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qinche-cvmslvt · 10 days ago

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Content Warning: NSFW, SMUT, Emotional Sex, Paranoia, Breaking down. Professor Sylus, Rafayel, Friendships.

Tag List: @daddysyluslittlekitten @aikonecrosis @mcdepressed290 @harutogf @kiss-the-universe @zozoparsnips @nchant6dkitty @aneertawrites @ikesimpleton @rorel1a @roselynviee

A/N: “Love consists in this: that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other.”— Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Chapter 12: Last Thread

The shift was subtle at first. It started with the small things, almost meaningless if it weren’t for who he was. If he hadn’t spent the last few months memorising everything about you and watching you with a kind of reverence that turned every habit, every pause and every breath into scripture.

The first morning it was your voice. It was still soft and sweet but it was quicker now, and sharper. In class you still answered questions with your usual brilliance but your eyes didn’t seek his out after. Didn’t hold that lingering weight, that silent ‘did you like that?’ The way it always had. You stopped looking up when he handed you the worksheet. Just said thank you and stared straight ahead. You also started looking at and whispering to Xavier again.

He told himself not to overthink it, that maybe this was something else. Then the following day you left class too fast. The bell had barely finished before you gathered your things, murmured something to Xavier and walked out without even brushing his desk. Sylus knew something was definitely wrong then. When you stopped lingering behind, moving slower, or pretending to reread your assignment just to get those extra seconds to be in each other’s presence and it just kept happening.

By Wednesday, the ache had settled in his chest like rot. Because this wasn’t distance or anger. It was restraint and Sylus knew restraint better than anyone. You stopped texting him throughout the day, stopped wearing his favourite chapstick that he bought you and you stopped coming over to his apartment in the afternoons.

Sylus noticed everything and that wasn’t even the worst part. Because you were still pretending everything was okay. When you did finally come over again you still kissed him, still fell apart in his arms when you’d have sex. You still sighed into his mouth like he was your air, like you’d choke without him but afterwards, you would get dressed too fast and leave his apartment too quickly. You didn’t look back and Sylus felt his control starting to crack because he knew what else this was. This wasn’t a girl falling out of love. This was a girl trying to keep something from burning her alive and Sylus wasn’t angry. He was terrified because whatever fire you were trying to smother. You think you have to do it alone and he just knows that if you keep trying to carry it without him, you’ll burn before you reach the other side.

You tell yourself every morning in the mirror that you are fine and everything is okay. You brush your hair and apply chaptstick like it can seal the cracks in your smile. You pull on your uniform like it’s armour. Straightening the pleats and tucking the hem just right, as if any of that could actually cover the chaos pulsing beneath your skin.

But you had to believe the lie because Xavier was watching you now and you weren’t exactly sure how much he knew. You constantly replay that conversation in your head. The way his voice was soft and sharp. Like he was trying to catch you in a lie and beg you to tell the truth at the same time. His parting words never left you.

“You’ve never been a good liar.”

It rang in your ears when you closed your eyes, echoed down every hallway you walked. Your heard it in the rustle of paper, the scrape of chairs and that breathless second before roll call.

He didn’t shout or accuse you of anything but every word he spoke was sharp, quiet and too true. The worst part was that your silence had done all the talking for you and now you could feel it. Eyes, everywhere.

You knew that Sylus was suspecting something too. You could feel it in the way he looked at you when he thought no one was paying attention. The slight crease between his brows and the hesitation in his voice when he called your name during a class discussion. You could see it in the way he lingered by his desk after class, waiting for you to stay, only for you to bolt with a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

You convinced yourself that you were doing the right thing. You sat where you were supposed to and you started talking to Xavier again talking about homework and deadlines like everything was still normal between you two. Inside though, you were clawing at the walls. Every whisper in the hallway made you flinch. Every look held a second too long made your skin crawl and every innocent question felt like an accusation you weren’t prepared to answer.

You were struggling to sleep or eat. Your fingers trembled in class sometimes so you’d write in cursive just to pretend your heart wasn’t trying to punch a hole through your ribs.

Then you kept waiting for the moment everything would come crashing down. For someone to say it too loud. For Principal Jenna to call your name over the intercom. For Sylus’ desk to be empty one day.

Nothing happened yet. So you smiled and kept your voice steady. You tried to hold yourself together with chapstick and late nights and lies that tasted like copper on your tongue. You knew deep down you were struggling to handle this alone but you were still trying because you love Sylus too much to let him burn and you hated yourself too much to pull him into the smoke with you.

You walked through the empty hallway listening to the click of your own shoes. Everyone had already filtered out, off to the busses, cars, after-school detentions and other activities. Your steps slowed as you rounded the corner near the lockers, your hand brushing the edge of your bag like it might ground you. You took a breath because you just needed one goddamn second of silence.

“Cutie.”

His voice slid in behind you like silk over a bruise and it made you still. You didn’t turn right away, just inhaled and slowly braced yourself.

Rafayel always sounded amused, like the world was a play and he’d seen the ending three acts ago, but today there was something quieter in it.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on,” he said softly, “or should I keep pretending not to notice you’re one breath away from cracking?”

You finally turned to face him. He was leaning against the wall near the lockers, arms crossed and gaze too still. His shirt was half untucked, tie hanging loose like he hadn’t bothered pretending today was anything but a formality. But his eyes, those two-toned, wicked eyes… they weren’t playing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said with a voice too sweet and too high. Laced with the kind of lie you tell yourself in the mirror when your hands are shaking.

