The moment we all sat down at the lunch table, I felt it.
Not on the surface — not in the jokes or the casual smiles. But underneath.
The tension was thick. Electric. Like something was about to snap.
Damien sat across from me. Rylan slid in right next to me.
It wasn't that they were saying anything.
It was the way Damien wouldn't look at Rylan.
And the way Rylan kept looking at Damien.
Even Chloe caught it. Her fork froze halfway to her mouth. "Okay… what's going on?"
"Nothing," Damien said coolly, stabbing at his food.
"Absolutely nothing," Rylan added, leaning back with a smug little grin. "Just two guys, one lunch table."
I blinked between them.
Wait… was this about me?
---
After lunch, we had to head to our next class — Creative Writing.
Rylan offered to walk with me.
He matched my pace easily, hands tucked in his jacket pockets. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I said, watching his face. "Just feels like something weird is going on between you and Damien."
He gave a soft hum. "We're… different people."
Before I could ask what he meant, Damien suddenly appeared in the hallway ahead of us.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just stood there. Watching.
His eyes locked onto Rylan's arm, which was just a bit too close to mine.
Then his gaze flicked up to Rylan's face. Cold. Guarded.
"Got somewhere to be?" Damien asked, voice steady but tense.
Rylan gave him a little grin. "Sure do. With Ava."
Damien's jaw tightened. "We're in the same class. I can walk with her."
I froze between them, caught in the middle.
"Okay, what is this?" I said finally. "Because if there's something going on, I'd really appreciate not being treated like a tennis ball."
Silence.
Damien looked at me — really looked — then turned away without a word.
Rylan just gave a small laugh under his breath and walked off.
---
Later, I found Damien sketching near the library by himself.
His headphones were in, sketchbook closed, expression unreadable.
I stood in front of him until he finally looked up.
"Can we talk?" I asked.
He took one earbud out. "Sure."
I sat beside him slowly. "Are you… okay?"
"I'm fine," he said.
"You don't look fine."
He didn't answer right away.
Then finally, he spoke — voice low and calm, but laced with something sharp.
"I don't trust him."
"Rylan?" I asked.
He nodded. "He's not as harmless as he seems."
I swallowed. "And what do you think he wants?"
He looked at me. His voice dropped.
"You."
My chest tightened.
He stood, gently brushing his fingers against the edge of his sketchbook.
"And I don't want
him to take you from me."
Then he walked away.
And my world suddenly felt a whole lot louder.
I didn't let him go.
Not this time.
I stood up from the bench and followed him down the quiet hallway, footsteps quick and nervous. He was already at the end, near the stairwell, when I called out—
"Damien. Wait."
He paused. His back tensed.
But he didn't turn around.
I walked up behind him, slowly, heart pounding against my chest like a war drum.
"You can't just say something like that and walk away," I said, my voice a whisper, almost trembling. "You can't say you don't want someone to take me from you and then leave me standing there."
Finally, finally — he turned.
His blue eyes met mine. And I saw it. All of it. The storm he kept locked behind those calm smiles. The fire. The confusion. The fear.
"I didn't mean to say it like that," he murmured. "I didn't plan to say it at all."
I stepped closer. "Then what did you mean, Damien?"
He looked down. His hand ran through his hair, and he let out a slow breath. "I've never felt like this before, Ava. I don't know how to act."
My lips parted.
He kept talking — eyes now on me, raw and unfiltered.
"You're in my head all the time. And not just because you're beautiful. It's… the way you talk. The way you look at people. The way you smiled at me on the first day when I didn't even know if I was ready to let anyone in."
I swallowed hard.
He stepped closer.
"I draw people sometimes," he said. "But I never drew a girl until I met you. I never wanted to."
My heart raced.
"I didn't say anything before because I didn't want to mess things up. But then he came along. Rylan. And the way he looks at you…"
I gently touched his wrist.
"I don't care how Rylan looks at me," I whispered.
His eyes flicked to mine.
"I care how you look at me, Damien."
Silence.
And then — his hand slid into mine. Warm. Certain. Like he was done running.
"I like you," he said, voice quiet but firm. "And I don't want to pretend I don't anymore."
I smiled.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
We stood there, in that quiet hallway, holding hands and hearts we didn't know how to carry before. And even though the world out
side kept moving, right there — it felt like time stopped.