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It was your birthday, and so it was only natural that Kalim threw you the biggest party of your life.
Between the acapella performance of several exotic birds that cost thrice over a single kidney and the tables and tables of delicious food and dessert in every direction, you couldn’t possibly fathom how Kalim’s parties could get more extravagant until you were told by a disheveled Jamil that you hadn’t even seen the worst of it. He cited the Asim family’s tiger’s birthday party last year, held at their estate, and shivered unconsciously as he mentioned it, as though the mere memory itself sent a sour taste running through his veins.
Jamil had wrangled the birds from their cages and was conducting them in an effortless fashion to perform a rendition of the classic Happy Birthday song with what feels like the entirety of Night Raven College singing along. You could pick out most of your classmates' voices if you focused.
Riddle and Vil were difficult to hear since they were precisely on key, unsurprisingly. Deuce and Ace seemed to be in silent competition over whose voice was better, each growing louder and louder with each verse. Epel, deciding it was safer not to be the tie-breaker, chose to focus on not slipping back into his country accent as he sang. They sang a different version of the song back home and he was trying his best to avoid mistakes, lest Vil take notice.
Grim’s lyrics were muffled as he was already helping himself to one of the cakes on the side (there were several, of course) with Trey half-singing to you and half-reprimanding Grim on eating before you had even cut the first slice of the main cake.
(Not to mention the song hadn’t even concluded.)
Ruggie was helping himself to fifths and had a jovial skip to his step between each of the buffet tables as he, too, sang to you. Jamil had spent at least twenty-four hours alone preparing the food and Ruggie was not about to let a single morsel go to waste.
Jack shoved the whole tissue box in Rook’s direction, his tail beating back and forth behind him. Rook had taken the box from him without taking his eyes off of you and belted the lyrics straight into the tissue he was using to blow his nose. Birthdays are rather special after all; you only turn every age once, and the next one always comes sooner than you think.
The flash of Cater and Ortho’s cameras were directed towards you. One for pictures and the other for a video to capture every moment the night had to offer.
Later, when you go to look back at the photos, they are utterly Idia-less and you begin to think he never showed up. Until you spot him cartoonishly tip-toeing in one of the photograph’s corners to place his gift for you on the designated present table without anyone noticing. Mission failed; Cater and Ortho never miss a single thing.
You didn’t know students at Diasomnia all too well but Kalim insisted they invite them anyway. Unlike Idia however, they did not attend. Though Jamil surmises something happened to the invitation along the way. Perhaps sending the invite via carrier pigeon wasn’t the best way after all…
You could pick out Floyd’s voice from miles away, which wasn’t even a difficult task since he was singing so incredibly loud and off-key that he was throwing one of the macaws off its rhythm. Jamil argued with him while simultaneously attempting to conduct the birds. An impossible task, but impressive he was attempting anyway.
Jade remained unfazed with a polite smile on his face, and you could see his glinting eye in the dark of the room. Beside him, Azul’s gaze would shift to the cake and then back to your face several times, as if the cake was his temptress and he was trying his best to remain pious.
Kalim clapped along, oblivious to the chaotic tune but arguably the happiest of the bunch.
It all felt terribly awkward, like it always does when you’re the center of attention and don’t quite know what to do. You’re not really sure if anyone in the world knows what to do when people sing you Happy Birthday. But you supposed mouthing every other verse with a huge smile plastered on your face was enough.
Just as the song concluded, you looked over to the corner where you knew Leona was, and he had but a single second to absorb the way the shadows framed your face and memorize your grin, bright enough to rival the candles, before you blew them out and plunged the room into night.
The room promptly erupted into whistles and cheers and claps and you feel full and happy and utterly grateful.
The lights turn on, you cut the cake, slices of dessert are passed around, and the festivities continue as students laugh and eat and dance and chatter.
Except, the festivities seem to have forgotten that they need to end too.
At a certain point, you’ve laughed until your lungs threatened to collapse, eaten your fill and plenty more, danced to the point of your legs giving out from under you, and chattered until your mouth ran dry and refused to rehydrate itself. And the party still showed no sign of stopping, much less slowing.
Scarabia’s stamina should be scientifically studied because maintaining these energy levels while keeping guests entertained is absolutely impossible. Any time someone would even whisper they are thinking about retiring for the evening, Kalim would announce some wonderful game and the party would start right back up again.
You were having fun, but at a certain point it all becomes too much. The lights are too blinding, the body heat is too stifling, and music and conversation become difficult to separate. Your feet begin to slow and betray you and your stomach cannot handle another crumb.
It was nearly two in the morning and the acapella birds were flying around the room in disorienting circles and there were multiple students screaming about droppings on their outfits. At some point, Kalim left and re-entered riding an elephant, which promptly took up half the room and left you fighting against the horde of students who rushed closer, wanting to ride the elephant themselves. You’re not even sure how the animal fit in the room.
Is it rude to leave your own party?
Surely no one would notice if you slip out.
“Bye guys, thank you so much for the party,” you say to no one in particular and much too quietly for anyone to hear.
The thrum of the speakers ebbs away as you leave Scarabia’s dorm room. You practically float down the hall, your mind driving out the music and focusing instead on your footfalls. It’s significantly cooler outside the dorm, the temperature dropping by several degrees on account of there being no sweaty student bodies attempting a mosh pit pressed up against you.
Also, no elephant.
“Hey! Where’re ya goin’?”
Although, there is a certain lion.
You whirl around and nearly splatter against Leona’s vest. He was much closer than you realized. In his hands is a rather large, rather long gift wrapped in orange and black polka dotted paper. The music is still audible from here and you could see the lights in the room flashing various colors from the open door.
Your voice is surprisingly steady when you reply. “I’m just, uh, getting some fresh air.” You gesture in the general direction of away from the party.
“Ah,” Leona says simply.
Leona never exactly asks to tag along, nor do you invite him, but the two of you end up walking in the same direction with the unspoken and mutual agreement of getting some fresh air binding the two of you together.
When the two of you are finally outside and the chilly night air erects goosebumps over your arm, you feel refreshed enough to properly break the silence. “I’m surprised you stayed at the party that long, Leona.”
“Me too.”
There’s a boatload of silence before you decide you should probably address the elephant in the room.
(Not the real elephant, which is in Scarabia's dorm, but the metaphorical elephant of the huge gift Leona is carrying around.)
“Who’s that for?” You point to the present curiously, eyeing it as if you could divulge the contents with your non-existent x-ray vision.
“Crowley, obviously.” A beat passes and Leona coughs. “That was a joke, clearly.”
“I think maybe you should work on your delivery.”
Leona rolls his eyes and shoves it in your hands. “Cool it, herbivore. I got ya somethin’ for your birthday. Who else’s would it be?”
The two of you sit down on a bench en route to Ramshackle to properly and unhurriedly unwrap your gift. With much difficulty, you turn the box in hand and give it a little shake. It’s heavy, but the weight is unevenly distributed.
“Who wrapped this?” You ask, because whoever did so definitely mastered the impossible art of neat gift-wrapping. Also, because the longer you waited to open the gift, the harder Leona’s tail thrashed in anticipation. And you thought that was extremely amusing and very endearing.
“Me.”
You give Leona a look.
“Okay, okay! Sheesh, you got me. Ruggie and Jack also helped.”
You try to suppress a smile but fail miserably, and give into a laugh that mutates into snorts that have you gripping your aching sides. “H-how many N-night Raven College students…” you manage between huffs, “does it take to wrap a gift?!”
Leona stands up and the gift is promptly ripped from your hand. He holds it high above his head and definitively out of your reach. Your laugh stops immediately and you stand up.
“Keep talkin’ like that and I’ll just take the gift back,” he taunts, a mischievous smile playing on the corner of his lips as he looks down on you.
“Hey! Wait stop, I didn’t mean it!!”
The most surprising thing isn’t that it took three Night Raven College students to wrap a gift, but that Leona Kingscholar had asked for help to wrap your gift.
Leona doesn’t lower the gift by a fraction and instead holds your gaze steady, smirk becoming more evident by a minute.
You sigh and take a deep breath.
“Pretty please Housewarden Leona sir, I would like the gift back on account that it is mine and not Crowley’s and also I am very truly sincerely sorry for what I said. Your wrapping skills are exquisite and I wish to become your humble student and learn your ways if you would accept me.”
“Ugh, total overkill. Okay, whatever,” Leona scoffs. “Here ya go.”
He practically drops the gift on your head before taking a seat back on the bench. His ears twitch as he watches you unwrap the gift. Unlike the many underclassmen he’s seen on Christmas and other such holidays, you don’t immediately start ravaging the paper apart to get to the good stuff. Instead, he looks on as you try your best not to tear the wrapping apart, taking your time to ensure you’re unwrapping the gift in the order he taped it in. You start on the side, your finger wedging itself beneath the tape and slowly but surely peeling it off before repeating the motion on the other side of the box, and so on and so forth.
Leona is not familiar with this particular method of unwrapping gifts. He’s seen Cheka tear through the paper with teeth alone, plundering past paper to reveal its treasures. It’s not a very time-efficient strategy, but nevertheless Leona found himself feeling a sort of fondness for the way you handle even the silliest things with such care. It makes him wonder if you would treat him the same.
Tug too hard on even the sturdiest and thickest of paper and it, too, will tear. But you peel back layer by layer without aggression or hurry. You make gentleness look effortless, patience instinctive, as if you had all the time in the world to sit beside Leona under an increasingly starry sky.
“C’mon, I don’t have all night,” Leona grumbles, his tone lacking any real bite. “Why bother with something you’re just gonna toss in the end anyway?”
“I dunno,” you shrug. “Because you took the time to wrap it?”
It was well past two in the morning now, the birthday party a distant memory blurred by the kind of peace only night can bring. A light breeze blows past the two of you and it ripples through the wrapping paper, held firmly in Leona’s hands so it doesn’t fly away.
You stare at the shiny broomstick in awe. It’s made of dark wood and is slicker than sleek. The broom bristles are shiny and uniform, not a twig out of place. On the handle is your name engraved in cursive lettering, beside it, a star.
“It’s a new model,” Leona explains. “I bewitched it so that you, magicless as you are, could ride it too. Probably beats having to walk back to Ramshackle all the time.”
He’s over-explained, Leona thinks to himself. He can’t help it; he’s just not sure if you like it or not. Your reaction is puzzling: your mouth clamped shut and your eyes unblinking.
Maybe you didn’t like it? Or someone had already somehow given you the exact same thing?
Oh no.
Maybe you were afraid of heights!
Leona’s mind had jumped through several hoops but the truth was, it wasn’t any of those things. You were simply trying your best to gather your words without bursting into tears. Even Leona has his limits.
It was probably the most thoughtful gift anyone had ever given you.
Don’t cry, don't cry, don't cry, DON’T cry.
“Listen, if you don’t like it I can—”
“No,” you interrupt, placing your hand on his arm. “I love it. It’s perfect.”
Leona’s glad his heart is firmly welded into his chest, because otherwise it probably would have skipped right over to you. He can feel it thrum in his ears, echoing your very words throughout every vein.
I love it. It’s perfect.
“It looks big enough to fit two people. Can you take me for a ride on it?”
Leona’s heart seemed to stop beating entirely.
Can he take you for a what on what.
It’s true that the broom fits two people, but Leona didn’t consider himself into the equation when he commissioned it to be made. He had a cat in mind but it wasn’t him; it was Grim.
