General RP A General Dumb Ass, A Toxic Heartthrob, and A Deadly Innocent (Kasumi & Knight_of_None)

[RhysTheFirebird]

@Kasumi
@Knight_of_None

Cyris Fiolyn

Name: Cyris Fiolyn
Age: 22
Sex/Gender: Male He/Him
Description: Cyris has auburn hair that contrasts with his pale skin, and striking amber eyes that seem to burn with intensity, though he rarely show emotion. His lean, strong build speaks of years of physical training, while his back is marked by deep scars, hinting at a past filled with violence and hardship. As an assassin, Cyris is known for his perfect aim and formidable combat skills, moving with precision and grace. Cold and detached, he maintains a distant, unreadable demeanor, only focused on hus mission. Emotions seem like an afterthought, hidden behind a mask of cold professionalism.

Cyris stares up at the walls of the school, amber eyes narrowed on the columns of stone. While an old building, it had an air of timelessness, one that made Cyris remeber his home. A pair of sun glasses perched on his nose, shielding his unusual eyes from view, he walks forward, bag strapped across his chest and hanging at his hip. Last month, it was vacation in the Philippines. This month, it was the assassination of a professor. Maybe next month is would be torture.

He shakes his head, combing his hair from his face as he leans forward on the balls of his feet, graceful, light, and elegant. He takes a step forward, shouldering his way through the doors of the collage hall, the Fine Arts Hall. He peers around, noting a few glass cases with awards, a wall of faces. A typical school setting and vibe.

A few students milled about, all quiet and waiting the minutes before their class started. Cyris had chosen the afternoon class, meaning he had a few hours before his own class started. Enough time for him to explore, maybe meet people who could give him more information.

 

[Knight_of_None]

(XD this name is peak)

Malik's hall was lively, a hall of the fine arts department that was ordained with dazzling works from talented students. Oil paintings that were formal portraits, merging the past and present, sculptures laid in glass containers to protect them from the harshness of reality. Some standing statues elwere even donated to the school to decorate the campus. The awards were positioned out to shine and catch the eye. The students abound were buzzing with opportunity, some whispering of their time they got to spent creating with Malik's studio. He managed multiple departments, keeping them on track from award to award, seeming to draw the best from his pupils. As Cyris passed the art department photograph, the line up of professors were atop a plinth of silver, and decorated in the light of a stained glass window of cool blues and glittering greens, the eye drawn to the center most point where a shaft of green light would encircle a man with a broad, bright eyes smile. He was handsome, with sun kissed skin, swept back dark hair, a white coat like a doctor except it was was battered and beaten with bright colors, smudges, hand prints of paint, and dabbled brush strokes. Underneath was a blue set of overalls, and a cream colored turtle neck.

To the world, this bright eyes man, this beacon of energy and welcoming arms, was a upstanding professor. But Cyrus knew deeper than that. He was a cruel man that would tear apart families, and render them irreparable. At least that was the word of the agency, and the client. How he managed to seduce both parents simultaneously....was unknown, and irrelevant.

 

[Kasumi]

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Alban Bell
20
Brown hair, grey eyes
Teacher’s Assistant, part time job at the university day care center

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Alban finally managed to put the little ones down for a nap in the daycare room. His coworker had arrived for their shift, allowing him to either leave for the day or take a break. He slowly crept over to the door as quietly as he could. He opened it slowly and left, closing the door behind him. He let out a little sigh of relief and happily trotted down the hallways, his aim for a certain new art professor’s lecture hall in the fine arts department.

He had arrived by the time a class ended, Alban slipping between passing students leaving the hall. A grin appeared on his lips as he finally spotted the male, Alban happily trotting up to him “Malik! How’s my favorite art prof doing today? I haven’t been able to catch you today! Mr. Popular~” he teased. Standing before the male, he brushed brown locks out of his face, grey eyes beaming up at the male. He smoothed down his black t-shirt, his dark blue jeans fitting him nicely. He was quite comfortable with what he was wearing.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyrus lounged in a chair in the dimly lit hallway, the low hum of activity around him barely registering as his amber eyes remained sharp. His attention drifted as he scanned the room, picking up the subtle details of the passing figures. It wasn’t until a particular young man caught his eye that he straightened slightly. The boy moved with a sense of urgency, his steps leading him toward the very room Cyrus had been watching. There was something familiar about him, something that aligned too perfectly with the photograph burned into Cyrus' mind from the file.

