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Saul stared down at the translucent slit in the door to the headmistress's office for a few seconds before opening it, hoping the assistant wouldn't be there. They'd been changing more and more often lately, and were usually students, which put Silva in an awkward position. Callum was mature and down-to-earth enough not to spread rumors about the headmistresses' late-night gatherings, but running into Aisha, or worse, Beatrix, could be dangerous for their reputations.
Saul ran up the stairs and quickly opened the door with the gold plaque "Headmistress Farah Dowling." No matter their relative positions, Farah always held a firmer hand and had a larger office, complete with a personal assistant and a hiding place behind the bookshelves. This room held many secrets, which Dowling herself didn't fully know, and Silva even less so, because his office was small and lacking hiding places.
"You ran?" Farah chuckled, sitting at a desk surrounded by paper barricades. "How sweet."
Silva chuckled, catching his breath, and closed the door behind him, hearing someone enter the reception area. The loud click of heels indicated it was Beatrix, meaning there was a risk of being overheard. Saul never felt he had any privacy here, just like anywhere else in Alfea.
"I heard you took Riven's vape today?" Saul asked in a half-whisper, moving away from the door as if from a blazing fire.
Farah smiled knowingly, adopting her usual devilish demeanor. At Alfea, she was considered a demon incarnate, especially by Riven. Dowling cared little for the specialists' pranks, but he was itching to teach the most insolent of them a lesson. This wasn't the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last.
"Yes," Farah nodded briefly, releasing the silver, blue-tinted device from her palm. "It tastes like watered-down cognac with a hint of dark chocolate. Want some?"
Silva strode across the room, stopping at the headmistress's side of the desk. It felt strange and eerily pleasant to be on the other side, especially looking down on an imaginary student, as Farah did.
"My hands are full," Saul said with a grin, picking up the first folder he came across.
That's how Headmistress Dowling spends her free time. Going through students' personal files, finding a way to connect with each one. Especially Riven. He could be as rebellious as he wanted, but hearing "Headmistress Dowling" suddenly become "That bitch Dowling" wasn't the most pleasant moment of the classroom routine.
Saul lifted a small photograph of Riven as a frail sixteen-year-old, his eyes clouded by the remnants of alcohol. Farah wasn't a fan of new technology, and all personal files were kept in a file cabinet, accessible at any time. Dowling was a mind fairy, and she needed to read energy to better understand a personality.
Dowling took a deep drag, holding the bitter vapor in her mouth to pass it on to Silva, who was playing a game only the two of them could understand. Saul ran his tongue convulsively over his dry lips, leaning toward Farah, already inhaling the scent of her perfume, unchanging even under the weight of time.
Farah held herself confidently, and an expression of iron determination flitted across her face. Silva held himself together with the last of his strength, enduring this intoxicating closeness as if it were his last salvation for the evening. A pleasant tingle tingled in his chest, and the sting was all too familiar. Saul tasted the faint taste of cognac in his throat as Farah exhaled smoke onto his lips, so close, yet not quite close enough to touch.
At that moment, he was ready to count to three and collide with her lips. The doorknob slammed shut, and Farah instinctively recoiled, coughing on the smoke lodged somewhere in her throat. Beatrix barged into the office without even knocking, promptly paying the price, tripping right at the threshold and flying halfway across the room with papers in her hands. Dowling's kindness immediately gave way to anger, glaring at Beatrix with a look that even Sol himself feared.
"For your signature," the girl said sarcastically, taking another step forward and placing the necessary papers on the director's desk.
Farah raised her hand, and it immediately revealed the small device Beatrix was clutching. Saul barely suppressed a smile, remembering Skye explaining a vape to the headmistress and showing her his own as an example, only to realize it too late to do anything about it. Farah knew a vape was the most harmless thing students could smoke. Sixteen years ago, they still preferred weed and cigarettes, and she was no exception.
"Teaching you how to snitch is pointless, I see," Farah pointedly tossed the vape into her desk drawer. "So I never have to see it again."
Beatrix turned around silently, keeping the hateful sneer off her face. She knew no other way, and even her most relaxed expression looked exactly like that. Showing up in the principal's office with that in hand was an act unworthy even of Riven. In all fairness, they should have been expelled for multiple violations, but Farah didn't want to deal with the extra paperwork, and Saul didn't want to lose a capable specialist.
The door slammed loudly, shaking the windows. Silva wanted to ask why Farah allowed her to be so brazen, but he already knew the answer—she didn't want to confront a student who was capable of anything. Saul opened his mouth to say something, but Farah immediately stopped him with a wave of her hand.
"She's eavesdropping," Beatrix said, causing the screen she'd conjured to disappear. "You can speak now."
"Don't you feel like you've been under fire here all day?"
"You're spot-on," Farah said in her official tone, scribbling across the signature pad. "Callum had an earpiece, Aisha had a water screen, and Beatrix has an electric one. Variety."
"My hands are still full," Saul reminded him, leafing through the folder and pretending to study every word.
