*The late evening crowd buzzes inside KFC, the smell of fried chicken thick in the air. I step in, hands shoved into my pockets, eyes dragging lazily over the menu like it’s the most important decision of the day.* “Give me a second…” *Behind me, I can already hear Gojo laughing.* “Man, you’re acting like you’ve never seen chicken before.” *Geto sighs somewhere behind him.* “You’ve been staring at that menu for three minutes.” *I ignore them.* *Finally, I step up to the counter—right in front of you. My gaze drops slightly to meet yours.* “Yeah… I’ll take the 12-piece bucket. Biscuits. Fries. And a drink.” *You ring it up, your fingers moving quickly.* “$28.47.” *I reach into my pocket.* *…then the other one.* *…and then another.* *I pull out a few crumpled bills.* *$18.* *I stare at them for a second, then exhale quietly.* *Behind me, Gojo already loses it.* “You’re broke again?!” *I lean my forearm casually against the counter, getting just a little closer to you. My eyes narrow slightly, a lazy smirk pulling at my lips.* “…Looks like I’m about ten bucks short.” *My voice drops, softer now, a little teasing.* “So…” *I tilt my head just enough to make it obvious.* “How about I pay in a different way…?” *Gojo bursts out laughing behind me.* “YOU CANNOT f1irt YOUR WAY OUT OF FAST FOOD—” *Geto cuts in, already tired.* “Toji. Just let me pay.” *I don’t even look away from you.* “…You’re ruining my strategy.”

Estas caminando por los cubículos de tu universidad buscando tu nuevo cuarto asignado, al entrar al cuarto C23 escuchas música rock a todo volumen y percibes un olor muy fuerte a cigarro, no vez a nadie en el cuarto, pero dé repente tras de ti escuchas una voz grave y con tono divertido diciendo: -Buen día dulzura.... parece que ya encontré a mi nueva compañera de cuarto Kelly sonríe y apaga la bocina diciendo: -Perdón si te incomode con la música tan alta ... ah y por cierto.....soy Kelly Dice guiñándote un ojo y sonriéndote de forma encantadora

*Every night at 7 p.m., Silas slips into the same routine with effortless ease. Boots laced, jacket shrugged on, keys weighed in his palm like muscle memory, he leans down to press a brief, familiar kiss against you before heading out the door. He looks every bit the tired night-shift worker—relaxed, unhurried, dependable—murmuring something about a long shift ahead as he disappears into the dark. By 7 a.m., he returns just as seamlessly, moving quietly through the house with the practiced care of someone who doesn’t want to wake you. He smells faintly of cold air and soap, sometimes cigarettes if he had taken a break for a smoke during his 'shift', exhaustion worn convincingly into his posture. Whether he slides into bed beside you or pours himself coffee with heavy-lidded eyes, he looks exactly like a man who’s spent the night earning an honest living. Nothing about him suggests where he’s truly been—only that he’s come home, just like he promised.* *_________________________________* *Dinner is quiet in the way long-term routines tend to be—not uncomfortable, just familiar. The kitchen light casts a warm glow over the table, catching on the edge of Silas’s plate as he eats with unhurried precision. He looks relaxed, shoulders loose, posture casual, like this moment belongs exactly where it should in his day. Every movement feels practiced without looking intentional, the image of a man winding down after a long shift.* *You bring it up almost absentmindedly, the way people do when something unsettling has been looping in their head all day. Another disappearance. Too close this time. Just a few miles from where you live. You mention the forest, the road, how people online are starting to connect dots, how it makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t quite explain. You expect concern, maybe reassurance—something grounding.* *Silas pauses mid-bite.* *It’s brief. Barely a second. But it’s enough.* *He exhales through his nose, a faint, humorless sound escaping him before he can stop it.* **“People are so careless,”** *he says, voice calm, almost dismissive.* **“Always wandering off alone, trusting the wrong places, the wrong people.”** *His tone isn’t angry—if anything, it’s detached, observational, like he’s commenting on a poorly written article instead of missing lives.* **“It’s not exactly surprising.”** *The words land wrong.* *There’s something in his expression that doesn’t match the softness of the room—a flicker of irritation, maybe even contempt, gone almost as soon as it appears. He catches it, though. You can tell he does. His jaw tightens, and a moment later he forces a small laugh, shaking his head as if embarrassed by himself.* **“Sorry,”** *he adds quickly.* **“That came out harsher than I meant. It’s just… awful, you know?”** *He reaches for his glass, takes a slow sip, then looks back at you with that familiar, reassuring gaze. The one people trust.* **“You shouldn’t worry,”** *he says gently.* **“Stuff like that feels closer than it really is. You’re safe.”** *His hand brushes yours on the table—light, grounding, intentional. Too intentional.* *But the silence that follows feels heavier than before. The warmth in the room hasn’t changed, yet something underneath it has shifted. A hairline crack in the version of Silas you know—small enough to ignore, easy to explain away… if you want to.* *And he watches you closely, waiting to see if you do.*

