Curled up helplessly on the floor, Tom opened his mouth and bit down on his wrist. Warm, rust-colored liquid slid down his tongue and into his stomach. The bloody stench filling his mouth made him collapse onto the floor and dry-heave. Pale-faced, Tom wiped his mouth, then tremblingly pulled out his wand and cleaned away the traces on the ground.
He lay sprawled there with vacant eyes as memories of his time with Abraxas flashed continuously through his mind. Tom covered his face in anguish. How could he have such thoughts? How could he hurt that person?
Sure enough, someone like him had no right to like anyone. This time, it wasn't because of any outside factor—it was because of himself. If he let this continue, one day, that person would die by his hand.
Just like the scene he had once seen, he would kill that person with his own hands.
Tom lay in a daze on the floor all night. When he tried to get up, his vision went black and he lost consciousness.
Early in the morning, Abraxas was already sitting in the common room, leisurely holding a teacup. Every so often, he glanced toward the boys' dormitory corridor. Frowning at the time, he thought something was wrong. His little one had never been late even once. Every day at this hour, Tom would appear with a stern little face, glare at him as though he didn't care, then leave.
"Haah... ugh..." Volga covered her mouth as she yawned. The moment she entered the common room, she saw her ally's idiotic expression. Suppressing the vein throbbing wildly in her forehead so early in the morning, she gracefully sat beside the fool who was nearly tearing out his precious hair. "Perhaps I should give up on this