The long night was weighing on him as he dragged himself out of bed, scrubbing a hand down his face and through his shaggy, disheveled hair. His fingers caught and snagged in the tangled, unwashed strands, and a curse slipped from his lips. How long had he been up last night, scouring through textbooks and online articles in search of evidence for the three papers he'd been assigned the other day?

Too long, obviously, but he couldn't help that, now could he? Work had let him off late again (though he had asked last week if they could spare a few more shifts for him) and the twins were fast asleep by the time he staggered through the door. He'd tucked them in, tugged off Del's sneakers and set them underneath his bed, and sat himself down at what passed for their kitchen table for a depressing dinner of something heavily microwaved. Then he'd started on his mountain of homework, and that uphill climb had lasted for hours.

He didn't have time to shower. He regretted that, wrinkling his nose at the faint odor that wafted up from under his arms, but if he wanted to pick up Aoi (now routine) he had to leave in - he glanced at the clock on the wall across from his bed.

Dammit. He was already late.

Throwing on a fairly clean set of clothes, Timor ran for the front door, hastily slipping on his shoes and combing his fingers through his matted hair. Del, woken up by his commotion, peeked into the entryway, wide blue eyes bleary and cross with sleep. He knuckled a hand across his mouth, wiping a sliver of drool from the corner, as Timor plucked a ratty hat from the coatrack and tugged it on. It wasn't strictly against the school's dress code, but he was already annoyed over the questions Ace would undoubtedly ask about his piss-poor fashion sense.

"Big bro?" Del slurred, his voice thick and tongue disobedient.

"Go back to sleep, Del," Timor ordered, not unkindly, though the firmness of his voice prompted Del to straighten from his sleepy slouch. "You and Bell have off today."

He supposed he was lucky for that. Had they had school this morning, he would have had to walk them there first, then grab Aoi. Late as he was, he would have had to sacrifice his promise to Ace for his siblings, and he hated doing that, no matter how forgiving the president was to him.

When his brother had disappeared down the hall, socked feet slipping across the hardwood, Timor left the house, locking the door securely behind him. He slung his bag over his shoulder, patted his phone in his pocket, as if to assure himself he hadn't lost it, then started in the direction of Aoi's house.

_____________________________________________________________________

Aoi was a handful, as per usual. Though he seemed extra bratty that morning. Why he'd thought he could get away with skipping school while Timor was obligated to hound him, he had no idea - seeing as it hadn't worked for him yet, anyway. But they parted ways the moment Timor was sure Aoi veered off for his classroom and Timor knew they wouldn't see each other again until tomorrow. No meeting for the student council today; everyone was too preoccupied with setting up for their respective school festival attraction.

If not for Raya's infrequent prodding at his back or elbowing of his side, Timor would have - pathetically - passed out from exhaustion during each and every one of his classes. The material didn't interest him, the teacher's voice hit his ears like a lullaby. Raya covered for him whenever she could, and he appreciated that, even if it didn't seem like it. She knew, though, because she knew him. For years they'd somehow ended up placed in the same class, and she'd worn him down until something not unlike friendship existed between them. Besides Ace, she was the only person in school who fully comprehended his domestic situation.

"Timor, buddy, listen," she was saying while she sat atop his shoulders, having needed the boost in height to hang a banner advertising their French cafe just beside the door to their classroom. "I'm not saying you should leave Ace hangin' or anything, but you gotta treat yourself a little better. Ya know? You're gonna run yourself into the ground at this rate, between takin' care of the twins, working your ass off at the store, and maintaining that freaking high GPA of yours. And what good would that do, besides saddle you with some stupid hospital bills?"

She was right, as she often was. But he barely nodded, not in full agreement, and she sighed heavily, flicking the side of his head good-naturedly.

"Ya know," she said after a pause, once he'd deposited her on her on her own two feet and she was standing beside him. "Mom and Dad... they wanna help, Timor. We're not the richest bigwigs on the block, but--"

"No."

Raya pouted, more perplexed than angered by his blunt refusal. He always responded like that, leaving no room for argument, not that she didn't try her damndest to persuade him on her parents' behalf. They may have only known him since the tail-end of middle school, but Shanks and Mia had taken a liking to the quiet, burdened pink-haired boy from the moment they met him, and for years they tried to ease his family's troubles. He politely refused them, every time.

He'd been born into this mess, and it was his job to dig himself out of it, shoving his younger siblings ahead of him so that they tasted the light first. And if everything collapsed once they were free of their past, leaving him behind... he could live with that. For them.

"...I'm digging the accessories today."

Blinking, he flicked a glance upwards at the underside of his hat. Raya grinned from her place beside him, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes carefully bright. She was giving him an out.

"Couldn't shower," he said simply, shrugging even as she made a face of disgust, miming the action of gagging. She made a show of waving a hand in front of her face, though her playful smile belied her amusement.

"That's freaking gross, man."

"I'm aware."