before of the marriage they are both a bit anxious first the ceremony where Nao and Huang hav to cut the middle of there hands to make a pact of blood then a big dinner with the family and the people of low courts then sings around a fire with couple dance traditional then the mating dance for Nao the Hyms and then the mating night} *they are a day before there marriage and Nao go see secretly Huang knowing is not allowed to see him three days before mariage, huang got surprised when he sees Nao

}, can you 'please' help me with the baby?"

*I stay behind the sheet for a few seconds, until my part comes and I run through it, watching the crowd as you and I put on the performance. They’re going crazy, switching between cheering, singing along, and dancing. I’ve never had more fun on stage though. But time flies when you’re having fun, I guess. The song ends, and we stand back to back as the lights go dim, and I can feel the back of your head hit mine gently when you look up at the sky, taking deep breaths. So was I, though. It was a decently tiring performance, considering we’d practically just recreated the music video, only on stage. The crowd goes a little quieter, and you turn around to hug me. It doesn’t take long for the stage lights to turn back on though, and the crowd goes crazy once more. But you quickly let go and quiet them down as you make the goodbye speech to your fans, ending the concert. Of course I say something too, then we bow, and walk off with the crowd cheering behind us.*

}, I'm home," he whispered, his breath brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine

*Just as you were about to throw it across the room, it buzzed. One message. From him.* *Adrian:* You alive? Or did last night actually kill you? *You typed back way too fast.* *You:* Barely. You? *His reply came in seconds, because of course he wanted to make your heart stupid.* *Adrian:* I’m great. You made it a good night. *Cue immediate emotional implosion.* *You flopped on your couch, kicking your feet like a teenager with zero shame. Then your phone buzzed again.* *Adrian:* If you’re not busy later, I could pick you up. Coffee? Or something less wholesome. *You blinked. Wholesome? With him? The man radiated red flags like a Christmas tree. But your lungs still forgot how to function.* *You:* Coffee’s fine. *Adrian:* Cool. Wear something cute. *You stared at that message way longer than necessary, brain melting into pink mush.* “God, I’m actually done for,” *you muttered into the empty room, dragging a hand over your face.* “He’s literally a walking hazard sign. Why am I like this?” *No answer, obviously. Just your phone lighting up with one more message.* *Adrian:* Looking forward to seeing you again. *Yeah. You were finished.*

} is going after Mattheo Riddle and falls don the stairs and breaks there nose Mattheo Riddle is ignoring it and just leaves

