Archive of Our Own

It’s only been one month. 

One month since his second year at Night Raven College started. One month of officially being the Housewarden of Pomefiore’s dormitory. One month since Vil and Rook left to attend their fourth-year internships. 

Epel shouldn’t miss them as much as he did.

He saw them just a few weeks ago—the day of their departure. They both looked excited for their internships. Rook couldn’t stop rambling about how overjoyed he was to be working in the Shaftlands’ archaelogical research facility, saying how he would explore and capture every detail of beauty from the past. Vil seemed keen on learning what the acting industry was like as a simple newcomer, without having any advantage from his background.

The dark carriage took Rook first. The man didn’t miss one last chance to embrace Epel in a tight hug, holding up the smaller boy so closely and squeezing with so much strength that Epel had somehow gotten used to—while in tears and talking about how much Rook loved and would miss Epel. It was one of the rare moments when Epel saw Rook actually tearing up, crying without any restraint.

Then the dark carriage took Vil. Before leaving, Vil lifted the golden crown off Epel’s head to press a kiss onto Epel’s forehead. 

“You will be a wonderful fit for Housewarden of Pomefiore,” Vil said with a softness in his voice that Epel rarely ever heard. “Take care, Epel.”

Epel tried his best to ignore the weird, persistent churning in his gut.

Even as he hugged Vil as tight as he could for one last time, elegance and charm be damned. 

Even as tears began to prick at the corners of his eyes.

Even as he watched the dark carriage take Vil away. 

Even as he felt a numb feeling wash over him.

Even as he laid in the queen-sized bed of his new dorm room, staring up at the ceiling without an inch of sleep while the hours ticked away.

Now, Epel was housewarden of Pomefiore. He had a new bedroom similar to Vil’s: a queen-sized bed, a special and golden chandelier above his bed…

…and plenty of mirrors. Everywhere.

His reflection was always staring back at him, no matter how much he tried to avoid meeting its gaze.

Epel knew he could’ve changed the bedroom and moved furniture around. It was his bedroom now, after all. But something in him wanted to keep the furniture and layout similar to Vil’s. The bedroom looked nearly the same as the previous housewarden's, the only difference being the many apple crates from Harveston, stacked messily in the corner.

Being housewarden also came with a variety of new perks: like having a unique uniform from the rest of his dormmates. Epel was still getting used to the purple robe's long fabric and the golden crown—the one that Vil always wore—which happened to fit his head nearly perfectly. He could’ve had his dorm uniform altered or changed entirely, but he kept it similar to Vil’s uniform on purpose.

He should’ve been happy. Excited, proud of himself. After everything that happened last year, he had come so far.

Instead, he didn’t.

He couldn’t sleep. He didn’t feel anything. No excitement, no joy, no pride, no anything. Instead, there was a dulling ache in his gut.

A dulling feeling, one which just grew stronger and stronger with each passing second.

Because now, as he laid in the large and luxurious bed, staring at the patterns in the ceiling, reality was settling in and hitting him.

This was real.

Epel really was the new housewarden of Pomefiore.

Vil and Rook… they were both gone.

Absentmindedly, his hand reached for his phone on the bedside table. The lockscreen was a picture of home. The homescreen was a picture of Vil and Rook—the same two people who Epel considered his second home.

The same two who were gone.

The churning in Epel’s gut got worse. He ignored it.

His fingers scrolled absentmindedly, searching for any new notifications.

He scrolled through all the magicam notifications. (Vil nagged him to create an account. Epel only had one post on the app… it was annoying to see how much online attention it was getting. How did Vil manage to deal with the attention like this?)

He scrolled through the chat messages from his friends. (All five of them were actively texting in their shared groupchat. Ace and Deuce were arguing over something stupid, Jack and Sebek were practically yelling through the text for them to be quiet, and Ortho was only egging on their bickering further. How long had it been since Epel texted—or even talked—to them? With studies on top of housewarden duties, alongside the dull ache in his chest, he didn’t have the energy to open their messages anymore.)