Dowling looked up from the sheet, pondering something for only a few seconds, and then immediately returned to her signatures. The moment was gone and unlikely to return, forcing a recollection. Lust slowly spread through her body, upsetting the balance of their relationship, built on years of friendship. They'd been embarrassing each other for years, but had never moved beyond the possibility of sealing their friendship with a passionate kiss.
Saul stepped to the right, stopping directly in front of Farah, blocking her access to the desk where she was trying to hide her tension. Dowling had to lean back in her chair to maintain distance, still clutching Riven's vape, which she'd dropped onto her lap when Beatrix entered the room.
"You keep taking it away, as if you don't know all the students smoke," Saul drawled, gently pushing the chair away from him so it moved away from the desk.
"It makes a difference who you take it from," Farah leaned her head back, massaging her throbbing temples.
"I spent the entire evening chasing Riven around the field last time."
Silva crouched down, gripping the armrests to pull the chair closer. Farah never cared about other people's thoughts, especially those of her students, but Riven was one of those whose opinions carried such weight that Dowling could easily lose her former authority. Saul casually touched her knee with his thumb, squeezing the vape in his hand, which was still warm from contact with Farah. Feeling the touch, Dowling raised her head and narrowed her eyes slyly, looking Silva straight in the eyes. The blue pool brightened and clouded, as if openly displaying his soul.
Always accessible only to her. He could pay for his insolence at any moment and was prepared to face indignation or even anger, but now nothing of the sort showed on her face. Fatigue was too obvious to hide behind her cheerful facade, and Farah was barely able to keep her true colors from showing. His blue eyes bored into her soul, carefully avoiding pain and making no attempt to penetrate her mental defenses, but their gaze was so penetrating that she wanted to hide from it.
Silva inhaled the water vapor, letting some of it into his lungs, and gestured for Dowling to bend over. She obeyed without hesitation. Or rather, without outward hesitation, because everything inside her had turned upside down, and her mind desperately screamed that it was time to end. Farah rarely listened to him, more often preferring her naive heart, which confused her thoughts and forced her to change her worldview.
Farah sighed loudly, hoping the air would sober her, and breathed in the bitter smoke. The taste was utterly repugnant to her, yet so enticing that she couldn't resist. Saul froze in place, not leaning forward to breathe on her lips or kiss them. He waited for something small to happen, an opportunity to complete what he'd started. To ruin their friendship.
Farah exhaled the last of her breath, but didn't pull away even a millimeter, causing a storm of emotions to rage in Saul's head. A soft smile touched her lips, and nothing could argue with the thought that Dowling, too, was tired of playing friends and pretending they weren't drawn to each other like a magnet. It was the most accurate comparison Silva could come up with. Farah wasn't simply attractive, she was magnetic. She didn't draw you in, she inexorably drew you in, making you unconsciously seek out a meeting or an opportunity to touch. For these sixteen years, he'd lived with the clear understanding that to live a full life, you needed to see Farah every day.
Saul rose to catch her lips, but Dowling unexpectedly pulled away, drawing a clear line between them. It was impossible to understand the thoughts swirling through her head, but a second ago they had seemed perfectly clear, something Silva wasn't so sure of now.
"When Riven stops calling me bitch..." Her voice took on a charming breathiness, and her hands caressed his hair. "You won't need to make an excuse."
Saul demonstratively licked his lips, accepting her challenge as his number one priority. It was a sin to think Farah could so easily lose control; she always had to be in control, and Silva was ready to let her do so unconditionally. Dowling knew that forcing the specialist's rebellious spirit to respect her was extremely difficult, especially after his vape had become the headmistress's property for the third time in a week.
******
Farah glanced at herself in the mirror and pinned a strand of hair out of her hair. With the arrival of spring, her natural clock had become out of sync, and she had to rise earlier than usual, as the bright sun outside was as misleading as her former teacher's words. Despite her early rise, this didn't dampen her spirits, but Farah wasn't fooled; it could change at any moment. The specialists still had the whole day ahead of them to have a no-holds-barred fight in the dining hall, as was their custom.
Dowling slowly crossed the deserted Alfea hallway while the students discussed their plans for the day over breakfast or tried their best to hide their e-cigarettes from the headmistress. Farah was aware that students smoked, and it wasn't always vapor, or even cigarettes, but she only forbade it when the boundaries of what was permitted blurred. Riven was caught almost every day because he didn't hide his addictions, while Sky, on the other hand, had masterfully kept it a secret for three years now and had never been caught.
Turning toward the specialists' wing, Farah's eyes flashed blue in surprise, but the glow immediately disappeared when she realized she'd collided with Riven, as if he were the only specialist in the world.
"Excuse me, Miss Dowling, I..." Riven shuddered under the headmistress's gaze, as if he'd looked into the eyes of Medusa Gorgon. "Excuse me."
"Why not in the hall?" Farah asked slyly, guessing what he was doing there.
Riven swallowed awkwardly, feigning insecurity, although usually his audacity burst forth like elemental magic, knocking down all barriers in its path.
