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Chapter Text

Never in your first semester of university would you have thought that you would be in front of the president of the university because you got into a fight with the student council president.

A fistfight.

Now, you're standing in her office, shoes sinking into a plush carpet that probably costs more than your tuition, with your knuckles still aching and a faint bruise forming under your left eye, and you are sure your nose is broken.

Besides you, the student council president—Bela Dimitrescu. There's a split on her lower lip that you gave her, and you catch her dabbing at it with a tissue like it's your fault she didn't duck in time.

President Miranda sighs, leaning back in her chair; she studies you both coldly. You don't flinch, but you do raise a brow when you catch Bela's hands shaking.

"Is she seriously scared of President Miranda?"

Miranda: "Would either of you like to explain?"

Her voice is calm in that dangerous, too-even way that means she's already heard the story but wants to see if you'll lie.

Bela opens her mouth, but you beat her to it.

"She started it."

Bela scoffs—a sharp, incredulous sound.

Bela: "You're unbelievable. I said I didn't want your coffee...”

"You threw it away and told me I wanted to get in your pants!”

You snap, heat bubbling up again at the memory.

"It's perfectly good coffee that I bought with my money! Not everyone has Mommy's money like you!"

Bela looks enraged when you mention her mother, but her face turns pale when she sees President Miranda look at her; she looks down, staying quiet. You turn to President Miranda, who looks done with the two of you.

Miranda: "So you punched her."

"You know, she pinned me against the wall the other day, claiming I wanted to steal her position."

You add, crossing your arms.

"I stand by my choices."

Bela glares at you like she'd fight you all over again if the president weren't here. Miranda's eyes narrow just slightly—a flicker of annoyance. Her office is so quiet you swear you can hear the clock on the wall ticking off the seconds until your doom.

She lifts a hand, and Bela visibly flinches. It's small—a twitch of her shoulders—and it makes you pause, your anger cooling.

"What the fuck?"

You don't have time to think about it when Miranda speaks again.

Miranda: "Well, since Casey broke her arm. We need a new vice president to help Bela with all the tasks."

You blink.

"Wait. What?"

Bela's head snaps up so fast you hear the faint crack of her neck.

Bela: "Absolutely not—"

Miranda's hand lifts again, and Bela goes dead silent, jaw clenching so hard you're half-worried she'll break a tooth. Miranda continues.

Miranda: "The student body is already whispering about internal power struggles. I can't have the council looking fractured."

"So you're rewarding us for beating the shit out of each other with—what—a partnership?"

Miranda: "I'm giving you both a very public consequence."

She stands, looking at both of you with a stare that has your arm hairs raising.

Miranda: "You'll work together. Try to be civil with each other. And if you can't manage that, I will personally ensure you both disappear from this university."

Your throat tightens.

She means it.

And judging by the silence beside you, Bela knows it too.

Miranda: "Dismissed."

You both turn without another word. Bela storms out first. You follow slower, pressing a hand to your busted nose. You're halfway down the corridor when Bela spins on her heel to face you.

Bela: "You don't want this. So just say no and crawl back to whatever hole you came out of."

You look at her like she's stupid. Your place in this universe is literally at play, and it's not like you can pay to get into another one like her. You look up at her with a slight smirk while crossing your arms over your chest.

"Tempting, but I think I'll stay. Watching you pretend not to have a nervous breakdown in front of the whole school might be worth the paperwork."

Bela steps closer, her face inches from yours. Her lip is still bleeding. Her breath smells like peppermint.

Bela: "You think you know me?"

"No, but I know fear when I see it."

That strikes something. Her hand twitches like she wants to slap you. Instead, she turns and walks away.

You exhale.

This semester was supposed to be a fresh start.

Now you're the vice president of a student council led by a girl who might be one trigger away from snapping—and a president who might be scarier than both of you combined.

"Wonderful."

You walk into your dorm room after a trip to the nurse. Angie is passed out on the couch, and Daniela is watching TV when she turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Daniela: "Hey, how was council—holy shit, what happened to your face!?"

You groan, rubbing your forehead before turning to her and smiling half-heartedly.

"Your sister happened... this proves I don't have a crush on her, right? She's a bitch."

Daniela drops the remote with a dramatic clatter.

Daniela: "You fought Bela? Like, actual fists?!"

You flop down beside Angie, who grumbles in her sleep and shoves your elbow off her shoulder. You shift your weight, digging into the cushions with a sigh.

"Yep. And guess who's the new vice president?"

Daniela blinks at you like she's trying to understand a foreign language.

Daniela: "...You?"

You nod slowly. Daniela clutches a throw pillow like it's the only thing tethering her to reality.

Daniela: "You got promoted for punching my sister."

You shrug.

"Promoted, threatened, traumatized—depends how you spin it."

Daniela chuckles, a nervous smile on her face.

Daniela: "Do I need to hide you? Like, are you going to get kidnapped at night?"

You roll your eyes and toss a pillow at her, which she expertly dodges.

"Your sister is not that scary."

Daniela looks doubtful of your words but turns back to the TV. You groan, tipping your head back to stare at the ceiling. The painkillers are finally kicking in, dulling the throb in your knuckles and the aching pressure in your nose. The room is quiet except for the TV playing some over-dramatic vampire drama in the background. You close your eyes, hoping for just five minutes of peace—

Your phone buzzes.

With a groan, you pull it out and see the screen:Unknown Number.

You raise an eyebrow but answer anyway.

"Hello?"

Silence. Then a very familiar, irritated voice cuts through the line.

Bela: "Don't be late tomorrow. I'm not covering for you."

You scoff.

"You couldn't cover for me if you tried."

There's a pause. The sound of a breath, and then—click. The line goes dead. You looked at your phone screen, annoyed.

"How the fuck did she get my number?"

Daniela turns to you confused before she snorts.

Daniela: "Was that Bela?"

"Yeah..."

Daniela: "You're the vice president. She probably already has your dental records."

You look at her, deadpan.

"Comforting."

There's a silence and Daniela's expression slowly shifts. Her eyes narrow in a way that feels almost... calculating.

Daniela: "You really don't have a crush on her?"

You shoot her a look.

"I was literally bleeding because of her."

Daniela: "Yeah, but like, enemies-to-lovers bleeding, not I-hate-you bleeding."

You look at her dead serious.

"I would rather kill myself."

Daniela raises her hands in mock surrender, the corners of her mouth twitching like she's dying to say something worse.

Daniela: "Okay, fine. You'd rather... that. But like... I could be your sister-in-law?"

You chuck a pillow at her again, harder this time. It smacks into her face with a satisfying fwump.

Daniela: "Assault! I'm calling campus security!"

You're too tired to answer with anything but a middle finger as you drag yourself off the couch and into your room, shutting the door behind you. The silence is a relief. You lean against the door for a second, letting your head thunk softly against the wood.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow's going to suck.

Chapter Text

The Next Morning—Student Council Office

You are ten minutes early.

Out of spite.

You're not sure if it's out of spite for Bela, President Miranda, or yourself, but here you are, standing in front of the student council office with your face still sore. You're holding a coffee cup—not for her, never again—but for yourself. Black. No sugar. Like your will to live at this point.

The door creaks open before you can knock.

Bela stands there, hair perfectly in place, lip no longer bleeding but still scabbed. Her clothing is pristine, her glare sharper than ever.

Bela: "You're early."

You take a slow sip of your coffee, not breaking eye contact.

"Disappointed?"

She doesn't respond. Just turns and walks back inside, leaving the door open for you to enter. The room is far too clean, papers stacked with precision. A big whiteboard dominates the wall, half-covered in color-coded tasks.

You're pretty sure there's a list labeled 'Fools I Must Make Suffer' in the corner. You wouldn't be surprised if your name is at the top.

Bela is at the desk. She slaps a folder down in front of you when you sit down.

Bela: "We have budgets that we need to prepare for each club."

You groan theatrically.

"I'd rather be in a coma."

Bela: "No one's stopping you."

You glance at her. Her voice is flat, but there's something else in her eyes. Exhaustion, maybe. Something quieter than rage, but heavier.

You almost feel bad.

Almost.

By 12, one hour before your first class, you're knee-deep in planning spreadsheets and have developed a suspicious tick in your left eye. Everyone else is already here and working, but it's still too quiet. Bela hasn't spoken to you in hours, which would be a blessing if she weren't occasionally sighing like you personally invented incompetence.

When she finally does speak, it's without looking up.

Bela: "You can't use Comic Sans for the budget report. Are you five?"

You see Jasmine side-eyeing you, but you don't bother to hide your grin.

"Is that what's been bothering you this whole time, princess? The font?"

You feel more eyes on you. Bela looks up slowly.

Bela: "I'm going to strangle you."

You lean back in your chair, stretching your arms over your head.

"Kinky."

She throws a stapler at you. It misses by a blessed inch and hits the wall with a thunk. You look around; everyone looks concerned, but not for you. They glance at Bela, who just sighs and sits back down, going back to work.

Later, you're walking to your next class with Daniela. Your feet are dragging from exhaustion.

"I think I'm going to die."

Daniela snorts. The sunlight is far too bright for the state of your soul. She is the sunlight.

Daniela: "I can't believe the English professor left us such a big assignment so early in the semester."

You clutch your coffee cup—your third of the day—like it's the only thing keeping you in this mortal plane.

"I've been in that office since sunrise. I watched the life leave my own eyes in the reflection of Bela's whiteboard."

?: "What are you guys doing?"

You roll your eyes hearing Bela's voice.

"Holy fuck, I summon her."

Daniela laughs, and you sigh, turning to look at Bela. You watch her walk towards the two of you.

"I'm talking Daniela into joining the Illuminati. You wanna join?"

Bela doesn't even blink. She stops next to you, arms crossed, eyebrow arched with that signature expression she wears like perfume—judgmental and vaguely threatening.

Bela: "You are not funny. Get away from Daniela if you're going to get her into trouble."

You stare at Bela for a long moment, blinking slowly.

"I was joking; we're literally just walking to class."

Bela: "The only class you two have together is English."

You open your mouth and then close it. You look at Daniela, who just shrugs. You turn back to Bela, a concerned look on your face.

"It's creepy that you even know that."

Bela doesn't answer. She just looks at you like you're the weird one for pointing out that she's weird. She gives you one last look, not even acknowledging Daniela, before turning and walking off in the opposite direction.

Later That Night—Student Council Office

You're not sure how it happened, but somehow your chair has become part of a makeshift nap pile made of abandoned council hoodies, a beanbag, and two empty Red Bull cans. You're half-asleep, drooling slightly onto a file folder labeled Drama Club—Emergency Equipment Budget when Bela nudges your foot with hers.

Bela: "You're drooling on public funds."

You grunt and swat in her direction without opening your eyes.

“Tell the Dram Club to deal with it. They're resilient. It's all the betrayal practice."

She's quiet for a moment. You hear the rustle of moving papers and then typing on a computer.

Bela: "You know they tried to expense a fog machine and a coffin?"

Your eyes crack open just enough to look at her.

"They're doing Dracula?"

Bela: "Romeo and Juliet."

You sit up, blinking slowly.

"What the fuck? That makes no sense.”

Bela sighs. She's still typing, fingers flying across the keyboard. The room is dim now, lit mostly by the soft desk lamp she brought in from home. You're fairly certain it's one of those daylight-mimicking ones. Expensive, like everything she owns.

You watch her in the low light for a moment too long.

She looks tired. Not the kind of tired you are—grimy, caffeine-addled, run-down. Hers is a quieter kind of exhaustion, the kind that sits in your bones and builds up over time. Her perfect posture has slumped, her blazer's on the back of her chair, and you can see the faint outline of a stress mark between her brows.

She notices you staring.

Bela: "What?"

You: "Do you ever sleep?"

Bela: "Do you ever shut up?"

You smile faintly, too tired to come up with a good comeback.

"Touché."

You don't sleep well that night—not because of Bela or the paperwork.

No. You dream about staplers.

But fortunately or unfortunately, you're woken up by your phone buzzing. You grab your phone and groggily look at the caller ID.

