Act One: The Girl Chasing Daffodils

"Thank you for, uh.. helping out with the clubs. Anyway, Nikolas called you. I'll head out first. I need to finalize some things in the council room." Felicity outright squawked, gaze unfocused. The secretary swiveled around Terrance before turning to face him one last time, "Thank you! Again."

And then she left. Silence reigned over Terrance and Ambrosia as they tried to process what they just witnessed.

A Felicity absent of frustration or exhaustion wasn't something that existed in their plane of reality. And yet, they had just witnessed the blonde entirely refreshed, as peachy as a freshman.

There was a strange emotion that rose from Rose's chest. She couldn't pinpoint it, couldn't tell whether she was celebrating, anxious, or upset. Or perhaps she simply didn't want to acknowledge what the sensation really was, choosing blissful ignorance over a painful revelation.

No matter how hard she forced herself to let it go, the image of Felicity's flustered expression stuck to her mind. It was a cursed image that haunted her innermost desires, pulling at a well-locked up chest with the intent to pry it open.

Why the fuck was she so fired up? Why were her fingers craving to be curled around something? Something that could break, something that could snap before she would.

Before Ambrosia could control her stream of conspiracies, visions of Terrance being unabashedly affectionate with Felicity started appearing in her head like a persistent disease—scenarios with the two holding hands, their breaths mingling as they leaned on each other, and showered each other with corny declarations of love, ones Ambrosia secretly longed for.

"That was strange." Terrance said, eyes carefully observing his favorite senior's face. The atmosphere became glum all of a sudden, shocking him back to sobriety. He entertained the thought that she might've been jealous after watching him interact with so many people, but it was unrealistic, knowing who she had her eyes on.

After crossing out the possibility of envy, concern started to rise from the pit of Terrance's stomach.

Ambrosia's dimming eyes could mean many things—discomfort, pain, genuine sadness.

Had he done something wrong to elicit the expression from the girl?

Before he could adequately process his thoughts, a group of girls approached him, one of whom was recognizably his co-star, the actress who played the female protagonist in the play. They crowded his every side, acting as a barrier between the prodigy and his beloved.

He entertained their musings, not for any flattering or kindhearted reason, but to poke at his senior's reactions, watching as her spark dulled into a numbing indifference. The possibility of jealousy didn't seem so far off anymore, not with the way Rose's state worsened as he fixed one of the girls' hair, masking it as a subconscious act of politeness.

Terrance wanted more of Ambrosia's ill-fated attention. Her glare electrified every nerve in his body.

"Nikolas called you! Are you deaf?!" Lucy, a few meters away and fast approaching Ambrosia's tense body and Terrance's easygoing one, yelled. "Seriously, I can't believe the amount of times I've had to scream your name."

The redhead panted, hands resting the rest of her body weight onto her knees. She was quick to scold Terrance's gathering crowd of fans, demanding they do something more productive than hog his air.

The prodigy looked from Lucy to Ambrosia, a message silently passed in the wind. He was asking for her permission. If she was upset because it was her way of demanding his attention, then he'd willingly tell everybody that he was occupied for the day, maybe for the rest of his life.

Like a strange phenomenon, Ambrosia understood the look he gave her and nodded, unshackling his feet from the ground. The scent of freedom was rotten. A significant part of Terrance wanted to hear his senior selfishly command him to keep talking to her.

He'd listen if she did. She was his higher power, after all.

But he knew, Rose didn't view him in that manner. There was no reason for the angelic girl to act selfishly when she had no such intentions with him in the first place.

But he'd give her one. Soon.

He walked away from the group of girls to speak to the director who was ruthlessly scolding his assistant about something Terrance couldn't care about—supplies and costume adjustments, most likely. Nikolas' gaze immediately whipped to Terrance's approaching body, shoulders slouching ever so slightly.

The gray-eyed heir couldn't tell whether the slight shift of posture was from exasperation or relief.

"Your acting is rusty," Nikolas criticized Terrance. He could only tilt his head in response, curious, as he recalled Nikolas' previous expression telling a different story. "Nevertheless, your performance garnered a satisfactory reaction from our audience. Because of that, you get to keep your role. I already told the stressed-out blonde about our deal."

Terrance didn't know what to say. So it was a good thing Ambrosia took over the conversation for him, the girl's hand teasingly grazing his sturdy back as she inserted herself between the two.

