A/N: Ties into the academy series I have for the kuro fandom. Subtle references here and there to events in Problematic, but you definitely don't need to have read it to get this, since it's solely Eric and Alan. Wrote this a while ago for Zoni's fanbook, decided I should probably post it here for you guys!

Alan thrashed when he awoke. Bells rang, chairs scraped along marble floors and voices of various doctors filled his head. A pain resounded through his chest with every beat of his heart, pulsating and clawing through his veins as blood rushed through his ears. He heard muffled curses, and all too suddenly he vaguely registered being turned onto his side, and then all went black.

When he woke the second time, there was less thrashing and more groaning in agony. He tried to open his eyes, only to close them immediately at the bright light of a large window that doubled as the ceiling to the shinigami infirmary. Two doctors stared at him, one in a long white jacket, and the moment he could open his eyes properly he found himself being prodded and tugged at in two directions. One hand pried his eyelids open and the connecting face checked his pupils, and another pair of hands was pressing down on his chest and under his arms. Refraining from whimpering – he refused to be weak when he had no idea what was going on- he simply winced and grit his teeth together as another needle was inserted into the vein on his hand and the pain exploded.

A hand grasped his own, squeezed it reassuringly, and Alan squeezed back so hard he was certain that the hand had to have been made of wood to withstand his grasp. He knew it was Eric, even without looking he just knew Eric was the one next to his bed. A needle inserted itself into his neck, and for the second time in an hour Alan blacked out.

The third time that his eyes opened, the pain had dulled to nothing more than an ache in his chest. His eyes searched the room urgently, and he exhaled in relief at the lack of doctors or shinigami crowding around his bed. Had he been hallucinating? Had he simply fallen unconscious from bad wounds on that collection?

Alan attempted to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down by an unusually pale Eric Slingby. Eric looked, even to Alan's confused mind, like hell. His tie, usually loosened, was pulled taut and practically hung from his collar, his buttons had all been fastened wrong, his cornrows were mussed and there were a few dark circles under his eyes. These were made even starker due to the small cuts on his face and a blossoming bruise on his jaw.

"Damnit, kid, I told you stop letting those records go through you." Eric's voice was coarse, as though he hadn't spoken at all for the past few hours, and the unsteady swallow that followed his words made Alan realise that he was deflecting something very serious with grim humour.

"What happened?" Alan's own voice was hoarse, and the two words he spoke made him realise just how dry his throat was. As he attempted to swallow, his throat cried out in disapproval. He felt like he'd swallowed sandpaper. Eric leant forward slightly in his chair next to Alan's bed.

"You had that girl's record inside you and you looked away and it," He broke off uneasily before he started again. "You've got the Thorns." The look on Eric's face as he spoke those words made Alan realise that Eric, despite his apparent vigil at Alan's bed, hadn't come to terms with that knowledge in the slightest. The moment the words left his mouth, he looked like he hadn't believed it until it was finally spoken aloud by him. Alan, on the other hand, didn't know what the Thorns were, but the look on Eric's face was enough to tell him it was grave.

"That isn't good, is it?" Alan asked quietly, his mind thinking through all the possible illnesses that the Thorns could be. He noticed Eric's hand resting on the bed and moved to take it before he stopped, hesitating as though he'd burn if he went to grasp the gloved hand.

"I think that's the quietest I've ever heard you speak, kid." The grin on Eric's face was grim, hesitant, and Alan leaned back into the pillows of the bed he was laid on.

"How long do I have?"

"Seventy years, give or take. You'll get worse as it progresses." At that, a small whimper escaped Alan's lips, muffled by his hand covering his mouth a moment later to prevent any more escaping. Eric continued. "It's my fault; we should have left the moment we knew that demon was there. We should have fought it together, damn collecting the soul on time. If I'd-"

"It's not your fault." Alan's tone left no room for argument, and before Eric could respond to it –the words were already halfway out of his mouth- Alan had covered his face with his hands and leant back fully into his bed. He needed to sleep, he needed to think.

