The campus was already buzzing by mid-morning. Students shuffled between classes, some lingering under the shade to escape the rising heat. Devon spotted Blair near the faculty building, leaning against a pillar with her phone in hand, sunlight catching the glossy strands of her hair.
He didn't bother with small talk. "We need to talk," he said, his voice low but clipped.
Blair glanced up, arching a brow. "About what?"
"About Hazel," he replied, stepping closer. "Why did you go to her and say that to her in the hallway?"
Her smile was faint, but her eyes sharpened. "Oh, so she ran to you already? Figures."
"Blair, I'm serious," he said, his jaw tightening. "What was your problem? She hasn't done anything to you."
"My problem?" She pushed off the pillar, slipping her phone into her bag. "My problem is watching my boyfriend circle around another girl like she's something special."
Devon stared at her, stunned. "What? Is that what you think this is?"
She tilted her head, studying his face. "Do you love her?"
The question landed like a stone in the space between them. Devon's throat tightened, but he forced the words out. "No."
Something in her gaze eased, but the tension in her shoulders didn't completely vanish. "You didn't exactly deny caring about her."
He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "Blair, she's been through a lot. I'm just… looking out for her. That's it. You know you're the one I'm with."
She crossed her arms, leaning back again. "Sometimes it doesn't feel like it."
Devon stepped closer until she was forced to meet his eyes. "Then I'll make it feel like it. But you've got to trust me—and stop looking for fights where there aren't any."
For a moment, neither spoke. The noise of students moving past faded into the background, the air between them charged but fragile.
Finally, Blair's posture softened. "Fine," she murmured. "Maybe I overreacted. I just… don't like feeling second place to anyone."
"You're not," Devon said, his tone firm. "You're my choice."
She searched his face for a long beat before nodding. "Okay."
They walked away together, the conversation behind them, though something unspoken still lingered in the silence between their steps.
They left the conversation on shaky peace, but campus had a way of magnifying every private moment into public noise. By the next afternoon, whispers began to ripple through the halls.
Some said they'd seen Devon and Blair arguing because of Hazel. Others claimed Devon had been spending more time looking after "the girl from the hospital" than his own girlfriend. The stories changed depending on who was telling them, each one a little more twisted than the last.
Blair tried to ignore it, holding her head high as she moved through her classes. But the stares lingered, the half-hidden smirks following her down corridors. She knew it was only a matter of time before word reached the wrong ears—and it did.
That evening, her phone buzzed. She stepped outside the hostel to answer, only to hear her mother's voice sharp on the other end.
"Blair, what is going on over there?"
Blair froze. "What do you mean?"
"Your father and I are hearing ridiculous things about you, Devon, and some other girl. You were sent there to study, not to get tangled in drama. If this is true, you had better drop it immediately—or we will have no choice but to withdraw you from that school."
The threat landed heavy in Blair's chest. She opened her mouth to defend herself, but the line had already gone cold.
She stood there for a long moment, the evening air pressing against her skin, the murmurs of students drifting faintly from the courtyard. For the first time, the fight with Hazel didn't feel worth the risk.
She hated that he was right—part of her had wanted him to show up, to prove she still mattered enough to make him cross the campus at night. She kept her arms folded, but her heart was already pounding.
"You think you can just walk in here and—" she started, but the words caught when he stepped closer, closing the space between them.
Devon's presence was overwhelming—the way he looked at her, steady and unflinching, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the warmth of the room. She felt her resolve waver, her breath catching when his hand brushed against her arm, slow and deliberate.
It wasn't a kiss yet, but the moment was teetering on the edge of one. The silence hummed with unsaid things, every inch of space charged. Her fingers curled against the desk, and she didn't pull away when his other hand slid to her waist.
She told herself she should still be angry, that she should push him back. But instead, she found herself leaning into him, the heat between them pulling tighter, drawing them into the kind of closeness that erased arguments and replaced them with something far more dangerous.
When his forehead touched hers, her eyes fluttered shut, and the rest of the world fell away. The conversation, the rumors, even Hazel—they all disappeared into the hum of the moment.
The night blurred after that, the only clarity being the way he made her forget why she'd been mad in the first place.