Gabriel's POV
Date & Time: Saturday, August 28, 2021, 3:05 PM
Location: Caliban Hall, 2nd Floor, Room 209
The old iron key felt heavy in Gabriel's hand as he stood before the door. Room 209. This was it. The new cage.
He took a steadying breath, the hallway's silence pressing in. 'Okay. Get inside. Lock the door. Build the walls. Isolation is safety.' It was the mantra that had kept him and everyone else alive for the past year.
He could almost hear Alaric's voice, not as a command, but as an ingrained fact, like gravity. 'Discipline is control. Control is survival.'
He lifted the key, his knuckles brushing the heavy oak. His plan was to lock it from the inside and not emerge until he absolutely had to. He pushed gently, expecting the resistance of a locked door.
There was none.
The door swung inward with a faint groan, revealing the room—and its occupant. He froze.
The room was already occupied.
His plan for solitude—the one non-negotiable term he'd demanded—evaporated in an instant. The room was split in two, a perfect line drawn by an invisible boundary. His side was bare, a bed with a thin mattress, an empty desk, and a dusty wardrobe.
The other side... wasn't.
A lanky, dark-haired boy was propped against the far wall on his bed, a large sketchpad balanced on his knees. He was entirely absorbed, his hand moving in swift, confident strokes. The air on his side of the room smelled sharp and earthy, like charcoal pencils and... something else. Something clean and electric, like the air before a thunderstorm.
Gabriel remained rigid in the doorway, his duffel bag suddenly feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds.
'A roommate. Of course.' He felt a familiar, cold annoyance settle in his gut. 'Alaric couldn't even secure a single. And he's an artist. He stares. This is a nightmare.'
Without looking up from his drawing, the boy spoke. "You're late." His voice was calm, almost melodic. "I was hoping I'd gotten a single."
Gabriel's jaw tightened. "The feeling is mutual," he said, the words clipped and cold.
That made the boy look up.
His eyes were green, and they weren't just looking—they were analyzing. They scanned Gabriel from head to toe with an unsettling, appraising intensity, like he was a subject to be cataloged.
"You're Gabriel Beoulve," the boy said. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact.
Gabriel's hand instinctively twitched toward his face, his fingertips brushing the small, faint scar above his left eyebrow. 'Here it comes.' He braced himself for the inevitable reaction—the flicker of fear, the polite step back, the sudden excuse to be somewhere else. It was always the same.
"I am," he said, his voice flat, daring the other boy to react.
The boy just tilted his head, his gaze remaining steady. No fear. No recoil. Just... curiosity.
"Huh," he said, then looked back down at his sketchpad.
Gabriel blinked, completely wrong-footed. "...'Huh'?"
"I figured you'd be... bigger," the boy mused, his pencil resuming its scratching glide. "Given the rumors."
A new kind of tension, sharper than annoyance, coiled in his stomach. 'Rumors. So they already know. Or they think they know.' He gripped the strap of his duffel bag.
"What rumors?"
Before he could answer, the door, which he hadn't closed, was thrown open with a bang that rattled the hinges.
"Thorpe! The machine in the hall is a total scam—it ate my dollar and I know I hit the button for the... oh!"
A new face appeared, grinning, framed by a truly unfortunate green-striped beanie. He was all nervous energy and friendly vibes, the complete opposite of the room's thunderstorm-scented quiet.
"New guy! You're here! Awesome!"
Before Gabriel could so much as flinch, the newcomer was in the room, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
He violently tensed at the sudden, casual contact, his muscles locking in anticipation of a blow. But the grip wasn't aggressive. It didn't shove. It just... rested there. Friendly. His entire lifetime of training screamed at him to pull away, but his brain was stuck, short-circuited by the normality of the gesture.
"So, you're Gabriel Beoulve!" the boy said, his grin widening even more. "Knew it. Heard some stories, man." He looked Gabriel up and down with a comical squint. "Gotta say, I figured you'd be bigger, too. Like, way more... 'grr'."
Gabriel just stared at him. That was the second time someone had said that in the last two minutes.
'They're not scared,' he realized, the thought a cold shock. 'Neither of them are.' They knew his name. They'd heard the rumors. And they were joking. They weren't afraid.
'They should be terrified.'
