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The morning mist clung stubbornly to the towers of Night Raven College, curling around the spires and tracing the edges of the cobblestone paths in a pale, silvery glow. Early winter’s chill cut sharply through the air, seeping beneath layers of students’ uniforms and raising goosebumps along every exposed inch of skin. The campus was unusually quiet; most students had already dispersed after morning classes, leaving only the faint echo of footsteps on stone corridors and the occasional rustle of papers carried by the wind.
Azul Ashengrotto moved along the corridor with his cane tapping lightly against the stone tiles. Jade appeared at the corridor’s far end, his presence a warm, teasing contrast to the cold, impersonal stone. His slow, deliberate movements reflected his usual flair for dramatics, one hand idly adjusting his collar.
“Ah…Azul” he began, voice rich, dripping with mock concern. “You do realize a cane isn’t a fashion accessory, right? Though… I must admit, it adds a certain tragic elegance to your ensemble.”
Azul’s lips pressed into a thin line, a faint hum of indignation escaping him. He refitted the cane subtly, angling it just so.
“Thanks for noticing, Jade.”
“Of course, of course” Jade said, circling him in a slow, appraising arc. “Ah, the tragic Azul Ashengrotto..brought low by mere gravity and—” He paused for dramatic effect “—poor knee joints. How dreadful.”
Azul’s mouth twitched in irritation.His body tightened slightly as he adjusted his grip on the cane.
“Perhaps” Jade continued, the corner of his lips lifting into a slow, knowing smirk, “you’ll allow me a closer look.” His gaze flicked deliberately over Azul’s posture. “I do so enjoy witnessing you stagger and wobble” he added lightly. The smile that followed was faint, restrained, and unmistakably unsettling.
“But” Jade continued, tilting his head, voice softening just enough, “may I be of assistance?”
Azul let out a long, measured sigh. He was still visibly annoyed—his brow furrowed, lips pressed thin—but resistance was costing him more effort than it was worth. After a brief pause, he extended his free arm. He exhaled slowly as Jade stepped closer, allowing him just enough space to link arms.
“Very well” he murmured at last, voice low and restrained.
“I am not doing this…For your… amusement.”
Jade’s eyes gleamed.
Side by side, they stepped into the PE courtyard. Azul’s posture remained impeccable despite the chill gnawing at his fingers, yet Jade’s ever-present smirk reminded him that his pride was on display.
“Watch your step on the grass" Jade said lightly. “Cold mornings are especially cruel to knees and ankles. I would hate to see you collapse before I’ve had my fill of teasing you for the day.”
Azul’s lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I… can manage,” he replied softly, a fraction too quickly.
His fingers tightened around the handle of his cane as he stepped forward. The motion was slow, deliberate: cane first, planting it firmly into the ground; then his right foot, cautious and controlled; then his left, easing down. Every movement was measured, every shift of weight carefully adjusted to spare the joint that already throbbed beneath the cold.
The grass was damp, frost clinging stubbornly to the blades. Azul could feel the uneven resistance even through the soles of his shoes—the subtle give and pull of the ground, unpredictable and treacherous. It demanded constant recalculation. One wrong angle, one careless transfer of weight, and his knees would fold beneath him.
He exhaled slowly through his nose, steadying himself. One. Two. He counted silently with each step, anchoring his breathing to the rhythm of movement, forcing his body to comply. Jade lingered beside him for a few more paces, watching with that infuriatingly perceptive gaze that missed nothing. Then, once Azul had reached the edge of the courtyard without incident, Jade straightened.
“I’ll leave you here” he said, offering a slight bow. “Try not to fall apart without me.”
Azul huffed quietly, more breath than sound. “Thank you… for walking me here.”
For just a moment, Jade’s smile softened—something gentler flickering behind his eyes—before he turned and disappeared down the path toward his next class.
Not long after, Professor Vargas’ booming voice cut through the morning air.
“Class starting in fifteen minutes, boys!”
The courtyard erupted into motion. Students scattered in different directions, some groaning loudly, others already stretching, laughing, or chatting as though the cold and damp were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Azul remained where he was.
He stared at the open field ahead of him, shoulders squared, posture carefully upright. The familiar tightening had already begun in his knees, creeping and insistent. He shifted his stance slightly, rolling his shoulders back, trying to shake off the stiffness before it settled too deeply.
