Chapter Text
Wemmbu had perfected many skills over the years: the ability to finish an assignment five minutes before it was due, the ability to sleep through three alarms without waking up, and, most importantly, the ability to lie with a completely straight face.
Unfortunately, none of that helped him now.
“You didn’t do the homework, did you?”
Wemmbu looked up from his desk, where his unfinished worksheet sat very conveniently hidden beneath his notebook, and across the classroom Flame leaned back in his chair with his ears twitching slightly as he watched him with the kind of confidence that made Wemmbu immediately want to prove him wrong.
“Of course I did,” Wemmbu said, because that was the obvious answer and because he had spent years perfecting the art of sounding completely believable even when he was absolutely not.
The words came out smooth and calm, exactly the way he wanted them to, and for a second he almost believed himself, until Flame’s eyes flicked upward in that same strange, automatic way they always did whenever Wemmbu spoke to him.
A slow grin spread across Flame’s face.
Wemmbu immediately disliked it.
Not because they were rare — unfortunately, they were not — but because there was always something behind them. Flame never smiled like a normal person. There was always some hidden thought, some observation he had made that he was waiting for the perfect moment to bring up.
And somehow, Wemmbu always seemed to be the target.
“What?” Wemmbu asked, keeping his voice low as the teacher continued writing on the board.
Flame only tilted his head in mock confusion. “Nothing, bro.”
Wemmbu narrowed his eyes.
Flame shrugged and turned his attention back toward the front of the classroom, where the teacher had moved on from the notes to an explanation that neither of them were listening to anymore.
Wemmbu continued staring at him.
Across the desk, Flame hid a smile.
Because Flame had noticed weeks ago.
The first time it happened, he thought he was imagining things — just a faint flicker of red at the tips of Wemmbu’s horns when he confidently denied stealing someone’s pen. The second time, he was certain. By the third, it had become impossible not to notice.
Wemmbu, however, remained completely unaware.
Which was, in Flame’s opinion, the funniest part.
Wemmbu liked to think of himself as impossible to read. He carried himself with the kind of confidence that made people assume he had everything figured out. He had somehow managed to convince half of their university that he was effortlessly organized, effortlessly intelligent, and effortlessly unbothered by anything that happened around him.
Flame knew better.
He knew about the way Wemmbu tapped his pen against his notebook whenever he was nervous. He knew about the way Wemmbu looked away whenever he was embarrassed, as if refusing to make eye contact could somehow erase the fact that he had been caught. He knew that whenever Wemmbu claimed he was "completely fine," there was usually a very high chance that he was anything but.
And, apparently, he had one more weakness.
A very obvious one. And, a very entertaining one.
“Wemmbu.”
The sound of his name pulled him out of his thoughts.
He looked over.
The professor was still speaking at the front of the lecture hall, explaining something about the upcoming midterm that everyone would inevitably pretend to understand until the night before it was due. Around them, students typed on laptops and scribbled notes, the room filled with the quiet rhythm of a hundred people trying to convince themselves they were more prepared than they actually were.
Flame was looking at him.
“What?” Wemmbu whispered.
“Why’re you staring at me, bro?”
“What? No I wasn’t?”
“You were.”
Flame leaned back in his chair, the slightest hint of amusement appearing on his face.
“You stare at me more than I stare at you.”
“That is not true, bro.”
The words left Wemmbu’s mouth immediately, confident.
And, as usual, Flame’s eyes flicked upward.
Wemmbu had never understood why Flame always seemed to glance up whenever they talked, as if there was something especially interesting about them that only Flame could see. But he usually just chalked it up to Flame being weird again.
Wemmbu, meanwhile, looked completely unaware as he crossed his arms and turned back toward the lecture.
“You are so strange,” he muttered.
Flame smiled to himself.
“Sure.”
Wemmbu looked over again.
“Why did you say it like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t believe me.”
“I believe you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do, bro. Pay attention.”
Wemmbu studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced.
"You know," Wemmbu whispered, "sometimes I think you just make things up to annoy me."
Flame hummed. “Sometimes.”
Wemmbu rolled his eyes and finally turned back toward the front of the lecture hall.
For the first time in several minutes, Flame allowed himself to relax.
Because the truth was, he didn’t actually know why he enjoyed this so much.
Maybe it was because everyone else seemed to take Wemmbu exactly as he presented himself — confident, sarcastic, impossible to bother. Maybe it was because there was something strangely satisfying about being the only person who could see through him.
Especially because Flame was starting to suspect that annoying Wemmbu was becoming his favorite part of the day.