Tanaka watched the credits roll on the final episode of Season 3 of the Volkers anime. It wasn't a bad adaptation, but he wished it would have stuck closer to the plot for that last arc. He didn't really feel like starting the next season, so he closed his laptop and looked out the window of his dorm room.

Flashing lights from the Richter Building reflected off the roof of their little pocket dimension world. He thought he could hear faint music as well.

Stupid gala. Just a bunch of people goofing off for a whole night. He looked around his minimally furnished dorm room. His clothes were dark, shadowy lumps in piles on the floor. His breathing was suddenly very loud.

He kind of wished he'd gone, even though he knew the Old Man would have laughed at him for even suggesting something so stupid. Waste a whole night when you could be training? Weakness. Common, popular tripe concocted by weak people who were afraid of real work.

But he didn't actually think that of Jacob and Camilla, did he?

No.

He didn't like D'Angelo that much, but at this point he couldn't say she wasn't talented and driven without deluding himself. Jacob worked hard as well, even though he wasn't that strong or knowledgeable.

He pulled out his phone, thinking to text Jacob, asking if he wanted to book a training slot at the Equilibrium Building, then stopped. Jacob would be at the gala. Of course he would be. Everyone would be.

Tanaka sighed. Stupid gala.

He wondered if they were wondering where he was, but who was he kidding, they didn't think about him. They didn't actually care about him.

Maybe he should have gone. He didn't really want to train right now, and it might have been fun. Stupid Old Man. Why did he care what that asshole thought? Why had he even thought about him? Stupid bullshit. He should have just gone. But he hadn't and now it was too late to change his mind, even though he wanted to and felt bad about it. And there was no one to hang out with. They'd all be off having fun at the gala.

Tanaka rolled over, grumbling. He pulled out his phone and bitterly booked a training session even though he knew he wasn't in the headspace to train. But, whaling on those training room walls would be better than sitting here in his dark room by himself.

He left the dead Harrison Hall and crossed campus. The buildings were dark, the pathways empty, the night silent save for the wind. He might as well have been walking through a dead, abandoned city.

The light and noise drifting over from the Richter Building served as the only sign of life on campus, and a constant reminder of where everyone was, what they were doing. He wished he had never come here. He wished he hadn't attacked that stupid Ranger and he could have just gone to the Academy in Japan.

But who was he kidding? It would just be the same there.

There was a roar of applause from the Richter Building. Tanaka's lip curled. Why the hell did he have to be like this? It was all the Old Man's fault. The Order's fault, really, for sending him there. If they hadn't he wouldn't be like this and he could enjoy himself like everyone else.

He hated them. He hated every last one of them, frolicking at their stupid dance. Fuck em. They could have that. He was going to train. He was going to get so strong he wouldn't have to go to school; he wouldn't have to listen to the Order; he wouldn't have to work with these other losers and weaklings.

——————

The dance ended. Jacob led Claire back to her table, the things he'd said coming back to him in reality now. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be rude."

"That's okay. It was fun," Claire smiled.

Jacob left. He looked immediately back to the dance floor. Archie was leading Camilla off it. He decided to let them run their course, and went back over and sat next to Blake, who was just returning from his own dance with Payton.

Jacob plopped down in his chair. What the hell had he been smoking? Augh! So cringey!

He eyed Camilla as she came over to their table. Seeing her made him feel guilty about what he'd said to Claire; made him want to apologize to Camilla even though she had no idea what he'd done. That had been mean, and low, and not fair to anyone, even Claire. When had he become a bad person?

But he wasn't. And when he looked at Camilla and thought about Archie, the feeling rose up in him again and he knew he'd do the same and worse. Christ, why? It was just a dance. Maybe it was like Blake had said: 'He's dancing with your date.' But it was more than that. A 'date' could be anything. Such an ambiguous, noncommittal term. Archie hadn't been dancing with his date, he'd been dancing with Camilla.

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Urgh, just thinking about it got his blood boiling again. Why? Camilla was her own person, she could take care of herself, better than he could, obviously. It wasn't like she was his girlfriend, either. And yet... why did he feel this way?

She came and sat down next to him and the first thing he thought to say were a string of veiled insults of Archie. He held himself back, more through embarrassment than self-control.

"How's Archie?" He settled.

Camilla shrugged. "He's Archie. How's Claire?"

Jacob tensed. "You saw?"

"Of course."

He eyed her, but her face was fairly neutral.

"Are you angry?" No, damn it. Don't ask that.

"Why would I be?" She said.

Jacob sat back in his seat. He wanted to say how he felt. Hadn't he always told her how he felt, starting with those early days at Tisdale after the incident with the rogue mage? But he couldn't. It was different this time. Complicated. Christ, why was everything so goddamn complicated?

"Camilla D'Angelo?"

"What?"

"Can I have this next dance?"