And more importantly, he needed to accept his new fate.

He's twelve when he first hears about the Thorns of Death. Eric is unfortunate enough to be walking past the Shinigami Academy after fleeing from his annoyed mother when he peeks his face through the metal fence surrounding the grounds and watches an old, frail professor storm out of the front entrance. He's fascinated immediately; he's never seen a shinigami look so ill before, never seen one clutch at his chest so fiercely or cry out for help so desperately. It surprises him, shakes him to the core, but he's dragged away by his mother before he can see the unfortunate light of that particular shinigami's life blink out forever.

He wakes up the next morning a different person, wholly aware that even a shinigami can die, can succumb to illness if they're not careful and is told everything about the thorns right there at his kitchen table. His first successful shifting to the mortal world comes days later.

He enters their world wheezing and groaning in agony. Alan can only stare at the roof of the carriage and hope to the high heavens that he's dreaming, that he'll wake up in his bedroll screaming from a nightmare. A nightmare where he's pinned to the floor of an overturned carriage with a long thin plank of wood driven through his chest. He's not entirely sure what part of the carriage is pinning him to the floor –the pain doesn't subside long enough for him to think on it- and then almost immediately there's an even sharper pain through his chest and he blacks out.

Alan coughs twice as he wakes up, wheezes as lungs that no longer need to be used gasp in air that's useless, and groans at the echoes of the pain of his death that course through his body before they dissipate altogether. He glances up and gives a startled cry at the man who is knelt over him and, at the look of pity etched on the man's face, Alan realises that he's not in for a very happy afterlife.

There wasn't much that went through Eric Slingby's mind when he had originally glanced down at the parchment that now lay folded in his knapsack. The name had been unimportant, just the reminder of how he should address the shinigami recruit who he'd offered to help out. The academy needed several people like Eric to offer themselves up as mentors to those shinigami who had been recruited into their world, not born into it, as they would be much more unaccustomed with shinigami life and would no doubt panic as their bodies began to change.

The name on the parchment was simply that: no more than Eric's excuse to skip shinigami history and health and safety for a full three terms whilst his now-free periods matched those of the recruit's collection classes, history classes, and one block of study periods.

Alan Humphries.

Eric only hoped he wouldn't pronounce the name wrong when he entered the main hall of the academy, where several students were already spilling out the double doors. Eric waited, whistling an annoying melody to earn a few glares from some of the older, more uptight second year students. With a smirk on his face, Eric entered the hall and looked around at the dozen remaining students, all of which looked lost and incredibly despairing as their personal mentors sought them out.

Some days, he really pitied the recruited students. They never knew what had hit them, and even the shinigami didn't know why a few humans were occasionally chosen to become shinigami. It just was.

Eric's eyes wandered the room, searching for the face to match the name on the scrap of parchment in his hand. Whatever he had expected to see when it came to Alan Humphries, the petite young man standing in the centre of the hall certainly wasn't it. He stood almost ramrod straight, attentive yet fairly certain of himself, and his dark hair fell around his incredibly young-looking face. Eric shook his head and ran a gloved hand through his own hair; the transformation into a full shinigami would no doubt thin Alan's face out soon enough. The lad couldn't have been older than eighteen and, from what he'd read before he had been chosen as a mentor, the youngest ones were always the hardest to come to grips with their death and being condemned to snip the souls of the dying.

Alan Humphries, however, showed no sign of being remotely affected by his own death; he looked more like he was itching to start learning in the academy, his eyes alight with awe as he took in the hall. Eric loosened his tie slightly and walked over to him with purpose.

"Alan Humphries?" The brunette spun and fixed his gaze on Eric, and Eric found himself squinting to see the brunette's eye colour. Green, with flecks of yellow. He was changing quickly.

"Follow me. And stick close, I don't wanna lose you if we walk past a group of shinigami." As Eric led Alan from the hall to the gardens outside, he noticed the slip of red parchment sticking from his suit pocket and gave a loud groan. The brunette raised an eyebrow at Eric, and Eric simply pointed at the piece of parchment.

