Chapter Text
4:02 PM.
Vil checked the time without looking like he was checking the time.
“Unacceptable,” he muttered. But, really—what did he expect? Leona, showing up early? He had much more hope for Epel to let go of his strange, boisterous tendencies.
He didn’t sigh—that implied impatience, and he was beyond impatient now. He adjusted the fall of a silk drape on the backdrop, smoothing the fabric with precise fingers. The studio lights were already warmed, too. Soft amber wash against a muted autumn palette, with burnished golds and deep moths—a controlled kind of warmth. He’d chosen it deliberately. It was strength without spectacle of any kind. Elegance without effort. It would have suited Leona perfectly.
That is… if he bothered to show up.
Vil straightened his posture, turning to inspect the monitor. The crew moved quietly around him, efficient and respectful. No wasted motion. They knew better.
“Check the aperture again,” he said calmly. “I don’t want the highlights bleeding.”
“Of course, Mr. Schoenheit.”
He folded his arms loosely, phone gripped tightly in his hand.
He hadn’t deleted the message, though he knew he should’ve at one point. Ordinarily, he would have archived it, forwarded it to the appropriate security contact, documented the number, and moved on. He’d done it countless times before—the screenshots, reports. Detachment.
This one remained open in his recents.
Who’s your new model, Vil~?
He checked the time again: 4:10.
Vil lowered the phone slowly, expression composed, shoulders squared beneath immaculate tailoring. Suddenly, the backdrop seemed like a stage holding its breath.
He didn’t like being watched—which, as a statement, sounded absurd, given his profession. He had built a career on being seen. On understanding angles, light, narrative. On controlling what people were allowed to perceive.
But that was the difference.
The message had not been invasive because it contained a photograph.
It had been invasive because it had been careless with framing.
Leona had not been posed or prepared or curated.
He had been… real.
Vil folded his arms lightly, nails tapping once against his sleeve.
Stalkers were not new.
He was famous. That was a simple equation. Fame created fixation. Fixation created behavior. He had dealt with letters that crossed the line from admiration into delusion. Anonymous accounts that tracked his public appearances down to the minute. Photographers who lingered too long in places they had no business being. He knew how to manage obsession.
This, however—
This did not center him.
The sender had not asked about him.
They had asked about Leona.
The message didn’t sound accusatory. It sounded curious, possessive, even, if one squinted. It was as if the sender believed they were entitled to context.
Vil’s gaze shifted to the studio door. It was the timing, too, that was unsettling. He had just asked Leona to model—exactly when the photo was taken. Yesterday. The shoot hadn’t been announced, not publicly. Not even widely within the school. Rook wouldn’t have said anything, even with that mouth of his—not without Vil’s permission. So…
The photograph was no coincidence. Someone had been watching before the shoot was official.
And someone had decided Leona was worth watching through Vil.
The door opened. Vil did not turn immediately, nor did he rush to do so.
“Fifteen minutes late,” he said coolly, looking at his watch. “I expected better.”
Leona’s voice answered, dry as ever. “You always do.”
Vil turned then.
Leona stood in the doorway like he resented the light itself for touching him. Long hair slightly mussed. Expression unreadable. Irritated in that quiet, simmering way that meant he’d already decided something today had been beneath him.
Vil’s eyes swept over him once, assessment instinctive.
There.
Tension. Subtle, but present anyway.
Alertness. Alertness that Vil didn’t think was possible for Leona.
He stepped closer, adjusting Leona’s collar without asking for permission. His hands brushed the fabric, smoothed it down.
“You’re distracted,” Vil said, trying to sound light.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Leona’s gaze sharpened, but he didn’t pull away.
Vil’s own reflection flickered briefly in Leona’s eyes, warped by the studio lights.
He considered his next words carefully.
“Have you been in the greenhouse today?” he asked. “Since yesterday?”
Leona paused.
A fractional pause.
“Why?”
Vil’s expression did not change. “Humor me.”
Leona studied him for a second too long—evaluating. He nodded.
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
“Did anything… unusual occur?”
Vil felt it the second he said it. Leona’s shoulders squaring—not defensively, but deliberately. The way his eyes narrowed just slightly.
“Define unusual,” Leona said.
Vil reached into his pocket.
He turned the phone around and held it up between them.
The image glowed under studio lights.
The greenhouse doors. The sunlight. Leona, caught mid-moment.
Unaware.
Unposed.
Leona went very still.
Vil watched him carefully.
