He woke up the next day to a faint headache and Olga's silhouette in a soft light. She took her hand to his forehead, caressing his bangs away. "Hey, Laurel," she said. "Hey," he said back, "What time is it?" He was still groggy — the pillows and covers felt like a hug and Olga's hand made him want to drag her back to bed. "Probably close to six," she sat by him, "You can sleep in and go upstairs when the library's more lively. No one will notice you came from my room." Her hand on his hair was soft and sweet, which seemed unusual. "Where are you going?" he asked. She laughed a bit, "I have to get ready." 

Laurel took a good look at her. It seemed like they'd slept in party clothes. Her simple dress clung to her figure and he thought it was a shame she'd thrown a cloak over it the night before; after the thought, he was immediately ashamed. "It's early," he said, reaching his hands out to her, "Come back to bed. Just a bit longer…" She kept caressing him, unmoved by his pleading. "I'm not messing with my routine to cuddle with you," she said, getting up, "I'm changing now. If that bothers you, turn away." The residual warmth of her hand on his head faded bit by bit. He gripped the covers. "What if it doesn't bother me?" he risked the question. She was rummaging around her wardrobe, but paused upon hearing it to look over her shoulder. Her wide smile sent chills to his stomach. "It doesn't bother me either," she said simply.

Olga set some clean clothes aside and closed the wardrobe. Then, she locked eyes with Laurel and bent down slightly, bringing her hands to the rim of her dress. She took it off with such ease that it was as if Laurel's presence didn't make a difference. His heart throbbed like the gesture was a jolt of electricity and he gripped the blanket tighter. She was suddenly naked before him, aside from one flimsy piece of underwear; his cheeks heated up as he stared, feeling guilty despite her explicit permission. When his eyes somehow wandered back to her face, he realized she still smiled, though it didn't seem provocative anymore, just… happy. And embarrassed. "You look so soft," he said, extending his arms out again, "Are you… sure you don't wanna cuddle some more?" She chuckled. "I can get closer if you want," her voice lowered, "But I'm not getting back to bed." 

He nodded and let his arms drop. She took cautious steps forward to the edge of the bed, now closer to his face. It was enough to make him think his body wouldn't take it; his veins had to rupture or something. Olga sat beside him and he noticed her cheeks were also tinted. "No touching," she whispered, not that he'd have the guts to. She took a hand to his face and softly rubbed his cheek with her thumb. It was an innocent gesture, but it made him shudder. "It's too early for you to be doing this to me," he whispered as well, completely aware of how adoring the look on his face was. She laughed. "You kinda asked for it." They both smiled. 

Though all he wanted to do was hug her and pull her back to bed, he took a deep breath and paused. "Is it really okay for us to be like this?" he asked, afraid of the expression she'd make. He was right to be. "You took what she said to heart?" she said, not caressing him anymore; her hand stopped where it was. "I just… feel like it was true. This might be inconsequential for me, but you…" he said, letting the thought trail off. She scoffed, but then seemed to find it funny. "Don't you think we're old enough to each make our own choices?" she asked, smiling in that bitter way she had. He raised his hand to touch hers and rub his cheek against it; the fact she'd stopped had left him somewhat touch starved. "Honestly, I don't feel mature enough at all," he joked. "In any case, you should trust me to make my own," she said, getting up.

She got back to dressing and he remained in bed, alone. Lying down had never felt so lonely. He'd looked at her so much that he'd burned her image in his mind, being able to conjure up the very smoothness of her bare skin. It was torturing him a bit — probably would for a while. "I hope you know you're stunning," he said, feeling as if he hadn't praised her enough, "Well, you stunned me." Olga looked back at him and smiled. She was dressed in her usual manner, the ugly coat with the Umbral Star insignia and all. "Aren't you a charmer," she grinned. "I'm serious," he said. "You just want to get me to go back to sleep with you," she crossed her arms. "Yeah, I do. But you're still beautiful," he said. After a while of staring at her face while it seemed like she was trying to find another quip, he added: "It's okay if you don't know how to react." 

Olga blanked out for a moment and then sighed, seemingly content. "Give me your keys," she said, "I'll get you some clean clothes now that everyone in the dorms is still asleep." Ah. She was right. He hadn't thought of that at all. He acquiesced. "I trust you with my life," he said. She grinned again and threw him her own bedroom key; "And you have felt firsthand what happens if you mess with my shit." He caught it and it felt heavier than it should. "I prefer to hear your secrets come out of your own mouth," he said, drawing the sentence out. "Speaking of which, you owe me," she said, "We only spoke about me yesterday. I'm not up to speed on your family gossip." He laughed and closed his eyes, "Because the biographies aren't either." After she confirmed, he added: "Well, I'd say you only gave me a brief summary." She audibly sighed. "I'm fine with that. Swing by my office, pay your dues, bare your soul and then we can actually make progress with your studies for once." After that, she ruffled his hair and took off, letting him fall back to sleep. It was easy; her room was quiet, comfy and smelled just like her.

When he woke up again, his only company was a dim, lone fairy light. He refueled it and noticed that Olga really had left clothes for him. They were neatly folded and stacked; his keys were on top. He changed, cleaned up some and sneaked upstairs — after locking her bedroom, of course. She'd been right. No one paid him any mind. He headed straight for her office, her face lighting up immediately once she saw him. Still, she kept writing. "Did you already have breakfast?" she asked. "No," he admitted. She frowned, "Then go. You drank last night."

