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Content and Trigger Warnings for the Story
This story contains themes, language, and dynamics that may be distressing or triggering to some readers. Please consider the following content and trigger warnings before proceeding:
- Verbal aggression and bullying – The story contains instances of characters using derogatory language, name-calling, and harsh criticism directed at one another, often to belittle or demean.
- Physical aggression – A character grabs and yanks another by their hair and collar, exerting physical dominance in a way that may evoke discomfort or trigger past experiences of physical abuse.
- Power imbalances and humiliation – There are repeated displays of one character asserting dominance over another, including forcing compliance and making disparaging comments about their appearance and capabilities.
- Themes of neglect and deprivation – A character’s past experiences with hunger, neglect, and emotional deprivation are implied and subtly interwoven into their present behavior, highlighting deep psychological scars.
- Tension involving food and nourishment – A character’s hesitation and discomfort with eating, coupled with another character’s insistence, may evoke feelings of distress for readers sensitive to themes of food-related struggles or trauma.
- Emotional abuse and manipulation – The dynamic between the characters often involves cruel remarks, passive-aggressive behavior, and emotional manipulation, which contribute to a toxic and hostile environment.
- Mockery of physical appearance – One character frequently makes derogatory comments about the other’s appearance, including their weight and general demeanor, which may be triggering for readers sensitive to body-shaming or image-related insults.
- Power struggles in forced proximity – The narrative centers around characters being coerced to work together despite evident animosity, creating moments of sustained tension and psychological strain.
- Mentions of Malnutrition and Poor Health: A character is depicted as visibly malnourished and in poor physical condition, which is remarked upon in detail by another.
- Physical Handling: There are instances where one character exerts physical control over the other, such as grabbing or positioning them, which may feel invasive or uncomfortable.
- Social Isolation and Detachment: A character displays extreme social withdrawal and detachment, highlighting themes of loneliness and alienation.
- Themes of Class and Poverty: The story alludes to significant disparities in social and economic status between the characters, with one character being visibly impoverished and neglected.
- Obsession and Unsettling Behavior: Depictions of obsessive, compulsive behaviors and unsettling fixation, which may evoke discomfort or anxiety.
- Tension-Laden Physical Interaction: The story includes scenes where one character physically moves another in a controlling manner, creating a charged and uneasy atmosphere.
- Emotional Vulnerability: Depictions of characters grappling with complex, overwhelming emotions, including confusion, frustration, and moments of intense vulnerability, are central to the narrative.
- Physical Intimacy and Boundaries: Scenes include physical closeness and prolonged embraces between characters, one of whom struggles with understanding and expressing emotions, creating power dynamics and potential discomfort for readers sensitive to such themes.
- Age Gap in Developing Romance: The narrative explores a romantic connection where a significant age gap exists between two characters, with one being 7 years old and the other 2 years old. This dynamic may raise questions about agency, maturity, and consent.
- Exploration of Unbreakable Bonds: The story examines the idea of a “fated” connection that overrides personal agency and introduces themes of predestination, which could be unsettling.
- Character Miscommunication: Misunderstandings and emotional misalignment between characters are a source of tension and discomfort throughout.
- Foul and Explicit Language: The story frequently uses harsh and explicit language to convey intense emotions, frustration, or conflict.
- Age Gap in a Developing Romantic Subplot: The narrative includes a slow-building romantic tension between two characters with a significant age difference (approximately five to six years). Both characters are minors, and their interactions are framed in a developmental and emotional context but could be uncomfortable for some readers.
- Emotional Detachment and Social Isolation: Some characters display extreme aloofness, lack of typical emotional responses, and difficulty connecting socially, which may be unsettling to readers sensitive to themes of isolation or atypical communication.
- Mature and Subtle Romantic Themes Involving Minors: The story hints at romantic and emotional developments between underage characters in a way that could evoke discomfort. The treatment of these themes, while subtle, may be inappropriate for all audiences.
- Manipulative and Self-Destructive Thought Patterns: Internal dialogue and actions of certain characters reveal manipulative tendencies and unhealthy coping mechanisms, which could be triggering for readers sensitive to depictions of such behavior.
Reader Advisory
This story delves into complex emotional landscapes and ambiguous relationships. While it strives to explore character growth and relational nuances, some aspects may feel morally ambiguous or emotionally heavy. Reader discretion is strongly advised.
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Status: Draft #1
Last Edited: November 27, 2024
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Deon followed Reine silently as they left the Principal’s office, her expression deadpan as usual. But deep inside, a small flicker of something alien and uncomfortable burned—concern. Genuine, actual concern. She didn’t know how to organize a ball. She didn’t even know how to function in a basic social setting. Hell, the closest thing she’d had to a “social gathering” was standing quietly in the corner of an orphanage’s weekly chore rotation. And now, she was somehow expected to plan a grand event and dance in it?
She could hardly care about anything normally, but this wasn’t negotiable. Principal Damien Parlor had given an order. And orders were absolute.
Reine, however, was visibly vibrating with rage, his clenched fists practically punching holes in the air. She could feel his icy glare burning the side of her head, but as usual, she didn’t acknowledge it.
“This is ridiculous,” Reine muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “I could have handled this on my own. Why the hell do you even exist?”
She didn’t respond. She never responded to him. It was like talking to a brick wall with worse hygiene.
Finally, Reine stopped in his tracks, spun around, and grabbed Deon by the collar of her black hoodie. He yanked her off the ground like she was a stray cat, her feet dangling a few inches above the cobblestone path.
“Listen, you little freak,” he hissed, his blood-red eyes boring into hers. “I’m not about to let you screw this up for me. So we’re going to figure this out together. Whether you like it or not.”
Deon blinked slowly, her face as blank as ever. “…Okay,” she said flatly.
Reine’s eyebrow twitched. Oh, now she speaks?
“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath as he started dragging her along by the scruff of her hoodie.
Deon let it happen without protest. She had long since accepted that she had no say in how people handled her physical presence. It was just easier to let people do whatever.
Reine didn’t stop until they reached his dorm room, a lavish and spotless space that practically screamed I’m better than you. He slammed the door shut, dropped Deon unceremoniously onto the plush carpet, and began pacing furiously.
Deon sat cross-legged on the floor like a discarded rag doll, her hands resting in her lap.
“We have one month,” Reine snapped, running a hand through his curly black hair in frustration. “One month to plan the most important event this academy has ever seen. And you, of all people, are supposed to help me? How the hell is this my life?”
Deon stared at him blankly.
“Do you even know how to throw a party?” Reine demanded.
“No,” she said simply.
Reine threw his hands in the air. “Of course you don’t! Why would you? You look like you’ve never even seen a party, let alone attended one.”
“That’s true,” Deon said, her tone as lifeless as ever.
Reine stopped pacing and stared at her, his expression torn between disbelief and disgust. “You’re serious?”
Deon nodded.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about gods testing him. “Okay. Fine. Whatever. You just… sit there and don’t get in my way. I’ll come up with a plan.”
Deon didn’t move, didn’t blink. She just… sat there.
Reine glared at her again, his mind racing with thoughts of every socialite, noblewoman, and accomplished event planner he’d ever encountered. They were elegant, refined, capable. Everything Deon was not.
“This is going to be a disaster,” he said, flopping dramatically onto the couch.
Deon tilted her head slightly. “Then why did you bring me here?”
Reine froze. His mouth opened to retort, but no words came out. Why had he brought her here? He could have just left her to fend for herself. It’s not like she’d complain.
After a long pause, he sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. “Because,” he said reluctantly, “if we fail this, it reflects on me. And I refuse to let you drag my reputation down with you.”
“Okay,” Deon said, as expressionless as ever.
Reine groaned. “Stop agreeing with me. It’s weird.”
Deon blinked. “Okay.”
“Stop that!”
Deon fell silent, her blank stare now aimed at the decorative chandelier above.
Reine glared at her for a moment longer before shaking his head and pulling out the folder Damien had given them. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
As he began flipping through the pages, muttering about themes and budgets, Deon continued to sit silently on the floor, her mind already wandering to how utterly pointless all of this felt.
One thing was certain: this was going to be a very, very long month.
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Deon sat cross-legged on the plush carpet, her gaze locked onto the extravagant spread of food on the table. She didn’t blink, didn’t flinch, didn’t even breathe too deeply. Her body was there, but her mind had retreated into a familiar, desolate bubble.
