what is happening

Cior returned to the campus, teleporting just outside the dorms. She barely had time to take a breath before Mateo spotted her.

"Where were you?" he asked, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

"Nothing! Just... sneaking out!" Cior replied, plastering on a wide, overly dramatic smile that only made her look guiltier.

Mateo groaned. "You do know if you get caught, you're dead meat, right?"

Amaias, leaning casually against the wall, added with his usual observant tone, "He's not wrong. Be more careful."

"Alright, alright, lecture over! What are you guys up to?" Cior said quickly, hoping to change the subject.

"Heading to practice swordsmanship. Wanna come?" Ziven asked, already half out the door. He winked at her. "You could use some pointers from me, shortie."

"Why not?" Cior agreed, eager for any distraction. "Let's see if your 'pointers' are even worth anything."

As they headed toward the training grounds, Arven walked beside her. Though he didn't say anything, he noticed the stiffness in her fake smile and the subtle tension in her shoulders. His usually joking nature took a back seat, not wanting to make her feel awkward.

In the arena, Ziven, as expected, was the loudest. "Alright, my lady—I mean, my dude—show me what you've got!"

Cior rolled her eyes but smirked despite herself. "You're going down, Ziven."

Mateo chuckled. "This'll be fun. I'm betting on Cior."

Amaias observed quietly, his arms crossed, but he kept a sharp eye on her. He knew something was off but decided not to press it just yet.

The clash of swords soon filled the air, with Cior pouring her emotions into every swing. For a moment, she forgot the pain and guilt, losing herself in the rhythm of the duel.

Cior excused herself from the boys and slipped away to her personal lab, her sanctuary where chaos reigned supreme. Papers were scattered everywhere, covered in scribbled equations, diagrams, and what could only be described as "mad scientist doodles." Her latest project had consumed her for days—a device that could identify someone's entire identity, heritage, DNA, powers, age, gender, and species. The purpose? To track down the criminal behind the horrific experiments in the forest.

She worked tirelessly, stopping only for classes or to keep up appearances with her friends. But today, frustration bubbled over as she stared at the same stubborn equation that had eluded her for what felt like forever.

As she muttered to herself, furiously erasing and rewriting numbers, the door creaked open.

"No entry allowed in personal labs!" she barked, not even looking up.

"Hey, Cee Cee, it's me," came Arven's familiar, playful voice.

Cior sighed, glancing up briefly. "Ugh, fine. Come in, but no distractions!"

"Yeah, yeah," Arven said, casually strolling in like he owned the place. His eyes scanned the mess. "Wow, looks like a tornado hit a math classroom in here."

"Don't touch anything," she warned, already sensing trouble.

Naturally, the first thing he did was touch everything. His eyes landed on a bottle labeled "Drink Me."

"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.

"Arven, don't you dare—"

Too late. He chugged the entire bottle in one go.

"Delicious," he said, wiping his mouth with exaggerated satisfaction.

Cior jumped out of her seat, her eyes wide. "Oh no, no, no! Why would you drink that?"

"It said Drink Me. You don't put that on a bottle unless you want someone to drink it!"

"That was a failed prototype from my last experiment! Are you feeling okay? Do you feel... I don't know, anything?" she asked, circling him like a worried doctor.

Arven dramatically patted himself down. "Hmm... nope, no superpowers yet. Unless being ridiculously handsome counts."

"Ugh, idiot! Just take an antidote when you leave!"

"Fine, fine. So, what are you working on, mad scientist?" he asked, plopping down on a stool and leaning over her shoulder.

"Trying to find the right equation for my device," she muttered, scribbling furiously.

Arven squinted at her paper. "Uh, that's wrong. The answer's 12."

She froze, turning to glare at him. "How do you even know that?"

"I'm a math genius," he said smugly, grabbing the paper from her. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

"Arven, no! Don't—"

Too late. He was already scribbling equations like a man possessed. In minutes, he handed the paper back to her with a triumphant grin.

"Done."

Cior stared at the solved equation in disbelief. "You... you actually did it! You solved it!"

"Told you I'm a genius," he said, leaning back in his chair like he'd just saved the world.

Overcome with excitement, she jumped up and hugged him tightly.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there," he said, awkwardly patting her back. "I know I'm amazing, but let's not get too emotional."

She pulled back, her face slightly flushed. "Thank you, Arven. I mean it."

"Don't mention it. Seriously. Don't. I have a reputation to maintain," he said with a wink. Then he glanced around the lab. "So, uh, what's next? Do I get to press buttons or blow something up?"

"You're not leaving, are you?"

"Nope. You clearly need me," he said, smirking.

She sighed, half-annoyed but also slightly relieved. "Fine. If you're staying, organize those papers over there. But don't touch the glowing vial! It might explode."