"You don't have to ask like that."

"Maybe I want to. Yes?"

She smiled. "Yes."

He led her once more to the dance floor. Having now danced with another girl, he had a better feel for dancing, and for the dancer that Camilla was. His feelings tumbled inside him as the flowed back and forth. The guilt, the odd wash of self-betrayal, the anger at Archie dancing with Camilla, the realization of the depths of what he'd do for her, that he liked her. No, no it was more than that...

He looked into her perfect, uplifted face.

I think I love you.

The thought was so loud in his head, so shocking, he stumbled, missing their next step. He quickly recovered.

"You okay?" Camilla asked. The concern in her voice was, so, so sweet.

"Yeah, uh, I'm fine," Jacob managed. But now his palms were sweaty against hers; now he was aware of himself and her looking at him; now he was aware of the big, red, four letter word sitting on his shoulder that she must be able to see.

They finished the dance and returned to their seats. Jacob ran a hand down his face as Camilla talked to some girl he didn't know. Christ, what the hell was he smoking? Love? What a goofy, girlish notion. He didn't know anything about that. Sure, he liked Camilla, but it wasn't that.

And yet, what if it was? What if that was why he felt the way that he did? Argh. No, no way. Love was way down the road, something saved for marriage. Something he'd recognize when he saw it. Right?

He shook himself, unable to believe that he was even having this conversation with himself.

Out on the dance floor, something was causing a ruckus. Jacob looked over, thankful for the distraction. A little space had cleared in the centre of the floor. The couples that had been dancing had stopped and were staring.

Victor was on one knee, his face turned upwards, his eyes shining. Maria stood over him, both hands clasped to her mouth. Victor pulled a little box out of his tuxedo pocket and held it delicately aloft.

Everyone gasped.

Victor said something, and while the words were lost in the noise, Jacob didn't have trouble guessing what they were.

He could just make out the faint "Yes!" From Maria. Victor stood, and they embraced, Maria throwing herself into his arms.

Everyone cheered.

Jacob looked over at Camilla. She wasn't cheering, and neither was he. He decided to not be bad and clapped. He nudged Camilla's shoulder and she started clapping too.

"Clear the floor!" Someone shouted. "Clear the floor for the newly engaged!"

The other couples hurried off the floor. A faculty member—Jacob realized it was Mr Michaelson—rushed over to the phantom instruments and performed some magic. They launched into an upbeat waltz led by a strumming harp.

Victor and Maria swept back and forth, hands clasped, glowing beneath the sea of flowing magical orbs. Their shining eyes were locked on each other's, and even from a distance, Jacob could see that for each of them, during those moments there was nothing else in the world but the other's face.

That's love...

He didn't feel bitter that it was Victor. He only felt a violin-string singing in his chest; a sweet melancholic gratitude that he was witness, that it was real, that it was findable, tangible, achievable. Somewhere in the middle he took Camilla's hand in his own, bent down and kissed it. But this time she didn't giggle or shiver girlishly. She just smiled and looked into his eyes, and he looked back into her's, and knew that if he lived to be a hundred-thousand her face would grace his dreams for the rest of his life.

The waltz finished. Victor picked Maria up and swung her around, laughing. There was another round of applause. People stood and clapped. Jacob was one of the first.

Then people were swarming the pair, congratulating them, and Jacob went over and took his turn congratulating Victor, who smiled genuinely back at him when he did.

The rush faded. Jacob felt cleaned out, and he made his way back to their table in a fugue. Camilla was somewhere nearby. He sat down. The gala sighed out the breath it had been holding, and people started dancing again, the music picking back up, but there were fewer. The entire hall had a slowly surreal, almost transparent quality to it, amplified by the smoothly changing orb-lights, as if they had entered a dreamscape.

Blake and Grace joined them. Grace began grumbling again about Victor and 'that mousy Maria,' that 'they were only seventeen for crying out loud! What was this, the 1800s?' and 'what's next? They announce they're expecting? I wouldn't put it past that rat to have knocked her up mid-term.' Jacob couldn't tell if she was genuinely bitter about it or just griping for the sake of griping. He hoped the latter, for her sake.

He didn't dance with Camilla again and she didn't push him too and he thought it was fine for the both of them. For the rest of the night he sat there, chatting with her or Blake or people who came by, half-there, half in the gala's dream world, swimming in a soup of proto-love and joy and existential satisfaction.

And as the night wound down, so to did the high, and he knew in his heart that he had to tell Camilla he'd told Tanaka about her abilities way back before the first Necromancy escapade.

He knew that he should have done it long ago and the fact that he hadn't meant he was a coward. Even after everything that had happened to him, even after all the things he told himself, he was still a coward. He knew that even though it was something so objectively insignificant it was more important than anything else in the whole world.

But not tonight. He wouldn't ruin the night for him, for her.