(title taken from troye sivan's too good because blue neighborhood is the (unofficial) soundtrack of snowbaz so why can't it be faviaran's too)

hello and welcome to yet another special! after the cliffhanger we just left you on, why don't we leave you hanging for even longer?!

that being said, please remember to vote and comment! thank you for reading, you guys are the best!

~anna brooks

day, month, year, time is irrelevant from now on

Ciarán:

"It's three in the morning," I say, and I can't even see him because the sun isn't up yet. "Have you ever heard about something called sleep? It's supposed to help with your problems."

Nothing. Favian would normally be talking my head off by now, I've gotten used to nighttime meetings with him while I'm half-asleep. For now, though, it's quiet, which is a rare occurrence.

"Hello?" I ask. "Favian?"

Someone grabs me. I scream, but it's muffled because suddenly there's a cloth over my mouth and nose and the world is turning sharp and sweet. I can't help but draw in a startled breath, and that's all it takes for the drug to take hold. The world is dark, and Favian is not here.

I am alone.

Favian:

Good news first, is what the humans like to say. I've only got bad news, though, because 1. Foxfire started again and 2. I haven't seen Ciarán in days. I visited last week, but he wasn't there. I waited for hours for him, but he didn't show. Must've been out in the Forbidden Cities, getting supplies or something.

I haven't been back to the forest for a while, now. Level Four is significantly harder than Level Three, and I'm one of the three students in my Level who hasn't manifested, which means I'm stuck in Ability Detecting forever.

I think my family used to believe I'd still manifest. I know Mom still does. And Dad. And maybe Naomi, too. But I know better. I'm Talentless. I'm basically the lowest of low, according to the Council and the rest of the Lost Cities. And the whole elven world thinks it's normal. They think it's fair, because that's what they've been taught.

It's unfair and stupid, that's what it is. I understand where Ciarán is coming from. He and I are basically opposites. He's too powerful for them, and I'll never be enough. No matter what I do.

Maybe I could pretend I'm a Technopath. I'm smart enough for that, and I'm good with machines. Not like Dex Dizznee-level good, of course. But I could pretend.

Ciarán would tell me to be myself, that I don't need to pretend because I'm fine the way I am, because if the world can't accept me for me then that's the world's problem and not mine. And yet.

Sometimes pretending is easier. Sometimes you can wrap yourself in a lie and then the lie will become the truth, eventually. I've been doing that for years, surely a lifetime of pretending will not be much harder.

It's all wishful thinking. I'm just going to end up working a dead-end job in Mysterium for a hundred years, maybe a thousand. Anything I do will be irrelevant because I'll never be Matched, I'll never have an ability, and I will always, always be lesser.

A flash of black hair catches the corner of my eye. For some reason, a single thought pops into my head. Ciarán. But that's dumb. There are probably a hundred Foxfire students with black hair. And Ciarán would never be here, anyways. He hates elves.

Most elves. Not including me. (I think. I hope.)

I turn around almost involuntarily. And he's there. He's right there. Standing in front of me, wearing a green uniform and being escorted by a goblin bodyguard. He glares at the passing students, and then his gaze falls to me.

And the look in his eyes. It's like someone blew a horn and all his walls shattered. I stare at him, because suddenly I'm incapable of controlling my body and walking over to him and asking, "What are you doing here?" All I do is stare, probably looking like an idiot, and then his gaze drops and he walks straight past me without another glance.

I've never seen Ciarán look so defeated. He walks into the Universe classroom, and I follow him in blindly. He takes a seat near the back. I try to sit down next to him, but his bodyguard holds up a hand and I shrink.

I take a seat near the front, but I can't focus on Sir Astin's voice as he talks about Ursa Major and it's capabilities. My mind is racing, but not with thoughts about astrology. I can't stop thinking about Ciarán.

(If I told that to Prelim and Tex, they'd laugh in my face, because I never stop thinking about Ciarán. He's always in the back of my head. This isn't particularly out of the ordinary.)

The bell rings, snapping me out of my daze. I stand up, suddenly, chasing after Ciarán as he leaves the classroom swiftly. Dammit, I really have to talk to him!

"Ciarán?" I call after him. He stops. Hesitates a little. And I don't have to be a Telepath to know what he's thinking. He heard me. He shakes his head, the movement barely perceptible. I ignore his warning and barrel forwards, rushing after him to Metaphysics. I don't even have Metaphysics next. "Ciarán!"

He whips around, black hair that's he's been growing out lately falling into his face like a human hair product commercial. (Ciarán's very proud of his hair. He's been showing me different hairstyles lately. I almost fainted when I saw him in a ponytail.)

"Would you be quiet?" he snaps suddenly, and I stop still.

Because he sounds so harsh. He doesn't sound like my friend, he sounds like I'm just an annoying stranger he's never met. My lower lip trembles, and I feel like the main character in one of those anime's Aunt Amy used to go on about. "Ciarán?" I whisper, scared.

"Don't talk to me," he says, standing tall and proud and looking so very untouchable. This isn't Ciarán. This can't be Ciarán. "Don't come near me. I'm not your friend. Don't touch me!" he barks, sounding almost deranged as I hesitantly step closer and reach out for him.

The world falls away. I swallow, my eyes wet. I spin around on my heel and run to cry in one of the bathrooms. This is just a nightmare, I think. I'm dreaming.

I'll wake up soon.

I have to wake up.

Ciarán:

I didn't think I'd see him here. I didn't think I would have to...

But that's all in the past now. The Council made it very clear that I was not to speak to anyone. That they would hurt anyone who was friends with me.

I was on probation, they said. Foxfire was a test run. If I was unproblematic enough, congratulations! I'd get to live in their "perfect" world with all the rest of the elves. I'd finally have a "real" home.

My real home died the day they killed my father.

They just couldn't leave it at rest, could they? They had to go and take me from the forest, force me into a uniform and make me attend their prestigious school. I was just another loose end that they were tying up. Another check on their to-do list.

Still... the look he gave me. The way his eyes started to water. The way my heart ripped itself out of my chest and the world seemed to cloud over. If he just didn't notice me, if I wasn't just a coward who was too afraid to fight back... If I was brave enough to stand up to the Council, would any of this have happened at all?

It wouldn't even matter, in the end. Because the Council always gets their way. They would have tracked me down, maybe killed me. And I can't die. Because Favian is Talentless, and someone has to fight for the world to change so he can be safe. So he can be happy.

And I'm probably the only person who's willing to fight for that change. Because elves are so stuck in their own perfect lives and perfect society that they don't stop to notice the problems. The flaws.

When the Council gave me a bodyguard and forced me into a stupid green uniform, it took all of my willpower not to scratch their eyes out. When they told me I'd be going to Foxfire, that I'd be getting ability training, I nearly jumped them. When they told me I was on probation, that I couldn't have any friends or they'd have to "forcefully remove" them, I almost bit Councillor Emery's hand.

But I didn't.

Because Favian. Favian is the reason why I'm doing all of this.

Favian is everything.

And I just told him we weren't friends.

just a friendly reminder that elves have british accents so i can continue to make my snowbaz fanfiction more accurate by the day~

remember to vote and comment!

~anna brooks

WORD COUNT: 1576