A fleeting thought crossed his mind as he listened. It was a memory so faint it was nearly erased, but the tail end of it brushed against his consciousness, flickering like a half-remembered dream.
“Really? I thought I took them all. Didn’t your brother say no? Or was that not it?”
“Cyrus doesn’t oppose things like that.”
After a brief silence, Kalix answered, and Owen replied nonchalantly:
“Maybe I misremembered since it was so long ago. Anyway, my rabbit didn’t live long. How about yours? Don’t remember?”
Once he started recalling, more memories surfaced. They’d wanted rabbits as children—too young to understand the concept of hunting, but old enough to beg for them. Kalix’s brother, Cyrus, seemed cold and strict on the surface, but he was surprisingly affectionate with family, especially Kalix. Owen’s brother, indifferent to hunting, had readily given them the rabbits. Cyrus hadn’t objected—instead, he’d asked if they planned to name them. The details were hazy, but Kalix remembered that conversation.
“It didn’t live long.”
He couldn’t recall the rabbit’s name, but he had named it. It died soon after. He didn’t remember if he’d grieved—he probably had. Back then, everything had belonged to him. His body, his emotions, all of it.
“I thought you recognized me and came here. Anyway, it’s good to see you after so long.”
Owen hadn’t recognized him at all. Their last meeting had been years ago, and Kalix’s most recent memories—not even his own—didn’t include Owen. He’d only come here to avoid Jasper.
Kalix glanced at the person he was avoiding. Beside him sat someone Kalix shouldn’t know but did: Hugo. They’d meet officially at the start of the term. Hugo was sociable, introducing people left and right—this one’s a bastard, that one’s disowned—as if Kalix owed them some reaction. It was infuriating. Yet the one who’d stolen Kalix’s body had kept Hugo close, as if he were useful.
None of this was normal. And Kalix realized—this was normal. Normal people shared stories, not dragged others into their mess. Owen talked about their past, their shared memories. But how long would this “normal” last?
“How did you recognize me?”
Would Owen change too? Would he prod Kalix like Hugo, testing his emotions, pushing him to act? Could Kalix even tell the difference?
“Everyone else did, so I did too. I didn’t recognize you at first, but then it clicked.”
At that casual remark, Kalix’s gaze flickered between Hugo and Jasper before settling back on Owen. He wanted everything to return to normal. But was he normal? What even was normal?
***
He declined Owen’s offer to eat lunch together. Owen might be fine now, but who knew how he’d change? Hugo had explained everyone from the start, but Owen could turn the same way. Kalix needed distance. He couldn’t predict who would shift.
Forcing his mind blank, Kalix mechanically ate in the dining hall. Then his eyes met Alexander’s. His mood soured further. Thinking of Alexander inevitably brought Jasper to mind.
If Alexander acknowledged him, Kalix planned to ignore him. But Alexander merely glanced away, his gaze shifting naturally to his friends nearby.
“Sasha.”
The voice cut through the noise. Kalix didn’t want to recognize it, but he did—Jasper’s voice. The distance wasn’t great, so their conversation carried.
“Sasha?”
One of Alexander’s friends sounded confused. Everyone called him Alex, after all.
“Sasha.”
Jasper’s voice was already subdued. As Alexander walked past Kalix’s line of sight, the scene unfolded:
“Jei, you’re eating lunch, right?”
“Yeah.”
The person beside Jasper looked at him and asked:
“Jes, you eating too?”
“Can I?”
Though someone else had spoken, Jasper’s eyes darted to Alexander, seeking confirmation. The distance grew, muffling the rest, but Kalix’s discomfort coiled tighter. His stomach churned.
***
That evening, there was a dorm orientation for freshmen. Mandatory attendance. Kalix’s head pounded as he sat through explanations he already knew. His thoughts spiraled back to Jasper—again. He didn’t want to think about him, but the harder he tried to stop, the more the memories surfaced: his expressions, his voice, his eyes, his posture, his hands—endless loops merging with fragments that weren’t his own. A furrowed brow, stifled moans, tear-brimmed eyes, obedience, desperate gripping hands. His brain felt broken.
Not my memories. Not my actions. Not mine. So why did it hurt like this?
“Kalix Blackwood.”
The sudden call snapped him back. Roll call was soon; he should’ve returned to his room after the meeting. But he didn’t want to face Jasper. He’d give anything to switch rooms, but the rules bound him to the same one for a year.
So he lingered by the lake, waiting for curfew. His mind didn’t empty—it festered. All because of Jasper, Alexander’s brother, the one who’d—
“They’re asking why you’re out here past curfew.”
Alexander gestured vaguely toward a girl—likely a student council member. Of course Kalix didn’t know Alexander’s social circle. He didn’t know Alexander at all, except as Jasper’s brother and the man who’d once killed him.
