I climbed the stairs to Building C with all the dramatic flair of a man walking into his own fate. My heart punched my ribs like it owed them money, and I knew I looked ridiculous—lowkey running, then slowing down just in case someone was watching. Room 204. I stopped in front of it, wiped my sweaty palms on my pants, and told myself to act cool.
Door's open, he said.
I pushed it.
The room was empty. No desks. Just those plain-ass tiled floors, four white walls, and a single chair in the center like I was about to get interrogated in a mafia movie. Aiden was standing by the window, sunlight painting him in gold like some sculpted art piece. He had the sleeves of his uniform rolled up and that serious, unreadable expression.
"Hey," he said without turning.
"Hey," I echoed, suddenly forgetting how to speak English.
He finally looked at me—and damn, why did his eyes always make me feel like I was both in trouble and getting seduced?
"I figured you'd skip class," he said, crossing his arms.
"You called. What was I gonna do—not come?"
He smirked, and something inside me did a triple backflip.
There was a beat of silence.
"So…" I stepped into the room and kicked the door shut behind me. "What's this? Secret date? Kidnapping? Mafia recruitment?"
He chuckled—barely—and walked toward me slowly.
"I wanted to see you," he said.
Oh.
Oh.
"Yeah? Could've just said that instead of summoning me like I'm some Hogwarts owl."
"You came anyway," he said, stopping in front of me. His voice dropped low, soft. "Didn't even hesitate."
I stared up at him—yes, up, annoyingly—and tried not to visibly malfunction.
"I—uh…" I coughed. "Well, you're kind of hard to ignore."
He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and I swear to all the gods and ghosts—I nearly died. Breathing? Never heard of it. What was oxygen again?
"You look like you've been through it," he said. "Everything okay?"
I blinked. "Julie signed me up for a tutor behind my back."
Aiden snorted. "Of course she did."
"While drinking wine, watching the most cringe romcom ever, and blasting Beyoncé."
"She sounds iconic."
"She sounds like she belongs in jail."
He laughed again—for real this time—and it felt so warm, so rare, like catching sunshine in a bottle. I didn't even realize I was smiling until he looked down and said, "There it is. That smile."
"Shut up."
He leaned closer, just slightly. "Make me."
The air shifted. My brain short-circuited.
I choked. "What—?"
"Relax." He grinned. "I just wanted to distract you from your tutor rage."
"Oh, trust me," I muttered. "You're doing a phenomenal job."
Then I noticed them.
The bruises.
Faint purples and reds along his cheekbone and under his eye. My stomach twisted.
"Aiden... what the hell?" I blurted. "Who did that to you?"
He looked over, a little startled, then gave that lazy smile like it was nothing. "I'm okay. Just a few body shots, nothing serious."
Body shots?
He sat down in the lone chair, and I crossed the room in two strides, kneeling beside him and hugging him tightly. He winced.
That did it.
"What the actual hell, Aiden? If it hurts when I hug you, you need to see the nurse."
But he just ruffled my hair, fingers soft and slow, like he was calming a wild animal. "Almasi... You're really cute despite feeling so shitty all the time."
I blinked. Wait—was I that readable? And... cute?
He leaned back in the chair, smiling like he was trying to ease the tension. "Lighten up. I'm fine. Really."
I wasn't convinced, but he reached up again and brushed a loose curl from my face, and my brain completely shut down.
Eventually, he stood, muttering something about needing to get back before the next class. "Vice presidents can't slack off. Especially with that idiot getting himself into trouble."
I tilted my head. "What idiot?"
"The stupid president."
"Oh. Right." I wasn't really listening—I was too busy spiraling over the fact that he was leaving.
He turned toward the door, and just before walking out, he leaned in and kissed my cheek.
Cheek.
I blinked.
Oh no. Oh hell no.
He wasn't just going to leave after that. I reached out, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him back.
"Isaaq?" he said, startled.
I didn't even answer. I kissed him. Firmly. Boldly. Desperately.
Then I pulled away and stared at his wide eyes. He stood frozen for half a second—then dove right back in. Kissed me harder. It started slow, careful. Then Aiden took over—hungry, deliberate. His hands found my waist and my back arched into him before I even knew what I was doing. The heat of it all rushed in so fast it scared me.
I broke the kiss, gasping for air, and stared at him. His cheeks were flushed.
"I don't think you wanna show up to your next class looking like this," I whispered.
"And whose fault is that?" he asked, breathless.