A tower of golden pastries glistened in the sunlight, a pitcher of ruby-red juice sat glimmering like a forbidden jewel, and a bowl of exotic fruits practically screamed Eat me. But Deon, accustomed to deprivation, didn’t move. Hunger was a constant companion, but giving it a name—or worse, voicing it—was out of the question.
She clenched her fists slightly and tore her eyes away, redirecting her attention to a crack in the wall. At least the wall wasn’t trying to lure her in with false promises.
Meanwhile, Reine paced the room like a caged tiger, holding the folder in one hand and gesturing furiously with the other.
“—and that’s why we’ll need to secure the ballroom before the invitations go out,” he was saying, his tone a mixture of arrogance and exasperation. “Are you even listening to me?”
Deon didn’t respond. She didn’t even glance in his direction.
Reine stopped mid-step and turned to her, his piercing blood-red eyes narrowing into slits. “Deon,” he snapped, “did you hear what I just said?”
She blinked once but didn’t look away from the crack in the wall.
Reine’s grip on the folder tightened. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before storming over to her. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of her snow-white hair and yanked her head back, forcing her to meet his gaze.
Deon’s expression didn’t change. She stared up at him blankly, as if he were just another part of the room she didn’t particularly care about.
“Do you even care?” he demanded, his voice low and icy. “About this project? About anything?”
Silence.
Her lack of response made his blood boil. “You’re pathetic,” he hissed, his grip tightening. “You think you can just sit there, ignoring everyone, like you’re above it all? Newsflash, freak—you’re not.”
Deon blinked slowly, her face an unreadable mask.
Reine let out a frustrated growl and released her, pushing her back roughly onto the carpet. She landed without a sound, her body limp like a rag doll.
“You don’t care about this school, you don’t care about this assignment, and you definitely don’t care about me,” Reine spat, towering over her. “So why the hell are you even here?”
Deon sat up slowly, her hands resting lightly in her lap. She didn’t answer. She never did.
Her silence was like a slap in the face. Reine’s fists clenched at his sides as he glared down at her, his thoughts a chaotic mess of rage and confusion.
How could someone be so completely detached? So utterly unbothered by everything?
“I don’t know why I even bother,” he muttered, turning away and running a hand through his hair. “You’re hopeless.”
Behind him, Deon’s gaze drifted back to the table of food. It gleamed like a mirage, mocking her silently.
And as always, she said nothing.
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Reine had finally had enough. If Deon wanted to be a mute, emotionless lump, fine. She could rot in her own weird little bubble. He didn’t need her.
With an exaggerated sigh of exasperation, he turned his back to her and focused on his own work. His pen scratched against the paper in sharp, deliberate strokes as he outlined his plans. Meticulous. Impeccable. Foolproof.
Except, it wasn’t.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Deon scribbling away in her notebook, her gaunt frame hunched over like some kind of skeletal gargoyle. She wasn’t muttering or humming or showing any signs of life, but her pen moved with an almost mechanical precision.
Reine ignored her for as long as he could. He really did. But curiosity—or maybe his ego—got the better of him.
“What the hell are you writing, freak?” he muttered, shoving his chair back and glancing over.
Deon didn’t answer. Of course, she didn’t. She just kept writing, her pen flowing over the page like water.
Annoyed, Reine leaned closer and caught a glimpse of her work. His scowl deepened immediately. The plan she’d been crafting wasn’t just good—it was perfect. Down to the smallest detail. Every contingency, every variable accounted for. It was cleaner, sharper, and far more precise than anything he’d come up with.
The realization burned.
He slammed his hand onto the table. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he snarled. “You’re telling me you of all people came up with this?”
Deon paused and finally looked up at him. Her dead eyes blinked once, slowly, before she returned to her writing.
“Unbelievable,” Reine hissed.
He crossed his arms, leaning back into his chair and glaring at her. “Fine. Whatever. Be a genius freak. But you’re still pathetic.”
Deon didn’t react. She never did.
Reine rolled his eyes. “You’re too skinny to be this insufferable,” he muttered, grabbing a plate of food from the table. He jabbed a fork into a piece of meat, then leaned over and shoved it toward her mouth.
“Eat,” he ordered, his tone sharp.
Deon blinked at the fork like it was an alien life form. She didn’t move to take it.
Reine scowled. “What’s your problem now? You act like you’ve never eaten before.”
Still no response.
“Fine,” he snapped, dropping the fork back onto the plate. “Starve then. Freak.”
But Deon, after a moment, slowly reached for the plate. Her skeletal fingers trembled slightly as she picked up the fork.
She took a single, minuscule bite, chewing so slowly it was almost painful to watch.
Reine sneered. “What, are you savoring it? It’s just food. You look like you’re about to cry over a bite of bread.”
Deon didn’t look at him. She simply continued eating in tiny, deliberate bites, her face blank as ever.
Reine turned his attention back to her notebook, swiping it off the table before she could react.
“What do we have here, huh?” he muttered, flipping through the pages.
The sheer brilliance of the plan was infuriating.
“God,” he muttered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “If only you put this much effort into not looking like a damn corpse. Then maybe people wouldn’t confuse you for a stray cat every time you step outside.”
Deon didn’t even glance his way.
Reine groaned, tossing the notebook back onto the table. “Whatever. Don’t think for a second I’m impressed. Your plan is trash. I’ll still come up with something better.”
But as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a smug expression on his face, it was clear to anyone watching that he’d already started memorizing her notes.
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Reine sighed, his fingers drumming against the edge of the table as he watched Deon poke at the single, tiny piece of meat on her plate. She was eating it with the reverence of someone performing a sacred ritual, her gaunt face betraying no emotion as she chewed each microscopic bite.
It was pathetic.
“Fine. Starve slowly. Not like I care,” Reine muttered under his breath. He turned back to her notebook, flipping through her perfectly detailed notes. Every page radiated brilliance, from her flawless schematics to her meticulous timelines. It was maddening how someone who looked like that could produce something so perfect.
He let out a sharp huff and leaned over, grabbing her by the back of her hoodie. “Alright, freak. If you’re going to zone out, you’re doing it where I can keep an eye on you.”
Before Deon could even register what was happening, Reine hauled her onto his lap like a ragdoll. Her fork clattered to the table as she froze, her blood-red eyes glancing up at him briefly before dropping back to her plate. She still didn’t say a word.
“God, you’re so light,” Reine muttered, shaking his head as he set the notebook between them. “It’s like holding a bundle of sticks. You ever consider eating an actual meal? Or do you just live off misery and air?”
Deon didn’t respond, as expected, her attention once again laser-focused on the tiny sliver of meat she’d been nursing for the past ten minutes.
“Whatever. Just stay still,” Reine commanded, his tone clipped as he tapped on the notebook. “Now, let’s fix this mess of yours.”
He paused, flipping to a particularly detailed page. “Suppliers,” he began, his voice dripping with confidence. “You’ve listed three here, but two of them are garbage. Sure, they’re cheap, but their quality is trash. If we’re going to do this, we’re not going half-assed.”
Reine grabbed a pen and scrawled a name next to the notes. “This guy—best supplier in the city. Expensive, but he’s got top-tier materials. Trust me. He owes my family a favor anyway, so I’ll handle him.”
He glanced down at Deon, who was still meticulously chewing the same bite of food. “Hey,” he barked, jabbing her temple lightly with the pen. “You listening, or are you too busy making love to that meat?”
Deon blinked up at him, her expression as deadpan as ever, before her gaze slowly dropped back to her plate.
Reine rolled his eyes. “Right. Figures.”
He continued anyway, scribbling notes and gesturing animatedly as he spoke. “Placement for decorations—your idea’s decent, but it lacks style. You want the banners here, but if we move them a bit higher and add spotlights, they’ll look way better. And themes? Your color scheme is boring. Red and gold—it’s classic, sure, but overdone. We need something bold. Striking. I’m thinking black and silver with a splash of crimson. Edgy, but classy.”
Deon shifted slightly, her tiny frame still as silent and compliant as ever on his lap.
Reine glanced at her, his crimson eyes narrowing. “You’ve got nothing to say about any of this, huh? Figures. You just sit there looking like a malnourished ghost while I do all the work.”
But as he spoke, there was an edge of satisfaction in his voice. He liked the sound of his own plans coming together, even if he’d cribbed half of them from her notes.
“Alright, freak,” he said, leaning back and smirking. “You can keep staring at your plate, but don’t forget who’s in charge here. Got it?”
Deon’s only response was to take another painfully slow bite of her meat.