Unknown Number.

You already know who this is. You answer.

"Hello?"

A pause. Then:

Bela: "Your math on the club budget was off by four dollars."

You groan, flopping onto your pillow.

"So glad you called at 3 AM to tell me that."

Bela: "You forgot to round up on the culinary club's new kitchenware. I fixed it."

You blink at the ceiling.

"...Thanks?"

Another pause.

Then, softer:

Bela: "Don't make the council look incompetent."

You sigh.

"Don't worry. That's your job."

She doesn't laugh... Obviously.

But she also doesn't hang up.

And for some reason, neither do you.

There's silence, but it's not uncomfortable. It's weirdly... aware. You can hear her breathing faintly on the other end, steady and controlled in a way that makes you think she's lying on her bed, probably back straight against her headboard, fully clothed like she doesn't understand how to relax even in her own room.

You shift on your side and stare at the wall.

"Do you always call people this late?"

Bela: "No."

You hum.

"So I'm special."

Bela: "You're a liability."

That makes you laugh softly.

"Same thing."

She exhales—not quite a sigh, more like something between frustration and resignation. 

"Are you seriously still working?"

Bela: "Of course."

You roll your eyes even though she can't see it.

"It's three in the morning, Bela. I'm pretty sure even your blood type is an A4 spreadsheet."

You hear her groan, which makes you smirk. She really doesn't like joking around.

Bela: “Okay, I'm going to hang up now.”

"Bummer."

There's a click, and the line goes dead.

Chapter Text

At Night—In A Party

"Jesus, how many people do you know, Daniela?"

Daniela high-fives some more friends she recognizes. She grins at you and sits beside you on a couch from the party you are currently in.

Daniela: "I'm friendly."

You raise an eyebrow, smiling at her.

"You're a public menace."

She chuckles, throwing her arms over your shoulder and pulling you closer.

Daniela: "Come on, it's good to have connections. Especially when you're tied to someone like Bela."

You groan, laying against her.

"I'm not tied to her. I'm punished with her."

Daniela sighs, looking at the ceiling in thought.

Daniela: "I wish I was tied to her too. She's my sister; I miss her, you know."

You twist to look at her, her arm still slung lazily over your shoulder. Her usual smile has faded; it throws you off.

"She doesn't hang out with you, not even a text?"

Daniela shrugs, her eyes scanning the party like she's searching for someone to distract herself with.

Daniela: "No... She doesn't even come to family dinners anymore or answer mine and Cassie's texts. We're worried."

"Well now I'm fucking worried too."

"I'll bring her back."

Daniela: "What?"

"What?"

You look just as shocked as Daniela; those words just slipped from your mouth without you thinking.

Daniela: "You'll bring her back?"

You frown.

"I didn't mean it like—like a hostage situation or something."

She snorts.

Daniela: "Oh good. Because I'm pretty sure that's illegal."

You glance away, rubbing the back of your neck.

"I just meant... there's clearly something wrong with her, but she shouldn't be alone in it. Especially not with how she shuts everyone out. I don't get it, but... I don't want her to push you away, especially since you really seem to care about her."

Daniela's expression softens before she snorts, bumping your shoulder gently with hers.

Daniela: "You like her."

Your eyes snap to hers, a clear frown on your face.

"I hate her."

Daniela laughs out loud, putting her hands on your shoulder.

Daniela: "To be honest, she probably doesn't tolerate you either."

You raise a hand to your chest in mock offense.

"I am incredibly tolerable. Just ask anyone who's ever punched me in the face."

Daniela snickers, and Angie finally comes around, passing us some drinks.

Angie: "What did I miss?"

Daniela: "She's going to kidnap Bela."

"I did not fucking say that!"

At 4 AM—???

Your body aches all over, and your stomach churns as you sit up. You rub the blur out of your vision, feeling something slip off your back. You turn around and see a dark blue blanket. You groan, covering your face with your hands as you rest against the table. You don't remember last night, but you must have managed to get back to—you look around.

"Oh, what the fuck?"

You're not in your room. You were sleeping on the student council chair, laying your head on the hard table. In front of you were stacks of newly finished paperwork you don't remember printing.

"Did I do that?"

You barely questioned yourself before looking at the blanket. You pick it up slowly. Soft. Dark blue. Smells faintly like jasmine with a hint of gooseberry. Oh, you hate how you know who it belongs to just based on the smell. You blink at it with all the disappointment in the world.

"...No,"

 You mutter to yourself.

 "Absolutely not."

You toss it off like it personally offended you and immediately regret it because the air in the office is cold and your head is spinning. You drop it over your shoulders again.

And that's when the door opens.

You stiffen.

Bela: "I'm glad you're awake. You were snoring, and it was distracting."

You don't respond right away. Your brain is still catching up with your body, which is still catching up with whatever the hell happened last night.

"Did I say anything stupid while I was drunk?"

Bela blinks at you, an annoyed look taking over her face, before turning her back to you and typing on her computer.

"I don't think you're mean; you have sad eyes."

Bela: "No, you didn't."

You squint at her suspiciously, still wrapped in her blanket like a burrito of shame.

"You're sure I didn't say anything embarrassing?"

Bela doesn't look up from her computer.

Bela: "Besides snoring like a freight train? No."

You pull the blanket tighter around you, trying not to let your hangover mind betray you. The air in the room is still cold, and the quiet hum of the office feels unusually soft. You glance down at the printed paperwork in front of you—neat, organized, and horrifyingly well done.

"I definitely didn't do all this."

Bela: "You did. It's quite annoying that you work better drunk."

You groan and let your forehead thunk gently against the table. It feels deserved. Like a penance.

"God. That's so embarrassing."

Bela: "It should be."

You turn your head just enough to look at her from where your cheek is smushed against the wood.

"You're lucky. I don't remember anything. I'd be so much more annoying right now."

Bela: "You already are."

You shift in your seat, squinting at one of the papers you apparently organized with the manic precision of a drunk accountant.

"I think I blacked out in the middle of filing club logistics and budgeting for the chess club."

Bela: "You labeled it, 'Checkmate, nerds.'"

You groan louder, curling deeper into the blanket like it might erase you from existence.

"That sounds like me. So, how much of this am I going to have to redo once I sober up?"

Bela doesn't answer immediately. She's still typing. Finally, she replies without looking up.

Bela: "Two pages."

You lift your head off the table just enough to grimace.

"Out of how many?"

She pauses.

Bela: "Thirty-six."

You blink.

"...Huh."

Bela: "Don't look so surprised. You're annoying, not incompetent."

You look at her. She looks... vulnerable. A little tired, a little brittle around the edges, like you could tap too hard and she might actually crack.

So, of course, you say.

"Thanks, Princess Spreadsheet."

She glares again.

There she is.

Bela: "I take it back."

"Too late. We're bonding now. This is a legally binding emotional breakthrough."

Bela: "I really should've hit you with the stapler.

"Butcha didn't."

The Next Morning—At The Dorm

You are dying. You don't even think you can get up from bed. You groan, mumbling a thank you when Daniela walks in to leave you oranges by your bedside drawer. Angie insists you can drink the flu away, which makes you throw a pillow that completely misses her. All you know is that you aren't drinking ever again. You spend the weekend lying in bed. Monday comes and you still don't feel better, so you lie in bed trying to sleep; however, your phone keeps buzzing incessantly. You groan, roll over, and notice it's all from Unknown Number.

"Fucking Bela..."

You set your phone in airplane mode and finally stand up slowly, but you don't plan on going anywhere; you grab a bunch of blankets and pillows and head to the living room.

You build a blanket fort.

You are nestled under three chairs, a drying rack, and one of Daniela's yoga mats, surrounded by fuzzy blankets and a suspicious number of throw pillows. You've got tissues shoved in your sleeves and a half-eaten pack of crackers on your chest with your computer in front of you. You cough once and crack your knuckles.

"Okay, let's get to work."

Just as you say that, someone opens the door. You peek your head out and see Bela, who is staring right back at you.

Bela: "What are you—"

"Just shut up and get in the fucking blanket fort."

Chapter Text

Still Morning—At The Dorm

So here you were under the blankets with Bela as you tiredly tried to work on paperwork. You groan, regretting everything in your life.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but your elbow is digging into my side."

Bela shifts beside you, clearly uncomfortable in the cramped fort. She gives you a look like you're personally responsible for every inconvenience in her life.

Bela: "I'm not sure if you're aware, but you're the one who forced me in here."

You sniffle dramatically, pulling your blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"This is a work-positive, plague-friendly zone. Stop complaining."

She huffs, shifting her elbow off you—barely—and starts scribbling on the printed pages spread across the two of you. Her hair brushes your shoulder every time she leans over. There's a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of your sniffles. Bela's eyes flick to your laptop.

Bela: "Are you actually working?"

"Trying to."

You show your work on your computer to her.

"But my brain keeps buffering."

Bela sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose, and finally caves. She pulls your laptop onto her lap.

Bela: "Scoot over. If you're going to do it wrong, I may as well do it myself."

You grin, sliding closer to her in the cramped fort until your shoulder brushes her arm. She pretends not to notice, though her posture stiffens slightly.

"You're going to catch my cold, you know?"

You say, voice all fake-innocent. Bela doesn't look at you. Her eyes stay locked on the screen, her fingers already moving faster than your half-dead brain could ever manage.

Bela: "Shut up."

You watch her type, half-amused, half-dozing. Eventually, your eyelids droop, and your head tips sideways until it lands, very ungracefully, on Bela's shoulder.

Bela freezes mid-keystroke. She angles her eyes down at you, her eyebrow twitching like she's trying very hard to decide whether it's worth it to shove you off or just accept her fate.

You don't move. You're warm and miserable, and her blazer makes a decent pillow.

Bela: "You're drooling on my shirt."

"M'not drooling..."

You say it, but you're not really awake anymore. Bela shifts, probably to push you off, but you feel her pause. And then, weirdly, you feel the blanket adjust over your shoulders.

Later—Blanket Fort

The smell of chicken soup wakes you up. You blearily crack one eye open, disoriented for a moment by the warm weight still draped over your shoulders. You realize you're half-sprawled in the fort, half-suffocating under the blankets, and the faint clink of a spoon against a pot makes you peek out of the fort. You see Bela in the kitchen pouring a bowl of soup. You slowly get out of the fort. Bela glances at you over her shoulder. You squint at her, voice hoarse.

"...Done with the work?"

Bela doesn't answer you right away. She just sets the bowl down on the counter.

Bela: "Done. Mostly."

You squint at her, slowly walking to the counter.

"You did my work for me. That's nepotism."

Bela: "You're not related to me."

"Could be. If you married me."

It's out before you can stop it—sleep-deprived brain, loose lips. Your eyes widen just a little too late.

Bela blinks.

Once. Slowly. Like her brain is rebooting.

You immediately regret everything.

"...I didn't mean—"

Bela: "You're delirious."

You rub your eyes and give her a thumbs up.

"Yup. High fever. Stupid. Zero shame."

Bela stares at you for a beat too long, an unimpressed look on her face. She pushes the bowl toward you with just a little more force than necessary, the ceramic scraping against the counter.

Bela: "Just eat the soup. I need you to get better, and soon."

You wrap your hands around the warm bowl of soup, letting the steam rise and sting your face. Your head is still fuzzy.

"Did you make it all for me?"

Bela snores.

Bela: "Of course, I had no choice but to. I don't trust store-bought crap."

You take your first sip. It's actually... good. Like, really good. Savory, rich, homemade kind of good. You hate how comforting it is. You hate how it makes your chest feel warm in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

"I hate how good this is."

You mumble into your spoon.

Bela: "Good. Suffer."

You swallow, leaning against the counter.

"So let me get this straight—you broke into my dorm, climbed into a blanket fort, did my paperwork, and made me soup..."

Bela turns to face you, arms crossed, expression dull.

Bela: "You were dying. You clearly needed adult supervision."

You squint at her, a little annoyed.

"We're the same age."

Bela doesn't miss a beat.

Bela: "Age is irrelevant when the maturity gap is this wide."