He scrolled through the missed calls from home. (His family back in Harveston had been calling him a lot, as of late. Epel didn’t understand why. He couldn’t understand why he didn’t have it in him to answer their calls, either.)

He scrolled through everything, not even bothering to look at what they read, hoping to find a familiar notification from a certain two people…

…and there was nothing.

Without thinking, his index finger moved to open their messaging app.

There was nothing new.

The last conversation was from a few days ago. It was brief—too brief. It lasted for only a few minutes.

Family. ♡

For a moment, rereading his own messages had Epel wince. He hadn’t even realized he started texting so formally. Since when did he start doing that? He didn’t text like that whatsoever back when he wasn’t the housewarden…

Then that damned churning in his gut came back. It settled in harder. 

That was a few days ago. They hadn’t messaged Epel since. Could their previous chat even be considered a conversation when neither of them could send more than one message? 

They didn’t even ask about him.

That realization hit Epel harder than the rest. But he tried to ignore the growing churning inside his gut. His fingers glided to the touchscreen before Epel could even think about it. He wanted—no, needed—to talk to them again.

Family. ♡

Epel stared at the message for a minute.

No. It sounded too informal. Vil would chew his ass out for such a message.

He deleted it. His fingers glided to type another message, being more mindful of where he tapped.

Epel stared again, waiting for any reciprocal text bubble to appear. Seconds passed. Then minutes.

Forget about it. They’re busy.

He deleted his message once more. 

 He was stupid for thinking they would be awake this late in the night, anyway. If they were awake, they would probably lecture and scold him for not being asleep right now.

Then he slammed his phone back down onto the nightstand, staring up at the ceiling pointlessly while his thoughts raced.

It didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Epel shouldn’t care. Why was he sounding so damn clingy?

They didn’t need to ask how Epel was doing: they were both busy with their internships. Rook was most certainly fascinated by studying archaeology and exploring beauty—knowing him, he was writing and drawing everything in a journal (or keeping everything perfectly memorized and visualized in his brain, somehow). Vil was exploring the acting industry as a beginner, looking and experiencing everything from a brand new perspective.

Epel, meanwhile, was handling the dormitory duties just fine. 

Every student was following Pomefiore’s daily and nightly routines without complaint. (Thankfully, none of the new students were rebellious and troublesome. Epel didn’t know if he could handle a similar, rebellious copy of himself just yet: he still didn’t know how Vil managed to handle him.)

Alongside that, the students were also treating Epel with an unfamiliar kind of respect. He wasn’t used to being treated to such a high level of respect—the feeling was foreign to him. Yet Epel nodded along with it.

Epel was the new and only “royalty” of Pomefiore, after all.

(Technically, the term was “Queen”. Epel was starting to grow familiar and comfortable with the word. But he didn’t want to trigger any gender dysphoria. Especially now, when neither Vil nor Rook could comfort him anymore.)

Outside of dorm duties, Epel was also doing fine. He was surprisingly taking his studies more seriously this year. All of his grades were improving from last year—especially his alchemy grade! High grades were expected of a housewarden, and Epel wasn’t going to disappoint.

(Epel ignored the fact that he had been missing Magift practices. And ignored the fact that he hasn’t spoken to anybody in his friend group for days. And ignored how he was almost always busy in the dormitory after classes.

Anybody who knew Epel could tell something was wrong with him.

But Epel didn’t need any help.

He was a leader now, after all. He had to stay strong.)

Yeah. Epel was handling everything just fine.

Sure, it was vastly different in comparison to his rowdy first year. Just thinking about it made Epel cringe—it was a complete mess. He still thought he was perfectly reasonable with all the things he argued with Vil about, and could still completely understand how uneasy Rook made him feel.

Now, however… he could understand Vil’s intentions perfectly. And Rook’s eccentric and freakish behaviour grew fond on him. Somehow. 

Epel didn’t know why he was missing them so much.

Fuck, why was he even thinking about them so much? 