Reine scoffed, but the smirk lingered on his lips. “Figures. Freak.”
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Reine tapped his pen against the edge of the notebook, glaring at Deon’s meticulously written notes. He wasn’t about to admit it out loud, but the foundation of her plan was rock solid. Perfectly thought out. Flawless, really.
It pissed him off.
“Well, freak,” he began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “congratulations on writing what could pass as a dissertation for a college thesis. Too bad it’s completely useless without someone like me to make it actually work.”
Deon didn’t respond, of course. She just sat there in his lap, hunched over her own notebook, scribbling something else entirely. He glanced down at her notes and immediately scowled. More numbers. More calculations.
“Hello? Are you even listening?” Reine snapped, gripping her shoulder slightly to get her attention. “I’m talking here. Stop trying to calculate the gravitational pull of Jupiter or whatever the hell you’re doing.”
Deon’s head tilted slightly, her blood-red eyes briefly flickering toward him before darting back to her page. She still didn’t speak.
“Unbelievable,” Reine muttered, rolling his eyes. He leaned closer, partly to invade her personal space and partly to observe her more closely. He still couldn’t figure her out.
Her snow-white hair was a disaster—messy, unkempt, and almost feral-looking. But at this distance, he noticed how fine it was, soft strands framing her pale, gaunt face. And despite her perpetually disheveled appearance, she didn’t smell bad. In fact, there was a faint, subtle floral scent clinging to her, something natural and unassuming. Not perfume—he’d know; he’d dated half the girls in their class, and they practically bathed in that stuff.
Weird.
Her body was thin, almost unnaturally so, and her posture was slightly slumped, like she was trying to shrink into herself. She looked malnourished—sickly almost—and everything about her screamed “poor.” How the hell did someone like her even get into this place?
Reine’s sharp gaze shifted to her eyes. Those eerie, blood-red irises always looked hollow, but now, at this proximity, he caught something different. There was depth there. Like she was looking straight through him and into something he couldn’t see.
“What the hell is your deal?” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.
He straightened, shoving the notebook onto the table and gesturing to her work with an air of theatricality. “Alright, freak. Listen up. Your plan’s good—great even. I’ll give you that. But it’s painfully obvious you’ve never done this before. Ever. Like, you’ve been living under a rock your whole life or something.”
Deon’s pen paused mid-scribble, but she didn’t look up.
Reine took that as permission to continue. “First off, your supply chain plan is airtight—on paper. But these suppliers you’ve picked? Some of them are scams. Others are slow. And the rest don’t deliver in bulk. They’ll eat your budget alive or leave us hanging when it matters. You need someone who knows the streets. Someone with connections.” He smirked, pointing at himself. “Lucky for you, I’m that guy.”
He scribbled out two of her supplier names and replaced them with his own.
“And this schedule of yours? Overkill. We don’t need twelve contingency plans for every minor inconvenience. People are idiots. They’re not going to notice if a tablecloth is slightly off-center. Trust me. Focus on the big stuff—like making sure the food doesn’t suck and that the decorations don’t look like a funeral procession.”
He tapped on her list of decorations. “Speaking of which—black and white? Really? Are we throwing a corporate gala? This is supposed to be a festival, not a board meeting. Bright colors. Fun vibes. Balloons, streamers, confetti. Got it?”
“Look at this, freak,” he said with a sharp chuckle, tapping the page where she had written about the event’s schedule. “You’ve got everything mapped out, every little thing, but you’ve got no feel for real time management. This?” He jabbed at the list of events. “You really think we can pull this off in two hours? The event’s just gonna look rushed. You might’ve read about all this crap in books, but that doesn’t mean you can just apply it in the real world like that.”
“Okay, look at this.” Reine tapped the top of the page. “You need to get that people aren’t machines, Deon. They need breaks. Real breaks. Not ‘take five and get back to work’ type of breaks. You’re planning this like it’s a military operation, but this is a social event. People need to enjoy themselves. I know you might not get that—” He glared at her as she continued to nibble on her food, “—but I do.”
He leaned back, crossing his arms. “You’ve got a schedule, sure. But what about… I don’t know… the vibe?”
The way she was eating made him feel like he was dealing with some kind of robot. A girl who didn’t care about the human experience—like she’d never felt what it was like to laugh, to live. Everything she did felt calculated and cold.
Reine sighed and nudged her gently with his elbow. “Stop zoning out, freak. I’m teaching you something here. The schedule’s too rigid. You can’t plan every little thing. If someone decides they want to take a nap instead of follow your precious timetable, you let them. If someone wants to flirt or do something stupid, you let them. That’s the vibe you need to capture. Not this.” He waved a hand over her paper like it was some sad, neglected homework assignment. “This is boring. And stiff. It’s like you’ve never had fun in your life.”
He turned his gaze back to her. “Hell, you’ve probably never even talked to anyone outside of whatever… this is. You probably don’t even know what real conversation sounds like.”
She didn’t reply, still staring blankly ahead, her thin body barely reacting to him. Reine couldn’t even tell if she was listening to him or just tuned him out entirely.
But the more he studied her, the more it dawned on him: she was brilliant, yes. Her mind was sharp. Too sharp, in fact. But it lacked something. Experience. Perspective. The world, people, society—she had no understanding of it. It was as if she’d lived inside a bubble, one where no one had ever taught her how to interact.
She looked poor, desperate even. Her clothes, ragged and worn, looked like they belonged to someone who hadn’t stepped out into a shop in years. Even her demeanor reeked of isolation. It was baffling that someone like her, who was so good at what she did, had no understanding of how people worked—the social dynamics, the give and take, the unspoken rules.
“Okay, whatever. I’ll fix this. You just keep eating your mystical meat.” He gave her a dry look before turning back to the notebook. “I guess you’ve got the brains. But I’ve got the experience. You want this event to run like a well-oiled machine? You’re going to need a little more than just facts and schedules. Trust me on that.”
Deon finally glanced up, her expression as blank as ever. Her gaze shifted between him and the notebook, as if silently judging his edits.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Reine snapped, though his tone was more annoyed than angry. “You’re the brains, freak. I’m the charm. Together, we’re—” He paused, waving his hand vaguely. “A functioning team or whatever. So stop being a statue and start contributing.”
Deon blinked slowly, then went back to writing in her own notebook.
Reine groaned, rubbing his temples. “God, why me?” He leaned back, balancing the notebook on his knee as he resumed his edits.
“Anyway,” he continued, his voice tinged with forced patience, “while you’re busy ignoring me, I’ll just finish making your perfect little plan actually usable. You’re welcome.”
Deon didn’t thank him, of course. She just kept writing, her focus unyielding as ever.
Reine sighed, glancing at her again. For someone so small and thin, she cast an annoyingly large shadow. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to outsmart her, destroy her, or just figure out what the hell made her tick. Probably all three.
“Freak,” he muttered under his breath, though his tone lacked its usual venom.
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Reine adjusted his position on the chair, his arms wrapping around Deon like an iron vice, pulling her closer into his lap. His focus shifted back to the notebook, his fingers tracing through her neat but clinical notes with a mix of frustration and begrudging admiration. Perfect. Perfectly meticulous, but completely lacking in soul.
He gritted his teeth as his eyes scanned her work—always so close to flawless but missing the life that made things truly shine. It annoyed him. And he hated how much it annoyed him. The same way he hated how much her cold demeanor seemed to freeze any warmth he tried to send her way.
“Look, this part needs adjusting,” Reine said, his tone flat and business-like as he pointed to a section in her notebook. “We can’t just rely on a few good ideas, you have to think about everything. The flow, the atmosphere—no one gives a damn about a schedule if they’re not having fun. You’re a genius when it comes to this stuff, but you’re still… lacking in the most important part.” He shot a look at her, as if daring her to contradict him.
Deon remained silent, her body rigid but unmoving. Her blood-red eyes, so vacant, stayed glued to the tiny piece of meat in her hand, picking at it slowly as though it was the most important thing in the world. Her body language screamed disinterest, even in the middle of this so-called “discussion.”
But then, she did something that stopped him mid-sentence.
Out of nowhere, she spoke—her voice was barely audible, like the whisper of a ghost in a room full of noisy voices, but it hit him like a lightning strike.
“Who are you?”
The words hung in the air between them, like a sharp breath that never fully left her chest. Her tone was as detached as always, but for the first time—the first fucking time—Deon actually turned to look at him. Her blood-red eyes, so hollow and dead before, seemed slightly… focused, if only for a second.
