Xavier POV
It happens in fragments.
Not all at once. Not like some cinematic collapse where the truth crashes in and I fall to my knees.
It happens in moments I don't notice until it's already too late.
The first is her laugh.
I hear it before I see her.
It's soft—unexpected. Not loud or attention-seeking. It slips out of her like she didn't mean to let it escape. I'm halfway down the main corridor when it reaches me, threading through the noise of lockers and voices and footsteps.
I stop.
That alone irritates me.
I don't stop for sounds. I don't stop for people.
I turn, against instinct, against discipline—and there she is.
Aylia stands near the notice board, talking to one of the junior girls. Her bag hangs loose at her side, posture relaxed in a way I've never seen before. She's smiling, really smiling, eyes warm, unguarded.
For a second, she looks… light.
The girl says something, exaggerated and dramatic. Aylia laughs again, shaking her head.
And something inside my chest tightens.
Not sharp.
Not sudden.
Heavy.
Like pressure.
Like possession.
The thought comes uninvited and unwelcome:
Who did that?
The smile fades when she senses me.
She turns.
Her eyes meet mine.
And it's gone.
The warmth. The laugh. The ease.
Replaced by composure so fast it's almost painful to witness.
She straightens, nods politely to the girl, and steps away—walking past me without slowing.
Without flinching.
Without looking back.
That's the second fragment.
The absence.
I watch her go, irritation flaring hot and fast.
Why does she withdraw like that?
Why does she act like I'm something to brace against?
"You staring holes into people again?" Marcus asks, appearing beside me.
I don't answer.
Alicia joins us moments later, flawless as ever. Her hand slips into the crook of my arm like it belongs there.
She catches my gaze instantly.
"Oh," she murmurs. "Her."
I don't turn. "Say it."
Her smile is delicate. Calculated. "She's getting comfortable."
Marcus huffs a laugh. "Bold, more like."
"Delusional," Alicia corrects. "She's behaving like she doesn't know how this place functions."
I finally face her. "Clarify."
Alicia tilts her head. "People are talking."
"They always do."
"Yes," she says. "But now they're wondering why you haven't corrected it."
Something shifts in my chest.
Annoyance.Defensiveness.
And a darker irritation that I recognize too late—because she's right.
Neither make sense.
"She's irrelevant," I say.
Alicia studies me too closely. "Then prove it."
The words land heavier than they should.
Marcus shifts. "You know what they're saying, right?"
I glare at him. "Spit it out."
"That you're interested," he says. "That you don't go after someone unless there's a reason."
I scoff. "That's ridiculous."
Alicia's nails press lightly into my arm. "Then why are you watching her walk away?"
I don't answer.
Because the truth presses in, ugly and unwanted:
I don't just notice Aylia.
I feel her absence.
That realization makes something cold snap into place.
Love.
Not the word. Never the word.
But the shape of it.
The way my attention bends without permission.
The way her indifference needles deeper than her presence ever could.
The way the idea of someone else making her laugh tightens my jaw.
I hate it instantly.
Love is leverage.
Love is loss.
Love is Reese bleeding out in a desert half a world away.
I don't do love.
"So what," Marcus says slowly, watching me, "are you actually going to do something? Or are we letting this… continue?"
Alicia leans closer, voice low. "Because if you don't define the narrative, someone else will."
Define.
Control.
The hallway feels too small.
I picture Aylia at the café—composed, quiet, enduring. I picture her refusing to look at me. Refusing to react.
And beneath the fear, beneath the rage, something worse coils tight:
I want her attention.
Not affection.
Attention.
Undivided. Controlled. On my terms.
That's when I realize—
If I don't act now, this will slip out of reach.
And I will hate myself for that more than anything else.
"What are you proposing?" I ask flatly.
Alicia's smile is instant. Triumphant.
"A lesson," she says. "A reminder."
Marcus raises an eyebrow. "You mean—"
"A game," Alicia interrupts smoothly. "One she doesn't know she's playing."
My stomach twists.
This is wrong.
I know it.
But the alternative—doing nothing, letting this feeling grow unchecked—feels worse.
"What kind of game?" I ask.
Alicia's eyes gleam. "You win her over."
Marcus lets out a low whistle. "You're kidding."
"Am I?" Alicia looks at me. "You're already halfway there. You're watching. You're reacting. People think you care."
"I don't," I snap.
"Then prove it," she says again. "Make it nothing."
The logic is warped.
And perfect.
If I win, it proves this isn't real.
If I lose—No. I don't lose.
"What's the stake?" Marcus asks.
Alicia's voice softens. "If she falls for you… you end it."
The words slice clean.
End it.
Clean. Final. Controlled.
"And if she doesn't?" Marcus presses.
Alicia shrugs. "Then we admit she was never worth the attention."
I should stop this.
I should walk away.
Instead, I hear myself ask, "How long?"
Alicia smiles wider. "Long enough for everyone to see."
Marcus studies me. "You sure about this?"
No.
But certainty is a luxury I lost years ago.
"I don't like variables," I say quietly. "This removes one."
Alicia squeezes my arm. "Then it's settled."
The bet isn't announced.
It doesn't need to be.
It exists the moment I look across the courtyard and see Aylia sitting alone, reading, unaware that something irreversible has just been set in motion.
For a split second, something inside me protests.
Don't do this.
This is the wrong kind of control.
I ignore it.
Because if this is love—
Then I will break it before it breaks me.
I turn away from her.
Already planning how to get closer.
Already hardening myself for what comes after.
Cruelty is easier than vulnerability.
And I've survived worse than this.
Haven't I?