He still needed to change.
Just the thought of it made his body feel heavier.
The cold had sunk deep into his muscles, clinging to him like a weight. Even his clean uniform felt wrong in his hands—too stiff, too thick, as though it had absorbed the damp scent of mud and grass simply by proximity. He moved toward the changing area.
By the time he reached the benches, his legs gave out. He dropped onto the wooden seat with more force than intended, the impact rattling through his joints and leaving him momentarily breathless. He grimaced, shoulders tensing as he lifted his arms to shrug out of his jacket—only for a sharp, pulling pain to flare across his upper back and down into his shoulders. The fabric snagged halfway off, and he froze, jaw tightening as he waited for the sensation to recede.
It did not.
He abandoned the effort, hands falling to his lap. When he bent forward to tug at his pants instead, a sudden tightness seized his chest. His breath caught—shallow, constrained. He tried again, slower this time.
Then again.
The air refused to fill his lungs properly, stopping short as if his body had forgotten how to expand. A familiar pressure settled behind his ribs, heavy and insistent. He leaned forward, elbows braced against his knees, head bowed, forcing himself to stay upright through sheer will. His breathing grew uneven—short, restrained inhales followed by longer, carefully controlled exhales—as though any excess movement might tip him fully out of balance.
The simple act of reaching for his shoes felt unbearable. Even imagining bending further made his muscles protest.
“Azul.”
Jamil’s voice cut through the haze—calm, level, unmistakably attentive.
He stood a short distance away, already changed, posture composed as ever. His expression gave nothing away, but his eyes had sharpened with focus. Without asking, without hesitating, he crossed the space between them and lowered himself into a crouch directly in front of Azul, movements precise and deliberate.
“You’re tying them wrong” Jamil said bluntly, reaching for Azul’s shoe. “You’re pulling too tight across the top. It’ll cut your circulation.”
Azul’s fingers stilled mid-motion. Heat crept up the back of his neck.
“I can—” he started, but the protest died in his throat.
Jamil had already loosened the laces and retied them with practiced efficiency, firm but careful. The knot was secure without biting into the top of his foot.
“There” Jamil said simply. “Better.”
Azul swallowed. “Thank you.”
His pride bristled, loud and sharp, but his body was undeniably grateful. He remained seated as he finished pulling on his uniform, careful not to rush. Standing too quickly would make his knees lock. He knew this. He hated that he knew this.
When flight practice began, Azul clutched his broom tightly, holding it close to his body. The shaft pressed against his side like a makeshift crutch. The support was minimal, barely enough to matter—but it helped. Just enough to steady him.
The wind was worse than usual.
Cold gusts tore violently across the practice field, cutting through fabric and rattling broom handles with enough force to make several students stumble. The ground beneath his shoes felt unsteady, as though the wind itself were trying to pry him loose from it. His knees reacted instantly.
Pain flared sharp and bright through both joints, not yet unbearable but unmistakable—a warning, not a threat. Azul inhaled through clenched teeth, steadying himself as the ache settled into a deep, persistent pressure that radiated upward into his thighs.
I could just quit.
The idea was seductive in its simplicity. He could step aside, sit down, let the rest of the lesson pass without him. Professor Vargas had already lowered the bar for him—thirty centimeters off the ground, barely a hover at all. But that accommodation had never been about pain. It had been about poor magic control. About balance. About weakness.
Not this.
The bitterness of the realization lodged heavily in his chest.
Azul straightened his spine anyway, tightening his grip around the broom handle until the wood pressed painfully into his palms. He forced his breathing into a measured rhythm, mentally cataloguing each movement before making it. Weight distribution. Angles. Posture. One step at a time. One adjustment at a time.
He did not fly. He did not even attempt to. He spent most of the class just standing.
Azul positioned himself at the very edge of the practice area, half-turned away from the others, holding his broom upright in front of him like a barrier. Both hands wrapped around it, knuckles pale. Every few minutes, when the strain became too intense, he shifted his weight—slowly, carefully—rolling pressure from one leg to the other before the pain spiked high enough to betray him.
