forum boarding school dark academia murder mystery queer love triangle rp (closed, but feel free to stalk <3)

Started April 13, 2020 by @darling-velocipede group

tune

It was hard to see. Hard to breathe. Hard to function.
Thoughts swirled around in Leon’s head as she struggled to keep her eyes open. The tangy fiery scent of alcohol was too strong for the situation to be a dream, yet everything felt that way. It was like if she held up her hands they would be miles away. Even looking up at the young boy in front of her, he seemed too far. The girl next to her seemed far. Everyone was gone, and she was alone with this deep dark ocean.
Wave after wave, emotion came crashing. Her stomach churned about as wildly, unsure if it was the many glasses of wine or the fact that she was absolutely and utterly terrified. Her head pounded with each knock of a wave, another drop of water just adding to the reckless sea of thoughts.
And for the first time, she was seeing so clearly yet so blurry at the same time.
She was frozen in fear— in dread. If her heart hadn’t been pushed so far down, it would have kept sinking as she saw Zephyr’s empty eyes. Yet, admitting she was scared— finally showing it— housed the slightest bit of comfort.
She felt so cold. Her skin looked paler and she felt sick to her core, feeling the shivers slowly take over her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but her numb lips held no room for conversation.
Yet, as she looked from Zephyr to Kate, to her own legs criss-crossed below her, she wondered if it had actually happened. Being wasted never sided with her— not like it sided with anyone else, but Leon especially. She had quite the vivid imagination. Zephyr had gone to the restroom. She and Kate had just talked. Talked, and nothing else. The entire situation was a figment of her mind. It had to be. She pleaded it to be.
Still, her lips were numb, and Kate’s hand rested on her own… well, both saying otherwise.
With a deep, shaky breath, she raised her eyes back to Zephyr. The only light was that of the dim bulbs overhead, casting a deep shadow on his solemn face. And there, Leon had another reason to be absolutely terrified.
Not of him. Of losing him.
She had never had the slightest inkling of Zephyr possibly liking Kate. But, then again, all of those times they spent bickering, all of those times Zephyr claimed he had to leave early… and simply, the way he looked at her.
Leon had never been one to cuss openly. Yet, if anyone were to read her mind, they would be thoroughly versed in every single form of cursing and profane language. She brutally recited each one in her own favor, like a nail-gun straight to the head. One after the other, each jabbing just as deep as the previous one.
She wanted to apologize, but at the same time, say just how terribly confused she was. Blame it all on the delusion of a sleepless night and too many glasses. Too many glasses.
Even with the entire ocean spilling over in her head, the waves crashing tirelessly and brutally, the only words she could muster aloud were:
“Are you okay?”

Why had she done this? Kate barely even remembered the moment that she'd decided to kiss Leon, but the second that she met eyes with Zephyr her excitement from the moment was replaced by a sickening dread. That look in his eyes…betrayal was the only word that Kate could use for it, though she had no idea why. If anything, she had thought that Zephyr hated her recently. Of course it wasn't about her. He was jealous of her. She saw how kind he was with Leon, and cursed herself internally. That had to be it; Zephyr was in love in with Leon too. At the sound of Leon's voice, both Zephyr and Kate blinked, out of their momentary trance.

The girl's voice was light and soft, like a warm ray of sunshine. Too good for either of us, Kate thought, biting her lip. Zephyr's eyes narrowed as he glanced between the girls. Suddenly everything that Kate did felt incriminating. Even her very presence was incriminating. This was all her fault. She felt awful, unshed tears stinging her eyes. This whole friendship was the only thing good in her life and she had ruined it just like she ruined everything else. The alcohol tended to make her dramatic, but at this moment she wholeheartedly believed that thought. Before Zephyr could make some attempt at denying his obvious pain or, even worse, admit how horridly betrayed he felt, Kate spoke up.

