Beagle, it's normal for the two of you to sleep together

Warchaic rescued you from the red-coated hunters, neutralizing the threat by fatally shooting all three. He took you to an unfamiliar location, likely one of his headquarters, where your injuries were treated. Afterward, his personnel received instructions to eliminate the corpses.

Despite everything, you chose to be reticent with Burgundy, but I know you lied to spare her feelings.

How did I figure out you lied when I know you're capable of telling the truth?

The simple answer is: you lied to avoid worrying someone important to you.

Tonight, I saw you sitting on your bed, checking the wound on your knee. Fortunately, your wound is healing well. Initially, I thought the severe burn might cost you your knee. You stood up, removed your t-shirt and began jumping, mimicking rope jumping. Then, you started kicking the heavy bag hanging from your room's ceiling.

You're sweating, wheezing, yet this time it's not about exertion. You're doing this to release pent-up frustration and anger.

Let me break down the thoughts troubling your mind: First, you're worried about your family responsibilities. Second, maintaining your LeCentral scholarship weighs heavily on you. Third, you're disgruntled with those hurting your family, especially gossiping neighbors. Fourth, the coded mark on your hand haunts you. Fifth, time ticks on, filling you with uncertainty and fear. Lastly, self-anger and despondency consume you.

As I gazed out my aperture, I saw you exit your residence, clad in a Prussian blue hoodie with hands tucked into your pockets. You boarded your vintage pickup truck, stirring an inexplicable urge within me to follow.

I saw you at the skate park, where skateboarders showcased their tricks. Despite not being a skateboarder, you seemed entertained.

I couldn't help but notice that you and Burgundy frequent this location. The surroundings are dominated by concrete, punctuated by effervescent murals and graffiti that add a splash of color to the otherwise monotonous landscape.

When you grew tired of the sights, you decided to leave and head towards the water fountain, where water flows from the mouths of statues.

I observed you checking at your rippling reflection in the water, intently studying yourself. Afterwards, you playfully interacted with the fountain's water using your fingers, as if writing a message. You were startled when a gargantuan bullfrog suddenly leaped onto your face. Though I didn't see the humor, it seems a cue for you to visit the bookstore.

I detected you browsing through shelves, selecting books arbitrarily. You'd open each to a random page, read briefly, then close and leave it out of place. You're intelligent, Beagle, but reading books, especially novels, doesn't seem to interest you.

However, upon entering the bookstore's adult section, you developed an interest in reading an erotic novel and subsequently purchased it. Carrying the book you acquired, you entered a convenience store to buy a bottle of butterbeer, then exited and searched for a place to sit.

As the evening unfolded, you savored a beer before delving into the book's pages. Your reading grew increasingly intense as night deepened, until the sound of mocking laughter pierced the air, eerily close.

"Yeah, he's got that whole 'tough guy' vibe going on... until he cries during rom-coms." Initially, you disregarded their mockery and continued reading. However, as time passed, their scorn intensified, and their ignorance became unbearable.

You stopped reading, slammed the book shut, and stood up to face four men disparaging you. Their vitriolic gazes unsettled you, especially the man with a band-aid on his nose.

"What's your problem? Do you have an issue with someone reading a book? There's no gender bias in reading. Didn't you attend a proper school, or are you unaware of this fact?" Your witty response aimed to bruise their ego.

For you, engaging with individuals like them holds no value; however, to them, someone like you is a bully. As I watched you, particularly your poised stance and fearless demeanor towards the men taunting you, it became clear that you held them in utter disdain. Their illiteracy and boorish behavior only amplified your contempt.

What chance do you have against them? Each wields unique whips: one with thorns, another capable of slicing through anything, and a flaming whip. Their leader, with a band-aid on his bulbous nose and a bruise on his cheek, brandishes a malevolent electric whip.

Upon seeing their arsenal, your knees trembled. Surrounded, you witnessed the devastating capabilities of their whips. A solitary book offered little defense against such brutality. You gazed at your palm, yearning for extraordinary power in this moment, but it seemed impossible; your ability rendered useless.

As they lash out with their whips, you desperately try to evade each strike, longing to escape and flee, but their relentless ferocity makes it increasingly difficult.

You suffer severe injuries from their inexorable assault: bruises, cuts, burns and electric shocks. Unable to counterattack, you're forced to endure.

Your face is crushed against the coarse concrete as you desperately try to crawl, while they continue to lash out at you.