Professor Vargas moved relentlessly through the line of students, his booming voice slicing through the wind as he barked corrections, offered brusque praise, or laughed at particularly graceless failures. Azul tried not to listen. He fixed his attention instead on the mechanics of standing—keeping his back straight without stiffening, maintaining balance without locking his knees the way his body desperately wanted to.
His heart rate climbed regardless, pulse thudding loudly in his ears.
Vargas paused beside one student who managed a clean hover. Then another. Applause broke out sporadically, followed by laughter when someone landed too hard or spun crookedly out of control. Each reaction sent a jolt through Azul’s shoulders, tightening muscles already on the brink.
Please don’t look at me. Please don’t—
“Jamil Viper.”
Azul’s attention betrayed him.
He watched as Jamil stepped forward. Jamil mounted his broom with practiced ease, knees bending just enough, weight centered precisely. He lifted smoothly from the ground, no hesitation, no wasted motion. He hovered, adjusted his balance mid-air, and ascended with quiet control.
Effortless.
Perfect.
Azul felt something twist sharply in his chest—not envy, not resentment. Just the stark, humiliating reminder of distance. Of how obvious his own limitations must look by comparison.
Vargas nodded approvingly, clapped Jamil on the shoulder, and moved on.
Azul’s fingers tightened around the broom handle until his knuckles ached. His breathing grew shallow, chest constricting beneath his uniform as he stared straight ahead, expression carefully blank. He found himself praying—actually praying—that Vargas would pass him by.
He didn’t.
“Ashengrotto ! “
The name struck and Azul’s stomach dropped. His vision narrowed, really? In front of everyone. The thought screamed through him, sharp and panicked.
Please. Not like this. Please.
Still, he stepped forward. There was no alternative and Vargas wasted no time.
“Drop your posture” the professor barked, already circling him. “You’re too rigid. Knees—bend them. No, not like that. You’re collapsing forward. Straighten your back.”
Heat flooded Azul’s face despite the cold, shame burning hotter than the wind. He adjusted—too much, then too little—his body struggling to find a position that did not immediately punish him.
“Feet are too close together” Vargas continued. “You’re bracing instead of balancing. Widen your stance.”
Azul obeyed. The moment his feet shifted apart, his legs began to tremble in earnest. The ground felt merciless beneath him, solid and unyielding. Pain surged through his knees again, deeper this time, a spreading ache that made his breath hitch.
“Focus! ” Vargas said. “Center your weight. You’re fighting gravity instead of working with it.”
I am gravity, Azul thought weakly.
He bent his knees just enough—careful, careful—gripped the broom tighter, and focused on the incantation he had practiced a hundred times. But the ground would not release him. It felt as though invisible hands pressed him downward, pinning him in place. His legs shook violently now, muscles burning, joints screaming in protest.
The broom twitched. It did not lift.
“Any day now, Ashengrotto” Vargas called loudly.
Azul’s vision blurred. Just once, he begged himself. Just once. Then it’s over.
He jumped.
Or tried to.
The broom jerked upward a few centimeters—just enough to betray him. His balance slipped instantly. All of his weight came down wrong, uncontrolled.
Pain exploded through his knees.
White-hot. Immediate. Devastating.
His breath tore out of him in a broken gasp as he hit the ground. His hands scraped against the grass as instinct drove him to catch himself, uselessly. The world tilted, then slammed to a halt. For a moment, he didn’t move. He closed his eyes. That’s it, he thought dimly. Just… let me disappear. Warm tears slid down his cheeks before he registered them. He lay there with his face turned toward the damp grass, chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
No one touched him. And somehow, that hurt almost as much. Footsteps reached him quickly.
“Don not move! ” Vargas said, sharply but without panic, already dropping to one knee beside him. “Ashengrotto. Look at me.”
Azul blinked, vision swimming, then managed a small nod.
“Good. Stay exactly where you are.” Vargas held one hand up—not touching yet “I’m going to ask you a few things. Answer if you can.”
Azul swallowed. “Yes… sir.”
“Can you feel both legs?”
“Yes!” Azul breathed, after a moment.
“Head strike?” Vargas asked. “Did you hit your head when you went down?”
Azul shook his head weakly.
“Dizziness? Blurred vision? Trouble breathing?”
