{tw: implications of self harm, mentions of suicidal thoughts}
Tyler's second testing room is a large classroom with a single long desk against the far wall. Four people, one being the podium man from before, sit at the desk. They all turn their heads to look at Tyler once he walks in, their eyes following him to the center of the room.
"Tyler Joseph, I presume," the podium man says.
"Uh-huh," Tyler replies, tapping his foot nervously.
"Do you know why you're here?" The woman asks with a British accent."
Tyler shakes his head.
"You are here because you passed the entrance exam into our grad program for the magical adept," the podium man says, "That was the easy part- this is the real test. This is where we get to see the extent of your abilities as a magician firsthand and determine what your discipline is."
"Abilities? Magician? Discipline?"
All four of them laugh. "Magicians are what magically adept called. Your discipline is the trait that appears most in your magical ability," the second woman explains. "What you're best at."
"Oh." Tyler smiles meekly. "Sorry."
"It's alright. You're not the first and certainly won't be the last," the older man says.
The podium man waves his hand at Tyler impatiently. "Go on, then. Do some magic."
Tyler pushes his sweater sleeves up for his elbows, forgetting about the bandages for a moment before pushing his sleeves back down, and nervously fishes out a stack of cards he always carries with him in his pocket. He shuffles them, shows the top card to the four judges, and starts to do a simple close up trick, but the man stops him.
"Stop," his voice booms. He clearly sounds annoyed. "Don't do some stupid card trick. Do actual magic."
"How? I didn't even know magic existed until like an hour ago," Tyler retorts, his hands shaking. Half of the deck spills from his hands, and he rushingly kneels down to pick them up.
The podium man stands from the desk and walks behind Tyler, pulling off his feet by the back of his sweater vest. More of the cards scatter. "You know what's really crazy? That we actually believed you'd be able to do anything remarkable with your life." He raises his voice with each word.
"S-Stop yelling at me," Tyler mumbles.
"You're standing here embarrassing yourself with a deck of cards. Do you want to go back to your old life now that you know all of this?"
Tyler shakes his head, on the verge of tears. His life before discovering all of this wasn't bad by any means. He was lucky to even be considered for a school like Yale, but Tyler had always felt this sense of... loneliness, of emptiness everywhere he went, and it followed him like a cloud.
That was what made him an outcast. Not his self deprecating sense of humor. Not his sexuality (bisexual). Not his obsession with fantasy. No, it was this built-in depression that he couldn't get rid of, no matter what dose of Zoloft he took.
Now that he has this school, a place where he feels like he's home, he can't lose it.
"No, please don't make me go back there," he whimpers helplessly. "I can't go back. I don't know what I'll do if I leave."
"Oh, really?"
Tyler nods, forcing down his frantic panic growing in the back of his throat. "Please. I might as well be dead."