Rafayel smiled but it wasn’t smug or playful. It was sad.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me when you’re swallowing panic like it’s lunch.”

You blinked. He pushed off the wall, slow and deliberate. Boots loud in the quiet as he approached.

“You’ve got that look, Cutie,” he said, tilting his head. “Like someone handed you a grenade with a love letter taped to it.”

You didn’t answer. Rafayel stopped in front of you.

“I’ve seen you survive worse,” he murmured. “But lately? You’re not surviving. You’re shrinking.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“I said—”

“You flinch every time someone says your name.” His voice was still soft but it cut deep now. “You dodge Professor Sylus like he’s a loaded question and don’t even get me started on the way you looked at Xavier during club today. Like he was gasoline and you were already on fire.”

Your breath caught and you took a step back.

“I’m not judging you,” he said. “God, if anything, I’m impressed you kept it together this long. But whatever’s happening? You’re not built to carry it alone.”

Your hands were shaking and you tucked them behind your back like he wouldn’t notice. Rafayel exhaled through his nose, looked down at the floor for a beat, then back at you.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” he said, voice gentler now. “But stop pretending you’re okay. You’re not and I don’t think he’d want you to suffer like this.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“You don’t know anything,” you whispered.

Rafayel smiled a kind and crooked smile. “I know you’re not scared of being caught,” he said. “You’re scared of what it’ll do to him.”

Your breath hitched and the dam cracked in your chest and something slipped through. It was fast, hot and unstoppable. A twist in your face as you tried to hold back tears. Rafayel didn’t say anything else. Just opened his arms and you stepped into them.

Your bag slid to the floor and your forehead pressed to his shoulder but you didn’t cry. Your body just trembled and your fists clenched against the fabric of his shirt. Like you were trying to hold everything in still but your body had given up.

Rafayel’s arms wrapped around you tightly. Not like a boy trying to make a claim but as a friend holding up the weight someone else dropped. His hand slid up your back, his palm was warm and steady. He whispered something soft into your hair, just sweet nothings to let you know he wasn’t going anywhere.

What neither of you saw or heard was the quiet shift of a classroom door. Cracked just enough to reveal a sliver of a shadow. A pair of crimson eyes wide with hurt. Sylus’ hand gripped the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He said nothing, did nothing. Just watched the girl he loves fall apart in someone else’s arms but he understood why.

You decided to visit Sylus that afternoon and the moment you step through the threshold Sylus feels it. Not the cold you brought in with you clinging to your coat. Not your silence but your guilt and that guilt sits between you two before either of you speak.

You try and shrug it off with your coat, forcing a smile as you tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Hey, are you hungry?” You ask. “I can make something. Or order-“

“I saw you.”

Your body stills and your breath catches.

“Earlier,” he adds, voice low, even. “In the hall.”

You don’t move.

“You and Rafayel.”

Still, you say nothing. He steps forward, slow and quiet, until the space between you evaporates.

“I watched you lean on him.”

You close your eyes briefly. Sylus’ voice was steady but beneath it you could feel the tension. Like something bitter and sharp was melting the back of his throat. “I watched you let him hold you. I watched him look at you like he knew something I didn’t.”

“That’s not what it was,” you whisper.

“No?” he asks softly. “Because it looked like you were breaking and it looked like he was the one helping you put the pieces back together.”

You look at him, your heart thudding loud. “I didn’t mean for it to be him.”

He doesn’t flinch or move. “But it was.”

Your eyes shine from fear and panic. From the bone-deep guilt that’s been eating you alive for days now.

“I didn’t know you saw.”

“I always see you,” he says, and fuck, his voice, it’s not angry. It’s wounded. Quiet and gutted, like your name is sitting on his tongue but he won’t let it out yet.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you rush out. “He was just there and I was—”

“Alone,” he finishes.

You nod. “I was trying to handle it. Xavier… He…” You trail off before continuing, “I thought if I could stay composed, if I could fix it without dragging you in—”

“—you’d protect me,” he murmurs. “But that’s not what you were doing.”

You look up, startled.

“You weren’t protecting me,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice a slow blade. “You were punishing yourself.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he says, voice breaking for the first time. “You were trying to outrun what we are by pretending it could disappear if you just… ignored it. If you stayed strong enough, long enough, maybe the storm would pass and you wouldn’t have to see me burn in it.”

Tears spill over.

“I am burning,” he says, cupping your jaw now, his thumb brushing beneath your eye. “Every day. Every second I have to stand in that classroom and pretend I’m not yours.”

Your breath shakes.

“And then today, I saw you lean on someone else because you were scared of what it would do to me if you leaned on me instead.”

A sob slips from your lips and he pulls you into him. His arms wrapping tight around your shoulders, mouth pressed to the crown of your head and for a few long seconds, you let yourself stay there. Buried in him and letting the warmth and the steadiness of his body soak into your bones like balm. But then your breath catches and your spine stiffens.

“I need to tell you something.” You whisper.

Sylus doesn’t move far but he draws back just enough to look at you, to find your eyes. His fingers come up to cradle your jaw. “Talk to me.”

You swallow, hard. The words scrape your throat but you say them anyway. “Xavier… he confronted me the day after camp… He suspects something.”

Sylus goes still with a sharp focus. Like your words have shifted the air between you.

“I didn’t tell him anything,” you say quickly, “but I—I froze. I tried to lie but I just stood there, and he saw it, Sylus. It feels like he saw everything.”