“My knees ! Dammed seven! ” Azul whispered, voice trembling. “They hurt! A lot!”
“Alright.” Vargas nodded once. Only then did he place a hand near Azul’s shoulder—not gripping, just anchoring his presence. “I’m going to check alignment. I won’t move anything yet.”
His eyes scanned first, not touching—knees, legs, feet. No obvious twisting. No visible deformity. Azul’s legs were drawn slightly inward, tension locked through his thighs. “Don’t straighten them” Vargas said immediately, firm. “Leave them how they are. Your body knows what position hurts least.”
Azul obeyed, breathing shallowly.
“Tell me which knee hurts more” Vargas continued. “Left, right, or both the same?”
“Both” Azul said. “But—” He winced. “The right is worse...”
Vargas nodded again. “That tells me something. Stay with me.”
He turned his head slightly. “Jamil ! —jacket. Fold it. Support under the knees.”
The fabric was slid carefully beneath Azul’s legs, lifting them just enough to ease the strain without forcing extension. The relief was immediate and humiliating; Azul’s breath stuttered as the pressure shifted.
“Good” Vargas said quietly. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
Azul nodded, eyes burning.
“I’m not going to test range of motion” Vargas continued, more for the surrounding staff than Azul himself. “Pain on impact, bilateral involvement, preexisting mobility concerns. We don’t provoke it.”
He looked back to Azul. “If I touch you, tell me if it hurts more. Understood?”
“Yes.”
Vargas used two fingers, light pressure, well above the kneecap—not on the joint itself. Azul flinched anyway.
“That’s enough” Vargas said immediately, withdrawing his hand. “No palpation.” He exhaled slowly, then met Azul’s eyes again. “You just had a fall with injury risk” Azul’s throat tightened.
“We’re going to transport you to the infirmary,” Vargas said. His voice left no room for negotiation. “No walking. No standing. You are not getting up on your own.”
Azul nodded faintly, fingers curling weakly into the grass.
“Do you feel safe going to the nurse station?” Vargas asked.
Azul hesitated. The question caught him off guard. Safe was not a word he often associated with himself, least of all now—sprawled on the ground, surrounded by eyes, his body refusing him in the most public way possible. He swallowed, then nodded. “Yes, just…” he said quietly. After a moment, he added, almost as an afterthought “Could you… please let Jade... Jade Leech know?”
Vargas inclined his head once. “I will.” He straightened slightly.
Azul focused on the sky above him. His cheeks were wet, though the tears came without sound now. The pain in his knees had dulled from sharp agony to a heavy, persistent throb, radiating downward with every heartbeat. Movement stirred beside him. Jamil crouched briefly, arranging his jacket under Azul's legs. Their eyes met for only a second. Jamil gave a short nod.
“Keep it” he said quietly.
Azul nodded back. He would remember. He always remembered debts. The stretcher arrived soon after.
They lifted him carefully—too carefully, it felt like—hands steady, voices calm, instructions repeated aloud as if anchoring him to the moment. Every jolt sent fresh pain through his knees, drawing a sharp hiss from between his teeth. He clenched his jaw, refusing to cry again.
The walk to the infirmary was excruciating in its own way. Students lined the paths, pretending not to stare and failing miserably. Whispers rippled through the air like insects. Azul fixed his gaze on the ceiling above him, face carefully blank, body rigid beneath the blanket.
Don’t look. Don’t react. Don’t give them anything else.
At the infirmary, they ran through another check—methodical, repetitive. Questions asked again. Sensation confirmed again. Pressure tested lightly and then abandoned the moment his breathing hitched.
“No deformity.” one of the staff murmured. “Swelling present. Pain response consistent.”
They mentioned imaging.
Azul shook his head immediately. “No...” he said, voice firmer than he felt. “It’s not necessary.”
The nurse paused, studying him. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, it's just chronic.” Azul swallowed, throat working visibly. “I know this pain. It’s… just pain. Not a fracture….”
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to. The nurse hesitated, studying him—his clenched jaw, the practiced calm overlaying exhaustion—before finally nodding. “Alright. We’ll continue to monitor you.”
Relief slid through Azul’s chest, thin and uneasy, tangled with something far less pleasant. Shame, sharp and familiar. The curtain shifted.
