#watch in amazement as i draw their horns differently AND incorrectly each time!

[wizardelf]

Nima sketches but then my tablet pen gave out after being broken in half for over a month. what can ya do!

Nima needs a goodnight kiss on account of being scared of the horrible nightmares/possible violent episodes when they sleep

ps orin did their top surgery

[merakiui]

So you know that subtle rivalry hinted between Theo and Nine, like especially about the piano and stuff? I've seen their mini rivalry in personal stories too, but like I think it's pretty funny, cause the calm, peaceful Nine with the cool and collected Theo. What things do you think they would "fight" over? If you do small stories, like maybe a small story over it??

(Absolutely! Their relationship on the AFTER L!FE website says both of them believe the other has “ulterior motives,” which is definitely interesting. I ended up writing a small story/oneshot for this, and I hope it was good enough in terms of what they would “fight over.” Theo and Nine are so fun to write for when it’s in this format.)

Cake (Nine and Theo)

The manager is like cake, Theo thinks as he walks down the hall, a few documents held securely in his gloved hands. Everyone wants a piece of their time, but there’s only so much to go around. I guess it makes sense. They’ve always been sweet when it comes to the Reapers in the 14th Department.

Cake has an expiration date, as does any food. Along with that, it’s messy. Perfect frosting, fondant flowers, and a moist sponge that gets all over silverware and on clothes. Nevertheless, it’s a dessert for any celebratory occasion. Theo knows a lot of the Reapers can be compared to cake. Take innocent Ell and his happy-go-lucky personality for example. If he were a cake, he’d be the most overbearing slice of sugar. Such a simple cake is an insult, though. If you’re going to indulge in something unhealthy, at least make it overly presentable so you won’t have to fuss over the consequences of such a treat in the near future.

But Theo isn’t interested in cakes that have basic layers. He’s much more intrigued by those that have stacks of unique combinations, such as pineapple, vanilla, and even coconut. Each layer can be carefully picked apart, and every flavor dissected before his blue eyes. People are like cake. They’re either sickeningly sweet or spoiled with a rotten attitude, and they fall victim to their own natural expiration dates with the course of time. They can be broken down and devoured as easily as one does to a slice when they’re hungry. More importantly, their ingredients are always different. Opposing backgrounds, conflicting lifestyles, and even the people with whom they associate. When mixed together, it creates a person who holds their own morals, judgements, and rules based on the cards they have been dealt.

Perhaps that’s why children are so territorial when it comes to snacks; they believe it’s their right to be granted the best treat. In a group of three, who is most entitled to the last slice of cake? The two warring sides or the one unknowingly trapped in the middle? Sharing is cast aside in favor of getting the final piece. No one wants one-third of something. You can’t have one-third of a person. But Theo’s not of that age where you assume the world will be given to you on a silver platter. He knows when to choose his battles and when to surrender.

He knows when to savor every bite of cake he can get.

Theo almost drops the files he’s holding when he hears the upbeat staccato being played in rhythmic succession on the piano. That piano. The piano he should’ve found with the manager. If only they’d asked for his help. If only Nine hadn’t ruined it by impressing them with his dexterous talent. If only—

“You’re amazing, Nine!” the manager praises, a grin on their face. “I wonder if the other Soul Reapers have any sort of musical talent, too.”

“It’s nothing special,” he says, politely deflecting the compliment as easily as one discards a slice of moldy cake. “But I’m pleased you enjoy it, Manager.”

Of course, Theo thinks bitterly, drawing his lips into a thin line. Nine’s playing for them again.

“Can I try?”

Nine nods, sliding over on the bench to make room for (Name). While they tap certain keys at random intervals, sheepishly attempting to knit a comprehensive melody, Theo looks on in dissatisfaction. It’s Nine who senses the presence of a third individual, and he cranes his neck to confirm his suspicions.

“Oh, Mr. Theo. A pleasant surprise seeing you here.”

“You’ve been playing a lot lately. Won’t Nyang Lead Manager get angry if he catches you slacking off?”

“He doesn’t have to know,” (Name) says, rescuing Nine from any criticism Theo might have at the ready. “Besides, the day’s been slow enough.”

His heart sinks when he notices the bento boxes, evidence of two meals that have been thoroughly consumed. One for (Name) and one for Nine... They ate lunch together, and now they’re on the piano—the one he should be playing—acting completely chummy. Why? he thinks, his mind attempting to wrap itself around the concept of work relationships. Why are they so close?

His instincts tell him it’s all part of Nine’s master plan to have you to himself—to take all of the cake and leave nothing but crumbs for the others. It’s so selfishly enraging. Luckily, Theo has reason to stay in the spotless storage room. He sets the files on the lid of the piano, nearly swiping the bento boxes out of the way. There was more than enough room, and Nine doesn’t miss the calculated abruptness in Theo’s actions.

“Hm? What’s all of this?”

“Reports from this week’s patrol shifts,” he explains in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was told to bring these to you for review.”

“Right! I forgot about that. Thanks, Theo. What would I do without you?”

