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She's on the sidelines.
Again.
She's given her report to the headmistress already: frustration, fatigue, more frustration, some over-confidence. But really, what do you expect from teenagers running drills on a blistering afternoon?
Farah's gone now, off with Bloom or Saul, or maybe even the Queen, and Musa sits in the long grass and twists her fingers into it and thinks maybe Terra could teach her how to grow dandelions or clovers. Or vines that would crawl up through her fingers, weave around her arms and shoulders, up into her hair. Engulf her into the warm, sun-beaten grass, let her sink into its lovely quiet.
The sun tickles her nose.
She's almost in a place of serenity. Almost.
Saul won't let her wear her headphones during training (not that she's doing anything) so the buzzing of emotions all around her still infringes on the edges of her feelings. Intrusive. Irritating.
She leans back on her arms, tilts her body up into the sun, any pretence of training long gone now (whatever, she'd feel Saul's irritation if he suddenly made an appearance) when she feels it-
It's a quiet, appreciative bolt of lust.
She hums to herself: opening her eyes just a fraction to glance around the greenery.
Could be anyone. Hormonal teenagers, lust is an emotion she is very accustomed to. But she looks around anyway. Scans over the pairs fighting on the raised mats, over the water-beam karate-lessons, looking for some even remotely juicy gossip to spruce up this otherwise dull afternoon. The girls back in the suite will have a laugh.
Her whole body stiffens and prickles over when she notices Riven: cigarette between his lips, hair in his eyes, hidden away from the sunlight (and the searching eyes of Sky) under a low hanging willow tree.
He's looking at her.
Like he's looking at her. An appreciative gleam in his eyes as they hover, feather-light, over her body.
Lust.
A flurry of emotions war inside her at the realisation, before she settles on disgust. She catches his gaze, and sticks her middle finger up.
He grins at her, and struts over leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. Like her gesture was a greeting rather than a goodbye. When he reaches her, he stands a little away, not quite blocking the light, so she has to raise her hand to her eyes to see him.
"I can feel you perving on me from all the way over here," she says, drawing one leg up to her chest.
He leans on his stick, winking at her. "I like what I see."
"Well, I don't."
He shrugs, like he could care less what she likes. He inhales at his cigarette and casts his disdainful look across the sparring grounds. "Wanna have a go with me?" he asks, innuendo intended.
Another emotion then, simmering under the surface of his skin. Disgust. Secludement. Alienation.
"Wow. You really don't wanna be here, do you? Just skip. I'm sure Saul won't even notice."
Immediately, he's defensive. Shackles raised. "Fuckin' mind fairy. Stay out of my head." He spits at her, turning on his heel, striding back into shadow.
He reeks of Hatred then, which makes her feel better. That's how he usually feels when he sees her, and she feels the same way.
* * *
No one really uses the library in the east-tower.
It's for plant and botany specialism. Beatrice and her latest flock of cronies are obsessed with the main library, the one with the huge Ancient Magic History section, and Musa can read suspicion, paranoia, greed radiating off Beatrice in waves, but really, she's happy to stay out of it.
She's got happier things to think about anyway.
The East Tower Library is empty.
"It always is," Sam tells her easily, because everything he says and does is easy. Everything is comfortable and warm and safe and peaceful. He guides her to the large window seat that looks out onto the rivers (and wow, she needs to tell Aisha about those because she would love them) and takes her hands. "People always forget about this place. They over-look it."
"I can see that," Musa hums, a smile playing on her lips. "You don't, though, do you? Mr Boring."
"I'll take that as a compliment." He grins, leaning in to brush their noses together.
When the world is a screaming cry in a hurricane, Sam is a silent breeze on a still day.
She's addicted to it. Her serenity.
When she kisses him, it's warm and comfortable and lovely.
She threads her fingers into his hair, and he sneaks his fingers under the hem of her shirt, but he doesn't wander. He's Terra's brother after all: sweet and safe and kind.