"They're sticking you in advanced history. I dropped out this year to avoid it at advanced level. Someone, somewhere, hates me." Eric clucked his tongue like a grieved old lady, and threw a wry smile at Alan when he chuckled softly behind his hand. "Okay, let's get this started. You see the buildings to your left, directly ahead, and to your right?"

"No."

"Well- what? You sure you picked up the right glasses?" Eric looked down at Alan in surprise until he saw the small smirk on the man's lips. Alan gave another chuckle.

"Sarcasm, Mr Slingby. I'd been told that you used it frequently. It seems that the Directors were wrong." Eric put his hand to his chest in mock shock, and shook his head sadly.

"You wound me, and you don't even know where we're staying yet. I'll have you know, you'll find no one with a more sarcastic wit here than I. Now get moving. The buildings on the left are the first year lodgings, but those are only for the shinigami. The building to your right is the second year lodgings; those are for the shinigami and the nearly-there Shinigamis. Confused?"

"Nearly-there shinigami?" Alan looked incredulous, and Eric barked a rough laugh and reached into his pocket to retrieve a hand mirror. He flipped the lid without thought and held the mirror in front of Alan's eyes.

"You're not a full shinigami, not yet. You see your eyes? Yellow speckles with green orbs means you've begun the transition. Most of the others who weren't born into this will still have fully green eyes; once they fleck yellow then you've started the transition. Usually it takes about two years for the transition to take place, though we get the odd one or two who take much less time. Now, the building ahead, that's where we stay. Those rooms are there for those like you to share with a mentor for the full year. Those rooms are bigger, better, and slightly more modern than the rooms in the other buildings, but that's mainly because there's two to a room rather than one. Any questions?" Eric asked at the hesitant look on Alan's face. He looked like he wanted to ask something but wasn't sure how to word it, and Eric waited patiently before Alan simply blurted it out.

"Why do I have to share with you?"

"Sick of me already? You weren't born into this world, and the next year you're going to be going through speeded-up shinigami puberty." Eric paused for a moment to grin at the choking sound Alan made. "Your skin is going to get tougher, you're going to get nightmares and soon you won't dream at all. You're going to get thinner; you're going to have the ever-loving crap kicked out of you in training, and you're going to have to adjust to immortality in a whole different way than regular shinigami have to. I think you'd need someone there at the end of the day, don't you think?"

"I'm counting on these rooms being exceptional, then." A smile tilted the corners of Alan's lips, and Eric threw him a cocky grin in return. Most of the previously-human recruits tended to be completely overwhelmed by the prospect of the shinigami life; Alan didn't look like he'd even batted an eyelid in anything other than awe.

"Trust me, they are. We've got our own bathtub in a separate room. Unlucky buggers over in the usual first year apartments have to share with the full floor if they don't want to use the shower room."

"What happens to me next year?"

"You'll go into the second year lodgings with the rest of them, though you'll have your own room. Without your own bathtub. Oh the terror that thought brings, it's too much!"

"What are you doing?" Alan stressed through his teeth, watching as Eric folded his notes into several different shapes. Eric shrugged.

"Origami."

"With my notes?" Alan snatched the parchment from Eric's hands with a frown, and quickly removed the rest of his notes from Eric's reach.

"It makes things easier, you can carry them without them filling up too much space in your satchel. Good lord, I dropped this class for a reason, why did you have to be smart enough to go straight into advanced history?" Eric grumbled quietly under his breath, his arms folded over his chest, and he slouched back in his seat. Alan shook his head at the older student with a ghost of a smile on his face. They'd only spent a week in each other's presence, but Alan couldn't deny that he was beginning to become friends with the older student. His easy humour and laid back attitude made him a very easy person to get along with.

Except, of course, when the man was making shapes out of his notes.