Your eye twitches, and you hum, scraping the spoon again on the bowl on purpose.

"I wouldn't be in this university if I were a fucking immature idiot."

You snap, looking up at Bela. She pauses, staring at you; her face seems to suddenly drain of emotions. It throws you off and makes you realize that there's definitely something wrong with her.

Bela: "Don't make a habit of this."

You scoff.

"What, being an idiot?"

Bela: "...Needing me."

You blink at her. That one hits harder than it should. Your body stiffens when you realize that it actually hurt your feelings. You cared. And once you care, you're fucked.

"Dammit."

Maybe it's because you're sick, but your voice cracks.

"I don't fucking need you."

You hate being sick; it makes you vulnerable. Emotional. For a moment, the kitchen is completely silent. You look down at the soup bowl, biting the inside of your cheek.

Bela doesn't say anything.

You wish she would. You wish she'd roll her eyes or tell you to stop being dramatic, just like your parents did back home. Something that'll give you a reason to be this mad.

But instead—she just stares at you. Quite. Still. Like she's calculating whether she's allowed to speak without breaking something.

You hate that she looks like that.

You hate that you look like this.

You scoff softly, trying to claw back some distance—emotional, physical, or whatever.

"I didn't ask you to come here. You can leave."

You look down at the bowl. You don't want to look at her. You can't. Your chest feels tight, and your throat burns. You hear her footsteps; you think she was walking out of the dorm. Then, without a word, she turns you around to face her, her hands on your shoulders, closing the space between you, her shadow falling over you. Her voice is low, quieter than usual, but laced with something dangerous.

Bela: "I'm not leaving. Not until you finish your soup."

You stare at her.

She's so close.

Too close.

So you pull away from her with a scoff.

"Fine."

You take the bowl from the counter and pour it all in your mouth. You swallow, then set the bowl down with a quiet clink. You meet her eyes again.

"You're a pain in the ass; can you leave now... please?"

Bela lingers. For a second, you think she might fight you on it.

But instead, she walks to the door.

And leaves. You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, and rub your face with your hands, frustrated.

"God, I hate her..."

Chapter Text

Later That Night—Dorm Room

You're leaning on the counter. The soup did help—at least your head isn't spinning quite as violently anymore, but you cringe as you keep replaying what you said. "I don't fucking need you," you wish you could take it back. Or maybe you don't. You groan and stomp back to your blanket fort. You crawl back in, pull every blanket over your head, and pretend you're alone on the moon.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again. And again. And again.

You rip it out from under your pillow, ready to throw it across the room—but you pause when you see the name.

It's not Unknown Number anymore. It's Bela.

"I saved it. When the hell did I save it?"

The notification is simple.

[Bela]
Eat something else before you sleep.

"Oh, fuck off."

You stare at her text for longer than you want to admit, thumb hovering over the screen. You type out, "I'm fine, go away." Then you delete it. Then you type, "Stop bossing me around." Delete. You settle on: "I can't stand you."

You hit send before you can talk yourself out of it, toss your phone somewhere into the blankets, and bury yourself in the pillows screaming.

The Next Day

You drag yourself out of bed because Daniela threatens to physically drag you if you don't. She plops a bag of cough drops and some suspiciously bright vitamins onto your desk. Angie throws you a water bottle and tells you she'll break your kneecaps if you don't hydrate.

It's stupid how much it makes your chest hurt. Being looked after.

You trudge through classes like a ghost. You catch yourself glancing at every corner you round, half-expecting Bela to pop out of thin air, but you are not ignoring her, definitely not.

You're in the library later, hunched over your laptop, squinting at the unfinished assignments. You keep replaying the kitchen scene, which is the last thing you want to think about.

You tap your pen against your cheek. Then you tap your foot. You wish Daniela and Angie were here to distract you. The hours tick by, and the library goes from being crowded to near empty. As you're almost finished with your assignments, you look up when a shadow falls over you.

"Hello, can I help you? I'm kind of busy if you didn't notice."

Mia: "You're the vice president, right? I'm Mia."

You squint at the girl standing in front of your table. You don't know why, but she makes you feel uneasy. You arch a brow at her, closing your laptop half an inch.

"Mia, huh. Congratulations."

Your voice drips dry sarcasm. You're tired, raw from your own brain screaming about Bela. You really wish you could knock yourself out right now. Mia doesn't flinch at your sarcasm. Instead, she gives you a smile. She leans in just a bit and plants her palms on the edge of the table.

Mia: "I actually came to speak with you about the upcoming council election."

You blink at Mia. Your brain scrambles to connect the dots.

"The... election?"

You repeat, voice flat. Mia's smile doesn't waver. If anything, it sharpens.

Mia: "Yeah, I've decided that I want to join."

"What position?"

Mia: "Secretary."

She laughs. You raise your eyebrow; you don't see what's so funny about slaving away in the student council.

Mia: "Sorry. It's just that as secretary I'll get to work more closely with Bela. It would be scandalous if something were to happen between us."

That does something unpleasant to your chest. You look down at your hands, flexing your fingers to hide the way they want to curl in on themselves.

"Calm down; you're not punching anyone today."

You lean back in your chair, forcing an indifferent tilt to your head.

"Huh. Scandalous. Is that your strategy?"

Mia doesn't flinch. She shrugs one shoulder like she's sharing a harmless secret.

Mia: "It's politics, Vice President. Don't tell me you haven't noticed how sexy and hot she is when she's frustrated."

You clench your pen so tight the plastic squeaks.

"...Careful. You're close to implying you'd distract my president from actual work."

Mia's eyes flash, just for a split second, then she laughs, high and sweet, drawing the attention of a few scattered students.

Mia: "You're cute. I can see why she bothers with you."

That lands.

You stand up abruptly, chair scraping against the old carpet. Mia doesn't flinch—she just watches you. You lean in close enough that you can smell her, and it makes you scowl.

"Bela doesn't bother with me. We work together. You should learn the difference before you try crawling into her pants.”

It irritates you how she just smiles at you, tapping her nails against the desk.

"Don't you dare sexualize her. She's not some fucking prize to be won."

She chuckles, leaning forward just enough that her perfume—something sugary and cheap—curls around you unpleasantly.

Mia: "Relax, Vice President. It's all harmless, isn't it? I mean... unless you're worried I might win her over."

She's enjoying this. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. You force your voice calm—cold—the way Bela does when she's had enough.

"Try it. See how far you get. But if you use her or drag her name through whatever petty game you're playing."

You pause. You can feel your heart hammering against your ribs—it's stupid how much heat burns in your throat.

"I'll bury your reputation so deep you'll have to change your name to crawl back out."

Mia's smile finally twitches. The corner of her mouth twitches down, just for a second. Then she straightens up.

Mia: "So protective. You should be careful, Vice President. You don't want people to get the wrong idea."

She lets that hang there and turns on her heel, walking away.

You stand there for a moment, knuckles white on the table edge. Then you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You sit back down heavily, burying your face in your hands. You hate the fact that Mia's words got under your skin so easily.

You shove your laptop back into your bag and head out of the library without looking back.

Later That Night—Dorm Room

You slam your bag onto your nightstand the second you get back to your room, the zipper catching on something and half-spilling your notes all over the floor. You don't even bother to pick them up. You just stand there, breathing hard, Mia's voice echoing in your head like a mosquito that won't die.

"Scandalous if something were to happen between us."

"So protective."

You mutter to yourself as you sink down onto your bed, palms pressed to your temples.

"God, she's insufferable. She doesn't even know Bela."

Your phone buzzes. You jump. It's not Bela this time—it's Daniela.

[Daniela]
Angie says she saw you walking around campus like you were prepared to kill somebody. You good?

You bark out a laugh, thumbs flying.

[You]
I'm fine. I'm just going to pass out. Promise.

[Daniela]
We care about you. Please don't make us worried.

You stare at Daniela's last text until your screen goes dark. You toss the phone onto your nightstand and cover yourself with a blanket sinking into bed, trying to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The Next Morning—In The Dorm

Well, apparently the elections are here. You hate that you know this because of Mia. You wake up bright and early printing posters and sending emails. You decide to run for vice president since you texted Casey about it, and she told you that she doesn't plan to ever step foot in the council ever again.

"Okay then... I wonder how Bela—"

You pause and sigh, pretending she didn't come to your mind before getting to work on writing up a speech and thinking about what questions people will ask after it. The more you think about it, the more stressed out you get. Daniela and Angie notice this and come to your rescue.

Angie: "Hey roomie, how about you let us help?"

You look up from the growing chaos on your desk.

"With what?"

Daniela: "Your posters. We can hang those up for you and make it a bit easier for you to focus on your other stuff."

You chuckle, giving them a tired smile.

"You guys are great. Thank you."

They leave with the posters and tape. You get back to work on the speech and preparing for questions, and without having to worry about hanging posters everywhere on campus, it goes like a breeze.

Later The Same Day—Student Center

You walk through the student center to check out the vending machines and pause when you see Bela walking in the hallway, struggling with stacks of posters. It looks like she's printed too many, and stray ones keep falling. It's clearly irritating her, given the annoyed flush to her cheeks and the growl of frustration every time a new sheet falls down. Knowing she won't ask for help, you walk towards her and pick up the stray sheets. She pauses watching you, and instead of glaring at you when you offer them back, she just takes the sheets with a smile.

Bela: "Good to see you stopped ignoring me."

"What the fuck? Since when does she smile?"

That smile—small, tired—it does something embarrassing to the inside of your ribs. You clear your throat, stepping back half a pace like it'll help keep your brain from short-circuiting.

"Sorry about the other day at the dorm... It was childish."

You shift your weight from foot to foot, your eyes fixed on the posters still hanging halfway out of Bela's overburdened arms.

Bela: "It's fine. I'm just glad you're finally here."

You pause for a moment before looking up at Bela. It's the softest thing she has said to you ever. You stand there, dumbstruck, before tilting your head, a smirk on your face.

"Did you miss me, Madam President?"

Bela arches a brow at your teasing tone. She doesn't answer you right away—she just shifts the stack of posters in her arms.

Bela: "You wish."

You roll your eyes at her deflection, but you can't fight the dumb grin tugging at your mouth. You gesture at the mess of posters in her arms.

"Need help with those, or are you planning to scatter them around campus like breadcrumbs?"

Bela opens her mouth—probably to bite back—but a corner of one of the stacks slips out of her grasp, fluttering to the floor. You don't wait for her to protest; you bend down, snatch up the fallen sheets, and tug half the stack from her arms before she can argue.

Bela: "I don't need—"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't need help. But you have help, so get over it."

She clicks her tongue but doesn't take the stack back. Instead, she turns and starts walking, motioning for you to follow her. You do.

"You know, if you don't win, I'm dropping out. No point sticking around if I'm not vice president to your president."

Bela scoffs, though she doesn't bother glancing back at you as the two of you fall into step side by side.

Bela: "Don't be ridiculous. You'd find some other excuse to cling to this place."

You shrug, balancing the stack of posters on one hip as you catch up to her stride.

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm just dedicated to the cause."

Bela: "The 'cause'? Which one? Annoying me into an early grave?"

You grin.

"Maybe."

Ten Minutes Later—Bulletin Board

You're both crouched awkwardly in front of one of the main campus bulletin boards. Bela's wrestling with a rogue corner of tape that won't stick to the cork. You hold the bottom edge of the poster in place while she struggles with the top.

Bela: "Hold it steady."

"You hold it steady."

She whips her head down to glare at you—except you're way too close, and the glare lands an inch from your face. Her eyes flick to your mouth for half a second before she catches herself, looking back up at the poster.

Bela: "Stop talking."

"Make me."

She tries to tape the last corner down with one hand while elbowing you with the other. The poster immediately peels back off the board. You both groan at the same time.

"We suck."

Bela glares at you.

Bela: "No, you suck."

You chuckle looking at her.

"And you shallow."

Bela elbows you again, but you laugh when she doesn't even do it hard enough to actually hurt. For a second you just stare at each other, and you feel your ears burning up.

Bela: "You talk too much when you're nervous."