Reine froze, his hand still gripping the notebook. A tightness formed in his chest, and for a split second, he felt something—something he couldn’t name—scrape against his insides. His heart skipped a beat. What the hell?
Never in his life had he ever felt… disoriented by a woman’s question. He had hundreds of women calling his name, worshiping him. He’d bedded more women than he could remember, but none had ever made his heart race in this strange way. This numb, empty girl—this freak—was suddenly turning his world upside down with a simple question.
He couldn’t understand why his pulse was thundering in his ears. He couldn’t understand why, when she asked him again—her voice colder than ever—“Who are you?” it made his skin crawl with something unsettling.
Deon didn’t resist. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t even show a flicker of real emotion. Just the same blank, soulless stare she always wore.
Reine could feel his blood boiling as his fingers dug into her hoodie. A vein popped in his forehead, and the sudden surge of anger almost overwhelmed him. She really doesn’t know who I am? After all this time?
His grip tightened around the collar of her hoodie, pulling her up to face him. He could hear her breathing, shallow and even, completely unbothered by the force he exerted on her.
“Are you fucking serious?” he growled through gritted teeth. “You’ve been stuck with me for hours. We’ve fought, we’ve worked together, and now you’re asking me who I am? You really don’t know who I am?!”
His voice was like ice, thick with a simmering rage that had been building for far too long. He could feel her lifeless eyes staring into his, and yet he wasn’t sure if she was even really seeing him.
Then it hit him—this was the first time she’d actually acknowledged him at all. It was so simple, so small, but the way she looked at him, the way she asked—like she finally saw him, and the realization crushed him in ways he didn’t understand.
Deon blinked, almost unbothered by his grip. Her voice, though soft, finally reached him. “Who are you?” she repeated, her tone flat and emotionless. The words seemed… disconnected. Almost like she was asking a simple question about the weather.
Reine let out a short, bitter laugh. “Are you seriously going to ask me that now?” he muttered, shaking his head. “Fine. You want to know? I’m Reine. Reine Albertine.” He spat the name out like it tasted sour on his tongue. “You really don’t know who I am? Get a fucking clue, Deon.”
Deon tilted her head, almost curiously, like she was truly processing the name. But she butchered it, pronouncing his name wrong—again.
Reine’s lip curled. “You’ve heard of it, right? Reine? Al-ber-teen. Not that hard, is it?” He could feel his irritation bubbling back to the surface. “Say it right this time. I’m not going to repeat it for you again.”
Deon’s lips barely moved as she muttered, “Rein… Reine… Albertine.” It was slow, clumsy, like a child trying to mimic a word she didn’t quite understand.
For a moment, the air between them thickened. Reine let go of her hoodie collar and leaned back in the chair, trying to steady his breathing. There was something about the way she said his name, the way she struggled with it, that dug into him like a splinter.
She was so far removed from everyone else, so alien in her manner, that Reine found himself… unsettled by how soft she sounded. How fragile. He couldn’t remember the last time someone butchered his name so carelessly. He didn’t know why it bothered him.
He didn’t know why her quiet voice, so unremarkable to anyone else, made his chest tighten painfully.
What the hell is wrong with me?
He shoved the thought aside, redirecting the anger back to the situation at hand. “Don’t ever forget my name again,” he snapped, voice laced with cold irritation. “You’ve heard it enough times by now. Now get to work. This isn’t over.”
Deon blinked slowly, as if processing his words, before she resumed eating that tiny piece of meat, as if nothing had changed.
But Reine couldn’t stop the knot in his chest from tightening.
═════════════════
Reine sat in a chair that felt too tight for his usual sense of personal space, his gaze flicking back and forth between his notebook and Deon, whose focus seemed to be entirely on a piece of paper she had torn from her own notebook. The girl, as always, was deep in her own bubble, her world completely separate from the chaos of his thoughts and irritation. But this time, there was something different.
She wasn’t completely dead inside for once.
Instead of her usual listless, vacant stare, her blood-red eyes were focused—intent on something. Her pencil scratched quietly across the paper, but what disturbed Reine wasn’t the fact that she was writing—it was the word she kept writing over and over.
“Reine.”
It was the simplest of words, his own name, but she kept scribbling it. Again, and again, with such precision, such focus, as if it was some sort of mantra. As if it meant something to her.
It sent an odd shiver through him. Why the hell is she writing my name? he thought, his brow furrowing in annoyance, yet his eyes couldn’t seem to stop lingering on her. What’s wrong with this freak?
Her fingers gripped the pen tightly, but her face showed no sign of the usual deadness. Instead, there was a strange, almost disturbing calmness about her. Her movements were slow and deliberate. Each stroke of the pen felt heavy, deliberate—focused.
That’s when it hit him. He couldn’t help but notice the way she wrote his name, like she was trying to engrain it into her mind, trying to understand it—him.
His mind spun with a mixture of irritation and confusion. What the hell is wrong with you, Deon? he thought, biting down on his inner frustration. Why are you doing this?
But he quickly shoved the thought aside. Doesn’t matter. Just focus on your work, Reine.
He returned to his editing, forcing himself to concentrate on the mess of notes in front of him. She was a genius, no doubt. But that didn’t change the fact that she was a complete freak. The kind of freak that made his skin crawl every time she even spoke her weird, quiet voice, or when she stared at him with those vacant, emotionless eyes. She was like a ghost in a human shell, far too different from everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t make heads or tails of her behavior.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
But despite his internal protests, he kept glancing back at her, unable to fully ignore her strange focus.
Deon, meanwhile, seemed completely unaware of his scrutiny. Her pen never faltered, continuing to write his name with perfect care, even as her body slouched in the way it always did—thin, fragile, barely there. She might as well have been a distant echo in the room, an illusion that never quite made sense to him.
Why the hell does she always zone out? Why is she so… Reine shook his head, trying to banish the thoughts. Doesn’t matter. Just ignore it, Reine. Focus on your work.
But as he tried to concentrate, his thoughts kept spiraling. This weird feeling in his chest… It wasn’t just irritation anymore. It was a strange, tight sensation, something unfamiliar. Something unsettling.
Reine had spent his whole life controlling everything. He was the one who commanded every room, every conversation, every situation. He was control. Nothing—no one—could make him falter.
Yet Deon, with her strange, empty gaze, her unorthodox behavior, was the one person who unsettled him in ways he couldn’t explain.
His gaze shifted back to her, studying her with a cold precision he didn’t usually use on people. She was sitting on his lap—unbothered, of course—writing away with that disturbing focus. Her hair was still a mess, untamed and unkempt. Her face was still pale and gaunt, her eyes still hollow. She looked like a malnourished stray, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, he found himself pulling her closer to his chest, his hands around her waist, just to keep her within his grasp.
Her thin form felt oddly weightless against him, but it was her proximity that was beginning to make him feel… something. The warmth of her body. The chill of her presence.
His grip tightened slightly, his fingers brushing against her hoodie as if testing the reality of her existence. She’s too close, Reine thought, his own chest tightening. He hated the feeling. He hated that he didn’t know how to control it.
Why do I care? he asked himself. But he didn’t have an answer.
Her blood-red eyes flicked up for the briefest of moments, but she didn’t acknowledge him. It was like she couldn’t care less. She just kept writing his name. Over and over.
His irritation spiked again, but so did something else—a deep, gnawing feeling that threatened to overpower him. What is it about her?
He could feel the Red Thread of Fate tugging on him, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way her presence seemed to affect him in ways nothing else ever did. Is it the thread? he wondered. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?
But no matter how much he thought about it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that everything was just as it should be, the truth remained: he hated not knowing what was going on. He hated the fact that he couldn’t control this situation.
The feeling in his chest tightened again, and he couldn’t shake the strange sensation of vulnerability that threatened to rise up from the depths of his cold, controlled exterior. No, he thought, I can’t let this happen. I can’t let her make me feel this way.
Still, as he glanced down at her once more, Reine couldn’t stop the unsettling feeling in his stomach. He didn’t know what was happening, but he wasn’t sure he liked it.
“Reine.”
Deon said his name softly again, barely a whisper. It sent another jolt through his body.
What the hell?
═════════════════
Reine sat back in the chair, staring down at his phone with an almost bored expression. His fingers tapped lightly on the desk, considering. Phone number, he thought. How the hell am I supposed to get her number when she doesn’t even have a phone?