Your voice quivers, and you look down ashamed.

“I’ve been spiraling ever since. Thinking if I could just… get ahead of it, if I could fix it before it touched you, it would be okay. That maybe if I pulled away, if I made space, you’d be safe.”

His hand doesn’t leave your face. He brushes a thumb beneath your eye. Catching the edge of your guilt and shakes his head slowly.

“Kitten.” He says quietly. His hand slides to the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair like a tether.

“You always think it’s your job to take the hit first,” he murmurs. “Like you’re the shield and I’m something behind it.”

“I just didn’t want to be the reason—”

“Stop,” he breathes. “You’re not the reason. You’re the reason I have something worth risking.”

Your lips part and your throat works around a sob you can’t let out.

“I knew what this was the second I touched you,” he whispers, his voice steady, full of something soft and burning. “I knew the risks. I made my choice. Don’t you dare carry it alone.”

Your hands shake against his chest.

“I thought if it reached you… if it blew up in your face, you’d hate me for it.”

His jaw clenches but not with anger. With conviction.

“Sweetie,” he says low and thick with reverence. “The only thing that would break me is if you tried to walk through this fire alone.”

He presses his forehead to yours, closing the space like he’s sealing a vow between you.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “And I don’t want distance. I want the truth. I want you. Always.”

You lean into him, your lips meeting his like you’re surrendering. Like the dam is breaking all over again and every fear you’ve been carrying melts under the heat of his promise.

In this moment Sylus doesn’t rush. No, he takes his time because this isn’t about lust. It’s about reclaiming, undoing every knot of fear you tried to tie between you and about making sure the only thing you feel when you think of him… is safety.

You’re still pressed against him, your breathing uneven and your fingers fisted in his shirt like you’re holding on for dear life. He leans in again, his lips brushing your temple.

“I’m going to take care of you now,” he murmurs, voice low and fierce. “And you’re not going to stop me.”

You don’t argue, not when his hands begin to move slowly. One hand still cradling the back of your neck and the other gliding down your spine, memorising every inch. He kisses your cheek first, then the corner of your mouth, your jaw and then your throat. It was soft and anchoring.

“I don’t want distance,” he whispers between kisses. “I don’t want silence. I want you. Shaking, scared, and spiraling. I want all of it. I want you.”

Your body shudders as your hands slide from his chest to his shoulders, then around his back, pulling him closer.

“Let me take it from you,” he says, lips ghosting over your collarbone. “Every thought. Every ache. Every part of you that feels like it’s unraveling. I want it. Give it to me.”

You let him back you toward the bedroom, your breathing shallow with anticipation. When you reach the bedroom, he lifts your shirt from your body like it’s made of silk and kisses the skin as he reveals it. His hands then slide down your thighs in a grounding touch. As if he’s reminding you. ‘You’re here with me and you’re not alone anymore.’

He undresses you like a promise, stripping away the fabric and the fear together. Then he lays you back and climbs over you with the kind of patience that speaks of deep, unrelenting want but even deeper care. The kind that says, ‘You are mine and I will never let you go.’

He kisses your shoulder, then your ribs and then your stomach. Each kiss slow and warm, like he’s imprinting himself into your skin.

When he does finally kiss your lips, it’s soft and sweet. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking the skin beneath your eye. “You don’t have to be strong for me, Sweetie,” he breathes. “You just have to be with me.”

Your tears spill quietly and he kisses them too. His lips brush each one like they’re precious. Like they’re not made of fear or guilt, but truth, undeniable and raw. He doesn’t flinch or speak. Just traces the path of every tear down your cheeks with his mouth, collecting them like secrets he refuses to let the world see.

Then, when your breathing evens and when you’re no longer holding yourself together out of fear but unraveling in the safety of his hands, he moves. Gently and intimately. Like you’re not just his to hold, but his to heal. He slides his palm beneath the back of your knee, lifting your leg around his waist. The weight of him presses into you, his cock thick and heavy between your thighs, but he doesn’t thrust yet.

He rocks forward slowly and deliberately, his forehead against yours and his breath ragged.

“I’m still here,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, like it’s scraped raw from everything he’s feeling. “You haven’t lost me.”

You whimper, breath hitching as your hips lift trying to close the final distance between you.

“I don’t deserve you,” you whisper.

He growls low and guttural and his hands tightening around your thighs.

“Don’t say that,” he breathes. “You’re everything. Do you hear me? Everything.”

He slides his cock into you in one slow, steady thrust and you gasp. Not from pain but from the way he fills you so perfectly. It grounds you and claims you. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into his skin. You arch into him, lips parting on a breathless sound, somewhere between a moan and a sob.

He stays buried in you, motionless, forehead pressed to yours, like the act of being inside you is something sacred. Because to him, it is. Your walls pulse around him and your breath trembles against his lips. Then he begins to move, not to fuck, but to love.

Each thrust is deep and measured. A confession in rhythm and pressure and heat. The kind of pace that says, I’m not just here to take, I’m here to give. To remind you what it feels like to be cherished.

His hand cradles the back of your head, tilting it gently so he can kiss you slowly and deep, tongues barely brushing. A kiss that’s not about dominance. Not about hunger but need.

The purest and fiercest kind of need. You break the kiss first because your moan betrays you, too loud, and too full of longing. He watches you unravel, lips parted, eyes heavy-lidded, and cheeks flushed from the sheer weight of pleasure.