Kalix stared blankly, expecting some demand, but Alexander just said, indifferent:
“Honestly, I don’t care. I’ll tell them you’re coming in soon.”
His tone was so casual it was almost absurd. Like when he’d spoken to Jasper in the dining hall. Kalix watched Alexander walk away without a backward glance. Even if he claimed ignorance, the problem didn’t vanish. But did Alexander truly not know? Or did he just not care?
***
He had nightmares. Or maybe he never slept at all. His stomach twisted. One thought dominated: escape the room he shared with Jasper. Kalix climbed the stairs, aiming for the few empty rooms he knew of. His vision blurred, his head spun. He couldn’t tell if the fragments haunting him were memories, nightmares, or delusions. Please, let none of this be real—but what was real anymore?
His hand—pale, or maybe just blurred—pushed open a door. No real solution, but if he could just breathe for now, that was enough. Or at least avoid the worst.
“You didn’t come up here to jump, did you? You won’t die from this height.”
Kalix turned reflexively at the voice. Alexander stood there, not in uniform or loungewear, but oddly dressed for going out. A bottle of alcohol dangled from his hand—against academy rules, but Alexander was no freshman.
“This room’s owner’ll be back soon.”
The cold wind—or maybe just the voice—cleared Kalix’s head slightly. Alexander continued:
“Fourth-year. Harold? Harrison? Anyway, he’ll be back.”
Kalix studied him: the detached expression, the low voice, the careless tone, the dry gaze that landed and left just as indifferently. Nothing like Jasper. Not just in looks—their entire auras clashed.
Kalix already knew Jasper was a bastard. Everyone did. But blood was blood. Family resembled each other in ways beyond appearance—expressions, mannerisms—yet Alexander and Jasper shared none of that. Still—
“I checked the empty rooms. The foreign student’s returning late.”
“Don’t bother.”
Kalix’s irritation flared, but Alexander ignored it, watching him steadily.
“You need a place to be alone?”
Alexander had no interest in Kalix. That much was obvious. He spoke without curiosity, as if Kalix’s answers meant nothing.
“Blackwood. I’d prefer you didn’t die.”
The words made Kalix exhale sharply in frustration.
“If my roommate offs himself, my brother’ll be traumatized. He’d mourn someone he barely knew. He’s soft like that.”
Alexander turned to leave, his tone utterly indifferent. He didn’t care if Kalix lived or died—just how he died, and the fallout for Jasper.
“Unless you two were fucking or something.”
Why. Why did he care so much? Why hover over a brother just a few years younger? Why act like he couldn’t leave him be? Why involve himself in every corner of Jasper’s life, as if—
And Jasper. The way he’d looked at Alexander in the dining hall wouldn’t leave Kalix’s mind. Why that look? As if Alexander were his entire world. Why? How could family twist someone like that?
He knew Jasper was a bastard. Knew they shared only half their blood. But so what? He was still family. Family, and yet—
Before, Kalix hadn’t seen them together much. He knew they were brothers, but Jasper had always been with him. And Alexander? He never approached if Jasper was with someone else. These past few days proved it: Jasper was the one who sought him out, never the reverse. And when Kalix’s body had been stolen, Jasper had been glued to him, so of course Alexander stayed away. Neither Kalix nor the thief had known Alexander well. They wouldn’t have predicted this—wouldn’t have understood their dynamic at all.
“You—”
Kalix couldn’t hide his disgust. For the first time, Alexander’s usually blank face twisted—not guilt, not indifference, not embarrassment, not shame, but something else entirely, something Kalix hadn’t expected.
“Did you fuck my brother?”
Unfiltered contempt laced his voice. Kalix’s ears rang, a shrill tinnitus drowning out everything else.
“I do look after Jei, but most people call it ‘being close’ or ‘a little overprotective.’ Jumping straight to ‘fucking’? Guess you’d know, huh.”
The words fractured, rising and falling unpredictably, but Kalix’s mind stitched them together. A black spot bloomed in his vision.
“Otherwise, I don’t get how you’d even think that.”
Dizziness made standing impossible. Kalix clenched the balcony railing, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut. But even in darkness, something filmy obscured his sight, spots flickering painfully. The ground seemed to tilt. If he let go, he’d collapse—but his grip was failing.
“Blackwood.”
His breath hitched. His pulse roared in his ears. Through the noise, a voice cut in. And then—memories, not his own, flooded his blurred vision—
“BLACKWOOD!”
His back hit the wall. Alexander had grabbed his collar, slamming him against it, one hand pinning his jaw. The pain jolted him awake.
“You conscious?”
“Like this—”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
