The cafeteria was buzzing with the clamor of students, the sharp scrape of chairs, and the chatter of overlapping voices. Sunlight poured through the large windows, illuminating long rows of tables where groups clustered together in little islands of laughter and gossip.
At one such table sat three figures who, by their mere presence, managed to draw the eyes of half the room: Cassian, ever composed and silent; Levi, broad-shouldered and effortlessly charming; and Altair—Altair, who leaned back with all the arrogance of a peacock and twice the color in his voice.
"Really, I don't even know why I agreed to sit with you two," Altair said, stabbing his spoon into his rice with exaggerated disdain. "One of you is boring, the other is clingy, and I—tragically—am perfect. What a waste of balance."
Cassian didn't look up from his food, only replying with a mild, "…So you stayed anyway."
"Because I was dragged," Altair sniffed.
"You weren't dragged," Levi chuckled, reaching across the table to place a neatly peeled boiled egg onto Altair's tray. "You agreed when I said I'd treat you to dessert today."
Altair froze mid-scoff, then whipped his head toward Levi. "Tch! Only because I wanted to confirm whether you'd actually keep your word. It's called testing loyalty."
Levi smiled easily, unfazed. "And did I pass?"
Altair avoided his gaze, poking his rice harder. "…Undetermined."
Cassian's lips twitched, but he said nothing.
The trio ate in a strange rhythm: Altair muttering, Levi laughing, Cassian quiet. What unsettled most of the onlookers, though, wasn't the silence but Levi's uncanny precision.
"Don't drink that juice," Levi said smoothly, sliding a different carton across the table. "You like the apple one better, don't you?"
Altair blinked, hand hovering over the grape juice he'd grabbed earlier. "Wha—? No, I don't. I don't even have favorites!"
"Really?" Levi's smile deepened. "Because every time we used to eat together, you'd always trade me your grape one for my apple."
"That's—That's coincidence!" Altair insisted, ears pink. He snatched the apple juice and drank it anyway.
Cassian's eyes flicked toward him briefly, catching the way his throat moved with each swallow, before lowering back to his own tray.
Then came the pickles. Levi, who had ordered extra sides, nudged his tray toward Altair. "Here. You always complain the cafeteria never gives you enough."
Altair froze again. His eyes darted to the neat pile of pickles glistening under the light. His mouth watered instinctively, though his lips pressed together as if to strangle the urge.
"I don't like pickles," he announced flatly.
A chorus of muffled groans and exasperated sighs rose from the nearby tables. One brave classmate muttered, "Is he blind to his own soul?"
Levi, patient as ever, only chuckled. "Really? Then why did you steal mine every lunch in second year?"
"That was theft for justice!" Altair declared, puffing his chest. "Your tray looked too balanced. I was saving you from nutritional monotony. Be grateful!"
Levi raised his brows, fighting back laughter. "So thoughtful."
Altair huffed and stabbed at his food again, refusing to look at the tempting pile of pickles. His gaze darted sideways—straight at Cassian.
Cassian, who had been silent the entire exchange, finally glanced up. His eyes met Altair's for a fraction of a second before dropping back to his rice.
Something in Altair snapped.
"Here," he said suddenly, shoving the plate of pickles toward Cassian. "You eat them. You're probably so bland you need these to spice up your miserable life."
Cassian paused, chopsticks midway to his mouth. Slowly, his eyes lifted. A faint glimmer—not amusement, not quite triumph, but something warm and secretive—passed through them.
He accepted the plate without a word.
The entire cafeteria collectively stopped breathing.
"Did he just—?"
"He gave Cassian the pickles."
"But Levi brought them for him!"
"This Omega is either stupid or a genius—probably both."
Levi, to his credit, maintained his smile, though a shadow passed briefly behind his eyes. He leaned back casually, sipping his drink. "I didn't know you liked pickles, Cassian."
"I don't," Cassian replied evenly, lifting one with his chopsticks. His gaze, however, flicked toward Altair before he ate it. "…But I'll take them."
Altair's face burned. He slammed his hands on the table. "Don't get the wrong idea! I just didn't want them to go to waste, okay? Feeding you is like… charity. Community service! I'm a kind soul, a beacon of generosity!"
The room erupted into barely contained laughter. Someone muttered, "If generosity looks like slamming food into someone's face, then sure."
Altair whipped his head around. "Shut up, extras!"
Cassian smirked. The first real expression since the meal began, sharp and fleeting but undeniably there. He lowered his gaze again, eating the pickles one by one, as though they were the most natural addition to his lunch.
And Altair, for all his protests, kept sneaking glances.
The rest of lunch passed in this tense, ridiculous balance. Levi chatting lightly, Altair exploding dramatically, Cassian's silence weighted with more meaning than either of them would admit.
When the bell finally rang, students scattered with loud whispers trailing in their wake.
"Did you see that? He gave Cassian the pickles."
"Poor Levi… but also, how is Altair still this oblivious?"
"Someone really needs to knock sense into him."
Altair shoved his tray back, pretending not to hear. His cheeks were still warm, and his chest still beat a little too fast whenever Cassian's smirk replayed in his head.
Levi walked beside him as they left, his arm brushing Altair's shoulder. "You're still the same as always," he said softly.
Altair blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Levi smiled faintly. "Oblivious."
Altair bristled immediately. "I am not oblivious! I'm the sharpest person in this entire building! Razor intellect! Diamond wit!"
Cassian, walking a step behind, let out the faintest huff of air. A laugh, barely audible.
Altair spun on him, eyes wide. "Did you just laugh at me?!"
Cassian's face was as calm as ever. "…No."
"You did!"
"…You're imagining things."
Altair growled in frustration, storming ahead. Levi followed with a sigh, while Cassian trailed behind, the corner of his lips betraying a small, satisfied curve.
Altair might never admit it, but in the simplest act of rejecting Levi's pickles and offering them to him instead, Cassian had won a quiet victory.
And Altair, poor Altair, remained stubbornly oblivious—his heart thundering in ways he refused to name.