You scoff.

"Who says I'm nervous?"

Bela finishes pressing the tape down, then pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. She raises a single eyebrow—and that's worse than anything she could say. She knows you are nervous. Of course she knows.

She drops her hand from the board and steps back, dusting her palms.

Bela: "Come on, we're done here, but we still have council work."

You stand there for a second, rolling your eyes at the ceiling like it might grant you patience. Then you follow her down the hallway.

Council Room—Moments Later

The room smells faintly of coffee and old paper. You plop down on your seat. A throat clears behind you. You freeze—half-twisted in your seat—and turn to see Bela. She's holding two coffees.

Bela: "Here, you're going to need it."

She sets one coffee down in front of you. You stare at it. Then at her.

"...You made me coffee?"

Bela: "Don't make it a thing."

"It is a thing. You hate using the coffee machine from here."

Bela: "It tastes horrible, so don't complain."

You grin and take the coffee. It's warm. It smells awful, like cheap burnt espresso and too much sugar, but you don't care.

"You like me."

Bela: "I regret everything."

You sip it. It's vile. You love it.

"You can regret it later. We have work to do, Princess."

Bela's eyes flick to yours.

Bela: "...Don't call me that here."

You lean back in your chair, smug.

"Whatever you say. Boss."

She rolls her eyes, a small smile forming on her lips. Then she reaches out and flicks your forehead, not hard enough to hurt but sharp enough to feel.

Bela: "Shut up."

You flinch dramatically, half-laughing, half-wincing.

"Abuse. I'm telling the student council president."

Bela: "I am the student council president."

"Unbelievable corruption."

She lets out a loud sigh, and you grin at her, sipping your coffee.

Evening—Dorm Hallway

You're shuffling down the hallway toward your room with a stack of almost finished paperwork under your arm. Bela is right beside you, silent. Neither of you offered to say goodnight when you left the council room—you both just... kept walking together. She doesn't even sleep in these dorms.

When you reach your door, you shift the stack awkwardly to get your key out. Bela watches you struggle, unimpressed.

Bela: "Hopeless."

You stick your tongue out at her like a child.

She lets out an exasperated sigh, like she's holding back a smile. Then she reaches out, plucks the key from your hand, and unlocks your door for you. You just stand there, halfway leaning against the doorframe.

"Do you want to come in?"

It's out before you can think about it. It's not loaded—not really—but the question hangs there anyway.

Bela lifts an eyebrow, a slow grin curling up at the corner of her mouth.

Bela: "Are you building another plague fort?"

You shrug.

"Maybe. No plague this time though."

Bela hums like she's weighing your offer. Then she looks past you—into your dorm as if checking if anyone else is inside.

"Daniela is out with Angie at a party."

Her eyes snap back to yours. You grin. She rolls her eyes and walks past you straight into your room without another word.

An Hour Later—Inside Your Room

You're both on the floor—not quite a blanket fort, but there is a pillow barrier and a comforter draped over your shoulders. Bela sits cross-legged next to you, a stack of finished paperwork on her knee, a highlighter in her hand.

You're leaning over your laptop trying to tweak your speech for the election some more. Every so often you read a line out loud, and every so often Bela just says "No."

It's infuriating.

Bela: "That part sounds redundant. Cut it."

"You're redundant."

Bela: "Cut it."

You drop your head onto her shoulder dramatically. She tries to shrug you off—fails—and sighs instead, reaching to shove your face away with her palm.

You don't budge.

"Hey. Hey, boss lady."

Bela: "Stop."

"Thank you for helping me."

She goes very still. You hear her breathe out softly.

Bela: "Whatever."

You pull back just enough to see her face—and you're closer than you meant to be, close enough that her breath hits your cheek. She's looking at you, and you feel something warm in your chest.

"If I win, you owe me dinner."

Bela scoffs.

Bela: "If you win, I'll buy you a steak. But only if you shut up and fix your speech."

You grin. She elbows you in the ribs—you yelp—and the warmth in your chest doesn't go anywhere.

Chapter Text

In The Morning—In The Dorm

You are making breakfast for your roommates, who seem to have a huge hangover. They both lean against the counter as Daniela tells you about how someone pushed Jasmine out of the window during a party.

Daniela: "She's alive but in the hospital."

You flip the eggs with a sigh. Behind you, the coffee machine wheezes. You pour three mugs and slide one in front of Daniela and another one to Angie, who just groans; you blow on your coffee before taking a sip.

"So? Who pushed her?"

Daniela shrugs, nose scrunching as she tries to remember.

Daniela: "No clue. It was so crowded. Could've been an accident."

You put your cup down, finally turning off the pan. You pour the eggs onto plates and slide them in front of Daniela and Angie. You look at the blond who's still slumped on the counter like a corpse.

"Hey, zombie. Eat."

Angie grunts, opens one eye, and drags the plate closer with the enthusiasm of roadkill. You're not really paying attention, though—your mind's stuck on what Daniela said about Jasmine.

"Well, Jasmine was the only one who was running for secretary apart from Mia, so I guess. Mia is guaranteed to win… how convenient."

You frown before turning to the sink and start cleaning the pan to keep your hands busy. You can feel Daniela and Angie side-eyeing each other over their coffee.

Later—In The Council Room

The room is packed. People are sitting on the raised seats, and it almost makes you feel like you are in a Roman forum, about to argue for why you shouldn't be exiled.

"I'm going to throw up."

Bela sees you and grabs you by the shoulder. You flinch anyway, nerves sizzling under your skin like a lit match.

Bela: "Scared?"

You look up at her, letting out a scoff.

"Who? Me? Please."

You cross your arms over your chest.

Bela: "You'll be fine. Just... speak like you're talking to me. Minus the sarcasm."

You glance at her sideways.

"So... like, I'm dying."

She sighs, giving you a small smile.

Bela: "You'll do great. Plus I won't let your opponent win. Trust me."

"Why does that sound vaguely threatening?"

Before you can question it, the debate mediator speaks.

Debate Mediator: "Everyone, the election will start soon!"

When it does start, Bela goes up first. You watch her present her speech, finding yourself sighing in awe. She looks amazing, wearing a blue suit jacket and pants with a button-up shirt. Her hair is done up with a golden pin holding it into a bun. But the way she talks so confidently and the grace with which she presents her words is what gets you.

"How is she so amazing?"

When she finishes her speech, people applaud, and then she answers the proctor's question without breaking a sweat.

"Oh fuck, I'm up next."

Your opponent is a junior named Finch. You haven't seen them around campus before, and you have no idea how good they are at student council business.

You stand behind the podium, heart hammering in your chest. The faces in the crowd blur for a second—until you spot Daniela and Angie in the back row, flailing their arms like maniacs. Daniela does a dramatic thumbs-up. Angie mouths, "Don't suck!"

You bark a laugh under your breath.

You adjust the mic stand with trembling fingers. It squeaks. You wince. You clear your throat, gripping the edge of the podium.

"Hi. I'm... clearly not great with microphones."

A ripple of laughter. Not too much—but just enough to take the edge off.

You swallow hard and glance sideways. Bela's sitting near the front now, legs crossed, arms folded. She's watching you—direct, focused, like you're the only person in the room.

You try not to drown in that look.

"I don't have a perfect resume. I'm not going to stand here and list off five thousand accomplishments or pretend I've been planning for this since birth. I'm here because I care."

Your voice steadies. You keep going.

"I care about the student body actually being heard, not just checked off on a clipboard. I care about fixing the messed-up funding system that prioritizes outdated clubs and ignores new voices. I care about transparency, about accountability."

You glance quickly at Bela, your mouth twitching.

"And about making sure our president doesn't overwork herself into a coma."

Another laugh from the crowd, louder this time. Even Bela cracks a smile. You keep going, more confident now, letting the words come. The rest of your speech goes smoothly. You finish, breathless. The applause starts as a hesitant ripple—then grows, building around you. You blink, stunned. In the crowd, Daniela jumps up to whistle. Angie yells something you can't even decipher, but it sounds obscene and vaguely supportive.

Then the questions come, and you have to say you weren't as smooth as you would like but you were decent. You step down, heart pounding, your face flushed with adrenaline.

Bela meets you at the edge of the stage. You brace for a sarcastic comment.

Bela: "You were great."

You blink.

"...That's it? No snide remark? No jab?"

Bela: "Later."

She reaches out and smooths your collar. It's not even messed up. She just does it.

Bela: "For now, you did good."

You stare at her, stunned. The words settle in your chest like warm honey. You don't know what to say, so you just mutter, "Thanks."

The rest of the speeches go by in a blur. Finch is decent—more polished than you, more practiced. You lean back in your seat and sneak a glance at Bela. She catches you.

Bela: "Stop staring."

Later That Evening—Council Room, Post-Debate

The last speech finished. There's applause, polite and tired. The debate mediator thanks everyone and announces that the votes will be tallied by tomorrow morning.

Just like that, it's over.

Sort of.

You freeze when someone clears their throat behind you and Bela.

Finch.

Finch: "Hey. That was a good speech."

You blink, surprised. You didn't think someone could have a more monotone voice than Bela when you first met her... you were wrong, and for some reason their eyes seem to really attract you.

"Thanks. Yours was... uh, aggressively competent."

Finch nods.

Finch: "I'll take that."

They glance between you and Bela.

Finch: "Guess we'll see how the vote turns out."

They nod once, then walk off. You watch them go.

"They have unique eyes."

Bela mutters under her breath.

Bela: "They're not your type."

You snap out of your daze and turn to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"Excuse me?"

She's already walking away.

"Nothing. Come on—we need to prep for the results announcement tomorrow."

You catch up.

"Did you just—wait. Did you just gatekeep me?"

Bela doesn't answer.

The Next Morning—Council Room

You're barely awake. You've had about four hours of sleep, two cups of coffee, and one increasingly suspicious dream about Finch and their eyes being portals to another dimension. You swear you're starting to see eyes everywhere.

You brush it off and sit on the council chair. When the election results come in at 12, you find out that you've managed to keep your position as vice president, but you can't even be happy about this because it means Mia is on the council as well.

"Fuck..."

You let your head bang against the table. You look around frowning when you see Mia, and then you lock eyes with Finch. Their expression is neutral, but their eyes linger on you longer than comfortable.

"I guess they're staying to help as a member... that's good."

You squint; you swear their eyes are changing color, and you feel a feeling of dread on your chest before looking away.

Bela drops into the seat beside you with a long exhale. You glance at her, and for a second you're both quiet. She's drumming her fingers against the table.

You break the silence first.

"So. Vice President and President again. Look at us. The dream team."

Bela doesn't smile. Not yet.

Bela: "With Mia sitting next to us now. That's less of a dream."

You snort.

You glance at Mia, who's sitting on the opposite side of the room. She catches you looking and smiles too innocently.

You sigh.

"I swear if she so much as comes close in my direction, I'm shoving her out a window."

Bela: "Don't joke about that right now."

You wince. Right. Jasmine.

"Sorry."

Chapter Text

TW: Religious Trauma, Homophobia

???—???

??: "First there's rumors going around town of you sleeping with a boy..."

??: "And now you're telling us the rumors couldn't be true because you like women!?"

You clutched onto your shirt, standing in the middle of a living room. Your hands are shaking. You don't know why you're barefoot. You try to respond, but you feel a sting on your cheek, making your head turn.

??: What is wrong with you!?

Two shadows tower in front of you, faceless, only voices. Familiar. Distant. Disgusted.

??: "We raised you better than this. Do you think this is funny?"

You open your mouth, but the words won't come. Your throat is dry—your hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms.

??: "You want to be a man now, is that it? Is that what this is about?"

"No—no, I'm just—"

Your voice breaks. The room tilts slightly, the walls breathing in and out like lungs. You look down. Your feet are sinking into the floorboards, ankles swallowed up like quicksand. You try to move—try to breathe—but something's pressing on your chest.

??: "You are not my child."

You try to scream—but your mouth is sewn shut. Invisible threads pulling you still.

??: "We didn't raise you to be this."

You twist—

—and wake up gasping.

