Chapter LXVII: The Flat Juxtaposition
The next morning arrives with a soft drizzle once again—gentle, melancholic, and almost orchestral as it slides against the windowpanes of King's College dormitories. The streets below glimmer silver beneath the clouds, and London's skyline lies veiled in a light mist that turns the city into something dreamlike, distant, untouchable.
Inside his dorm room, Nathaniel Cross wakes slowly to the muted hum of rain. His clock reads 8:42 a.m. His breath fogs faintly against the air. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels calm—eerily calm, as though the world has paused just long enough for him to listen to his own heartbeat.
The events of the previous days linger like ghostly echoes. The formula on the whiteboard. The flicker of red light. Grimm's unexpected fondness for meerkats. The laughter. The silence that followed.
Nathaniel exhales and stands. His uniform coat hangs neatly on the chair beside his desk, still slightly damp from yesterday's rain. He slips it on and fastens the top button before stepping out of the dorm, the air thick with petrichor.
Luna's Cup Café
By the time Nathaniel arrives, the café's windows glow with amber warmth. The smell of cinnamon and roasted beans greets him like an old friend. A bell rings softly above the door.
He finds a seat by the window, the same corner booth they always use. Outside, umbrellas float by like dark petals against the pale gray street. He places his phone on the table, half expecting it to buzz any moment.
Five minutes pass.
Then ten.
Still, no Theo. No Kingsley. No Edison.
Only the soft rain tapping at the glass and the low murmur of chatter from nearby tables.
He stares at his untouched cup of black coffee, steam rising like fleeting memory. The café's clock ticks rhythmically above the counter. And then—his phone vibrates.
A message.
Theo: "Mate, sorry. Kingsley, Edison, and I caught something nasty. Fever, sore throat, the works. We're staying in today."
Nathaniel types back quickly.
Nathaniel: "Got it. Take care. Pauline's coming?"
Theo: "Aye. She said she's on her way. Don't let her bully you into ordering the sweet stuff."
Nathaniel smiles faintly and pockets his phone just as the bell above the door chimes again.
"Sorry I'm late!"
Pauline steps in, her hair slightly damp from the rain. She brushes it back, cheeks flushed from the cold. She wears a beige coat over her uniform, a folded umbrella in hand. Her smile is soft—one that makes the room's noise dim for a heartbeat.
"You didn't wait long, did you?" she asks, sliding into the seat opposite him.
"I just got here," Nathaniel lies gently, stirring his coffee. "The others won't make it. They're sick."
Pauline pouts. "All of them?"
He nods. "It's just us today."
For a moment, neither speaks. The clinking of cups and faint jazz fill the silence. Outside, the rain lightens into mist.
"Well then," Pauline says, her voice brightening, "we should make the best of it."
Nathaniel raises an eyebrow. "And how do you propose that?"
"Arcade," she grins. "You owe me a rematch from last week. You can't keep hiding behind your engineer excuse forever."
He smirks. "I didn't know structural analysis counted as hiding."
"Everything counts if I say it does," she teases.
Nathaniel chuckles—softly, genuinely. And just like that, the morning feels lighter.
The neon glow of the arcade hits them like an electric wave—colors flashing, machines chiming, laughter echoing through the air. Pauline's competitive streak shines immediately.
She drags him to the rhythm game machine first.
"Come on, Cross," she says, tapping the panel with her foot as the music begins. "Let's see those reflexes."
Nathaniel steps beside her, the screen pulsing with flashing arrows and beats. Their shoes strike the pads in perfect sync, laughter blending with the pounding rhythm.
Pauline laughs breathlessly. "You're... better than last time."
Nathaniel smirks. "You're off by a half-beat."
She sticks her tongue out. "You noticed?"
"I always do."
They move on to air hockey next—where Pauline wins three rounds straight and celebrates by raising both hands in victory, earning amused glances from strangers.
"Unbelievable," Nathaniel says, shaking his head, grinning despite himself.
"That's the spirit," she says, handing him a small plush she won from the claw machine. "A consolation prize."
He takes it reluctantly. "A penguin?"
"You like logical things," she says. "Penguins are logical. They mate for life."
He looks at her with faint amusement. "That's... unexpectedly sweet."
"Don't read too much into it," she replies, cheeks turning a shade pinker.
The air feels strange for a moment—not awkward, but fragile, as though the world itself is holding its breath around them.
By the time they return, the rain has stopped. The world outside gleams under the glow of streetlamps, water pooling in mirrorlike puddles across the cobblestones.
Inside Nathaniel's dorm, the air is comfortably quiet. Pauline sets her coat on the sofa and looks around, curious.
"Still neat," she remarks. "Do you even live here?"
"I try not to make a mess," Nathaniel says, switching on the lamp. "Want tea?"
