A/N: I wanted to do more of these, but I was really tired, so 3 will have to do for now. Until next time. :)

~~ Caspian ~~

It was strange, being back in the usual rhythm of the Hunt. Putting patrols together, training, and all the other normal things. He felt different though, as if the ordeals at the Seelie had aged him, and he felt weary.

More often than he would have liked, Caspian found himself wiping his mouth on his sleeve, as if that could rid himself of any traces of the other faerie. It had become a habit even, and he hated the reminder of how often his thoughts were drawn back to what happened. Disgust was a feeling he could deal with, but he felt strangely violated and uncomfortable, and those were feelings he loathed.

It was just a kiss, he reminded himself, but it had seemed much worse than that. He had been helpless and unable to defend himself, almost as if he was back at that day from his past. The day he lost his wings. And it was shameful to have been taken advantage of by a Seelie faerie, in particular.

He felt dirty too, having broken a silent promise that he had made a long time ago. While it had not been intentional, neither had he been able to stop it, so how was that any better? He did not think the wrongness would ever fade. It had felt nothing like when Aspen kissed him, as if something he used to enjoy had been twisted strangely by the other faerie, until it was unrecognisable.

When he had returned, he had tried to wash away any traces of the other faerie as well, but he could not wash away dreams of the mind, no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin.

And Aspen had not understood, as he'd expected would be the case. How weak he must seem, to be so bothered by a mere kiss. Aspen had undoubtedly been through much, much more; likely things he himself could not even imagine. How many would have liked to have taken advantage of Aspen? He could only shy away from the thought, hastily, before he dwelled on it for too long. He didn't think he could stand it.

In fact, he didn't think he would ever fully understand what attracted Aspen to his habits. He did not see the appeal in strangers, or in lowering one's defences and becoming so vulnerable to them.

But they were different, he supposed, and he had to come to accept that. For even some of Aspen's attention, even if it was not always tied solely on him, was better than none. If he was not enough on his own, then there was nothing he could do to change that.

Straightening, he lowered his hand to his pocket and kept it there, his fingers curled into a fist. As if that would prevent it from carrying out a habit that he couldn't quite seem to stop.

~~ Layla ~~

The bell signalled the end of class, and Layla was up and out of her seat before most of the other kids. Some of them gave her weird looks, because it was unusual for her, but she hurried to the door.

"Layla. I'd like to talk to you please."

Layla froze at the teacher's voice, sighing inwardly. It was not a conversation she felt like having that afternoon.

As the rest of the class left, she turned back to face her teacher, Mrs Cartwright, the silence now suddenly drawn out.

"Layla, I'm worried about your grades," Mrs Cartwright said, and Layla looked away from the concern in her eyes. She bit her tongue to keep from saying that she had better grades than the rest of the class. "You know you've always been my top student," she continued. "A straight A+ student, in fact, which is practically unheard of here. But lately your grades have been slipping," she said, a recent exam paper dangling from her fingers.

Layla could see the grade from where she stood. B-. Her heart sank a little, before she brushed it off. It wasn't like it was an awful mark, right? She wouldn't know really, because she never got below As. Some even jokingly called her a teacher's pet, but she didn't think she was well behaved enough for that. She was too likely to speak her mind.

"Layla?" the teacher said, drawing her attention back to her. "Do you know why this might be? Is everything going okay at home?"

At this, Layla couldn't help it as her temper started to rise. What could a teacher ever understand about her life? How was it any of their business? "'Is everything going okay at home?'" she repeated, slightly mockingly. "I'm hardly at home, so I wouldn't know. I have to attend school for majority of the day, then I have to go and work all night. And do you know why that is? Because no one gives a fuck about my mum's sickness."

Mrs Cartwright looked taken aback, and Layla didn't blame her. She never swore in front of teachers, and her mother's sickness wasn't something she ever talked about. Not even much with her friends.

Once the bills started coming in for the medication, and her dad became a full-time carer, she'd hardly had a choice. She'd applied for the first job she could find, working at some cash register, and she earned a shitty wage at her age, but it was better than nothing.

