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You followed Cater Diamond on Magicam. Who from your school didn't, honestly? Who wouldn't? People like to doze off on something light, something pretty, love to lose themselves in those colourful posts of café furnishings and latte combos. That's how Cater liked to present himself: light and pretty; always keeping up with the trends. At first, you brushed him with the attention he demanded because you hoped that this way gossip would go past you a little less. (A while after that, after getting along better and lingering for longer on the way to your shared classes, you confessed to Cater that to you, he was NRC's unofficial source of student noise. He couldn't be any more thrilled.)
In time, you too became grasped by the immaculacy of his internet life. Sometimes it annoyed you. Sometimes it didn't. They say social media mirrors one's character, but how polished he kept the lenses to his own, overly so, despairingly so.
During logged-off hours, however, there were cracks. And the longer you spent in Cater's proximity, the larger they unfolded themselves to you. Like a wound that's never given the time to heal. Pauses between phrases, tone shifts, nails dug too deep into his nape while the face was doing its best to stretch a smile. It was somewhere before the winter break that everything became more difficult for him to hide. Dark circles heavy and not concealed, the corner of his mouth twitched more often than you were used to. With someone like Cater, it was really all about the details he thought people were too engrossed in their own lives to notice.
But you did. Or maybe everyone did, and just like you, no one would call him out on his contained, now slipping shortcomings. Not even his closest few ones.
At lunch, you caught him staring at the picture of a cupcake way too long before posting it, as if the share button would trigger a guillotine hung on some imaginary ceiling, ready to take him between its teeth. Then he pushed the plate to you, pressing one of his brightest, most effortless-looking smiles, "I was so greedy as to take a pic, but I actually got this for one of my favourite besties!~ Say, is Cay-kun a cool guy or what? I can tag you if you want, by the way!" You looked at him with something stuck between confusion and concern. "I just happened to be here," you'd like to say. But you swallowed the lie and took the offering without trying to pry too much. The tag brought you seven new followers on your Magicam profile.
♦ ♦ ♦
You were both waiting to get to Astrology when the first stick was thrown. Back propped against the heater and leafing through the textbook you had with you for the day, you looked up and across from you at Cater's form—unbothered, loose, hand in one pocket, sneaker on the wall. He was scrolling through posts on his phone. Light poured in from the window, cutting his face in half.
"And?" you waited for him to pull his eyes from his feed to you. "Got anything exciting planned for the holidays, Mr Diamond?"
There was a silence.
When the moment came for him to cut through it, his attention returned to the phone, avoiding your stare, but his voice was unexpectedly casual, "Going home like everyone else, but exciting's so not the word for it. My family's a bit of a drag."
You felt your guts squeezing onto each other. With Cater's sickening talent to sugarcoat everything that would not look good on a status post, you began to understand that structures like "a bit" or "a little" signalled "disaster". It wasn't a surprise to hear his situation at home wasn't the best; however, you couldn't help but let yourself be shaken by how the words settled on his lips, sour chocolate wrapped in shiny paper. Or maybe you were the one with a talent to augment everything that came your way. Maybe, maybe. It was something you wouldn't admit, but you felt driven by the impulse to learn more about this guy who gave you cakes and rocked his guitar on faculty lanes. Who made it a habit to come to class with two coffee holders and hide reels behind textbooks. You wanted to let him know that you could be trusted beyond your feeble school companionship.
"How about you?" Cater asked like it was the most natural thing to do.
Still hung on the topic of his not-so-exciting home, you picked the tone so as not to sound more solemn than you should, "Can't you go sleepover somewhere else? Like, would your family mind?"
"I wouldn't care if they did," came out faster than intended. You noticed the phone was now put away somewhere in his pocket, and his hands were crossed. A second later, his head fell on the wall, his eyes closed in surrender. "Well, I mean, there's this buddy I have whose family runs a cakeshop. Totes chill guy."
With a hint of scepticism, "Clover?"
And even if Cater took notice of it, he pretended it wasn't there. "Yeah, yeah!" he said, voice climbing an uncomfortable octave. "If I feel desperate enough, I might just as well ask if he's willing to take in a fallen soldier."
You knew Trey Clover, vaguely remembering the face from the hallways, from Magicam, Cater's Magicam. He featured a lot on Cater's Magicam. The least of the encounters you had with the guy had been plain enough not to leave you with an impression at all, but at least you'd hope he'd turn out to be just the way Cater liked to describe him.
"And if he's not, you're always welcome to mine," you heard yourself saying anyway, heart pressed between your lungs.
One of his eyes opened, a part of him not believing what he'd heard. Soon enough, his lips curled, too, shifting his expression from uncertain to playful. A chuckle formed in his throat.
