The days after the forced partnership were unbearable for Lawrence. Every class, every hallway, every corner seemed to hide George's watchful eyes. He tried to stay small, careful, careful… careful.
But George didn't give him that luxury.
During their project work, Lawrence began to notice subtle shifts—small cracks in the alpha's otherwise impenetrable demeanor. Moments when George's sharp gaze softened if Lawrence answered a question well. Glances that lingered too long when Lawrence made a mistake, as if George wasn't just annoyed… he was… concerned.
One afternoon, they worked late in the empty library. The light from the tall windows painted soft gold across George's face. He didn't speak for long stretches, just watched Lawrence sort through papers and scribble notes.
Lawrence, embarrassed at being studied so openly, finally asked, "Why… why are you looking at me like that?"
George didn't answer at first. He leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping against the wood, jaw tight. Finally, he muttered, "Because you're… different."
Lawrence blinked. "Different? How?"
George's dark eyes met his, sharp but strangely hesitant. "Not like the others. You… don't run from me. You don't pretend you don't exist. And that annoys me."
Lawrence's cheeks flushed. "I… I wasn't trying to annoy you."
George let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. For a moment, he looked… tired. Human. Vulnerable, even. And Lawrence realized he had never seen this side of George before—the alpha everyone feared was quietly unraveling, in the way he only showed when no one else was around.
"I hate it," George said finally, his voice low, "that you make me feel… this way."
Lawrence's heart skipped. He wanted to ask what he meant, wanted to hear more, but fear held him back. This was George Mathews—the alpha who could crush him with a word or a glance.
Instead, he whispered, "I… I don't want to be a problem."
George's lips twitched, a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes. "You're not a problem," he said quietly, almost to himself. "You… make things complicated."
Lawrence stared, unsure if it was a warning or an admission. His stomach tightened with a strange, fluttering feeling that scared him more than any confrontation ever could.
The library's silence pressed around them, heavy and intimate. For the first time, Lawrence realized that George's walls weren't unbreakable—they were just carefully built, and he had found a crack.
George's gaze lingered, and Lawrence felt a pull he couldn't resist.
A heartbeat later, George stood abruptly. "We should go," he muttered, but his steps were slow. Careful. Every movement controlled, measured.
As they walked to the exit, side by side, Lawrence caught a faint whiff of something warm—George's scent, bold and overwhelming. His cheeks burned, and he had to swallow hard to keep his voice steady.
George glanced at him once, expression unreadable. "Don't misread this," he said softly.
Lawrence swallowed. "I won't," he whispered, even though he already had.
The walk to the dorms was silent, but the air between them was heavy with unspoken tension. Lawrence realized that the top alpha of St. Greystorm Academy wasn't just noticing him… he was conflicted. Torn. And dangerously, irresistibly drawn to him.
Lawrence's pulse hammered in his ears. He had no idea what this meant—but he knew one thing for certain:
Nothing at St. Greystorm would ever be the same.