Chapter Text
Hyacine fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, teeth catching on her lower lip.
“So,” she said after a moment, softer now, “is your dorm okay?”
Castorice gave a small nod. “It’s not dangerous. Just… dark.”
Hyacine nodded along. “I would’ve freaked out for sure - like when the toaster stopped working one night. But that was just Cipher being Cipher.”
They ate in silence. The fluffernutter brownie was rich and a little messy - just enough to be a comforting distraction.
Then Hyacine gasped and nearly choked on a crumb.
“Oh! I forgot - there was something else I wanted to ask! I completely lost my train of thought.”
Castorice blinked again. “You did?”
“Yes! I mean - besides wanting to see you. Which I did. But also - have you heard about the Kindling Festival?”
“In passing,” Castorice said.
“Okay, well… apparently the planning committee is mostly me and Aglaea, if you know her. And maybe one other person, but I’m not sure if they’re real.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I could really use help. Calm, smart, mysterious help. Which you definitely are.”
She cleared her throat. “And I thought maybe you’d be willing to… help me not completely crash and burn in front of the whole university?”
Castorice stared at her for a beat. “Why me?”
“You’re smart,” Hyacine said immediately. “And thoughtful. You see stuff. You don’t… blurt. And I always feel better when you’re around.”
That made Castorice turn a subtle shade of pink.
“I don’t know much about planning events,” she said softly.
“I do!” Hyacine said, smiling. “I know that I’m terrible at it. But I can start. And you… you have this, like, quiet boss energy. Which is very cool. And it would be nice to have.”
Castorice looked down at her muffin, then back up at her. “I can… try,” she said slowly.
Hyacine’s smile grew, lighting up her face like the sun breaking through clouds. “Yes! That’s all I needed to hear.”
And for a brief second, it felt like saying yes might not be so bad.
“So,” Hyacine said, leaning in a little, “one idea I had was a memory board.”
Castorice looked up.
“You know, like… a place where people can pin photos or write little memories or hopes or whatever. Stuff that matters. Stuff they want to hold onto. Or let go of.” She paused. “Does it seem too… cheesy?”
Castorice shook her head slowly. “No. I think it’s… nice.”
“Yeah?” Hyacine said, smiling.
“Yeah,” she said, quieter now. “I like that. Giving people space to… reflect.”
Hyacine grinned. “You’d be perfect to help run it.”
“Me?”
“You’ve got that thoughtful energy. Like…” she thought for a moment. “You’d understand what people leave.”
Castorice hesitated. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Exactly.” Hyacine’s smile softened. “Which means you’ll make it new. And it’ll make you new too.”
Castorice glanced down at her half-eaten brownie, picking at the edge of the paper. “…Okay. I’ll try.”
Hyacine lit up. “Thank you so much. Oh, there’s more!”
She leaned sideways over her bag, rummaging with a clatter of pens and paper until she pulled out a crumpled receipt with notes scribbled all over it. She smoothed it with her palms, then smiled sheepishly.
“I was kind of… brainstorming last night,” she said. “Stuff for Kindling Fest. I mean, the memory wall is still my favorite thing, but I was thinking… maybe there could be something a little more? Something people can take home with them?”
Castorice tilted her head slightly. “What kind of thing?”
Hyacine held up her hands. “It’s probably silly.”
“I don’t mind silly.”
That made Hyacine beam. “Okay, so. I thought… what if we gave people these little… charms? Or tokens? Tiny ones. And they could write something inside - a wish, or a memory, or even just… a feeling. Fold it up, tuck it inside, and hang it up during the festival. Then after, they could take it home.”
Castorice blinked. “That’s… actually very sweet.”
Hyacine let out a breath like she’d been holding it in. “Like… like a tiny spell-pouch. Or maybe muffin crumbs if someone sneaks snacks in. I’ve been kind of messing around with shapes and stuff. Paper stars, hearts, little… blob-things. Nothing official yet.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Honestly, it might be too much.”
Castorice’s gaze drifted to the edge of Hyacine’s bag, where a few crumpled, unidentifiable origami messes and tiny cutouts peeked out like secrets.
