The building was silent, save for the hum of the old fluorescent lights.
Ayan sat on the edge of a desk, arms folded, gaze fixed on the dark windows. He looked untouched, untouchable. But the tightness in his shoulders betrayed him.
Kairo sprawled lazily in a chair across from him, studying him the way one might study prey — patient, fascinated, waiting for the moment it slipped.
"You hate me that much?" Kairo finally asked, voice too casual.
Ayan didn't blink. "You flatter yourself. Hate requires effort."
Kairo's smile was sharp, but his eyes narrowed. "Funny. You spend a lot of effort avoiding me."
"Or maybe," Ayan said smoothly, "I just don't like wasting time on someone who mistakes persistence for charm."
That landed. Kairo's grin faltered, then curved back even darker. He stood, slow and deliberate, the air shifting with him.
"You talk like you're above it all," he said, stepping closer, the echo of his footsteps filling the hall. "But every time you look at me, I see it."
"See what?" Ayan's voice was flat, but his grip tightened on the desk's edge.
"That you're lying to yourself."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Ayan finally pushed off the desk, straightening to face him head-on, their shadows colliding on the wall behind them. "Believe what you want, Alpha. Delusion looks good on you."
Kairo smirked, though the edge of it was razor-sharp. "We'll see how long you can keep that wall standing."
Neither moved away. Neither looked away.
The night dragged on, the walls of the building pressing tighter, the tension pressing harder — a war fought without touch, without words, and yet it left both of them bruised.
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