“Don’t hold back,” Sylus breathes, voice rough and reverent, fucking deeper into you like he’s carving his name along your spine. “Let me hear it.”

You gasp as his thrusts shift deeper, sharper, and unrelenting now. His hand cups your face now, thumb stroking the edge of your mouth as your head tips back against the pillow.

“Oh my God—Sylus—”

He shudders hard because hearing his name like that, half-broken and fully yours, it’s the most intimate thing he’s ever known.

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s my good girl.”

And fuck, you are. The way your legs wrap tight around his waist like you’re afraid to let him go. The way your fingers claw at his back like you’re trying to drag him deeper. The way you say please like you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore.

Your moans fill the room now. No restraint, and no fear. Just pure, wanton sounds and Sylus fucking drinks it in.

His mouth trails down your throat, over your chest, teeth grazing the curve of your breast before sucking hard and leaving a mark just above your heart.

“Mine,” he says again.

You nod frantically. “Yes—yes, I’m yours—”

Then he fucks you harder because you said it like a vow and because you meant it. Because everything you’re giving him, this body, this voice, and this wrecked and trembling trust. Is a gift he’s not worthy of, but he’ll take anyway and worship until there’s nothing left.

Your nails rake down his spine as you arch, chasing the pressure, the friction, and the heat coiling low and tight and unbearable.

“I’m gonna—” you gasp, breaking off into a cry as he tilts his hips just right, just fucking right. He catches your mouth with his, swallowing the sound as your climax slams through you, shattering you against his chest.

You cry out into him, body pulsing, breath shattering, and legs trembling around his hips. Sylus doesn’t let up. He fucks you through it, into it, with it, chasing his own high in the rhythm of your collapse.

His hands slide under your thighs and with one fierce pull, he folds you, and your legs are thrown over his shoulders. The angle hits deep, devastatingly deep. Your breath stutters and your hands claw at the sheets. His grip tightens at your waist. He slams into you hard. It’s relentless and possessive and it makes the bed creak from the force of it.

“Let me remind you what this means,” he murmurs, somehow still tender while he’s fucking you into the mattress. “You’re safe here. With me. Always.”

He drives into you again, your body jolts with every thrust, and your whimpers are caught in the rhythm of his need. His thumb brushes your cheek, impossibly gentle for how he’s fucking you right now.

“Don’t run from this,” he says, his breath ragged now. “Don’t run from me.”

He leans down, your legs pressed tight to his chest, and kisses your temple like a promise.

One hand slides up your arm, fingers lacing with yours and pressing your hands above your head, pinning you without cruelty and anchoring you.

“You’re mine,” he breathes, words low and reverent against your skin. “And I’ll never make you doubt us again.”

His pace turns erratic but not sloppy, never that. Just desperate and consuming. Like the feel of you around him has finally broken whatever threadbare restraint he was holding onto. Your body rocks with every thrust, thighs trembling, fingers clutched in his. He’s still folded you tight, legs over his shoulders, and his weight pinning you to the bed like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice thick and shaking. “Just like that, fuck. Good girl. Keep looking at me.”

His hips snap forward, harder now. The sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, wet, hot, and frantic. But his hand is cupping your face again, thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something precious, even as he’s fucking you like you’re everything he’ll ever need.

“You feel that?” he groans. “How deep I am?”

His forehead presses to yours, forearm braced beside your head as he chases the edge. His breath stutters and then his whole body goes tight, his grip bruising at your hips, and he sinks as deep as he can go, cumming inside you and staying there, buried in you like it’s not just where he belongs but where he ends.

You feel every shudder of him inside you and it feels like pure devotion wrapped in ruin. His lips find yours between gasps with kisses that taste like reverence.

Then silence but not empty or hollow. It hums with the sound of your breath tangled in his. With the slick heat of skin pressed to skin. With the scent of sex, sweat, and something that feels too holy to name.

He stays inside you as his body lowers over yours, careful not to crush you. His arms tremble, holding his weight, holding you, and his mouth brushes the curve of your jaw soft and reverent.

“Still here,” he whispers and you believe him.

Not because of the words but because he never let you go. Not once. He’s etched into your bones, in the ache between your thighs, and in the rhythm of your pulse.

Whatever storm is coming, let it come because this isn’t a line you crossed. It’s a thread that pulled tight and snapped and now? You are tangled together.

Not trapped or lost. Just knotted, in something that can’t be undone.

#love and deepspace #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus #sylus smut #sylus x you

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qinche-cvmslvt · 15 days ago

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Content Warning: Xavier comes back, Rafayel, lowkey stalking?, plot heavy chapter, paranoia.

Tag List: @daddysyluslittlekitten @mcdepressed290 @aikonecrosis @ikesimpleton @aneertawrites @zozoparsnips @harutogf @rorel1a @nchant6dkitty @roselynviee @kiss-the-universe

A/N: The fire burned hot… but now there’s smoke and smoke means eyes.

“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t after you.”

Consequences? Oh, they’re closer than you think.

Chapter 11: Truth

The first morning back after camp hums with a false kind of cheer. The halls are loud, almost too loud. Senior students swarm through corridors in clusters, retelling ghost stories and bonfire gossip like it’s sacred folklore, their voices echoing off the lockers and freshly waxed floors. Teachers move with coffee cups glued to their palms and a practiced sort of tolerance. Xavier, however, is quiet.

He stands near the library staircase, backpack slung off one shoulder, and watching the crowd like he’s still waiting for something to happen. Just when he was about to move, you appear from the crowd and Xavier holds his breath. Because, you look different now but in a way he didn't know. Or, at least, didn't want to know.