Azul sensed him before he saw him. Jade pulled a chair close to the bed and sat, folding his hands neatly in his lap. He didn’t rush. Didn’t hover. Just… stayed. For a long moment, he said nothing. Azul stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and dried herbs, the warmth in the room making his limbs feel heavier than before. His knees were wrapped securely now, elevated on a cushion.
“You’re still awake.” Jade said at last, softly. It wasn’t a question.
Azul let out a short, humorless huff. “Unfortunately.”
Jade’s lips curved faintly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Silence settled again—comfortable, strained. Jade waited without pressing. The infirmary bed felt too soft beneath him, swallowing him in a way he hated. His knees throbbed in a slow, dull rhythm now—not sharp enough to scream, not gentle enough to ignore. The kind of pain that lingered. The kind that reminded you it wasn’t going anywhere.
His fingers worried at the edge of the blanket, smoothing it, then bunching it up again. Jade sat beside him, close but not crowding, a steady presence at his side.
“Can you tell your brother...” Azul said suddenly, words tumbling over one another, “That both of you are in charge of the Lounge today. Get him out of practice if you need to. There’s no time to waste, and it’d be worse to open late.”
Jade nodded along calmly, indulging the rambling with patient attention.
Cute, Jade thought absently. Eventually, Azul’s fingers tightened around the blanket. The medication dulled the edges of the world. Sounds softened. Time stretched strangely. Nurses came and went, checking vitals, adjusting bandages, murmuring reassurances that barely registered. Azul clenched his jaw through it, teeth grinding together as another wave of discomfort rolled through his legs. He hated being handled like this. Hated the careful hands, the lowered voices.
When they were alone again, his fingers tightened around the blanket, knuckles whitening. His shoulders trembled once—just once—before he stilled them, forcing control back into place. He tried to breathe evenly. Tried to count. Tried to tell himself this was temporary.
It wasn’t working.
“…I hate—” His voice broke unexpectedly, the word splintering off into nothing. He swallowed hard, chest burning. “This.”
Jade tilted his head. “Hate what, precisely?” A small, coy smile played at his lips. “The fall, the audience, or the dramatic transport via stretcher?”
“You know what I mean…” Azul snapped—and immediately faltered. He swallowed. “All of it. Even the cane. The way everyone looks at me when I use it. I’m still not used to… needing it.”
Jade didn’t interrupt.
“It’s cumbersome” Azul continued, words spilling faster now, sharper. “It gets in the way. It slows me down. It ruins everything I’ve built.” His breath hitched. “I look… weak.”
Jade’s expression softened, though his tone remained light. “You do look injured.”
“That’s worse” Azul shot back bitterly. “Weak implies temporary.”
His hands shook.
“If I rely on support every day” he went on, voice cracking, “my muscles will deteriorate. That’s how it works. If I stop pushing, I’ll lose what strength I still have. And then I won’t walk at all. I’ll just—” His throat closed. “I’ll never get it back.”
The words collapsed into silence. Azul’s breathing grew uneven. His carefully maintained composure fractured, tears spilling freely now—hot, humiliating, unstoppable.
“I don’t want to need it!” he whispered. “I don’t want to be… this.”
Jade leaned forward then, slow and deliberate, placing a hand over Azul’s clenched fingers. His grip was gentle “Azul” he said quietly, “Even after all, you are still walking.”
Azul let out a broken sound. “Barely.”
“Still walking” Jade replied evenly. “And resting does not erase effort. It allows it to continue.”
Azul turned his face away, shoulders trembling.
“I don’t understand why my body won’t cooperate” he sobbed. “I do everything right. I calculate. I train. I adapt. And it still—still betrays me.”
Jade squeezed his hand once. “Our… human bodies are dreadfully illogical” he said. “Even mine.” That earned a weak, breathless laugh through tears. “You should see the things mine does,” Jade added mildly.
Azul laughed again—small, cracked, but real.
Not long after, the medication finally claimed him. Magic-assisted or not, his body had reached its limit. His breathing evened, lashes fluttering as exhaustion pulled him under. Jade adjusted the blanket carefully, mindful of his knees, and remained seated as Azul slipped into sleep—tear tracks still drying on his cheeks.
A nurse approached quietly.