Him.

Cyrus' lips curled into a faint smirk as he lazily stood, the movement smooth and unhurried. He closed his laptop with a soft click, sliding it into his bag. His decision was made in an instant—one witness would suffice if this boy was, in fact, the target’s latest conquest. Or, perhaps, a current attempt. Either way, Cyrus couldn’t resist the opportunity to add a little more chaos to the situation.

He shrugged his bag over his shoulder, reaching into it and retrieving a folded paper schedule. It was unnecessary, of course; Cyrus had already memorized the details, but the paper was a useful prop for what came next. He followed the boy at a distance, watching his every move with quiet precision, never missing a beat. As the boy disappeared into the classroom, Cyrus pushed through the door seconds later.

The door swung shut behind him with a heavy thud, sealing the room with a resounding click. Cyrus felt the eyes of those present snap to him, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he casually removed his sunglasses, revealing his piercing amber gaze. His eyes landed on the professor, "Professor Malik. . ."


Then shifted to the the with a cool, calculating look. "Alban Bell,” Cyrus drawled, his voice low but carrying a certain weight to it.

He stepped forward, moving with a relaxed confidence, the lazy grin never leaving his face. As he approached the professor’s desk, gaze once again upon Malik, he yawned, deliberately slow, his expression almost bored.

“I’ve been eager to meet you, professor,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. There was no real eagerness in his tone, only a thinly veiled mockery. He leaned against the desk, his eyes flicking briefly back to the boy he’d followed, as if already assessing the possibilities.

The game had begun.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik turned his head as he was sitting at his desk as Alban had stepped into his painting studio, his students were taking extra time to work on their latest crafts, or mercifully using the room to cram frantically. His smile dazzled the instant he saw Alban, putting his hands underneath his chin as the Assistant spoke to him as if he was already hanging onto the younger man's every word. "Alban! I'm always pleased to see my next model!" He said playfully in return. He heard the door click and his eyes moved subtly as Alban looked back, his eyes tracing Alban's neck, his soft features, even along his chest for the briefest of moments. Malik looked away swiftly as he heard the other person coming, and he was shaking away the faint rush of blood he felt. He was going to reform, he would avoid scandals or heartbreak...he just needed a little more time to get to know the right person. As the next young man approached him, Malik's head tilted slightly, his grin and warmth fainting ever so slightly as he ran the face against his classes, but found himself unable to remember this new one. "Ah...I'm sorry. You must be a new face, I've rarely forgotten one" He said as he stood up, pushing his seat back gently. That was a lie. There was a variable attached to that. He rarely forgot a face that he was currently in the middle of trying to stuff or place himself in a position to get to someone else. Or. in the case of the school business, he took measures to further his class morale and connections. He leaned forward, folding out a hand to the newcomer. "I'm Professor Rose. I prefer Malik, it keeps me from feeling like an old man around such vibrant students." He said grinning again.

 

[Kasumi]

As Alban entered the room he gave a gentle smile to those busy students who looked away from their work to see who had entered the room and momentarily distracted them. He hadn't noticed the one who followed him inside, Alban's mind on anything other than someone behind him. He was solely focused on how happy Malik appeared when he saw him, a small flush to his cheeks appearing at the kind comment. "Model? Oh, no, no, I couldn't." He shook his head, his smile growing. "Perhaps... as a nude model." He came right out and said it, only when he leaned in closer so (hopefully) only Malik heard. It had been like this ever since the two met, Alban's usual innocent demeanor sullied by the occasional crude comment that kept those around him on their toes. As a teacher's assistant to younger kids, along with his position as a part-time daycare worker, it was quite unexpected!

It was rather disappointing when someone interrupted, Alban turning to see the one that distracted the professor. Damn, just when things could possibly start getting good with Alban's next move hopping up onto the edge of Malik's desk. ...Wait, what? Curious brows furrowed as his name came out of the stranger's mouth. How did this stranger know who he was? It wasn't too strange for the other to know Malik's name, as just about everyone knew the professor's with how popular he was. But him? A nobody. "Yes... And you are?" He asked, the same gentle smile reappearing, his own hand coming out to shake the others.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris regarded Malik with a small, shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, a practiced gesture that hinted at a vulnerable side. “I’m a transfer,” he began, his voice soft and unassuming. “Normally, I would have had to wait until the new semester, but strings got pulled.” His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the paper in his hand, playing the part of someone unsure, as though he didn’t belong. It was a deliberate move, feigning sheepishness, lowering defenses.