"Sure," she says, flopping down on the couch. "Green, if you have any."
He prepares two cups and hands one to her. She sips carefully, her eyes following him as he moves around the room. There's something calm in watching him—something grounding.
After a while, Pauline leans forward. "Let's watch something."
Nathaniel looks up from his desk. "Like what?"
"Mugen Train. You said you hadn't seen it."
He raises an eyebrow. "You're really making me watch anime?"
"You'll like it," she insists.
They sit side by side on the sofa, the glow of the screen washing over them. The room fills with the haunting music and fierce emotion of the film. Pauline's eyes glisten during Rengoku's final stand; Nathaniel, though silent, feels something heavy in his chest.
When the credits roll, Pauline wipes her eyes quickly. "Not crying," she mutters.
"Of course not," Nathaniel says with a small smile, though his own gaze remains distant.
For a while, neither moves. The night deepens, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock and the whisper of wind beyond the window.
Then Pauline stands, stretching. "I should go."
Nathaniel nods, glancing at the time. "It's almost midnight. Be careful."
But as she reaches the door, she stops—and frowns.
"Oh no."
"What is it?"
"My dorm," she says. "It's under renovation tonight. Plumbing issues. They sealed the corridor."
Nathaniel blinks. "That's... inconvenient."
She gives a small laugh. "Guess I'll need somewhere to stay."
He hesitates. "You can take the sofa."
She nods. "Thanks, Nate."
The clock chimes once—softly, like a warning from another world.
The dorm is dark, save for the faint blue glow of the city bleeding through the curtains. Nathaniel lies in bed, eyes half-open, listening to the rain begin again. On the sofa, Pauline shifts restlessly.
Minutes pass.
Then footsteps—soft, hesitant—move closer to his bedside.
"...Nathaniel?"
He turns slightly. "Can't sleep?"
"Not really," she whispers, voice fragile in the dark. "The sofa's... too cold."
He sits up. "You want me to switch?"
She shakes her head. "No. I was wondering... if I could—just tonight—sleep beside you."
He freezes. The silence between them is deafening, broken only by the patter of rain.
"Pauline, I—"
"I promise," she says quickly, "I'll stay on my side. I just... don't want to be alone tonight."
Something in her tone—something honest—softens him.
He nods slowly. "Alright."
They lie down, backs to each other. The faint scent of her hair—lavender and rain—fills the quiet. The distance between them is both inches and universes.
After a while, Pauline murmurs, "Nathaniel?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks. For today."
He closes his eyes. "Anytime."
Moments pass.
Then—warmth. Pauline's arm wraps gently around him. Her breath brushes against his shoulder. He tenses, but doesn't move. He can hear her heartbeat—steady, human, alive.
It lulls him into sleep.
Outside, the rain grows heavier. The city murmurs beneath it, unaware that in a small dorm on the edge of King's College, two hearts drift quietly between friendship and something unnamed.
Sunlight—pale and silver—filters through the curtains. Nathaniel stirs, feeling warmth against his back. Pauline's still asleep, her hand lightly resting over his arm.
He turns slightly—and sees her face. Peaceful. Unaware. The faintest smile curling her lips.
She wakes moments later, blinking sleepily. Her gaze meets his back, and for a long second, she doesn't move. Then, softly—almost instinctively—she leans forward, breathes him in.
He smells faintly of coffee and rain.
Her heart races. But she says nothing. She just smiles quietly to herself.
When she finally gets up, Nathaniel pretends to still be asleep. She pads softly to the kitchenette, tying her hair up with a ribbon and searching through his cupboards.
By the time he sits up, the smell of breakfast fills the room—eggs, toast, and tea.
"You're cooking?" he asks, surprised.
"Someone has to," she says, not turning around. "Consider it... repayment for last night."
He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed. "You didn't have to."
"I wanted to," she says simply.
He sits at the small dining table. The food is simple, but warm. For the first time in what feels like months, Nathaniel feels something close to normal.
As they eat, Pauline looks up. "They're feeling better, by the way. Theo, Kingsley, and Edison. They said we can all meet at Luna's later."
Nathaniel nods, smiling faintly. "Good."
Pauline stands, slipping into her coat. "See you later then?"
"Yeah," he says. "And Pauline—thanks. For everything."
She blushes slightly. "Don't mention it."
She waves and leaves, the door closing softly behind her. Nathaniel stands in the stillness of the dorm, gazing at the plate she left behind—the one with a small note tucked under it.
"You looked peaceful when you slept. Don't lose that." — P.
He folds the note gently and sets it in his notebook.
Outside, the sun breaks faintly through the clouds for the first time in days.
But far beyond the light, in the reflection of the dorm window, something else shimmers faintly—an unseen flicker of crimson. Watching. Waiting.
The city breathes.
And the storm is not over.