This wasn’t the first night Epel had spent in his bedroom, feeling out-of-place and detached from reality, his thoughts in another place and completely focused on them. His body always felt cold—not in a cold yet warm way like how Harveston’s freezing temperatures made him feel, but an uneasy sense of cold. There was always this weird, churning feeling inside his gut.

Every night he laid in bed, sleep never reaching him and his thoughts unable to stop racing about Vil and Rook, he felt shitty.

Almost the same level of shittiness as those nights of dysphoria made him feel.

Epel took a sharp inhale, finally sitting up in his bed, making sure to avoid every damn mirror’s reflection. He didn’t want to look at his body. He didn’t want to look at himself—not now. 

(He didn’t want to see any figures—ones that might look exactly like Vil or Rook—looming behind him with an expression of disappointment, either.)

Epel stood there for a moment, feeling the room spin around him.

He… needed fresh air. To take a walk. Or something. He was the new Housewarden. He had a free pass to break a few rules, now, didn’t he?

His feet slipped into heeled slippers (because of course they were heeled. Vil was a horrible influence on him).

The door creaked as he gently shut it behind him.

And his feet began to drag him in an unknown direction. 

He didn’t know where he was going. His footsteps echoed through the empty hallway with every click of his heels (the noise sounded eerily similar to Vil’s footsteps). The air was silent tonight. Too silent.

Epel’s thoughts on Vil and Rook kept ringing in his head. It was so loud. He just wanted it to stop, already.

His feet dragged him throughout Pomefiore’s corridors. He found himself passing by Rook’s room. His room still needed repairing due to the tearing in the wall, and as a result, nobody was living in there. It was one of Pomefiore’s spare bedrooms.

Epel had the keys to unlock the door, somewhere. Maybe he could just go inside the room, sit down in what used to be Rook’s bed, and…

…no. Don’t be stupid.

Epel turned his heels to continue walking forward, walking aimlessly without a thought. He didn’t know where his feet were taking him, but he didn’t bother to change his direction.

Soon enough, he found himself on the balcony.

It was a secret balcony. One which none of the other dormitory members knew the location of. It was at the back of Pomefiore’s dorm building, hidden away from everything else. The balcony had a fairly good look of everything: the dormitory’s garden, the apple orchids, all of the birds and little critters hidden within the nature of it all…

All the birds and little creatures were now fast asleep. Instead of the ambience of a birdsong, there was nothing. Nothing but the air’s chilly and soft breeze, caressing his face with a gentle touch. The nightly shine of the moon casted a glow over everything. 

The view from this balcony was beautiful.

…

It was supposed to be beautiful, at least.

It looked beautiful back here before—back when Vil or Rook were with him.

Now… it looked dull. Empty. Dead. 

He remembered when Vil and Rook first dragged him along to this place. It was June: the month before their school year wrapped up. While everybody else in the dorm was doing their afternoon yoga routine, Vil and Rook swept Epel away.

“Vil— agh, I can walk by myself! You don’t have to pull me by the ear!!”

Epel wasn’t complaining about missing the yoga routine, but he certainly didn’t like that Vil was tugging at him so tightly.Despite Epel’s protests, Vil’s tight grip didn’t loosen up whatsoever. 

It was weird. The housewarden had a serious expression on his face as he walked forward: he wasn’t even glancing at Epel. Rook was eerily quiet,

Whatever they were planning to talk to Epel about… it was serious.

Soon, Epel found himself standing on a balcony. It was one he had never been on—nor had he ever even seen this before. Since when did the dorm building have an entire back balcony? It felt like he was learning more things about this place every day…

“This is one of the few hidden places in Pomefiore’s dormitory,” Vil explained to Epel’s dumbfounded expression. “I figured it was the right time to show you.”

Epel nodded, mustering up the courage before replying with a single word, “Why?”

“This private balcony… this is something exclusive to only dorm leaders and vices. You have a secret sight of the entire dormitory from the back: the apple orchids, the garden… it’s all very beautiful, isn’t it?”

