Acheron sat near the back of the lecture hall, curled neatly into the sturdy desk as though trying to take up even less space than he already did. At the beginning of the year, everyone had fought viciously over the back seats. The back row carried a certain illusion of freedom. Allowing for quiet conversations, scrolling through phones unseen or for a few brave souls, even sleeping.
That fantasy had died during the second week of classes when the lecturer revealed herself to be a predator with a laser-targeting system for inattentive students. Every question somehow found the people sitting in the back.
Every. Single. Time.
The migration to the front rows afterwards almost broke out into a full-fledged war. Acheron wasn't affected as he stayed exactly where he was.
At the Back.
Not because he particularly enjoyed being called on, though his soft-spoken answers and visibly startled expression whenever his name was suddenly spoken had become somewhat infamous among his classmates, but because the seat beside the large window had become his favourite place on campus.
From there, he could see almost the entire courtyard below. Sunlight spilt across stone pathways lined with trees whose branches swayed lazily in the afternoon breeze. Students wandered between buildings carrying coffee cups and stacks of books, their laughter drifting faintly through the slightly open window whenever the wind shifted.
The scene beyond the window felt like a different world. It felt... peaceful. The world seemed softer, almost gentle.
As the year progressed, the lecture hall itself had begun to thin out. Entire rows now sat empty. Some students stopped caring about attendance altogether. Others quietly disappeared after midterms, either changing courses or leaving the university entirely.
Now, nearing the end of his first year, the once crowded lecture hall felt strangely hollow.
Acheron barely noticed the lecturer speaking at the front. His attention had wandered to the tree just outside the window. A tiny bird hopped between the branches with frantic determination, wings fluttering as it carried twigs far too large for its small body. Every few seconds, the bird would pause, tilt its little head as if inspecting its own work, then dart away again to gather more leaves and pieces of bark.
Acheron rested his cheek against his palm, completely absorbed in the sight before him. Gradually, his eyelids began to droop, his lashes fluttering faintly with exhaustion.
The bird worked carefully and so earnestly.
He watched it weave the pieces together into a tiny hanging nest tucked safely between the branches. Every movement looked delicate yet instinctive, as though the bird already knew exactly how to create something safe enough for his children to survive any storms.
Without realising it, Acheron smiled softly to himself.
It was small, almost unnoticeable. The kind of smile that made his eyes curve first before his lips did. This gesture was cute enough that two students seated a few rows ahead glanced back briefly before whispering to each other. One of them smiled faintly before turning back around.
Acheron, oblivious, remained focused on the nest. But soon his thoughts slowly drifted elsewhere, pulled toward the one thing he had spent the past year trying not to think about too much.
The trial.
Even now, it still didn't feel real.
The court date had been delayed so many times that the entire process had started to feel endless, like being trapped waist-deep in cold ocean water while the shore kept moving farther away. Every time they approached progress, the Blackwells found another way to stall things. Another postponement. Another frivolous motion. Another exhausting legal tactic designed to wear everyone down until they simply gave up.
At times... it worked.
There were nights Acheron lay awake, wondering if dismissing the charges would be easier for everyone.
The legal battle has drained his parents emotionally and financially. They tried hard not to let him see it, but he noticed things. Dinners have become quieter, followed by tense conversations behind closed doors. His father spends longer hours working, and his mother pretends not to look worried whenever another legal document arrives.
They had reassured him countless times that they were managing fine. Most of their wealth was tied up in investments and assets. Accessing everything simply took time.
Still, guilt settled heavily inside his chest; the sensation is sticky and impossible to peel away.
Acheron lowered his gaze to the notebook sitting open in front of him. He hadn't written a single word on the page. Instead, absentminded little doodles filled the margins. Tiny clouds, little trees and a rough sketch of a bird with oversized wings.
His chest tightened faintly.
He could still remember his father's voice from several months ago, his voice firm and spoken in certainty.
'I'd rather lose every cent we own and get justice for you.'
The memory made Acheron's throat ache.
How could his family have more strength and faith than he did?
His parents never treated him like a burden. Never once blamed him for the chaos swallowing their lives. If anything, they protected him even more fiercely now.
Acheron glanced back toward the tiny nest swaying gently in the wind.
The little bird kept building anyway. Twig by twig. Piece by piece.
He had to keep pushing forward, even if it took years and completely exhausted him. He wouldn't let his parents' efforts and faith go to waste.
