eyes, expression softening. "I have no doubt that you would fare well against Grometheus, Mr. Finch. In fact, you were one of the runner-ups. I'm only concerned that neither of you know exactly what you're getting yourselves into."

Kevin spoke up, "We got told everything in Understanding. And Edgar got us a load of books from the library about it, so—"

"Grom isn't something you face just because you feel like being a hero, Creeley." Kevin froze, his expression twisting, before he shrank back into his chair. "Now, I believe Monty has some inkling of what he's throwing himself to, but do you? You are subjecting your friend to the most formidable St. Churnley's has to offer in front of an audience who, even up to this point, are still terrified of him and his curse. Not to mention, you're willingly giving up the privilege of showing the entire school what a powerful curseholder you've become. Are you really willing to just be on the sidelines while your friend does all the work?"

Kevin's brows pinched "No! I just—I—"

He could barely force out any more words than that. Frantic eyes darted about, one hand squeezing into a pale fist where it rested on Ranjit's desk and the other gesturing jerkily at nothing before dropping to his lap. Monty perked up like he was already preparing to jump in to comfort him.

It was a gesture so familiar it ached.

Ah, maybe he was being harsh.

Ranjit exhaled slowly. "I don't intend to make you feel bad, Kevin. Truly," he said. "I was appointed Grom King when I was a student here, and, even thought it was scary, I'm not lying when I say it was an honour to be so. You just need to understand." His eyes flitted to the filing cabinet in the corner.

For a long while, Kevin didn't move, barely even breathing, his eyes fixed on the nothing in front of him. Then Monty moved his arm forward like he was clasping his hand under the desk. Kevin looked up and they nodded minutely to each other.

Children, Ranjit lamented with no small amount of fondness.

Kevin breathed in, out, and turned back to Ranjit. "I do."

He didn't falter this time. His eyes bore into Ranjit's, almost challenging him to protest.

He wouldn't. There was no point, not with these two and their friends.

"Well then, if both of you agree," he said, and they perked up like meerkats. "Montague Finch, you will be taking the place of Kevin Creeley as Grom King this year. Congratulations. You're dismissed."

They both shot to their feet, their hand still connected, something unreadable on Kevin's face. "Thank you very much, sir," Monty said, his voice brightening as they began towards the door.

Kevin nodded. "Thank you, Hexmaster Singh."

"Train hard," Ranjit said. "Be brave. You've got this. And, Kevin," he added before they disappeared. Kevin turned back, his expression unreadable. "Don't worry too much. You'll get another chance."

Kevin pressed his lips together in something like a smile. Monty squeezed his hand and Ranjit could have almost imagined a tail wagging. Then he tugged Kevin along and they scuttled out his office together.

The door clicked shut, and Ranjit sighed so loud it could have rattled the entire school. Boys and their bloody problems. He was tempted to immediately sink back into his seat and take a breather before getting back to his paperwork, but a slight jostle in the corner of the room reminded him why he couldn't.

"Right." He folded his arms. "What the hell is it that you want, Matthew?"

Thud!

A single eyeball flew out the filing cabinet and over to Ranjit. Its feline pupil rounded as it swirled around his head before settling directly in front of his face and simply hovering like it was waiting for something.

Ranjit snapped his fingers. Then in a quick flurry of shadows, Matthew Hinks was stood in front of his desk, their eyes moving to circle them both, their blindfold hanging loose on their face. They'd long gotten used to Ranjit pulling them around whenever they were needed, and instead of being a pile of limbs on the floor, they stood with their hands clasped behind their plank-straight back and a smile on their face. "Hellooo."

"Mr. Hinks," Ranjit gritted out, much to the other man's amusement. "What is it?"

"I spy a liar," they sing-songed

He sighed again. Unfortunately for the rest of the faculty, Matthew was a terrifyingly accurate lipreader and liked to show off this little skill of theirs whenever they could. "Most impassioned case for a Grom King replacement, you said, yes?" they continued.