He pulled up a chair to sit next to her desk, peering at what she was working on. Seemed like it was just transcription work. "I'm here to pay my dues," he said, resting his elbows on the sturdy desk, "Ask away." She smiled and her teeth dug into her lower lip. "So you're just offering yourself up, huh?" she said. He nodded and mm-ed. "I thought you'd have been with someone before me," she said softly, not taking her eyes off her writing. "I told you I grew up really sheltered," he lowered his voice too, taking advantage of her distraction to blatantly stare at her. "Yeah. And it made sense, with your parents and whatnot…" she mused, tapping her pen to her chin a bit, "But records get scarce after you were born."

"Ah. Well. Again, this feels like an interrogation," he said, keeping a positive tone, "Then you know about the years of miscarriages and all. You can imagine how I was treated." She chuckled, "Rainbow baby with a pretty face? Yeah, I can picture it. Go on." He crossed his arms atop the desk and dropped his head on them. Could take another nap. "I didn't think of it in these terms before I met you, but looking back on it, I was a pretty lonely kid," he said, pausing to try to look at her eyes under her glasses, "About the dating thing… Your view of how royal kids act is, um, very Lunar Bay-esque." Olga scoffed, side-eyeing him. "Oh, come on. Are you gonna say Ashen royals are saints now?" she asked. He laughed a bit. "No. We just don't fuck around with that. You only do those things when you intend on marriage."

She paused, lifting her eyes to him. Her pen dripped a little as her gaze dug into his and she lifted her eyebrows. "Then what are you doing with me?" she said. He averted his eyes and felt his nose go a tad cold. "I did also tell you I was raised to be happy. I'm not fit for a king," he said, taking a deep breath before adding: "Or maybe my crush on you is not just minor." She pressed the blotter to the page and pursed her lips. "Now you're really fucking with me," she muttered. He lifted his head. "I'm not. Look, Olga…" he staggered, short of breath for no reason; "If we're really risking so much, can't we get the most out of this while I'm here? So what if I am head over heels for you? I'm going away in the end anyways." He reached his hand out to her, hopeful. "Unless that makes you uncomfortable. But I don't regret saying it," he added.

Laurel heard her inhale sharply and subconsciously mimicked it. Her lips were slightly parted and she finally smiled, making his heart beat much more calmly. "Sometimes I wonder if you're just a huge flirt," she said, dropping the pen to take his hand, "Then I realize that'd be an insecure thing to think." He smiled back and squeezed her hand, "It would." Her skin was soft under his touch and he couldn't help but recall the image of her body and picture how tender it must be elsewhere. "I didn't mean that we should be in a rush," he said, "I just… Wanted you to know. And trust you to make your own decisions." She glanced at her work and then back at him. Maybe she also measured her time. "I know. On that note, understand that this is… hard for me," she said, focusing on him again, "But I've enjoyed spending time with you." 

After exchanging glances with her for a while, his chest felt full enough. He sighed and let go of her hand. "Then am I invited to your bedroom again today?" he asked, adjusting his posture and smiling. "Only if you actually study for once," she said, suddenly raising her hand with her palm up, "And give me back my key." He fished it out of his pocket and deposited it in her hand. "Ah, sorry." Olga stashed it away, dried her pen and stood up. She motioned for him to follow her out the door. "Come on, we're circling back to those books you wanted to read on your first week here," she said. Not surprised that she still recalled what they were, he beamed with pride. "You think I'm ready?" he asked in an excited whisper, following her across the library. She made beelines for each book, finding them in that maze with ease. "Quite honestly, I don't think your natural mana deposits are big enough for much. But maybe it's a matter of stabilizing your manifestation of will," she said, lowering her voice as well, "You have little practice after all."

That wasn't the answer he'd asked for. "Here you go," she dropped the small pile of books in his arms and started heading back. Laurel followed, glued to her like a lapdog would be. However, something made her stop before the door. One of the white clad healers was standing beside it. "Siren," he called, "Ready for your appointment?" She distanced herself from Laurel. "Yeah," she said, looking over her shoulder, "Focus while I'm gone." They walked off and he was left alone with the books, so it was not like he had much of an option. 

He did his best, but would definitely ask for her guidance when she got back. Not just because he liked hearing her speak, of course. When she did finally get back, she didn't say a word before sitting back down. "Hey," said Laurel, "What's up with these constant visits anyways?" She shrugged, "Nothing much." He closed the book he was reading on his thumb to mark the page. Telekinesis could wait a bit. "They did say you're responsible for most of their workload," he pressed further. That actually made her chuckle and grin. "They did, huh? Of course," she said, "They complain whenever they actually get work to do. Because, oh, black magic just takes such a toll!" She flicked her pen on a dirty rag as she ranted, getting rid of the excess ink. Not a very gentle gesture. "They don't even tap into their own vitals. Black magic is easy when you have a whole garden of living beings to kill," she furrowed her brow.

Laurel touched his back to the couch, as if trying to get away from her outburst. He managed to smile thinly, "I gather you don't get along." She scoffed, pausing to rub her wrinkled forehead before touching pen to paper. "Doesn't matter," she muttered. Something that she'd said was bothering him, though. "Do you tap into your vitals?" he asked. "Whatever your opinion is, spare me," she replied, "I don't discuss work matters." He sunk into the couch, his cheeks burning as if she'd chastised him. Wasn't it natural for him to be concerned? Still… "Then what do you have 'appointments' for?" She shifted and exhaled slowly. "Just your regular occupational pain. From writing so much, you know," she said. He mumbled something in comprehension and decided to go back to reading.