“I’m Cyris,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he extended his hand slowly, hesitantly. When his hand made contact with the professor’s, a subtle flinch crossed Cyris’ features. The familiar itch along his back flared, the old scars burning with the bitter memory of failure. He suppressed the urge to grimace, keeping his expression as neutral as possible. “I didn’t mean to startle you, or…” His voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished, as though embarrassed by his intrusion.

Cyris’ amber eyes shifted from the professor to the young man standing nearby, locking onto him with an intensity that couldn’t be ignored. He took in the details, committing each to memory—delicate features, striking gray hair, a beauty that stood out even among the usual faces he encountered. “Alban,” he murmured, the name slipping from his lips almost like a secret, before his gaze returned to Malik.

For a moment, Cyris simply stared at the professor, his expression calm and unreadable. Then, without breaking the façade of warmth in his smile, he turned his full attention to Alban. His voice, however, betrayed a cooler undercurrent, low and pointed, as he said, “A nude model for a professor is very inappropriate. And not the best idea, as you don’t know who this man is.” His eyes flicked back to Malik, a knowing smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. Cyris was no fool—he knew the kind of man Malik was, knew more than the professor likely assumed, and he wasn’t afraid to let that knowledge show.

The motion of Alban reaching out caught Cyris' attention, pulling him from his moment of unspoken tension with the professor. With a slight pause, he accepted the handshake, his gaze softening as he returned his focus to Alban. “Though, I suppose you can do as you wish,” Cyris added, his smile warm again, even if his words were edged with something darker. “We’re all adults here, after all.” There was a brief pause, an unspoken warning in the air, though wrapped in civility and masked behind that
smile.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik's glittering disposition crinkled slightly as Cyrus spoke to Alban, not the act itself ofcourse, he was well and truly sure that he and the young assistant had something in the cards drawing them together. But rather the turn it made, while he spoke of who he was, the cooling tine of his voice. Shit .did he sleep this transfer student- No- he would remember....probably. Malik mrasured the tension as the two boys shook hands, still trying to gauge Cyrus. "I assure you right now, Nude Modeling is no act of deviants Cyrus. Infact I believe that it is the most pure form of capturing the nature of the subject. You see it all. Their posture changes, their confidence, the very way the light may glow over them reveals with fient shadows what lies are just out of sight otherwise." He said as he stepped around the desk, his face shifting to a sterner one, though not with hostility, but passion. "If not in a portrait but in sculptures, I dare say such work requires trust, and complete devotion from the artist and the model alike. To do otherwise is a mockery of the art itself."

 

[Kasumi]

Inappropriate? "Hardly," Alban shook his head. "I know him well enough. Besides, we're all adults here. I find the idea quite liberating to be a figure model." A nude one, at that. Not that he had ever done it. Though, he had peeked into some classes where there had been a nude model, the students surrounding the model with their sketchbooks out, sketching every inch of their body. He had almost wanted to do it himself, yet never dared to ask. Yet with Malik, he was willing to go further. No one had to know he meant a private lesson.

They shook hands, Alban feeling indifferent toward this transfer student, despite the pure tension he felt. What did he want with Malik? Relief set in as Malik defended the general idea of nude figure modeling, passionately at that. That was one thing Alban liked about the professor, the absolute passion he felt for what he did. It was rather fitting for him and quite a comfort for Alban. Stepping back, he let Malik pass to approach the stranger. Finding an empty corner of the professor's desk, he slipped up onto it, keeping some distance as he curiously listened to what this stranger wanted.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris listened intently as Malik spoke, the professor’s impassioned defense of nude modeling filling the space between them. A slow smirk crept onto Cyris' face, though his eyes remained cold and calculating. He could sense the shift in Malik’s demeanor, the subtle worry behind his carefully measured words. It amused Cyris—this wasn’t about art, not entirely. There was something more beneath Malik’s words, something the professor himself probably wasn’t even aware of.

