Morning After

Waking up was a task. A headache was starting to form in his head, hand angrily beating his nightstand in search of his maddening alarm clock. He was on the verge of insanity as the loud ringing continued to fill the room, its volume rising by the second. At some point, he just gave up and pushed the damned thing off the surface of his nightstand.

Terrance gave Rose's sweater one last whiff, a rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins—it was as if the angel herself was there with him in the bedroom. He stood from his seat on the bed, almost falling flat on his face.

The prodigy was going to die that day, he was certain of it. If not from his idiocy, then probably from some horrible misfortune he was destined to suffer.

Ironic how he stumbled his way to the bathroom, legs wobbling like a hungover drunkard despite the fact that Terrance of all people despised the taste of alcohol. He was sure his body was in decent condition, having worse experiences as an athlete, but his brain was lagging behind, his coordination worse than a newborn's.

Other than his mind's exhaustion due to his overexertion, there was also the looming anxiety of trying something new for the first time in his life. Not just that, Terrance was doing an entire rebranding of his persona in school. He was bringing himself into the spotlight, which would most likely subject him to ridicule and malicious rumors.

Once upon a time, he thought such deeds, such risks, were unnecessary and, if anything, an obstacle to his mundane day-to-day life. Now, they were terrifying if anything, like standing on the edge of a cliff with only his toes to support him. If Ambrosia ordered him to jump off, he would without a single regret falling with him.

Entering the shower, washing his hair, and getting changed, he did it all with shaking hands. He almost backed out when he saw the sweater he chose the night before in broad daylight. It was ridiculous, the bear's face was ridiculous, and most of all, he was being ridiculous.

But then he remembered Ambrosia's infatuated face and a surge of determination possessed his body, something entirely otherworldly causing him to move towards the sweater and put it over his uniform.

He looked at himself, almost immediately flinching back at his disheveled appearance. The dark circles under his eyes weren't that bad. They wouldn't be noticeable from afar. In fact, a huge part of him was relieved that his dutiful studying didn't have any significantly visible consequences.

He could still pull all of this off.

He combed his hair, deciding to style it instead of just letting it move around freely like he usually did. Perhaps something trendy?

He did his best to imitate a vague memory in his head, an image of a model he saw on a billboard his sole reference. The comb slid through his soft hair, parting it in all the ways he thought would look attractive. After a good fifteen minutes, he gave himself a proper look, eyes pointed at his hair. He looked good, really good.

Walking down the stairs wasn't as difficult as he thought, his head regaining most of its sense. He felt sober when he entered their family's lavish dining room. As he expected, there was no one else there but him and his numerous maids. His parents didn't even bother to tell him whenever they were out on a business trip anymore.

He placed his bag down on the seat to his right, expression indifferent to the loneliness of the room. Surrounded, he felt alone, especially in a room full of people who had frightful assumptions about who he was as a person.

Back when he was younger, merely a child, his maids often spared him sympathy and sat with him as he ate. They spoke amongst themselves, carefree laughter filling the dining room, as he watched, much too timid to comment about the outrageous gossip they shared with each other. He didn't speak to them, didn't share anything of his own, but he felt acknowledged, especially when they thanked him for sharing his deserts and gave him head pats whenever he laughed alongside them.

He missed those moments—those small, memorable, easygoing beats in life that often comforted a stagnant soul on the coldest nights. But time didn't stop for anyone, even for the ones on top of society. Terrance learned the hard way that even the most loyal staff members had to retire, and the new ones would grow wary of the way he developed.

They saw him as a cold-hearted heir; unfeeling, cunning, and intimidating. He no longer had a semblance of the child who enjoyed covering his face in orange juice, the child whose eyes would come to a close whenever he was overtaken with laughter.

Now, all they saw were his chilly gray irises.

His eyes whipped to one of the maids standing at the side of the long table. She trembled the moment she felt his eyes on her.

Huh, he wasn't aware he was that scary.

As he sat on the head of the table, he realized something... This could be his chance to change things.

After all, he was on his journey to becoming a good man.

"It must be tiring standing there the entire time I'm having breakfast. Please, take a seat. Don't exhaust yourself on my behalf." He smiled, hand gesturing to the chair closest to the maid, removing his bag to make the seat vacant for the frightened girl.

"Y– Young Master, I'm afraid I can't. That's overstepping a boundary." She explained with unmistakable shame in her voice, hands fidgeting as her face grew redder and redder by the second.

"Says who? I'm the only one in the house, aren't I?" He countered, cheek resting on his palm as he flashed the maid a playful grin. "Please. I'd prefer not to eat alone."

The girl looked like she was melting, pupils dilating at the sight of her master being impossibly charming.

How could she turn him down?

She could barely even feel her knees, never mind developing a resistance to his offers.

"Of– of course!" She sat down beside him, stiff as a post as Terrance took dignified bites off of his meal. The entirety of the room seemed to be in a state of frozen shock, not a single person aware that he was capable of interacting with others in the first place.

"All of you, please, take a seat. The dining table is open for everyone."

Terrance received no response, the maids standing around him much too stunned to speak or take action. After an awkward silence filled only by the sound of his spoon and fork ever so often hitting his plate, a staff member eventually pulled a chair on the far end of the table, taking a seat. The others followed suit and subsequently, chatter filled the dining room, the occasional fit of chuckles pleasantly ringing in his ear.

This time, Terrance tried to join them, doing his hardest to catch up with the flow of their conversation. Years spent observing others' speaking habits had finally come in handy because, in a matter of minutes, he was exchanging clever quips with the maids as if they had known each other for years.

"Young Master, I don't usually see you dressing up like this. Is there an occasion?" One of the older maids asked, already retrieving his plates to wash in the kitchen intended for the staff to prepare dishes for the Hunton family members.

"Please. I hardly call this dressing up. I think I look rather laughable."

The maid, the first one he had urged to accompany him, jumped from her seat, still sporting a flustered expression on her face. "No! That's not true, Young Master! You've always been really handsome, but now you look more approachable."

He smiled, looking down at his lap in embarrassment. "I'm glad to hear that."

He heard a few people around him coo, endeared by his behavior. The typical banter resumed, livelier than ever, before his driver walked into the room, panting. "Young Master, I was worried something happened to you! You don't usually take so long to enter the car."

"Oh, Elijah, I apologize. I was just having breakfast with the others. Have you eaten yet?" He replied, a concerned air emitting from his frame.

"I haven't yet, unfortunately, but that doesn't matter. You'll be late for school!"

He stood from his seat, pulling on a vacant seat to invite the older man. "You should eat before we head to the academy. I don't want my driver starving while his master walks around blissfully full."

"But class begins in a few minutes—"

"About that," He cut Elijah, his driver, off. "It actually starts in an hour. I've been lying about my schedule to arrive earlier than everyone else."

Everyone looked at him like he grew a second head, a single question floating around in the air, 'Why?'

Terrance could only shake his head, wholeheartedly amused.

"I just like studying before anyone else. That's all." He lied, an image of his bright-eyed senior greeting him early in the morning flashing in his head. He always made sure to arrive much earlier than the other students in order to catch an opportunity to talk to Rose alone.

But no one else needed to know that.

At his answer, the tension seemed to dissipate. His driver, unable to turn down the offer, eventually took a seat and the conversation resumed without further interruption. Terrance felt as if his chest was tingling, the prospect of being viewed as a charming heir rather than a feared tyrant delighting him.

Sneakily, he covered his mouth, wide grin smoothly hidden by the palm of his hand. The distance between him and his dreams didn't seem so far anymore.