Askai had barely stepped over the threshold when Vance's voice cut through the quiet.

"So you were planning to ignore me all morning."

He froze. Vance wasn't sitting; he was standing near the window, half in shadow, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed as if he'd been running a hand through it in irritation. The look he pinned Askai with was not amused—it was sharp, slow-burning, almost offended.

Askai lifted his chin and then quietly shrugged, an inexplicable feeling of triumph rising in his chest displacing the earlier gloom. "I thought that's what you wanted."

Vance took a step toward him. "Don't lie. You know damn well that's not what I wanted."

His tone wasn't harsh—just low, threaded with something rawer, something that made Askai's pulse jump. Vance stopped close enough that Askai had to tilt his head up the slightest bit. His fingers brushed Askai's sleeve, barely a touch, but the heat of it shot straight through him.

Vance's hand drifted—slowly—down Askai's forearm before he caught himself and pulled back. Only half an inch, but it felt like denial. Askai wasn't sure if the air between them warmed or thinned.

"You looked like you had everything handled," Askai said, keeping his voice steady. "I just… stayed out of the way."

A humorless breath left Vance. "You stayed out of my sight."

Askai looked away; Vance's fingers brushed his jaw lightly, stopping him from turning fully. A touch so brief it could've been an accident. It wasn't.

"Why does it matter?" Askai whispered before he could stop himself.

Vance's eyes softened—not warm, but clearer, stripped of the polished smirk he wore around everyone else.

"It just does," he murmured.

For a single heartbeat, the space between them hummed. Askai felt the ghost of Vance's sleeve graze his knuckles as he shifted, their hands almost but not quite touching. He hated how much his body reacted—how much he had wanted something like this since morning—and hated even more that Vance noticed.

Because of course he noticed.

Vance's mouth curved—not into a smirk, but something quieter.

"You're really going to pretend you didn't feel me watching you lift those crates?"

Askai startled, heat crawling up the back of his neck. "I was working."

"Mm," Vance hummed, stepping back at last. "Shame. Would've been more fun if you weren't pretending."

Askai exhaled—sharp, irritated, relieved—and Vance finally moved toward the couch.

Vance gestured to the couch across from where he sat. "Sit. I've got something else for you."

Askai stayed standing.

"I was thinking," Vance continued, leaning back. "You should come with me tomorrow. To the games."

Askai blinked. "The—sports event?"

"Mm." Vance reached for a drink on the side table. "The Regale's sponsoring. I have to be seen. You're part of the crew now."

"I've got a shift tomorrow," Askai replied, already feeling the headache bloom at his temples. "Two, actually. The Superstore and—"

"That campus café thing. I know."

Askai stiffened.

"I'll handle it," Vance said casually. "That envelope should more than cover it anyway."

Askai tightened his grip on the envelope and Vance's gaze flew to him, snatching onto the sudden shift in his demeanour. Then it was his wounded pride spilling out the next few words for him.

"It's not about the money. I have assignments too. I can't just keep skipping shifts and hoping things work out. On-campus jobs are already high in demand. I can't afford to lose them."

Vance let out a soft laugh, as if Askai had just told him something adorably naïve.

Askai narrowed his eyes, fuming inside. "You can't be serious!"

"Of course, I am." Vance's gaze pinned him. "You could avoid all that stress. You don't have to keep running around for pennies. Not if you just—opened up a little."

"Opened up?" Askai asked, little taken back.

"Yeah." Vance leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell me where you were before college. Who you really are."

Askai's expression hardened. "It's none of your business."

Vance's smile curved, sly. "You were fine discussing your business with Ruby."

Askai almost let out a groan.

"I don't mind. Your good rapport with her would eventually save us both a lot of trouble." Vance's grin widened, but there was something unreadable behind it. 

"But just saying—you keep insisting on walking around with a closed book, but eventually, someone's going to want to read."

Askai didn't respond. He glanced toward the door, then back at Vance, suddenly anxious to leave.

"I'll be at the games," he said finally, clipped. "But I need to go."

Vance shrugged like he'd already expected the answer. "Suit yourself."

He didn't say anything else, and Askai took that as dismissal.

Askai stepped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality. The hum of the hallway swallowed him up—sterile lights, muted footsteps, distant chatter from the volunteers packing up. He exhaled slowly, trying to shake off the ghost of Vance's touch still burning along his ribs.

He didn't notice the shift in the shadows behind him.

But someone else did.

The moment Askai disappeared around the corner, a figure—tall as a mountain and twice as unyielding—stepped out from the dim corridor. Blonde buzz cut, shoulders like carved granite, expression as blank as a loaded gun.

Kyrion.

He approached the open doorway without a word, boots silent despite his size. Vance didn't look up immediately—still seated on the couch, head tilted back, fingers pressed to his forehead like he was holding back a headache.

"Do you need me to drop the boy off?" Kyrion asked, voice low, unfazed. "As you planned?"

Vance let out a humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair, pushing it back in frustration.

"No." He exhaled sharply. "Don't bother."

Kyrion waited.

Vance didn't.

"I don't understand him," he muttered, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. His voice was rough with something that wasn't quite irritation—but wasn't softer than it either. "Where the hell does the boy get his confidence from? He takes my money, sasses me up, and walks out as if he's doing me a favor."

He let out another breath, a bitter huff of disbelief.

"I could place the Seven Heavens at his step," Vance said, voice tightening, "and he'd still look down on it."

Silence followed.

Kyrion didn't answer—because Vance wasn't asking.

He wasn't looking for logic. He was looking for the boy who had just walked away from him without flinching. After a moment, Vance straightened, rolling his shoulders back, slipping the mask of composure over the frustration that had cracked through.

"Send a taxi his way," he ordered, the chill returning to his tone. "He won't find anything else in this neighborhood."

Kyrion nodded once.

Vance's gaze hardened, steel sliding back into place.

"And Kyrion—" he added quietly, "make sure no one finds out the boy is close to me."

There was weight in that statement—dangerous, territorial weight.

Kyrion paused. "Understood."

Vance didn't respond. He was already staring at the door Askai had exited through, jaw set, eyes storming with something dark.

Not desire, not frustration - Possession. And the unsettling realization that with all his power, influence, and intimidation— Askai remained the first person in years who refused to be impressed.

The realization sowed the seeds of a very bizarre conclusion in his head.