"Layla," she inhaled, looking apologetic. "I didn't know… You look tired. If you need an extension on things, you know you just have to ask-…"

Hating the look of pity she was given, she rolled her eyes, turning away slightly. "I'm not asking for special treatment. I don't need your pity. I just need you to lay off me for a bit."

"I just want to help. If you want to get that scholarship for college-"

"I don't need your help," Layla retorted, regretting that she'd said anything in the first place. The teacher would never look at her the same now. "I'm sorry you don't have kids, but I'm not a substitute."

She regretted the words as soon as she said them. She had always liked Mrs Cartwright, in fact. She was a caring teacher, one who had helped her with some applications, and always tried to make her subjects interesting, even if she taught some boring ones, like geology.

The teacher gasped, staring at her in shock – and hurt - for a moment, before she straightened, her gaze darkening. "You're going to have to free up your Friday afternoon, because you'll be here for a detention. Do you understand?"

"… Got it," Layla replied, cursing silently that she'd opened her mouth in the first place. She hesitated, wanting to take it all back and apologise, but she couldn't. It was too late.

Turning away, she headed to the door, before pushing through it, her breathing a little unsteady as she left.

She'd landed herself with her first detention. Ever.

~~ Sol & Clae ~~

Sol didn't often drink the stronger faerie drinks, or join in the festivities, but that evening he made an exception. It was a celebration of the Seelie guards, making him one of the honoured guests, which he didn't mind at all.

Scanning the faeries in the clearing – some were dancing, while others talked or laughed – he took a slip from his glass, holding it delicately in his fingers. He wouldn't drink the whole thing – he wanted his thoughts to still be sharp the next day, for he had an early shift.

His gaze caught on a faerie with pleasing blue wings which were outlined in silver. He was dressed in a nice looking – although not quite as practical - outfit marking him as some kind of courtier. The faerie neatened his black hair with a gloved hand, and he gazed at Sol, undauntedly. Sol got the feeling that he'd been staring for a while, and he smiled inwardly, in amusement, before turning away, knowing that his brilliant red wings would be easily visible. He was curious as to whether the faerie would approach him, and he didn't have to wait for long, before the faerie made his way over.

Finally, Sol looked at him again. "I'm Clae," the faerie introduced, inclining his head only slightly, and a pleasant smile grew at the corner of his lips. "This is a celebration for you, is it not? I do hope you are properly being attended to."

"Sol," he greeted in return, his chin raising slightly. "The night is still young, yet. I will let you know whether I feel I have been attended to, by the end of it."

"Ah, Sol," Clae repeated, thoughtfully. "Meaning sun? Your wings are perhaps the colour of a blood red sun. I already think the name suits you."

Sol's eyes glittered, and he didn't reply to the question, leaving him with his unanswered guess, but he looked satisfied. "My parents chose well."

Clae watched him for a moment, before gesturing with his gloved hand towards the other faeries gathered there. "You do not have company? There are many for you to choose from. I am surprised you have not, yet. In your celebration, you could take any prize you wanted."

"I have high standards. I am not interested in just anyone," Sol laughed, as if the idea of anything else was amusing.

"I see. I could say the same," Clae agreed, inclining his head.

They kept up a casual talk, mostly trivial with a hint of flirtation, until Sol had had enough of his drink, and he placed in on a nearby tray that a nymph held out.

Clae leaned closer and took a step forward, whether to whisper something in his ear, or to do something else, Sol was not sure, but he stepped to the side, a slightly teasing light in his eyes. "I have an early start, tomorrow. I'll bid you goodnight."

He couldn't deny that Clae looked disappointed, although Clae's farewell was polite enough, if a little strained. Sol held back a laugh, as he started away. He was sure the other faerie would remember him, another night. Did he like being chased? Perhaps he did. He never intended to give in easily. If someone wanted him, then they would have to work for it, and live up to his expectations.

And they must be pure, of course. That was a given.