"Oh, that so?" he said. "I had a good year, it seems, now everyone wants a piece of me!~"
Another lie. Before you'd have the chance to roll your eyes, Cater looked at you, really looked at you, and added, "Thank you. I'll keep the offer in mind."
That day after class, he made you take a selfie with him to commemorate the last time you shared a textbook this year. You thanked him for the times he'd let you use his phone to cheat on your exams. He bopped your nose, thanking you for not telling his housewarden about the super slims he sometimes puffed on when the class material wouldn't make it to his head. "And about that time I brought a clone to school, you're a real one, hands down!" When had that happened again?
♦ ♦ ♦
The last couple of days rushed into nights like a whirlwind, and before you knew it, it was time for everyone to depart for their homeplace. Or wherever else, if their hearts desired so. You did send Cater a text, asking if you should wait for him at the mirror, yet he assured you, with a cryptic reply and a hurtful row of emojis, that everything was settled on his end. So you assumed he went to spend the holidays with Trey. Trolley scratching the marbled floors of the Mirror Hall, like everyone else you pushed through the portal to places of your recollection.
Your first day home was fuller. The second one went by uneventfully. Catching up with old friends, procrastinating studies—the usual stuff. Refreshing your feed, surprised nothing popped up from Cater just yet—but no news means good news, as they say.
The lights were shut off in your room, shards of gold and silver from outside blinking across your walls now and then. Lying on your stomach, head in palm, you were idly flipping through some comic book you'd found unfinished on your desk. Eyes bore through the ink on paper, but your mind was barely there, just letting time go, the clock catching a rhythm from the living door, tic-tac. Suddenly, your phone lit up, white and blinding. There was a bing. Then another, and another one after that.
It was one o'clock in the morning.
Cater's texts came unexpectedly; you had to read them several times for the words to register.
.✦ ݁˖⋆˙⟡ cay-cay
haiiiiiiii
so UHM this is funny actually 🤪🤪
like i know i might sound like a jerk rn lmao
and im sorry
but is ur sleepover invite still available? 🥲
It left you speechless, it really did. And you would lie if you said it didn't feel a little infuriating, too, him coming to you after days of sheer silence. You had to wait if you wanted to reply with something that would give you the answers you needed. So you did. Wait, cool off.
And minutes later, you started typing.
you
trouble at clover residence
?
.✦ ݁˖⋆˙⟡ cay-cay
i wish frfr
.✦ ݁˖⋆˙⟡ cay-cay is typing…
jk please don;t tell him i said that
had dinner with my parents and sisters
not so fun 💀
you
i see
i'm sorry
You closed your eyes, heaved a sigh. Cater was right: this was funny to a degree. At this point, you asked yourself whether Cater had asked Trey for help to begin with, and even if he had, why had he still opted for the Hellgates, tail between his legs, sulky cat? Had it been pride? Shame? The questions twirled and whirled in your head faster than you'd prefer, your train of thought overtaken by what tasted like both curiosity and worry. You remembered the way his face had buried itself into the screen as he'd said, "My family's a bit of a drag." The eyes that had been swollen with exhaustion at the thought he'd meet them again. With the image in mind, you texted: "like i said. you're always welcome to mine."
Yeah, you can stop by anytime you'd like. No, my folks would be fine with it. Or else I'll make them. Yeah, sorry, I'll leave the address below, and the instructions on which mirror to access. No, you don't have to bring us anything—only if you're really in the mood to. Yeah, a movie works. I've been waiting a lifetime for that one to come out. CD albums? Surprise me. I don't own a player, though. Oh, you do? Then yes, sure, take it with you. How much skincare do you use anyway? Spa night it is, I guess. We can make it work. You know what? It does sound like fun. There are two long weeks ahead of us full of fun and music and skincare.
♦ ♦ ♦
Not much commotion was going on in the Mirror Hall of your hometown. One old lady carrying her canvas bag out onto the street, a pair of girls getting ready for their city break. Tall ceiling, echo. Lots of echo, actually. You were testing it by tapping your foot against the floor when light spilled out of the Mirror. And there he was—Cater, hair in ponytail, orange sweater, brown woollen jacket. He was carrying a backpack and a small travel trolley, whacky rhombus mascot looking at you weird amongst the cascade of charms he kept attached to the zipper. The last gleam left by the Mirror dashed off one of Cater's silver earrings, dissipating into thin air. As his eyes found you, he smiled, canine peeking out. Then he jumped to hug you.
"What's new, diva?" he said, head buried into the place between your neck and shoulder. He smelled of oranges and cinnamon and cold air. "You been waiting long? Thanks for having me at your place, by the way. I'll do my best to be the coolest guest you've had."
You hugged him back, unhesitatingly. Chuckled against his left ear, "I just got here, no worries." You had been waiting for him for twenty minutes. "Good to see you too, princess." Even after pulling out of the hug, there was a hand still lingering on his shoulder. "And better worry about the PDF Mr Rosehearts sent me this morning."