"I should probably go," she muttered, standing up and throwing on her jacket, which lay discarded on the floor. She tried to muster whatever shred of dignity she had left, adjusting her hair or clothes to fix the disheveled look of someone who hadn't thought of her appearance in a several hours. Zephyr still had that awful look on his face, and Kate couldn't see it any longer. She stood in the doorway for a few tense moments, unsure as she looked at the faces of her only friends before walking out. She wanted to apologize but didn't know the words, replaying Zephyr's expression over and over in her mind as she stormed off down the hall.

Don't cry don't cry don't cry, she begged herself, though of course no one was there to see anyway. She had finally got what she wanted and destroyed their friendship in the process. Let Zephyr and Leon reconcile over how awful she was; they deserved better anyway. Before she knew it, her cheeks were wet. Awesome. Just awesome.

(sorry it took me so long but i am happy to announce my classes are basically over now so i will be able to respond a lot faster now!)

Kate had jostled her glass from the coffee table as she left and it had shattered, icing the hardwood floor with minuscule shards of glittering crystal, matching Leon's eyes as they sparkled with tears, her lips sealed and quivering. The glass had been empty, but all Zephyr had on his mind was getting the dustpan from under the sink and cleaning it up. He needed it to be clean. Neat. Quiet. He looked up sharply at Leon.
"You should go." Her hands were shaking slightly, not that Zephyr noticed. "It's late. Go home." He didn't realize just how commandingly he spoke until it was too late. She rose stiffly and walked out, not so much as glancing back at him, shutting the door with perhaps more force than necessary. He didn't care, already on his hands and knees, brushing up pieces. It will be good when it's clean, his mind echoed. Everything will be fine when the floor is clean. Make the floor clean. In moments his hands were full of the pieces, a thousand little diamonds like snow, like tears. Fucking dramatic, his brain declared. Why would you care. He didn't notice how they'd cut him until he'd thrown them into the bin, so many tiny slices across his palms. Why would you care. He'd forgotten that things could cut him. He'd forgotten how soft skin was.
Half an hour later he waited in bed, back rail straight, eyes unfocused, absently sweeping his sloppily bandaged hands over his hair again and again. Something in him ached, and there had to be a way to fix it, so he took the electric clippers from the bathroom cabinet and made direct eye contact with himself in the mirror, cursing himself, his friends, every god he could think of as he shaved away every lock of his own hair, leaving only a coarse sheath of maybe a fourth inch. Everything still hurt. Returning to bed, he waited there, unsleeping, until the first rays of dawn peeled from the horizon, illuminating an impenetrable old-cotton sky. Only then did he cry, hating every hot tear. Fucking dramatic, he thought. Why would you care. Boys don't cry. Why would you care. Something in this internal chanting lulled him away from the world, into one of dreamless rest, a welcome void. Fucking dramatic.

As previously stated, Leon wasn’t one to cuss. In fact, she refrained from it most times, even when she wanted to.
She had recited every single one in her mind before, but as she walked the street back to the apartment, she had the pleasure of saying them aloud. Not necessarily loudly, but loud enough to send chills down her own spine, and possibly any person lurking in the dark. They were fueled with fire, each one more brutal, more ruthless than the last. Each one filled with absolute hatred for her very being, and each one said with more truth than the words stringlessly said at weddings when the two genuinely loved one another. The “I do’s” housed little truth compared to the profane words she spat, almost able to see them coil in the air as if speaking them directly into existence.
She lived in the more “beaten-down” part of town, but based on the game she was talking, they would most likely steer clear. Maybe it was her tired eyes. The way they sat beneath her narrowed brows, sunken and staring holes into the ground. Maybe it was the fire from her tongue, or the clenched fists by her side. Or the absolute furious anger she radiated. Never before had she felt like this. But she was in too far to understand the feeling was useless. Nothing could win back Zephyr.
Even as she pushed open her door and shut it forcefully behind her, locking it, her mind was racing with ways she could make it up to him. Maybe it was the traces of alcohol that gave her false hope.
But what if she got him a kitten? A small, black and white kitten, and named it Charles Darwin. Like the man who researched the concept of evolution. He might enjoy that.
Even so… she couldn’t afford it. Even as a gift. She had to supply herself long enough to reach her goal of a plane ticket back home by the end of the year. Not to mention the proper transportation, because lord knew she didn’t have a car. Nor a bike. It was her feet and worn shoes. That was it.
With a sudden thought, her furious ocean of a mind calmed. This was a solution. A perfect one.
Slowly she walked around to her diminutive desk, starting up her old computer. The thing was junk, but worked well enough.
The decision was impulsive, yes. Extremely so. But she didn’t want to justify herself. Kate and Zephyr could be together. And Leon wouldn’t have to get in the way anymore. Or, at least, in a month.
Not to mention, this way she could afford it. Working duel jobs and eating just little enough to sustain her well-being, this could work. And school wouldn’t be an issue. She was far ahead anyway, and on all of the staff’s good side.
With a few swift clicks and terrible judgement, as well as a mind filled with emotion… the deed was done.
Her computer lit up with the receipt.
Leaving in just four weeks.
A single ticket to Portland International Airport.