"I'm Ajax, by the way," the boy continued, finally releasing Gabriel's shoulder and shoving a hand toward him to shake. Gabriel looked at it for a second before giving it a short, reluctant shake.
"I'm across the hall. You got the lucky draw, man. Thorpe's brooding is mostly silent, so you can, like, read and stuff."
The boy on the bed—Thorpe—didn't look up, but a small smirk played on his lips. "I'm Xavier. That's your side." He pointed with the end of his charcoal pencil.
"And he's right about the brooding. But try not to do it too loudly; it messes with my concentration."
Gabriel was surrounded. He was still standing just inside the doorway, but he'd been claimed. His plan for isolation, for walls, for control... it had lasted approximately ninety seconds.
"Anyway," Ajax continued, apparently deciding the introductions were complete.
"We were about to scope out the commissary. I heard they have pizza on Saturdays. You're in. Not a request."
Gabriel's hand tightened on his bag. "I haven't unpacked." It was a weak protest, but it was all he had.
"Unpacking is for quitters. Pizza is for heroes," Ajax declared, grabbing for his arm.
Gabriel flinched, a sharp, instinctive recoil that was more animal than human. He didn't mean to, but the motion was enough. Ajax's hand stopped, his friendly grin faltering for the first time.
Xavier, who hadn't missed a thing, finally spoke from the bed, his voice quiet but firm. "Let him breathe, Ajax. We can bring him a slice."
Ajax looked from Xavier's warning gaze to Gabriel's rigid posture.
"Oh. Right. Yeah, sure. Don't... brood too loudly," he said, trying to recover the cheer.
"We'll be back!"
They left, the door clicking shut, plunging the room back into silence.
Gabriel stood there for a long moment, his back to the door, his duffel bag still on his shoulder. He was alone. But the room was no longer his. It was occupied.
'A nightmare,' he thought again, finally dropping his bag. 'And it's only just started.'
Enid's POV
Location: Ophelia Hall, 3rd Floor, Room 312 (Enid and Yoko's dorm room)
'Okay, okay, okay, first impression. Don't mess it up. Be cool. Be calm. Don't be too much. Don't talk too fast. And definitely do not, under any circumstances, mention the wolf thing.'
Enid kicked the door to Room 312 open with her foot, half-stumbled over the threshold, and her biggest suitcase—the one covered in Hello Kitty and K-Pop stickers—tipped over and crashed onto the wooden floor with a sound like a small explosion.
So much for 'cool and calm.'
She scrambled to stand up straight, pushing her blonde hair out of her face. In the far corner of the room, on the other bed, a girl was sitting. She was wearing all black. Black hoodie, black jeans, black platform boots. Even her hair was long, straight, and jet black. She was reading a book and wearing—Enid was not kidding—sunglasses. Indoors.
She hadn't flinched at the crash. She just... slowly... lowered her book, peering at Enid over the rims of the dark glasses.
This was it. Her roommate. She beamed, plastering on her most welcoming, non-threatening smile, and aimed her voice directly at her.
"Hi!" The word exploded out of her, way too loud for the quiet room. "I'm Enid! Enid Sinclair! I'm your new roommate! This is so exciting, isn't it? Our first year at Nevermore! It's going to be epic!"
She said nothing.
Enid's smile wavered. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. She just... stared.
'Oh my god, she already hates me.'
Enid had to fill the quiet. She had to fix this. Her mouth went on autopilot. "So, you're a vampire, right? I could totally tell. The vibe is... immaculate."
'Stop talking, Enid. Stop. Talking.'
"I'm a werewolf!" she blurted out, the words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush. "Well, you know, mostly. I mean, I haven't... actually..." She made a little 'poof' gesture with her hands. "...wolfed out yet. But it's coming! Any day now. My mom says I'm just a late bloomer. Like, super late. But it's fine! Totally fine."
'AND I MENTIONED THE WOLF THING. I am the worst. My brothers were right, I'm not going to last a week.'
The girl slowly, slowly, put a bookmark in her book. Her face was completely unreadable.
"...Yoko."
Enid blinked. "What?"
"My name," she said, her voice a low, smooth monotone. "Is Yoko."
"Oh! Yoko! Love it!"
