Academy's Pervert in the D Class

Lor woke up in a good mood.

That fact sat in his body before any thought attached to it. The light through the window was already pale and clear.

The house smelled faintly of bread and the oil Mira used on the pan.

For a few seconds he only lay there and let the feeling exist.

He had made up with Kiara.

The anger that had lived in his chest for days was gone. Not buried. Not postponed. Gone enough that he could breathe around the space it used to occupy.

And then there had been the gift on the roof.

Her breasts in the moonlight.

The laugh.

The bra left in his hands.

He had already seen her naked. He had already been inside her, more than once, back when they were still together and the bond had made everything feel inevitable.

Last night should not have been new.

It still felt new.

He brushed his teeth and then washed his face.

Cold water on his face. Hair pushed back with both hands.

When he came downstairs the kitchen was already warm.

Mira was at the stove, humming.

The sound was quiet and off-key in the way it always was when she cooked without thinking about it.

Black hair tied back. Apron dusted with flour.

The same softness in her face that she wore on good mornings, the ones that made the house feel smaller and safer than the street outside.

Lor looked at the table.

Two plates. Two cups. No third setting.

His father was not there.

The chair his father used sat empty and already pushed in.

That meant that he had gone out before Lor woke up.

Mira turned and saw him.

"Morning, sweetheart."

Her voice was light. She looked happy in a way that went deeper than the humming. There was color in her face.

The tired tightness had loosened overnight.

"Morning, mom" Lor said.

He sat.

Mira set a plate in front of him — eggs, bread still warm in the middle, a little extra of the fried thing she made when she was in a good mood.

Then she sat across from him with her own plate and began to eat instead of only watching him eat.

That, more than the food, told him the night had gone well for her.

"You were late yesterday," she said, not accusing, just placing the fact on the table between them. "You told me you’d be home soon."

Lor buttered the bread and did not look hurried about the answer.

"I ran into some new people. We started talking. Then we started playing around and I lost track of the time."

The lie came out smooth. No pause. No extra detail that would make it sound practiced.

Just the kind of sentence a boy his age was supposed to offer.

Mira chuckled. The sound was warm and faintly helpless.

"You’re still such a kid. Too innocent for your own good." She pointed at him with her fork, then seemed to remember herself and lowered it.

"The world out there isn’t as soft as this house, Lor. There’s a killer loose. People are being careful. I need you to come home sooner. Not after the sun is already down."

Lor nodded.

"I will."

He meant the nod more than the promise. Mira did not need the difference.

They finished the meal without rushing it. Mira asked about the new friends and accepted the vague answers he gave her.

She told him a short story about a neighbor packing up early because of the extra guards in the market.

She did not mention Eren. Not once. Not his name, not the empty chair, not the fact that the man she loved had been in this house last night and had left again before morning.

Lor understood the omission without needing it explained.

If she told him that his father had come home, she would also have to explain why his father had not waited, why there had been no greeting, why the bedroom door had stayed closed. Some things were easier to leave sitting in the quiet.

After the plates were cleared, Lor stood and reached for his jacket.

Mira walked him to the door.

"Return home before sunset," she said again. Her hand brushed his sleeve, a small, automatic check that he was real and leaving and would return.

"Yes Mom."

He stepped out into the morning.

The street had more people on it than the night before and less ease in the way they moved.

Two city guards stood where the lane met the wider road. A woman pulled her child closer as they passed the corner.

The town was still holding its breath around the killings.

Lor walked through it with his usual unhurried pace and let his thoughts arrange themselves.

Who today.

....

Olivia!

He had been putting her off. Interruptions kept arriving in front of her name.

Olivia did not wait politely forever. If he let the postponement sit much longer she would take it as a decision.

He turned toward her side of town.

The shortest way was a narrow alley between a closed workshop and the back wall of a storehouse.

At this hour it was empty.

No carts. No voices. Just damp stone, a thin strip of sky, and the faint smell of old wood.

Lor was halfway down it when he felt a presence arrive behind him.

He felt it before he heard it.

Weight on the air. The particular attention of someone who had already chosen the distance and the timing.

His body went alert — knees ready, mana sitting close to the surface, the calculation of whether to turn or to let the first move reveal itself.

Then he recognised it.

The scent. The way the footsteps stopped.

A smile touched his mouth.

He let it happen.

Cloth came down over his eyes.

The world went dark and narrow.

A pair of hands took his wrists and pinned them behind his back with enough strength to mean it.

Another pair planted against his shoulders and shoved him down to his knees on the wet stone.

Lor did not fight.

The blindfold tightened.

The grip on his wrists held. The alley stayed quiet around the small scuff of boots and the sound of his own breathing.

He knelt there in the dark, still smiling, and let himself be taken.

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