"Overslept," the boy looked down guiltily, keeping his hand in his pocket. "Miss Dowling, I wanted to... apologize, since we met so unexpectedly. I behaved terribly towards you."
"You're still not getting the vape back," Farah smirked, striding down the hallway, past his shoulder.
"No, it's not him," Riven called out, causing her to turn around. "I was wrong, forgive me."
Dowling suddenly realized what was going on. Silva carried out orders with lightning speed, especially when they concerned something that benefited him personally. Riven looked like a man who had forgotten what sarcasm and malice were. One could only guess how Sol had straightened him out so quickly. Farah had been struggling with this for three years, and it had all come so easily to him.
"Is that all?" the headmistress asked, giving the boy a haughty look.
She wasn't about to give in so quickly. Riven was too problematic to forget.
"Yes..." the boy lowered his head and turned away from Dowling's eye contact. "I won't cause you any more trouble. At least, I'll try."
Farah smirked and disappeared around the corner, leaving Riven alone with the terrible feeling of defeat. He felt an indescribable humiliation, realizing he had given in after all, and Dowling was right; he had no choice but to obey the rules. Sooner or later, it was bound to happen, and even if it hadn't been his choice, the fact itself was killing Riven inside.
The door to Silva's office was located at the very end of the specialists' wing and had an identical sign reading "Headmaster Saul Silva." In this place, he didn't do paperwork or dwell on painful thoughts about how to influence students. Saul preferred to use the art of improvisation rather than finding an approach to each student, as Farah did.
Dowling opened the door without bothering with etiquette and closed it on the other side, so no one would see her there. Sol sat relaxed in a chair with his back to the door, gazing at the green hills, but he immediately turned around at the intrusion. Silva was ready to scold the specialist who had barged into the director's office without knocking, but he was cruelly deprived of that opportunity, as scolding Farah would be more costly.
She beamed at the man, unable to hide her silent gratitude for the meeting with Riven, which, although it had occurred against her will, undoubtedly carried too much meaning. Farah playfully tapped her nails on the desk, tracing the papers scattered haphazardly across it. Something invisible lurked in her mysterious gaze, clouded by something unknown and therefore so alluring.
"Good work, headmaster Silva," Farah whispered, stopping next to his chair.
The voice clung to his consciousness and imprinted itself on his memory so clearly that Sol was ready to admit he was going crazy, hearing it echoing through his subconscious. Even if she herself wasn't there. Silva didn't immediately understand why Farah praised him, but guessing about her morning meeting, his eyes narrowed contentedly, as if the bright sun had hit them.
“Anything, for my fairy," Sol replied with a smile, rising from his chair on almost rigid legs.
Farah clutched the vape in her hand and demonstratively placed it between her lips, inhaling the vapor into her lungs. The drag was surprisingly sobering, but not enough to stop her, to Saul’s delight, Dowling leaned forward, giving Silva the intimate contact and the taste of cognac. He couldn't figure out what he needed more in this situation, but the almost weightless touch of their lips answered that question.
Saul intercepted her hand just as Farah was about to take another drag and, without a second's hesitation, pressed a hot kiss to her lips. Dowling could come to her senses at any moment and begin looking for an escape route again, to preserve the friendship they had both grown tired of. Rumors at Alfea were swirling, and everyone was convinced they were lovers, even Ben, who knew better.
Farah abandoned her attempt to weigh the possible outcomes and returned the kiss, which Saul managed to deepen before she tried to pull away. His hand tangled in her soft, blond curls and collided with the pins that reinforced the image of a stern headmistress. Farah's hand trembled as she gripped his wrist, keeping her hair from becoming a cascade down her back, the way she'd spent the entire morning tying it up.
"Saul..." A soft moan was lost in the kiss, depriving her of the chance to finish her sentence.
Silva didn't want to hear that he should stop biting those oh-so-desirable lips with their sticky, glossy aftertaste. Farah didn't let go of his wrist, continuing to squeeze it unconsciously for support. Sol thrust into her mouth with increasing insistence, colliding with her tongue like a barrier on a training ground. Her quiet moans echoed in her eardrums, hitting her head harder and harder, like strong alcohol.
Silva threw the papers off the table, letting them scatter across the room. Farah responded without hesitation, leaning toward the table and finally pulling away from his lips, which she so didn't want to let go.
"You've always been stubborn, Farah Dowling," Saul said, lightly smoothing her tousled hair and gently running his fingers over her cheek.
"You've managed to outdo me, Saul Silva."
Farah relaxed in his arms, allowing the need for him to take over her mind. Saul’s eyes lit up like stars in the night sky and stared straight into her soul, asking the silent question: "Does she want to destroy a friendship that could hardly be called such?"
"Come see me this evening," she said, smiling again, the boundless trust in his gaze.
"And run into an errand girl?" Saul chuckled, playing with his own pride, which never showed in Farah's presence.
"For the sake of my specialist, I'll let her go early."