Yoko just... stared at her. One perfectly sculpted dark eyebrow raised.
"You're... loud."
'She hates me. She definitely, 100% hates me. This is a disaster.'
A nervous laugh bubbled out of Enid's chest. "Sorry! I know. I talk when I'm nervous. Or excited. Or, you know... breathing."
She cringed, waiting for her to just turn back to her book and end the conversation forever.
Yoko was silent for another long beat. Then, a tiny, tiny corner of her mouth twitched. It was almost a smirk.
"Breathing, huh?" she said. "Bummer for me."
Enid froze. She replayed the words in her head. The deadpan delivery. The almost-smile.
'Wait. Was that... a joke?'
A sudden, giddy wave of relief washed over her. Her shoulders, which had been tensed up around her ears, dropped an inch.
'She's funny! Okay! Sarcastic-funny. I can totally work with sarcastic-funny. This is good. We're bonding.'
This tiny, fragile spark of hope was all she needed. Bolstered, she finally moved, grabbing her disastrously large suitcase and dragging it to her side of the room. The contrast was... stark. Her side was dark, neat, with a few posters of what looked like gothic bands she'd never heard of. Her side was just a blank, empty canvas.
"Well, this side won't be empty for long!" she announced, unzipping the first bag. She immediately pulled out her giant, fuzzy, rainbow-colored quilt and tossed it onto the bed.
"I brought a ton of posters," she said, digging through a side pocket. "I hope you don't mind K-Pop. And glitter. I have... a lot of glitter."
Yoko actually sighed. A real, actual, long-suffering sigh. She took her sunglasses off, folded them, and tucked them into her hoodie pocket. Her eyes were a deep, dark brown and looked... tired.
"I'm a vampire, Enid. My natural enemies are sunlight, garlic, and, apparently, boy bands."
'Okay, she's not amused anymore. Abort! Abort!'
"Oh! Right! Duh. Sorry." Enid giggled, feeling her face heat up. "Well, I'll keep all the glitter and... pop music... strictly on my side of the room. Promise! I'll make, like, a glitter containment field. A GCF. It'll be great."
Yoko put her sunglasses back on, her face once again a perfect, cool mask. "We'll see how long that lasts."
She stood up, grabbing her book. "I'm going to... not be here. For a bit."
"Oh! Okay! Cool!" Enid said, probably too brightly.
She just nodded and glided silently out of the room, leaving Enid alone with her mountain of colorful luggage.
'Well,' she thought, flopping back onto her bare mattress. 'She doesn't hate me... I think. Maybe she's just tired. Vampires get tired in the day, right? That's a thing. She's probably just sleepy.'
She stared at the gray stone ceiling. 'I really hope she likes me. I need one friend here.'
Yoko's POV
Location: Ophelia Hall, 3rd Floor, Hallway Common Area
Yoko glided out of Room 312 and let the heavy oak door click shut, cutting off the sound of Enid cheerfully ripping open what sounded like a box of... jingle bells?
'Finally. Peace and quiet.'
Her new roommate wasn't just... loud. She was a human tornado. A whirlwind of pink, glitter, and run-on sentences. Her temples were already starting to throb from the sheer, relentless energy. She needed a drink.
She padded silently down the stone hallway, her platform boots making no sound. The common area on her floor was empty, thank goodness. Tucked into a shadowy alcove, next to a sad-looking vending machine for 'normie' snacks, was what she was looking for: a sleek, black refrigerated unit marked "VAMPS ONLY."
She pressed her thumb to the scanner. It beeped, and the glass door unlocked with a soft hiss. The low, electronic hum of the cooler was the only sound, a soothing white noise.
'Okay. O-positive, or A-negative for a little treat?'
As she was reaching for an "O-Neg" pack, she heard them. Footsteps. Heavy. Clumsy. Definitely not vampires. Followed by loud, boisterous voices. Werewolves.
She instinctively stepped back into the shadows of the alcove. It was an old habit. Vampires observe. We don't announce.
Two upperclassmen werewolves, built like they wrestled bears for fun, ambled past the alcove, deep in conversation. They didn't even glance her way.
"I'm serious, man," the first one said, his voice low. "Did you see who just checked in? Beoulve."
Yoko froze, her hand hovering over the blood pack.
