Chapter Title: The Obsidian Gaze
The rain hadn't stopped since the incident. It slid down the ancient stone walls of Nevermore like veins of glass, steady, rhythmic — mocking Wednesday's thoughts, which were anything but.
She stood at her dorm window, arms crossed, staring into the distance where the gargoyle once hung.
It was gone now — pulverized into gravel — and so, too, was her peace of mind.
> "Can't let my wife die on me, now can I?"
The words echoed again, uninvited, replaying like a haunting refrain she couldn't dissect. His tone wasn't mocking. It wasn't tender either. It was… factual. Cold, calm, almost possessive in a way that unsettled her more than death itself.
Enid's voice broke through the storm. "You okay there, death-queen? You've been staring out that window for, like, an hour."
Wednesday didn't answer immediately. Her thoughts were a chessboard. Every word he'd said had been a move — deliberate, precise, unreadable.
"He's an anomaly," she finally said.
"Who? The new guy? The one who—"
"Yes," Wednesday interrupted, her tone sharp. "Toji. Frump. Supposedly."
Enid grinned. "Supposedly? You already looked him up, didn't you?"
Wednesday's jaw tightened. Her eyes narrowed on the parchment spread across her desk — class rosters, admission records, handwritten notes she'd "borrowed" from Weems' office. Every student had a file. Every name had a story.
Except his.
There was no Toji Frump before two months ago.
Her fingers drummed the desk. "People don't just appear out of nowhere," she murmured. "Not even in Nevermore."
Enid, sprawled across her bed with glitter on her cheeks, smirked. "Maybe he's just mysterious. Hot and mysterious."
Wednesday turned, her glare sharp enough to puncture light. "He's statistically more likely to be a murderer than a model."
"That's not mutually exclusive," Enid muttered under her breath.
But Wednesday wasn't listening. She was replaying the scene in her mind — the rain, the sound of stone cracking, his eyes as he looked at her, steady, bored, unshaken by the near-death chaos.
There was something unnatural in that calm. Something that felt less human and more… empty.
And yet — it drew her in.
She sat back, closing her journal with a snap. "If he's going to walk around claiming to be my husband, I might as well confirm whether he's worthy of the title."
Enid snorted. "That's not the denial you think it is."
Enid, who had been pretending to scroll on her phone, froze mid-swipe. Her head turned slowly, As if it just realizing what Wednesday said ,eyes wide like she'd just witnessed the apocalypse.
"Wait… WHAT?!" she shrieked, nearly falling off her bed. "He called you his wife?! As in — ring, vows, till death do us part?!"
Wednesday blinked. "If death is involved, I might reconsider."
Enid was already pacing, her voice climbing higher. "You almost got crushed by a gargoyle, and some guy you barely met drops a wedding line?! Girl, that's not normal! That's Netflix special levels of unhinged!" (get it)
Wednesday calmly shut her notebook. "If you're finished having your emotional episode, I'd like to resume my internal dissection of his mental state."
Enid threw her arms up. "Internal dissection?! He flirted with you!"
"It was not flirting," Wednesday said, voice cool as frost. "It was… declarative."
"Oh my god," Enid whispered dramatically, clutching her pillow like a lifeline. "You're not even denying it. You're analyzing it. That's worse. That's so much worse!"
"I'm merely curious," Wednesday said. "About his motives. His tone. His precision."
"Motives?! Tone?! Precision?! That's what you say when you're catching a serial killer, not a crush!"
Wednesday's eyes flicked to her, unimpressed. "Given the current data, both remain plausible."
Enid groaned into her pillow, muffled. "You're doomed, Weds. He's gonna be your doom."
Wednesday stood, straightening her coat, every movement sharp and deliberate. "We'll see who dooms who."
Enid peeked from behind her pillow. "You're so marrying him."
Wednesday's pen snapped in half. Ink dripped onto her sleeve. She didn't even look down.
"I will burn this entire school before that happens."
---
Several hours later :
The dawn crept into Nevermore like a hesitant trespasser. Pale light slid between the gothic arches and spilled across the dormitory hall, catching dust that swirled like tired ghosts.
Toji lay awake long before the first bell. Sleep had never been kind to him—it came in short, sharp bursts and left him with memories that didn't belong to this world. When he did drift off, he dreamed of red water and the smell of iron.
He sat up, expression blank, eyes adjusting to the dull gray ceiling. Another day. Another performance.
He swung his legs off the bed, checked the watch on his wrist—6:03. The second hand ticked steady, a small mechanical heartbeat he didn't share.
The shower hissed alive a moment later. Steam filled the small room, thick and almost suffocating. He moved through it like a shadow that refused to dissolve. Cold water struck his skin; the shock helped him remember he was still tethered to something physical.
When he emerged, towel around his neck, the mirror was a smear of fog. He wiped it clear with his palm. The man who looked back wasn't tired, wasn't angry—just empty in a way that was almost peaceful.
The scar along his lip caught the light; it had healed, but the shape of violence never really faded.
He reached for the cologne bottle on the dresser, a habit rather than a preference. Two short sprays. A crisp scent, sharp and expensive, filling the air like a faint mask of humanity. He adjusted the collar of his shirt, buttoned each one with calm precision.
Then the quiet shifted.
A sound—soft, deliberate—cut through the steam.
Knuckles brushing against wood. Once. Twice.
He glanced toward the door, frown ghosting across his face.
No one knocked this early.
A moment passed.
The knock came again, firmer this time.
Toji didn't answer. He reached for his watch, fastening the clasp, listening. Whoever stood on the other side wasn't leaving. The silence between knocks grew heavier, almost expectant.
Finally, the handle turned.
He didn't move. Didn't even look away from the mirror. The door eased open with a slow, drawn-out creak.
> She wouldn't.
But she did.
He caught her reflection first—black coat, unreadable eyes, the storm from yesterday still caught in them.
Toji exhaled through his nose, voice low and dry.
> "You don't believe in doors, do you?"