She texted on her 'friends' group chat as she bolted through the administrative building, past the leisure hut, daisy gardens and out of the campus gate in a record time of two minutes and fifty-seven seconds (Sereia did track till fifth grade).
San received the text while he was in class and checked it against his better judgement. Of course, ignorance is the utmost bliss and he would have relished in it if he wasn't so darn bad at making decisions. Though, as history would know it, San befriended Sereia Theodore – so, of course something was inherently wrong with him. Maybe he fell out of his mother's arms when he was a child? It would explain why San shot up from his seat, mid lecture, and barfed like his life depended on it.
The students around him gasped and backed off as San gagged and choked, making puking gestures whilst putting his carefully crafted social life on line – this better be worth it.
"Anderson, please, visit the nurse or the toilets, whatever pleases you best," his professor announced and San instantly packed up his notebook in his bag, still barfing as he ran out. The performance would earn him the male lead role in one of Mrs. Dursly's plays.
Aren's dance professor was eating her students' ear out over not following the "rules of dance" when she received the text. She checked it in a heartbeat, chuckled at it, stood up with her bag and walked out. Aren's life had never been as eventful as a mafia heiress as it was being friends with Sereia and San, even if it had been just one day. All high stakes paled in comparison to the shenanigans these university students had the ability to pull off – after all, they managed to nick Nicholas Quinton, of all people. So interesting.
San's apartment was a twenty-minute walk away from the university, tucked underneath the dense overgrowth of one of Mr. Theodore's many beloved outdoor gardens. San was responsible for the wellbeing of the plants while he lived there, in compensation of not paying rent.
The place was cozy and white with algae dominating the walls on the outside and humidity encompassing the two rooms and a bathroom inside as long as the windows remained closed. For everyone and their dog knew that open windows was a 'welcome, feast here!' note for the mosquitoes around town who had developed immunity against all repellent sprays and lotions known.
Hence why, San preferred to live in the university dormitory and used the apartment as an extra storage space; the extra storage now housing bodies. Well, a body, but scandalous nonetheless.
"What happened?" San panted as soon as he reached his doorstep and found Aren and Sereia waiting.
"Open the door, dammit, the Nicholas Quinton inside owns our college and is the second biggest mafia person in our country!" Sereia explained with equal parts of exasperation and a hope for death while San fumbled for the house keys.
He inserted the key, dread lacing his face and twisted the door open, all the while moaning, "Are you fucking kidding me?! What if we get expelled? I will never get a job! I will fail in life and most pro—" his words died as Aren pushed the door open and a beautiful sight greeted them in the living room.
"Close the door, baby, you're letting the mosquitoes in!" Mrs. Anderson gushed as she served piping hot tea to her husband and a grinning Nicholas Quinton.
Sereia smacked a hand against her head while Aren closed the door behind them.
"I didn't know you were into older men," Mr. Anderson sipped on his tea and gave grinning Nicholas a once over.
"I didn't know you were into men," Mrs. Anderson scoffed as she took a seat beside her husband and sipped on her own tea.
They were a stout blonde duo, healthy and nice, dressed modestly as two police officers would.
"HA!" San gasped, choked out a laugh, scoffed, then walked up to his parents. "Fancy meeting you today? You never told me you were coming?" San exhaled, words speeding out of his mouth like he was rapping.
"Oh, we were tracking a kidnapping case," Mrs. Anderson smiled and waved at Sereia and Aren, "What are you all doing here? Skipping class? Hiding bodies?" she asked sweetly.
"I'm very much alive, thank you," Nicholas interjected, still, grinning like a maniac.
"Wait—so, does being interested in him make you gay or st—"
"Dad! I am not interested in him!" San exclaimed with a stomp of his feet.
"Of course, of course, why else would he be laying naked in your room?" Mr. Anderson shook his head, perplexed.
"Naked?! We left him fully clothed!" Sereia gasped, quite scandalized.
"Would you believe me if I say that it is horribly hot in here?" Nicholas said with a smile, tea remaining untouched.
"It'd be nicer if you found our San hotter," Mrs. Anderson supplied, lips pressed in a line.
"Aunty Andrea!" Sereia walked up to the older woman and fell onto her knees, "It was me who brought that man back! San has nothing to do with him! We thought we were saving his life, I promise!" she raised an accusatory finger at Nicholas, "He told me that someone was going to kill him if he did not complete his assignment! And he was drugged by someone! We thought we were being noble citizens!" she managed to let out a tear or two.
San too dropped to his knees.
"Yes mum, dad, it is all her fault," he pointed his finger at Sereia as Nicholas shook his head in disappointment.
"It is fine children, we understand but don't you know that you landed Mr. Quinton exactly from whom you were trying to save him?" Mrs. Anderson let out a small laugh and gestured her chin at the person behind them.
San, Sereia and Nicholas turned to witness Aren smiling sheepishly.
"I didn't know your parents were police officers, heh," Aren grinned as she finally stepped inside the living room and dropped to her knees beside San and Sereia. "In my defence, I was only helping a friend in need!" she exclaimed with a loud clap.
"Of course, you were and while you are at it, keep Mr. Quinton for a while," Mr. Anderson said after sipping on the last of his tea, "Out of public sight and mind."
Huh?
Sereia looked at Nicholas Quinton grinning blankly and turned to see Mr. and Mrs. Anderson sitting with a face made out of utter seriousness. She turned to widen her eyes at San, any possible explanation would help, but the blonde merely shrugged with equal confusion dripping off his eyes. Sereia leaned forward to catch Aren's eye who, instead, was shaking her head with understandable confusion.
"—Why though?" Sereia finally asked, face scrunched up.
"You didn't ask as many questions when you busted him out of the bar," Mr. Anderson pointed at Nicholas' smiling face.
"On a Monday night at that! I am disappointed," Mrs. Anderson tsked.
San gulped out an apology or two.
"But does he have no family? Surely if you're here, everyone else would be looking for him as well," Aren wondered out loud, her eyes narrowed at the cop couple.
"Of course they are but do not worry about the adult stuff. Keep Mr. Quinton here, safe and sound until we say so otherwise," Mrs. Anderson brushed off Aren's concerns.
"But—if you want him so safe, why not lock him up?!" Sereia groaned in exasperation.
"Well, he hasn't committed any crimes. The poor man's a victim here!" Mr. Anderson shot a hand under Nicholas' chin. "You three along with those five thugs would be arrested if it came to justice!" he snapped.
Sereia slouched to her heels.
"Poor Mr. Quinton has no memory so taking him under would be a breeze! Listen to us and lay low for a while, would you?" Mrs. Anderson got up and patted Sereia and San's heads.
No memory, as if.
Sereia looked up to glare at Nicholas, who remained unphased and grinning. His brown eyes were so unresponsive and dead that a chill ran down Sereia's spine.
"Aren't you afraid I'll get him captured by my family?" Aren asked, frowning at the situation.
"You wouldn't," Mrs. Anderson smiled, "A talk with your brother would help clear up the situation more," she said after sipping on the last of her tea.
"I guess our work here is done, son?" Mr. Anderson directed him glassy green gaze at him son, "Right?" he waited for a reply.
"Yeah, yes, of course," San replied and slouched down to his heels.
"Good. Have a great day, the four of you. Do not make any more messes you cannot clean up," Mrs. Anderson warned as brushed her blue and white uniform.
"We'll get going now," Mr. Anderson pressed a hand against his wife's waist and they walked out of the apartment, merrily.
San and Sereia fell onto the floor, backwards, as soon as the door closed. Nicholas dropped his smile and his brows mushed together in a frown instead, challenging Aren's stare.