Chapter 7 Aslan
Aslan
Five minutes after Aitor took off, my head started buzzing again.
I’d been trying—really trying—to keep it together since the day I arrived.
Keep my head down. Don’t react. Don’t give them what they wanted.
And for the most part, I could handle the dumb shit. People knocking my books out of my hands. Shoving me in the hallway during passing time. Getting tackled way harder than necessary in gym. Insults thrown at my face over nothing...
It sucked, but it was familiar.
What I couldn’t handle was them taking my work. Locking me in that storage room. Trapping me in a small, dark space with no warning. That hit somewhere deeper. Somewhere old. My body had reacted before my brain could catch up.
PTSD was a real asshole like that.
And then—because apparently that wasn’t enough—I had to deal with whatever the hell I was feeling toward the guy torturing me, and why not, the mental mess I was starting to form around Aitor. The guy who kept showing up to the rescue.
It was all fucked up. I needed air.
So I left.
No idea where I was going. I just walked—out of the building, across campus, past places I didn’t bother naming. I let my feet take over while my head tried to quiet down. I walked until eventually the noise faded.
By the time I headed back, it was dark, and my legs were starting to ache. I was tired in that full-body way, like everything had finally caught up with me at once.
When I pushed open the door to my dorm room, I barely registered anything at first.
Then I saw James, already there.
I rolled my eyes and dropped my bag by the door, crossing the room without saying a word. I stretched out on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Beside me, I could feel James fidgeting before he finally cleared his throat.
“Um. I know I’ve been an asshole.”
I didn’t look at him. Just stared at the ceiling.
“You have.”
A pause. Then, quieter, “But… I get it. You're scared, and I'd be too... So it’s okay.”
“It’s not,” James said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s really not okay. You got nailed because of me. Because of my stupid diary and my stupid crush and—” He stopped, swallowing. “It’s unfair.”
Silence stretched between us.
I finally turned my head and looked at him. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands twisted together, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a hit.
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “You did what you had to do.”
He shook his head. “That doesn’t make it right.”
Another pause. Then he took a breath, as if he were about to jump off something high.
“I wanna be friends.”
That got a short huff out of me. I sat up, resting my elbows on my knees. “You sure? I’m not exactly great for your social standing.”
He snorted. “Please. I’ve been ignored or shoved or whispered about since day one for being so… openly gay. It’s not gonna get worse. And honestly?” He shrugged. “I could really use a friend.”
I studied him for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
He looked relieved enough to smile.
We shook hands—awkward, quick—and something loosened in my chest. Just a little.
Once the tension broke, James relaxed too. He started talking, really talking. About classes. About how Crownwell sucked in very specific, creative ways. About Garrett.
“Honestly,” he said, “he’s always been a jerk—not to me, though,” he clarified quickly.
“But he’s never gone this hard on anyone. Ever. He doesn’t hold grudges like this.”
I frowned. “Maybe I’m just special.”
James hesitated. Then sighed. “Okay. I guess you know now I'd always had a crush on him.”
I shrugged. “I kinda figured, with the whole diary thing… Do you still?”
“Not like that, no. I’ve moved on,” he said. “He's a lost case for me.”
“Why?”
He gave me a look. “Because he’s supposedly straight.”
“Supposedly?” I echoed.
James smirked. A real one this time. “Yeah. That's what everyone thinks. Until he met you.”
I stared at him, my heart beating slightly faster for some irrational reason. “Dude, c'mon… The guy is making my life hell.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Because he likes you.”
I laughed a bit too hard. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” James leaned back on his hands, eyes sharp now. “You should see the way he looks at you.”
“At me?” I said. “I have seen it. Like a rabid dog…”
“And yet,” James said calmly, “he hasn’t let anyone else touch you. Ever notice that?”
I opened my mouth. Closed it.
He grinned. “Trust me. I know the difference between hatred and obsession.”
“That’s… not reassuring.”
“If you don’t believe me,” James said, eyes gleaming, “I’ll prove it.”
I shook my head, half-exhausted, half-amused. “I don’t even want to know how.”
“Too late,” he said cheerfully. “We’re friends now.”
I leaned back on my bed, staring at the ceiling again—but this time, my mouth was tugging into a reluctant smile.
The next day at lunch, I was doing my usual scan of the cafeteria—looking for the most secluded table I could find, preferably the furthest from the constellation and the entire galaxy if possible.
I’d just spotted a corner that might work when I heard my name.
I looked up to see James canning me over before he went back to his task.
He was sitting alone, like always, his tray neatly arranged in front of him. He was eating with one hand and coloring in a mandala book with the other, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.
I hesitated.
Then I walked over and sat down.
For half a second, the entire lunchroom seemed to hold its breath.
Forks paused. Conversations dipped. Someone actually coughed like they’d forgotten how to swallow.
Holy shit…
Then, slowly, everything resumed. People went back to eating, laughing, pretending they hadn’t just watched a social crime unfold.
Everyone except Garrett.
I didn’t need to look to know he was staring—but I did anyway. Bright blue eyes. Locked. Unblinking. Like I’d just wandered into his territory and sat down on his plate.
James leaned closer, lowering his voice. “See how the beast is staring at you now?”
I glanced over casually. “Like always,” I muttered. “Like he wants to rip my throat out.”
James grinned. “With his lips.”
I snorted. “Oh, my God. Shut up. You’re insane.”
He laughed, clearly enjoying himself way too much.
I barely lifted my eyes from the plate, but I could feel Garrett’s attention like a pressure against my skin. Every smile James threw my way, every quiet laugh, felt like it was being cataloged from across the room.
After a few minutes, James stopped coloring. He lifted his head and looked around to make sure no one was listening.
“I know how I can prove it to you,” he said.
“How's that?”
“Kiss him.”
I choked on my food, coughing as I laughed, spraying crumbs onto the table. “What—are you trying to get me murdered?”
James rolled his eyes. “Not if I’m right.”
He tilted his head at me like this was the most logical argument in the world.
“Absolutely not. Ew. No.”
He ignored that entirely. “You could try at the club on Saturday.”
“What club?”
“Molly Bloom’s. Downtown. Everyone’s going.”
“I’m not invited,” I said flatly.
“It’s a public place,” James replied. “You don't have to be invited.”
He leaned in, lowering his voice again. “There, we can test my theory.”
I felt it before I could stop it—heat crawling up my neck, my face warming in a way I didn’t appreciate.
“James,” I said carefully, “I am not kissing anyone.”
He winked. “Who knows? He might end up kissing you.”
I stared at him. “You’re impossible.”
“One way or another,” he said cheerfully, “we’re going.”
I looked across the cafeteria again to find Garrett still staring.
My stomach twisted.
This weekend could end in a lot of ways—
with me being kissed… or killed.