'Gabriel Beoulve? The name sounds old-blood. Familiar.'
A beat of silence. The second wolf scoffed. "No. You're kidding me. I thought his family had him locked up somewhere after... you know. Crestwood."
"Nope," the first one confirmed. "Saw him with my own eyes. Heading to Caliban. Still wearing the family ring and everything, the silver wolf. Like he's proud of it."
'Crestwood? Locked up? A silver wolf ring... noted.'
"Gods. Just... keep clear of him," the second one said, his tone dropping. "He's not pack. Not really. My cousin goes to Crestwood, he said that thing..." He shook his head. "It's just bad news."
Their voices faded as they rounded the corner toward the stairs.
Yoko stood there in the silence, the hum of the fridge suddenly sounding too loud.
'Gabriel Beoulve.' She filed the name away. 'Caliban Hall. Crestwood "mess." Locked up. Silver wolf ring. "Bad news" and "not pack"... coming from other werewolves.'
Her vampire instincts, the ones her father had drilled into her, were buzzing. This wasn't just idle gossip. This felt like real, physical danger. The kind of danger that her ridiculously loud, bright, and terminally trusting new roommate would walk right into with a smile and a handful of glitter.
She grabbed her blood pack, the plastic cold against her palm.
'File that away,' she thought, pushing the fridge door shut. 'Beoulve. Dangerous.'
Enid's POV
Location: The Quad
Okay, so maybe Yoko needed some space. Totally understandable. Introverts, right? And maybe Enid had come on a little strong with the glitter talk. Fine. She could channel her hyperactive energy into something productive! Like making the Quad look a little less... well, dead. It was move-in day! It needed some sparkle! Some pizzazz!
Which is how she found herself teetering on a slightly wobbly wooden bench near the big, gnarled dead tree. Honestly, who puts a dead tree in the middle of the main courtyard?
Anyway, she was trying to stick her masterpiece—a giant "WELCOME NEW STUDENTS!" poster, lovingly crafted with rainbow letters and copious amounts of glitter glue—onto the stone archway above.
"Almost... there..." she muttered through gritted teeth, stretching onto her tiptoes. Her fingers brushed the cold, slightly mossy stone. Yes! Contact!
Her brief moment of triumph immediately dissolved into panic. As she leaned back to admire her handiwork, the bench wobbled violently. Her arms flailed like startled birds. Her left hand smacked into the open jar of extra-fine pink and silver glitter she'd stupidly balanced right beside her foot.
'Oh no no no no—'
The world tilted sideways. The ancient stones of the Quad seemed to spin. The glitter jar sailed through the air in a shimmering, slow-motion arc. The cobblestones rushed up to meet her. This was it. Death by clumsiness on day one.
And then... nothing.
Instead of hitting the ground, strong hands clamped around her waist, stopping her fall with a sudden, breath-stealing jolt that snapped her teeth together. She gasped, finding herself pressed against a surprisingly solid chest, her cheek mashed against the rough, unfamiliar wool of a Nevermore blazer—a dark one, not the usual indigo stripes.
'Whoa. Okay. Not dead. Definitely caught.'
And then the glitter cloud hit. Like a tiny, sparkly pink and silver bomb had detonated.
A shimmering curtain rained down, coating her hair, her sweater, the bench, the ancient cobblestones, and, most mortifyingly, the person currently saving her from a concussion.
"Oh my gosh!" The words tumbled out in a panicked rush, her voice muffled against his jacket. She could feel the non-stop radiating warmth through the fabric, smell a faint, musky scent like pine needles and cold iron. "I am SO sorry! Oh my god, are you okay? I was just trying to hang the poster, and I slipped, and the glitter—oh no, you're... you're completely covered in glitter!"
She finally managed to wriggle back enough to look up. And up.
He was tall. Lean, but the hands still firmly holding her waist felt incredibly strong. He had dark, slightly messy hair that fell over his forehead, with a few surprising streaks of premature gray near his temples that looked kinda cool. Sharp cheekbones, a straight nose... and eyes. Piercing gray eyes that were currently surveying the absolute glitter catastrophe she had unleashed upon his pristine, dark uniform with an expression she couldn't decipher at all.