Your hair is tied up in a messy bun, there's a soft smudge of your foundation on your collar and your lips... your lips look swollen and they are a slight shade of red. You look flushed and distracted. Like you had just rolled out of bed, with someone, and didn't even bother to fix yourself.

You walked through the front foyer with your head down and your thumb brushing across your phone like you’re checking for something. Like you’re already connected to someone and already part of something else.

“Hey,” he says, stepping in beside you.

You glance up, surprised, but not startled. “Hey.”

Your smile is small and quick. It disappears before it even settles and you don't even stop to talk. You shift your bag on your shoulder and keep walking. Xavier follows without an invitation.

“You sleep okay?” he asks, keeping his voice light.

You nod. “ Yeah. Just tired.”

“Still thinking about camp?”

Something flickers across your face from his question. As if you remembered something and whatever it was, it made your cheeks bloom a soft pink.

“Maybe a little.”

He watches you from the corner of his eye. “It was a good trip. Mostly.”

You hum in agreement, lips curving faintly. “Yeah.”

There's something different about your voice too. A warmth behind it. Like there's something underneath the surface that you aren't saying and it's not the kind of something meant for him. Not anymore. Not since the whole Senior Dance drama.

Xavier thinks back to the dance, the way Rafayel's hand was on your waist. The way you two moved together and the way you looked afterwards, flushed and unfocused. He remembers the way Rafayel smirked when you walked away. Like he knew something no one else did.

Xavier's jaw clenches. He hasn't brought it up. He wanted to give you space and he hoped that maybe you'd come back to him once whatever was going on with you passed. But you hadn't come back to him and now something is different with you.

You seem calmer and more content and Xavier knows that should be a good thing. But it feels an awful lot like distance.

“I, uh… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Xavier says, pausing just as you reach your classroom. “Are you and Rafayel…?”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Is there something going on between you two?”

You laugh but it’s tight. Like a reflex. “No. No, it’s nothing like that.”

“You sure?”

You nod quickly. “I’m sure.”

Xavier studies you for a moment longer. He knows you well enough to know that you're not lying. But that only makes things worse. Because if it's not Rafayel... then who the hell is it?

You reach for the classroom door. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile. “Later.”

You slip inside, leaving him standing there. Still unsure, still searching and still convinced that the wrong guy has your heart in his hands.

By lunch, Xavier is restless. He sits beneath the old gum tree at the edge of the courtyard, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned in his lap, and his textbook open but untouched. Around him, laughter echoes from picnic tables and steps. Students talk about upcoming exams, whose cabin got some action, and the end-of-year senior prank that’s brewing beneath the radar.

He hears none of it though because his eyes are fixed on you again. You’re sitting with two girls from Literature Club, legs crossed at the ankle, and smiling just enough to look natural but not enough to be present. Your phone is in your hand, again, thumb brushing the screen every few seconds.

It's not mindless scrolling, Xavier knows the difference. You're checking, waiting for something. A subtle look passes across your face when your screen lights up, it was just for a second. It was something warm and then your head tilts slightly. Your gaze shifts but not in a direction Xavier expected. Not to him, definitely not, and not across the courtyard. No, your eyes were directed towards the staff building.

Xavier follows it and sees nothing.

Just a couple teachers disappearing through the back door, Professor Sylus was walking in with a folder under one arm, his tie slightly loosened, and sleeves rolled. He’s scrolling through his phone as well and then, he smirks. A slight subtle smirk but Xavier sees it but Xavier noticed something else too. It was barely a second but Professor Sylus' gaze shifted too. Not in a sweeping looking-out-for-student-behaviour kind of way. No, it already knew which direction to go. Your direction. Xavier's stomach tightens.

You smile down at your phone again. Another message and another flicker of warmth. It could be anyone, right? A friend, a classmate or maybe even a relative. If you were telling the truth, it wasn't Rafayel and Xavier wants to know who.

He flips the page of his textbook but he doesn't read it. His foot bounces with restrained energy and his heart is ticking faster with thoughts he can't voice yet. There was a secret here and Xavier's not angry about it but he is a little bit hurt by it. Because you were best friends, you told him everything but not whatever this was. So Xavier watches. Close and sharp because something was not adding up and Xavier wasn't sure if he wants to know the answer.

The air is stale, thick with the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the scratch of pens across paper. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the breeze, but it doesn’t help. The room feels too closed in and claustrophobic. Like something’s pressing against the walls from the inside.

Xavier shifts in his seat, elbow propped against the desk, and his jaw resting in his hand. He should be listening. Professor Sylus is lecturing about something heavy, guilt, temptation, and sacrifice. Something classic and tragic. His voice is smooth and even. The kind of tone that usually keeps the class pinned but not today. Not for Xavier.

Because today, the energy feels off and it all starts with you.

You don't look at him during class anymore. Before the dance, before Rafayel, you used to toss him a glance. A little smirk or a roll of your eyes whenever Professor Sylus went off on a tangent. Now, you're laser-focused and you sit with a perfect posture. Your hands folded over your notebook like you're praying the paper will keep you steady. The worst part? It's been this way for months.

Even the way you write has changed because you're not really writing anymore. When you shift in your seat, it's small and controlled, like a performance. But Xavier notices everything. He's always noticed you. The tension in your shoulders, the way your lips part when you exhale like you're holding something in.