From the safety of his shared room, Eric chuckled under his breath as he watched the blizzard force the first year students around in circles as they flocked towards the doors of their building. They were all specks of black on the snow-covered grounds, and their building itself was barely visible through the snowstorm. Leaning back onto his bed, he tugged his gloves from his hands and hung them on the rail at the foot of his bed. His own class notes were scattered everywhere, and his borrowed scythe was leaning against the door to make sure that the wind didn't rattle the building enough to slam his door open. Of course, he'd have to remove it once Alan returned, but the brunette would certainly make himself heard enough that Eric would open the door immediately so that the younger student wouldn't wake half the corridor when he returned.

Despite them only being four months into the academy year, the younger students were all required to start collections as soon as they could wield the scythe properly. After what had happened several decades earlier, with the attack on two second-year students by a demon on their first collection, the academy saw fit to immediately start training their students in collections. Eric shook his head at the thought; they were usually sent to collect the souls of children under six or seven years old, and the collections were usually pointless in teaching them anything since no demon would usually seek out the soul of a child. They were simply too pure. Alan was out on his fourth collection, a midnight death, and Eric preferred to wait up for the young brunette rather than sleep and end up waking at the sound of him entering their room.

A gust of wind suddenly threw the window open, and simultaneously the building creaked something dreadful and the lantern extinguished. Eric jumped a mile in the air and slammed the window shut, cursing under his breath as he then attempted to relight the lantern. No sooner had the wick burst back into flame did Eric nearly drop it to the floor at the wholly unexpected sight of an angry, drenched Alan in the centre of the room.

"Whoa, don't do that again kid! You scared the bejesus out of me." Eric gently put the lantern down on the chest of drawers next to his bed, but the moment he let go of it Alan stepped forward and wrenched it back up, taking it with him into the adjoining bathroom. As he strode into the next room with a palpable air of anger around him, Eric took note of his appearance with curiosity.

The younger man's tie was loose, his jacket buttons undone, and his shirt and jacket were creased despite the heaviness of the rainwater dragging the fabric down. A trail of water followed Alan into the bathroom, almost causing Alan to slip when he re-entered the room with a towel in one hand and the lantern in the other. The lantern was slammed back onto Eric's chest of drawers before Alan shrugged his suit jacket off and promptly pressed the towel into his soaked hair. Eric whistled through his teeth; he'd never seen Alan so angry before.

"Ooh, kitten's got claws."

"Be quiet."

"Ouch, sharp ones." Alan's eyes burned as Eric spoke, and he sat down on the foot of his own bed and kept pressing his hair between the towel. After a moment or two in which Alan allowed his shaking from anger subside into shivers from the cold, he looked up at his roommate.

"I'd ask you keep your witty sarcasm to yourself," Alan started, attempting to be civil. "I don't need it right now." At his words, Eric swung his legs over the side of the bed and leant forward.

"Oh, I think you do. What happened out there?" Alan stayed silent for a moment as he twisted his hair through the towel before throwing it to the side, and quickly an air of sadness enveloped the young man.

"It was a little girl, barely older than three, hit by a carriage and left to die half buried in a snow bank. I tried to delve into her memories and find out who she was-"

"-Thought I told you to stop doing that, kid-"

"-but I'd barely let the record begin to go through me before the supervisor had snipped it and threw me to the floor. I was given a verbal thrashing. I'm weak, apparently, and sympathetic with humans to the point where it's a liability." Alan's eyes showed Eric the range of emotions the younger man felt at being labelled as such, and his mouth was pressed into an incredibly thin line. Eric almost felt sorry for the superior who would have had to escort Alan back. But then again, as Alan had appeared directly in the middle of the room, it was likely that Alan had politely excused himself and returned on his own. Eric leaned forwards even more and gently placed a hand on Alan's shoulder.

"Why are you sympathetic?" Eric asked carefully, and the younger shinigami rolled his eyes at him.

