Oneirataxia (BSD wizardry school au)

1.45%

5:12

Twelve minutes, it was twelve minutes late. And Fyodor was irritated. Five minutes was acceptable; ten minutes was irregular.

But twelve? That was unacceptable.

Now it was ruining his appetite as well as delaying his dinner.

What kind of school would even show their acceptance result at five p.m., right in the middle of dinner time? It had to be some kind of broken humour to ruin people's afternoons. But Fyodor wasn't one to complain; his humour itself wasn't any better.

Stopping himself from biting his nails further, he reloaded his inbox, a sigh escaping his lips as he saw it was still empty. Seeing as there was no point in idly standing in front of his computer all day, he decided it might be better to simply check after dinner.

"Dazai, stop it."

Hearing the scratching noises stop, he turned around to glare at the brunette, his eyes shifting towards their wrists, the bandages slightly dishevelled. The skin underneath is already tinted red with scratch marks.

"You're going to bleed again." Fyodor knew Dazai was going to anyway.

It was a daily thing.

But he didn't mention it. Having someone anxious next to him was only going to make him more anxious anyway.

Melville's, or well, Mori—their father liked to call "Melville's academy of wizardry for promising pupils" (yes, promising pupils is part of the name) was in simple Harvard for the USA, UA High for MHA, or Toudai in Japan.

A prestigious school that was hard to get into.

1.45 percent of the acceptance rate, to be exact. And no, Fyodor had not memorised that because he did meticulous research on the school, but because his parents would never shut up about it.

"We'll get in, I'm sure." Fyodor lied. He was not sure.

But sometimes, lying can be an act of kindness.

━─┉┈◈◉◈┈┉─━

Thirty minutes—that is exactly all it takes for Fyodor to abso-fucking-lutely regret that he had felt even the littlest empathy towards the menace called Dazai Osamu.

"Don't you even dare think about another." Stopping Dazai from standing up from his seat once again, he drops his fork on the plate, making an ear-piercing sound.

Watching as Dazai bregudgingly slumped back down into his seat, he sighs. Dazai's sudden mood changes weren't uncommon, especially when...alcohol was mixed. He was used to it; perhaps he would have found it a little amusing to observe...

If it were not today.

It had been a while since he was last on the edge of his nerves. It had been too much if you asked him. He had forgotten how absolutely devestatingly awful it had felt.

He didn't understand how other people managed to live with this emotion every day.

He also blamed his intelligence for making him vulnerable to this emotion.

Humans evolve. Experience an emotion, disease, or problem for long enough, and they will overcome it. In this particular case, character development was yet to come. And so Fyodor despised the emotion for the rest of the meal.

A clacking sound on the window stopped Fyodor's inner monologue, and apparently also Dazai's, as his stance broke from staring at his food blankly. It definitely wasn't Mori; he would open the door with keys. It wasn't a delivery, because they ordered nothing. It also most definitely was not a friend, because friends were non-existent.