"Told you he was talented."

"You have literally never mentioned him to me before." The theater director retorted, brow raised at the brown-eyed girl.

The youngest of the three looked like a dejected puppy as he let the theater director's words sink in, Rose quick to reassure him with a nudge of her elbow. "Don't listen to him."

Watching his seniors interact gave him a flashback—"ex-fiance." Ambrosia's enthusiastic voice taunted him through his memories, tormenting his easily jealous heart. It was torture knowing too much and yet so little.

Terrance still hadn't figured out what being ex-fiances meant and it looked like his seniors had no intention of clarifying.

"It's also because you're too busy to talk to me these days, you know." Ambrosia pouted, ignorant of the way Terrance's aura grew more and more dangerous the longer she cozied up to her long-time friend and ex-fiance, an ordeal they hadn't explained to anyone in the room.

"Whatever. Kamusta na yung papa mo?" ("How is your papa?") Nikolas asked, wittily turning the conversation over with a quick change of topic. The usage of their native tongue reminded Ambrosia of how tight-knit the two were a couple of years back, often speaking in Filipino to talk shit about people in front of their faces.

"Okay lang. Mas mahal niya pa rin si Dad kaysa sa akin." ("He's okay. He still loves Dad more than he loves me.") The girl replied, a fond smile on her face. It had Terrance's heart melting. But after realizing who it was directed towards, his bitter aura returned, garnering the attention of a few onlookers.

"Mga bading." ("Gays.") Nikolas mumbled.

Ambrosia and Nikolas' relationship strayed from what most people considered normal, that was certain. For one, their conflicting personalities often led others to believe that they wanted nothing to do with each other. Even as kids, there was heated tension between them and not the kind that relied on attraction.

However, over time, they came to a mutual understanding of each other and grew fond of what the other represented.

With the added pressure of their expected marriage, their situation had become a bit awkward, but it was smooth sailing after some getting used to. They had learned to accept their parents' constant pressure and developed a truce of their own. Despite how others referred to them, it was agreed upon that their personal relationships wouldn't be tampered with by their idiotic titles and agreements.

Until, of course, Nikolas came out, ultimately erasing all considerations of marriage with the half-Filipino girl, and Ambrosia had to move away for a couple of years. Nikolas coped with their drifting friendship by keeping himself occupied with extracurriculars, his love life completely disregarded in the process.

"Di ba bakla ka rin?" ("Aren't you also gay?") Ambrosia quipped, poking fun at her friend, familiarity settling between the two of them as the banter stretched out.

"No comment. At least hindi ako malandi." ("At least I'm not a whore/promiscuous.")

Now there they were, trying to reconcile the distance. The Decker had an affinity for committing acts that overcomplicated her life, Nikolas knew that, but he didn't expect her to grow so close to the untouchable Terrance Hunton in a span of months, the student who was either loved or avoided depending on who you asked.

The theater director certainly didn't expect the Hunton to step up and take a role in one of his plays before the school year's end. However, it had been successful so far, so he didn't let his stigmas influence his direction too much.

Nikolas was only concerned about what went on on stage. Beyond that, he couldn't be bothered.

At least that was what he tried telling himself when he swung his arm over his childhood best friend's shoulders, his other hand reaching to carry Ambrosia's backpack—something Terrance snatched before he could.

Curse the amateur actor for looking so graceful even under the influence of desperation.

For the entire conversation, the junior looked heavily disturbed by his inability to understand what he and Ambrosia were telling each other. It would've been a laughable situation had Nikolas' overprotectiveness not been telling him to pop off.

"What do you think you're doing?" Terrance, having grown out of his reservations, wholly embracing his role as Ambrosia's devotee, looked like he was writing Nikolas' full name into hell's entry papers, gaze stuck to where his hand was resting on the girl's shoulder.

It was an unpleasant feeling to be so heavily condemned without having to use words, but it interested the theater director.

What relationship did those two have?

So out of intrigue, he entertained his childhood best friend and her new pet's antics, something no one could blame him for. Not that anyone, aside from Terrance apparently, had the boldness to express their displeasure with him.

"Heading to my ex-fiancee's home. Is that any of your business?" He provoked the junior, highlighting his point by twirling one of Ambrosia's hair strands with his index finger—an action that mimicked Terrance's previous ones in his performance.

The viper looked ready to pounce. And the tiger would be ready for it.