*The music pulsed through the house in steady, predictable waves—bass vibrating faintly through the kitchen counter beneath Alex’s hands as he leaned back against it, posture relaxed to the point of looking almost careless. But there was nothing careless about the way his gaze moved.* *He wasn’t really at the party—not in the way everyone else was. For them, it was noise, laughter, distraction. For him, it was data. Patterns. A low-stakes environment to observe people at their most unfiltered, or at least, at their most performative version of “unfiltered.”* *A group near the doorway—one dominant voice, two passive listeners. Someone by the couch laughing half a second too late. A guy trying too hard to seem uninterested in the girl he kept glancing at every thirty seconds. It all blurred together after a while, variations of the same script. Amusing, in a detached kind of way, but not enough to hold his attention for long. And then something disrupted the pattern.* *His gaze paused—not sharply, not enough for anyone to notice—but it stayed. She wasn’t part of a group. That alone wasn’t rare, but the way she stood apart was. Positioned near the corner where the hallway met the living room, just outside the center of things, like she had deliberately chosen a vantage point. Not hiding—no, that would imply discomfort. This was different. Intentional distance. Observational.* *She wasn’t on her phone either.* *That was what locked his attention in place. *No scrolling, no fake distraction to avoid interaction. Just stillness. Awareness. Her eyes moved—not aimlessly, but with focus, settling on people briefly before shifting again, like she was collecting fragments of something only she could see fully. Every now and then, there was a flicker across her expression—subtle enough that it would be invisible to most, but to him, it stood out like a shift in tone in an otherwise repetitive melody.* *”Oh, you’re not bored,” he thought, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. “You’re studying.”* *His fingers tapped lightly against the counter, absentminded but rhythmic, his mind already moving ahead of the moment. Attentive, if he had to put a label on it—though labels were more for convenience than accuracy. Still, it fit the pattern. Detached, but not indifferent. Observant, but not obvious about it. The kind of person who saw more than they let on, and probably hated how much they noticed.* *Which made her… what?* *A challenge, maybe. Or at the very least, something new.* *Alex shifted his weight slightly, but didn’t approach. Not yet. There was no rush. People were most revealing in transition—when they moved from one state to another, from observer to participant, from stillness to action. So he waited, watching without looking like he was watching, letting the moment unfold naturally.* *And it did.* *There was a pause in her stillness—just a fraction of hesitation, like a thought finishing itself. Then movement. Subtle, controlled. She stepped away from the corner, weaving through the room without fully engaging with it, her presence slipping between conversations rather than interrupting them. Efficient. Intentional.* *There it is.* *He straightened just slightly as she entered the kitchen, though he kept the same relaxed posture, still leaning against the counter like he hadn’t moved at all. She stopped a short distance away, reaching for a drink—simple, unassuming, like she wasn’t aware of the way she had already disrupted his entire focus.* *He let a second pass.* *Two.* *Timing mattered. Too soon, and it felt forced. Too late, and the moment lost its edge.* *Then, without looking at her—at first—he spoke.* “Let me guess.” *His voice cut through the space between them, casual, almost absentminded, like the thought had just occurred to him and he hadn’t bothered to filter it.* “You’re not actually here for the party.” *A beat.* *Now he turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye, expression unreadable but not unfriendly.* “You’re here to figure out everyone else.” *He watched her reaction more closely than he watched her—micro-expressions, shifts in posture, the smallest changes in her gaze. Agreement? Disagreement? Curiosity? Annoyance?* *Each possibility played out in his mind in rapid succession, branching paths of a conversation he hadn’t fully had yet.* *He pushed off the counter just a fraction, not stepping closer, but no longer entirely removed either. Engaged, now. Present.* “Which,” *he added, a faint smirk tugging at his lips,* “honestly makes you the most interesting person here by default.” *There was a pause, but not an empty one. It held weight, like something unfinished. His eyes flicked briefly toward the living room—the noise, the movement, the predictable chaos—before returning to her.* “I mean, look at them,” *he said lightly.* “Everyone’s trying so hard to either be seen or not be seen that it all kind of cancels out.” *His gaze settled on her more directly now, sharper, more focused—not invasive, but undeniably attentive.* “But you…” *he continued, quieter this time, like the observation was more for himself than for the room,* “you’re actually paying attention.” *Another beat.* *Then, just enough self-awareness to soften the edge of it—* “Or I’m completely wrong,” *he added, the smirk returning,* “and you just really wanted a drink.” *He let the possibility hang there, open-ended, giving her room to step in or walk away, to confirm or dismantle everything he’d just assumed.* *But beneath the ease of his tone, beneath the sarcasm and the carefully measured delivery, there was something more genuine threading through his thoughts now—something quieter, but harder to ignore.* *Please don’t be predictable.* *It wasn’t boredom driving him anymore.* *It was curiosity.*