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📖 Chapter Two: Orbit
Julian hadn't meant to orbit Roman Deveraux.
But that's what it felt like.
Like he was a quiet moon, always pulled by the gravity of a planet too heavy to ignore — one that didn't ask for his attention but claimed it anyway. It didn't matter how much he studied, or how hard he tried to focus on his astronomy project. His thoughts kept drifting back to the sharp way Roman slammed drawers. The way his cologne lingered in the air long after he left. The way his voice dropped when he was tired. Or lonely.
Was he ever lonely?
Julian tried not to care. Really, he did. But there was a part of him — small and wounded and still seventeen — that remembered a version of Roman he never got to know. A Roman who was brilliant beneath the arrogance. Who spoke fluent French. Who took care of their old dog after Julian left.
That boy was buried deep now, under layers of sarcasm and steel. And Julian, against all better judgment, wanted to dig him out.
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It wasn't until the third week of classes that the ice cracked.
Julian was up late working on his physics paper, pushing his glasses up his nose every few minutes as he scribbled formulas into the margins of his notes. Roman was across the room, lying on his bed with one arm draped across his face, groaning.
"Ugh. I hate econ."
Julian glanced up, surprised. Roman never complained about school. Or talked to him.
"You... hate something?" he teased gently.
Roman moved his arm, giving him a deadpan look. "It's spreadsheets and graphs, Jules. Not exactly my passion."
Julian blinked at the nickname. "You've literally grown up around numbers."
"That's different," Roman said. "That's money. This is... abstract."
Julian smiled, just a little. "If you want help—"
"I don't."
Of course not.
Julian turned back to his paper. But a few minutes later, Roman's voice broke the silence again, quieter this time.
"…But if you feel like explaining this chart thing, I wouldn't stop you."
Julian looked up slowly. Roman wasn't looking at him — he was staring at the ceiling like it was safer than making eye contact. But his jaw was less tense. His voice, less sharp.
And Julian, god help him, started to fall.