Even after they settled down and got back to their routine, Laurel couldn't shake the seedling of an idea. So he fed it. In turn, the study session wasn't very productive, since he was too preoccupied with other thoughts. In the next few days, he put his plan in motion secretly, jotting down ideas and playing them out on the guitar. He tried to write down as many verses of Siren's poem as he could remember; it was essential for the song to come along, after all. And it wasn't really coming along. He'd hit a bit of a slump on progressions and chords he could try to get that… angst-y vibe. Perhaps not angst-y, really, but definitely far from what he'd usually go for. And just infiltrating practice sessions in the auditorium to listen to other musicians turned out to not be enough; yet another source of inspiration was needed. 

Thus, he devised his own cover mission to the library. Well, not that it was elaborate; it mostly consisted of bothering an intern instead of Siren. As expected, there was one at the reception. "Would you kindly point me towards the foreign poetry section?" he asked, keeping his voice low. The student's answer made him shudder, because it was on the same floor as Siren's office. He walked up the stairs the same way as he'd sneak in the hallways at night during childhood, peeking around the corners once he got to the second floor to make sure Siren wasn't lurking about or whatever it was librarians did when they weren't at their desks. 

As he walked among the shelves, his eyes were locked to the numbers carved on each one so he'd find what he was looking for. His heart was frantically trying to keep up with the realization that Siren could actually be anywhere within that maze of books. If she was, his mission would be over, so he made his step lighter. Fortunately, he got to the desired section without encountering her; he sighed noisier than he should have. Now all he had to do was grab the book and find a place to read… then, of course, pray that Siren wouldn't see him. Feasible. Laurel scanned the authors in search of Alina Trenchwalker, dismayed to realize that it might take a while considering that there was only one copy.

A somewhat raspy voice sent his mind into a frenzy. "Hey there," it said, coming from behind him. He turned to find Siren's smug face. Hearing her say that was worse than getting caught in the kitchen at three in the morning. "Oh, hello, Siren," he mustered up a smile. Unimpressed by his attempt at sounding chill, she crossed her arms and took long, slow steps to stand beside him. "What are you doing here?" he asked, feeling stupid as soon as the words left his mouth. Her scoff made him think she thought the same. "I live here, you know," she said. "What, you live here?" That brought wrinkles to her forehead. "... Yeah, I had the basement turned into a bedroom," she said, her shoulders pointing up, "It was too humid for storage anyways."

She looked down and tapped the floor with the heel of her boot for a while. Eventually, she recovered and grinned at him. "I see you're perusing the poetry section without me," she said, taking another step towards him, "That feels like betrayal, you know." In turn, he took a step back. "I thought you said I don't owe you any satisfaction," he attempted to deflect, but it felt off. Judging by her expression, it felt off for her too. "Eh, and I thought we were past that," she said, her eyes shooting straight at his in that uncomfortable way she seemed to enjoy pinning him down in, "You agonizingly tried getting in my good graces, sang me praises, begged for book recs… and then, nothing." With each word, she inched closer, making him back away. Soon enough, his back touched a shelf and it felt like they were breathing the same stale air, but she looked triumphant. "You leave me alone for days and don't even need me to hand you books anymore. Is stringing me along your definition of fun? Would be fitting," she smiled, though it was somewhat bitter. 

For a while, he felt trapped between her and the books, not to mention the way his chest constrained his lungs. The cold that came with being accused ran through his veins. However, his shocked face soon gave way to a smile and he felt himself take a deep breath. The thought had struck him. "So you've missed me," he said, taking a step towards her instead of running away. She uncrossed her arms, hands dropping. "Don't be full of yourself," she said, "but I suppose so. Be more responsible or something." When he bent a bit to match their heights, he noticed her eyes widen. "How can I make you happy, then?" he asked, the words clinging to his tongue. It was Siren's turn to put some distance between them; she averted her eyes. "If you're gonna swing by the library, at least be a mindful enough friend to say hi," she answered. "Is that really all?" he said. He'd admit that he was teasing her and that it was quite vindictive. Unexpectedly, her eyes shot back up. "No," she said, "Need me. Ask for me. Ask me things." Siren got closer and they locked gazes; Laurel almost regretted having bent down as he felt the tickle of her breath on his face. "Let me show off," she finished, any hint of a smile gone.

Hesitant to breathe that close to her, he started running low on air. As he searched for an answer, realizing that his lips were parted plagued his mind. All he could manage was, at last, "Yeah?" She moved, finally giving him room to breathe. "Yeah," she replied, breaking off the eye contact. They stood there for a moment, Siren shifting awkwardly; then, out of nowhere, she walked off like the conversation hadn't happened. "I'll see you in my office," she said, not looking back.

Once she was out of sight and his head had finally stopped racing, Laurel found himself in a dilemma. On one hand, he really felt like obeying her and heading to the office; on the other, wasn't that the perfect moment to get what he'd come looking for? Weighing his options, though it pained him a little, getting the book and following through with it seemed like it would have the biggest pay-off. Maybe he could do both things if he was fast enough; then, Siren wouldn't be disappointed. So he powered through the seemingly endless bookshelf until Alina Trenchwalker's name graced his eyes at last. He grabbed the book and looked over his shoulder to make sure Siren wouldn't materialize herself behind him. 