"They're dying. It's the most frightening thing in the world and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. You have no idea if there is an afterlife, or if you'll cease to exist,and the whole idea of death is such a terrifying thing that you don't want to face it alone. Naturally, Eric, I'm sympathetic when a three year old girl is dying in a snow bank. I want to know what she's done to end her life like that." Alan spoke quickly, an obvious anger in his words, and Eric squeezed his shoulder to reassure him.

"She was only human, Alan." And, despite his confident way with words, the moment the words had left his mouth Eric knew he'd said one of the worst sentences possible in this situation. Alan's eyes locked with his and a storm raged behind the orbs, and the yellow flecks shone gold in the light of the lantern.

"I was only human, Eric. I lay on the floor of an overturned carriage with a wooden beam stuck in my chest for over an hour. All I knew was I was human and I was going to die. I wasn't born into this world like you." With that, Alan turned away from Eric and began to remove his soaked clothes, changing quickly into his nightclothes and lying down on top of the sheets as Eric returned to his notes. A few minutes later, when Alan was starting to doze, Eric took the blanket from the bottom of the brunette's bed and draped it over him. Alan stirred, and Eric grinned cockily at him.

"Can't have you dying on me, kid, need you keep me awake in that history class you're so damn fond of." Eric stood to his full height as he spoke, and Alan only smiled drowsily in amusement at the older student. He knew it was likely Eric's way of apologising without actually losing any of his pride, and he did appreciate it.

But, if Eric called him kid one more time, he felt he might explode.

The change was gradual. Immediately after the snowstorm, Eric had insisted on being Alan's supervisor for his collections. As winter passed and spring arrived, Alan was no longer called 'kid' by the older student and their conversations turned from purely academy-related business to personal views, idle gossip and comfortable chats. Eric found himself slightly less bored in the advanced history class, and Alan found himself less annoyed when his notes were pinched and turned into paper animals, as long as he got them back at the end of each class.

He did complain, however, when Eric's tie slowly got looser as the weather got warmer, and his top buttons became undone before the day had even truly started. The rule-abiding part of Alan hated that Eric would willingly look so messy, and the shyer part of him refused to admit that he hated the look because of the expanse of throat and chest that was revealed.

Eric, on the other hand, knew to look but not touch. The repercussions of starting a relationship with the petite brunette were too high considering that Eric would likely never see the brunette again at the end of the academy year, and he knew that Alan would be too focused on passing the Academy exams to start up anything. Not that their restraint stopped the secret smiles and the lingering touches.

Alan's voice broke through Eric's thoughts as he approached with both their scythes in his hands. Eric took his with a grin and shrunk it down to fit on his belt as Alan did the same.

"You know where to go?" At Eric's words, Alan gave a nod even as his lips turned down in a frown.

"Yes, I do."

"Chin up, you'll get used to it someday. This is your last one of the year, you've got a rest after now until the beginning of next year." Eric clapped him on the shoulder before he shifted, and moments later they were both standing in the middle of an alley in London.

The smell hit them harder than an out of control carriage, and Eric almost stumbled backwards at the force of the scent. Fire and smoke and rotting corpses filled his nasal passages and, despite the alley containing only one other person who was only half dead, Eric knew immediately the cause of the smell. He'd barely had time to blink before he heard a grunt from Alan and turned in time to spot the brunette swinging his scythe towards the shadows. Red eyes gleamed from the darkness, causing Eric to curse under his breath.

"Y'know, we tend to warn them away before we fight!" Eric half-shouted, jumping back in time to avoid a swipe from sharp claws. Alan didn't acknowledge Eric in favour of swinging his scythe again, but Eric heard the low rumbling chuckle from the demon. He extended his scythe in time to halt another attack his way, and Eric found himself cursing the demon's abilities to simply melt into the shadows.

"What is he doing?" Alan breathed, stepping backwards to draw the demon out from the shadows.

"Playing you for a fool, you deal with the kid, I'll deal with the demon." Eric motioned with his head the young child crouching near a doorway in the alley, thin and pale and watching what was going on in awe and surprise. Alan shook his head in disagreement.