"I will repeat this one final time," Mrs Ruth said, her voice echoing sharply through the lecture hall. "This next project will account for sixty percent of your final course mark."
A collective groan rippled through the room.
"It is weighted this heavily because of its importance," she continued mercilessly, pacing slowly in front of the projector screen. "Your work will determine how much you have actually learned throughout the year. Technique matters. Creativity matters. But most importantly..."
Her gaze swept across the room like a searchlight.
"I want to see you push yourselves."
Several students immediately avoided eye contact. One near the front looked moments away from a spiritual collapse.
At the back of the lecture hall, Acheron jolted awake so suddenly his forehead nearly hit his desk. His hand flew instinctively toward the corner of his mouth in mild panic, checking for drool before anyone could notice.
Thankfully, there was none.
His pale cheeks were still flushed pink from embarrassment. Disoriented, Acheron blinked rapidly at the board while hurriedly flipping through his notebook for a blank page. Loose papers slipped from between the pages and fluttered onto the floor around his shoes.
He couldn't help but panic slightly.
Bending down quickly, he scrambled to gather them before anyone stepped on them, his soft hair falling into his eyes as he stuffed everything back together in a rush. A few students nearby smiled faintly to themselves.
Acheron finally found a clean sheet and immediately began scribbling down key points in tiny, neat handwriting.
"Over the past few years," Mrs Ruth continued, "the department has selected the top twenty students for the annual showcase exhibition."
That got everyone's attention.
"However..." She paused dramatically. "There have been rare occasions where individual pieces were selected for personal showcases."
Somehow, the room seems to have fallen even quieter.
"Those projects are all exceptional and extremely difficult to achieve. But that should be all of your goals."
Acheron's pen slowed slightly.
A personal showcase. Even the thought of having that much attention focused entirely on him made his stomach twist nervously.
"And before any of you ask," Mrs Ruth added dryly, already gathering her things, "no, submitting something held together with glue and blind confidence will not earn artistic genius status."
A few embarrassed laughs scattered through the room.
Then the class ended.
Almost instantly, the lecture hall erupted into movement. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor. Bags zipped shut. Conversations overlapped into chaotic noise as students hurried toward freedom.
Acheron, unfortunately, had spent the last several minutes drifting too deeply into thought again. By the time he looked up, nearly everyone had already left.
"Oh no..." he whispered softly to himself.
He immediately scrambled to pack his things. Pens disappeared into random pockets of his backpack. His notebook nearly slipped from his hands twice. One of his highlighters rolled off the desk and across the floor.
Acheron crouched quickly to grab it before rushing toward the exit with the stealth of a startled woodland creature.
"Acheron."
He froze instantly.
"A moment, please." Mrs Ruth's voice was gentle, but still carried enough authority to stop him dead in his tracks.
"Yes, Mrs Ruth," Acheron turned around so quickly that the strap of his bag nearly smacked him in the face.
Mrs Ruth stared at him for a moment before laughing softly.
"Relax. You're not in trouble."
Acheron released a quiet breath of relief powerful enough to visibly deflate his shoulders. Mrs Ruth pulled a chair closer and sat down, gesturing for him to stay.
"This showcase project is an important opportunity," she began. "And I'm going to be honest with you."
Acheron's fingers tightened nervously around the strap of his backpack.
"From the work you've produced this year, you'll almost certainly place in the top ten."
His eyes widened slightly.
"But, Acheron..." Her expression softened. "You have the talent to go much higher than that."
Acheron lowered his gaze almost immediately.
"I'm just not sure you still have the will to."
The words landed gently, but still hit hard. Acheron looked down at his feet, head hanging low. Mrs Ruth leaned back slightly in her chair.
"When I reviewed your portfolio from high school, I was stunned," she admitted. "The subject matter was dark. Painfully so at times. But every single piece felt alive with passion. Obsession. So filled with emotion."
Acheron's grip tightened further.
"Your recent work is technically excellent," she continued carefully. "Honestly, some of it is beyond first-year level."
She paused.
"But it feels distant."
Acheron stared quietly at the floor.
"Beautiful," Mrs Ruth said softly. "But empty."
The words made something ache sharply inside his chest because he already knew she was right. It wasn't that he had lost his skill. If anything, he had improved technically.
He has more refined lines, with better structure and control. But somewhere along the way, he had started avoiding himself inside his own art.