When Kate finally arrived back at her apartment, she collapsed onto her bed, too drained to do anything but lay there and sulk. Her tears had dried by now, leaving black mascara smeared across her face from an attempt to wipe them away. She didn’t wear much makeup, but what little she had on was ruined, making her look even more like the unsteady teenager she was. She couldn’t get Zephyr’s face out of her head, and his horrible look of betrayal. Maybe she could call him? Yeah, like he would want to hear from her. Maybe she could call Leon? And alienate Zephyr further? That was bad too.

Kate lay there for who knows how long, staring at nothing and thinking of how horrible she felt. No, how horrible she was. This whole mess was her fault. If she hadn’t thought to kiss Leon in the first place, the three of them would still be in Zephyr’s apartment, laughing and slowly becoming more and more tired. Kate was the type to fall asleep first, even though it didn’t seem like it. She remembered the night she’d fallen asleep on Zephyr’s couch, content as she had ever been. In the morning, he had made her leave before she could even say anything. She’d thought maybe the two of them could make breakfast or something. It had started to feel like Zephyr was avoiding her or something after that. The two of them hadn’t hung out together in ages with Leon, though she and Leon had done a few things since then. Maybe this was a long time coming, and Zephyr was just looking for an excuse to ditch her. Well, she had to make things right for Leon and Zephyr at least.

Knowing that he probably wouldn’t answer, she called him anyway, using the logic her alcohol-addled brain gave her of at least fixing things for the other two. She was almost relieved when he let it go to voicemail and Kate decided to leave him one. He probably wouldn’t even listen to it anyway.

“Zeph, I’m so, so sorry,” she began, which already was unusual for her. She hardly ever apologized unless she was certain that she had wronged someone or she was drunk. “Look, I know that you hate me and probably only tolerated me so that you could spend time with Leon after I fell asleep at your house that one time. Anyway, I want to say that it wasn’t Leon’s fault. It was all my fault, and I’ll leave you two alone if you want to go back to being friends without me. I’m sorry.” Then she hung up, laying on her bed and staring at nothing for another little while before falling asleep. God, she was a mess.

When Zephyr awoke the next afternoon, it was, well, afternoon. He wasn't in the habit of sleeping in, to say the least, but these were special circumstances. Looking down at his hands, which were haphazardly wrapped with lengths of a pillowy gauze he didn't know he had, he sighed. Very special indeed. Every part of his body ached as he stretched his arms above his head and wiggled his toes, squinting against the bright room. He'd forgotten to even close the curtains over the wide window opposite of his bed. And it seemed a bowling ball had taken residence in his skull. After tossing the bandages off, he clumsily pulled on a t-shirt that was strewn on the floor, chiding himself for not taking off his binder before falling asleep. But from the way his head throbbed and a muddled watercolor had replaced his memories of the previous night, he had probably been drunk enough to excuse it. There wasn't time for it to matter anyway– if he didn't eat something now, he was going to throw up.