'MORTIFIED. I AM LITERALLY DYING OF EMBARRASSMENT. RIGHT HERE. IN THE QUAD. ON DAY ONE. First day and I've assaulted someone with glitter.'
He carefully released her waist, his hands lingering for just a fraction of a second before he took a small, deliberate step back, putting some much-needed space between them. His expression was... unnervingly calm. Not angry, exactly. Just... assessing. He meticulously brushed a cascade of pink sparkles from his sleeve, his movements precise.
"Death by glitter," he said, his voice quiet and unexpectedly dry, with a wry edge she hadn't expected. "A terrible way to go."
Enid blinked, processing. Had he just... made a joke?
A surprised laugh burst out of her before she could stop it. It wasn't a polite little titter; it was a genuine, slightly hysterical snort-laugh that echoed oddly in the quiet courtyard. "That would be the worst obituary ever!"
His lips twitched. It was barely there, almost invisible, but definitely the corner of his mouth lifting. "At least it's memorable."
"This is the worst first impression in the history of first impressions!" she wailed dramatically, dropping to her knees and scrambling to pick up the fallen roll of tape, the now-empty glitter jar, and the poster which had sadly detached itself from the archway and fluttered to the ground. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. "Seriously, I promise I'm not usually this much of a walking disaster area. Sometimes I'm only a mild tripping hazard!"
"It's... memorable," he repeated, that slight twitch still playing on his lips as he watched her flail.
"Memorable bad or memorable good?" she demanded, looking up at him from her crouched position amidst the glittery crime scene.
He considered this for a second, his gray eyes unreadable. "...Memorable."
"That's not an answer!" she protested, even though she was starting to grin despite her utter humiliation.
A tiny, fleeting smile finally broke through his composed expression. "I know."
'Wait, he's not yelling. He's... joking? And smiling? Okay, tiny smile, but still! Oh wow. He's CUTE. Like, really, really cute. In a broody, 'I-probably-listen-to-The-Cure-unironically' kind of way. But funny?'
He bent down then, easily retrieving the roll of tape that had skittered near his polished black shoe. As he straightened up, holding it out to her, the late afternoon sun glinted off something on his right hand.
A ring. A heavy silver ring, intricately carved. Her eyes zoomed in on it as she automatically reached for the tape. It wasn't just a pattern; it was... a wolf. A detailed, snarling wolf head, jaws slightly open, eyes seeming to glint in the light. It looked old. And expensive. And really, really cool.
'Whoa, that ring is amazing. So detailed. It looks so real.'
"Memorable and catastrophically clumsy! That's basically my brand," she babbled, finally taking the tape and forcing herself to stand up, brushing glitter off her bright pink sweater with absolutely zero effect. Glitter is eternal. "I'm Enid, by the way. Enid Sinclair. And you're... my glitter-covered savior. Thanks for, you know, catching me."
He gave a slight, almost formal nod, his gaze steady as he held hers for a beat too long. The hint of amusement was gone now, replaced by that same unreadable intensity. "Gabriel."
'Gabriel. His name is Gabriel.' The name felt... nice. Solid. It suited him somehow, matched the quiet intensity.
'Okay. Gabriel. I can work with this.'
He didn't offer anything else, just gave another tiny nod and turned, walking away across the Quad with fluid, deliberate steps, leaving Enid standing there amidst the glittery wreckage, tape in hand.
"Bye, Gabriel!" she called after him, maybe a little too loudly.
He didn't turn around, but she thought maybe, just maybe, his shoulders tensed slightly before he disappeared around the corner.
Enid stared after him for a moment, her heart doing a weird little fluttery thing.
'Okay,' she thought, finally looking down at the tape, then back at the archway, then at the glitter shimmering all over the cobblestones.
'He's... weird. But, like, a good weird. A funny, cute, surprisingly helpful, possibly-brooding-poet weird.'
A smile spread across her face, despite the lingering heat in her cheeks. Maybe Nevermore wouldn't be so bad after all.
Gabriel's POV
Location: The Quad
'Just need some air.'
Gabriel's knuckles were white where he gripped the worn leather cover of his book. Escaping the room had become imperative. Between Xavier's unnervingly perceptive gaze—already sketching him, no doubt—and Ajax's relentless, cheerful interrogation about pizza toppings, the walls had felt like they were closing in faster than usual.
