Kaelan stared at the empty space where the infuriating man, Ignis, had been. His hand was trembling slightly, not with fear, but with the sudden, overwhelming urge to have slapped that predatory smirk right off the man's face.
Kaelan was often described as quiet and calm, but that was a conscious decision, a carefully constructed façade. His internal default setting was one of simmering, easy irritation, and his true nature was a frighteningly short temper—a temper that, in his younger days, had gotten him into trouble more than once. The effort it took to keep that inner rage caged often made his face look perpetually bored or judgmental.
He took a slow, deep breath, counting to ten, calming the surge of hot anger that had Ignis's gold eyes and crimson hair as its focus. He doesn't get to ruin my study time, Kaelan reminded himself.
He noticed the shimmering scrap on the floor when he bent down to retrieve his snapped pencil. It was small, curved, and reflected the library light with a deep, almost impossible sheen of red and gold. It felt unnervingly warm to the touch.
Kaelan didn't know what it was, but his mind immediately dismissed any fantastical explanation.
He picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, examining the strange, rigid texture. He held it up, a curl of derision twisting his lip.
"Must have fallen off his ridiculous bespoke suit," Kaelan muttered, his voice a low, mocking scoff. "Or maybe he's just one of those extreme Shifters who went to a taxidermist for accessories."
He flicked the scale into the air, catching it with a cynical, practiced ease.
"A lizard scale, no doubt. Probably a pretentious crest from a very expensive, very tasteless brand." He slipped the scale into the front pocket of his jeans, an odd, unwelcome souvenir.
The heat from the encounter was still radiating off him. He hated being approached. He hated being touched, though Ignis hadn't crossed that line—yet. He especially hated when people assumed they had some kind of right to his attention. If Ignis had tried to physically stop him, Kaelan wouldn't have hesitated; years of competitive martial arts practice meant he was perfectly capable of defending himself, and his lack of sensitivity about people's feelings meant he wouldn't mind doing it.
Shaking off the feeling, Kaelan packed his bag and decided to leave. His concentration was shot.
The next morning, Kaelan was walking across the manicured university quad, eyes fixed on the pavement, ignoring the usual morning menagerie of students—the girl with the fluffy Arctic fox tail nervously checking her phone, the student whose eyes momentarily flashed yellow, and the casual, everyday spectacle of the Shifter phenomenon.
He was headed to his 8 a.m. lecture when the heavy, cherrywood-smoke scent hit him again.
Kaelan stopped dead, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Good morning, Kaelan," Ignis's voice, smoother than polished stone and just as irritating, came from directly beside him.
Ignis was leaning against an ancient oak tree, dressed even more impeccably than the day before, this time in a deep charcoal coat that made his crimson hair look even more vibrant. He held a takeaway cup of coffee in one large hand and a textbook—Advanced Macroeconomics—in the other. He looked completely out of place and yet utterly natural, like a king slumming in a peasant village.
Kaelan turned slowly, his face carefully blank, though his inner monologue was a string of creative profanity.
"What do you want?" Kaelan asked, his tone flat. He didn't acknowledge the greeting.
Ignis straightened, his golden eyes sparkling with that unnerving amusement. "I thought I'd escort you to your lecture. We have the same one, apparently."
Kaelan gave the macroeconomics textbook a skeptical glance. "You look like you teach the course, not take it."
"Perhaps I find the concept of human market failures fascinating," Ignis replied, stepping to Kaelan's side and beginning to walk with him, matching Kaelan's deliberately brisk pace with effortless ease. "And I find certain cynics… even more fascinating."
"I'm not a cynic, I'm a realist," Kaelan corrected sharply, hating the proximity. The sheer size of Ignis was oppressive, and the heat radiating off him was making Kaelan's skin feel tight.
"A realist who believes a significant portion of the global population is running around with elaborate, pointless prosthetics?" Ignis chuckled softly. "That sounds like a faith-based position to me, Kaelan."
Kaelan stopped walking. He turned to Ignis, his patience—always thin, now shredded—finally snapping.
"Look," Kaelan said, his voice dropping to a low, intense growl that cut through the surrounding campus chatter. He didn't yell; he rarely did. Instead, his voice became dangerous and cold. "I don't know who you are, or what kind of weird rich-boy game you're playing, but I do not want your attention. I do not want to talk about your fictional magic, and I do not want you near me. Are we clear?"
For a moment, the amusement in Ignis's eyes dimmed, replaced by a sudden, intense flash of raw power—like staring directly into a furnace. The temperature around them seemed to spike.
But then it was gone, masked by the slow, confident smile that Kaelan was already starting to loathe.
"Perfectly clear," Ignis said, his voice still infuriatingly calm. He reached out with his coffee-holding hand and very deliberately, very gently, plucked a stray thread from the shoulder of Kaelan's plain dark hoodie. The brief contact—Ignis's thumb brushing the fabric—sent a shiver of pure revulsion mixed with a strange, metallic heat down Kaelan's spine.
"But I'm afraid my wants outweigh yours, little cynic," Ignis finished, his eyes holding Kaelan's with a terrifying certainty. "You've intrigued me, and I'm afraid I'm quite persistent when I want something."
Kaelan took an involuntary step back, his carefully constructed calm finally flustered. The words felt less like a threat and more like a simple, undeniable statement of fact. He could feel his ears burning, and the urge to strike out was almost unbearable. Instead, he forced his fearlessness to the surface, replacing anger with cold, steady defiance.
"You're going to be disappointed then," Kaelan said, giving one last, fierce scowl before spinning on his heel and marching toward the lecture hall, leaving Ignis standing there, utterly captivated by the defiant back of the only human who seemed immune to his colossal presence.
Ignis took a sip of his coffee, his golden gaze never leaving Kaelan's retreating form. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key card. It was for the apartment directly across the hall from Kaelan's dormitory room.
"Hardly," Ignis murmured to himself, the crimson of his hair catching the sun like fire. "The game has only just begun."