"No, we'll kill the demon and then collect the child's record." Eric cursed, loudly this time, and rather than argue decided it best to just fight this out. Alan had taken no more than two steps towards the demon before it had disappeared, and sharp nails dug into the fabric on Eric's arm and cut right through to the skin. Eric spun and dragged his scythe down the arm of the demon, giving a cocky 'ha' at the low growl that resounded from its throat. Alan shrunk his scythe and threw it in the direction of the shocked demon, but his yelp of surprise at how quickly he found he could throw it alerted the demon and his scythe was caught and snapped clean in two before Eric and Alan had a chance to register it. Eric groaned and threw his scythe at Alan; the brunette caught it quickly and glanced at the child in the alley.

"Deal with the kid," Eric started, dodging a poorly aimed punch from the demon, "and then we'll get outta here." Alan gave an eager nod and started down the alley, attempting to do his very best to ignore the grunts of effort from Eric as he held back the demon. He knelt down in front of the small child and cocked his head to the side in wonder at how the youngster simply watched him with no fear in her face.

"Why are you so important that you've lured a demon to your soul?" Alan asked the child in wonder, and he pushed her dank, dirty hair from her neck so that he could make the cut. A terrible jagged scar wound its way from just under her jaw to the hollow of her throat, and Alan had to refrain from asking the girl outright just what she'd done to attract the demon's attention. She couldn't have been older than seven.

Instead, he swiftly made the cut with Eric's scythe and, as the young girl's record floated slowly upwards, he allowed it to drift towards him and pass through him so he could get a clear look at her memories. As the reel passed through him, dozens of pointless memories flashed behind his closed eyelids, and Alan wondered if perhaps the demon was just exceptionally hungry and went to the closest soul available. He couldn't find any trace of a memory that showed why she had gained that scar on her neck, and just as he thought he could see the portion of the reel that would reveal it he lost it at a shout from Eric and a chuckle from the demon. Alan's eyes flew open and his neck cracked as he locked his gaze on the fight between Eric and the demon, only to find that Eric was actually winning their fight.

Abruptly, with no warning whatsoever, a white-hot pain seared through his chest, so painful that Alan dropped to his knees and started to dry-heave. His head exploded with pain, a billion spots of white light dancing around his vision, and he had to grip the wall tightly to ensure he didn't fall onto the body of the young girl. His eyes slipped closed as the pain burst through his body once again, and red eyes sought his own before the darkness overtook him.

Alan stands in the main reception of the Shinigami Academy, his case behind him and a slip of parchment in his hands, and ponders. He ponders on how similar this day is to his first day at the academy, with a slip of parchment in his hands and idly waiting for a man he knows instinctively will be late. He ponders on what on earth he's supposed to do for the next month with no academy to fill his days. He's been told that under no circumstances is he to go to London; it's the scene of his death and it wouldn't go very well if he were to walk into a long-forgotten sibling or his own mother. It's unfortunate, because Eric has his first job posting in the London branch, under William Spears as a supervisor –a high position for a fresh graduate- and Alan knows the next month will be boring with no academy work or Eric Slingby to amuse him.

His keys have been handed in, his half of the room checked and double checked for any leftover belongings, and his name has been entered into the system for him to be a mentor in the next academy year to a human recruit. He's not the best candidate; his shinigami transformation may have gone exceptionally fast for himself, but he's now riddled with the Thorns and if he uses more energy than usual then he begins to feel a small ache in his chest. (Alan dreads the day when he won't be able to run without collapsing to the floor in an attack, but that is at least sixty years away and it does no good to think on it now.)

His roommate appears in the doorway to the reception, a large black case held tightly with one hand and documents in the other. He'd passed all of his tests, Alan knew, although he'd returned from his Final Exam cussing his partner well into the early hours of the morning, and Alan had hidden his face in his pillow and tried not to laugh at the expletives.

"You're late. Shouldn't you have been kicked out of the room twenty minutes ago?"