Shuffle to the kitchen, pour some cereal, there's no milk, eat it dry. A beam of green light falls through an empty wine bottle lying sideways on the table, reflecting of Zephyr's spoon and into his eye. Wincing, he pulled away and picked up the bottled; the pauper's stained glass window. He glanced at the label as he picked it up, grimacing. Hardly a pauper's stained glass window, this stuff was expensive. Drearily, he wondered if it was his or Kate's money that'd been spent on it, and her name tugged at the back of his mind. But it wasn't that that made his heart perform a rough double hammer: it was his own reflection, turned dark and olive in the bottle's dim reflection, that sent him stumbling to the mirror. An embarrassing shudder of horror raced through him as he stared at his hair. Or lack thereof. His dark curls, once falling below his ears, had been sloppily butchered so hardly a fourth-inch of dark remained, all around his head like an ominous storm cloud. But that was far from the worst of it. At the sight of his own awful haircut, other memories of the previous night returned like meteors crashing down on earth, the ground shaking under his feet. He felt sick and dizzy, a bit scared, mind still blurred around the edges by alcohol. But more than anything, and of this he was sure, he was embarrassed. Things had been ruined when he slipped up, just how he predicted. He felt stupid, and it hurt him like sand thrown into his eyes by a hot wind, frantically blinking as he tried to shed it. Zephyr wasn't in the habit of feeling stupid. But he wasn't about to cry again either.

Kate had left a voicemail apologizing, voice rippled with something closer to tears than Zephyr had ever witnessed her in, which only made him feel worse. But maybe it was the sound of Kate's pain that drove Zephyr to his ridiculous decision, his fool-proof way to cut off this part of himself, this stupid part, this "love" part, to stop himself from screwing things up with them any further. He was going to salvage things. And it wouldn't matter if he had to lie to do it. Kate, Leon, he typed into their group chat on his phone. If you two are awake, I know you're both thinking about last night. So I'm going to tell you the truth about what happened, so everything can be normal again. When did he get so used to lying? Here it is: I'm gay. I exclusively like other guys. I've been meaning to tell you for a long time, and I was just about to last night, but then you were, he swallowed, steeling himself to type the word, kissing. And I didn't want to wreck whatever was going on for you guys with my news, but I also really was ready to tell you, and so I freaked out a bit. I'd really appreciate if you both could come over this evening. No alcohol. I just want to read the journals, so we can keep moving on our investigation. And Kate, can you bring coconut water when you come over? I still refuse to keep that stuff in my apartment, but we all know that it's best for hangovers.

He sent it and tossed the phone down on his bed. It wasn't true, not a word of it. But he was ready to do whatever he had to to keep things the same, to not be the horny idiot who screwed everything up. And he was trying to think of this as a small sacrifice.