He watches you blink slowly, not like you're tired and fighting off sleep. Like your mind is somewhere else entirely and when Professor Sylus walks past your desk, you still. You don't flinch or look up but your breath stutters. Just slightly.

Xavier knows how to read people, especially you, and that stutter? That wasn't nothing. His eyes flick to Professor Sylus. The man's voice hasn't changed, his stride hasn't faltered but something about the way his hand brushed the edge of your desk... It was too close and too casual. Like a habit more than an accident and it makes Xavier's spine straighten.

Something’s going on.

No, he doesn't want to think it, doesn't even want to go there. But now there's a feeling that's gnawing at him and it's the same feeling he had the night of the dance. That same feeling he had when he noticed the way you acted at camp and the ache that started in his chest when you hesitated too long after he asked you about it.

Rafayel comes to mind. That’s where it started. The way he looked at you that day in the library, the way you didn't deny anything, the silence and the deflection. Xavier's chest tightens.

Not with jealousy but with suspicion.

He looks back at you. Watches the way you tap your pen against the edge of your notebook. You don’t use the pen he got you for Valentine’s Day anymore and that? that's another heartache.

Your head tilts slightly toward the board as if you’re listening, but your eyes are somewhere else and when Professor Sylus turns to speak again, you don’t even blink. It doesn't look like you're hearing him. It looks like you're feeling him. Like every word Professor Sylus speaks is a caress against your soul. Xavier doesn't say anything yet but he feels the knot in his stomach wind tighter and now... he can't look away anymore.

The bell rings too loud. It slices through the classroom like a blade, sending chairs scraping and pages rustling. Students move with the lazy urgency of late afternoon, bags slung over shoulders, and voices rising in soft chatter.

You stand slower than usual and Xavier watches you from the corner of his eye as he shoves his books into his bag. You’re careful and controlled. Like every movement has been rehearsed. Your fingers linger too long on your notebook and you avoid looking at the front of the classroom.

At him.

Professor Sylus is already stacking papers. Calm and Professional but Xavier sees it, the quick glance he casts toward you as you walk past. It’s short, too short. Like he’s trying not to look. Like he knows he shouldn't. By the time you reach the door Xavier's jaw is tight. His fingers press into the canvas strap of his bag. Like it might hold him together.

Xavier doesn't follow you right away. He tries to tell himself that what he's feeling is nothing. That you're just stressed, that it's just school but truthfully? He missed your laugh. The way it used to spill out of you so easily. He missed the way you used to lean into him when you were tired. The way your voice always softened when you said his name.

Now it's all gone quiet and Xavier's never been afraid of silence... until now.

He should be heading to the library, or the oval, or anywhere else. His feet moved before his thoughts could catch up and by the time he hits the corridor, you're already turning a corner. Hair swinging behind you in soft waves, the sway of your hips muted beneath the weight of your bag.

He walks slower now, more careful. He wasn't being sneaky, no. It was measured. Xavier thinks about the dance again, the way you looked that night dressed in red and dangerous. Like every part of you had been wrapped in a dare no one was brave enough to take. Except maybe Rafayel and maybe... someone else.

Xavier's jaw clenches at the thought. His footsteps echo softly as he turns the corner behind you. You don't even notice. You head outside towards the courtyard near the faculty building.

That makes him pause because no student ever goes that way. Not unless you're going to interrupt the teachers in their staffrooms.

Suddenly, you stop walking. Just shy of the staff entrance. Your hand hovers over your phone again and you glance around. Left, then right and then you let your bag drop against the bench beside you and you sit and wait.

Xavier watches from a distance that's too far to be seen but close enough that he can feel the weight of this moment drape over him like a wet coat. Why are you waiting? Who are you waiting for?

He shifts his stance, his back is against the corner of the building and his breath is shallow. Then, the staff door opens.

Professor Sylus steps out. He wasn't hurried or cautious. Just moved smoothly. Like he wasn't expecting anyone but you. His expression doesn't change but Xavier sees a flicker. The soft tension in his shoulders. The way his eyes find yours immediately, like they've done it a hundred times.

You smile at him, it's small but it's real. Professor Sylus doesn't smile back, at least not in an obvious way. Instead, his hand brushes his tie, he adjusts his sleeves and something about that gesture makes Xavier's stomach twist.

Because that's not how Professor Sylus acts with students. That's not how he acts at all. You stand slowly and pick up your bag and you say something. Xavier can't hear it but whatever it was makes Sylus tilt his head, just slightly.

You nod once and then turn to leave and Sylus waits. He watches you go and when you disappear around the corner, he exhales long and low and runs a hand through his hair like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone.

Xavier doesn't breathe or move. He just stands there, caught in the wreckage of a truth he doesn't understand yet but feels in his chest. Like a match pressed to his skin. He doesn't know what it is, not exactly, but something is happening.

Finally, he finds the strength to move and he moves fast and quietly. You barely make it ten steps down the corridor before his voice finds you.

“Hey.” His voice was soft and low, fraying at the edges.

Your pulse suddenly spikes and you freeze mid-step. You keep your back to him as you glance at the floor. Like you can ground yourself through linoleum. Your heart is beating too fast and too loud, anxiety flowing through your veins and you're not sure you want to acknowledge why.

“Xavier.” You say softly.

He steps closer to you, silent but not gentle.

“Was that Sylus?”

The question lands like a blade, not because of how sharp it is but because of how quiet. Like he already knows the answer, and saying it out loud is just a formality.

