The classroom had turned into a hive.
Whispers buzzed, darting from desk to desk like restless bees. Students leaned close, giggled behind hands, and stole glances toward the tall boy standing confidently at the front of the room.
Cassian.
Dominant Alpha—though no one had dared to say it aloud, the certainty of it was undeniable.
Looks? Check.
Height? Check.
Body proportions? Double check.
Aura that made weaker hearts flutter and braver ones fidget? Oh, absolutely.
It was as though he had walked straight out of the kind of novels Altair refused to read, the kind where girls swooned and Alphas smirked, and the world spun around their broad shoulders.
And yet, for all his commanding presence, Cassian didn't seem fazed. He stood steady, calm, quietly amused, as if the gossip around him were nothing but background noise.
Altair, on the other hand, looked like he'd just bitten into a lemon.
From the back of the room, sprawled in his seat with the ease of someone who thought desks were more for decoration than learning, Altair rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't detach and go bouncing across the floor.
Of course it was Cassian. Of course his return would be this dramatic, with every eye in the room practically worshipping him.
The teacher, blissfully unaware of the tension stretching invisible strings between the two boys, gestured. "Cassian, you'll be seated in the back. Next to Altair."
The classroom collectively inhaled.
Altair's frown deepened, delicate features twisting in theatrical disdain. He made no effort to hide it. In fact, he leaned into the expression, letting every corner of the room know exactly how he felt about this arrangement.
Cassian, suppressing a smirk, began the slow walk down the aisle. Whispers trailed behind him like a tide. Students nudged one another, eyes darting between the elegant Omega in the back and the striking Alpha making his way toward him.
The tension wasn't just palpable. It was electric.
Altair didn't wait for him to sit. Oh, no. That would have been too easy.
As Cassian drew close, Altair tilted his head, lips curving into the kind of smile that was equal parts charming and venomous. His eyes gleamed like starlight laced with mischief.
"Well," he murmured, loud enough for Cassian alone, "if it isn't the neighborhood nuisance. Tell me, Cassian, did you get lost on your way back to mediocrity?"
Cassian froze, only for the faintest flicker of amusement to curve his mouth. He looked down at him, calm as ever, voice low and even.
"Still dramatic, I see. I was hoping time might have cured you of that."
The classroom gasped.
Not because of what Cassian had said—it wasn't cruel, not really—but because no one ever talked back to Altair.
Ever.
Altair's smile widened, sharp and glittering. "Oh, time cured me of many things. Unfortunately for you, my patience wasn't one of them."
The murmurs spread like wildfire.
"They know each other?"
"Wait—what did he call him?"
"Did Altair just smile at someone?"
"Who is this guy?"
Cassian slid into the empty seat beside him, posture straight, expression maddeningly unreadable. Altair, by contrast, reclined with deliberate ease, propping his chin against his hand as though this were nothing more than another game.
"Altair," Cassian said smoothly, leaning just close enough that only he could hear, "I thought you'd have grown up by now."
"Oh, I did," Altair shot back instantly. "I just chose to grow sideways. It's far more interesting that way."
Someone in the front row snorted before slapping a hand over their mouth, horrified. The teacher glanced up from her notes, blinked at the palpable energy in the room, and wisely decided not to interfere.
Cassian let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Still impossible."
"And you're still unbearably boring." Altair fluttered his lashes at him mockingly, his voice dripping sweet poison. "Tell me, do you practice that wooden expression in the mirror every morning, or is it naturally that stiff?"
The classroom rippled with laughter. Some students tried to disguise it as coughs; others gave up entirely. Watching Altair spar with someone—and lose none of his shine—was a spectacle they hadn't known they needed.
Cassian, infuriatingly unshaken, simply arched a brow. "You talk too much."
"And you listen too little." Altair's grin sharpened. "It's a miracle you ever learned to read."
More laughter. More whispers.
The unspoken rivalry had ignited instantly, like fire catching dry grass.
And for the first time in years, Altair wasn't bored.
---
The class moved on, though no one really paid attention to the lecture anymore. Not when two storms sat side by side in the back row, colliding with sparks every time one opened his mouth.
Altair leaned toward the window, feigning disinterest, though his heart drummed wildly in his chest. The audacity of Cassian—coming back after all this time, looking like that, carrying himself like that. And worse, daring to match him.
No one matched Altair.
Except Cassian always had.
Cassian, for his part, allowed the faintest trace of a smile to play at his lips. Altair hadn't changed—not in the ways that mattered. Still sharp. Still witty. Still breathtaking, though he'd never admit it aloud.
The difference was, now the world saw it too.
And perhaps that was what amused him most.
---
By the time the bell rang, the classroom was buzzing more than ever. Students gathered in corners, whispering frantically about what they had just witnessed. The legend of Altair—the thorned flower, the untouchable Omega—had met its match.
And they all knew it.
As Cassian rose from his seat, Altair called after him, voice lilting, whimsical, dripping with mockery that only he could make sound beautiful.
"Welcome back to the stage, Cassian. Try not to bore me too quickly this time."
Cassian paused, glancing over his shoulder. His eyes—steady, unwavering—met Altair's.
"Don't worry," he said softly, so only Altair could hear. "You'll be too busy trying to keep up."
Altair's breath caught. Just for a second.
Then he rolled his eyes again, tossing his hair dramatically as though nothing had fazed him. "Please. I'd sooner trip than follow you anywhere."
But his heart—traitorous, restless thing—beat louder than it had in years.
And the war, unmistakably, had begun.