'Get away from the roommate who stares and the neighbor who talks. Find a quiet place. Read. Re-center.' Discipline. Control. That was the mantra.
He walked briskly across the Quad, head down, eyes scanning the periphery for an unoccupied bench, a shadowed alcove, anything that offered a modicum of solitude. The late afternoon sun was weak, filtering through the perpetually overcast sky Nevermore-specialized in.
His gaze snagged briefly on a flash of movement. A student. A girl, balancing precariously on a wooden bench near the dead tree. Dressed in... aggressively bright pink.
'Whatever. Walk around her.' Avoidance was always the first, best strategy. Keep distance. Minimize contact.
He adjusted his path, angling away from the bench, focusing on the archway beyond.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wobble. A small, jerky movement. Followed by a wild flailing of arms.
His first, conscious instinct screamed: 'Keep walking. Not your problem. Avoid interaction.'
But Alaric's training was burned deeper than conscious thought. Years of drills. React. Assess. Neutralize threat. Protect. Even when the threat was just gravity acting on a clumsy girl in a pink sweater.
She overcorrected, tipping backward, arms windmilling uselessly.
'She's falling. Idiot, move.'
His body reacted before his brain finished the thought. The ten feet separating them vanished in two quick, precise steps—unnaturally fast, a blur of motion he always tried to suppress. His hands shot out, catching her around the waist, his grip solid, practiced, bracing for the impact. He stopped her maybe six inches from the hard cobblestones.
Just as his hands made contact, something exploded.
POOF.
A cloud of pink and silver erupted around them. Fine, powdery... glitter. It filled the air, shimmering sickeningly in the dim light. It coated his dark blazer, his trousers, his hands where they rested firmly on her waist. It clung to his hair, dusted his face. A sticky, cloying, pink mist.
He froze.
His hands were still on her. Through the ridiculous fuzzy pink sweater, she felt... warm. Small. She smelled faintly of something sweet, like sugar and maybe... lavender?
And he was covered in glitter. Holding a stranger. In the middle of the Quad.
Revulsion, sharp and immediate, coiled in his gut. Not from the contact, but from the mess.
The glitter. It was... everywhere. It was on his skin. Too close. Too public. Too chaotic.
'Let go. Contact is bad. Step back.'
He released her abruptly, setting her back on her feet and taking a quick, deliberate step away, creating distance. His skin crawled where the glitter clung.
"Oh my gosh!" Her voice was high-pitched, panicked, words tumbling out in a breathless rush. "I am SO sorry! Oh my god, are you okay? I was just trying to hang the poster, and I slipped, and the glitter—oh no, you're... you're completely covered in glitter!"
He looked down at his sleeve. It looked like a unicorn had sneezed on him. His usual response would be a curt nod, a clipped "It's fine," and a swift exit. But something about the sheer absurdity of the situation—the violence of the glitter explosion, her wide, horrified blue eyes—short-circuited his defenses.
"Death by glitter," he heard himself say, the words emerging dry and flat. Where had that come from? He didn't make jokes. "A terrible way to go."
She blinked up at him, her mouth slightly open. Then she laughed. Not a nervous titter, but a loud, bright, surprised peal of laughter that seemed startlingly out of place in the gloomy Quad.
"That would be the worst obituary ever!" she exclaimed, the panic in her eyes replaced by genuine amusement.
'She's not scared. She's... laughing.' This was... unexpected. Usually, people flinched. Or stared. Or whispered. They didn't laugh.
Against his will, against years of practiced control, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
"At least it's memorable."
"This is the worst first impression in the history of first impressions!" she wailed, suddenly dropping to her knees and scrambling to gather scattered supplies, still talking a mile a minute. "Seriously, I promise I'm not usually this much of a walking disaster area. Sometimes I'm only a mild tripping hazard!"
'A walking, talking, colorful disaster.' The description felt apt. She was... a lot. Loud. Bright. Clumsy. And apparently coated everything she touched in sparkles.
"It's... memorable," he repeated, the word tasting strange on his tongue.
"Memorable bad or memorable good?" she demanded, looking up at him, blue eyes wide and earnest.
"...Memorable."
"That's not an answer!" she protested, but she was grinning now, a wide, infectious smile.