He looked up, his eyes glancing at Deon—still hunched over, hungrily scribbling his name on a scrap of paper. Her movements were almost robotic now, like a machine with a singular purpose, her pen relentlessly tracing the letters over and over.
It was starting to get unsettling, like watching a person slowly slip into madness—except, Reine knew, Deon had always been like this.
Why is she so damn obsessed with my name? He shook his head, trying to push the thought aside. Doesn’t matter. Just figure out how to communicate with her. You have to do it eventually, anyway.
His gaze slid back to her, assessing her again. I can’t just keep her around like this. She’s completely useless without some sort of communication, and she’s too dangerous left unchecked.
His fingers tapped again on the desk, a slow rhythm, his mind working through the options as his gaze darted back and forth between her and the screen of his phone.
Option one: Send a letter?
Reine scoffed inwardly. A letter? That was absurd. He could already hear the sarcasm dripping from his own voice as he imagined trying to get Deon to understand that. Even if she could read, she’d probably just zone out halfway through, ignore him entirely, and go back to… whatever she was doing.
Option two: Handwritten notes?
But that was just doubling down on the problem. If he wrote her a note, it’d be the same as sending a letter. She’d either completely miss it or lose it somewhere. He could see it now—Deon, oblivious, leaving a piece of paper somewhere in the halls like some stray dog who had no idea where it was going.
Option three: Verbal communication.
Ha, that was a joke. Deon couldn’t communicate like a normal human being. Not with words, not with gestures. She had her own silent language, and he had no idea how to crack it. Half the time, she didn’t even acknowledge him, let alone respond.
A sigh escaped him, and he felt the sudden pressure in his chest again. This is ridiculous. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache as the irritation surged back.
What do I do with you, Deon?
The answer, it seemed, was simple: Keep her close. Control her.
But as his mind wandered over all the possible ways to leash her, to keep her contained, his hand—almost without thinking—reached out, lightly brushing against her shoulder. His fingers grazed her skin for the briefest of moments, and he pulled his hand back as soon as he realized what he was doing.
He froze. His stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot. What the hell was that?
For a second, he had felt… something. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the feeling was there. A strange, prickling sensation that made him feel like his body wasn’t entirely his own. He pushed it down, deep into the back of his mind, trying to ignore it.
It was her fault. She made him… feel things he didn’t want to feel.
Deon, oblivious as ever, kept scribbling his name, her body relaxed and unmoving, her strange obsession with his name continuing.
Reine sighed again, watching her as she remained lost in her little world. His gaze lingered over her, his eyes taking in her frail frame, the unkempt hair, the pale skin. How does someone like you even exist?
She had no phone, no gadget, no means of contact at all. She was literally trapped in her own head, in her own world—and as much as that irritated him, it also made him realize just how dangerous it could be. If she wasn’t kept under control, she might disappear for days and leave him with no way of reaching her.
He couldn’t afford that.
And yet, the more he tried to think of a solution, the more difficult it became. It was like trying to pin down smoke.
Options, options, options… He rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell do I do?
One idea flickered across his mind. A wristband? He could get her a tracking device of some sort—something small, something that would ensure she didn’t wander off. But even as the thought surfaced, he realized how ridiculous it sounded. Would she even notice? Would she care?
Reine glanced down at her again, her pen now hovering over the paper as she stared at it intently. She looked almost… serene in her strange way. Like she wasn’t even part of this world.
Her aloofness was unnerving, and yet… there was something captivating about it.
His hand twitched, and before he could think better of it, he let it rest lightly on her arm. She didn’t notice, of course—she never did—but Reine’s fingers lingered there for a moment longer than they should have.
He wanted to pull away, but something inside him kept him from doing so.
What the hell is wrong with me? he thought again. He could feel his control slipping further away with each passing second. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Deon,” he murmured, his voice lower than he intended.
She didn’t respond.
Not that he expected her to.
Still, the silence stretched out, and Reine’s frustration grew. I need to figure this out. And soon.
═════════════════
Reine stared blankly at Deon as she stood up from his lap, almost mechanically, like a marionette whose strings were suddenly pulled by some unseen force. His fingers twitched as they slowly slid off her arm, realizing—perhaps for the first time—just how completely out of his control this entire situation was. He’d been distracted, off guard for a moment.
The tension in his chest coiled tighter as he watched her pack her things, utterly indifferent to the fact that he’d just been holding her. No more. I can’t let myself slip like this again. He ground his teeth, not willing to let his emotions show—let alone the strange mix of discomfort and frustration twisting in his gut.
Without a word, Deon—mute as always—slipped back into her zone, completely oblivious to anything else. She was already back to her world, shutting everyone and everything out. This is getting ridiculous, Reine thought, standing up.
She hadn’t even acknowledged what had just happened, the fact that he’d had his hands all over her like some kind of animal. It was beyond frustrating. And worse, it didn’t even matter to her. She didn’t care. She never cared.
It irritated him more than he liked to admit. With a sharp breath, he stepped forward, grabbing the back of Deon’s hoodie collar, lifting her off the ground with the effortless strength he always had, like she was a stray cat who’d wandered too far from home. He didn’t care if she was startled. She wouldn’t even react anyway.
“Did you really think you were just going to walk away?” Reine’s voice was a biting whisper, cold and calculated, but there was something a little off—something jagged beneath the surface. “Listen up, Deon.” He said her name as if it was a weapon, his grip tightening around her collar as he leaned in close.
“Do you even realize how completely useless you are when it comes to anything other than your damn notebook?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm, but there was genuine frustration there, too, lurking just beneath the surface. He was speaking at her, not with her, but it didn’t matter. “No phone. No social skills. No understanding of the world outside that head of yours. How do you even get through the day like this?”
Deon didn’t even flinch. She didn’t move, didn’t even seem to register his words. She was lost in her thoughts, utterly deaf to his harsh tone.
Reine couldn’t help himself. He dragged her back toward the desk, the irritation in his chest flaring hotter with each step. “It’s a miracle you haven’t disappeared off the face of the earth by now.” His words cut through the air, sharp and cruel. “How long do you plan on playing the mute, creepy little freak who won’t talk to anyone? How long, huh?”
Still, nothing. Not even a twitch. It was maddening. And yet, beneath the anger, there was something else that gnawed at him. A question he couldn’t quite ask.
He let go of her hoodie collar—forcefully, as if he could expel the strange, uncomfortable feeling away. He ran a hand through his hair, the irritation spilling over as he finally spoke with forced calmness, “We need a way to communicate, Deon. A method. Something that doesn’t involve you ignoring everything and writing my name on paper like some sort of damn maniac.”
Reine paced back and forth, the air crackling with a strange tension that he couldn’t explain. “I’ve tried everything. Notes. Gestures. Hell, even trying to get you to actually talk.” He looked back at her, eyes narrowing. “But you’re impossible.”
Deon, as usual, remained completely silent. Her blank expression didn’t waver for a second, and that only made Reine more infuriated.
“Seriously,” he hissed under his breath, “what the hell am I supposed to do with you? You won’t talk. You won’t move. You won’t even acknowledge basic reality. How am I supposed to get anything done with a mute zombie who only cares about the exact placement of her little papers?” He threw his hands up, fully exasperated now. “You think your little plans are going to get us through this? You’re so wrapped up in your own damn mind that you couldn’t even find your way out of a paper bag.”
It was too much. He slammed his palm down onto the desk, his mind racing. How does she do it? The whole goddamn world could crumble, and Deon would still be oblivious, floating in her own bubble, disconnected from everything.
“You need help.” His voice softened for a second, but it was the kind of softness that barely reached the surface of his thoughts. “I don’t care if you’re a genius. You need someone to drag you out of that shell. But I don’t even know if you want help.” He scoffed. “Maybe you’d prefer to just waste away in your little fantasy world, huh?”
His fingers flexed at his side as he turned to face her once more. “You know what?” he muttered to himself, still unsure if he was speaking to her, or if it was just for his own benefit. “I’ll just keep you on a tight leash. No other choice. You’re too dangerous without one.”
Deon blinked slowly, as though she’d heard nothing at all. Her hand returned to her notebook, a slight frown tugging at her lips as she continued writing—Reine’s name, again.
This was going nowhere.
═════════════════
Reine stared at her, still in disbelief, his mind scrambling to make sense of what just happened. For a moment, everything seemed to slow down, like the world had just paused and he was left hanging in suspended animation. Deon—Deon—had opened her arms. To him.