“Someone sent me this,” Vil said evenly. “Last night.”
A beat. Silence stretched between them—not loud or dramatic. Somewhere behind them, a camera lens adjusted with a quiet, mechanical click.
Vil’s eyes flicked toward the sound. All equipment had been accounted for. Every angle approved. And yet—
For the first time since stepping into the studio, he did not feel entirely in command of the frame.
He looked back at Leona.
“Now,” Vil said quietly, “tell me why you look like you’ve seen this before.”
♕
Leona didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t blink, either. His eyes moved over the image once—slow. Clinical. Not shocked or confused, but calculating. Vil knew that look.
Recognition.
The silence stretched just long enough for the crew to start pretending they weren’t listening.
“Answer me,” Vil said.
Leona exhaled through his nose.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “I’ve seen it.”
Vil’s fingers tightened around the phone. “When?”
“This morning. Around before I headed out—maybe two or three hours before.”
A flicker, just barely there, but Vil felt it anyway.
“You received it,” he said carefully.
“Something like it.”
Vil lowered the phone by an inch. “Be specific.”
Leona’s jaw flexed.
“You almost looked at the camera, Leona,” he recited, tone dry and mocking. “I wonder what my queen sees in you.”
It was Vil’s turn to go still.
The words echoed in his head in the same sing-song cadence as the other message.
Same tilde, same voice, same assumption of familiarity.
“Show me,” Vil said.
Leona didn’t move.
“Leona.”
A beat.
Then, slow and reluctant, Leona reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone. He didn’t hand it over immediately. His thumb hovered over the screen like he was reconsidering this entire interaction.
Then he turned it.
Vil stepped closer.
The photo was different.
Not the greenhouse doors.
The studio.
Taken earlier today.
Vil adjusting the silk drape. Back turned. Crew blurred in the background. Framed from the doorway.
Vil’s stomach dropped.
“This was sent when?” he asked, voice steady by sheer force of will.
“Just a few minutes ago,” Leona replied. “I was parking.”
Vil checked the timestamp.
4:02 PM.
He had been standing exactly where he was in that photo.
Which meant—
“They’re here,” Vil said.
Leona’s gaze slid to the corners of the room. The ceiling. The lights.
His posture had changed completely now.
No more lazy slouch. Predatory.
“Could be old,” Leona muttered, though his voice signified he knew it wasn’t.
“It isn’t,” Vil said instantly. “The drape was adjusted at 4:02. I was waiting on you.”
Leona glanced at him.
“You notice everything, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
A crew member shifted nervously near the monitors.
“Mr. Schoenheit?” they asked carefully. “Is something wrong?”
Vil turned, smile already in place. Perfect. Polished. Untouchable.
“No,” he said smoothly. “We’ll begin shortly.”
The crew relaxed.
Leona did not.
Vil stepped closer to him again, lowering his voice.
“This is not a coincidence,” he said. “Two separate messages. Two separate angles. Same tone.”
Leona’s mouth twitched faintly.
“Your fan club’s getting creative.”
“This is not admiration,” Vil replied coolly.
Leona’s eyes flicked back to the doorway.
“You think it’s someone in here?”
“I think,” Vil said evenly, “that whoever it is knows our schedules.”
Leona’s gaze sharpened.
“That means access,” Vil continued. “Observation.”
“Who knows about today?” Leona asked.
“Officially?” Vil replied. “Some of the housewardens—Azul and Riddle. I had to excuse us from the meeting. My crew knows. And Rook.”
Leona’s eyes narrowed slightly at that.
Vil noticed.
“You suspect him,” Vil said.
“You don’t?”
“Rook is theatrical. Not careless.”
Leona huffed faintly.
“Everyone’s careless.”
Vil studied the image again.
The framing was intentional.
Not rushed.
Not shaky.
The sender… didn’t seem like they were just watching.
And that bothered him more than anything.
“Why send them to us?” Leona muttered.
Vil didn’t answer right away. It could have meant anything. Attention. Reaction. Division.
The messages were testing.
Vil looked up slowly.
“They want us to know,” he said.
Leona’s expression darkened.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s the annoying part.”
Silence fell again, but this time, it felt heavier.
Awareness.
Vil lifted his chin.
“We proceed as planned,” he said calmly. “We do not react publicly. We do not alert the crew.”
Leona raised a brow. “And privately?”
Vil’s eyes gleamed faintly.
“Privately,” he said, “we find them.”