The hallway was alive. Not with footsteps or the usual clatter of lockers, but with something heavier—whispers. They curled through the air like smoke, slipping into Ayan's ears no matter how hard he tried to shut them out.
"Omega—"
"—saw them together—"
"Did he—?"
He didn't have to wonder who started it. The devil himself was right behind him.
Kairo's footsteps were unhurried, measured, as if each step was a deliberate reminder that he was the one pulling the strings. The gap between them shrank until Ayan could feel the ghost of his breath brushing the back of his neck.
"You walk faster when you're running away," Kairo murmured, just loud enough for the passing students to catch. The smirk in his voice was unmistakable.
"I'm not—"
"Oh, you are," Kairo cut in, voice curling around the syllables like silk. "But don't worry, I like it when you're cornered."
More whispers. A stifled laugh. Someone pretended to be on their phone but their eyes never left the two of them.
Ayan's fists tightened at his sides. If he kept walking, Kairo would win. If he snapped, Kairo would win. He needed… something else.
So he stopped. Turned. And in one smooth, calculated motion, he stepped into Kairo's space—close enough that their forearms brushed—and said, loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Why don't you just say it, Kairo? Or are you too scared they'll hear you beg?"
The hallway went dead silent.
For a second, Ayan thought he saw Kairo's smirk falter—just slightly. But then it returned, sharper, darker, as he leaned in until his lips nearly grazed Ayan's ear.
"Oh, sweetheart…" Kairo's voice was so low only Ayan could hear it now. "…you just started a game you can't win."
And then, from the end of the hall, a teacher's voice cut through:
"Ayan. Kairo. Principal's office. Now."
The crowd gasped, and the whispers exploded all over again.
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