The sheer absurdity of it left him momentarily speechless. He blinked, his eyes tracing the strange, unspoken invitation in her cold, red eyes. Deon, who barely spoke, who never showed emotion, who could hardly care less about the world around her, was standing in front of him with arms open wide. For a hug?
What the hell was going on? This didn’t make sense. She didn’t even know how to act normal in social settings. She didn’t care about anything except her notebook, her strange muteness, her cold, alien presence. But now, she was doing this.
The way she stood there, still and expectant, her face oddly childlike… Reine’s gut twisted. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, but it wasn’t anger or frustration this time. No, it was something else. Something warmer, something he hated.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, as if the words could somehow pull him out of this mess.
Deon seemed to falter for just a second—her eyes narrowing ever so slightly, as though she could sense his hesitation. She didn’t understand the intricacies of human emotion, but she could at least tell when he wasn’t playing along. As if she realized her mistake, she began to lower her arms, her aloof expression quickly returning like a mask slipping into place.
But Reine—Reine—couldn’t let her pull away. Not when she’d made him feel this strange, unfamiliar pull in his chest. What is happening to me? he thought, feeling heat rise to his face as he reached out and grabbed her, jerking her against him with a force that surprised even himself.
There was no thinking anymore. There was no plan, no snarky remark ready to shoot out of his mouth. Just instinct. The simple, primitive kind. Reine pulled her in, his arms tightening around her small, fragile frame, his body stiff with some strange, heavy tension he didn’t know how to place. She was tiny, almost malnourished, her ribs pressing against him like she was barely there at all. He buried his face into the top of her head, inhaling the subtle floral scent that clung to her skin. It was delicate, natural, nothing like the perfume-clad women he was used to. It felt… real.
And that was it. That was when it hit him, the rush of heat that surged through his chest, burning his cheeks in the most uncomfortable way.
“Goddamn it,” he hissed inwardly, forcing himself to keep his hold on her despite every cell in his body screaming at him to let go. But he couldn’t.
His heart was racing—why was his heart racing? This wasn’t anything new for him. Hugging someone, having a physical encounter, was nothing. Nothing. It was supposed to be nothing. He’d done this with countless women, and each time, it had felt like nothing more than a casual affair. So why was his body betraying him now, when it came to this… strange, emotionless, mute freak of a girl?
Deon, of course, was as usual, a blank slate. She didn’t seem to care. In fact, she seemed to return the embrace with the same casual aloofness she applied to everything else in life. Her arms were hesitant, barely wrapping around him, but they were there. Soft. Gentle. Her touch was the opposite of what he was used to: no frantic grasping, no passionate urgency. Just a quiet, reserved thing that made his stomach churn.
“Reine.” Her voice was barely audible, barely a whisper, but it sent a jolt through him. And it was then—then—that he realized she’d butchered his name again. Her pronunciation was off, as expected, but something about the way she said it—the way her lips touched the syllables as if she were tasting them for the first time—it made his chest tighten.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even know what to say. It was too much. This was too much. But instead of pulling away, instead of doing what any sane person would do, he just held her. Tight. Unwilling to let go. She didn’t move. She didn’t struggle.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Deon tried again. “Reine.” The name came out clearer this time, and Reine stiffened. She was trying again. Why? Why was she even trying?
It was stupid. Everything about this was stupid. His mind screamed at him to stop. To push her away. To laugh it off. But instead, his pulse hammered louder in his ears, and the heat in his face spread, like an infection he couldn’t get rid of. He tried to focus, to rationalize it all, but the confusion and frustration were suffocating.
“Why the hell is this so hard?” he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. His grip on her tightened, his chest pressing harder against hers, but the strange desire to comfort her—to keep her close—burned deeper. Something dark and uncontrollable.
Deon, however, seemed unbothered. She was always unbothered. In fact, she barely seemed to notice what was happening at all. She simply leaned against him, quiet, calm, like a child seeking warmth. It wasn’t like the possessive, desperate kind of embrace Reine was used to. No, this was something different. Something alien.
“Stop,” Reine said softly, his voice shaking. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or her. But it didn’t matter.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Finally, Deon broke the silence. “Reine,” she said again, softer this time. Her voice held no malice, no disdain, just that strange, empty quality that had come to define her.
And yet… when she said his name—his name—it felt like something shifted inside of him. Something he didn’t know how to control.
For the first time, he didn’t know what the hell was happening to him.
═════════════════
Reine held her, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he buried his face deeper into her hair, inhaling that soft floral scent that seemed to coat his senses, intoxicating him in a way he hated. His heart pounded erratically, the heat in his face spreading like wildfire. God, what was happening to him? He was a fucking mess. He had never felt like this before, and it infuriated him. Why was he still holding her like this? What was so different about her?
Minutes passed, and he couldn’t bring himself to let go. He didn’t even want to admit to himself why he couldn’t. He felt vulnerable. He was the one in control. He should be the one making her squirm. He wasn’t supposed to be the one who needed this, needed her—whatever this strange connection between them was.
But Deon… She didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to feel anything at all. Her arms around him remained gentle, soft, almost delicate as if she were hugging a pillow, her aloof nature still unwavering. But there was a strange comfort in her quiet, motionless presence. Why the hell am I doing this? he asked himself again, the thought spiraling deeper into his consciousness. What the hell is wrong with me?
And then, as if to answer his thoughts, she spoke.
“Sorry.”
Reine froze. It wasn’t the usual biting sarcasm or detached remark that Deon made when she bothered to say anything. It was something softer, something real, and it made his grip tighten around her, like he was afraid she might disappear. For a moment, he was speechless, unsure of how to respond, his pride and his reputation conflicting with the vulnerability he was feeling in her presence. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He was Reine Albertine. The womanizer. The playboy. The one everyone wanted to be around, the one who always had the answers.
But now? Now he was just some idiot blushing like a teenager who had no clue what the hell was going on.
Reine squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady his breathing. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t bring himself to apologize—his pride wouldn’t allow it. He was the one who had been messing with her. He was the one who had forced her into this situation, played these mind games. But the words stuck in his throat, strangling him.
And as if Deon didn’t even realize the inner turmoil he was going through, she hugged him back. That soft, emotionless embrace, the one that felt almost too familiar now, as if she had done it a thousand times before, but was still awkward about it in her own strange way.
“Reine,” she murmured, almost like a whisper, and for a second, it felt like she was testing the sound of his name. Practicing. Memorizing. His name. The same name that had been used to mock him, to cheer for him, to fear him. And yet, when Deon said it, it felt… different. It felt like she was tying it to something deeper. Something more real.
Reine couldn’t stop the ridiculous flush creeping over his face. His mind was still scrambling, the words to respond all mixed up, his usual cold and sarcastic remarks nowhere to be found. All he could manage was a gruff, forced reply, something he didn’t believe even as it left his lips.
“It’s alright.”
But his voice sounded hollow, strained, like someone who was just trying to sound convincing. This is ridiculous, he thought bitterly, but the words didn’t match the thumping of his heart or the way his stomach felt tight, anxious in ways he couldn’t control.
Deon didn’t seem to notice his inner conflict. She stayed the same, her presence as still and impenetrable as ever. She just hugged him, her fingers faintly gripping his shirt, and continued her soft mutterings of his name. And that was when it hit him—the realization that this was so far beyond anything he had ever experienced. This wasn’t about control, or power, or anything else he was used to. This wasn’t a game.
This was… something else.
What the hell was this? Reine barely registered the shift in his own thoughts as he continued to hold her. There was a deep, unsettling feeling in his chest. And then it clicked, like the final piece of a puzzle slamming into place.
The Red Thread of Fate.
He remembered. Of course, he remembered. That ridiculous curse. He’d been attached to Deon for reasons that were beyond his understanding. The thread connecting them was unbreakable. But this? This moment? This felt like something else. The thread had never pulled on him like this before. He’d always dismissed it, thinking of it as a mere inconvenience. But now? Now, he could feel the tug in the pit of his stomach, almost as if the universe itself was insisting on this connection.
Reine’s mind felt fuzzy. And no matter how many times he told himself to let go, to push her away, he couldn’t.
“God, what is this?” he muttered to himself, eyes narrowing as the world around him felt increasingly blurry. It’s her. It’s always been her, hasn’t it?
But no. He couldn’t think like that. He was still Reine Albertine. This is bullshit.
Deon’s name—Reine. Her voice, that quiet utterance—he couldn’t get it out of his head.
