Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, but for Altair it might as well have been the merciless light of judgment.
Judgment in the form of three brothers.
"Good morning, Romeo," his eldest brother drawled from across the dining table, sipping tea with infuriating calm.
"Romeo?" Altair repeated, voice sharp.
"Or maybe Juliet," another brother chimed in, grinning. "You were leaning out of the window last night, after all. Whispering sweet nothings."
"I WAS NOT!" Altair slammed his spoon down into his bowl of porridge with such force it splattered. "It was not sweet, and they were not nothings—they were somethings! Scathing somethings! Perfectly justified complaints!"
His youngest brother gasped theatrically. "So you admit you were whispering to Cassian?"
Altair froze. He realized too late that he'd walked straight into their trap.
Laughter erupted around the table. Even their parents, seated quietly, wore suspiciously amused smiles. His father cleared his throat, as though about to intervene, but his mother shook her head, allowing the chaos to play out.
Altair's cheeks flamed. "I cannot believe this household! All of you, against me! For simply… expressing indignation!"
"Oh, you expressed plenty," his eldest brother said with a smirk. "Half the street could probably hear you."
"Do you know how hard it is to sleep with your dramatic monologues echoing through the walls?" another brother added.
"I AM NOT DRAMATIC!" Altair shouted, rising halfway from his chair before realizing he was proving their point. He sat back down stiffly, arms crossed. "Fine. Mock me. But I will not be baited further."
His brothers exchanged looks of devilish delight, the kind that promised Altair's torment was far from over.
---
Breakfast ended with Altair storming away in high indignation, muttering about betrayal and treason. He dressed for school with flair, tossing his scarf around his shoulders like a general donning armor before battle.
He had no intention of walking today. No, the universe already demanded too much from him. He wheeled his bicycle from the shed, sleek and polished, and mounted it with the grace of a fox prince ready to claim the road.
And then—of course—fate intervened.
Halfway down the lane, he spotted him.
Cassian.
Also on a bicycle.
Their eyes met.
A long, charged silence.
Then Altair narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare."
Cassian's mouth curved, just slightly. "Race you."
"You insufferable brute!" Altair shouted, but his legs were already pumping the pedals.
The street blurred beneath them. Wind whipped through Altair's hair, carrying the scent of morning dew and freshly baked bread from nearby stalls. He leaned forward, every muscle singing with effort, refusing to let Cassian take the lead.
"You're slow!" Altair shouted over the rush of wind.
"You're loud," Cassian replied evenly, gliding just beside him.
"Loud and fast is better than quiet and mediocre!"
"Keep talking," Cassian said, not even out of breath. "It only wastes your air."
Altair growled, standing on the pedals to gain speed. His foxlike frame was deceptively powerful, every line of him sharp with determination. He darted ahead, grinning triumphantly—
—until Cassian surged forward, overtaking him with maddening ease.
"Unfair!" Altair barked. "Your legs are longer!"
"That sounds like a personal problem," Cassian said calmly.
Altair snarled, pushing harder, the world narrowing to the path before him and the infuriating alpha at his side. They weaved past startled pedestrians, leapt over shallow gutters, the race becoming a whirlwind of insults and speed.
"You ride like a lumbering ox!"
"And you like a fox running from its own shadow."
"I'll have you know my riding is artistic! Graceful! Like poetry in motion!"
"Then I'll happily be prose—clear, efficient, and faster."
"BARBARIC!" Altair shrieked, nearly colliding with him out of spite.
They tore down the final stretch, school gates looming ahead. A crowd of students already gathering glanced up in astonishment as two figures flew past, neck-and-neck, as though their very lives depended on the outcome.
Altair forced every ounce of energy into his last push. His breath burned in his lungs, his legs screamed, but he refused to yield.
And then—they crossed together. Practically the same instant.
Altair skidded to a stop, panting, his hair sticking to his forehead. He glanced sideways, saw Cassian equally steady, equally collected, and scowled so hard it could curdle milk.
"Fine," Altair hissed. "A tie. But only because I allowed it."
Cassian arched a brow. "Of course."
Altair straightened, smoothing his scarf as though he hadn't nearly died pedaling. He adopted the air of a graceful peacock, each step calculated, head held high.
He turned to Cassian with a look of withering disdain. "Pathetic effort. Try harder next time."
And with that, he strode through the school gates, ignoring the whispers and stares, every movement dripping with theatrical disgust.
Cassian remained by his bicycle, watching him go, a mixture of speechlessness and quiet amusement softening his features.
The fox would never admit it, but Cassian already knew—Altair lived for this. For their races, their debates, their endless sparring of words and wills.
And so did he.
Cassian shook his head with a faint smile. "Unbelievable."
Then he walked his bicycle to the rack, the day only just beginning.