BFDI AND II ONESHOT BOOK!

Trife: Through the Smoke and the Lens

While outside, Trophy spots Knife leaning against a wall, casually smoking a cigarette, the early morning fog casting a moody glow around him. Struck by how effortlessly cool Knife looks, Trophy quickly snaps a photo, thinking he can get away with it unnoticed. But Knife catches him in the act, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips as he calls Trophy out. Instead of getting annoyed, Knife leans into the moment, offering to be Trophy's muse with a playful confidence that leaves Trophy both flustered and intrigued.

(After the Finale, Knife is not a ghost.)

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It was an early morning, barely 6 AM, and Knife had decided to step outside for a smoke and a coffee before anyone else was awake. He moved quietly through the hotel, making himself an instant black coffee with no sugar in the kitchen. Pouring it into a travel cup for convenience, he grabbed a single cigarette and lighter, and headed out the door, ready to enjoy the stillness of the morning.

Since the finale, Knife has earned a lot of respect. People admired him, sought his company, and often came to him for advice. He had never experienced this level of attention before, and it felt good to finally be respected. He had become someone people genuinely wanted to be around, a far cry from the jerk he used to be. He still had his edge—he was confident, knew what he wanted, and wasn't afraid to speak his mind—but it was a new, improved version of him.

Mornings like this, when everything was quiet and still, were his time to reflect. He'd sit back, sipping his coffee, and think about how far he'd come. The changes, the growth, the lessons learned. He was proud of where he was in life and the people who cared about him. Life was good.

But one respect Knife hadn't anticipated was from Trophy. While Knife had changed over the years, Trophy had stayed mostly the same—arrogant, selfish, and convinced he was better than everyone else. People still didn't like him, and couldn't see any softness in him. Yet Knife had come to realize that despite everything, he respected Trophy. He could see something in him that others missed, something real and raw.

Knife's past had been filled with rejection. Nobody liked him, and he was dismissed as nothing more than a jerk. But Trophy? He had been different. From the very start, Trophy had shown an interest in Knife. Sure, Trophy had blackmailed him and teased him mercilessly, but Knife understood that beneath the harsh treatment, there was something else—Trophy's own insecurities. He admired Knife's growth, and deep down, he probably wished he could change too. Knife had noticed the quiet competition between them, especially now that Knife had earned so much respect. Trophy's frustrations and resentment were clear, but that wasn't going to stop Knife from trying to get closer to him. He knew that, despite everything, Trophy respected him, even if he refused to admit it. Knife could see it in every interaction they had.

Trophy wanted to get closer, but he had no idea where to start. He had been so cruel to Knife over the years, so why would Knife, the most respected person in the hotel now, want anything to do with him? These thoughts clouded Trophy's mind, filling him with doubt and insecurity. He believed Knife hated him, that Knife didn't want him around—but Knife knew that wasn't true. Knife didn't hate Trophy; he just wished Trophy could see that. Maybe with a little help, Trophy could finally realize that Knife didn't hold grudges and would be more than happy to get closer, if only Trophy was willing to let him in.

Speaking of Trophy... he had risen before most. The fog outside caught his attention—there had to be something out there worth photographing. He grabbed his camera and slung it around his neck before stepping out of the hotel. The cool breeze nipped at his skin, and he rubbed his arms as he inhaled the fresh air. He scanned the area, looking for something new and interesting to add to his portfolio. Trophy loved capturing moments in the quiet of the morning, when no one was awake to judge him for his "girly" hobby. It was his escape, his time to just be, doing something he genuinely loved.