Just as fast as it sank, that familiar cardiovascular muscle skips a beat. Sneakily, he eyes Nine to gauge his reaction. The calm Noctu Reaper is staring right back, a partial smile gathering at the corners of his lips. If a pastry chef adds poison to the meringue of his cream horn and it incapacitates an unsuspecting customer, is he at fault? Does the issue lie with who sold him the poison? Were his intentions outlandishly harmful or driven purely by revenge? In this situation, who would be the chef? Theo’s certain it must be Nine. After all, he’s infecting you with a skill that should be reserved only for him. Playing the piano has always been his speciality. Nine is just a copycat baker whisking all sorts of notes in hopes that it produces a suitable tune.

His talent is poisoning the chances Theo has of impressing (Name) with his flawless playing.

Like a garden that’s been infested with weeds, stripping its sprouts of their needed sunlight, Nine has planted ugly hemlock.

“Is everything all right?” Nine questions, seeming concerned at Theo’s stretched silence. “Mr. Theo?”

“Everything’s fine. I’m flattered you’d worry about me.” Despite the fact that Nine’s older and that Theo ought to respect his seniors, he can’t bring himself to willingly trust the Reaper who’s been stealing the manager’s heart with his dexterity.

(Name) pops up from the seat at once, startled to have caught sight of the time. “Sorry, Nine. I've got to supervise Day and Kati’s cleaning shift. You can never be too careful with those two...” As they grab their empty bento box and the pile of documents, exchanging serene farewells with Nine, Theo opens his mouth to say something.

I’ll go with you, he wants to add, and yet the words evade him.

The manager turns to address Theo, a radiant beam in their expression—the sight of a flower that has wilted once and sprung back to life with a little bit of water and sunlight. “There’s a book I found that I think you’ll like. I’ll lend it to you if you’re interested. Let’s talk more next time, okay?”

His heart just about flips into cardiac arrest. How can his manager be so mindful and generous despite the minimal conversation they’ve shared? Such a gesture is sweeter than any cake the other Reapers may resemble.

“Let’s,” he echoes, watching as they make a swift exit. And suddenly the once dusty, overcrowded storage room becomes a haven. Observing it from his angle, he realizes just how much work the manager and Nine have done in terms of cleaning. That could’ve been a task suited to him. Now it’s as though you and Nine have started meeting up periodically in this room.

Nine rises from his spot on the bench, gingerly closing the lid over the piano keys. “Is there something on your mind?”

Theo raises a brow. “Nothing in particular. Why do you ask?”

“I was only curious. You seemed quite attached to the manager’s reactions. Though that’s just a speculation of mine. Please forgive me if I assumed incorrectly.”

“Well, I don’t want them to disapprove of my work.”

“I understand. You always do your best, Mr. Theo, so don’t let the pressure of appeasing Manager weigh you down.”

“I won’t. Thank you for your concern.” His words are hollow—lacking a soul—but he delivers them anyway. A faux cake needs no decorations if it’s role is not to be enjoyed. It’s merely a placeholder in his acquaintanceship with Nine. Stale enough to be recycled for future use, but also courteous in case of an emergency. “Then, I’ll be taking my leave now.”

Nine bids him a professional goodbye, friendly against the powerful tide of passive-aggressive distrust Theo’s built up. The disarming Soul Reaper closes the lid of his bento box, listening to Theo’s even footsteps as they grow distant with each passing second. He isn’t a fool, and neither is the picture-perfect Reaper in the Day Team. Something’s amiss. Anyone would be able to recognize the tense atmosphere that has ensnared the storage room in its vicious maw. Nine isn’t a stranger to formulated schedules. Ever since (Name) asked to meet him in the storage room for a few coveted minutes of listening to him play, Theo’s been in the distance, looming like a shadow in a child’s nightmare.

His finger taps at the colorful plastic while the gears in his brain turn. Nine doesn’t know Theo well enough to make any rash claims, and he certainly wouldn’t say any of that outright. Perhaps he just doesn’t know how to approach others, or he might want a chance to practice on the piano. If that’s the case, it would justify his lingering near the storage room. Nine has noticed the pattern, though. Theo’s always there when the manager observes his skillful fingers dancing across the keys. He’s never there for anyone else.

“I suppose anyone would think it’s an ulterior motive,” Nine murmurs to the empty air. “I’m not too sure.”

Green-eyed monsters don’t have blue eyes, so what does that make Theo?

Said Soul Reaper waits outside the door of the storage room, pressed against the wall with his ears alert and his mouth shut. To be blunt, Nine’s taken too much of the cake, and Theo’s not going to allow that. Crumbs are messy, and he despises messes. For a moment, the darker side of his thoughts conjure other messes. Crimson messes. Accidents that involve choice words and measured actions. Everything should be exemplary for a delicious result. But there won’t be any cake if he’s lacking the ingredients. The only recipe that makes is regret with a side of loss.

Theo slips away from the wall, quietly moving in the other direction. There are many layers to Nine that he must separate for intense study. The closer he gets to the center, the more personal he’ll get. And if the perfect cake involves a book, a piano, and the layers of a certain someone, he’s willing to forsake cleanliness.

Nine is there in the doorway wearing a faint smile as he witnesses Theo leave for a second time.

Something is definitely amiss with Mr. Theo.