Damn it. Another smile escaped, small but definite this time. "I know."
She kept talking, scrambling around on the cobblestones. He should leave. He needed to leave. But his feet felt rooted.
He bent down, his own ingrained politeness overriding his desire to flee, and picked up the roll of tape near his shoe. As he straightened, she was getting up, brushing glitter from her pink sweater—a futile effort.
"Memorable and catastrophically clumsy! That's basically my brand," she babbled, taking the tape from his outstretched hand. Her fingers brushed his—quick, warm, gone.
His gaze flickered to where her fingers had touched his. No lingering tingle. Just... contact. Unwanted.
He pulled his hand back, needing distance. Now. "Gabriel," he said curtly, already turning.
"Bye, Gabriel!" she called after him, her voice still bright and cheerful.
He didn't turn around. He just walked, quickly, head down again, acutely aware of the ridiculous pink and silver sheen coating his dark uniform. He could feel invisible eyes on him. Everyone would stare.
'A clumsy encounter. Memorable. That's the word.'
Annoyance warred with a strange, unfamiliar flicker of... something else. Amusement? Intrigue? Whatever it was, it was unwelcome.
'Now leave. I'm a walking disco ball. Solitude failed. Utterly.'
He needed to get out of sight. Back to the room. Back to the artist who stares. At least Xavier already knew his name. Dealing with his quiet analysis was preferable to walking through Nevermore looking like he'd lost a fight with a craft store.
Enid's POV
Ophelia Hall, Room 312 (Enid and Yoko's dorm room)
Enid practically vibrated back to the room, still buzzing from the Quad encounter. Okay, yes, the glitter situation was mortifying, but Gabriel! He was funny! And cute! And he hadn't run screaming! This was huge progress for day one.
'He was so nice! I have to tell Yoko. She'll appreciate the dry humor part, maybe.'
She burst through the door, thankfully managing not to drop anything this time. Yoko was back, curled up on her perfectly neat, dark gray bedspread, sunglasses back on, reading her book again. She looked impossibly cool and composed.
"Yoko, oh my gosh, you will not believe what just happened!" Enid exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "I met this guy!"
Yoko slowly lowered her book again, peering at her over the dark lenses. Her expression was utterly deadpan. "Let me guess," she droned. "He exploded into a cloud of glitter."
Enid giggled, grabbing her poor, abused glitter jar off her desk where she'd dropped it.
"Close! I exploded glitter all over him. Like, seriously. Head to toe. It was a disaster of epic proportions. But he was so nice about it! He even made a joke! His name is Gabriel."
Yoko didn't react immediately. She just held Enid's gaze for a long moment, her face unreadable behind the sunglasses. Then she repeated the name slowly, thoughtfully.
"Gabriel. Huh." She tilted her head slightly.
"What did he look like?"
"Oh my god, super cute," Enid sighed dreamily, flopping down onto her rainbow quilt. She could still picture him perfectly.
"Like, tall, kinda broody, dark hair but with these really cool premature gray streaks right here," she gestured to her temples. "And these really piercing gray eyes... oh! And he had this amazing silver ring on his right hand, with this super detailed wolf carved into it! It looked ancient."
Yoko stiffened. It was barely perceptible, just a slight tightening of her shoulders, but Enid saw it. She sat up a little straighter on her bed.
She took off her sunglasses, her dark eyes sharp and focused now. Her tone shifted—still dry, but with an undercurrent Enid couldn't quite place. Observational, maybe? Like she was putting pieces together. "Oh," she said quietly. "Gray eyes. Dark hair with gray streaks. Silver wolf ring." She paused, then added, almost casually, "That's Gabriel. Gabriel Beoulve."
Enid's happy bubble deflated instantly. The way she said his full name... it sounded heavy. Ominous.
'Why did she say his last name like that? Like it's... bad?'
"The... what?" Enid asked, her smile faltering.
"You know him?"
Yoko shrugged, a deliberate, casual movement that didn't quite match the sudden tension in the room. She looked away, tracing a pattern on her book cover. "Heard of him," she said, her voice dropping slightly, becoming conspiratorial, gossipy. "He's that guy. The one with that whole mess at Crestwood."
