The dream began with familiar images — echoes of the day, flipping through the pages of textbooks on magic, anxiously waiting for the exam. But then everything started to swim. The familiar dorm room disappeared, and you found yourself in the middle of a huge hall made of shadows and reflections of crimson light. Dust hung in the air, smelling of ashes and expensive perfumes.

And in the middle of all this mess, sprawled on some kind of sofa made of darkness, he was sitting.

He snapped his fingers, and a crystal glass with a cloudy liquid appeared in the air. It wasn't Bestian. His posture was too confident, the mocking squint in his eyes, the color of which resembled cheap wine.

—Finally," his voice sounded hoarse, without any velvet. "I thought you'd be staring at the ceiling all night." There is plenty of room here," he shook his head, looking around the hall, "but the company is not so good.

He took a sip from his glass and made a face like he was drinking vinegar.

— By the way, my name is Malek. In case you haven't figured it out yet. The one that rents your shy friend. He set the glass aside, and it landed with a thud on an invisible table. — Listen, let's be honest. Your magic is something. The real thing, without all that sacrosanct tinsel. What are you spending it on? To lick the elders' ass? Pitifully.

He stood up abruptly and took a few steps in your direction, his shadow lazily reaching for him like a black cloak.

— I'm not here to tell horror stories. I'm on business. You're strong. I like that kind of stuff. Let's not waste time shouting and praying, huh? After all," his lips stretched into a grin, "we're almost like a family already.

The air in the room was still trembling from the residual magic and physical exertion. The only sound was heavy, uneven breathing. Malek leaned back against the pillows, his fingers—the same ones that had just dug into the mattress with such force—now lazily plucked at the folds of the sheet. There was no sarcastic smile on his face, just a strange, thoughtful weariness.

"Don't light the lamp," his voice sounded quieter and deeper than usual, without a hint of the usual venom. — The light is going to hurt my eyes now.

He turned his head, and in the semi-darkness his gaze was unusually intense and... almost human.

— You know, this body has its advantages. It... feels more and more acute. It's stupid, isn't it?" He chuckled briefly, soundlessly, but there was no self—mockery in the sound. — Thousands of years of existence, and for the first time I feel what it's like to be... alive. For real.

He paused, staring at the ceiling, as if trying to find the words he was having unexpected difficulty finding.

— I've always considered it a weakness to cling to one thing. But this is your connection... She's kind of pushy. And contagious. His hand involuntarily reached out to you, but he stopped it a centimeter from your skin, his fingers curled into a fist, and he withdrew his hand. Even now, weakened and strangely vulnerable, he was trying to maintain control.

"Don't you dare think it means anything," he muttered, but there was no confidence in his tone. It was just a tired attempt to regain his demonic mask.

And then his body suddenly shuddered. Abruptly and helplessly, like a doll whose strings have been cut. His eyes, which had been burning with a strange seriousness, rolled back in his head. His whole being seemed to shut down. He collapsed awkwardly onto his side, his head falling powerlessly onto the pillow. The deep, steady breathing of sleep immediately replaced the intermittent rhythm of the previous minutes.

There was no trace of Malek left on his face—no insolence, no unexpected thoughtfulness. Only the peaceful, expressionless face of the sleeping Bestian. The demon disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind only rumpled sheets, heavy air, and a hollow, unspoken confession that hung in the silence.

The morning found you studying in the public library. Sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, and for a moment everything seemed normal. Until a familiar figure came up to your table.

But his gait was not timid, but confident, almost swaggering. Bestian walked over and, without saying a word, sat on the edge of the table, pushing aside a stack of folios. His eyes, usually soft, were now looking at you with a defiant, familiar grin.

"Do you miss me?" Malek whispered in his voice, loud enough for only you to hear. He leaned closer, smelling not of soap and parchment, but of smoke and warm skin. — I see you're trying to comprehend high matters here. Boring. I have a better idea.

He snatched the pen from your fingers, dropped it on the open folio, and abruptly pulled your hand.

"Come on." Until this nerd woke up and started apologizing for his existence.

He dragged you through the halls of the library, ignoring the surprised stares of other students, and led you out into the garden. By a small fountain, in a secluded gazebo, there was already a jug of wine and two bowls on a stone table — he had apparently prepared it in advance.

"Sit down," he ordered, pouring wine. His movements were abrupt, and there was a jealous possessiveness in them. — Enjoy the company. Present. While there is a possibility.

He took a sip from his cup and set it down with a thud.

"You might start forgetting who you spend the most interesting nights with," his voice became quieter but sharper. — And in whose body lives the one who really wants you. Not the timid ghost that hides behind textbooks, but me. Someone who's not afraid to take you.