Leon had fallen asleep not only near her computer, but actually on the keyboard, clearing the search bar in a series of “//////////////////////////////////////“‘s due to a stray elbow. However, she had ceased to press enter, so the bright lights of the screen housing the big and bold letters of “Thank you for your purchase” dawned over her head. She blinked her eyes open, the screen helping none with the pounding headache. It was lesser than it should have been— she had never had really terrible hangovers, although she only had had two others to compare it to. It was odd, but she never complained.
She had slept absolutely terribly, as expected. Her neck couldn’t feel more broken, and her back wasn’t too far behind. The chair was uncomfortable in and of itself, and her eccentric position did nothing to help.
She sat upright, leaning over the back of the chair and praying for aching to cease. Although, it did give her mind something else to focus on, which she didn’t mind.
It’s not like the memories came washing back to her. If anything, they sat in little familiar pieces that she could sit down with, putting them together like a puzzle and stepping back to observe her work. Her father always praised her for that ability— to never panic, but step back for a while. At least while she was in her right mind… that ticket was a different story.
Yet she held true to it. She would go back to work tomorrow and do all she could. She would stay with the terribly impulsive decision she’d made… for the sake of Kate and Zephyr. It was for them.
Carefully, she turned to her phone, making sure not to move too quickly to keep from getting stuck in a dizzy stupor. It was earlier than she had thought, but she didn’t blame her body for waking herself up— it was extremely uncomfortable.
Even so, it still wasn’t early early. Only ten o’clock. At least it gave her some time to… think. She preferred doing that during the day. The dark was too inviting otherwise.
With a sigh, she walked to her bathroom, gazing at the reflection in the mirror. It was… not necessarily the best image to see. Dark circles under her dimmer eyes, the blue looking almost grey. It wasn’t uncommon, but it seemed suiting at the moment.
Unable to ration reasonably any longer, she decided a shower might wash away the anvil on her chest. It didn’t, whatsoever, but she was convinced the attempt was somewhat valid. And after that, what else could she do? Get dressed, probably. So high-waisted black jeans with a tucked in graphics Big Dogs shirt it was. Then, she slipped on her beat-up shoes. Done. What next? What else would keep her occupied? Music? Sure. Classic rock playlist— first song, Fool in the Rain, Led Zeppelin. Yes, this worked. Maybe she’d clean? Yes. Until the apartment was completely spotless. The paintings were hung, the clothes folded, the dishes cleaned.
But then it was just afternoon. And what then? The playlist had died down… Take it Easy, Eagles. Great song, but it kept roping her mind back to the situation. Sitting on her bed, tapping her foot, she felt like she was just… waiting. Waiting for Kate or Zephyr to drop her. Waiting for the goodbye text. Waiting for the last call.
So she pressed pause. She’d have to do more. Like what? Making music would work. It helped often. Taking the ukulele from it’s propped position on her bedside table, she began to tune it. G, C, E, A. Each shrill pluck of the string, each variation helping a little more. And then strumming. A few strum patterns she knew. Down down up, up down up. The Island Strum, they called it. Not one of her favorites, but it was nice to do mindlessly.
She didn’t sing, fearing that the second her voice left her, it would crack. She would break. She was too stubborn for that, not letting her emotions get that satisfaction.
Playing the instrument gradually held its own calmness, the thing she had been looking for. Yet, just as she entered that meditative sort of state, her phone lit with a message. Heart thrumming and head spinning, she opened it.
Head propped in her hand as she read it, her fingers curled over her mouth habitually as she felt her chest tighten. The anvil crushed back harder and heavier than ever, and she wondered if there was more than just that one.
Her playing long stopped, she stared at the screen in the silent apartment. Reading the message, she silently decided that she’d keep the ticket to herself, and would only reveal it when she had too.
With a long sigh, she texted back. The only thing she could think to say. Yet… a phrase that wouldn’t hold it’s meaning with time.
I’ll be there.

The next morning, Kate woke up with the taste of morning breath filling her mouth. Clearly, she had slept in. She checked the time on her alarm clock, seeing it was much later than she normally deigned to wake up at. Her stomach grumbled, so she slowly went up to make breakfast. Kate dumped some Fruity Pebbles, her favorite cereal, in a bowl and poured some milk over it.

She was a slow eater, taking a while to eat the cereal and thinking about last night as she did so. The memories came flooding back, each one making her more and more upset with herself. She couldn’t remember for sure whether she had sent an embarrassing voice mail or phone call or whatever, so she’d have to check that once she finished eating. She slurped the last of her rainbow-colored milk and then wiped away her milk mustache.

Kate went back to her room, and picked her phone off of her nightstand. She noticed the two new texts from the group chat. What? Maybe things weren’t as broken as Kate had thought. She opened the chat, reading through Zephyr’s most recent message three times to make sure she wasn’t imagining anything.

Zephyr was gay? She blinked, a bit relieved but also guilty that she was relieved. Obviously he didn’t like Leon then, or even herself. Kate wondered when he had realized that and why he had waited so long to tell them. Well, she and Zephyr hadn’t exactly been telling each other everything recently anyway. She guessed that he was hiding something, and this must have been it. She looked at Leon’s response. If the other girl could make it, then Kate would go as well.

She would be there for her friends, and she would bring some coconut water. Zephyr may not like having it in his fridge, but Kate had several bottles of the stuff. She happened to like the taste of it.

