The evening light filtered softly through the glass panes of Ryoutei Academy's greenhouse, casting long, fragile shadows across the rows of delicate plants. Magical lanterns hung like small stars, their faint glow weaving a quiet warmth in the cool air. Rosalina sat curled in the corner among the ferns and ivy, her book resting unopened in her lap. The old German folklore she had brought with her lay face-up on the table, its worn pages catching the lantern light, but her attention was far from the stories.
She traced idle patterns on the page, though her mind was tangled in thoughts of Subaru—his stubborn silence, the way he always seemed poised for some invisible threat. How could someone live like that? Always on edge, forever braced for a fight no one else saw.
Her sensitivity to magic whispered a faint disturbance nearby—so subtle it might have been dismissed by anyone else. But she knew better. It was him.
Subaru appeared silently at the edge of the greenhouse, lingering where the shadows blurred. He didn't speak, didn't announce himself as he often did during their usual lunchtime routines. Instead, he simply watched. The usual roughness softened, if only just, as if his presence here was less about keeping tabs on her and more about holding onto something fragile—something he couldn't quite put into words.
Rosalina met his gaze briefly, eyes flickering with an unspoken invitation. She reached slowly for the small thermos beside her and poured two cups of herbal tea, the fragrant steam curling gently between them. Without a word, she set one near him.
Subaru's hand hesitated before accepting the cup. For a moment, his usual guarded expression cracked, and an almost softness flickered behind his dark eyes—a rare vulnerability that unsettled her deeply.
He noticed something in her that night, something raw and unguarded beneath her calm exterior. It reminded him of how fragile people could be beneath their masks. And, for once, he felt closer to someone without the usual walls rising between them.
She watched him, this strange boy who never truly spoke but somehow said so much with silence alone.
He always looks like he's preparing for a fight, she thought, even when no one's challenging him.
But the way he's here… silent, again… it feels less like he's watching me and more like he's staying for himself.
The quiet between them held more than comfort—it held the weight of things unspoken, moments that trembled just beneath the surface.
---
Later that night, the heavy silence of the Sakamaki mansion pressed down on Subaru like a weight. He moved through the halls restlessly, the scent of dried flowers and faint herbal tea still lingering faintly in his senses, pulling memories from deep shadows.
Christa's face emerged in his mind unbidden—her cold affection, the chaotic warmth that never settled, and the cruel unpredictability of her moods. The times she looked at him without disgust, without hatred, had always been the most confusing. Her silence had never been empty. It was a silence that whispered things he felt he didn't deserve.
She doesn't look at me like I'm a monster. Not yet. That'll change. It always does.
But her silence… it wasn't empty. It felt like something I didn't deserve.
His hands clenched instinctively, and for a moment he almost smashed a nearby vase, but something held him back—a rare restraint born from the ache of too many broken moments.
From the pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the delicate rose flower Rosalina had given him earlier, the petals pressed flat and faded but still fragrant. He stared at it as if it were a cursed object—something he longed to keep but feared to touch.
The night refused to soften. Sleep stayed just out of reach.
---
The following evening, the academy's quiet hum shifted beneath the glow of classroom lamps. Subaru and Rosalina sat together in the library, the air thick with the weight of unspoken feelings. They had been paired for the year ever since her transfer, a fact neither had quite dared to comment on. She let him take the lead, a silent acknowledgment of his unspoken dominance.
Their fingers brushed once by accident, a spark flaring softly between them. Eyes met, held, then slipped away, leaving the room charged and trembling with something neither would name.
"Tch… You're still following me around?" Subaru grumbled, voice rough but carrying a faint edge of something softer beneath the surface.
Rosalina's lips quirked with dry humor. "I believe I was here first."
The sound that followed was unexpected—a quiet laugh, soft and surprised, breaking the tension like a fragile thread.
He glanced at her braid, slightly askew from the day's wear. Hesitating, Subaru reached out and gently fixed it, smoothing the strands with a touch both careless and deliberate. Rosalina's cheeks flushed, but she said nothing, only watched the small, unspoken kindness.
Later, she pulled out a drawing—a palace spun from the light of sunrise, its towers shimmering like crystal kissed by dawn. It was a piece of her past, a fragment of a world she barely spoke of.
"I used to dream about this place," she whispered, voice low and wistful. "It's home. What it means to me."
Subaru leaned in, about to offer a tip on shading technique. Then, he stopped himself, muttering a brief apology.
"Forget it," he muttered, retreat already in his voice.
But as he glanced at the drawing again, something tugged at the edge of his awareness. The lines felt… alive. Familiar, yet strange. There was something unnerving in how vividly it shimmered, as if memory and magic clung to the page. He said nothing, but it left a mark in his mind.
---
That evening, as twilight bled into night, Subaru's steps slowed outside the courtyard, where Rosalina's soft voice reached him. He stayed hidden behind a cluster of trees, watching without meaning to, unable to look away.
She was close to another boy, her hand resting lightly on his arm in a gesture so natural, so gentle, it struck Subaru with an unexpected sharpness. Nothing more than friendly comfort—but to Subaru, it felt like a quiet fracture, a crack where something fragile was slipping away.
His breath caught. Blood rushed in his ears. The faint sound of his pulse throbbed like a warning bell, and for a brief second, the muscles in his throat tightened until it hurt to swallow.
He clenched his fists, the sting crawling beneath his skin, confusing and unfamiliar. He didn't understand why it hurt so much, why the sight of her kindness toward someone else unsettled him more than it should. It wasn't like he owned her, and yet, a cold knot twisted inside his chest.
I don't even know what this is. Why am I so damn restless?It was like guarding something without knowing what it meant—until it started to slip away.
He turned away without a word, the warmth in his chest tightening into something harsher. The silent ache of not knowing yet—of wanting without admitting it even to himself—made him colder, more distant the next time they met.
His usual sharp tone was sharper still, his eyes harder, like a wall rising up between them. Rosalina noticed, but instead of asking, she simply withdrew, the unspoken tension folding around them like a shadow neither dared break.
---
At home, Rosalina sat by the window, sketching again. Her pencil moved almost unconsciously, tracing a silhouette she hadn't meant to draw—a shadowed figure, hesitant and sharp. She told herself it wasn't a portrait, just a study of movement, expression, something elusive she couldn't quite capture.
But deep down, she understood. It was him.
She couldn't deny it any longer—her feelings had taken root, stubborn and undeniable.
Across the city, Subaru lay awake in the darkness of his room, haunted by her presence and the confusing weight of his own emotions.
If I stay close, I'll ruin it. If I leave… I'll regret it.
What the hell kind of choice is that?
He turned over in the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, heart heavy with desire and dread.
He wanted to protect her—from himself, from the darkness that clung too tightly. And yet, the more he tried to stay away, the more he found himself drawn into the fragile orbit she created.
His fingers curled tightly around the rose she had given him—a silent promise and a silent curse.
At the window, her hand stilled over her sketch as the lines took clearer shape.
Both of them, in separate corners of the night, holding onto the same ache—one through memory, the other through art.
The quiet between them was no longer empty.
It was full of everything they could not say.
---