Epel looked down. Vil was right—he could see everything. And the sight was gorgeous, Epel couldn’t deny that. The sunset casted a beautiful light over everything. “Yeah. You’re right.”

There was silence for a moment.

“…and I wanted to try something,” Vil’s words eventually broke the stillness. 

That’s probably why Rook was there.

Epel found a soft hand touching his chin, the manicured nails gently tilting it upwards. Epel didn’t fight it. 

One hand touching his face turned into two hands. The hands moved to cup Epel’s face.

“Close your eyes.”

Curiosity nearly got the better of Epel. He wanted to keep his eyes wide open—to interrogate Vil on what he was trying to do, or at least secretly squint one eye to try and watch him…

But Epel knew better than to do that with Vil.

So, the boy closed his eyes.

He felt something wrap around his head. Hard, cold edges grazed at his temples. The material nearly had Epel widen his eyes in shock—the material was heavy. Seriously heavy—it felt like some sort of metal. The metallic material held a faint, borrowed warmth. Having this weird band around his head felt… weird. It wasn’t an unwelcome feeling, but it felt foreign. What were they doing? What were they putting on his head?

“Ah… Roi du Poison,” Rook finally spoke, sounding close to tears. “It’s a perfect fit on him, no?”

“Mhm, I’d say so,” Vil’s voice came out next. Epel felt the heavy band shift slightly towards the side: Vil was moving it. “It does seem slightly larger for his head, though. But it fits better than I thought it would. Perhaps Epel will grow into it…”

“What is it?”

Epel couldn’t help but blurt out. For a moment, neither man spoke.

“...Epel,” Vil began. “You told me that you wished to wear a similar dorm uniform like mine in the upcoming school year, correct?”

Epel nodded. He didn’t know where this was going.

“Open your eyes.”

His eyelids fluttered open.

Rook was holding a mirror, right in front of Epel’s face.

And that’s when Epel met the eyes of his reflection.

His reflection, looking just as shocked as he felt. With an ornate crown—Vil’s crown—on his head. Epel recognized it immediately. How couldn’t he? It had a detailed, intricate, meaningful design for a reason: with triangles, small fleurs-de-lis, and the small centerpiece of the heart with a dagger piercing through it.

They hadn’t even made any modifications to it. It was just Vil’s crown, straight-up.

Sure, it was a little big for his head. The crown usually settled right on Vil’s forehead, never dropping more downward than a few centimetres from the peak of Vil’s temple. On Epel’s head, the crown was sagging down lower, nearing the height of his eyebrows.

But it didn’t bother Epel like he thought it would. And despite the crown’s heavy weight, he found himself unbothered by it.

His eyes gazed back into the mirror. They were holding their own, special, intimate ceremony to welcome Epel into the throne.

He looked so similar to Vil.

(And when he began to hiccup and sob, neither of the third years hesitated to pull Epel into a tight embrace.)

At the memory, he found himself gazing downward again, a familiar wetness building up in the corners of his eyes.

He was still wearing the crown. He realized this just now—a wet laugh escaped his lips. Why was he even wearing it? He didn’t put it on before leaving his dorm room. Had he tried falling asleep with the crown still wrapped around his head? Vil would’ve slapped him and called him a reckless, barbaric moron…

And now? 

The crown felt too noticeable again.

Epel’s hands reached to his head to try and adjust it. The crown felt big—too big. It kept slipping past his temples. Its weight suddenly felt like it was crushing Epel down towards the ground. The metal dug and pierced into his skin.

Yet, in another contrasting way… others commented on it. When they noticed Epel wearing the crown, they recognized it as Vil’s immediately. They would assure and compliment Epel, saying the boy fit the crown perfectly.

Epel didn’t understand why.

He still remembered Vil’s exact words from the time the crown was first placed on him.

"You'll grow into it.”

Another wet laugh escaped his lips.

Not once did Epel feel like he did.

