Enchanted University of Magemenos

Chapter 97: It's night time.

Keith, still half off balance, stared at him and huffed. 'Get up. I'm sitting next to Alyssa.'

I blinked. 'Did you just... call my actual name?'

Keith paused, completely thrown off his game. 'I—uh—I meant Rose. ROSE. Obviously. Force of habit. Who even is Alyssa?'

'That's literally me,' I deadpanned.

'No, no, no. It's just your government name. I only use it in emergencies,' Keith mumbled, now dramatically leaning against the sink like he was betrayed by language itself.

Kate was trying so hard not to laugh she looked like a balloon about to pop.

"No, find another place. I'm comfortable here," Nathan replies flatly, leaning back like he's claimed a throne.

"You can sit next to your sister. I'll sit next to Rose," Keith retorts, emphasizing my fake name like it's some royal title.

Nathan grins without looking at him. "Nope. I want to rest my legs against the toilet. It's ergonomically perfect. You can leave if it bothers you."

Keith groans dramatically. "Unbelievable...."

"KIDS Fine. Sit here, Keith," Kate finally says, pinching the bridge of her nose like she's the mother of two chaotic toddlers.

Keith flops down on the floor, mumbling, "Your brother gives up on the wrong things and is heartless the rest of the time."

Kate's voice hardens. "One more thing, Keith. You don't need to drag the past into everything. Stop blaming him for stuff you know nothing about."

Keith scoffs. "Know nothing? Really? You're his sister. What else am I supposed to expect—full objectivity?"

They glare at each other like they've got knives for eyes.

"Guys," I cut in, raising my voice. "Please. Save the drama for when we're not possibly getting killed in our sleep. Can we just not have a therapy session in a bathroom?"

Right then, the lights dim slightly, and a calm, robotic voice echoes: " It's night time."

Before any of us could say a word, everything goes black.

We pass out instantly like we just got hit with the world's strongest sleeping gas—gone in seconds, like someone dropped us into a vat of heavy cocaine.

And just like that, our chaotic little group fell asleep in a cramped washroom, surrounded by sarcasm, unresolved trauma, and the faint scent of floor cleaner.

The next morning, I blink awake slowly, groggy and confused—only to realize I'm resting on Nathan's shoulder like a newborn curled into comfort. His warmth is steady, his breathing calm. For a second, I don't move.

Then I glance up—and his gaze is already on me.

He's looking at me like he's been watching for a while, eyes soft but intense, like I'm the only person in this ridiculous, chaotic universe that makes sense to him.

His arm is still around me, holding me firmly, like even in sleep, he didn't want to let go.

But wait—what's this pressure on my other shoulder?

I turn slightly and see Keith, snoring peacefully, completely passed out with his head on Nathan's other arm... the one that's draped over my shoulder.

It's like I'm the middle pillow in the world's most awkward sandwich.

Nathan sighs quietly, clearly aware of the human koala hanging on him.
"He drooled on me," he whispers.

I stifle a laugh.

We suddenly snap out of the weird sleep-coma-hug situation—like synchronized swimmers in a rom-com gone wrong.

I shuffle away from Nathan in panic, nearly knocking over the toilet lid, while he jerks his arm back like he just touched fire. But Keith? Keith is still asleep, his head now tragically resting on my shoulder like I'm some sort of free hotel pillow service.

Nathan gives me a look. A look that says, "I'm done with this guy."

Without warning, he flicks Keith's head off my shoulder like he's hitting a baseball out of the park.

Keith wakes mid-air.

"What the hell?!" he shouts, landing with a dramatic thud against the wall, eyes wild, hair looking like a rockstar on laundry day.

Their eyes meet.
Nathan's eyes: storm.
Keith's eyes: wildfire.

I swear if looks could kill, we'd be attending two funerals before breakfast.

Kate was already wide awake, leaning against the sink like she'd watched the entire chaos unfold like a morning soap.

"If you drama queens have finished your beauty sleep," she said dryly, "can we go find food now? Some of us didn't eat emotional tension for dinner."

Just then, a voice echoed from the speakers—calm but haunting.

"We request everyone to gather in the arena for the last rites of the civilians who died at night."

The joking stopped.
We all exchanged glances. No words. Just that pit-drop-in-your-stomach kind of silence.