He hung his head. "Don't."

"Well, I'm not so sure about you, but I do recall—"

"Dooon't."

"—what was it, twenty, thirty-something years ago? Yes yes, you and that lovely speech you performed for our Hexmaster about why you should be Grom King—"

"Matthew."

"—it was quite romantic, if I remember correctly, I was actually rather jealous of that boyfriend of yours—"

"If the words 'Elliot' or 'Allan' come out of that mouth, I'm firing you on the spot."

Matthew went silent.

Still, they wore a grin that had Ranjit taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. He heard shuffling and when he looked up Matthew was leaned over his desk, their many eyes zeroed in on him, their hands clasped in front of their chest and their mouth twisted into something sympathetic. "Why were you so hard on them? Fighting Grom was hardly the worst decision of your life."

"It was certainly one of them."

"Ranjit."

Matthew's expression was clear as day even without their eyes; Ranjit could see the confusion in the pinch of their brows, the concern in the curl of their lip. "I don't doubt that they'll survive, and I don't doubt that this will be good for them. But we choose our kings for a reason and it isn't a decision I want to be taken lightly. I just don't want anyone rushing into anything."

Matthew pressed their lips into a line. Disapproval, or maybe something more... understanding. They had been witness to Ranjit's Grom fight, after all. Then they straightened up, looking displeased, but seemingly accepting his argument.

Ranjit fell back into his chair, hinges squeaking. "I never regretted taking Elliot's place," he said quietly. "And I still don't. I just... would have appreciated a warning when I was that age, is all."

Even decades later, he remembered the jolt of terror that ran through him when Elliot's name rang out through the assembly hall, the horror on his partner's face, the shriek of his loyal raven. It had taken him less than twenty-four hours to compose his speech and convince their hexmaster to let Ranjit take his place and even that had felt like too long at the time. It wasn't until he was face-to-face with the monster itself that it had even occurred to him to really consider the consequences.

At the same time, he saw Matthew run their thumb along a deep scar on their left hand, running up the line of their finger until it reached their wedding ring.

Oh, the sacrifices people made for love.

When Monty's Enrichment got replaced with Grom training, the other three were quick to sacrifice their own Enrichments to go with him to the Control tower and help. Sarge made a fuss about having to accomodate for the extra students but still gestured to the four chairs she'd already had set out and told them to pay attention.

He knew little about his training so far, and could only imagine what it would entail. He was only warned that it would be intense but ultimately necessary if he wanted to stand a chance against Grom.

So of course, Morti and Melvin were there, too.

Monty couldn't help but scowl as Morti grinned and waved at them from his seat opposite to them. He had apologised since the whole fiasco last year but seeing his face still put a sour taste in his mouth—because unfortunately, a "sorry" wasn't quite enough for him to stop being so bloody irritating.

"What are they doing here?" Roland whispered as soon as Sarge stepped away to grab her equipment from the side, glaring at the pair of them.

"Does Monty have to fight them?" Edgar said.

"Bloody hope not," Kevin said. "He'll kill them."

Monty didn't have time to ask exactly what that meant before Sarge returned, dumping a heavy-looking duffle bag on the floor and gesturing for Morti and Melvin to get to their feet.

"Now," she started, and all six of them straightened up. "I know yous have your history, but that's precisely why I've brought Kane and Kermode onsite with us today. Grom's greatest attack will be against your emotions and it is vital that you keep a level head during the fight. So for today's session, we're going to focus on not letting your personal history disrupt your training. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sarge," they chorused with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Right." She turned to the Second Years and beckoned Kevin and Monty to stand up and step forward, which they did. "Now, if I'm not mistaken, we have Finch taking the place of Creeley as Grom King this year. Is that correct?"

"Yes, Sarge," Kevin said.

"Hm. I'll admit, Creeley, I'm surprised to see you hadn't stepped up to the challenge like I and the rest of the staff were expecting. You've come a long way since first year, I thought you of all people would want to show that off."