Morning—Dorm Room

You sit bolt upright in bed, breath ragged, heart jackhammering in your chest. Your sheets are tangled around your legs. You scrub your face. Your cheeks are damp. You didn't even know you were crying.

"It's been years... why again?"

Your childhood home, the cracked floor, the sound of your father's voice.

That slap.

You curl forward, pulling your knees to your chest. You don't know how long you sit there before you hear the knock.

Daniela: "Hey roomie, are you okay? You're normally up and making breakfast by now."

You wipe at your cheeks again, like it makes a difference. The knock sounds again.

Daniela: "I'm coming in if you don't answer."

You croak out.

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine."

But your voice is hoarse, and you hate how small it sounds. You hear Daniela hesitate just outside the door.

Daniela: "I could go and get something from the cafe if you're not feeling well.

Daniela doesn't even let you answer before you hear shuffling outside.

Daniela: "I'll just grab your usual. Text me if you change your mind, okay?"

You hear her retreating footsteps, and you let out a shaky breath.

You're alone again.

You drag yourself out of bed. You have to. There's work to do, council nonsense, and the day won't wait just because your chest is a mess of old bruises.

You shuffle to the bathroom and splash cold water on your face. It helps, a little. The redness around your eyes is less obvious if you don't look too closely. Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you reach for it.

[Daniela]
🥐 ☕ on the way. Eat it, or I'll cry.

You stare at Daniela's text for a moment longer than you should. A small huff of a laugh escapes you, and it's enough to push you away from the bathroom sink.

You pull on the nearest hoodie you can find, tug it over your hair, and give yourself a once-over in the mirror. You look like hell, but whatever. Nobody elected you for your beauty pageant potential.

Later That Morning—Council Room

You're half alive and halfway to passing out by the time you drag yourself into the council room. Your breakfast is squashed into your bag—a pastry Daniela thrust at you with a soft, worried look before you sprinted out the door. You didn't even get to drink your coffee.

Inside, Bela's already at her seat, a mug of coffee cradled between both hands. She looks up when you walk in—her eyes flicking over your face, down to your rumpled clothes, and the half-buried pastry sticking out of your bag.

Bela: "You look like hell."

You drop into your chair with a graceless thud, your forehead hitting the table with a dull thunk.

"Good morning to you too, Madam President."

Bela doesn't answer right away. You hear her shuffle in her seat, the soft clink of her mug being set down. Then there's a rustle, and you feel something gently nudge your elbow—a folded napkin and her mug.

"Are you giving me your coffee?"

Bela's already reclaiming her seat, folding her arms over her chest like she's regretting every life choice that led her here.

Bela: "Don't make it weird."

You sit up, wrapping your hands around the mug. It smells stronger—better—than the sludge in the council's ancient coffee pot. You risk a sip. It's good. You can't help the soft sound you make, half groan, half sigh.

"God, I could kiss you."

You immediately regret saying it. Bela doesn't react at first, just raises one perfectly arched brow.

Bela: "You'd miss."

You freeze, coffee halfway to your lips.

"Excuse me?"

Bela shrugs, glancing toward the window like she didn't just make your neurons short-circuit.

Bela: "You look half-dead. Your aim would be off."

You narrow your eyes at her, sipping again just to give your mouth something to do that isn't 'Say More Stupid Shit.'

"You say that like you've given it some thought."

She doesn't answer.

You cough into your coffee, trying to pretend your heart isn't trying to jackhammer its way out of your chest. Bela leans back in her seat, perfectly composed. But you don't miss the way her fingers tighten slightly around the armrest.

Before either of you can speak again, the door creaks open. Finch walks in.

They're holding a folder and a protein bar. Their eyes—blue, maybe? Pinkish? — land on you first. Then Bela.

Finch: "Morning."

You manage a small smile.

"Morning, Finch. Glad you could join us."

Finch just nods, dropping into one of the seats near the back. The other members of the council start coming in, and of course Mia is the last one to arrive, and if things couldn't get worse, President Miranda personally shows up at a council meeting to congratulate everyone before making the announcement that she wants you all to throw a winter ball, with only a week to pull everything together.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

Evening—Council Room, After Hours

You're the last one left. Bela had to leave early to meet a professor.

You're gathering the leftover documents when the lights flicker.

You pause.

The room hums with an unnatural stillness. Outside, the sky is deepening to that violet-blue. You turn to grab your bag—

—and see Finch standing at the edge of the doorway.

Finch: "You stayed late."

You flinch. They weren't there a second ago.

"Yeah. Didn't notice the time."

Finch: "Time slips, sometimes."

Their gaze moves over the room slowly. Their expression is neutral, but you feel that prickle again—like cold fingertips at the base of your spine.

Finch: "You should be careful. Accidents tend to happen after hours."

You stare at them, heart kicking up. Then they turn and walk away. You blink slowly, staring at the space Finch once occupied. Your knees buckle as you kneel to the floor, your vision blurring at the edges.

Your hands shake as you press your palms flat to the ground, grounding yourself. The light overhead flickers again—once, twice—then steadies.

You try to stand, but your limbs feel like they're wrapped in wet cloth. There's a sound in your ears like static—no, not static. Whispering. Too soft to make out. You whip your head around.

Nothing.

You snatch your bag off the floor and bolt.

Night—Dorm Room

You don't remember how you got back to your room. You know you left the council building. You remember unlocking the dorm door. After that—nothing. You're on the floor now. Sitting against your bed with your bag still on your shoulder and your shoes still on. Your hoodie's damp with sweat down the back.

You finally unclip your bag and let it slide off your arm, but the moment you do, something thuds inside. You flinch.

You open it. Just papers. Flyers. Notes. A list Bela made in her too-neat handwriting, covered in your scribbles. But for a moment, you swear you saw something else in there.

You blink hard and press your palms into your eyes until stars explode behind your eyelids.

When you finally crawl into bed, you don't sleep. You lie there. Eyes open. Staring at the ceiling until it starts to breathe.

You can feel something crawling in your brain.

Chapter Text

Day One—Morning, Council Room

You're late. Again.

You don't apologize when you stumble into the council room fifteen minutes after the meeting starts. Bela glances at you but doesn't say anything, though you catch the way her eyes narrow.

The lights overhead feel too bright. Every voice is too loud. You sit down slowly, carefully, like the wrong movement might tip you over completely.

Mia: "Rough night?"

You ignore her.

Bela slides a sticky note toward you: "You're not okay."

You write back, "What gave it away?"

She doesn't reply after that, but she watches you. Every time your hand trembles. Every time you blink too long. Every time you miss someone speaking.

Day Two—Afternoon, Student Center

There's music playing somewhere nearby. It's distant and tinny, like a radio left on too long. You're sitting on one of the benches, clutching your notes for the ball schedule; you haven't read a word.

You're watching people pass by, their faces warping slightly when they get too close to a glass window. Like reflections that don't quite match. You rub your eyes. The blurs stay a second too long.

Daniela texts you.

[Daniela]
You forgot your lunch. Want me to bring you something?

You don't respond.

You scroll to Bela's contact. Type something. Delete it.

You stare at your own reflection in the window. There's a smear of red across your temple. You reach up. Nothing's there.

You start walking before you can think. Somewhere. Anywhere. You forget your notes on the bench.

Day Three—Night, Dorm Room

You can't sleep again. But this time, it's worse.

Every time your eyes close, you see eyes. They're watching you. Those colorless, endless eyes. In the dream, they open a door in the floor, and there's something beneath it—something crawling. Slithering. Voices screaming.

You wake up choking.

There's blood on your pillow.

You bolt up, heart hammering. You rush to the mirror. Nothing. No nosebleed. No injury. Nothing on your face.

You look back at the bed. The pillow's clean.

Your hands shake, you sink to the ground, and you start to cry. No noise. Just tears slipping down like they've been waiting for days to escape.

Day Four—Council Room

The room swims around you. You think someone's talking—maybe Bela? Maybe Mia? The words are just sound.

You blink, and the lights buzz louder than they should. One of them flickers. You flinch. You try to focus, try to write something down. Your pen breaks in your hand. You stare at the ink stain spreading across your palm.

"Shit."

Bela grabs your wrist. Her hand is warm. Steady.

Bela: "Hey. Hey—look at me."

You do. Barely.

Her eyes are worried. You've never seen her look at you like that.

Bela: "If you need to slow down..."

You shake your head. You don't tell her that if you slow down, you're going to see things again. Hear things again. Feel the way the walls start watching.

Instead, you just mutter.

"I'm fine."

Her hand grips yours. You don't know if it's deliberate, but you hold on for just a second.

You don't want to be alone.

Day Five—Morning, Classroom

You forgot there was even class today. You show up twenty minutes late with your hoodie on inside out. No one says anything. You sit in the back and pretend to take notes.

You get another dream during lecture. You blink once, and suddenly you're back in that warped hallway from before. The one that bends when you look at it too long. There's static on the walls. And something at the end of the corridor, eyes glowing faintly.

You wake up with your hand pressed flat against the desk.

Your professor calls your name.

“I’m fine, sorry.”

Day Six—On Campus Near The Dorms 

You're walking alone across campus, arms full of decorations.

You think you see Jasmine—just for a second—out of the corner of your eye. Standing at the top floor window of her dorm.

She shouldn't be there. She's still in the hospital.

You drop what you're carrying.

When you look up again, the window's empty.

Day Seven—Council Room, Night Before the Ball

It's almost midnight. The decorations are half-finished. You've been working nonstop, caffeine flooding your bloodstream like desperation. But it's not enough.

You think you hear whispering in the vents again. You turn. It stops.

You think someone moved your bag. You're sure you had it next to your chair. It's across the room now.

You're shivering in the warmth.

Bela corners you in the storage closet with a roll of streamers in one hand.

Bela: "You're falling apart."

You lean back against the wall, breathing hard. You want to scream, but you just laugh instead.

"Thanks for the update, Captain Obvious."

She steps closer.

Bela: "You're scaring me."

That stops you. You stare at her, and for a moment your mind clears before you blink again.

"...I didn't mean to."

Bela: "I know."

There's a pause. She reaches up like she might touch your face but thinks better of it.

Bela: "We just need to make it through tomorrow."

You nod.

That Night—???

You're running down a hallway you've never seen.

You're barefoot. Again.

There's something, someone. Standing at the end, bathed in flickering light.

??: "You'll burn."

You scream. It doesn't matter. A door slams shut behind you. The walls bend. The floor disappears.

You fall.

Morning—Day Of The Ball

You wake up gasping.

Your nose is bleeding this time. For real.

You sit up, dazed, your pillow stained red. You don't cry. You don't move.

You just sit there.

The clock says 7:01 AM.

You're not ready.

But you have to get up.

The faucet hisses as you rinse your face, blood swirling pink in the porcelain. You watch it go, hypnotized for a moment. Until it's gone.

You raise your head.

Your reflection is wrong.

The person in the mirror isn't mimicking you. Their mouth moves a second too late. Their eyes—your eyes—aren't right. Too dark. Too wide. You blink hard.

It fixes itself.

You grip the sink.

"Not today."

8:24 AM—Preparing the Ball

The preparations begin in a blur. Everyone's buzzing around like bees.

You cling to the checklist in your hand.

Until you see Finch again.

They're across the room, adjusting something on the stage. At first you think they're alone, but for a split second you swear there's a shape behind them in the shadows. A ripple. Like someone just stepped back into the darkness.

You blink.

It's gone.

Finch looks up. Their eyes lock with yours. Their face doesn't change. They tilt their head. Like they're listening to something you can't hear.

You turn away and leave.

6:58PM — Bathroom Near The Ballroom

Everything and everyone is ready except you. You're adjusting your collar in the mirror, trying not to notice how much your hands are shaking.

The door creaks open behind you.

Bela.

She steps in; her blonde hair is curled, with one side pinned so the curls all waterfall over one shoulder. She's wearing a blue dress that sparkles with every movement. Her makeup is subtle. She stares at you for a second before crossing her arms.

Bela: "You're pale."

You raise an eyebrow.

"You say the sweetest things."