He leans back against the wall, so she gets to clamber onto him, spread her thighs over his and keep kissing him: more enthusiastic as she hears the crackling fire, the sigh and creak of weighted shelves.
"So hot," he mumbles against her neck, "I knew you'd like the library. You've got kinks all over the place. Keeping secrets, almost getting caught, you like it."
It's so easy with Sam. She laughs, presses flush against him, when she feels it-
Envy.
It's a quiet, furious smoulder of an emotion and it startles her. Sam doesn't realise, takes her stutter as a sign to keep doing what he's doing, as he trails butterfly kisses to her collar, but her eyes flash purple and she feels outward.
It is envy. Different from jealousy (and that had taken her a while) to ascertain.
She glances around the library, peers over books on shelves for prying eyes, but doesn't see anyone until she tips her head back and spots Riven on the upper-balcony.
He's half hidden, trying to be hidden, behind an overgrown ficus, but his eyes are on them.
Not on her- on Sam.
He hasn't seen her looking. Doesn't know she's seen. That she's felt his envy.
Riven's envious of Sam.
Envy: wanting what someone else has.
She looks down at Sam, his lips swollen, her fingers in his hair- and experiments.
She's not sure why. Throwing caution to the wind. A once in a lifetime shot. Why? Why not? Why is Riven here, in the Botany library? Why is he watching and hiding and why- when she experiments, when she tugs on Sam's hair, reveals his neck, and sucks, kisses and bites- does Riven's envy spike like wildfire?
"Jesus," Sam pants, eyes full of devotion, "have I mentioned how hot you are?"
"I think it's come up," she laughs, brushing her thumb over his cheeks.
She turns her attention away from Riven then. From whatever scheme or problem he has. That boy is a bundle of issues, a knot tied too tight, and Musa is not about to spend her time untangling him.
Why would she? She has a silent breeze right here. Her calm, safe, peaceful serenity. And it doesn't require any effort at all.
***
She's not sure how she got here.
Not sure why she's not with Bloom and Terra and the others out by the circle.
Why she's here, in these dank, dusty dungeons, crouching over Dane who's covered in blood and writhing in pain.
Beatrice and Riven looks down at her: the former with a disturbing sense of curiosity, and Riven in abject horror.
"He set off Dowling's trap." Beatrice says, cool-as-a-cucumber, not flinching as Dane seizes and jerks on the ground. His lips are blue, his torso bloody.
"It hurts." Dane hiccups, eyes unseeing. "Sh-she-p-pu-"
Musa lifts her eyebrows and looks up at Beatrice. "You pushed him?"
Beatrice shrugs. "We had to set off the trap. Time was off the essence. He'll heal."
"He's in pain!" Musa cries, and Beatrice sighs.
"It's only temporary."
Musa's not sure how she got here. But she takes Dane's hand and her eyes glow and she lets his pain judder across their bond. It's horrible: slashes across the torso, a black kind of madness, a slow, searing, scratching of agony that makes her arch her back, makes her want to howl. But Dane's cries subside. He falls into a type of restful sleep. Calmer now-
"Stop it!" Riven yells, and suddenly Musa is across the room, sprawled on her back, mind dizzy as the pain disappears.
Dane starts screaming again.
"What are you doing?" Musa demands, getting back to her feet, hurrying back to Dane.
Riven stops her, grabbing her shoulders, shoving her backwards. Again. "It's hurting you!"
"That's the point, dumb-ass," she snaps, or she means to snap. It comes out hollow and weak. Achy. "I can take it."
"No! No, I don't-" Riven trails off, his face is torn, words don't come out.
Musa stares at him, uncomprehending. Before she gets a reading.
Protectiveness. Concern.
Beatrice spots it too. And she doesn't even need mind-powers.
"Oh, that is precious." She croons.
"Piss off." Riven spits at her, and Musa is taken aback because, she wasn't sure, but she thought Riven and Beatrice were an item, and apparently, they're not? Or they are? Or why does it matter?
"He's your friend." Musa says quietly, her wrists still in Riven's hands. They're large hands. Strong. Clutching at her. "You don't want him in pain. I'm just going to take it until he's healed. It won't be too long." She tugs gently. Riven doesn't release her.
He doesn't look at her. He looks somewhere over her shoulder. "Don't...don't hurt yourself." He orders. Then his fingers go loose.
She pulls out her wrists gingerly. Feels the weird urge to step into him for an embrace. He's tall. Broad. Maybe he has a warm chest. "I won't."
***
She sips at her cherry coke and peers out over the party. A swathe of good emotions wash over her. She feels good tonight. She's determined to. She's been wallowing, or that's what Stella says, since Sam left. For the best, partly her idea, she knows that. But still, loss is loss and it still hurts.
Tonight, she's done up. Winged eye-liner and glittery highlighter, and her hair tickling her spine in a backless dress.
It's almost the end of the first Semester and they've just fucking saved the world. She's going to have a good time tonight, she's determined.
Fire lights in her belly at cold, confident fingers touching her back. Low on her back. Risky. And those fingers become a hand, right there, on the small of her bare skin, an arm winding round her waist and a tall body standing beside her.
"Well, well, well, you decided to show up?"
"Firstly: if you'd like to keep that hand, I'd recommend taking it off me. Now. Second: 'well, well, well'? Are you a villain on a TV show?"
"So, you think I'm handsome enough to be an actor?" Riven smirks, not removing his hand, but coming closer. His eyes flicker over her face. "I didn't think you'd come. I heard about you and Mr Boring."
Musa steps out of his touch. It's only funny when she says it-
"Hey, no." Riven starts- stepping closer-regret seeping out of him.
Musa sighs, and stays. Lets him put his hand on her waist again. Lets herself acknowledge how much she likes it.
"I'm sorry, I didn't.." Riven struggles. "Anyway, I wanted to- I saw what you did. For Sky. You let him see a monster, not his dad."
She prickles at compliments, like she always does. "It wasn't just me. I couldn't have done it without Stella."
"Sure," Riven nods, like he couldn't give a shit if Stella lived or died (and why, god why, does she like that so much?) "But it took a lot out of you. You did it anyway. No sidelines for you."
"I do hate the sidelines."
"It's not where you belong." He agrees. "You should talk to Saul. I'll vouch for you. That you should be in on the physical drills, not just doing laps for Farah."
She's not sure how much his word will do. In fact, to Saul, it may be more hindrance than help, but she appreciates the sentiment anyway. "That'd be nice."
His hand is still on her back. Moving up and down a little. As if feeling how soft she is. She swallows. She wants him to step closer.
He does.
She has to peek up at him.
"What am I thinking?" He whispers, and she sees his lips move more than she hears him.
She arches up a little, so their bodies touch. His adam's apple bobs. "It doesn't work like that." She teases, but her eyes flash anyway. He bears himself to her.
It's difficult. A lot of emotions. She's an exposed microphone and he's just one of many until- she finds him. Her kittiwake on the cliffside, squawking a song. It's not the prettiest, but it's honest, and just for her.
Lust. Admiration. Desire.
"It's tricky." She confesses, biting her lip. Then un-biting it, when his eyes zero in. She flusters.
"What would you guess?"
Her cheeks burn. "Maybe you want a quickie in the dorms?"
He laughs, and it makes her smile. His laugh. His real one. Not mean or cruel or jaded, but open. "Well, you're not too far off," he says, brushing her hair out of her face. "But that's a little short term. You can't get a reading for the long term? What I'm thinking about the future? What I want for us at the start of next semester?"
She imagines his arm slung over her shoulders. Imagines them sharing an apple in the cafeteria. Imagines kissing him in a library and sparring with him during Specialism classes.
She shakes her head. "You'll have to tell me."
"I will." He says, and he bends down all the way, finally, and kisses her.