It was impossible to tell if she was judging him or not for his decision; Sarge sometimes had that unreadable sort of quality about her sometimes. In class, she was usually either angry, impressed, or completely indecipherable. Whatever it was, it made Kevin shift his eyes uncomfortably towards Edgar and Roland, who offered him smiles and thumbs up with varying degrees of earnestness.

Sarge turned to Monty. "But, you picked a good replacement. Montague, I'm sure you'll make a great Grom King. Are you ready?"

Monty nodded sharply. Then he glanced over to Kevin, who stepped back to stand beside Edgar and Roland's chairs.

"Alright." She set her shoulders "Control, remember? Show me what you've got."

Monty breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. Within seconds, his arms sprouted into wolfish limbs and claws, his ears elongating into large, fluffy points, his jaw contorting until it was a half-muzzle with sharp fangs and a dark, upturned nose. It was the form he most often took during fights and the one he had the most control over. At the same time, Sarge reached into her bag and pulled out a small black bar, which quickly folded out into a baton the length of her arm once she flicked it. But instead of preparing it to strike, she used it to reach over to Melvin and push him in front of her, directly into Monty's line of attack.

The boy's eyes went wide, gulping heavily behind his mask. "Uh, Sarge—"

"Monty," she said, stepping aside—and oh, that was definitely a smile on her face now, matching the gleam in her favourite student's eye as his wolfish ear flicked and tail wagged eagerly. "Sic 'im."

"Wait—" Melvin started.

Monty leapt.

Melvin went down like a bowling pin, his shriek of terror mixing with the hiss of acid bubbling at the sides of his mask. Chairs squeaked as their audience straightened up to get a better view while Sarge continued to calmly pace the ground beside them, eyes trained on them like a hawk.

"Control," Sarge said, her voice like thunder splitting the sky. Monty uncurled his claws, just a little, where they were wrestling with Melvin's forearms. "The aim for you, Monty, is to win this fight without hurting Melvin. Melvin, the goal for you is to defend yourself without resorting to your curse. If all goes well, both of you should leave without a scratch on you."

"Fuck!" Drops of acid spilled over the sides of Melvin's mask, hitting the ground with a soft sizzle. Monty jumped away, landing on all fours with a growl.

"Both of your curses are Maledictus Mutanti," Sarge continued as Monty launched forward, "which means they pose a bigger threat to other people than they do to you. Thudberry, can you tell us what that leads to?"

As Melvin dodged the attack and prepared to counter, Roland recited, "Recklessness!"

"Recklessness, very good. In cases like Monty's, it's better to be overly-cautious than not, which is something he's demonstrating now. But that leads to another problem, doesn't it..." she searched the boys, "Allan?"

Edgar snapped his eyes away from the fight, though his attention was clearly torn. "I, uh—h—holding back?"

She nodded. "Among other things, yes."

Kevin raised his hand, eyeing the fight warily as Melvin seemed to have a knee planted on Monty's chest. "Other things like not understanding the extent of your curse?"

"Very good, Creeley, exactly. I'm sure you speak from personal experience with you and discovering how your own curse manifests. For more physical curses, such as Finch's or Kane's," (Morti took the opportunity to smirk at them, having had a much easier and longer time with controlling his own curse), "the issue is more—"

A perfectly embarrasing screech kidnapped their attention. Morti was the first to look over, followed by the Second Years, finding a slobbering Monty with his jaws parted over Melvin's face, eerily silent, much like any real predator. Melvin, meanwhile, was blabbering quietly behind his mask, acid slipping down his face like tears and leaving a faint, gruesome shine in their wake.

"Monty," Sarge's voice suddenly cut in through all the screams. Still, she looked calm, something close to amused as the regarded the two boys on the ground in front of her. She pointed her baton towards Monty's snarling maw. "Reel it in."

And like magic, he stopped.

His jaw shut. His pointed ears perked back up. He crawled backwards off Melvin and settled onto his knees, his tail still sweeping the ground as he looked up to Sarge with wide, humanoid eyes.