If I were you, I'd advise you to remain perfectly still and pretend to be dead. Maybe, just maybe, the men who are brutalizing you will show some last shred of mercy. Hold on to that faint glimmer of compassion and feign lifelessness, hoping they'll cease their barbarous assault.

And I saw you motionless, unresponsive to their actions, as if your body had become numb to their pain. Just as I advised, pretending to be lifeless made them stop, and they left you alone.

You stood up, impressing me with your resilience. Yet, why the tears? You still see yourself as defeated, weeping in frustration at your own helplessness.

Then I saw you driving your pickup truck, and judging by the road you're taking, I know where you're headed.

At 2 AM, you finally arrived at Incubus Village, the eerie and foreboding community that was home to the elusive Burgundy. Standing before her residence, you gazed up at her second-floor window, noticing the soft glow emanating from within. The light spilling from her room hinted that Burgundy remained awake, perhaps awaiting your arrival or lost in thought.

You picked up a small stone and tossed it at her window, creating a faint noise to signal your presence. When she still didn't appear, you threw another stone at her window. Receiving no response, you decided to climb up to her room's terrace.

The moment you stepped onto the terrace, Burgundy's bedroom door swung open, and her astonished face appeared before you, her eyes wide with shock at your unexpected arrival.

Upon seeing the wounds on your body, exposed through the torn fabric of your clothes, Burgundy's expression transformed from flabbergast to concern. She swiftly approached you, gently guiding you inside her room.

Since she didn't close the door properly, I got a chance to peek inside her room.

From what I know, Burgundy should be with Warchaic at the shack around this time. However, it appears she hasn't joined him.

How can she go to Warchaic with you around? How can she go to the shack when she'd rather tend to your wounds? Judging by her attire, it seems she had plans, but they're no longer feasible.

She guided you to sit on her bed and assisted you in removing your hoodie and cargo pants, leaving only your black boxer shorts.

"Do you know who did this to you?" she asked, gently applying pressure to your wounds. While Burgundy tended to your wound, she couldn't help but notice your older scars, still in the healing process. She realized you'd been engaging in frequent combat, but hesitated to inquire, fearing offense.

"I don't know them, but their faces are unforgettable."

"What they did to you was despicable. Thankfully, some compassion remains in their hearts."

"Playing dead saved my life; otherwise, they would have finished me off."

After cleaning the wound with soap and lukewarm water, she applied antiseptic solution and secured it with a sterile bandage, leaving you resembling a partially wrapped mummy.

She headed to her wardrobe, looking for clothes for you. As it turned out, some of your clothes were hanging there. She handed you a black t-shirt and white pajamas, and you dressed in front of her.

"Are you heading out?" you asked while putting on the shirt. You grew curious about Burgundy's attire, as her cap and puffer jacket suggested she was ready for a thrilling escapade. However, you strongly sensed that she was meeting someone.

"I'm not going anywhere. Why did you ask?"

"You seem dressed for a rendezvous."

"Not at all. Think about whether I even have a suitor," she replied, walking towards her wardrobe.

You lay on the bed, gazing at the ceiling, and briefly closed your eyes. Meanwhile, Burgundy changed. When she sat beside you, you opened your eyes to find her wearing a silk nightgown.

Burgundy leaned against the wall, while you rested your head on her lap. As you struggled to sleep, she gently stroked your tangled hair with her fingers. She began humming softly while finger-combing your hair, her voice a soothing lullaby.

"What do you think Layvalor would do if he catches us?" you asked.

"He'll definitely be angry with both of us. You'll face his wrath, and I'll stand up for you. Then, we'll argue and won't speak for days."

"Layvalor's mannerisms are distinct; he's got a fatherly way of lecturing."

"He scrutinizes every man I meet, and I feel he doesn't trust my male acquaintances."

"From the moment he laid eyes on me, I sensed his disapproval, but he never directly told me to keep my distance."

"Perhaps he didn't distance us because he knew you're the only friend I can truly rely on."

"As long as you're under his roof, be well-behaved and avoid causing him unnecessary stress."

Burgundy continued humming softly while you remained quiet, reflecting on the recent events. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep, her fingers still gently stroking your hair.

You carefully rose from your reclined position to adjust her posture, ensuring your movements were gentle to avoid waking her. After a brief, tender glance, you thoughtfully covered her with a blanket.

Returning to her side, you sat facing her, entranced by her peaceful slumber until you, too, drifted off to sleep.