“He shouldn’t overload his knees” they said in a low voice, glancing at Azul. “Especially not during impact exercises. But he does need to keep them active. Controlled movement. Supportive tools. Possibly alternating canes—or even a walker during flare-ups.”
Jade blinked.
“I was told reducing the load would help” he said slowly. “His doctor even suggested weight management, to lessen pressure on the joints.”
“That is correct…” the nurse nodded. “That too. But also rest. Adaptive support is recommended.”
“…I see.”
Jade did not, in fact, see. Still, he nodded politely, thanked them, and returned his gaze to Azul. This human bodies, he thought absently, were endlessly contradictory. Rest but move. Support but don’t rely. Strengthen but don’t strain.
No wonder Azul felt like he was drowning. Jade leaned back in his chair, eyes soft as he watched his dorm leader sleep.
“Such a fragile design” Jade murmured fondly.
“And yet” he added, rising from his chair with a quiet exhale, “so very stubborn.”
He reached out one last time, brushing a loose curl of hair away from Azul’s face. Azul didn’t stir. His breathing remained slow and even, lashes resting dark against his cheeks, the tension in his brow finally eased by sleep and medication. Jade adjusted the blanket more securely around his legs, ensuring the pressure on his knees remained minimal, then straightened.
Satisfied—for now—he turned and left the infirmary.
The corridors of Night Raven College were livelier this time of day. Footsteps echoed off stone, voices bounced between arches, the building humming with the restless energy of students between classes. Jade walked at an unhurried pace, hands folded behind his back, mind already several steps ahead.
Floyd had probably skipped class after he had to leave for Azul's emergency.
Which meant—
The closer he drew to the gymnasium, the louder the sounds became. Sneakers squealed sharply against polished wood. A basketball struck the floor with a rapid, echoing rhythm.
Jade pushed the doors open.
Warm air rushed over him, heavy with the scent of sweat and resin. The gym was alive with motion: students weaving across the court, jerseys clinging damply to their backs, arms flashing as passes were thrown and intercepted. It was ordinary. Energetic. Chaotic in that familiar, human way.
“Jade.”
Jamil approached from the sidelines, already changed, towel draped around his neck. His eyes flicked quickly from Jade’s face to the court, then back again—assessing.
“You escaped the infirmary” Jamil said.
Jade inclined his head slightly. “Well, yes. Azul is currently asleep. Sedated. Stable.”
The tension in Jamil’s posture eased just a fraction, his shoulders lowering as he exhaled. “Good.”
They stood side by side as the practice continued, voices low amid the noise. Jade summarized Azul’s condition; Jamil filled him in on the drills. Three-versus-three rotations. Next match in preparation.
“I should go back and retrieve your jacket” Jade added mildly, glancing down at his empty arms. “But Azul appears to have claimed it.”
“…That’s fine” he said after a moment, turning away a little too quickly. A faint flush crept up his ears. “Just—get it back later.”
Jade smiled to himself.
BEEP—!
The sharp electronic sound cleaved through the gym like a blade. Motion froze mid-stride. Sneakers screeched to a halt. The ball struck the floor once—hard, hollow—before rolling aimlessly across the polished court, forgotten. Jade’s attention snapped toward the sound instantly.
He did not need to be told something was wrong. He had already felt it in his bones the moment he’d seen his brother attempt a reckless three-point shot from the far side of the court earlier. Jade’s gaze swept the court, searching.
Blue.
There.
Floyd was down.
He sat sprawled at an awkward angle on the gleaming wood, long legs stretched out without care, his right hand clamped tightly over his left shoulder. His posture was wrong—off-center, unbalanced in a way Jade recognized immediately. Floyd’s face was twisted into an exaggerated grimace, teeth bared as he dragged in a sharp, uneven breath, more startled than panicked, pain flashing bright and sudden behind his eyes.
Ace skidded to a stop beside him, instinctively crouching. “Hey—are you—”
“Don’t touch me!” Floyd snapped sharply—then immediately sucked in a sharp breath as the movement pulled at his shoulder. His face contorted, irritation collapsing into pain. “Ow—okay, wait—maybe do touch me” he amended quickly, teeth clenched. “Just—help me sit up!”