Melvin scrambled to sit up, his hands heavy in the dirt and his mask askew, too busy hyperventilating to even be bothered by the sound of Monty's friends giggling. At the side, Morti looked like he was preparing to run over to him, but seemed to settle down once Melvin heaved out one last breath and managed to stand himself up.

"Well done," Sarge said, looking between them, "to the both of you."

Melvin made another little nervous whine. The boys' snickering grew louder, only to go dead silent once Sarge looked over.

"While it's true," she said, turning to Monty and Melvin, "we all do some rather unflattering things when we're scared, you also didn't do anything irrational. That's what Control is all about."

Her eyes flitted to Kevin. "Some impulses can't be helped, and that's nothing to be embarrassed of."

She stayed on him a moment longer before looking back to Melvin, telling him to go sit down so one of Monty's friends could tag in.

Almost subconsciously, Kevin wrapped his arms around himself.

"Alright, lads, feast your eyes!"

Monty and Roland looked up, and Kevin unveiled himself with a grandiose swish of the curtain.

Suit-hunting had been going on for about an hour now, yet the boys still managed to find ways to have fun with it. Monty and Roland had picked out theirs relatively quick—Monty in a baggy brown set and Roland in red pinstripes, but Kevin and Edgar were still putting on their little fashion show as they went through the shop's extensive formalwear. It was one of the few times in the school year they were even allowed outside of St. Churnley's, and everyone was making the most of it, even while supervised.

Kevin leaned against the wall, a tad too slanted for the suave look he was going for, but he grinned and gestured to his suit proudly. "What do we think?"

Monty nodded. "You look nice," he said, privately thinking that such a shade of green would have looked nicer on someone who didn't have Kevin's fiery hair colour. Roland was thinking much the same but gave him a big grin and thumbs up regardless.

Still, Kevin must have noticed something in their expressions, because his arms and smile dropped. "What?"

"Nothing!" Roland tried, but Kevin had already turned back around to squint at himself in the mirror.

"Oh wait, you're right," he said, nose wrinkling. "I look like a leprechaun. I'll put this one back."

He stepped back and closed the curtain behind him. The two breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Poe had settled outside the booth beside Kevin's and cawed impatiently, tugging at the hem of the curtain. A socked foot poked out to gently swat him away and, despite the bird nipping indignantly at his toe, Edgar's muffled voice rang out, "In a minute, Poe! I'm still deciding velvet or not..."

Poe, not taking this for an answer, flew up and began pecking at Edgar through the curtain.

"Agh! Okay, okay! I'm coming out!"

He shoved the curtain aside, nearly engulfing Poe in the fabric, and stepped out.

The frilly hem of his skirt swished around his ankles, making Poe hop away as Edgar picked up the tulle layer to show off the silk underneath. The silver star patterns glittered in the shop's harsh overhead lights and Poe cawed delightedly at the sight, immediately pecking at the fabric and flapping his wings about excitedly. "What do you guys think?"

Roland broke into a grin, giddily patting his armrests. "Aww, you look great!" he cooed.

"It looks very nice, Edgar," Monty agreed.

"You think?" Edgar said. "Poe, how about you?"

Nevermore!

"That's... positive?"

Nevermore!

"Sod this stupid hair colour," Kevin suddenly groaned, pulling the curtain open to reveal a tomato-red suit that made him look like a stick of dynamite with the wick ignited. Despite it, his expression lifted when he saw Edgar. "Oh, I like that one better than the pink."

"Really?" he said.

"Yeah, it matches your suit better."

Edgar looked down and dropped the tulle, shimmying his hips to watch the fabric swirl around. Kevin examined own suit too but instead rolled his eyes as he shucked off his jacket and threw it onto a hanger. "Ugh, I'm taking a break," he said, stepping over a pile of discarded clothes on the floor and sitting down beside Roland. "Remind me to never wear red ever again."

Nevermore, Poe agreed(?).