She doesn't bite. Just watches you. You sigh, letting your head fall as you feel your shoulders tense.

"I just need to get through tonight."

Bela walks towards you; her voice is quieter now.

Bela: "Let me help."

You finally turn to face her. Your heart stutters in your chest at how close she is. Your eyes fall to her lips, then flick away, guilty. She's watching you. Her gaze settles on your collar, and then—deliberately—she reaches up to fix it.

Her fingers are steady. Yours aren't.

Bela: "You're the vice president."

She murmurs.

Bela: "That means you're mine to worry about."

You blink, startled. Your throat tightens and you laugh.

You laugh so loud. Bela looks confused... concerned. You reach out, your hands on her shoulders.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

Bela freezes beneath your hands. Her breath catches.

"You don't want this, Bela. You should just find someone to replace me."

You choke on your words, your head falling against her chest.

"Your life would be better if I never came into it."

You look up at her, your chest tightening as she looks back at you.

It hurts.

"I don't—I don't want to hold you back."

Your hands start to slip from her shoulders; you're ready to walk towards the door and leave, but she grabs your wrists before you can pull away. Her eyes don't leave yours.

"Bela?"

She doesn't speak.

Instead, she steps forward, leans in, and presses her mouth to yours without warning, like it's the only way she knows how to shut you up. Your mind blanks. Your breath catches. Your eyes fly open, then flutter shut. You kiss her back because, god—it's her. It's Bela.

The kiss isn't soft.

It's desperate. It's everything neither of you have said crashing to the surface. When you both finally pull back, your forehead is pressed to hers. Her eyes are shut. Yours are wet.

Your voice is small, and it breaks.

"...Why would you do that to yourself?"

Bela's eyes open. She pulls back just to look at you. Her hands let go of your wrist before she cups your face. You shake your head slightly, tears now freely tracking down your cheeks.

"Why would you—why would you let yourself care? About me?"

Your voice cracks on the last word. Bela doesn't let go. Her thumb brushes beneath your eye, wiping away your tears.

Then—something shifts.

Her body stills.

You feel it before you understand it. Her fingers tense where they hold your face. Her eyes are open, but she's not looking at you anymore.

She's looking through you.

"Bela?"

Her gaze snaps to yours—sharp, startled. There's something in her eyes. Panic. Realization. Rage. Her mouth parts, like she's about to say something, but instead she takes a sudden step back.

"Wait—what is it? What's wrong?"

Bela doesn't answer.

She turns and runs out of the room.

"Bela!"

You stumble forward after her, but by the time you reach the door, she's gone.

Just—gone.

Chapter Text

TW:Mention of Suicide

During the Ball—Empty Hallway

You're running.

Your breath is coming too fast, chest burning. The hallway outside the bathroom is dimmer than it should be. Empty. The distant thud of bass from the ball barely reaches this far.

You turn a corner too quickly and skid. Catching yourself on the wall.

"Bela!"

Your voice cracks as you call out again.

??: "Vice President?"

You flinch.

Finch is standing just a few feet away, holding a cup of punch. They're in all black, a sleek dress shirt tucked into tailored pants, and their eyes—blue-pinkish-unearthly—glint in the low light.

You open your mouth to speak, but—

Finch: "Your nose."

You blink.

You reach up. Warmth.

You're bleeding again.

"Oh. Shit."

Finch doesn't hesitate. They reach into their pocket and hand you a cloth napkin. You press it to your nose.

Finch tilts their head.

Finch: "You look like you just lost something important."

You lower the napkin.

"Have you seen her?"

Finch takes a slow sip of their punch.

Finch: "Who?"

You narrow your eyes.

"Bela. She just ran out. I need to find her."

Finch's eyes flicker. That impossible color again, shifting between ash blue and candlelit rose. Something ancient pretending to be human. They take a step closer. Not enough to crowd you, but enough that you can smell the faint trace of something herbal—tea? Incense? Smoke?

Finch: "She would be better if you disappeared."

Your pulse stutters. You stare at Finch, your breath catching behind your teeth.

"...What did you just say?"

Finch tilts their head the other way, studying you. Their voice is soft.

Finch: "She would be better off. If you were... gone."

Something inside you recoils. You step back, but your heel hits the wall. Finch eyes seem to glow in the dark, and your ears start to ring. They take a slow step forward. You flinch.

Finch: "You think love will save you?"

Your throat tightens.

Finch: "You think if she kisses you enough, holds you tight enough, that the rot in your chest will turn to light?"

They lean in. Close, and they smile.

Finch: "Maybe you should just kill yourself."

Your breath won't come right—your throat closes around it—and Finch takes another step forward, their smile curving in a way that doesn't match their face.

Their shadow moves before they do. You blink. You try to move. But your limbs don't listen.

Finch: "You're tired. You've been trying so hard to be okay."

They lift their hand. Two fingers extended, slow and deliberate, and point to your chest.

Finch: "Let me in."

And you feel it.

Something pressing at the edges of your consciousness. Something cold, folding itself around your spine. Trying to slip through the cracks inside you like smoke.

Your mind is breaking open. You almost let go. Almost let them have you.

But a flicker.

A hand. Warm. On your wrist.

"You're mine to worry about."

Bela's voice.

You grit your teeth. Your mouth finally opens, breath shaking.

"No."

You press your palm flat to your chest, right where the pressure is building, and push back.

"No. No, you don't get to have me."

Finch reels slightly, as if struck—not physically, but like you've slammed a door in their face.

"You don't own what's broken in me."

Your hands are trembling. You take a step forward. Finch doesn't move. You speak again, hoarse.

"I've been possessed, haunted by worse. My father's voice. My mother's silence. Those annoying kids from Catholic school. My own fucked-up mind."

Finch's eyes narrow.

"You want me to give in? Kill myself? That's what you want, right? Make it easy?"

You take another step.

"I'm not giving you shit."

A beat.

Then—Finch flickers. Their shape wavers, blurs, like heat rising off asphalt. The air smells like static. Ozone. Burning.

Finch: "I told her you wouldn't be so easy to possess."

The lights overhead explode—a loud, sharp crack—and then you blink through the sudden dark.

Finch is gone.

Just you.

Alone in a hallway that feels two degrees colder than it did before.

Your knees buckle.

You slide to the floor, blood still sticky beneath your nose, chest heaving. But you're here. You're you. You feel your ribs expand. You count each breath.

One.

Two.

Three.

And your mind begins to finally clear for what feels like days.

Meanwhile—Miranda's office

Bela opens the door to Miranda's office. Her hair has come undone on one side, curls starting to fray from running. Her hands are curled into fists at her sides.

Bela: "What are you doing to her?"

Miranda doesn't look surprised. Not exactly. She tilts her head from behind her desk.

Miranda: "I have no idea what you mean."

Bela: "You know what I mean, Miranda. Why are Finch and Mia on the council?"

Miranda leans back in her chair, tapping her pen against the table. Slowly.

Miranda: "Mia is a student. She ran for secretary. She won. And Finch, well, there are always open spaces on the council. I didn't do anything."

Bela: "They're hurting her."

That gets Miranda's attention. Her eyes lift, sharp now.

Miranda: "You are not seriously going to accuse them of doing something as reprehensible as hurting her? Poor dear, I hear from Mia that she's burning out."

Bella's fists tighten, and her shoulders hunch up. Miranda sets her pen down.

Miranda: "Burnout is common for students in your position. Especially students with... troubled histories."

Bela's fists tremble at her sides. Her voice is low now, biting the air with each word.

Bela: "She was managing. Until you put Finch on the council."

Miranda chuckles at this.

Miranda: "Do you hear yourself right now, Bela? I think you're feeling too much."

Bela responds hastily.

Bela: "If anything happens to her—"

Miranda: "You'll what? Resign?"

Bela doesn't respond. She clenches her jaw and just walks out.

Winter Ball—Later That Night

You're standing outside the ballroom doors, hands braced on the railing, trying not to vomit.

Inside, the music pulses. Laughter rolls out in waves every time someone opens the door behind you. But here, outside, you're cold. You press your fingers to your sternum again. That space Finch tried to slip into. It still aches, but you feel lighter, like the feeling of dread is slowly disappearing.

Footsteps behind you.

You tense.

But it's just Daniela. You raise a brow.

"Didn't expect you to be here."

She doesn't say anything at first. Just leans on the railing next to you.

Daniela: "We were bored."

"We?"

Daniela: "Angie is spiking the punch with vodka."

You let out a breath that fogs faintly in the night air.

"Of course she is."

Daniela glances sideways at you. She takes one look at your face and doesn't bother with any jokes. Just sighs and nudges your elbow lightly.

Daniela: "Are you okay?"

"I want to go to sleep, but I can't find Bela; she just left out of nowhere."

Daniela groans.

Daniela: "Are you serious? I just saw her. She just went home. I tried to talk to her about her not coming to family dinners, but she just shrugged me off and left."

You stare at Daniela.

"She... went home?"

Daniela shrugs, but there's something tight in her expression. Her arms are crossed now.

Daniela: "Yeah. It looked like she was barely holding it together. Wouldn't talk to me. Didn't even say goodbye."

Your pulse skitters.

"She didn't even—God."

You rake a hand through your hair, then press it hard against your forehead. Bela left. After what happened in the bathroom. After that kiss.

Daniela's voice cuts in, quieter this time.

Daniela: "What happened?"

You hesitate. The words come slowly.

"I told her to leave me. That she should find someone else to be vice president. And then she... kissed me."

Daniela blinks.

Daniela: "Wait. Wait—my sister kissed you?"

You stare at her.

"That's what you got from that?"

Daniela's eyes are wide. She blinks like she's buffering.

Daniela: "I mean—YES. You just said Bela kissed you! On purpose?!"

You groan, dragging your hands down your face.

"Yes, Daniela."

Daniela, still processing:

Daniela: "Okay, but like. Did you kiss her back?"

You blink at her.

"Daniela. I barely remember what dimension I was in."

Daniela: "So that's a yes?"

You give Daniela a look—flat, exhausted.

"Daniela, I love you, but please shut up."

That Night—Dorm Room

You lie on your bed, shoes still on, eyes unfocused. The room is quiet but not in the same way it was days ago. That pressing, unnatural silence is gone, like whatever was curling around the edges of your mind is finally... withdrawing. Still, you feel hollow.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You don't move to check it.

Not until the second buzz.

You drag yourself upright, flipping the screen over.

[Bela]
I'm sorry.

That's it.

Two words.

Chapter Text

Next Morning—Council Room

You sit at the far end of the table, head resting against your fist. You didn't sleep. You couldn't.

No one's talking.

Every other council member is in the room, but no one has spoken, probably because Bela isn't here.

Mia's twirling a pen between her fingers. Finch is seated beside her, sipping coffee like it doesn't matter that they nearly unmade you last night.

Your stomach knots.

You're about to stand—about to go find her—when the door opens.

She walks in. Her eyes lock on yours. And something eases in your chest. You wave her over, and you pause when she passes by you and walks straight to the front of the room.

You blink. Once. Slowly. Like your brain is rebooting.

"Did she just... ignore me?"

Bela: "We're behind schedule. We have to clean the venue, return supplies, and write a full report to the administration. Assignments are going out today."

You raise your hand slowly.

"Question."

Bela doesn't look at you.

Bela: "No questions."

"I didn't ask it yet."

Bela's eyes are still on the checklist.

Bela: "Still no."

You lean back in your chair and squint at her.

"The audacity."

Mia snorts quietly across the table. You twist toward her and mouth, "Shut the fuck up." She just smiles at you before you stand and approach Bela.

"...Can I talk to you?"

Bela doesn't look up.

Bela: "You can email me."

You stare at her. She's already walking toward other members to hand them their assignments.

Your eye twitches.

"Seriously?"

Bela pauses.

Bela: "We have work to do."

You glance around the table. The others are up and about doing their work.

"Sure, okay then, let's get it done."

Your voice is sharper than you intended. But Bela just nods and walks away.

Fine.

Two can play that game.

