The Past

After their brief introductions that first night, Rosaire had yet to speak another word to Wiley. Yes, they were both now living under one roof, but with his strict schedule their paths rarely crossed. The only exception was at meal times and even then, Rosaire never spoke while eating. He had no personal vendetta against him, of course. Rosaire simply preferred to interact with others only when necessary. Due to this, he expected to have minimal interaction with the other boy.

This abruptly changed exactly one week after Wiley’s arrival. 

Rosaire was making his way through the halls when he noticed a pair of glowing red eyes watching him from further down the corridor. Rosarie paused, his own eyes narrowing. Upon realizing he’d been spotted, the watcher disappeared in a flash, swerving into another hallway so quickly he was nothing but a blur of red hair and motion.

Rosaire shook his head in mild annoyance. He didn’t think much of the odd interaction at first. This however, turned out to be a terrible misjudgement, quickly confirmed when he took a step forward and felt his feet slip out from under him. Rosaire’s eyes went wide in shock as he toppled forward, flailing frantically to no avail. His stomach slammed against the hard wooden floor with a thud, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. 

A loud snort of laughter instantly sounded from beyond the corner of the hallway. 

Mortified, Rosaire twisted around, finding several marbles scattered across the floor before him. They were made of brightly colored glass, the dim candlelight glistening off their surface.

Rosaire had never been prone to anger before but for the first time in his life, he felt a low, seething heat creeping up the back of his neck from beneath his collar. 

“Did you do this?” he called, briskly snatching up one of the marbles he’d tripped on. He turned it over in his fingers, the light catching on its translucent glass, a swirl of deep reds and blues visible within. 

His question garnered only a fit of laughter.

The sound made the heat beneath Rosaire’s collar quickly begin to rise. “Why are you laughing? That was not funny!”

“Really? Because personally, I found it hilarious.” 

Rosaire’s attention snapped to his side, finding Wiley leaning against the wall only a few paces away, arms crossed and smirking. Rosaire’s mind spun in confusion. How had he gotten there without him noticing?

“Unacceptable,” Rosaire fumed, slowly rising to his feet. 

“What is?” Wiley questioned, arching a brow.

“This behavior.” As he spoke, Rosaire’s fingers curled so tightly around the marble that his knuckles went white. 

Wiley blinked. “My behavior?”

“Who else!” 

“Who else?” 

Upon realizing Wiley was purposefully just repeating each of Rosaire’s statements as a question, Rosaire felt his blood begin to boil. 

“Have you no shame?” Rosaire snapped, his lip curling. 

“I don’t know, let me check.” Wiley proceeded to pat himself down, as if searching for it. His hands dug down into his pockets, fumbling around for several seconds before he finally shook his head. “I must have left it in my other pants.”

At the utterance of such an obnoxious statement, Rosaire’s fingers curled so tightly around the marble that a rush of spiritual power was sent racing through it, causing it to shatter. “Outrageous,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “You are completely and utterly— outrageous.” 

Wiley simply grinned. “And you have a stick up your butt.”

“A stick up my WHAT?!?” Rosaire’s face had gone red with rage. His flushed cheek burned in an entirely unfamiliar way. 

Wiley laughed, brushing past him. He raised one hand as he walked, the light catching on something held in place between two fingers. Without warning, he abruptly flung it over his shoulder. The object flew through the air and Rosaire’s hand instinctively shot out to catch it, its glassy surface slamming directly into his palm. 

Slowly, Rosaire’s fingers uncurled and his gaze drifted downwards, finding another marble resting in his hand. It was a bright sky-blue, nearly identical to the color of Rosaire’s eyes. 

“Since you broke one,” Wiley called. “With this, you should have a full set.” 

“What are you talking about?” Rosaire asked, his brows snapping together.

“The marbles, duh,” Wiley replied, glancing back over his shoulder as his lips curved upward. “They’re yours now. Consider them a gift.”

Rosaire felt his cheeks flush once more with a furious heat. “Why would I ever want such a...a...frivolous thing?”

Wiley shrugged. “You don’t seem to have any toys which is honestly pretty sad.” He grinned, eyes crinkling. “And that’s coming from the orphaned half-blood.” 

“I don’t need toys,” Rosaire retorted. “And I hope you realize I am obligated to report this offensive behavior to my father.” 

Wiley shrugged, completely unbothered by the phrase that would’ve sent anyone else in the D'Amboise estate into a complete panic. “Sure, go ahead.”

And with that he turned a corner, disappearing from Rosaire’s sight. 

Rosaire let out a low exhale, his face still flushed. Shaking his head, he slowly knelt down, beginning to collect the marbles from the floor before someone else could trip on them. What kind of person did such shameless things? He’d even told him he had a stick up his...up his…

Rosaire bristled.

Outrageous.

This boy’s behavior was completely unacceptable. 

Luckily, he would soon learn such things would not be tolerated within the D'Amboise estate. His father would be furious once Rosaire told him what had occurred. 

This thought alone was the only thing that brought Rosaire solace as he made his way back to his room, a pile of marbles in his hands with one sky-blue orb resting deep within his pocket.