Edgar closed his own curtain booth, decidedly much happier with his own attire as he hopped over to join them. "See, we match, now," he said to Monty with a smile.

Monty fidgeted with his own skirt, sandy beige and plaid and worn in solidarity with Edgar over his trousers. Everyone's gonna be looking at me, anyway, he'd reasoned when Edgar expressed his concerns. This way, you can wear whatever you want and nobody's going to care. "We match," he agreed.

"Still looks like an awful lot of layers," Roland said. "Will you be able to fight in it?"

Monty looked down, picking up its hem. "We can test it out."

They seemed to get the same idea at the same time. An excited smiled grew on Roland's face as he jumped up from his chair and stood where there weren't as many suit jackets littering the floor, the familiar gleam of battle-readiness making him glow from the inside out. Monty took his own stance opposite him, holding his claws out in front of his chest, waggling them playfully at Roland.

Kevin, much used to the chaos the pair of them could cause while sparring, pushed himself and his chair away with a dreadful skreeeeeek against the floor.

Roland nodded, and Monty pounced.

Roland shrieked with giggles as he was bowled over, the both of them hardly putting up a proper fight as Monty bapped at his face and Roland made a weak show of raising his arms to defend himself. The skirt was a mess of fabric flying about but it didn't seem to restrict Monty's movement—and neither did Edgar's, the way he jumped and scurried off to safety, stars swishing around his feet as Poe fluttered up and settled onto Kevin's leg.

Edgar took his seat beside him too, Poe nestling down and the three of them watching the fight with a boredom that spoke of familiarity. He bunched up the fabric of his skirt in his lap, kneading at the tulle, before nudging Kevin with his knuckle. "Are you sure this is alright?"

Kevin looked over. "'Course, why wouldn't it be?"

His mouth twisted. "I—I suppose I've never really, uh. It's different when it's with family, you know? I know there's, there's nothing wrong with it. Objectively. I mean, anatomically, one could even argue that... ahem, but, some other boys, they might take issue with it. I just don't want to give us any more to deal with."

Kevin followed Edgar's distant gaze as he spoke. It landed on a group of boys, not even from their year group, huddled in their mismatched suits and watching Monty and Roland's play fight. In the tussle, it was impossible to say exactly what they were looking at, but it was difficult not to imagine at least a few of them were paying more attention to his attire than the way he was batting at one of their fellow students with a clawed hand.

Kevin cleared his throat as loudly as he could get away with, dragging Edgar's focus back to him. "Well, my parents say that wearing skirts and dresses is for princesses, but I don't believe that. Wear what you want. And Grom's all about facing your fears, anyway." Edgar rocked his head in a so-so gesture. Kevin went on, "I do really like it, by the way. I think it suits you. But if anyone has a go at you for it, you can always just sic Monty on them."

That startled a laugh out of Edgar. He picked at one of the stars, musing, "Do you think—"

"OW! Monty!"

Their heads snapped towards Roland.

Monty was already scrambling off him by the time they looked over, pawing at his ears, claws shrinking and eyes wide. "Sorry!" he said, curling in on himself as Roland began to sit up. "Sorry. I—sorry. The wolf, it. Uh."

Despite the way Roland frowned at a small nick on the back of his hand, he was all smiles when he looked up to Monty. "Don't worry!" he said with that familiar sort of chipperness that made it difficult to tell if he was being sincere or not. "My fault. I shouldn't have hit you back so hard."

"Still," he said.

"I bet it thought you were getting hurt. It's not your fault, Monty."

"...okay."

With Monty's attention elsewhere, Edgar leaned over to Kevin and whispered, "Do you think he'll have that much control over it on Grom night?"

Kevin stayed silent for just a moment too long.

"I sure as shit hope so," he ended up saying, and Edgar nodded as though that was an answer.

With clouds obscuring the moonlight and the curtains in the common room drawn, the hallway through the dorms had become a perfectly undisturbed void of black; one they hadn't been expecting to return to when they'd snuck to the kitchens for a midnight snack. Immediately their attention had gone to Roland and his fear of the dark, drilled into him from childhood by a family who saw anything other than eternal sunlight as a plague.