“You followed me?”

“Don’t deflect.” His voice isn’t angry or cold. It’s tired and that’s what guts you most.

You turn slowly, arms crossing over your chest, not in defence but because your body is trying to hold itself together. You’re not ready for this. You’re not ready to see the look in his eyes but you do and it’s worse than you imagined.

There’s no fury or accusation. Just… ache. A quiet, splintered ache that settles behind his eyes and spreads like frost to the corners of his mouth.

“It was nothing,” you whisper.

He lets out a short breath of a laugh. It sounds sharp and bitter. Like it cracked off something inside him.

“Jesus,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. He pauses for a moment, like he’s reining himself back in. Like he’s seeing through you. Then, he asks again.

“What were you doing with Professor Sylus behind the staff room?”

You flinch at his question.

“I was trying to—” The words catch.

You swallow hard and he steps closer.

You don’t back away. You can’t, you’re stuck in it now. Knee-deep in guilt, in truth half-swallowed and in the unbearable ache of watching someone who cares about you start to unravel. You don’t know what’s worse… that he’s right? Or that he’s in denial.

“I saw you with Rafayel at the dance,” he says. “I saw the way he touched you. The way you let him.”

Your breath falters.

“I thought, maybe… maybe it was just that. Some confusing thing you weren’t ready to admit. So I stayed out of it. I gave you space.” His jaw tightens.

He gestures back, toward the hall you just walked from. His eyes shine but not with anger. With hurt and with betrayal that doesn’t know where to land.

“I saw you standing there, smiling at Sylus like he’s a secret you like keeping.”

Your mouth opens, then closes. You can’t speak, your breath is shallow and you feel cold. Because Xavier’s isn’t wrong. Because Sylus was your secret but it was more than that now.

“I was…” You pause. Swallowing the hard lump in your throat. He waits, watching you with that awful, quiet patience.

“I was asking about assignments.”

It comes out steadier than you expected. A lifeline. A half-truth wrapped in just enough logic to lean on.

You lift your chin a little, not in defiance but just to breath a little easier.

“Professor Sylus is hard to read,” you add. “I wasn’t sure what he expected from me. I thought maybe if I caught him outside class…”

Your voice trails off and now even you don’t fully believe it. Xavier doesn’t speak right away. He just watches you with a quiet and heavy gaze. Like he’s holding something sharp and trying not to bleed on the floor.

Then, he speaks in a soft voice. The softest you’ve ever heard his voice.

“Why’d you stop hanging out with me?”

The question punches harder than it should and it makes you flinch. Just slightly but he sees it. He looks down, exhales through his nose like it hurts.

“And if there’s nothing between you and Rafayel…” He lifts his gaze again.

“…then why did you dance with him like that?”

You open your mouth, but he keeps going, gentle, raw, and unraveling.

“You looked at him like you meant it. Like he was yours. And I stood there, telling myself it didn’t matter.”

His voice shakes, just once. “I just want to know what changed.”

You shift under his gaze. The ache in your throat sharpens. You know what he wants and you know you can’t give it to him.

So you lie. Again.

“I just got busy,” you say, voice too even and too measured. “School work, graduation prep Everything got… complicated.”

He doesn’t react at first. Just blinks as your lie settles between you. Then, his expression changes. Just slightly but enough to feel like a door had closed.

“Right,” he says flatly.

But you see the flicker of disbelief. You see the way his jaw sets like he’s trying to stop himself from saying what he knows. He nods once, slow. Like he’s humoring you but the shine in his eyes is gone.

“Complicated,” he repeats, like the word tastes wrong and this time, when he looks at you… He doesn’t pretend to believe you.

Xavier watches you for a moment longer. Then he nods slowly. Like he’s finally made peace with something that hurts to admit.

“You’ve never been a good liar,” he says softly. It was almost kind but it cut like glass and it makes your breath catch. He turns slightly, like he’s going to walk away. Then stops and looks back.

“But I guess that doesn’t matter,” he adds. “Not when the person you’re lying to… already knows how to keep secrets.”

His eyes linger but not on you. On the hallway you came from. The staff room where you and Sylus stood.

Then he leaves.

Doesn’t wait for your response. Doesn’t look back and suddenly, you’re cold. Not because of what he said but because of what it might mean

The hallway swallows you whole. Xavier’s footsteps had disappeared. There was no more voice in the walls. Just the soft echo of your own breathing bouncing off painted cinderblock. Your spine is straight and as you start walking your pace is even but your thoughts.. they’re in chaos.

He knows.

That’s the first whisper. It doesn’t scream, it doesn’t rush in with flashing lights or blaring sirens. It creeps and slides up your neck like cold air under the collar. Like guilt wrapped in silk. Xavier didn’t ask the question but he didn’t need to. The look in his eyes, quiet, broken, and knowing. It was worse than any accusation. Worse than yelling and worse than if he’d told you that you disgusted him. Because he hadn’t. He looked like he still wanted to protect you, even as you shattered him.

You reach the end of the corridor, hand brushing the cool metal of the stairwell door, but don’t push it open. You just stand there. Your reflection stares back at you in the narrow window, flushed cheeks, wild eyes, a mouth that still tastes like Sylus, and a heart that won’t stop beating like you’re running from something.

You close your eyes and take a breath but it doesn’t help. The silence has weight now. Like it knows what you did. Every student walking past, every glance, every whisper, it all feels heavier. It makes you suspicious. Paranoia coils tight behind your ribs. Like, maybe someone else saw. Someone behind a locked door, through a window or a passing glance that meant nothing… until it does.