The original plan had been finding a seat on the ground floor and reading it there, but obviously that wasn't safe enough if he wanted to keep it a secret. Great. He stashed it under his cloak after a second of consideration. Even if the whole curse business wasn't merely a word of warning, he figured he'd be fine. His bedroom was as close as possible to the library, after all. Besides, imagining spots of color on the wall or whatever didn't seem like too bad of a trade-off if it even came down to that. All too aware of the book's weight, he walked out of the library, conscious of each step taken. 

Getting outside and realizing he wasn't licking the floor on all fours and stuff was enough of a relief that he sighed heavily. His conscience lightened up a bit as he walked to his room; however, as he took his key out, a sudden bout of heat in his mouth made him stagger. He fumbled with the lock until he was safely inside and ran his tongue over the burning spot. It was his gums. The texture was… off. Oh, come on. Please make it unrelated. Laurel rushed over to his bed and sat down, opening the book to the usual warning section which he'd come to ignore recently. There it was: the first symptom, bubbling gums. No time to process that, because time was essential then. Instead of reading the rest of the warnings, he decided to just read as many poems as he could before it got any worse; then, he could drop the book off at the library and it would all go away. At least he thought it worked that way. Of course, Laurel did realize it was wiser to do that right at the moment, but he hadn't gone to that length for nothing.

Turns out ignoring the pain in favor of reading was hard. Still, he powered through, focusing on the verses and trying to form critical thoughts on the content and the form — or lack thereof. Ingraining as much as he could on his mind for later would make it worth it. He could withstand the symptoms until a certain compulsion hit him full force. His hands seemed itchy and his muscles tensed up; though he wanted to stay put, the stone floor suddenly seemed inviting. There was a terrible sensation underneath his nails and he just had to scratch it out. He set the book aside and dropped to his knees against his will, muscles locking without a command. Before he knew it, he was scratching the rough stone with full force, some nails immediately chipping away. His body wouldn't obey him and the terrible wave that overcame him wasn't just pain.

It was impossible to know how long he'd been scratching away for. Couldn't be long, because the symptoms hadn't progressed any further. Still, fatigue hit him and the stone drew blood; his fingertips left behind trails of it. He'd thought the burning in his mouth was bad before getting to that. Should have gone back to the library when he could still move. Then, when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, there was a soft knock at the door. The chills of pain coalesced with chills of relief until he realized he couldn't speak and the door was fucking locked. The horror increased once the person spoke up and he realized who it was. 

"Laurel," Siren's voice called him, serious, "Are you in there?" If only he could answer. Instead, the silence dragged on and she sighed. For some reason, thinking that she might walk away made the pain dig deeper. "If you are, I'm going to talk even if you don't feel like seeing me. I guess this sounds insecure or obsessed, whatever. I'm not. You're always earnest, so… I had an errand to run and I wanted to… clarify." He could hear her rest her head against the wooden door. "At least I thought you were earnest, because you came on really strongly at first. But now I feel like you've been avoiding me somewhat. And I guess I made myself clear enough earlier today, but I was serious. I want to keep seeing you and talking to you. So… If you're in there and I just humiliated myself to your attentive ears, come see me if you're still… genuinely interested." She paused for an agonizing moment. "If you're not, I guess I got it out. And… I'd see your face in Umbra's. For now."

Oh. Don't let her walk away. There was so much he could say in return, reassure her that his avoidance hadn't been intentional and, in fact, he'd been busy thinking of ways to show her he cared. He wanted to ask what the remark about Umbra meant. And, of course, he also wanted her to make it stop. He'd been scratching for so long that the skin had really worn down and each motion was insufferable. He tried with all his might to answer and euphoria hit him once he felt a sound form in the back of his throat. But instead of the words he'd meant to say, he… barked. Loudly. More than once. 

Immediately, the doorknob turned. Hard. When it seemed like Siren had realized it was locked, Laurel could hear what sounded like a slap on the wood. "Laurel," she raised her voice, "Are you barking because you're a freak or because it was you?" Instead of answering, he kept barking. "I should have known," she said, "I'll be back." He could hear her heels hit the very stone that tortured him as she walked away. Rather, it sounded like she was running. Soon footsteps echoed through the hall again and he heard a crashing sound at the door; after it repeated for a bit, he could see the blade of an axe poke through the splintered wood. The whole process felt too long while he was forced to watch his fingertips go raw, exposed flesh rubbing against stone. Once the hole was big enough, he could see, through the corners of his eyes, an arm pass through it and fumble with the key that was thankfully still in the lock. Soon, the door opened.

Someone in guard colors rushed to his side, pulling his hands away from the ground forcefully; Laurel still clawed at the air, reluctantly barking as he was tied up. The characteristic sound of Siren's boots as she paced behind him was enough to induce a chill in his spine. "You should apologize for wasting Des' time as soon as you can speak," she said softly. He could feel the disappointment emanating off her in waves when he heard her pick the book up — or maybe it was his imagination. Barking non-stop only made the experience more humiliating. Aside from that, the overwhelming silence as Desmond carried him to Siren's office felt as bad as his injuries. The worst was that Des was inadvertently holding him in a way that kept Siren in his direct line of sight. She had her arms tightly crossed as she walked in front of them.