He remembered how much and how hard he was sobbing during that sunset. His shoulders couldn’t stop shaking. His chest kept heaving. He could barely breathe—it felt like those times where he wore his binder for too long, suffocating and having his ribs crushed.

Except it was worse. 

With the binder situation, at least, he knew why he couldn’t breathe. He knew it was his own fault and stupidity that led him to being breathless and nearly helpless, panting like a damn dog.

But with Vil and Rook? In that sunset? Placing that crown around Epel’s head like it meant nothing? Their fond laughing while he cried and sobbed uncontrollably?

He didn’t know why he did that.

Even now, months later, thinking back to that day… he still had no idea why he cried.

It felt like he couldn’t understand a lot of stuff, nowadays.

Why he always felt so empty in the dormitory. Why he never had energy to talk with his friends and clubmates anymore. Why the once-beautiful sights of Pomefiore now looked dull and empty. Why many of his interests didn’t satisfy or excite him anymore. 

Why the aching feeling in his gut never went away when he thought about those two. 

Why he couldn’t stop thinking about every past memory he shared with those two over the span of last year.

Why his legs always lead him to this exact balcony in the dead of night, when his thoughts wouldn’t shut up.

Why his eyes would always start to tear up.

Just like right now.

Fuck. He was tearing up again.

He had been doing a lot of that, too. He never liked admitting it to himself—crying was weak, Epel wanted to be anything but weak—but he had been crying a lot. It was a weird, persistent thing that would never go away. Just like his thoughts of Vil and Rook.

It was their fault. They’re the ones who said they would love and be there with Epel no matter what. They’re the ones who left Epel alone to deal with this.

It was easier to blame them than to deal with these complex emotions all by himself.

He took off the crown. The material had etched and marked itself into his skin. He held it into his hands like it was the most fragile thing in the world, even though he knew there was a certain barrier of magic that protected it from breaking. Yet he held it like it could break at any second, even though his hands were shaking violently without control.

Because, in a way, it always felt like he was talking to Vil and Rook when he did this. Holding the crown in his hand, speaking aloud—probably sounding like a lunatic to any outsider.

“Vil, Rook… I’m trying,” his words came out in bursts of short, broken breaths. “I’m seriously trying, okay? The dorm stuff’s going fine. It’s just…”

The gentle wind wailed and howelled, filling in the silent air.

Epel couldn’t bring himself to say the words he knew were true.

The tears threatening to stream down his face weren’t helping him much, either.

He pressed his lips together tightly and stared hard at the night sky, trying desperately to distract himself. The evening sky was a pretty sight, at least. There was a swirly line of stars together, twinkling and glittering above. It was supposed to feel peaceful—tranquil, magical.

But it didn’t feel the same anymore.

Sevens. What was wrong with him?!

Epel rubbed his face hard, as if that would do absolutely anything to stop the racing thoughts in his head. His fingers were wet and damp by the time he stopped. He couldn’t breathe properly—even the sight of the night starry sky above him was becoming blurred.

He looked down at the crown once more. Memories of Vil and Rook were still thoroughly clear in his mind, haunting him.

When Epel first met them.

When they put Vil’s crown over his head to test if it would fit.

When Vil publicly announced that Epel would become the new housewarden of this year.

When Rook hugged him so tightly that Epel was seeing stars.

When they left Night Raven College to attend their internships.

When they left him.

Tears finally broke loose. No matter how hard and rapidly Epel blinked, the tears never stopped spilling. A choked, croaky sob escaped his lips. He gasped violently between his breaths. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe—it felt like his sobs were going to kill him.

No matter how hard he cried and how he could barely breathe… his grip on the crown never loosened.

If anything, he held onto the golden metal tighter. His knuckles were turning white, the material was grazing and cutting into his palm, but he didn’t care.

He stared at it with a blurry vision. Staring back at it like it could somehow communicate with the two.

“...I miss you.”

The words finally croaked out, soft and broken.

And Epel finally let himself break down in tears.

(Just like every other night.)