A pause.
Cut breath, a cracked smile. "Right, that." There was hesitation. "So he did send you that."
You tapped your chin, "He said, and I quote, 'Below I attach a file of maximum importance that must be read and assimilated by my subordinate, Mr Diamond Cater, with priority'. How does he know you're with me on winter break?"
Same cracked smile, "I thought he'd let me be if I told him I'm away for the holidays. Seems like I was wrong, silly me."
"Silly and busy," you corrected. Soon after, you pulled him by the jacket, feet turned towards the exit. "It's cold in here, better get going."
On the way to your home, he took pictures, took videos, pirouetting from spot to spot to assimilate everything this town had to offer him, luggage quaking with each movement. There you learned he and his family used to move around quite a bit, but curiously he'd never been here. "What a pity, though! There's so many photogenic places you have here, they'd so blow up on Magicam!" Before you'd say something, he pulled you in for a selfie. Tap and smile. The damned app had sat on his tongue for minutes, and even so, none of this content made it to his profile. Cater was more talkative than you'd seen him over the last week. You'd never felt more contented.
♦ ♦ ♦
Cater's trolley found the floor with a thud; charms chimed like a set of bells, wacky rhombus faced up to the ceiling. Carefully he closed the door behind him, looking around at the shelves and walls and other pieces of clutter in your room, as if he were a tourist brought inside an art museum. You stood in the background with your arms crossed. Awkward, silent. It quickly got to him: the bed. The realisation pulled Cater's lips upwards, more amused than troubled.
"Oh em gee," he started. "Is this your room? And we're gonna share the bed like in fanfic or?"
Wait.
"What?" You felt your breath slowing down, your cheeks heating up. Truth be told, you did think about this. Convinced yourself it was not as weird as it sounded. Now that the thought had been brought up out loud, by Cater himself at that, it made you feel twice as weird.
"Or maybe was this one of your evil plans all along?~" he pushed on, then reconsidered. "Nah, I'm just messing with you."
Scratching your head, "Our options are not that varied, as you might've noticed. M'sorry."
"Ah, don't be," Cater waved a hand. "I think it's pretty obvious, but I'd much rather live a trope than have my sisters shake me off my bed at six in the morning."
"They do that?" you asked, in an attempt to divert his attention from the bed thing.
"Oh! You were reading this!" he picked the comic book from your desk, flipping it on all sides, leafing through it, careful not to take your bookmark away from where you'd left off. "Is it any good?"
It seemed like Cater was equally quick to jump to something new each time the topic of his family came up. You couldn't blame him for it. At the same time, the habit caught your eye each time it happened. A misplaced stroke of paint you couldn't ignore any longer.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Anyway, I did ask Trey if I could stay over at his place," Cater said at some point. Cross-legged, slipped into what seemed like his most comfy pants, he was laying out the CDs he brought with him for the occasion.
The desk chair screeched under your weight. "Right," you said, intrigue climbing inside your throat. "So what did he say?"
"He said yes," Cater's words came out quickly, rushed. "With the condition that I help around his family's cake shop. But honestly, I don't think I could've handled that."
Days ago at school, he'd given you a cupcake.
"Because you're not a fan of sweets," you said, more to yourself than to him.
Cater gave you a look, his face twisted in shame.
"Hold on," he tried. "When did I—"
He tried again, stopped. A beat later, his voice sounded nothing like him—the one you'd known. "Well fuck," it went. "I don't like sweets. I hate sweets. Make me look at a cookie for more than ten minutes and I want to cry."
Cautious, "Does Trey know you're not a fan of sweets?"
"He does," Cater told you. His cheerfulness returned just as fast as it had left him, now distracted with a graffiti-styled album by some obscure punk band only he seemed to know about. "Hey, lookie, lookie!" He pushed the thing under your nose. "The guitar's insane here, wish to learn how to solo like this one day."
You gave him a smile of approval. It truly looked like a well put-together CD. Had a nice sticker on it, the sort that changes colours when set under different lighting. But taking it into your hands did not stop you from keeping the conversation where it mattered. "You know," you said, not looking at him. "You should've messaged me right away. After Trey, I mean."
Cater laughed without humour.
"I couldn't take two half-rejections in one day," he said. "Didn't feel like risking it."
When you raised your head to meet him, he was fixing his eyes somewhere on the pile of albums he had in his lap, thinking up other stuff to say. With the tips of his fingers he tapped on the plastic case, once, twice. "Plus, I dunno," he managed in the end. "Some part of me thought that maybe it's not as bad as I make it seem, like, maybe I'm remembering things wrong."