Ace froze mid-motion, hands hovering uncertainly in the air as if afraid that even breathing too close might make things worse. “I—how did you even—?!” The question dissolved uselessly, panic stealing the rest of his words.
Jade closed his eyes for a brief moment and brought a hand to his face, fingers pressing against the bridge of his nose. Of course. Of course something had happened to his brother today of all days. It was practically tradition at this point. When he opened his eyes again, his expression was composed. He and Jamil moved forward at a controlled, deliberate pace—neither rushing nor hesitating. Around them, the gym had fallen into a subdued hush. The earlier shouts and dribbling had faded into a tight murmur, curiosity and unease rippling through the gathered students as they watched from a careful distance.
Floyd attempted to push himself upright, planting his hand against the floor—and immediately hissed, breath stuttering as pain shot through him. His body sagged back again, shoulders tensing reflexively.
It was unmistakable now.
His left shoulder sat wrong—pulled too low, the joint angled unnaturally beneath the skin. The muscle strained visibly as Floyd tried, unsuccessfully, to roll it back into place through sheer force of habit. He let out a sharp, frustrated laugh that sounded far too thin.
“…Ah. Yeah…” Floyd muttered, his gaze flicking briefly toward Ace before dropping back to his own shoulder. His voice carried a note of detached curiosity, as though he were commenting on a cracked nail rather than a dislocated joint. “That’s… not supposed to do that.”
Jade stopped just out of arm’s reach, his eyes locking onto the misaligned joint with immediate precision. The shoulder sat unmistakably wrong—lower than it should have been, the angle off enough to make even distant observers wince. He inhaled once through his nose.
“Fantastic” he muttered under his breath. “Ten out of ten landing.” Then, louder and perfectly composed, he added dryly as he stepped beside him.
Floyd looked up at him, pain still tight around his mouth—but his eyes were already bright, mischief bleeding through the discomfort as a crooked grin tugged its way onto his face.
“Jaaade~!” he sing-songed, voice echoing faintly in the quieted gym. “You came just in time. I think my arm’s trying to escape again.”
“You say that...” Jade replied calmly, gaze never leaving the shoulder, “as though it were optional.”
“It is” Floyd shot back immediately. “I can fix it. Watch.”
Before anyone could stop him, he shifted his weight and flexed, shoulder muscles tightening as he began to brace himself—jaw setting, teeth grinding as if preparing to force the joint back into place through sheer strength. His fingers curled reflexively, breath hitching as pain spiked sharply across his face.
Jade’s hand shot out—not touching the injury, but gripping Floyd’s wrist firmly enough to halt the motion entirely.
“No” he said, voice still even, but unmistakably final. “You will not.”
Floyd paused, pouting. “C’mon, I’ve done it before. Just gotta—pop—”
“I said no.” Jade repeated, voice still calm, but edged thin.
He had seen this too many times. Elbows yanked back into place. Knees knocked straight with brute force and laughter. Effective—but brutal.
Jamil crouched nearby, arms crossed, expression unimpressed. “You didn’t warm up properly” he said. “I told you to stretch.”
“I stretched!” Floyd protested. “Mentally.”
“That doesn’t count.”
Floyd rolled his eyes, then groaned again as the movement pulled at his shoulder. “You’re both so dramatic. I’m fine.”
“You are injured” Jade corrected his brother.
The coach waved them off from the sidelines, already barking for a pause in practice. Whistles shrilled, sneakers squeaked, and the rhythm of the gym fractured into uneasy stillness. A handful of students lingered nearby, voices dropping into whispers.
“Wow, rude...” he complained loudly, still sprawled on the floor. “I fall over once and suddenly everyone’s canceling practice. This is discrimination.”
Eventually, with a long, theatrical sigh, Floyd shifted his weight and pushed himself upright. He rose carefully but without hesitation, cradling his left arm against his chest like a wounded hero. Jade stepped in immediately, expression pleasant and entirely unamused.
“We are going to get that shoulder checked” he said smoothly. Floyd opened his mouth. “Now” Jade added, tone sharpening just enough to cut cleanly through any argument.
“But1 I’m fineeee” Floyd protested, already half-turning toward the court. “I’ve had worse. Remember that time—”
Jade placed a hand lightly—but deliberately—over Floyd’s injured shoulder. His smile widened, polite and dangerous all at once. “Now” he repeated.