Later—Council Room

The meeting drags on. You've already finished your assignments because you're annoying but not a slacker, and then you organized your space, sharpened three pencils you don't need, and drew a suspiciously detailed sketch of Bela's stupid face on a Post-it that you crumpled the moment you realized what you were doing and threw at Bela's head.

It misses. Barely.

She doesn't even flinch.

You blink and then deadpan.

"Well, that was rude."

Bela doesn't respond. Her eyes stay glued to her clipboard. You watch her jaw tighten slightly. You press your tongue to your cheek.

"So that got under her skin. A little."

You smile.

"Hey, President."

No answer.

"Madam President."

Nothing.

You lean across the table.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment? Because if so, I think I'm into it."

Her pen stutters—just slightly—on the paper, but then she says, flatly, still not looking at you:

Bela: "You're insufferable."

You beam.

"You missed me."

Bela: "I missed silence."

You lean in further, pretending to read her checklist.

"I missed your voice. Especially when it's telling me what to do."

Bela stops writing, and she just... turns away. Hands the clipboard to someone else and moves down the table like you didn't say anything at all.

You deflate, eyes narrowing.

Council Room—After Work Hours

Everyone cleaned up the venue, and now all that is left to do is for you and Bela to take the last boxes to the theater storage room.

You're waiting for Bela. You're still annoyed. And you're still being ignored.

Bela is standing across the room. You swear she's doing it on purpose. Being competent in silence. It's infuriating.

So, obviously, you sidle up to her.

"Hey, quick question."

Bela doesn't glance up.

Bela: "No."

You raise a brow.

"You don't even know what I'm going to ask."

Bela: "And yet I still don't want to hear it."

You make a thoughtful noise, tapping your fingers against the table as you lean in close.

"Is it because you kissed me and now you're repressing every emotion you've ever had? Or is it because you're scared if you look at me too long, you'll do it again?"

This time, she looks at you. Slowly.

Bela: "It's because you're obnoxious."

You grin.

"You didn't say I was wrong, though."

Bela turns away again, putting files away. You click your tongue and mutter under your breath.

"God, you're such a coward."

Her shoulders tense, and there's a silence that stretches between you, but you're too annoyed at this point to care. You move past her and grab one of the boxes.

"I'll take this one."

She doesn't stop you. Doesn't say a word as you walk ahead.

Theater Wing – Back Hallway

Your footsteps echo loudly down the corridor; the box you're carrying is heavier than you expected. You don't look back.

You don't care if Bela follows.

Halfway down the hall, you hear her. You roll your eyes and set the box down just outside the storage door with a graceless thud and cross your arms.

You wait.

Eventually, Bela rounds the corner. She's carrying the box like it weighs nothing. She stops a few feet away and sets her box down beside yours, turning to unlock the storage room. You stare at her back. Your hands twitch at your sides.

"Wow. The silent treatment's really holding strong, huh?"

Bela: "Cut it out."

Bela mutters, unlocking the door. You step forward before she can move inside.

"Cut what out?"

Bela finally looks at you, her eyes sharp and cold.

Bela: "This."

"Oh, you mean breathing?"

Bela: "I mean baiting me. You've been doing it all day."

You take a step forward.

"Interesting. You think I'm baiting you. That implies, I think, you'll bite."

Her jaw clenches and you smile, slow and deliberate.

"Are you going to bite me, Bela?"

Her eyes drop to your mouth, and her breath hitches. You don't move at first. You just watch her, heart pounding like a second pulse behind your ribs.

Then you step into her space. Her back is inches from the wall. And you're close enough now to see the flicker of her lashes, the strain in her shoulders.

You tilt your head, voice low.

"You're looking at me like you want to."

You press a hand to her chest and gently push.

She doesn't resist.

Her back hits the wall with a soft thud, and you brace your other hand beside her shoulder. You're close enough to smell her perfume.

"Are you going to tell me to back off?"

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. You're not sure it's even a challenge anymore. You just want her to look at you. To see you.

Bela stares down at you. Her gaze flickers over you.

Bela: "You're short."

You blink.

"Are you seriously weaponizing my height right now?"

Bela: "Maybe."

Bela doesn't move. Her back's still pressed to the wall, eyes locked with yours. But there's a twitch at the corner of her mouth and that. That annoys you. You scoff, a frustrated smirk on your face.

"Then put some inches in me."

.

.

.

You blink at your own words.

Bela blinks too.

There's a long, long pause.

And then, slowly, Bela raises her brow.

Bela: "...Did you seriously just say that?"

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out at first—because yeah. That sounded better in your head.

"Oh my God—I meant metaphorically!"

You finally managed to blurt out like that would save your dignity.

"Obviously! I meant metaphorically put some inches in me! Like height. Grow me. Make me taller. Not—fuck, not—that."

Bela is just staring at you.

You can see the exact moment her composure fractures—a crack forming at the edge of her mouth.

Bela: "...You really need to stop talking."

You groan and bury your face in your hands.

"I hate it here."

You're still hiding behind your hands, half wishing you could crawl into the nearest ventilation shaft and die there, when—

THUMP

A loud sound echoes down the hallway.

You both freeze.

Slowly, you peek through your fingers.

You have no idea who that brunette is down the hallway, but you feel Bela shift beside you.

Bela: "Cassandra, what are you doing here?"

You blink. Cassandra? You've heard the name before—Daniela's older sister. Bela's younger sister. Right, the theater nerd.

Cassandra: "Oh, did I interrupt something?"

Cassandra smirks, and you immediately step back from Bela. Bela straightens, arms crossing immediately.

Bela: "You shouldn't be here. It's after hours."

Cassandra raises an eyebrow, strolling a little closer. Her eyes flick from you to Bela.

Cassandra: "Neither should you, but I guess rules don't apply to presidents and their favorite vice presidents."

You clear your throat, trying—and failing—to compose yourself.

"I, uh... we were just dropping off boxes."

Cassandra raises an eyebrow and laughs.

Cassandra: "You know... the theater isn't soundproof. Trust me, I know, so you might want to remember that next time."

Your face goes hot.

"What—no, that's not what—"

Bela: "Cassandra, leave."

Cassandra shrugs, completely unbothered.

Cassandra: "Sure, Bela. But you better come to game night next time, or everyone is hearing about this."

You and Bela stand there in silence long after Cassandra disappears down the hall, and you feel like your soul is leaving your body as you sink to the floor.

"I'm never recovering from this."

Bela lets out a long sigh and presses the heel of her palm to her forehead.

Bela: "I want to die."

You try not to smile and fail.

"I'm sorry… but also, are you still repressing everything?"

Bela shoots you a look.

Bela: "Do you want to be murdered before we get out of the building?"

You grin wider.

"By you or by the ghosts?"

Later That Night—Dorm Room

You lie on your bed, light off, window cracked open. The cold air cuts through the remnants of adrenaline and embarrassment. You stare at the ceiling.

Your phone buzzes.

[Bela]
"We're okay."

Another buzz.

[Bela]
"I'll explain soon. Just... give me a little time."

You stare at it.

[You]
"I'm not going anywhere."

You hit send because at this point you don't give a flying fuck. You lie back down and close your eyes.

Chapter Text

On Campus—Outside the Library

It is three in the morning.

The only reason you're here is because Bela texted you; guess she's ready to explain everything. You're sitting on the library steps with a cup of coffee in hand. You look at your hands around the cup, spacing out.

You sip your coffee and lean back against the stone steps, eyes half-lidded.

Then you hear footsteps.

You open your eyes.

Bela sits down beside you without asking. Her shoulders are slightly hunched, but she doesn't look tired; she looks… nervous.

Then—

"Do you ever look down at your hands and realize you're actually real?"

Bela turns to look at you. Her brow furrows, not in anger—just... confusion.

Bela: "What?"

You blink, immediately regretting every decision you've ever made that led to this moment.

"I mean—I didn't mean that to be the first thing I said. It's late. I'm low on blood sugar. And brain cells."

You hold up your coffee like it's an offering, then lower it again because why would she want your coffee?

"I was just trying to, like... break the ice? But you didn't even make ice, and I just threw a brick into a lake."

Bela lets out a breath that's not quite a laugh but also not not a laugh. You glance at her from the corner of your eye.

She's looking at her own hands now. Turning one palm up, then down again. Her fingers flex like she's trying to confirm they still belong to her.

Bela: "It's a weird thing to say, but I get it."

You sit in that silence together. You sip your coffee to distract from the sudden thudding of your own heartbeat. Bela shifts beside you, pulls one knee up to her chest, and wraps her arms around it.

Bela: "I didn't mean to ignore you during the Ball...or kiss you and run out like a coward."

You don't say anything. Because if you open your mouth now, you're worried you'll say something dumb again.

Instead, you look at her. At the way her eyes are fixed on a crack in the stone below her feet. Her thumb taps against her knee in a rhythm that doesn't match her breathing. She's not good at this.

You set your coffee down.

"I shouldn't have said that stuff before you kissed me. About leaving. About holding you back."

She looks at you now. You flinch a little.

"I meant it, but I also didn't. I just—I was scared. I am scared. Of...everything, apparently. Finch. Feelings. Nosebleeds. You."

Her mouth twitches.

Bela: "Me?"

You nod solemnly.

"You're terrifying. I still have nightmares about that stapler."

A huff escapes her.

Bela: "That's fair."

Another beat of quiet.

Bela: "You scared me, too."

Bela doesn't look at you this time. Her gaze stays distant, fixed somewhere over the courtyard, where the lamplight halos.

Bela: "When I kissed you, I wasn't thinking. I wasn't planning. It just...happened."

You look down.

"It wasn't a bad kiss, right?"

She chuckles—quiet, disbelieving. Then she turns her face toward you again, and this time her expression's softer. Almost amused.

Bela: "That's what you took from that?"

You shrug, feigning casual.

"I'm insecure. You wounded me. Say it was good, or I'll cry."

Bela rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts.

Bela: "It was... really good."

You blink.

"Wait, really?"

Bela: "Shut up."

She mutters, cheeks slightly flushed. You grin like an idiot for two solid seconds before sobering.

"Why'd you leave?"

She doesn't answer right away, her shoulders tensing. When she does, it's quiet.

Bela: "Because when you suddenly started to spiral. It wasn't normal. Something did that to you... someone."

She closes her eyes briefly, her breath fogging in the cold air.

Bela: "I didn't know how to protect you."

You sit with that for a while. Then, slowly, you reach out and nudge your arm against hers.

"You don't have to protect me."

She doesn't pull away.

Bela: "I want to."

A pause.

"Well...can I at least help you carry the weight of whatever the fuck is going on?"

Bela doesn't respond right away. Her face stays unreadable, but her hand reaches out. She threads her pinky through yours.

Bela: "Okay."

She turns to you; your heart begins to race at the seriousness in her expression.

Bela: "I'll tell you everything."

You swallow.

"Okay, I'm listening."

She draws in a breath and releases it slowly, like she's preparing herself mentally before speaking.

Bela: "I don't have a heart."

You blink.

You weren't expecting that.

"Sorry, did you just say you don't have a heart?"

Bela: "Not in the way you think."

She unthreads her pinky from yours and places her hand flat over her chest.

Bela: "There's no beat. No pulse. There hasn't been in a while."

You stare at her hand on her chest. It's flat. Still. And now that she's said it—you realize...

You didn't hear anything when you rested your head on her chest; you thought it was because you were spiraling. Your face goes pale.

"How are you still alive?"

Bela gives you a wry smile.

Bela: "Magic."

You stare at her.

"Magic?"

Bela exhales, running a hand through her hair.

Bela: "This university is just some front for Miranda's cult dealings. She uses the school to launder money, to get supplies, and to procure new followers."

There's a pause before she continues.

Bela: "My mother is one of them. One of her most ardent followers."

Her cheeks flush shamefully at this, but she clears her throat and continues on as you stare in abject horror at her.

Bela: "When I found out, I wanted to put a stop to all this. I confronted Miranda, and she used magic on me. Some ancient ritual to rid me of my heart."

Her expression turns wistful.

