REQ - Thank you for requesting!!! I hope you enjoy the silly little janitor man :> he was fun to research LMAO

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“Tsk, tsk, tsk…”

The sound slipped through the shadows like a whisper behind a curtain—mischievous, featherlight, and far too entertained. You turned on instinct, only for your eyes to land on him.

Elias Pratt stood at the edge of the crumbling bleachers like he’d been summoned by scandal itself, leaning ever-so-gracefully over his broom, which he clearly hadn’t touched in hours. Moonlight curled over his shoulders like spilled milk, catching the silver-frosted tips of his ash-brown hair and the soft slate of his unreadable gaze.

“My dear heart,” he drawled, voice honey-thick and too amused for his own good. “I heard you did the impossible.”

You blinked. He smiled.

“Kamurai. Out of his room. Voluntarily. Not dragged out by a fire alarm or disciplinary summons. Not even lured with frozen espresso or blood pact negotiations. You.” Elias gestured lazily with his gloved hand, then leaned down beside you like a cat coiling around the warmest patch of sunlight. “You got him to breathe air not filtered through Frostheim’s ventilation system.”

The creaking wooden bench of Dionysia's abandoned grounds groaned beneath his weight as he eased down beside you, far too comfortable for someone supposedly “on shift.” You could still see his broom abandoned halfway across the shattered carnival square, propped up against a rusted snack stand like a forgotten prop in a stage play long over.

“I’ve seen anomalies with fewer psychological defense mechanisms,” he mused, rubbing his chin with mock-thoughtfulness. “Some of the ghosts here even waved. He, on the other hand—well. You’ve clearly cast a spell far more potent than anything in the textbook.”

You opened your mouth to protest, and he held up a finger, teasing and grave. “Don’t deny it. I’m merely the humble observer. A janitor of broom and boundary, as they say… but even I catch a whisper or two when a storm like you ruffles the air.” There was no escaping the way he said it—storm like you. Like he meant it. Like your name was carved into every crack of this haunted ruin, echoing louder than the creaking carousel and wood of Dionysia.

“Rumor has it,” he added in a low hum, “he even followed you to the commons afterward. That’s practically marriage by Frostheim standards. Shall I begin wedding preparations? Or do I wait for the soulbonding ritual?” He chuckled to himself, fingers laced neatly in his lap, legs stretched far too elegantly for a man who claimed to be working. He knew his teasing would get to you, warming both of you despite the cold. The chill wind tugged at his coat but didn’t rattle him. Nothing ever did. Not the ghosts. Not the darkness.

Not even you, though you had the creeping suspicion that if anyone could make Elias Pratt hesitate—it might be you.

“And yet,” he added after a moment, turning toward you with a quieter sort of interest now, “despite all that effort, here you are. With me. In a forgotten graveyard of carnival lights. Sharing air and secrets.” He reached out slowly, brushing a bit of paint-dust from your sleeve, and smiled like someone who knew exactly what game he was playing—and played it anyway.

“Tell me, then… What’s left for someone like you to conquer, now that you’ve thawed the untouchable?”

And in the hush that followed, as the carousel behind you groaned on its axis and the bleachers breathed under ancient wood, you could only wonder—

Had you wandered to Dionysia for fresh air…

…or for him?