"The... 'mess' at Crestwood?" Enid echoed, feeling a knot form in her stomach. That sounded bad. Like, really bad.
Yoko finally looked back at her, her expression serious now. "The upperclassmen in the hall were talking earlier," she explained, leaning forward slightly. "When I went to get a blood pack. Apparently, he got expelled. Something major went down. They were talking like he's... I don't know, the boogeyman. But for other werewolves. Which is... a choice."
'Boogeyman? For werewolves?' Enid's mind reeled. That didn't make any sense. The guy who'd caught her, who'd joked about death by glitter, who'd had that tiny, almost-hidden smile... a boogeyman?
"But... he was... sweet," she stammered, confused. "He joked with me. He helped me pick up my stuff."
Yoko sighed, rubbing her temples like Enid was giving her a headache again. "Look, Enid," she said, her voice softening slightly, taking on that protective tone Enid's older brothers sometimes used. "Werewolf pack politics are... intense. And old families like the Beoulves? They carry serious baggage. All I heard was 'expelled,' 'dangerous,' and 'not pack.' It sounds... complicated."
She picked up her sunglasses, twirling them in her fingers. "My advice?" She slid them back on, her cool mask firmly in place. "Based purely on hallway gossip and ancient vampire instincts?" She gave Enid a pointed look. "I'd just, you know... steer clear. Probably safer."
She picked up her book, signaling the end of the conversation.
Enid stared at her, her earlier excitement completely gone, replaced by a confusing mix of disappointment and a sudden, unwelcome flicker of fear. Gabriel Beoulve. The boogeyman.
But he'd smiled.
Gabriel's POV
Gabriel stalked back into Room 209, intending to grab his bag, find Alaric, and demand an explanation for this roommate debacle. Solitude had failed spectacularly, and now he was coated in evidence of the failure.
He tried to slip in quietly, keeping to his side of the room, but the low light from the single desk lamp glinted off the fine layer of pink and silver coating his blazer.
Xavier stopped sketching. His head tilted, those analytical green eyes narrowing as he took in Gabriel's state.
"...Did you lose a fight with a rainbow?" he asked, his tone laced with faint amusement.
"It was an accident," Gabriel clipped out, already moving towards his duffel bag on the bed.
"A glitter-based accident," Xavier mused, his artist's eye cataloging the mess. "Copious amounts of it."
Gabriel sighed, abandoning the attempt to de-sparkle himself. "A girl. With glitter."
Right on cue, Ajax appeared, leaning against the doorframe, that ever-present grin plastered on his face. He'd clearly been eavesdropping from his room across the hall.
"A clumsy encounter, huh?" Ajax echoed, waggling his eyebrows. "Is that what we're calling her? Does this mysterious 'girl with glitter' have a name?"
Gabriel glared at him, annoyance flaring. They were like a tag team of unwanted social interaction. "Pizza," he said flatly, grabbing the book he'd dropped on his bed earlier. "You said pizza."
Ajax clapped his hands together. "Yes! He's deflecting! He totally met a girl! We're breaking him down already, Thorpe. Phase one complete!" He pushed off the doorframe. "Come on, Glitter Force. Pizza awaits. And you," he pointed at Gabriel, "are telling us everything."
'I can't even have a... moment. He sees everything. And the other one never stops talking.'
Gabriel looked down at his hand, noticing a few stray silver sparkles catching the light near his ring. 'A walking, talking, colorful disaster.' Her laugh echoed unexpectedly in his memory. Bright. Surprised.
'...Memorable.'
"Let's go," Xavier said, standing up and stretching. He glanced at the glitter still clinging to Gabriel's shoulder. "Seriously, though. You might want to change."
Gabriel sighed again, the sound heavy with resignation. 'They're not going to leave me alone, are they?'
The thought was irritating. Deeply irritating. But underneath the annoyance, there was a flicker of something else. Something unfamiliar and vaguely unsettling. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, being included. It was just... new.
And new things, in his experience, were almost always dangerous.
But Ajax already had a hand on his back, propelling him towards the door, chattering about pepperoni versus pineapple. Xavier followed, that thoughtful, analytical look back on his face.
Gabriel let them steer him out of the room, still covered in glitter. Solitude had failed. Annoyingly, surprisingly, he wasn't entirely mad about it. Yet.