Bela: "I didn't think it would be possible to do such a thing, not if I hadn't seen it with my own two eyes. She took my heart from me, and as a result, my feelings. I'm just a husk of a person; I don't feel anything."

She closes her eyes.

Bela: "At least, I didn't. Not until recently."

You don't breathe. Not until she continues.

Bela: "Something's been changing. Ever since I met you…

She doesn't meet your eyes. Her fingers are pressed to the edge of the step, knuckles white.

Bela: "At first it was small. I thought I was malfunctioning. Glitching."

You blink at her.

"Are you... a computer?"

That earns you a weak huff from her, a faint smile that flickers and dies as fast as it came.

Bela: "When you're... like this, everything becomes... calculated. What you say. What you do. Even what you pretend to feel."

She taps a finger against the stone stair.

Bela: "But lately, I've been getting things wrong. I find myself reacting before I think. I laugh without meaning to. I feel cold. Or nervous. Or—"

She finally looks at you.

Bela: "Scared. For you."

You stare at her.

She just told you she doesn't have a heart, and your own won't stop pounding. Like it's trying to compensate for the both of you.

You lean forward slowly, elbows on your knees, eyes still fixed on hers.

"Scared for me?"

Bela looks troubled as she continues.

Bela: "I— Well, I'm not sure how to label what it is you are to me. But Mia and Finch, they're cult members. I wanted you away from them because I was... scared they would make you disappear."

This is so much to take in. So much.

You don't say anything for a full minute.

You just... stare.

At her.

At the way her expression is heartbreakingly troubled.

You swallow hard.

"Okay.”

You say finally, like that word could contain the avalanche behind your thoughts.

"So. No heart. Magic. University is a cult. Mia and Finch. I—should I be panicking right now?"

Bela doesn't respond at first. She just looks at you, eyes flicking between yours like she's trying to read a language that used to make sense but doesn't anymore.

Bela: "If you were going to panic, I think you would've done it already."

You exhale slowly.

"Yeah, well. I think I passed panic already when I was losing my shit."

You glance down at your coffee, then at her again.

"So... let me get this straight. You've been functioning—existing—without a heartbeat for what, months? Years? And now you're suddenly feeling things again because of me?"

Bela doesn't look smug about it, but she does tilt her head.

Bela: "I know how that sounds."

You raise both eyebrows, incredulous.

"It sounds like gaslighting with sparkles, Bela."

She snorts. Actually snorts. And then presses the heel of her palm into her eye like she's trying not to laugh.

You point at her.

"Aha! That's an emotion! I caught it! That's at least a full heartbeat right there."

She doesn't deny it. Instead, Bela's gaze softens, drifting from your hand back to your face. Her eyes linger on yours.

Bela: "Do you want it?"

You look at her confused.

"Want what?"

She tilts her head, her voice casual.

Bela: "My heart. When I get it back."

You freeze. Literally stop moving, like someone hit pause on your soul.

"What?"

Her expression is unreadable.

Bela: "When I fix this. When Miranda gives it back or when I take it back. I don't know what I'll feel. But I think... I want the first thing I feel to be you."

You can't breathe for a second.

"I'm not sure I'm ready to be someone's first emotion. That's a lot of pressure."

Bela smirks faintly.

Bela: "You're already my first panic attack. Might as well complete the set."

You snort. Then your smile falters as you look at her.

"You're serious?"

She nods once. And suddenly, you feel everything all at once: the fear, the hope, and the want that's been building like static between you for days.

"Then let's hurry up and get it back."

She exhales. Her eyes on yours. She lifts a hand and presses her palm against your chest.

Bela: "Until then... you be the heartbeat."

You swallow hard, and she leans closer. Her nose brushes yours. Her breath ghosts across your lips.

And you move.

Not back.

But up—your hand rises.

You cover her mouth with your palm. Her breath hitches beneath your fingers.

You feel her freeze.

Bela blinks. Her eyes widen slightly—not in hurt. In confusion.

You avert your gaze. Your voice comes out low. Barely a whisper.

"Sorry... I haven't brushed my teeth."

Bela stares at you, still frozen. You lower your hand, your pulse jumping like it wants to fight your ribs. Her breath curls in the cold, fogging between you. She sighs, letting her head drop to your shoulder.

Bela: "...You're an idiot."

You don't even argue.

"Mmhm."

Chapter Text

In The Morning—At Bela's Apartment

The first thing you're aware of is that you're warm.

The second thing you're aware of is that you don't remember how you got here.

Your eyes blink open to soft morning light bleeding through the blinds, the faint smell of tea drifting in from somewhere nearby. You push yourself up slowly, head pounding faintly.

The blanket slides off your shoulders, revealing you're still in yesterday's clothes. Your shoes are off, though. Which means someone took them off for you. Which means—

Bela: "Good morning."

You nearly jump out of your skin.

Bela is standing in the doorway, hair pulled back in a bun. She's holding a cup of tea in one hand and another cup of tea in the other. Her expression is neutral—well, Bela-neutral, which still manages to look like she's low-key judging your entire existence—but there's a faint crease at the corner of her eyes.

You sit up straighter.

"...Did I—uh—fall asleep?"

Bela sets a cup of tea down on the table beside the couch next to you.

Bela: "You fell asleep on the library steps."

You blink at her.

"Did she carry me?"

"Wait—you could carry me?"

Bela: "Easily."

You don't know what to do with that information, so you take the tea instead.

"Thanks... I think."

She doesn't sit down. Instead, she leans against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely now. Watching you.

You sip the tea carefully. It's hot and smooth, with a faint sweetness you can't place.

"So... did you bring me here because you didn't want me to walk back to the dorm at three in the morning, or because you're secretly obsessed with me?"

Bela: "...Both."

You choke on the tea, accidentally burning your tongue.

"Excuse me?"

She takes a slow sip from her own mug, not looking at you.

Bela: "You heard me."

You grip your mug tighter, unsure if she's teasing you or dead serious. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect, and you start remembering what she told you on the library steps. The cult. The missing heart. The fact she's been faking her own humanity for longer than you've known her.

You hate the anger that's bubbling in your chest, but you let yourself be angry for her just for a moment.

"Bela, when you told me last night you wanted to take your heart back... how dangerous is that going to be?"

Her jaw flexes. She doesn't answer right away.

Bela: "...If I fail, I won't be here to tell you about it."

Your throat goes dry.

Bela's eyes find yours again.

Bela: "And I've decided that you're not coming with me."

"Oh, absolutely the fuck not."

You shoot back.

"I'm already in this mess; I'm going to be in it whether you like it or not."

The look she gives you is that particular brand of Bela: half "you're an idiot" and half "I'm calculating seventeen ways to lock you in a closet before you can follow me." Her mug is poised near her lips, but she doesn't drink. She studies you over the rim.

You bite your lip. The room feels smaller. The air feels warmer. You're hyper-aware of the fact you're still in yesterday's clothes, and your hair is a mess.

"You're staring."

Bela: "So are you."

You blink.

"Yeah, but I'm allowed. You're beautiful."

For a split second, her expression falters—like you actually landed a hit.

Bela: "You're still half-asleep. That's the only reason you're saying things like that."

You grin.

"Bold of you to assume I wouldn't say it fully awake."

Bela: "You should eat something before your brain melts."

She walks away, leaving her tea on the table as she disappears into the kitchen. You watch her go, letting your head drop back against the couch cushion.

"God, I'm in trouble."

Later—Storage Closet

You're helping Bela organize decorations for something she didn't really specify, but you're not stupid; you know she probably just wants to distract you from whatever the fuck she's going to do.

You're reaching for a box on the top shelf when the whole thing starts to tip. You flail.

"OH NO—"

Something falls. It's glitter. It explodes on impact. It's in your eyes. Your soul.

Bela stands there. Absolutely unmoved.

You are covered in cosmic craft herpes.

"Help me. I'm dying."

Bela: "This is your own fault."

"I thought you were supposed to protect me."

Bela: "From the cult. Not the dark arts of kindergarten."

You wipe glitter off your face.

You throw it at her.

Bela blinks.

Bela: "Did you just glitter-bomb me?"

You look her dead in the eyes.

"Maybe I wanted to sparkle together."

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Reconsiders her life and lets out a long sigh. She dusts glitter off her sleeves. You watch her. And then—because you have a death wish—you grin.

"You know, you'd look good completely covered in glitter."

Her eyes flick to you. They are sharp.

Bela: "Is that a threat?"

"That's an observation."

You gesture vaguely at her face.

"One well-placed puff and you'd be a celestial goddess."

She narrows her eyes.

Bela: "You mean like one of those lawn ornaments that scare crows away?"

You shrug.

"If the shoe fits—"

The rest of the sentence dies in your throat because Bela steps forward. One smooth, unhurried step that closes the distance just enough for the glitter between you to shimmer in the thin strip of light.

She leans in, voice low.

Bela: "Finish that sentence, and you will fit in the box you just pulled off the shelf."

Your pulse spikes. You laugh nervously because you're eighty percent sure she could do it, and the other twenty percent of you kind of wants to find out.

"Okay, scary lady. Point taken."

Dorm Room—Night

You're still finding glitter.

It's in your hair. In your clothes. Under your nails.

The shower's hot enough to fog the entire bathroom, but no matter how much you scrub, the tiny flecks cling to you. You lean your forehead against the tile, eyes closed, letting the steam soak into your skin until your fingertips prune.

Somewhere between rinsing the last stubborn strand of glitter from your hair and stepping out into the cold air, exhaustion catches you by the throat.

You towel off. Pull on a worn T-shirt. Collapse into bed without bothering to check your phone.

Sleep comes fast.

.

.

.

.

.

.

You're back in the theater wing, same long back hallway, same faint smell of dust. Bela's ahead of you, carrying a box.

You open your mouth to call to her, but the sound comes out wrong—thin, warped. She stops walking. The box slides from her hands, hitting the ground with a sound that's too wet.

When you look closer, it's not a box.

It's her heart.

Not metaphor. Not magic. Just raw muscle, red and dripping on the floor.

Bela's still standing, but there's a hole punched through her chest, edges blackened like burned paper. She sways on her feet. When she turns to you, her mouth opens like she's going to say something—

—and blood just pours out.

Hot, heavy streams down her chin and her neck, staining the pale line of her collar.

You try to run to her, but the hallway stretches. Every step forward drags you three steps back. Bela's hand reaches toward you—fingers twitching—and then her knees buckle.

She hits the floor hard.

And then—

Hands.

Something you can't see pulling her back into the dark. Bela doesn't fight. She doesn't even blink.

She's gone.

Dorm Room—Early Morning

You jolt awake like someone yanked you out of the dream.

Your breath is ragged, chest tight, and sweat is cooling on your skin. You can still feel the hollow in your gut—that awful, gnawing terror that she was gone and you couldn't do a damn thing about it.

You sit up.

The clock reads 2:27 AM.

You don't care.

You're pulling on the first hoodie you can find, grabbing your phone and keys. The world outside your dorm is cold, sharp air burning your lungs as you half-run, half-stumble toward Bela's building. Your hands won't stop trembling.

You don't knock politely.

You pound.

When the door swings open, she's there—hair loose, eyes tired, a faint crease between her brows like she's about to ask what the hell you're doing—

And you just throw yourself at her.

No words.

No warning.

Your arms lock around her like you're holding her together, face buried against her shoulder. You can't stop shaking. Your breath breaks once—twice—and then the tears come hot and fast before you can bite them back.

She freezes for a second. Then her arms come around you—hesitant at first, then firm. Solid.

Bela: "...What happened?"

You just shake your head. Because you can't tell her. You don't want to tell her.

Your hands fist in the back of her shirt, and your voice comes out cracked and small.

"Don't go."

Her chin rests lightly on your head, her breath slow and steady against your hair.

Bela: "I'm not going anywhere."

But your heart's still pounding like it doesn't believe her.

She doesn't push for answers. Just stands there with you in the dim light, her warmth soaking into your bones, until the fear eases enough for you to breathe without choking on it.

Even then, you don't let go.

Because some part of you still thinks that if you do—

She'll vanish.