And when she said it again, so softly, so quietly, like she was speaking it just for him, the piece of Reine that had been so confident, so sure, cracked for just a moment.
Reine pulled her closer, if only because it was the only thing his body knew how to do. He couldn’t fight it. And honestly, at this point, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.
He cursed under his breath again, hating everything about this—and yet not wanting to let go.
═════════════════
Reine’s mind was swirling, the tension of the moment thick and suffocating as he held Deon close. Her scent, her soft touch, the way she murmured his name like it meant something… It was too much. He was on the edge of something he couldn’t explain, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. His grip tightened on her, his heart hammering, like it was trying to escape from his chest. He felt everything—every inch of his body screaming at him to just do something. But before he could make a move, something interrupted the chaos in his mind.
Buzz buzz.
The sound of his phone vibrating on the table snapped him back to reality, and for the briefest second, Reine wanted to throw it out the window. Of course, now was the moment someone decided to call. Fuck. His face felt like it was on fire, his thoughts scattered. That voice in his head that always screamed “control” was now on overdrive, and yet the stubborn part of him was relieved to be pulled out of the whirlwind that had started to suck him in.
“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath. Of course, it was Noah—his best friend, the guy who always managed to interrupt at the most inconvenient times. Reine had been so into the moment with Deon, that he completely forgot about the party tonight. Shit, shit, shit, he cursed internally, his heart still thumping loudly in his chest as if it hadn’t noticed the phone call. He quickly released his hold on Deon, though not without a tinge of hesitation—almost unwillingly, as if some invisible force was tying them together.
Before he could say anything, he turned his back to Deon and reached for the phone, swiping the screen to accept the call. “Yeah, what is it?” Reine snapped a bit too quickly, his voice rough as he fought to regain his composure, still feeling the warmth from the hug. He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. “Noah. What’s up?”
“Oh, Reine, bro. You still coming to the party tonight, or are you ‘busy’ again?” Noah’s voice was all teasing, smug and playful as always. “I bet the ladies are waiting for you, huh? Or is it another special someone keeping you distracted?” He chuckled knowingly on the other end, the unmistakable hint of a smirk in his tone.
Reine stiffened for a moment, his jaw tightening. God damn it. He could feel his face heat up again, and he cursed inwardly for letting Noah get under his skin. But he wasn’t about to admit it. Not now, not ever.
“Yeah, yeah,” Reine said dismissively, waving a hand even though Noah couldn’t see it. He gave a forced chuckle, trying to sound casual, but his voice cracked ever so slightly. “I’m still coming. Just, uh, finishing up some stuff.” He glanced at Deon, who had already gone back to her usual state—zoning out completely, her eyes distant, almost as if the whole thing hadn’t happened. Typical.
Reine’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long, analyzing every detail of her posture, the way she held her notebook, the way her eyes seemed to be fixed on some faraway thought. She was so absent, so deep in her own world, and yet so… present. It bothered him more than it should. And as he tried to talk to Noah, he found his attention split, glancing at Deon whenever Noah paused for a breath.
“You sure you’re not—” Noah teased again, his voice lowering slightly. “Got someone in there with you, Reine? I swear, every time I call, you’re never just working.” The suspicion in his tone was playful, but Reine could hear the subtle knowing in it. His friend had a tendency to notice things. He knew Reine too well.
“Of course not,” Reine said quickly, too quickly. He laughed it off with a cocky sneer. “I’m busy with business stuff, Noah. I’ll be there. And no, not with anyone. Just the usual.” His tone was light, like he always did when he wanted to mask whatever was actually going on. But inside, his mind was still stuck on Deon, stuck on that moment, the way her body had felt in his arms. It was all too much, but he wasn’t about to admit that to anyone—especially Noah.
“Sure, sure,” Noah replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We’ll see if that’s true, but whatever you say. See you tonight, bro.”
Reine muttered a half-hearted goodbye and hung up, but as soon as the call ended, he exhaled sharply, finally allowing himself a moment to regroup. His eyes shot back to Deon, who was still lost in her own world, writing something on the page. Something about her, her disinterest in everything around her, her utter indifference—it made him feel even more off balance. She didn’t need him. She didn’t even care.
Yet he couldn’t stop himself from watching her, dissecting every little detail of her quiet, strange existence. Her thin frame, the way her hair was a mess but still somehow looked elegant in its wildness, the way her blood-red eyes never seemed to truly see anyone. She was an enigma, a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, and that made him obsessed with her in a way he couldn’t explain.
“You’re really something, aren’t you?” Reine muttered under his breath, the words more for himself than for Deon. He felt disgusted by himself for even thinking it, but he didn’t stop staring at her, like a man watching a train wreck he couldn’t look away from.
For a brief moment, he felt his guard slip again, but he quickly shook it off. He wasn’t that guy. Not with her. Never with her.
Instead, he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and continued to watch her from the corner of his eye, forcing himself to look calm, collected—normal.
She would never know. And that’s exactly how he liked it.
But deep down, Reine was starting to question whether he could keep pretending he wasn’t… losing control.
═════════════════
Reine took a deep breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk to steady himself. He could feel his cheeks still burning slightly, a reminder of the embarrassing, goddamn hug that had caught him off guard. He hated that he was even aware of it, but the heat creeping up his neck and the flushed feeling on his face weren’t going away. So, he did what he did best—reverted.
With a sharp exhale, he straightened his back, brushing his hair back in that cocky, confident motion he had perfected over years. The old Reine was back. The suave, playboy who could make anyone bend to his will. Who could charm his way out of any situation. The guy who never let emotions get in the way of his goals.
He looked at Deon, who had just handed him a piece of paper. A fucking schedule. Of course, it was a schedule. What else could it be? The freak—no, genius—did have some organizational sense, after all, and he wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t see the value in her obsession with structure. But still, it was her. Deon. The one person in the entire fucking academy who made his brain feel like it was about to explode every time he had to deal with her.
He glanced down at the paper, noting the careful neatness of her handwriting. And then he narrowed his eyes, realizing what this was: an answer. A fucking answer. To the very problem he’d been pondering since this whole mess started. The daily schedule. So that’s how she wanted to communicate.
“Meeting daily, huh?” Reine muttered, scanning the paper and mentally ticking off the items. “Fine. We’ll make it work. I’ll meet you every day, Deon, for the Winter Royal Ball project. We’ll ace this. Get out of debt. End this stupid punishment, yeah?”
Deon blinked at him, her eyes completely devoid of emotion, but her hands didn’t hesitate to slide her notebook toward him. She was offering him a chance to write, which… well, it was efficient, he had to admit. Her methods were strange, but oddly practical.
“Fine, whatever,” Reine said, grabbing a pen from his pocket and scribbling down a few things in her notebook. “So, let’s get this straight. Daily meetings, every morning, at… uh, 8 AM? Sounds good. We’ll need to hammer out every detail. Suppliers, decoration placements, themes, order—” He paused, making a mental list of everything. “Everything.”
The words sounded a little too formal coming out of his mouth, like the project was some sort of life-or-death mission. Which, in his mind, it was. But it was also Deon—and the less he acknowledged the weird connection between them, the better.
But then, of course, she did something completely out of left field. Deon, that strange creature she was, suddenly held out her hand to him. And in her palm was something small, wrapped in a cheap plastic wrapper. Reine eyed it, his eyebrow twitching. What the fuck was this now?
The candy was cheap. It looked like something you’d find in a convenience store. No brand, nothing fancy—definitely not the kind of thing Reine would even bother to look twice at. And he knew it wasn’t anything grand, not in the least. But… it was from Deon. And that changed everything.
Deon was poor, obviously. He could tell by the state of her clothes, the way she carried herself. No luxuries here. And yet, this? This small gesture? The candy? It felt… intimate. The way she handed it to him, almost expectant, but not really. It was like she was giving him something she valued, something simple, something meaningful to her.
Reine stiffened. It wasn’t like he’d never gotten gifts before, or even had women throw things at him, but this? This wasn’t just about the candy. It was the feeling that came with it. And it terrified him. Because for a split second, he felt like he was being let in. Like she was letting him into her strange little world, her quiet, fucked-up bubble.
His fingers twitched. He didn’t want to take it. He really didn’t. But then again, refusing it would have been a goddamn disaster. He muttered a barely audible, “Thanks,” and took it from her. His voice was gruff, as if it was the most mundane thing in the world, when really, it felt like he’d just taken some form of intimacy he had no business accepting.