“Would you like help?” she asked.
Hyacine’s hands froze mid-fidget. “Really?”
“I have… a few folding tricks,” Castorice admitted. “I used to make cranes when I was little. For focus.”
Hyacine stared like Castorice had just offered her the moon. “That’s the nicest sentence anyone’s ever said to me.”
Castorice looked away, feeling her cheeks heat at the sight. “I’m a little out of practice.”
“That’s okay,” Hyacine said, beaming. “You’re already better than me. I folded a star and it came out looking like a potato.”
Castorice almost smiled.
Hyacine ducked her head, fiddling with the receipt again. “I was thinking I’d work on them a little more tomorrow, if you maybe wanted to… drop by?”
The door creaked open.
Castorice straightened just as Mydei stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the cozy yellow lamplight.
His hoodie was dusted with ash, sleeves pushed up, a faint electrical burn mark across the front pocket. He paused when he saw them, eyes flicking from Hyacine to Castorice.
“…Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said.
“You’re not!” Hyacine scrambled upright a little too quickly. “You’re - um - welcome here. Always.”
Mydei walked further in without comment, his steps tired and steady. He didn’t make for the table - just settled into the wall-adjacent corner, sliding down with a quiet exhale.
Hyacine glanced toward him again, and froze.
“Wait - hold on.” She leaned forward. “Are you bleeding?”
Mydei looked down to the strip of red running down his forearm. “It’s fine.”
Hyacine was already halfway out of her seat. “Okay - sit still. Don’t touch it. I need to - um - okay, do not move.”
The energy around her shifted so fast it was almost whiplash. Her hands, usually fidgeting, moved with surprising surety as she grabbed her bag and dug through it with practiced speed. Castorice watched, blinking. It was the first time she’d seen Hyacine not stammer, not stall.
Mydei shifted, pulling his arm slightly back as if to hide the scrape on his forearm, but Hyacine gently caught his wrist before he could tuck it away.
“It’s not a big deal,” he said.
“I know you think that,” she said, quieter. “But I’m not not treating it.”
Mydei sighed in defeat and let her lift his arm.
Hyacine’s touch was light but efficient, her brows furrowed in quiet focus as she examined the wound. “Debris, definitely. And the edges are kinda gunky already, so - okay, stay there. I have stuff.”
Mydei sighed. “This is really all -”
“Is it deep?” Hyacine cut him off, already pulling out a small first-aid kit, half-unzipped and clearly well-used. “Do you have dizziness, nausea, tingling in your fingers - anything like that?”
“No,” Mydei said, brows slightly raised. “It’s just a scratch.”
Hyacine gave him a look as she knelt down beside him. “Uh-huh. That’s what people always say until they pass out on the floor and traumatize everyone in a five-foot radius.”
Hyacine waited, and upon hearing no more objections, got to work. She dabbed at the scrape with practiced hands, her chatter softening as she focused. “Sorry. This’ll sting. But not as much as whatever you did to get this.”
“I just wasn’t paying attention,” he muttered.
She pulled out a small bottle of saline, her fingers fumbling just a tiny bit as she unscrewed the cap. “Not gonna lie,” she said, flashing a quick, nervous smile at Castorice, “this part’s the worst - kind of like when you accidentally bite into a lemon.”
Mydei made a noise that might’ve been a grunt or a chuckle; it was hard to tell.
Hyacine dipped a clean gauze pad into the saline and began dabbing at the wound with practiced care. Her voice softened as she spoke, almost as if soothing the injury itself. “Okay, debris looks like it’s coming off. No big bits stuck in there, so that’s good.”
She glanced up at Mydei. “Are you feeling dizzy? Nauseous?”
“It’s just a scratch.” He kept his gaze steady, arms resting on his knees now, a faint tension lingering in his jaw. Castorice winced in sympathy as she watched.
“Good.” Hyacine’s hands moved quickly but gently, treating each bit of the wound with delicate care.
