That’s Not Pajamas, That’s a Declaration of War

As Ashen changed into comfortable sleepwear, a series of knocks echoed from his door.

'Right on time,' he thought as he made his way to the entrance.

The apartment hallway buzzed with noise—shouts, laughter, the usual rowdiness of trainees—but Ashen barely registered it as he opened the door.

Seraphine stood there, bathed in the warm glow of the hallway lights, wearing… gods. He froze.

"Sera," he said slowly, voice strained, "why are you wearing that?"

She tilted her head, her golden curls bouncing as she tucked a strand behind her ear. "My nightgown? Oh! I spilled tea on my tunic earlier. Couldn't be bothered to change twice in one night."

"It's just a visit next door, after all."

Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped inside, her gauzy lavender sleepwear—technically modest with its high neckline and long sleeves—clinging to her curves like damp silk.

The fabric draped just wrong (or right, depending on who you asked), outlining every dip and swell of her figure.

Ashen shut the door with more force than necessary, his hand lingering on the knob as he willed himself to stay calm. 

"You can't walk around like this. Not here. Not in this so-called tutorial city. Half the trainees think of us as an inferior species, and some of them—" his jaw tightened, "—could turn this place into a bloodbath with a flick of their wrist. What makes you think it's safe enough to… flaunt yourself like this?"

Seraphine flopped onto his couch, oblivious to how the movement hitched her gown higher on her thighs. "But we're neighbors! It's just a quick walk down the hall. And it's pajamas, Ash. See?" She tugged at the sleeve, which slid off her shoulder. "Comfy!"

He pinched the bridge of his nose, patience fraying with every word and movement. "Sera. Look at me."

When she blinked up at him, all wide sky blue eyes and parted rosebud lips, he crouched in front of her, his voice softening despite himself.

"You're… you. And in this place, 'you' is a problem. Men here don't see 'comfy.' They see a prize. And we can't wait until they act on their desires and just take what they want."

She fiddled with the hem of her gown, finally catching onto his tension. "But there are professors and staff members. They'd stop them. And you live next door, so I guess… I relaxed more than I should have."

"The professors won't always be here. Neither will I." His voice dropped lower. "You don't understand how they look at you. How your… everything makes them think they're entitled to you."

"My everything?" She frowned. "Ash, it's just my body! It's not like I'm trying to—"

"I know you're not," he cut in, exhaling sharply as he raked a hand through his messy charcoal hair. 

"That's the problem. You're not trying anything. You're just… existing. And in a place where our previous laws mean nothing, existing like that—" he gestured vaguely at her, cheeks flushing "—is like dangling fresh meat in a wolf den."

Sera hugged a cushion to her chest, her innocence curdling into unease. "I didn't… I just wanted to look nice for our meeting. You said it was important."

Ashen's stern expression cracked. "You don't need to look nice. You need to look safe. Or at least… less…" he trailed off, grimacing.

"Less what?"

"Less… you," he muttered, then immediately winced. "Not—not you you. Just… gods, Sera, you're like a sunlit meadow in a swamp. People here hate swamps."

She giggled, the sound so light and carefree that it startled a reluctant smile out of him. "That's the weirdest compliment I've ever gotten."

"It's not a compliment. It's a survival tip." He stood, grabbing his oversized jacket from the coat rack and tossing it to her. 

"Put this on. Now. And next time, pass by me before you leave for class so I can… I don't know… Maybe throw a blanket at you."

She bundled herself in the jacket, drowning in the fabric, her head poking out like a kitten from the hood. "Better?"

"Marginally." He slumped into the chair across from her, exhaustion settling in.

After a moment, his voice turned more serious. "You might think I'm exaggerating, but trust me, I'm not. Since I was young, I've had this kind of… sixth sense. I can read the intent behind gazes, even if they're not directed at me. And I can feel their malice from a mile away."

Seraphine just shook her head, giving him a soft, understanding smile. "No need to explain yourself, Ash. I trust you."

Then, in a teasing tone, she added, "But I didn't know you were this protective~. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd burn the world down for me if something happened."

He stared at her for a long moment, then snorted, tossing a throw pillow at her face. "Don't get cocky. I'd just… cause a moderate amount of arson."

Her laughter rang through the room, warm and genuine. And despite everything, Ashen felt a few of the knots in his chest loosen.

As the atmosphere settled into a comfortable silence, Seraphine tilted her head and asked curiously, "By the way, was this the important matter you wanted to talk about?"

"Yeah. You didn't see how you looked in that sweaty shirt this afternoon." He leaned back with a sigh. "Knowing your airheadedness, I couldn't risk waiting. You'd just brush it off like it doesn't matter."

He pushed himself up and headed to the kitchen.

"Gosh, you're starting to sound just like Alice." Seraphine pouted, though her voice was playful.

"Want something to drink?" he asked as he reached the counter.

"Coffee, please~" she sang from the living room.

Ashen filled the kettle and turned on the burner. As he waited, he leaned against the counter, glancing toward her. "By the way… who's Alice?"

"Oh, she's my business rival. But in private, we're more like best friends."

From the kitchen, Ashen's bewildered voice carried over.

"...Wait. Didn't you say you were some kind of archaeologist or something? What business are you talking about?"

Seraphine giggled, clearly amused. "That's just my hobby, silly. I own a clothing company. And it's doing really well, I'll have you know!" She puffed up proudly, though her usual clumsiness made her boast more cute than impressive.

Ashen chuckled as he poured the coffee. "Yes, yes, you're very capable. So… is this friend of yours also in the clothing business? Since she's your rival?"

"Actually, no! She deals in technology—software, hardware, all of it. What makes us rivals isn't what we do, but how we did it. We both started from nothing and worked our way up, so we compete over who's more successful." She let out a laugh. "That's actually a big reason why we're such good friends."

Ashen returned with two mugs, handing one to Seraphine before settling back into his seat.

"Thanks," she said, taking a sip.

But he wasn't paying attention. His mind drifted, his fingers absently tapping against his cup as he mumbled to himself.

"A businesswoman in tech… successful… and her name is Alice. Why does this sound awfully familiar…?"

Seraphine perked up. "Oh! You know Alice?" Her lips curled into a teasing grin. "She's pretty famous among men for her beauty. Ash~, I didn't know you had a thing for celebrities. How naughty."

Ash didn't respond. His gaze had gone distant, thoughts tangled in memories he'd tried to bury.

"Ash…? Ashen, are you alright?" Seraphine's amusement faded into concern.

Snapping back to the present, he let out a weak chuckle, rubbing a hand over his face. "...The Alice you're talking about… is it by chance Alice Sinclair?"

Seraphine brightened. "Yes! So you do know her after all."

Ashen exhaled sharply and pressed his palm against his forehead as unwelcome memories surged back. "...I more than just know her."

Seraphine blinked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She thought for a moment, piecing things together. Then, realization struck. With a loud Ah!, she shot to her feet, pointing a finger at him.

"Ashen—Ashen Hart! Don't tell me… you're the one Alice always talked about? The mysterious boyfriend she wouldn't stop praising? The reason she turned down every man who approached her, no matter how rich or handsome they were?"