"Noted," he said, grabbing the stack of papers.

As Arven helped tidy up and occasionally chimed in with surprisingly helpful ideas, Cior felt her anxiety start to fade. For the first time in days, she didn't feel so alone in her mission.

Cior leaned back on the sofa, exhaustion evident on her face. She hadn't truly rested in days, consumed by her work and guilt. As she closed her eyes for a moment, she heard a strained voice.

"Hey… something's wrong," Arven said, his breathing uneven, sweat dripping down his temples.

Cior shot up instantly. "Arven! Come here—are you okay? I knew that potion might've done something. Quick, let me check you. I don't even know which failed prototype you drank!"

Arven hesitated, clutching his head. "Are you sure I should come near you?"

"Yes! I need to see your symptoms! Now come sit here," she said, patting the spot beside her on the sofa.

Instead of sitting beside her, Arven stumbled forward, his steps unsteady, and much to her shock, he climbed onto her lap. Wrapping his legs tightly around her waist and his arms around her shoulders, he buried his face into her neck.

"Arven! What are you—?!" Cior exclaimed, her voice high with both surprise and embarrassment.

"I don't know," he muttered weakly. "I can't think straight. My body… it just moved."

Cior froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. She awkwardly patted his back in an attempt to calm him. "Wait… was the potion you drank light purple?"

"I… I think so," he mumbled.

Cior's eyes widened. "Oh, no. That one… it was supposed to be an emotional enhancer, but it failed. I need to get you the antidote. Let me go," she said, trying to shift.

But Arven only clung tighter, his grip desperate. "No. Please… stay. Just for a little while."

Her breath caught in her throat. "Arven…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

"I've been noticing it for days," he said, his voice breaking. "You're not okay. That smile you've been wearing… it's not real."

Her fingers tightened slightly on his back, but she tried to brush it off. "No, I'm fine. I'm happy," she said with forced cheer.

"You're lying," Arven said firmly, his voice still muffled.

"And how would you know?" she said, her tone slightly defensive.

"Because," he said, lifting his head to look into her eyes. "Your real smile is so beautiful that it could light up an entire room. The one you've been giving us lately… it's not that smile."

Cior's breath hitched, and she turned her face away, trying to compose herself. "You're just saying that. And for the record, I'm Cior. I'm your guy friend, not Lunette."

"You're a liar," he said quietly but with conviction.

Her head snapped back toward him. "Excuse me?"

"I've known you were a girl from the moment I met you," he said, his voice steady despite his condition.

Cior's eyes widened in disbelief. "How… How could you know?"

Arven's lips curled into a small, tired smile. "Merfolk are blessed by the gods. When we fall in love, we can recognize our soulmate no matter the form they take. Even if they were reduced to ashes, we'd still know them."

"You… You love me?" she stammered, her voice cracking.

"I do," he admitted without hesitation, his gaze unwavering. "And because of that, I can see your emotions—your guilt, your regret. It's suffocating you, and it's killing me to see you like this."

Cior swallowed hard, her hands trembling. "But… Why? Why would you love someone like me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he replied softly.

"Don't change the subject!" she snapped, trying to deflect her growing vulnerability. "Why didn't you ever say anything? And why keep my secret?"

"Because it wasn't the right time," Arven said simply. "And because I wanted you to trust me. I didn't want to be just another person putting pressure on you."

Her voice softened. "Then why now? Why tell me this now?"

"Because you're drowning," he said, his tone filled with quiet pain. "And I can't stand by anymore."

Cior's walls finally broke, and she told him everything—the forest, the experiments, the children she couldn't save, and the boy she barely managed to rescue.

"I was too late," she whispered, tears threatening to spill. "If I had acted sooner—if I hadn't been so focused on my work—those children might still be alive."

"It's not your fault," Arven said, his voice gentle but firm. "You saved a life, Cior. That's what matters. You're a hero to that boy, and you did what you could."

"Do you really think so?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I know so," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "And seeing you blame yourself for something you couldn't control… it breaks my heart."

Her lips trembled, and for the first time in days, she allowed herself a small, genuine smile.

"There it is," Arven said, his voice softening. "That's the smile I fell in love with."

Cior blushed, her heart racing. "Now it's your turn. Tell me why you love me."

Arven smirked faintly, his exhaustion mixing with mischief. Instead of answering, he reached over and pressed a button on the sofa.

"Hey, what's that for?" Cior asked, confused.

Before she could react, the sofa shifted beneath them, transforming into a bed. In one sudden motion, Arven toppled forward, landing on top of her.

Cior froze, her breath caught in her throat. Arven's face was mere inches from hers, their bodies pressed together.

"Arven…" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But he didn't move, his intense gaze locking with hers, the air between them thick with tension. The unspoken words hung heavily as time seemed to stand still.