The library of Crossfire Academy was a cathedral of dust and silence, a labyrinth of shelves that stretched toward a vaulted ceiling. At this hour, the tall arched windows cast long, skeletal shadows across the floor, and the air tasted of old paper and floor wax. It was a place where secrets were usually kept—not unearthed.
Mel was high up on a rolling ladder in the restricted history section. He was working in a focused, rhythmic silence, his slender fingers tracing the spines of leather-bound tomes. As he reached upward to slide a heavy volume onto the highest shelf, his oversized school shirt rode up. It was a small thing—a momentary lapse of coverage—but it exposed a sliver of his waist. His skin was strikingly pale, almost translucent in the dim light, looking as delicate as porcelain against the dark wood of the shelves.
He was so engrossed in his task that he didn't hear the footsteps. He didn't see the shadow standing at the end of the aisle.
Jacob was there, but he wasn't shouting. The fire and brimstone of the Disciplinary Prefect had vanished, replaced by something much more unsettling: a quiet, hungry stillness. He stood at the base of the aisle, his arms no longer crossed in judgment but hanging loosely at his sides. His gaze was fixed entirely on Mel.
Jacob watched the way Mel's muscles shifted under his skin. He stared at that small, exposed patch of Mel's waist with an intensity that bordered on worship. His eyes, usually sharp and cold, had softened into something dark and longing. He looked like a man parched, staring at a well he wasn't allowed to drink from.
What Jacob didn't realize was that he was being watched, too.
Derrick stood in the shadows of the philosophy section, partially obscured by a heavy marble bust. He had followed them. He had watched the way Jacob's face transformed when he thought no one was looking. Derrick's eyes narrowed, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth. He looked like a scientist observing a particularly interesting specimen.
Derrick moved. He didn't make a sound. His athletic build allowed him to glide across the carpeted floor like a predator through tall grass. He circled around the back of the stacks, coming up directly behind the entranced Jacob.
Derrick leaned in close—so close his breath stirred the hair on the back of Jacob's neck.
"He's a lovely boy, isn't he?" Derrick's voice was a low, honeyed purr.
Jacob jumped as if he'd been struck by lightning. He spun around, his face draining of color before flushing a brilliant, guilty red. He scrambled back, nearly knocking over a display of encyclopedias. High above, Mel flinched at the noise but didn't look down, too focused on balancing a particularly heavy book.
"You!" Jacob hissed, his voice trembling. He tried to reclaim his mask of authority, but it was cracked. His eyes darted between Derrick and the ladder where Mel was working. "What are you doing here? This is a restricted area."
Derrick didn't move. He leaned against a bookshelf, crossing his muscular arms over his chest. He looked remarkably relaxed. "I could ask you the same thing. Usually, supervisors watch the work, not the worker's skin. You were staring pretty hard, Jacob. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were admiring the view."
"I wasn't—I was checking his progress!" Jacob countered, though his voice lacked its usual bite. "He's slow. He's inefficient."
Derrick chuckled, a dark, dry sound. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, twirling it between his fingers. "Is that what we're calling it now? Efficiency checks? Because from where I was standing, it looked a lot like a crush. In fact, I'm pretty sure the camera on this thing caught that look on your face. You know, the one where you looked like you wanted to eat him?"
Jacob's eyes widened. "You... you recorded me?"
"I'm a fan of documentation," Derrick said with a sharp, white-toothed grin. "It saves a lot of 'he-said, she-said' later on. Now, let's stop the act. You don't hate him. You're obsessed with him."
The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Jacob looked at the floor, his shoulders slumping. The weight of his secret seemed to crush the air out of his lungs. When he finally spoke, the arrogant Prefect was gone.
"It's not that simple," Jacob whispered, his voice cracking. "I'm the Principal's son. Everyone is always watching me. I'm supposed to be the standard. I... I realized I felt this way months ago, but I didn't know how to handle it. So I was harsh. I thought if I treated him like a problem, the feeling would go away. But it just made me look at him more."
Jacob looked up at Mel, who was now descending the ladder, oblivious to the drama below. "He's so innocent, Derrick. He's like a ghost. He doesn't even see me. And besides... he's never shown any signs of liking men. He's probably straight. I'd just be a monster to him."
Derrick tilted his head, a flicker of something—amusement? Derision?—crossing his features. "You think so? You think you're the only one with eyes in this school? Maybe you just don't know how to observe people as well as you think you do."
Jacob frowned, confused by the cryptic remark. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you're blinded by your own fear," Derrick said. He straightened up, pocketing his phone.
"Don't tell anyone," Jacob pleaded suddenly, grabbing Derrick's sleeve. "Please. If my father finds out... if the school finds out... I'm finished."
Derrick looked down at the hand on his arm until Jacob let go in fear. "And why should I keep your secret, Jacob? Give me one good reason."
Jacob took a deep breath, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I know who you are. I know your father is the Ambassador. I know he's the primary benefactor and owner of this entire Academy. You're a Shane. You're practically royalty."
Jacob's eyes searched Derrick's. "I presume someone like you—someone who wants to be seen as a 'normal' student and play soccer—doesn't want that kind of attention. You don't want people knowing you own the ground they walk on."
Derrick's expression went cold. The playful cat-and-mouse game was over. He stepped into Jacob's space, his height and presence suddenly becoming overwhelming.
"You're smarter than you look," Derrick said, his voice dropping an octave. "Fine. We have a deal. You keep your mouth shut about who I am—especially to Mel. If a single word of my family's status reaches his ears. I'll ruin you."
Jacob nodded fervently. "I swear. Not a word."
Derrick relaxed instantly, the terrifying aura vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He looked back at the aisle where Mel was now tidying the lower shelves, his back still turned to them.
"Then go on, Disciplinary Prefect," Derrick said, a mocking lilt returning to his voice. "Don't just stare at your pretty boy crush from the shadows. Who knows? Maybe he's been silently preening for you this whole time, just waiting for you to notice."
Derrick turned on his heel, walking away with a casual wave of his hand.