Digging too deeply into his thoughts meant brushing against memories he spent most days trying desperately not to touch. This reflected in his work, becoming careful, controlled and safe instead.
His art has more precision now, but no honesty.
A quiet little hum left his throat in response.
Mrs Ruth's expression softened further.
"I understand you've been through... a lot," she said carefully. She hesitated briefly afterwards, as though trying to arrange her words in the least harmful way possible.
"But turmoil changes artists," she finally continued. "If you learn how to channel it properly, it can deepen your work in extraordinary ways."
Acheron swallowed.
"I know that sounds harsh." Her gaze remained steady on him. "But it's true."
Acheron's posture curled inward slightly, small beneath the oversized sweater.
"I-I'll try," he said quietly.
Mrs Ruth reached over and lightly tapped his shoulder. The gesture carried surprising gentleness.
"I know you will."
After dismissing him, Acheron left the lecture hall much more slowly than before.
The hallway outside buzzed with distant conversations and footsteps, but everything around him felt strangely muffled, like his thoughts were wrapped in heavy fog. His fingers tightened around the straps of his backpack as he walked.
Was his art only meaningful when it came from pain?
The thought lingered unpleasantly. It felt like he was standing barefoot near broken glass, knowing eventually he would have to step forward.
"Achie!" The loud shout cut cleanly across the courtyard.
Acheron looked up immediately.
Two familiar figures were approaching from the opposite side of campus, one moving considerably faster than the other. Aviv practically barrelled through the crowd with enough excitement to qualify as a small natural disaster, while several steps behind him walked his identical twin brother at a far calmer pace.
Even now, after months of friendship, the resemblance between the twins still startled Acheron sometimes.
The first time he had met Barrett, he genuinely thought he was hallucinating.
Their features were nearly identical. The same hair colour. The same eye shape. The same beauty mark near the corner of their mouths. But their secondary genders had shaped them differently over time. Barrett's manifestation as an Alpha had broadened his shoulders and sharpened the structure of his face into something more severe, while Aviv's Omega traits softened him slightly. His cheeks carried more warmth to them, his expressions more animated, his figure subtly gentler around the hips.
Without those differences, people probably wouldn't have been able to tell them apart at all.
"Achie!" Aviv called again dramatically.
Several students turned to stare. Aviv ignored every single one of them. Acheron barely had time to brace himself before Aviv reached him and immediately wrapped both arms around him in a crushing hug.
"Ack—"
Aviv lifted him clean off the ground with alarming ease and spun them both once in a circle.
Acheron grabbed onto his shoulders instantly. "Aviv!"
Aviv laughed brightly while setting him back down. "You're so tiny. It's too easy."
Acheron's face warmed immediately. He quickly tried smoothing down his slightly dishevelled hair where the wind had tossed it around.
Behind them, Barrett finally caught up at his usual unhurried pace.
Unlike Aviv's explosive energy, Barrett carried a quieter sort of presence. Much calmer but still oppressive. The kind that made crowded spaces instinctively shift around him without him needing to say a word. His gaze briefly flicked toward Acheron first, checking him over in silent acknowledgement before settling back on the courtyard around them.
"How did class go?" Aviv asked immediately.
Acheron let out a small sigh. "Good... until I fell asleep."
Aviv stared at him for half a second before bursting into loud laughter.
"No way."
Acheron groaned softly. "I didn't mean to."
"You drooled, didn't you?" Aviv accused.
"I did not."
"You answered far too quickly, so that's a yes."
"I checked!" Acheron defended instantly. "There wasn't any."
Aviv nearly doubled over laughing. Even Barrett's mouth twitched faintly at the corners.
"Still not used to living with your older brother?" Aviv teased.
Acheron immediately looked offended.
"He's so messy," he complained quietly. "I found cereal in the bathroom yesterday."
Aviv made a choking sound. "What was he doing in there? Meal prepping?"
"I don't know!" Acheron threw his hands up slightly. "And he leaves cups everywhere. I mean everywhere."
Aviv laughed harder while Acheron stood there looking genuinely betrayed by his brother's existence.
"When do I finally get to meet this mysterious disaster of an older brother?" Aviv asked.
"Hopefully soon," Acheron muttered. "He just broke up with his girlfriend."
There was a brief pause before he added, with noticeable disdain:
"Finally."
Aviv blinked once before grinning slowly. "Didn't like her much?"