"Dark tonight," Kevin muttered, a hand tracing the wall as they walked.

Behind him, Roland gulped. "Y—yeah."

Even something that seemingly small made Kevin's heart pang in sympathy. His own parents often cooed over his fear of heights, chuckling over how cute and childlike it was and then complaining about how he wouldn't be able to go on half the Disney rides in the same breath.

He felt something waving in the air beside him. "Can—can someone hold my hand, please?"

Kevin was just a bit too slow to step in; his hand met the wool of Edgar's jumper sleeve instead of Roland's. "I'm here," Edgar said, and Poe announced his presence as well.

There were footsteps on his other side and the sound of hands clasping. "Monty?" Roland said.    

"Mhm," he said. "Just hold on. I'll be your eyes."

"And I'm here, too," Kevin tacked on lamely.

Still, Roland said, "I'm glad."

As they walked, his mind went to Grom, as it often had these past few weeks. If seeing Roland like this now was already stressing him out, what would it be like on doomsday? Letting Monty take his place was pretty much like locking Roland in a dark closet and not letting him out until he was no longer scared of it—what kind of cruel friend would do that? Even now, he wasn't helping Roland in any way other than simply being there, opening the door to their room and turning on the light, not saying anything when Roland let out a wobbly little sigh of relief.

God, he really was useless.

"I can barely move in this suit," Brandon complained despite executing a perfectly good lunge with his rapier at Monty's chest before he jumped out the way. He recovered, bouncing on his toes. "I can't imagine what it must feel like for you. You've only got tonight left to get used to it."

Brandon came down with a swing to the top of his head, which Monty blocked with his forearm, armoured in leather underneath his suit jacket. "It's not that bad," he said, his unsheathed claws moving to make a grab for the blade. Brandon pulled away before he could and made another step-lunge for his shoulder that Monty side-stepped, skirt swishing with every movement. "I'll probably get used to it."

Then he grabbed the sword with his teeth.

Brandon's grip slacken in surprise. Monty wrenched the blade away, throwing it onto the ground before spitting out the taste of metal and stamping on the sword to keep Brandon from picking it back up. When he looked over, the boy simply stood with his arms outstretched to his rapier, frowning. He made no move to properly try retrieve it, and only then did Monty step off it, noting how easily Brandon had accepted his defeat.

He leaned to pick it up but Monty kicked it away, just a few inches out of reach. "You're not fighting properly."

Brandon looked up, brow furrowed. "This suit's hard to move in," he complained. Then, quieter, "And I don't actually want to hurt you."

It was a sweet sentiment, but not what Monty wanted to hear right now. And not after his other friends had had their own troubles in sparring with him. His jaw set, fangs scraping against each other. "Remember how you felt when you thought I'd hurt you and Morti?"

Shyly, Brandon nodded. Monty knew he hated recalling that time, back when he was scared of his wolf, back when Brandon thought he'd ever hurt him on purpose.

"I need you to feel that again." He picked up Brandon's rapier as he rose, holding it by the tip of the blade and gesturing for its owner to take the handle. Monty's stern expression didn't falter even when Brandon looked to him in something bordering on fear, like just the thought of fighting him without holding back made him want to drop his weapon and run. "That anger. That... fear. I—I want you to look at me, and think, 'It's him or me, I don't want to die'. I want you to not hold back."

He pressed the pommel to Brandon's chest. "Do it properly. Try to kill me."

It took a long few moments for Brandon to finally take his sword back. When he finally did, it was with newfound vigour, something colder, sharper in his eyes, sizing up his blade as though he were seeing it for the first time.

He shucked off his jacket. Monty did the same.

"En garde," Brandon said, and got into position. Monty readied to pounce. "Pret. Allez!"

Then he struck.