Floyd froze, then deflated with an exaggerated groan. “Ugh. You’re no fun.”
They started toward the exit together. Floyd stubbornly refused assistance, jerking away whenever Jade’s hand hovered near his waist, swatting it aside with his free hand. “Stop trying to carry me” he grumbled. “I’m not that broken.”
“I’m not trying to carry you,” Jade replied mildly. “I’m preventing you from doing something profoundly stupid.”
“Wow. Judgmental.”
“And correct.”
They left the gym amid resumed whistles and bouncing balls, Floyd still complaining loudly enough for half the building to hear—very much alive, very much dramatic, and very much on his way to the infirmary whether he liked it or not.
Floyd grinned crookedly. “If I fall, I’ll just bounce.”
As the gym doors closed behind them, Jade exhaled softly. The infirmary doors slid open with a muted hiss, releasing the sharp scent of antiseptic into the hallway. Floyd was immediately shepherded away by two nurses. A curtain disappeared behind him, his protests muffled but still very much audible.
Jade remained behind.
For a moment, he simply stood there, hands folded behind his back, posture immaculate despite the lingering echo of the gymnasium’s chaos still ringing faintly in his ears. Then, with the unhurried steps of someone who knew exactly where he was going, he crossed the room toward the bed by the window.
Azul lay propped up against the pillows, his jacket draped loosely over his shoulders, hair slightly disheveled in a way that suggested he had only just woken. His eyes sharpened the moment Jade entered his field of vision.
“…Jade?” he asked, voice low, still rough with sleep. “Why are you here again? Did something happen?”
Jade smiled gently and took a seat beside the bed, smoothing the blanket as if out of habit.
“It appears Floyd has decided to make use of the infirmary as well” he said lightly. “Basketball practice. An unfortunate reminder of his… flexibility.”
Azul’s expression shifted instantly—confusion giving way to irritation, then outright anger.
“He got hurt?” Azul demanded. “Again? What was he doing this time—being reckless for fun?”
Jade chuckled softly. “You could say that. His shoulder dislocated mid-game.”
Azul pushed himself upright despite the clear protest of his body. “I told him to be more careful! He knows what happens when he doesn’t control himself. This is exactly what I meant—he never thinks about the consequences!”
Jade tilted his head, watching him with mild amusement.
“My, my. You sound rather passionate” he remarked. “Though, if I may point something out—”
Azul glared. “Do not start.”
“You did precisely the same thing” Jade continued smoothly. “Overexertion, poor pacing, ignoring warning signs. You collapsed from exhaustion, Azul.”
“That’s different! ” Azul snapped immediately. “I wasn’t fooling around! I was working.”
“And Floyd was playing a sport” Jade replied, unfazed. “Both resulted in injuries. Both could have been avoided.”
Azul opened his mouth, then shut it again, scowling deeply. “That’s not—ugh. You’re impossible.”
Before Jade could respond, the curtain rustled. Floyd emerged moments later, far less dramatic than before, his left shoulder carefully supported by an ice pack strapped into place. His grin, however, was as bright and unbothered as ever.
“Oooh, look at this!” he sang. “We’re all roomies now!”
Azul froze.
“…Floyd?!”
In the next second, Floyd practically bounced toward the bed, leaning far too close for someone who had just had a joint put back into place.
“Azulll ! !” he laughed. “Didja miss me?”
Azul sputtered, half-outraged, half-relieved. “You—! You idiot! You could’ve made it worse!”
Floyd shrugged with his good shoulder. “Nah, the doc fixed it. Said I gotta take it easy, though.” He leaned back, smirking. “Guess we’re both grounded, huh?”
Jade sighed softly, rising to stand between them before Azul could fully launch into another lecture.
“I believe that is quite enough excitement for one day” he said pleasantly. “You are both injured, both stubborn, and both entirely incapable of learning from one another.”
Floyd laughed again, unabashed. Azul huffed, crossing his arms, clearly unconvinced but too tired to argue further. The infirmary settled back into its quiet rhythm—monitors humming softly, the window letting in a pale wash of afternoon light. For all the chaos that had brought them here, the moment felt oddly… calm.