"Nah, you know Bertha, she can't resist my suave smile and charming attitude." Eric throws Alan a smooth smile, and the younger brunette chuckles under his breath. They're awkward, neither of them wants to say goodbye and yet they both know they've no other choice. Alan wants to throw his arms around the older student, and Eric wants nothing more than to wipe that uneasy smile on Alan's lips off with his own. This is their parting, and though they've tried to delay it, it's either now or never. Neither of them is sure if they'd prefer to never say it.

"You sure you're gunna be okay?" Eric asks suddenly, and Alan scowls at him.

"I'm not made of glass! I'm dying, and I've got to accept it, but I'm not going to crumple just from walking down the street." Alan's angry at the implication that just because he's dying, he's not going to be okay. He needs to get it out, needs to keep repeating that yes, he's dying but no, he's not weak, but Eric practically retreats into himself every time Alan mentions it. At first, he'd understood, but slowly he's started to withdraw when Alan talks about the Thorns. An awkward silence descends on them and, desperate to break it, Alan changes topic.

"Good luck, Eric." At the change of subject, Eric gives Alan a wry grin.

"Nah, I don't need any luck kid, it's you who'll need it. You've gotta share a bathtub with fifteen other people next year." Alan laughs, fully laughs in a way he hasn't since he'd found out about the thorns, and his eyes lock with Eric's with a smile on his face. Eric's eyes are alight with mirth; his gruff laugh lifts his lips in another cocky, know-it-all grin, and Alan stores that grin to his memory.

And then that grin is gone, and Alan is surrounded by trees and a warm breeze as he stands on the edge of a forest. A small town bustles in the distance, and Alan makes his way towards it.

He pretends that the dull ache in his chest is simply the thorns, that the hollow feeling in his heart is simply nausea from shifting so far a distance.

A year later, and Eric Slingby sits at his desk in the London Branch and hums a filthy tavern song to annoy the shinigami on the next desk over. It's childish, he knows, but he's so terribly bored and he's just left another business meeting. He hates meetings, they remind him so much of his lectures, and for those first few weeks out of the Academy he'd leant over once or twice to steal the notes of those next to him, forgetting that his brunette friend was no longer sitting on his right. Occasionally, he still does so, but he catches himself in time and pretends to copy down the parchment he snags.

It's insane, he'd known Alan a year and yet he finds himself missing the brunette every now and then. He's grown feelings for the man, feelings that had already been there mere weeks into their friendship, but he knows that nothing can come out of it now. Not that that stops the tiny dramatic hope that he'd see the brunette again. He also sits and allows himself moments of guilt, moments where he goes over that collection repeatedly in his mind and tries to think of the many ways it could have gone differently. Ways it could have ended without Alan contracting the Thorns. Such thoughts are trivial, but he embraces them with a wry grin and continues with his work. Today, however, despite his business meeting, Eric is frustrated. Due to Alan's illness, any files on the brunette were off limits to anyone other than a certified doctor, meaning that Eric can't even gain a hint to whether or not the younger man had passed his Final Exam, let alone his whereabouts. It annoys him to no end because he should be allowed to look at his file, considering that it's mainly his fault that Alan will die soon.

Eric halts his humming –the shinigami to his left has snapped his second quill in two minutes- and sorts through the paper on his desk half-heartedly, looking for the sheet of parchment that will give him the name of the new employee he has to train. William refused to train new employees who were fresh out of the academy, and as a supervisor Eric is left to train them. There's only one this year, and Eric is grateful, since it's his first time at training and he doesn't want to screw up too many newbies.

He finds the parchment, plucks it from the desk with a 'ha!' of victory, and laughs for five minutes straight at the name. The name is simple and under any other circumstances, he's sure he wouldn't know what to expect. But here, now, he has to reel his laughter in at William's disapproving stare and simply grin, and all feelings of guilt wash away. There's a small sense of that familiar cockiness that fills him at the slanted name on the parchment. He grabs his suit jacket, shrugs it on carelessly and lets the piece of parchment flutter to the desk as he leaves to meet his trainee.

Alan Humphries.