"Seriously, you couldn't spare five minutes--"

He gave her a look.

"Right, right, sorry. It's just that I'm kinda dying over here and--"

Raya broke off, her unfinished sentence falling away into silence. Timor raised a brow at her slack-jawed expression, still uninterested in whatever had stolen her voice, but she was insistent; she grabbed ahold of his arm, spinning him around with the force of her own body, and he saw it.

Saw him, actually.

Aoi - dolled-up in a lacy black maid's outfit - stood in the doorway of a room not too far from Raya and Timor's, flushed red from the tips of his ears to the nape of his neck, though that was just a guess on Timor's part, as the high-necked collar of his dress hid the pale skin of Aoi's throat from view. He seemed out of breath, panting, like he'd just undergone some intense physical exertion; the dress itself looked rumpled and half put-together, like someone had interrupted before Aoi was completely dressed. That was Aoi, probably, Timor thought, given the circumstances.

He found it hard to believe Aoi had let his classmates get that far with the costume, more than anything else.

"He's... Oh God. That loser," Raya sniggered, her mocking laughter quickly descending into obnoxious guffawing, and she leaned into Timor as her body shook with the force of her amusement. He let her, if only because it would be more effort to placate her now than to reprimand her later.

Aoi, though. Aoi was not so forgiving.

He swung around at the sound of her laughter, face pinched in pure fury, hands fisted at his sides. Air crackled like lightning around him, his despair at the world palpable even as far down the hallway as they were from him. His mouth snapped open, some furious, hissing insult surely gathered on his tongue; only, he stopped, his eyes sliding away from Raya to focus on Timor, who'd since let his gaze wander to the interior of his classroom, where he could spot Adriel ducking away from Sanji's frantic kick, most likely on the run for having napped in the storeroom while everyone pitched in. That was usually how it went.

As if sensing Aoi's stare, Timor looked back, brow cocked, expression neutral. He didn't care in the least that Aoi's nightmares had manifested in reality; it wasn't his problem how his class went about getting him involved in the festival, though he did have to wonder where their enthusiasm came from, as he'd gotten the impression that Aoi's delinquent class favored ditching school-sanctioned events over attending them. But a thought did occur to him as he looked Aoi up and down, while the boy seethed in silence, seemingly unable to simply stalk away and leave his humiliation behind.

(Too bad for him, Timor could see Raya surreptitiously filming the whole ordeal on her phone, still tucked into his side to hide the device)

"Cute," was all he said, and he was genuine in saying it, despite the bemused look Raya shot him, but it was enough to have Aoi flame crimson from head to toe, his face shifting into a mask of loathsome indignation.

"I'm not cute, I'm a boy, dammit!" he snapped.

"Boys can be cute, too, idiot," Raya chided meaningfully.

Aoi ignored her, but she didn't give a damn about his feelings, really.

"Take Timmy here," she went on, slapping Timor in the deadcenter of his back; he hardly moved, only adjusted his weight a smidge to accommodate. "Dude's downright adorable when he's sleeping. Looks like a little kid again."

Thankfully, she had the forethought not to mention that she knew pretty much exactly what Timor looked like as a child, thanks to her friendship with Del and Bell; the three of them were the spitting image of their father, after all, and Del especially resembled a mini replica of Timor.

Aoi didn't take kindly to the comment, his red face flushing with greater intensity, though Timor found the cause less obvious this time. Aoi didn't like compliments; Aoi didn't enjoy anything said about him that remotely insinuated his femininity. That made sense to him; this landed outside his spectrum of understanding, it seemed.

Although Aoi looked as though he was verging on a rant of epic proportions - and possibly assault charges - Timor turned away abruptly, his hand slipping into his pocket to grip his buzzing phone. Raya eyed him apprehensively, her interest in Aoi's misfortune forgotten, as he took the call.

"Del? What--"

"Big bro, Bell set the stove on fire!"

Never let it be said that the twins forewent his warning not to call him at school for paltry matters.

Without a backwards glance, Timor took off down the hall, and Raya, who'd been close enough to be privy to the distress call, refrained from running after him. She was tempted to dial for emergency services to be sent ahead of Timor, but he wouldn't thank her for it, for a reason that went beyond his lack of social skills. So she sighed, linked her hands behind her head, face scrunched up with concern. She'd call him later, to make sure everything turned out a-okay - because it would. It had to.

This was Timor they were talking about.

"...What the hell got under his skin?"

"Personal matters, shortie," Raya supplied, grinning as he bristled instantly; Aoi was non-threatening on a good day, but dressed as he was, and wearing what she suspected to be pantyhose, he wasn't any more intimidating than a newborn puppy. "Little too complex for ya to wrap your brain around. Trust me. Oh! And before I forget... Smile!"

Click.

Aoi's red face and black-lace shame were immortalized in a candid shot... at least, for as long as Raya could keep her phone out of the hands of an enraged white-haired Dracule.

Raya liked the odds, personally.