Throughout, her familiar breathless enthusiasm was still there, just tempered by this new, calm focus. “You’re basically a walking disaster zone,” she said with a smile that made Mydei roll his eyes. “Lucky for you, I’m a medical major who’s way better at patching people up than… well, most other things.”
Castorice watched quietly from her seat, struck by how natural Hyacine was, like this was the real core of her, not the flustered girl who forgot what to say or do around others. There was something about the way Mydei sat still for her - how he let her touch the wound, how he didn’t pull away - that spoke of a trust she hadn’t expected. Not from him. Not with anyone.
Hyacine gave the wound one final wipe, then pressed a bandage gently over it. “There. One brave boy, properly patched.”
Mydei grunted. “You’re gonna bring that up forever, aren’t you?”
She grinned. “Absolutely. Want some water? Or, um, mystery tea? We have so many packets of unlabeled tea.”
He gave her a look that might’ve been grateful, if not exhausted. “Water’s fine.”
She glanced back toward Castorice with a small, hopeful smile. “Do you want anything? I can make a guess-tea for you too.”
“That’s alright,” Castorice said, biting back a laugh.
She shuffled away to fetch it, humming a little tune that didn’t quite have a melody. That left Castorice and Mydei in a strangely still bubble of silence.
She didn’t expect him to speak.
So she was surprised when he said, “you live in Dorm Two?”
“Yes,” Castorice replied, unsure of what else to say. Small talk had never been her specialty.
“Power come back on yet?”
She glanced over. “...I don’t know, I’ve been here ever since.”
A pause.
“Sorry,” he added, and hesitated. “That one was on us.”
“…Not your fault.” She hesitated. “Though I was in the middle of syncing a really large project file.”
He blinked. “Ah. So I ruined your night.”
She allowed the faintest upward twitch at the corner of her mouth. “Slightly.”
A pause.
“…Are you alright?” Castorice said, tilting her head toward his now-bandaged arm.
“I’m fine,” he said simply, with the quiet assurance of someone who didn’t see the point in saying more.
Another pause, longer this time. He didn’t fidget or look away - just rested his head back, lids half-lowered.
“Phainon tried a shortcut,” he said at last. “It didn’t go so well. Although I guess I could’ve talked better,” he added reluctantly.
Castorice nodded. She only knew the basics of their situation from conversations with Hyacine. “It sounds difficult.”
“Sometimes,” Mydei agreed.
That quiet honesty surprised her. She glanced down at her hands, then over at the spool of glitter wire still in Hyacine’s lap.
“…I get that,” she said after a moment.
She wasn’t used to saying that aloud either - usually, she wouldn’t have. But Mydei’s voice had that same self-protective quiet she knew too well.
He didn’t say anything, but he glanced at her - just briefly. Something softened in his expression. Maybe he got it, too.
His expression smoothed again, and he leaned his head against the wall, eyes half-closing. “Yeah,” he murmured.
Hyacine returned then, carefully balancing two mismatched mugs. “Okay, water for you, mystery tea for me. Unless you want mystery tea? It’s very pink.”
Mydei took the water. “Pink’s not my color.”
“You never know,” Hyacine said, grinning as she dropped back onto the mat between them; something in the air had shifted. Not warmer, exactly - but more open.
Castorice found herself stealing another glance toward the boy in the corner. He didn’t look like much. Tired. Quiet. Kind of like an empty hallway.
Maybe she could relate.
Hyacine lit up. “Oh my goodness. Is this what quiet bonding looks like? I’m witnessing a social miracle.”
Mydei exhaled through his nose. It wasn’t quite amusement, but maybe the ghost of it.
“We’re not bonding ,” Mydei muttered.
Castorice didn’t answer. But she didn’t deny it, either.
Hyacine leaned on her elbows, studying them like a wildlife researcher spotting mutual tolerance in the wild. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking. I’ll be so quiet. I’ll be - what’s it called - oh, ambient. Like café noise.”
“Please don’t compare yourself to café noise,” Castorice murmured.
“She is kind of like café noise,” Mydei said softly, as if just observing a fact.
Castorice paused to consider, then made the tiniest murmur of agreement.