Fights like these often became a dance, weaving in and out of each other's attacks, swapping trash talk and compliments alike and challenging each other over and over until they physically couldn't anymore. Except this time, Brandon was silent, gliding along and barely giving Monty time to breathe. He knew Monty's fighting style by now, quick and messy and ruthless, not used to being beat in a fight just yet. Brandon met his energy without mercy, his narrowed eyes locked on his every move, the playful looseness of his shoulders melting away into something more deliberate.

Monty went slashing for his face. Brandon knocked his claw away with his knuckle guard and opened his stance to kick him in the stomach.

"Ow!" Monty sumbled back. His lip curled into a snarl before extending his claws and pouncing high.

Brandon ducked and scrambled away. Monty was quicker than him to get up and turned around with another swing of his claws, just nicking the side of Brandon's face. He gasped, blood beginning to run down his face, but shot to his feet and just managed to catch Monty's claw as it came swinging down on his head with his forehead-hand. He made to strike with his rapier but Monty jumped a good few feet back, teeth bared, a growl rumbling deep in his throat.

Just as Monty was preparing to pounce again, Brandon dashed forward, spun to his side, and—

"Touché."

The tip of his rapier dug into Monty's back, directly behind his heart.

Monty froze.

He was dead. A hit any harder than that, and he was dead. Struck in the spine, his heart pierced through, lungs pierced and skin split open.

They both seemed to realise it at the same time. Brandon lowered his blade and Monty stood normally, flexing his claws. "Touché," he echoed hollowly. "Well done."

Brandon looked to the ground as he handed off his rapier to his forehead-hand. "Sorry."

"Don't be. You did good." He shook off his arms until they were back bare to skin instead of fur, rolling his shoulders and digging his blunt fingernails into his palm. "Sorry for scratching you."

"Don't be." He wiped away the blood as though it were just an inconvenience and nodded to Monty's human arm. "You're getting well good at that. Remember last year when you accidentally had just one wolf arm and one human arm the whole day?"

He smiled. "Go again?"

Brandon tucked a hand behind his back and took a stance. "Pret."

They returned to their dorms that night, sweaty, exhausted, and with a tally of 5-2 in Monty's favour.

Monty awoke before the sunrise with Kevin staring at him.

Kevin's eyes snapped wide. He made to squirm away but was quickly reminded of Edgar in bed behind him, Poe draped over his face and muffling his snores. "Sorry," he whispered.

Monty shook his head, blinking away his fatigue. It took a second to remember where he was: in a makeshift bed of blankets and pillows on the floor of Kevin and Roland's room, where Kevin was supposed to be sound asleep beside him. "It's fine," he said, swallowing at the sound of his sleepy rasp. "Couldn't really sleep."

"Neither," Kevin said. "Can you believe I'm sleeping on the floor of my own room? I'm never playing rock-paper-scissors again."

"Mhm." Monty shuffled. It was hard to be upset about his own sleeping arrangements with the day ahead of him. "How are you feeling?"

"I should be asking you that," he pouted. "I'm fine. How are you feeling, Grom King?"

"Nervous." 

His brow furrowed. "Don't be. You're gonna win." Monty opened his mouth to protest but Kevin butted in, "No, don't. You're gonna win. You're a fucking badass, mate, you'll take care of Grom no problem."

He said it with such conviction, Monty had no choice but to smile. "Thank you."

Kevin smiled back. "I kinda..."

His voice snagged. His eyes darted away, quietly clearing his throat, dragging his blankets up to his chest. It might have been a trick of the light, but Monty could have almost sworn he saw his cheeks darkening, his nose wrinkling in something like frustration. Or... something else, maybe, but Monty couldn't figure out what.

"Thank you for doing this," Kevin mumbled eventually. "Seriously, I—I can't even... God, yeah, Thanks. Thank you. I..."

He still refused to meet his eyes. Monty didn't force him.

"It's alright," he whispered. "Let's just try to sleep, okay?"

He exhaled—relief, maybe. "Okay. Night."

"Goodnight."