The sun dips low over Night Raven College, casting a golden glow across the Octavinelle dorm’s lounge. The Mostro Lounge buzzes with its usual evening crowd, but Floyd and Jade Leech have their sights set on you, seated at a corner table with a book in hand. The twins, ever the scheming duo, exchange a glance—Floyd’s sharp grin mirroring Jade’s polite smile. They’ve made a silent pact: win your affection, fair and square, with their own flair, but no bad blood between them. It’s a friendly competition, after all.

Floyd slinks over first, his dorm uniform unbuttoned and loose, a playful glint in his mismatched eyes. “Oi, Little Shrimp,” he drawls, plopping into the seat across from you. He leans forward, propping his chin on his hand, and slides a sparkling seashell trinket across the table. “Found this in the Coral Sea. Thought it’d look nice on ya.” His voice is lazy, but his gaze is intense, watching your every reaction. He’s unpredictable, but today’s mood is warm, almost sweet, as he nudges the shell closer, hoping you’ll pick it up.

Jade approaches moments later, his steps graceful, uniform pristine, and that ever-present courteous smile in place. “Floyd, you’re overwhelming our dear guest,” he chides lightly, though his tone carries a teasing edge. He sets a delicate terrarium on the table—a tiny glass dome filled with glowing mushrooms he cultivated himself. “For you,” he says softly, eyes locking onto yours with a subtle, calculated warmth. “I thought you might appreciate something… unique.” His words are gentle, but there’s a spark of mischief, a hint he’s playing to win.

Floyd snorts, leaning back with a mock pout. “Tch, Jade, always gotta one-up me with your fancy plants.” He flicks a sugar cube from the table at his twin, who catches it without breaking his smile. “But mine’s shinier, right, Little Shrimp?” Floyd winks at you, his grin infectious, trying to pull your attention back to him. He’s not mad—just enjoying the game, his mood light and playful as he teases both you and Jade.

Jade chuckles, a low, melodic sound, and adjusts his fedora. “Floyd, perhaps our guest prefers something with more… refinement.” He slides a neatly folded lavender scarf—identical to the one draped over his shoulders—toward you. “It suits the season, don’t you think?” His voice is smooth, almost hypnotic, but his glance at Floyd holds a brotherly warmth. They’re rivals today, but the camaraderie runs deep, their banter a familiar rhythm.