The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the Academy bathed in twilight. Shadows stretched across the courtyard, pooling like dark ink at the bases of the towers. Even in the fading light, Ren could feel eyes on him—student eyes, instructor eyes, maybe even the Rift itself—but nothing compared to the pull in his chest every time he thought of Lucien.
Ren moved through the hallways with careful steps, keeping his hands in his pockets, trying not to draw attention. Yet even as he attempted normalcy, he could feel the echo of the healing earlier, like a quiet hum beneath his skin. It was as if the warmth hadn't left him at all.
Ilya fell into step beside him, carrying a small stack of books. "You look like death warmed over," they whispered, glancing toward him. "And if the rumor mill's right, you're even more…" They paused, searching for the word. "You."
Ren smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm very intimidating," he said, letting his tone slide into mock arrogance. "Bow if you see me coming."
Ilya rolled their eyes but smiled anyway. "Sure, boss. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Ren didn't reply. His attention was already drifting. Across the courtyard, near the training rings, Lucien stood in his usual flawless stance. Hands lightly clasped behind his back, shoulders squared, expression neutral—but to Ren, it was more than neutral. There was something in the way he watched the sparring students that made shadows curl just a little tighter at his feet, like they were listening, always listening.
Ren ducked behind a column, pretending not to stare, and muttered under his breath, "If you wanted to see me, you could've just asked."
The corner of Lucien's mouth quirked ever so slightly—but it was gone before anyone could notice. Ren swallowed hard and felt his face heat. Dammit.
By the time classes ended, the courtyard was almost empty. Most students had retreated to the dorms, leaving the late evening air quiet except for the wind brushing over stone and ivy. Ren lingered, hoping for another chance encounter—or maybe to avoid one. He wasn't entirely sure which.
"You've been avoiding the yard," a smooth voice said from behind him.
Ren froze. Not because of the voice—he was used to it now—but because the voice knew.
Lucien stepped from the shadows, hands in his coat pockets, the golden light of the lamps catching the sharp lines of his face. Public Lucien. Polished, polite, unobtrusive. Helpful even. Yet the shadows at his feet twitched, betraying the quiet edge beneath the perfection.
"What are you, my bodyguard?" Ren said, trying to sound casual. He shifted his weight and leaned slightly against the column, giving the impression of nonchalance he didn't feel.
Lucien's eyes flicked to him, just long enough to notice the smirk—but he didn't comment. Not yet. "I observed," he said simply. "The instructors can be… vigilant about anomalies. I'm here to ensure nothing unexpected escalates."
Ren's stomach twisted. That tone—it was calm, almost cordial, but there was an undercurrent of something else. A warning, or maybe curiosity. Or both. "Vigilant, huh?" he murmured. "Guess I'm lucky to have you."
Lucien's expression didn't change, but the shadows stirred subtly, as though responding to the thought behind Ren's words rather than the words themselves. Eidros' presence was faint, a ripple in the air, but unmistakable to Ren.
"You healed today," Lucien said quietly, stepping closer. Closer enough that Ren could feel the faint pull of his aura, the cool edges of shadow brushing his skin like a warning and a caress all at once. "That… was unexpected."
Ren's fingers twitched in his pockets. "I… didn't mean to."
Lucien inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth without judgment. "No one asked. Yet you did it anyway."
Ren let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I… couldn't just—watch him—" He swallowed, frustrated at how quickly his words trailed off. "Anyway. Not like you care."
Lucien's gaze lingered. Calm, unreadable. Public Lucien. Polite Lucien. But Ren caught something else: a flicker of the darkness beneath, a thread of concern, or maybe recognition. Something private that only he could feel.
"You're not supposed to hide," Lucien said quietly. "Not from what's inside you. Not from this."
Ren tilted his head, lips quirked. "And if I did? What then?"
"You'd be… reckless," Lucien said. The word was soft, measured. "And fascinating."
Ren blinked. His heart skipped. "Fascinating?" he repeated, half-teasing, half-defensive. "I try my best."
Lucien didn't answer. He simply shifted slightly, closer, and for a heartbeat, the evening air felt smaller, charged. Ren's chest tightened, and for a moment, he wanted to step back.
But he didn't.
Instead, he let his hand brush against his satchel strap and muttered, "You could've just asked to see me, you know. Not lurking in the shadows like some… some… academy specter."
Lucien's mouth twitched—barely a smile, fleeting enough that anyone else would have missed it. "I do not need to ask," he said. Calm, cordial, public Lucien. And yet… something in the shadows at his feet shifted in response to Ren's tone, soft and deliberate.
Ren's chest thumped. Why does he make this so difficult?
Before either could speak again, a sharp clang echoed from the training yard below. Students yelling, powers flashing too close together—something had gone wrong.
Instinctively, Ren started down the steps. Lucien followed silently, a shadow at his heels, his expression unreadable.
At the edge of the ring, a trainee had miscalculated a kinetic throw, sending their partner sprawling and scraping against the reinforced mat. Blood blossomed along an exposed forearm. The students froze. The injured boy winced, clutching his arm.
Ren's hand moved on its own. His fingers trembled, but he reached out. Just a touch—warmth flowing from his core, threading into the wound. Pain dissolved. Muscle and skin knitted seamlessly.
The yard went silent. Even Lucien's usual composed face showed the faintest flicker—a dark, protective shadow stirring in his eyes. Eidros moved closer, coiling, almost tasting the energy.
Ren staggered back, vision blurring. Nausea hit him like a wave, his chest aching. But the boy was alive. Whole. Breathing.
Lucien's voice came then, soft and quiet, just for him: "You did not have to hide this."
Ren's throat went dry. The bond—threading tighter now, undeniable, humming beneath the surface—pulled at him. He looked up, caught Lucien's storm-gray eyes, and realized: no matter what the world saw, no matter how polite or cordial Lucien appeared, he had seen everything.
And Ren… didn't want to hide anymore.