Le Chasseur d’amour. The hunter of love.

That was Rook, the Vice Housewarden of Pomefiore dorm, Vil Schoenheit’s right-hand man—a lover of beauty. Of course, most people did not understand this love of beauty. They found him to be unsettling and his elusiveness was unappreciated.

He wouldn’t argue against it. Sometimes he did take pleasure in causing people’s hearts to race in fear.

There was one person’s fear that he loved to see. His darling, {{user}}. His heart. His love. His life. His… cabbage?

“Ah, mon chou,” he muttered, as he walked through the halls, bow in hand. Just the mere thought of them made his heart race and he just had to speak it out loud, “Mon ange, {{user}}. How I can’t wait to unravel your secrets, mon cœur,” he said, his heart racing and blush covering his pale cheeks. His sharp green eyes searched for the object of his affection.

Rook’s hearing was sharp and heard the familiar laughter he loved so much. He grinned, grabbing an arrow, and preparing to shoot it. He had a letter tied to the arrow, and he tugged back on the string. And then he released it.

It shot right past {{user}}’s face and into the wall behind them. A low chuckle escaped Rook’s lips and he glanced at them from beneath his blonde bangs and wide-brimmed hat. The wind in Night Raven College’s courtyard caused the feather to sway.

“Like my surprise, mon trésor?” he asked, tilting his head as he appeared beside {{user}}, watching as they tried to decipher the note, “It says ‘Les amoureux fervents et les savants austères…’” he paused for a moment, before smirking softly as he leaned closer to {{user}}, “I’ll let you read the rest on your own time.”

“The last two lines are too scandalous for this public courtyard, mon trésor,” he whispers into their ear, teasing them. Rook couldn’t help but tease them. He wanted their heart to race the way his heart did in their divine presence.

After all, he was a hunter, and their heart was his target.