"I'm sorry—you just drive me insane. I couldn't help it."
He chuckled, stepping back to the window and fixing his hair using the reflection. I didn't move. I just kept watching him. Thinking things I probably shouldn't be thinking during school hours.
He turned back with that damn smile.
"Now can I go? Some of us have reputations to maintain, y'know."
"Right. Vice president duties."
"Exactly. Especially now that I've got a target on my back."
I raised a brow. "Because of the president thing?"
"Yeah. That nincompoop got himself tangled up in some shit, I've had to pick up the slack."
He was halfway out the door when he turned again.
"What did you say your tutor's name was again?"
"Angela Dickens," I said, suspicious. "Why?"
"No reason. Just asking. I'll see you later, Almasi."
And with that, he was gone.
I flopped into the chair behind me—the lone witness to my emotional collapse. My fingers brushed over my lips, still warm.
"Fuck," I whispered to myself.
Classes. Right. I still had those.
"Fuck, I don't wanna go."
I stared up at the ceiling.
"Aiden, come back."
I groaned into my hands.
"Fuck."
_ _ _
By the time I got out, Aiden was gone.
No trace of him in the hallway, no lingering scent of that ridiculously good cologne, not even the echo of his boots on the floor. Just vanished.
I sighed and trudged back toward my class building, dragging my feet like I was walking to my own funeral. I didn't even know what period it was—and honestly? I didn't care.
All I could think about was Aiden.
Those bruises on his face. The way he winced when I hugged him. I wanted to know exactly who the hell had been rough-handling my man and give them a piece of my damn mind. Maybe a fist to the throat too, just for good measure.
I was deep in those thoughts—dangerous, slightly unhinged, probably illegal thoughts—when I heard someone call out:
"Almasi!"
I stopped, blinked. That voice wasn't familiar. Like... at all. It yanked me out of my mental rage spiral and dumped me right into confusion.
I turned around, ready to either run or fake a smile.
The girl standing there was short, had long, sleek black hair that fell almost to her waist, and glasses that looked too big for her small face. She had the whole studious, sweet but possibly scary under pressure look going on.
"Um... I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked, trying to play it cool—like I wasn't just imagining 100 different torture methods for the bastards responsible for hurting Aiden.
She let out a tiny sigh like she was already tired of me. "I'm afraid this is our first time meeting."
"Um… okay."
She adjusted her glasses with a practiced flick of her finger. "I'm Angela Dickens. And I'll be tutoring you on Advanced Mathematics, Statistics, and Essay Structuring. Well just to mention a few."
I literally felt my soul leave my body.
"Shit," I muttered under my breath.
"Oh yeah, cool, cool… about that—" I started, already preparing a brilliant excuse involving death or dismemberment.
But she cut me off.
"I've also discussed our meeting days with your registered guardian."
"Fuuuuuuck," I dragged, nearly choking on air.
She blinked at me, expression neutral. "We'll be starting tomorrow. Saturday. Ten a.m. sharp. I've received your home address, so I'll be coming over."
I snapped my head toward her. "Isn't that like... prying? Those are very personal details!"
"Of course," she replied, like a robot from hell. "But I received consent from your registered guardian. I told you—I've already discussed this matter with her."
And just like that, I could hear the explosions in my brain. Not metaphorical. Actual explosions. Like someone dropped a nuke on my mental peace.
"Right," I muttered, teeth clenched so hard I could hear my jaw crack. "Of course you did."
"Well then, that'll be all," she said, as chipper as a kindergarten teacher. "I look forward to our first session."
And then she turned and walked off like she hadn't just detonated my entire weekend plans.
I stood there for a full second. Processing.
Then I stormed out the hallway and kicked the nearest trash can so hard it toppled over with a dramatic clang.
"DAMN IT!"
I hated—hated—when people made decisions for me like I was some lost orphan with no functioning brain cells.
How the fuck was Julie giving consent when she was high off her face, wine-drunk, and halfway into an argument with the TV about how love isn't real?
How the hell did they even manage a conversation? Did Angela just nod while Julie quoted Beyoncé lyrics?
"Julia Almasi," I hissed, storming back toward the building, "you've really done it this time."
Still fuming, I took a deep breath, fixed my face, and walked into the building like I hadn't just been having a full-blown mental breakdown outside.
No matter how mad I got, though... I couldn't bring myself to actually hate Julie.
I loved that woman too much.
Even when she was out here casually ruining my life.