Your footsteps quicken. Because now you’re hyper-aware of everything. The way Rafayel looked at you during lunch. The way Professor Caleb nodded too slowly in the hallway. The way Professor Zayne’s eyes narrowed when he called your name out during class this morning.

Did they see?

Do they know?

You slip into the girls’ bathroom and lock yourself in a stall, clutching the straps of your bag like they’re lifelines. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to feel like love.

But it does, when it’s just the two of you. When Sylus is holding you like you’re the only thing left in the world worth saving. When his voice slips against your ear and says things no one else would dare whisper. When his lips trail down your spine and you feel like home.

But outside of that? It’s a crime scene. Every word they speak in public is a risk. Every glance a loaded weapon and now the blood is seeping through the cracks. You press your forehead to the stall wall and close your eyes, willing your pulse to slow but the truth is already echoing.

You crossed a line and there’s no turning back. You love him but the world will crucify HIM for it.

It wasn’t supposed to be him.

That thought had been circling Xavier’s head since you spoke in the hallway. It was a heavy and uncomfortable thought. Like a storm brewing behind every glance you avoided, every smile you gave a little too quickly, and every time your eyes shifted across the room and didn’t come back to him.

He sat behind the gym, hunched forward on the weather-warped bench, elbows resting on his knees. The cold gnawed at his knuckles, but he didn’t feel it. His hands were fists and his jaw was locked. His chest was tighter than it should be over something he couldn’t prove.

But still.

He kept thinking about the way you looked at Sylus in class. Or rather, how you didn’t. He thought about the quiet tension when he brought up the dance, camp and anything close to honest.

Xavier noticed the changes in Sylus too. He was still the same strict, and nonchalant professor but he was lighter now. More present. Like something had shifted just beneath the surface. Like he’d had a kind of softness to him now that doesn’t come from sleep or caffeine. The kind that comes from someone else’s hands, someone else’s warmth…

Xavier didn’t know, not really, but he feels it in his chest. In his bones and it was enough to make him sick. His throat worked around a bitter sound that never quite made it out.

Then, footsteps echoed behind him. They were measured, deliberate and familiar. He didn’t look up.

“Unless you’ve got a punchline that’s gonna fix this,” he muttered, “piss off.”

A soft chuckle answered. “Not unless you’re into ironic tragedy.”

Of course… it was Rafayel.

He slid into view like shadow with a sense of humor, hands tucked in his coat pockets, scarf draped loose around his neck and hair a disheveled violet crown that looked artfully accidental.

He looked too casual and too amused. Especially for someone who hadn’t been accused yet.

Xavier’s eyes narrowed. “Took you long enough.”

Rafayel arched a brow. “What, were you expecting me?”

“I figured you’d turn up eventually. Smirking. Ready to gloat.”

A flicker of mock offense flashes across Rafayel’s face. “Gloat? About what, exactly?”

Xavier didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Rafayel’s lips twitched into a slow, knowing grin. “You’re still trying to pin this on me.”

Xavier stood, too fast and too rigid, like the tension had finally caught fire.

“I saw how you danced with her at the dance.”

“You mean when she was still technically your date?” Rafayel asked, tone dry and unapologetic.

“I wasn’t her date.”

“No,” Rafayel said, after a beat. “You weren’t.”

Silence cracked between them sharp, jagged, and inhumanly loud. Xavier looked like he might punch the nearest wall, just to feel anything more useful than the pressure crushing his chest.

The silence stretched, thick and serrated. Rafayel didn’t move. He wasn’t smirking anymore. He just watched as Xavier broke silently.

His voice dropped, quieter than before, scraped raw from the inside.

“…It’s not you, is it?”

It wasn’t a challenge, or a threat. Just a question he didn’t really want answered and it hung in the cold between them like a breath that wouldn’t leave.

Rafayel tilted his head curiously and for a moment, something like sympathy flickered behind the grin but it didn’t stay.

Instead, he offered a slow and crooked smile. Infuriatingly unreadable.

“Would it make you feel better if it was?”

Xavier’s jaw twitched. Rafayel stepped back, hands still tucked in his coat pockets.

“Some truths,” he said, voice light, almost amused, “are best left until they matter.”

Xavier’s fists clenched, knuckles bone-white. His voice dropped low, shaking with restraint. “What the fuck does that mean?”

Rafayel’s smile widened, lazy, dark and deliberately unhelpful. He stepped just close enough for his breath to fog between them.

“It means,” he said, voice velvet-wrapped malice, “there’s more than one wolf in this school.”

He held Xavier’s stare. Let the words sink in. Then turned with a soft chuckle and walked away like the wreckage behind him was just background noise.

Rafayel’s footsteps eventually faded, and were swallowed by the dark. Xavier just stood there. Frozen. The weight of that single line, “more than one wolf” pressed heavy against his chest. Like it had claws, like it meant something he couldn’t quite name.

Not yet.

His breath curled white in the cold. His fists slowly unclenched but the ache didn’t leave. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, jealousy, suspicion, or grief. But it sat behind his ribs like a loaded gun.

He thought of Sylus and of you. Of the way your eyes darted when you didn’t want to be read. Of the way Sylus never smiled… until recently. Xavier stared at the pavement, throat tight, stomach turning and for the first time since before the dance, he wasn’t sure who he was angry at.

You. Sylus. Rafayel… Or himself.

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