He let Malik's words linger in the air, pretending to mull them over, his gaze flicking to Alban as the boy spoke up, his tone dismissive, casual even. Cyris' amber eyes studied him for a moment, catching the brief flicker of something—hesitation, curiosity, maybe even excitement—behind Alban’s confident facade. The way he positioned himself on the edge of Malik’s desk, at ease but distant, told Cyris more than words ever could.

When Cyris finally spoke, his voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. "Oh, I never meant to suggest that nude modeling was deviant, Professor," he said, the smile on his lips widening just slightly. "Quite the opposite, really. It takes a certain kind of courage, doesn’t it? To bare yourself so completely. Physically, emotionally..." His gaze lingered on Alban for a beat longer, before returning to Malik. "Trust is indeed essential in such matters."

He shifted his stance, crossing his arms loosely, as if settling in for a conversation he was in no hurry to end. "But let’s not pretend there aren’t risks. Art requires vulnerability, sure, but it also demands a certain power dynamic, doesn’t it?" His tone was light, almost casual, but the implication was clear. He let the words hang in the air, his eyes gleaming with unspoken understanding.

Cyris glanced briefly at Alban, then back at Malik, the smirk returning to his lips. "I’m sure you’ve earned his trust, Professor. And I’m sure you’ll handle it... carefully." His voice dropped slightly on the last word, as if it carried a weight that only Malik would fully understand.

 

[Knight_of_None]

"Power...hm" Malike measured the word thoughtfully, his hand touching his chin with his knuckle and thumb. He stepped lightly thinking, likely deeper than Cyrus intended in those seconds. "In certain cases, Artists have more than likely used the vulnerability of the situation. But i don't believe it be solely of power or something oppressive to be the painter " Malik stood, rounding back towards Cyruss deftly. "Vulnerability is not in the hands of the one holding the brush alone...you stay in a dim room, lights humming, heat rising, gazing at the perfect imperfections of your subject long enough, and the artists eyes are stricken as well. As you put emotion to the page, your subject senses it, perhaps they feign of so easily thar they believe more time is needed. He stepped closer, his lively passions guiding him. "You spent hours alone, and get close, perhaps you even haven't considered it before, but in a single moment you've been drawn into your subject because they have been plucking your strings. " He said as he shrugged.

"The power dynamic that one may see...I see as a tether, pulling two beings together." He said as he shifted about, turning to guide the attention towards a painting that was hung up on one of the walls. A woman entangled in crimson sheets, baring her nude form, without shame it seemed, though she was ordained in a avian ebony masquerade mask, dotted with pearls. One couldn't see her face, only her pouting lips. "To create something that reveals the true nature of the subject, using the artists hands to see such honesty."

 

[Kasumi]

Eyes narrowed as Alban listened to the other speak, his curiosity growing, along with a bit of annoyance. What was he going on about? What did he care about what he and Malik did? Those questions filled his mind, the male holding back blurting them out. He didn't interrupt the professor, the explanation and his voice almost melodic to the assistant. It was strange, the suggestion of a sort of power imbalance. Sure, a nude model was quite vulnerable, yet completely safe in the academic setting. Unless one had ill intentions. He glanced over to Malik, the thought momentarily crossing his mind.

No, no - Malik would never! There was a subtle tilt of his head at the last thing the stranger said.

Alban's impatience grew, the younger male moving the hands that held the edge of the desk to cross over his chest. He brought his attention to the painting the professor turned to look at. Ah, how beautiful. The desire to be in such a position himself returned, something he would ask Malik once he had a chance. Just needed to get rid of the new distraction.

"That aside..." He piped in, turning his full attention back to Cyrus. "What did you need Malik for?"

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik coughed as Alban turned his attention back to Cyrus, realizing that he had delved quite deep into his beliefs in the arts. "Ah- yes yes, our positions on art aside." He agreed as he folded his hands behind his back. "Are you seeking to enroll, or simply making your rounds?' He asked, seeming to already be pushing Cyrus's barbed words behind him.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, his chest rising and falling as if the whole exchange was a mild inconvenience. He crossed his arms, the motion deliberate as he leaned his hip against the desk, his body language oozing nonchalance. His amber eyes gleamed with a mix of boredom and amusement as he observed Malik with a detached curiosity.