Deon didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, but she didn’t care. It didn’t matter to her, not really. She turned, uninterested in the candy she’d just given him. As if it didn’t matter, as if none of this mattered. She was already slipping back into her own world, that strange, aloof expression returning to her face as she picked up her things and started heading toward the door.
Reine stood frozen for a second. There was a part of him, a part he would never admit to, that wanted to stop her. To… do something. But what? What the fuck was he supposed to do?
He couldn’t let her leave like this. Not after all that.
But he couldn’t just ask her to stay either. That was pathetic. He wasn’t going to beg for her attention, not now, not ever. He wasn’t that guy.
So, like a fucking idiot, he just led her to the door, his hands cold as he placed them on her shoulders and nudged her in the right direction. The whole time, his mind was screaming at him to do something—anything—but he just couldn’t get the words out.
“Yeah, get going,” he muttered, trying to keep his tone indifferent, trying to act like this was just another moment in his day. But deep down, he hated the way it made him feel.
Deon didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. She was already gone, slipping out the door like a shadow, disappearing into her own thoughts.
Reine sighed, leaning against the doorframe. His chest still felt tight. His mind was still a mess.
What the hell was he even doing?
═════════════════
Reine stood there for a moment, staring at the door. The thought lingered in his mind—like a pesky itch he couldn’t scratch. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t this kind of guy. He wasn’t soft. He didn’t care. And yet, his mind was still replaying the image of Deon, the way she handed him that stupid candy, and the way her strange little expression softened just for a second. He’d felt it. It was as if she was inviting him in, even if she didn’t realize it.
That’s what did it. The pressure in his chest, the fact that he couldn’t escape it, no matter how much he tried. And, of course, the fact that his stupid heart was beating way too fast for any of this nonsense. Reine Albertine—playboy, womanizer, the guy who was always in control—was about to lose it over the weirdest little moments with a girl who couldn’t care less.
“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, before the words even registered in his mind. There was no stopping him now. He was already moving.
Without another thought, he pushed off from the doorframe, took a couple of fast steps, and reached out, his fingers brushing the back of her hoodie just as she was about to step into the hallway. Deon barely reacted, but that didn’t stop him. Without thinking, he leaned in and pressed his lips quickly, lightly against her forehead.
There was something about the softness of her skin, the quietness in the moment, that snapped something in Reine. But just as quickly as he’d kissed her, he pulled back. His heart raced in his chest, his body stiff, like he’d just touched something that might explode. He could feel the burn rising to his cheeks, and his hands were clammy.
Reine didn’t even have a chance to process his own actions before he slammed the door shut with a loud thud behind him, his breath hitching in his throat.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” he growled, his voice strained with disbelief. He paced around the room, his heart still hammering in his chest like a wild animal trying to claw its way out. He didn’t do things like that. He wasn’t that guy.
But there it was. A soft kiss on her forehead. Fucking great. He was blushing like a fucking tomato now. He slapped his hands against his face, wishing he could erase it all. What had gotten into him? Was it because she was just so strange? Or was it because he was some sort of masochist who enjoyed complicating his life?
Meanwhile, Deon? Deon barely registered a damn thing. She was still walking down the hallway, totally oblivious. Her face was as blank as ever, her eyes drifting off into the distance as she clutched her little bag in front of her like some kind of shield.
The kiss had barely even made it to her brain, and by the time she was back in her dorm room, she’d already forgotten all about it.
She’d probably never even notice it had happened.
Reine cursed again, his frustration building. The thought that she could be that unaffected—while he was practically on fire—only made it worse.
“Yeah. Yeah, this is perfect,” he muttered to himself, kicking the edge of his desk. “Real smooth, Reine. Real smooth. What’s next, you’re gonna marry her?” He shook his head, disgusted at himself. “God, I’m so fucking screwed…”
He collapsed back onto his chair, running a hand through his hair. How had everything gone so wrong? It should’ve been easy, right? Just another project, just another dumb girl to deal with. But Deon had a way of fucking with his head in ways that none of his usual flings had ever come close to.
Reine scowled, shoving his phone aside. “Fuck this.”
And yet, despite the cursing and the anger swirling in his chest, a small part of him—buried deep, buried so fucking far down he didn’t even want to acknowledge it—couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe… maybe he was starting to care a little more than he should.
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Reine leaned back in his chair, glaring at the ceiling like it was personally out to get him. He was seriously losing it. A fucking kiss on the forehead. A quick brush of his lips against her skin, and now he was acting like he’d just committed the worst crime imaginable. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the suave, confident Reine Albertine who could flirt his way out of anything, who could charm a crowd of women into doing whatever he wanted with just a flash of his smile. This was… this was something else.
“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, his hands gripping the arms of the chair like he was about to snap it in half. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and the weird sense of panic was crawling up his spine. This wasn’t how he was supposed to feel. He didn’t get flustered. He didn’t get shy. He didn’t do awkward. He was the fucking king of cool, always in control, always above it all.
But no—Deon had to go and make him feel like some blushing schoolboy. The nerve. How the hell did she do that? She hadn’t even reacted. She hadn’t even seemed to notice it. She probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow, and yet here he was, a total mess, his face redder than the damn roses in the garden.
What the hell was wrong with him? He was acting like a damn virgin, like a teenager who’d just had his first crush. He could practically hear his best friend Noah laughing at him from miles away. “What’s wrong, bro? You finally met your match?” Fuck. That’s exactly what he was worried about.
Reine rubbed his face, cursing himself again. He hated that he couldn’t control this. He hated the way his mind kept circling back to her. The way his thoughts got stuck on her. The way her cold, aloof expressions were starting to mean something more than just the usual indifference.
“She’s a freak,” Reine muttered harshly, trying to push the thoughts away. “She’s a fucking weirdo. A goddamn robot. She doesn’t even know how to talk to people. She can’t even speak half the time. She’s not even real.”
And yet, despite his words, a little voice inside of him whispered, Does it matter?
He gritted his teeth. No. No, it fucking didn’t. He hated everything about her. She was too strange, too out of touch with reality. She was poor, barely holding it together, and had about as much social awareness as a rock. She was a genius—yeah, fine, but that didn’t make up for being a creepy, antisocial freak.
“Stupid bitch,” Reine scoffed, rubbing his temples like he was trying to banish the thoughts. “She’s not even worth this… whatever the hell this is.”
But even as he said that, his mind wandered back to the candy she gave him. That little piece of trash, probably bought for a penny in a convenience store somewhere. What was that supposed to be? Some kind of joke? Or worse… was it genuine?
He groaned, flopping back in his chair, his hand running through his hair again. This wasn’t how he was supposed to be. He was the guy who controlled everything—he was the playboy, the charming guy who never let his emotions get the best of him. He never got flustered. He didn’t get lost in stupid, pointless things like… like stupid little gestures. But with Deon? God, with her, everything felt like a fucking challenge.
“I fucking hate her,” he growled. “She’s a freak. A freak who doesn’t even know what she’s doing.”
His eyes flicked toward the door, where she had left just a few minutes ago. The memory of her—standing there so damn expressionless, handing him that candy like it was a declaration of war—stuck in his head like a thorn.
The whole thing was ridiculous. He wasn’t some damn virgin who couldn’t take control of a situation. He was Reine Albertine. He was smooth, he was calculated. He didn’t let anyone get under his skin.
But then why did the thought of her linger, like some kind of curse? Why did she make him feel… nervous? Why did his stupid heart keep racing like it was trying to tear its way out of his chest?
“Well, whatever,” he spat, standing up abruptly and pushing the chair back with a screech. “I don’t give a shit. I’ll just focus on the damn project. Yeah, that’s it. Keep your head in the game, Albertine. She’s just a fucking tool to get through this bullshit assignment. Once we ace it, I’m done. Done.”
But even as he said it, a part of him knew it wasn’t that simple. Not with Deon.
Because no matter how much he hated to admit it, she was getting to him.
Before you start reading God’s Protagonist, make sure to read the following:
- Introducing God’s Protagonist: A Dark Fantasy Epic by Fang Dokja [General Info]
- The Purpose of “God’s Protagonist”
- Content and Trigger Warnings for God’s Protagonist
- Why God’s Protagonist is Rated Mature (23+)
- Comprehensive Content and Trigger Warnings for God’s Protagonist
- How God’s Protagonist Works: Major Arcs and Chapter Posting
- Coping with “God’s Protagonist”: Taking Care of Yourself as a Reader
𝐆𝐨𝐝'𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭 