Page 113 of Academy of the Wicked, Year Two

"Are you okay?" he asks, genuine worry replacing the philosophical distance that sometimes characterizes his interactions.

"I just remembered something from my past…I think," I admit, details already fading despite a desperate attempt to preserve them. I push aside confusion to focus on the immediate question that feels increasingly urgent. "But I have a different question."

He waits patiently, attention fully present rather than divided or guarded.

"If I bonded with you to take you with me into Year Three," I begin carefully, implications of my suggestion fully recognized despite desperate hope it might provide a solution to seemingly inevitable separation, "would you hate me?"

His expression shifts to complete disbelief, the concept apparently so far removed from the expected response that it temporarily renders him speechless.

When words finally come, they carry vulnerability typically hidden beneath a calm exterior.

"My Master abandoned me," he whispers, a statement carrying the weight of personal history rather than mere theoretical comparison. "And yet a being who's worthy of great things wishes to claim me like I'm not discarded waste?"

The questioning response carries a mixture of hope and disbelief, a possibility too valuable to immediately accept yet too precious to simply dismiss. I search for words that mightbridge the gap between his self-perception and value I've come to recognize during our brief yet significant association.

"One man's trash is another man's treasure," I offer softly, the familiar saying carrying depth beyond casual platitude when applied to specific circumstances rather than general principle. "The world deems you worthy by giving you access to things very few can ever witness here at the academy."

I gesture around us, indicating the Stellarum Archive that surrounds us with its impossible architecture and collected knowledge spanning realms.

"The Abundance Tree, being allowed to venture into these parts…it isn't simply because you've been here longer, or else everyone would have the chance," I continue, conviction growing as evidence accumulates within conscious awareness. "It's because you're worthy, and I won't take advantage of you as the school has with you and Mortimer in the matter."

I lean forward slightly, ensuring complete attention to my promise that feels increasingly important to articulate clearly.

"You'll have the freedom to do as you wish, and no obligation to remain with us or me when we 'escape' Wicked Academy," I clarify, boundaries established alongside the opportunity to ensure consent remains genuine rather than coerced through desperation or manipulation. "But I'd love for you to come along. If that means bonding with you, so be it."

The impact of these words visibly registers in his expression, emotions typically kept carefully concealed now evident in the slight trembling of his lower lip, brightness gathering in eyes that blink rapidly against forming tears. He swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing with the effort required to maintain composure threatened by unexpected kindness.

"I'd be honored," he whispers, head bowing slightly in a gesture that carries formality beyond mere acceptance.Then qualification follows, unexpected concern emerging from nowhere. "Though I'm not really experienced."

The statement requires a moment to properly interpret, confusion clearing as understanding dawns with mortifying clarity.

Experienced? Oh…OH!

Heat rises to my face as I realize a potential misunderstanding regarding the "bonding" process, embarrassment making my voice emerge higher than intended.

"We don't have to do anything romantic, obviously!" I clarify hastily, hands moving in dismissive gestures that probably appear more frantic than reassuring. "But I will need to drink your blood, which... may be an odd sensation, but if we can find the others, they could help with that."

The clarification seems to simultaneously relieve and disappoint him, complex emotions flickering across features before settling into careful neutrality that masks whatever reaction truly manifests beneath surface composure.

The contradiction adds layers to an already complex relationship, suggesting dimensions I hadn't previously considered in our interactions.

Before either of us can address this subtle shift in dynamic, the timepiece chimes another warning – fifteen minutes remaining to complete the assignment and return to Professor Valerian's classroom.

The sound redirects attention to practical concerns that must temporarily take precedence over deeper explorations of personal connections and their implications.

"We should proceed to the viewing platform," Zeke suggests, professional demeanor reasserting itself with visible effort. "The aerial perspective will be optimal for just under five minutes before lighting conditions shift."

I nod agreement, recognizing the necessity of completing the immediate task while mentally filing away important conversation to be resumed when circumstances permit fuller exploration of both bonding possibilities and their implications for our respective futures.

As we leave the room, a familiar voice stops me in my tracks.

"Little Mouse."

I pause, looking back to see Cassius standing in the ornate corridor, his tall form silhouetted against the Archive's ambient light. And beside him – Atticus, crimson eyes gleaming with his characteristic mix of amusement and intensity.

Relief and joy surge through me with such unexpected force that I can't help rushing toward them, wrapping each in a tight embrace that communicates what words cannot fully express.

"I haven't seen you for a whole day, but it feels like eons," I confess, the strange temporal distortion of our separation more disorienting than expected despite such a relatively brief parting by ordinary measurement.

---