“I am enrolled,” Cyris replied, his voice carrying an edge of annoyance as he rolled his eyes, like the whole conversation was beneath him. “Music.” He drummed his fingers lightly against his forearm, the rhythmic tapping a subtle expression of impatience, though his face remained calm.

He allowed the room to fall into a momentary silence, his gaze lazily following Malik as the professor attempted a smooth recovery, spinning his earlier passionate defense of art into something that wouldn’t incriminate him. Cyris' lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, but he said nothing. His head tilted slightly, the faintest arch of his brow suggesting he wasn’t entirely convinced by Malik’s words.

Then his attention shifted to Alban. He didn’t miss the subtle signals—the boy clearly wanted him gone. Cyris could see the way Alban positioned himself, putting distance between them while trying to stay composed, a flicker of discomfort in his posture. Cyris' smile grew a fraction, entertained by the boy’s thinly veiled attempt to get rid of him.

After a moment, Cyris finally addressed Alban’s earlier question, though his response came with the practiced ease of someone who was used to twisting the narrative to suit his own needs. “I was curious,” he said, his voice softening slightly, “about who could bring so much… life to the halls. The professor here seems to have quite the reputation.” He paused, letting his words hang in the air. "I've heard a lot about him from other students." His tone was casual, but there was a hint of something darker beneath the surface, a vague implication that couldn’t quite be pinned down.

Cyris’ gaze flicked between Malik and Alban, lingering on the boy just long enough to make it clear that he wasn’t going anywhere, not just yet. He leaned back further against the desk, appearing relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, watching every detail, every reaction, as though he was studying them both for some hidden clue. The tension in the room thickened, but Cyris seemed to thrive on it, feeding off the unspoken unease his presence brought.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik blinked as Cyrus mentioned his enroll in music, an art that he didn't personally chase about, his particular taste in expression simply drawn to his eyes rather than his ears. The quirk of the boys brow made him purse him.lips slightly, assuming his nonchalance was simply a natural indifference. he listened along as he answered their curiosities, the older man shifting his head up slightly as be mentioned students had been apparently talking about him. He looked at his studio briefly, wondering a moment who had done it...then again, he had only good faith in this school. Then again. A transfer...

His head turned back to Cyrus. "All the life in that hall, belongs to my students. All I do is grant them my advice, and my studios, and the occasional push." He said shaking his head as he seemed to ease somewhat.

 

[Kasumi]

Just what was with this guy? He was a stranger yet made it a mission to bother Alban. He just wanted some alone time with his hot professor! Was that so much to ask for? After an afternoon of crying children, the peace of Malik's classroom with pencils scratching against paper, paint splattering, and the general comforting smell of the room itself was just what he needed to decompress. He let out a quiet sigh in a subtle way to self-soothe. He uncrossed his arms, settling his palms to sit upon the edge of the desk, his fingers curling over the edge. He leaned forward some, thinking over the stranger's response. A music transfer curious about how popular Malik was.

"He's quite the lucky guy, naturally so popular with everyone." Was Alban feeling a little possessive? He made no comment of such, keeping it between him and Malik. Whatever they had going on - something he wanted to explore. As long as he could get rid of this distraction.

He was curious, however. He knew the usual gossip, girls and some of the guys fanning over the professor. "What have you heard?" He decided to ask, the curiosity getting to him. If only to hear how wonderful Malik was.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris' smirk widened as he caught the flicker of unease in the room, reveling in the tension. His amber eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned a little closer, his voice dropping just enough to sound conspiratorial. “Oh? You’re curious about what I’ve heard?” he teased, a dark playfulness curling through his tone.

Lifting his hand, Cyris deliberately flexed his fingers, the rough callouses on his palm visible—a clear reminder of his other life, the one far removed from the world of music and art. Yet, despite the scars from wielding weapons, his musical talent was no lie either. A duality that, if anything, made him more dangerous.

He tapped a finger against his lower lip thoughtfully, the gesture slow and deliberate, as if he were savoring the suspense. “I’ve heard,” he began, drawing the words out, “that our dear professor used to teach somewhere else. Quite the story, really.” His head tilted, red strands of hair slipping into his eyes with a quirky, almost boyish charm. The movement seemed casual, but in reality, it was another calculated act to throw off suspicion, to appear approachable, maybe even a bit coy.

His smirk softened into something closer to amusement. “Caused quite the scandal, too.” His words hung in the air like a hook baited with temptation. “But nothing too shocking. You know how these things go... run-of-the-mill gossip.” He shrugged lightly, as though the scandal was beneath him, a fleeting rumor that he’d only bothered to mention for the sake of entertainment.

His eyes, however, glinted with something sharper. “After all, Professor Rose doesn’t have any thorns, does he?” The rhetorical question dripped with mockery, each syllable designed to provoke. “All perfect, no bite.” Cyris let the words sit there, almost daring Malik to challenge him, but he kept his tone deceptively light, as if the whole exchange was merely a casual observation.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Cyris adopted an almost indifferent stance, his expression now unreadable. “Getting close to him wouldn’t make you bleed, I’m sure.” His voice was smooth, yet something about the way he said it suggested otherwise. “Rumors,” he added with a sly grin, “are like a Hydra with no body. A lot of noise, no real threat.” His amber gaze flicked between Alban and Malik, watching their reactions with keen interest.

The room seemed to tighten around them, the tension palpable, but Cyris remained utterly at ease, his words like a thread pulling on unspoken doubts. He gave another slight shrug, as if dismissing the whole conversation, though the implication of his words lingered like smoke in the air, impossible to fully escape.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik shifted slightly, leaning forward as Cyrus lowered his voice to conspire and spin his knowledge. The professor's tension glared through him, and he frowned as he listened. "R-Rumors of scandal?" He echoed softly as he folded his arms. "I-I well- Scanndal is a bit strong of a word I'm sure-" He said as his heart rate quickened. "Certainly if they are nothing but run-of-the-mill mumblings, but i would appreciate if you don't hold such baseless nonsense against me." He said tilting his head aside.

 

[Kasumi]

Alban knew bits and pieces, such as Malik teaching elsewhere. Yet, the mention of a scandal left him curious. He didn't want the other to think he exposed something surprising, so Alban let it slide, shaking his head. Even Malik, albeit sounding a tad nervous, tried to brush it aside. "Right, well, I'm sure it's nothing. I tend not to listen to rumor mills." He said, giving Malik a gentle smile, hoping to help change topics. "Now, is that all? If you will excuse us, I was in the middle of a conversation with Mr. Rose here." He reminded, hoping to rid them of this stranger. He didn't want Malik uncomfortable with whatever he decided to stir up trouble with.

Alban slipped off of the desk and moved closer to Malik. He was ready to take the man's hand, to pull him away and find a different room for some privacy to ease the professor's mind. He glanced around the room where he stood, figuring the current students working on projects would be fine alone for a little bit if Malik would disappear. If anything they could leave campus for a bit, maybe grab something to eat. His mind wandered, thinking of the things they could do. Together. Alone~.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris' jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift in his expression that would go unnoticed by anyone not paying attention. Beneath his cool exterior, his back burned—a searing reminder of the scars that lined his skin, a constant punishment for his past failures. His fingers twitched involuntarily, curling slightly at his sides. A dark, familiar urge tugged at him, the weight of the hidden gun in his bag calling to him. It would be so easy to pull it out, end this charade, and put a bullet through the professor’s head. The mission could be over in seconds.

But something held him back. It wasn’t mercy—Cyris had no room in his life for that. No, it was more pragmatic. He didn’t care for Malik’s life, but the thought of the students outside, oblivious to the blood that would stain their day, gnawed at him. He didn’t fear their judgment, but he could already imagine the chaos, the fear, the screaming. It wasn’t the kind of mess he wanted to deal with right now.

Running a hand through his red hair, Cyris took a steadying breath, momentarily locking eyes with Malik. His gaze was curious, assessing. He watched for any crack in the professor's polished facade, any hint of fear or realization that might betray him. But Malik remained composed, though Cyris could sense the tension brewing beneath the surface.

He briefly noticed Alban’s subtle movements out of the corner of his eye, but ignored the boy entirely. Whatever Alban was thinking, whatever role he played in this little drama, Cyris didn’t care. The boy was inconsequential—for now. Cyris' focus was solely on Malik.

“I need to speak with the professor alone,” Cyris said, his tone calm but laced with authority. He didn’t make it a request; it was a statement of fact. His amber eyes flicked to Alban for only a second, long enough to dismiss him without a second thought. “You’ll get your artist back in a few minutes, Alban.” He waved his hand dismissively, as if waving off a minor inconvenience.

“Nothing too long,” he continued, his voice smoothing over the situation, making it sound casual even though the tension in the room had thickened. “Five or ten minutes, that’s all.” His smile was back, faint but present, though there was no warmth behind it. He was giving Alban an exit, offering the boy a way to leave without protest, but Cyris’ intent was clear. Whatever he had to say to Malik, it wasn’t for anyone else’s ears.

For a brief moment, the air felt still, the room caught in the space between what was said and what was truly meant. Cyris’ hand rested at his side, fingers still itching for the weapon he kept concealed, but his expression remained calm, unbothered. His eyes never left Malik, waiting for the professor to respond, waiting for the real conversation to begin.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik's lips curled slightly at the shift in Cyrus, suddenly wishing to spend some time alone it seemed. "Unfortunately Cyrus, I do have a class to oversee soon, and I have use for Alban in that aspect. If I would have to allow anyone to take their leave of my studio, he is the last i would ask. However, if you require to see me, my office hours are at 12 and 4." He said as he shook his head at the face of the attempt at authority in his domain. "You and I can speak in private then, like any other student." He assured.

 

[Kasumi]

Alone? Alban glanced over to Malik, not really wanting this stranger to be alone with him. Something... just felt off. He couldn't exactly tell the male no, and the tone made Alban want to tell him such, yet he didn't have that authority. Especially if he didn't want anyone to suspect a thing, even if he didn't do a very good job at that so far.

Luckily for him, Malik declined the other, for the time being. Looking toward the wall where the clock lay, he saw it was almost time for a class. Oh, and Malik needed him for it? He swelled with happiness, the professor picking him over this stranger. That, and he enjoyed the control the other took over the situation. Ah, there was a chance he was falling deeper into his crush. Alban visibly relaxed, taking his place back atop the professor's desk. "So! How can I help you this time, Prof?" He grinned, side-eying the other to see if he was still there.

He wouldn't lie, he was quite curious about what Cyris wanted with Malik. It was most likely innocent, perhaps a question regarding what Malik taught and such. He had hoped, anyway.

 

[RhysTheFirebird]

Cyris watched Malik, his own smile widening as he heard the professor’s reply. The rejection, politely framed as it was, didn’t faze him. If anything, Malik’s insistence on maintaining control amused Cyris. He’d seen men twice as powerful make the same attempt to establish dominance—though, in his experience, it often didn’t end as neatly as they imagined.

“Office hours?” Cyris echoed softly, as if mulling it over, his voice dripping with mock politeness. He gave a slight nod, as if accepting the professor’s terms, but the glint in his amber eyes betrayed his true intentions. “Of course, Professor Rose,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “I’ll make sure to find you at twelve or four… like any other student.”

He let the words hang, knowing that there was nothing “ordinary” about his presence here, despite how politely Malik framed his offer. Cyris’ gaze shifted briefly to Alban, noting the boy’s visible relief. The way he lit up at Malik’s words was… almost endearing. Cyris couldn’t help a slight, amused smirk, though there was something far sharper hidden beneath it. Alban’s ease around Malik hinted at a naive trust, a warmth that Cyris found foreign, and, frankly, unnecessary.

But he wouldn’t press further—for now. Instead, he gave a small, casual shrug. “I understand. Wouldn’t want to take precious time away from your assistant.” His gaze held Alban’s for a fraction too long, a hint of something unspoken lingering there before he turned back to Malik.

“Well, Professor,” he continued, straightening himself, “I’ll see myself out for now. But I’ll be counting the minutes to our private talk.” His lips quirked in a final, knowing smirk, a silent promise that this was far from over. Then, with a slight bow that bordered on mockery, he took a step back, throwing one last glance at the two of them before heading toward the door.

As he moved, his hand brushed his bag, the subtle weight of the concealed gun a reminder of the reason he’d come. It wasn’t time yet, but patience was one of the deadliest tools in his arsenal.

 

[Knight_of_None]

Malik quirked his brow slightly as the student before him agreed, and yet felt somewhat off. Whatever there inside Cyrus, it seemed to be ever so eager to prod and see him. His barbing nature made the professor simply bow his head in return while the student would take his leave. The personal nature of it crawling further upwards, Malik rubbed his chin. He would have to set his camera on in his office, just in case for that particular meeting.