I’ll be there too, she added to the message. Things were fine. Everything was fine between them. She could be with Leon. No, that was selfish, wasn’t it? Kate thought for a moment. Not if Leon wanted to date her too, she decided. She put her forehead in her hand, thinking about the message from last night. Embarrassing. Best to pretend that it never happened.

Zephyr wanted so badly to be happy when Leon and Kate's messages arrived, but they did little to help the weight of dread that had settled at the bottom of his stomach. His decision to lie had seemed so logical at the same time– really, it still did. They'd never have to know any different from what he'd told them. He could double down on his efforts to quash his heart's desperate pull towards Kate. And it would all be over in less than a year anyway. He'd never see them again.

Though he had never said it outright, holding his tongue when Kate discussed the logistics of flying out from their respective colleges to see Leon in her home state, Zephyr had little intent to try and execute on any of these plans. It was nothing personal– he loved them, enjoyed their company, shared with them every hallmark of a proper friendship; something he'd never really had before. But he'd made his choice, and it wasn't people. It was in his own best interest to let these connections go, for time's sake. He'd always known he got along better with facts and books anyway. Besides, he thought bitterly, They'll probably have a better time alone together than they could if I was hovering around. That was it. The acrid taste in his mouth, the kick to his gut. He'd never thought he could have Kate. Not once, outside of lonely late nights sprawled on his bed, debating whether or not the sickening waves of movement from reaching over was worth another shot of gin had he even fantasized about what could be. But now she'd chosen Leon and the impossibility had taken on a gravel sting. Because, plain and simple, he was selfish. He couldn't have her, but he'd found security in knowing no one else could either. He framed the added sting of the guilt of his own possessive greed in heartbreak. A proud man to the last.

Getting to his feet from the armchair whose embrace he lingered in during his daze, his every bone seemed to crack. Music man, he thought nonsensically, and shook himself. Clearly he needed a distraction and settled on skimming the journals, getting a feel for their general content before Leon and Kate arrived. That way, he could know stuff that they did not right from the get go, and that always reassured him. He made it halfway across the room to the box where they waited before remembering the pen he had stolen from the bedside drawer the afternoon before and left in the pocket of his coat. If he was going to take notes, he might as well use an appropriate tool.

Looking at it, he felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't thought twice about taking it– Zephyr was far from sentimental about his own possessions and this man was dead. Had been dead for a long time. But this was a fancy pen, clearly expensive even to someone used to luxury. Gleaming red, marbled with ivory and with a gold back and tip it spoke of high knowledge and art. Slowly, he turned it in the light, transfixed by how it sparkled. Something caught his eye– a glint of silver. He stopped, squinting. A row of blocky silver letters, precisely engraved but still almost too small to discern, ran the length of the pen. For your poetry, they read. Love, HBE. The professor had had a wife who worked on campus, Zephyr recalled from his earlier research. But her name was Shauna Baylor. It could have been nothing, a gift from a relative or old girlfriend, but something about the inscription seemed familiar and tugged at the back of his brain. Resolving to show the pen to Kate and Leon later, he rose to his feet to get another aspirin for his faint but persistent headache. His desk was a mess, scattered books and lose pages, diagrams laying atop his likely uncharged laptop, the hardened wax of a nearly gone candle marring the wood. But one thing caught his eye– the cover of his Modern Chemical Biology textbook, written by a doctor of chemistry who worked at the school decades ago. More specifically his gaze fell on, the author's name written across the bottom. Dr. Herbert B. Ellis. HBE.

It all registered in his mind with a slam and he found himself frantically flipping through the glossy pages to find the author's thanks and acknowledgements. And, by some magic of chance and circumstance, there it was– the murdered professor's name. Thanks to my dearest friend, Oliver Capillon, for being invaluable to me in more ways than one. Far more, the book read.
"Holy shit," whispered Zephyr, voice dimmed by disbelief. Herbert B. Ellis still worked at the school. He was nearly 80, but claimed he felt more at home in a place of learning than alone in the surrounding city or the state of his birth.

And it seemed he and the murdered professor may have been more than friends.