You hold the broom out to him with such sincerity, eyes full and twinkling like the stars above, sure he would never deny you. Not when the weather is so nice and clear. And certainly not on your birthday.
How right you are.
After crumbling the wrapping paper to dust and ensuring his heart had re-started, Leona tentatively takes the broom from your hand and swings his leg over the handle, just below your engraved name. You stand behind him and do the same without hesitation. Watching Vargas teach Flight class meant you spent a good chunk of your time observing and subconsciously internalizing what to do and what not to do, as well as the techniques and habits of various students.
For example, you knew that Leona likes to take off very quickly. Which is why you make sure to wrap your hands around his torso and hold on tightly.
Because you don’t want to fall off obviously.
By now Leona’s heart had gotten used to stopping and restarting, but his body had still stiffened just the slightest bit under your touch nevertheless. Leona kicks off the ground without waiting a further moment and the two of you take to the sky in a blur. You hold on even more tightly, if that was even possible, and fight back the scream lodged in your throat.
Half-sure your soul had taken flight and left your body back on the ground, you dare to glance down. Only, your body isn’t there. The familiar roads back to Ramshackle are grains of pepper to season the wide expanse of wilderness before you. The castle, framed by the night sky and wispy clouds, is even more magnificent from up here, and hauntingly beautiful. If you reached out right now, perhaps you would be able to touch the roof tiles?
Your hands stay firmly lodged in their place, wound around Leona and resting on his abdomen. They would not obey you even if you commanded them, in fear that letting go would also mean falling down. This was your first time on a broomstick after all. It would take some practice before you would be able to do this on your own.
Still, flying by yourself sounds a bit lonely. You also think it would also be significantly less warm. Your cheeks, stinging from the cold rush of wind, had found warmth in Leona’s back, so you leave your face buried there even as Leona begins to slow for the descent.
Ramshackle grows larger in your vision. You can see the warped iron fence, the splintered wood, and the crumbling chimney of the house you call home. It does look better on the inside, you remind yourself.
You wish you could say the landing went smoothly but it definitely didn’t and it was entirely your fault.
You feel brave enough, or maybe stupid enough, to extend your feet, thinking the ground to still be further away. Unfortunately, your feet skid the two of you to a forceful stop, and the broomstick violently jerks the two of you off its handle before landing soundlessly on the floor.
You scream as you land on something squishy and Leona lets out a pained oof sound.
“S-sorry Leona! That was my fault.”
“Geroff me!” Leona calls from below you. Maybe a few months ago he would have shoved you off without a care, but now he waits for you to prop yourself up on your hands and stand up before he does the same.
Picking the blades of grass off you, you let out a groan when you see they’ve left a stain of green in their wake. “Aw man! This was my special birthday outfit!”
“You always have next year.”
You smack him playfully and throw the grass you collected on his shirt. “You’re horrible.”
“I know, but you love it.”
“Yeah, I do.”
A silence overtakes the two of you, and the metaphorical elephant in the room has never been larger.
It’s strange, this silence. In its stillness it seems to amplify other senses. The scent of Leona’s cologne is still present in the air, even after a very thrilling broom ride. Leona can smell a hint of frosting on your own breath, and hear the pumping of your heart alongside his.
Would they get louder if he stepped closer?
They do, and the heartbeats quicken in sync. The smell of cologne and frosting is stronger now, mingling in the small space between his lips and yours.
You can’t think—you won’t. If not now, then it won’t be ever. Your heels lift and you press a kiss to Leona’s lips, lingering just long enough for you to feel him kissing back. His hand winds around your neck and his fingers intertwine themselves in your hair to push you closer, deeper.
It’s three in the morning, maybe almost four. You left your birthday party early and spent ten minutes unwrapping a single gift. You soared through the sky and tumbled down onto the ground and you kissed Leona Kingscholar with grass stains in your shirt and frosting on your tongue.
You’re a year older now; maybe not quite wiser. But you made it through yet another year, and that is a feat worth celebrating.