"But semi-ghosting you or hiding from you or whatever wasn't so cool, for sure," he also said, twirling a strand of hair between his fingers.
Stop.
He had to stop.
"Cater. For fuck's sake," left you like a storm. It was also instinct that pushed you up from your chair and into the bed, CDs rattling when it did. Your knees brushed against each other as you let the rest of your frustration flow out. "That's the least of my worries right now, okay? What I'd much rather you do is stop exposing yourself to shit that makes you miserable just for the sake of it. Just stop it, for the love of god. Stop, stop."
Cater sat speechless before you. His lips pressed together into a thin line, then slowly turned into a real grimace, no longer mustering the strength to soften the reaction.
"Take, for example," you carried on. Soon you found yourself rummaging through the music stacked between you, the cover album of "Spice" raised in the air like a Holy Grail. "This. I really like this, I live for this." Then you stretched yourself to reach for the edgier, less common pick—the one he boasted with just minutes ago. "But this? I enjoy this just as much. Because it speaks to me." You put both albums into his hands. And only then did your gazes lock, green eyes fogged with so many thoughts they were almost spilling out. "I'd listen to both and have a great time regardless," thumb brushing over his knuckles, voice toning down. He left the hand there. "If there were anyone who wouldn't, that's fine, too. Each to their own."
It took him a while to register, not that you'd want to rush him any further. While in this place that was entirely new and unfamiliar to him, your guest, the least you could do was offer him the time and space he needed to be at ease with himself, kinder, too, if you wouldn't be asking for too much.
"Okay," was all he said in the end, quiet and unsure. Something in you made you believe he got the point. His other hand went to his hair again, and the corner of his mouth hiked, just a little. "So we inaugurate fun escape night with these two?" Cater shook the paired CDs in his lap; he somehow managed to take a better hold of your hand in the process. "Whaddya say?"
You couldn't help but match the smile, "I'd love that."
♦ ♦ ♦
The following days living with Cater Diamond were just as you'd expected them to be: busy. In the morning, he would replicate your habit of making coffee and chatting with your family, readjusting it with more chatting on his part. You'd then pull him for a stroll around the town, showing him around the places he'd asked you about a day prior, taking pictures. Before Cater's visit, you'd never really thought your hometown was worth that much, but he had that childlike spark about him that makes anything sound colourful and exciting, makes anyone beam despite themselves. In the evenings, when you'd return home, gallery full, pleasant numbness in your feet, you'd either listen to music or watch a movie, a nostalgia series, a bad reality show. As you did just so, you'd end up sinking into the warm comfort of your bed, and after some days had passed by, into Cater's arms.
You didn't know when or how the shift happened, only that it did, like slipping from life to a dream. When, a week ago, you'd have pressed your shoulders and knees together, now he would cuddle you like nothing else mattered in the world. In the selfies you took together, the hand that would've coiled and twisted into a peace sign now would choose to linger around your waist, and his head would settle itself conveniently at the crook of your neck. You hadn't ever felt any stranger, as if you were caught in a soap bubble and sent away to float and float and float. You'd keep it from bursting as much as you could if that meant you'd continue to feel the dazing warmth of his proximity.
♦ ♦ ♦
The show playing on your laptop went on as background noise as Cater scrolled his feed, arm under his head, keeping you at his chest with the other. Despite the closeness, you still flinched whenever he'd bump a fluffy sock against yours. Because it reminded you that you'd grown more comfortable with each other than your friendship called for. Two mugs stood on the desk, now cold and empty and lip-stained. Ginger tea. Today you'd gone for ginger tea.
As you blankly stared into the white light of Cater's screen, the question finally emerged, "How come you've never posted anything since coming here?"
"Freaked out much?" Cater smirked with double-meaning. "Or you wanna let the public know you're the one who kidnapped me?"
"Curious, more so," you assured him, poking at one of his dimples. "Don't bring any perturbed follower to my doorstep."
"I wasn't in the mood for it?" he said with a half-shrug. Yet it didn't take long before he pulled himself into a sitting position, his eyes lit up like an idea. "But y'know what? This can change anytime, hang on."
Cater crossed his legs, head in palm, phone in his lap. He looked into the pictures he'd taken during his stay. Coffee, buildings, trees. A fuck-ton of selfies. When he eventually settled on something, subtle so that it only hinted at your presence, he let you know, "Tagged! And! Posted!"
A notification sound on your phone. You looked at the post under which Cater thoughtfully, arfully, masterfully wrote: #logging off #winter detox. The likes came in, the comments came in, but only one of the latter stood out.
RiddleRosehearts
What is the expected effect of combining fairy dust and exactly three siren scales in the magic cauldron, and why? Please elaborate your response in one hundred words.
Fuck.
"Fuck," Cater huffed under his breath.
Now you had exactly three days to rethink your priorities.