He flew through the next morning, the bubbling excitement within him silencing Wyvern and Des' banter during breakfast. Wyvern did try to include him in it at some point, asking a vague question: "In that case, what do you think would happen, since you're our resident Ashen Valleys representative?" Unwilling to ask what she was talking about, Laurel decided to take the easy route and bust out his small talk expertise. "Regardless of the process, everything should turn out fine," he smiled softly, earning himself a grin from Wyvern. "I like your spirit," she said. Crisis averted, he shoved the conversation to the deep ends of his mind, favoring thoughts of which song he could play for Siren.

As promised, he did find an unclaimed guitar in the auditorium, which he hauled back to his room even though the resident musicians seemed quite receptive. The ensuing practice would be too personal to broadcast. Plus, it would be for Siren's eyes only. Though he could hardly wait to be ready to see her, he took his sweet time tuning the guitar before exercising his memory in search of his old songs. The moon was already up when he judged himself sufficiently de-rusted. There was a spring to his step as he made his way to Siren's office, finding her at her usual spot.

"Ah, I see you're not the forgetful type," she said, nodding towards the guitar. Despite the crescent purples under her eyes, she smiled at him and his lips quivered in return. "Quite the opposite," he said, sitting down eagerly, "The only thing on my mind has been making you read me those poems." She furrowed her brow. "Ever unoccupied and neglectful. Truly a diplomat." Instead of rolling his eyes, he shrugged. "I'll have you know that making strides in our friendship is actually a diplomatic ordeal," he said. Siren set her pen aside and slowly walked over to the couch, hips swaying lazily. She sat by his side, keeping some distance. "I'm indeed hard to please. So go on, play me a tune and make it good," she played along, her smile spreading.

By that point he'd set the guitar on his lap. He strummed along hesitantly, making sure it was still tuned. His smile faltered. "Well, to be honest, if you're that demanding I'm not sure I'm up to speed," he said. Her eyes widened and one of her ink stained hands shot up. "Oh, no, I'm mostly joking. I'm sure you'll be satisfying," she said as if to smooth it over. Laurel raised his eyebrows, still doubtful. "Yeah? What type of music do you like?" he asked. Siren averted her eyes and joined her hands, heating them up between her thighs. "Umm, Quads-adjacent bands." The raised eyebrows turned into a frown, "Then I guess I'm really not up to par." Siren grabbed a pillow and sighed, rolling her eyes. "From your expression, I gather you didn't like my answer," she said, "You should really get into the Estella indie scene." He jokingly scoffed. "Is it all Quads-adjacent?" She smiled. "Mostly. I could write you an essay on it, but… play your song. Please."

So he did, so tense he could feel his heartbeat on the tips of his fingers as the strings dug into his skin. It was a bit of an upbeat tune with rapid progressions, but it mellowed out a lot in the middle and final bits. As she watched intently, he found himself making silly mistakes he hadn't made during practice. When he finished and had the guts to look up, he found that her sharp face had really softened. "That was sweetly melancholic," she teased. "Hope it was enjoyable enough for a local band connoisseur," he said. "It was. Very. I'm refreshed," she got up and stretched, "Guess it's my time to hold up the other end of the bargain, huh." Laurel forgot to hold back his excitement, folding himself over the guitar to grin at her. "It is!"

Siren seemed a bit taken aback, but quickly recomposed herself and walked over to her desk. She opened a drawer and he could hear the rustling of paper. "I didn't quite peg you for a poetry guy," she said, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. "I'm not." She squinted at a piece of paper. "Then you really have nothing to be excited about," she replied. "Well… I'm excited to listen to you," he let out, feeling warmth in his cheeks as the implications hit him. Siren froze for a moment in that way she often seemed to. "That's silly," she said at last, sitting by his side again. There was silence for a while; then, Laurel gave her an encouraging nod and she cleared her throat. 

"infiltrate the nest

the perfect mannerisms

of a fellow ant 

will turn the rest. 

our pleasant memories

sullied by inflicted pain. 

her crafted facade 

distorts my brain.

a touch can stain my outer shell

i regain my notions 

as it pierces me. 

even after my escape

my daily motions remain a mimicry,

outsourced. the learned and unlearned."

Though literature had never been much to his taste, Laurel paid close attention to each verse. Once she was done, he figured making a question would show her he'd actually listened — and maybe shoo her obvious nervousness away. "Is it about a parasite?" She nodded, "Yeah, zombie ants." Nice to hear, but he'd actually mostly thought it through. "Sounds like a metaphor for abuse," he said. Siren shifted and reordered her papers, looking down. "It's just… Well, it's not a metaphor," she mumbled, getting up to return her poems to the drawer. Laurel laughed lightly. "Come on, don't insult my intelligence," he said, "If it's personal that's all you gotta say and I won't poke at it." She paused, looking at him like a distrustful stray cat would. "Mm, just like that?" He smiled. "Yeah," he said, "I want your trust." 

They both staggered. Even though he was determined to be as blunt as possible so he'd make his every intention clear to her, sometimes talking like that was still embarrassing. He sought out something that could kill the silence. "So… Since you like writing poems, I take it you read a lot of them?" Peace restored, Siren sat down with him again and said yes. "Then who's your favorite poet?" Upon hearing the question, her cheeks rose along with her smile. She started answering, but then paused with her mouth in an "O". Her hands gestured excitedly. "Actually, it's a poet from the Ashen Valleys," she said, "And, coincidentally, your mother is the one who gifted us a copy of her work in a gift basket… I transcribed it and locked that one away, of course…" Imagining that made Laurel's chest warm up and his smile spread. "Which poet is it?" he asked, kind of regretting not having talked to his mom about her literary tastes. "Alina Trenchwalker," she said, "Her work made me actually enjoy writing."

Laurel inched closer, trying to make out the look on her face. "You didn't enjoy it before?" She shrugged and averted her eyes. "I'd busy myself with form too much. I'd get frustrated counting syllables and starting over," she said, lowering her voice, "But if Alina can freeform everything and still make worthwhile art, then… there's surely no cause for concern." He stashed his guitar away and tried to ignore the fact he could hear his own heart pounding away. "I have no clue what you're on about," he said, "But I liked listening to it and I liked your poem. It had good flow to it, I think." He got up and paused; "Maybe… we should keep this bargain up." Siren readjusted her glasses. "I did have fun," she replied, an impish grin growing along her lips before she added: "Guess a princeling would have as much free time as he'd like to hone his guitar skills and entertain me." They couldn't help but smile at each other.