The bathroom door on the ground floor of the academic block slammed shut as a taller boy pulled another inside.

He didn’t waste a second. He dragged the shorter one into a stall and locked it with a sharp click.

The sound echoed.

Aarav looked up at Nikhil, his brown eyes blazing with barely contained fury.

“Don’t,” he warned.

Nikhil leaned back against the locked door of the stall. His apron hung unbuttoned in the front, sleeves rolled carelessly, collar slightly askew — like he had run here without thinking and hadn’t bothered to fix himself.

“You left early,” he said. “That day. At the fest. And now you’re avoiding me.”

“I was… busy,” Aarav replied, looking sideways instead of at him.

“Don’t bullshit me,” Nikhil scoffed.

“Why do you care?” Aarav shot back. “You have her.”

The words came out clipped. Bitter. Much more bitter than Aarav would have liked.

Nikhil didn’t deny it.

His face set into something colder. The low white bathroom light caught the sharp cut of his cheekbones, threw shadows under his eyes.

“She’s nice.”

Aarav laughed mockingly. “Of course she is.”

“You’re the one who told me to find someone else,” Nikhil reminded him. “Multiple times.”

“Maybe I didn’t think you’d do it in front of me,” Aarav snapped. “Or be that quick about it.”

Nikhil stepped forward slowly.

“You don’t get to be jealous now, boss.”

The title felt mocking. Deliberate.

“I’m not jealous,” Aarav fired back instantly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No,” Nikhil murmured. “You’re furious.”

His hand twitched, almost instinctively wanting to rise and brush Aarav’s face — that stupid soft urge that made no sense in moments like this.

He resisted.

Aarav’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You flirt with everyone and anyone. You think I care what you do? Who you take to that stupid goddamned fest? Who you disappear midway with?”

“You noticed I disappeared.”

“Shut up.”

Nikhil’s expression shifted.

“You were watching me,” he said. “You care. Admit it.”

“I don’t care!” Aarav snapped, breathless. “I don’t care about you, I don’t care about her, I don’t care about whatever you two do!”

His face was red now — the flush Nikhil so loved blooming across his dusky cheeks in anger. It crept up his neck, into his ears. His eyes were rimmed red too.

He looked furious.

He looked wrecked.

“You’re disgusting,” Aarav said.

“Because I was with her?”

“No!” Aarav’s voice cracked. “Because you are like this with — with me!”

His chest heaved. His eyes were glassy now. Tears he refused to let fall blurred his vision.

“Why is it not right?” Nikhil pressed, voice hardening. “Because we’re both men?”

He laughed, but it sounded hollow.

“In the end, this is the root of everything with you, isn’t it? Why you keep pushing me away. Why you keep telling me to find someone else. Why you keep pretending there’s nothing between us when there so obviously is.”

“There is nothing,” Aarav whispered.

“Someone who truly doesn’t care,” Nikhil continued, stepping closer, “someone who truly wants me to find someone else — they wouldn’t get angry if I left with her.”

Aarav’s back hit the cool tiled wall.

“It bothers you,” Nikhil said. “It torments you. Admit it.”

“No.”

“Lie better.”

Nikhil took another step forward.

Aarav swallowed weakly.

“Move,” he said.

Nikhil didn’t.

Instead, he grabbed Aarav’s wrist.

His hand wrapped perfectly around the thin bone — not like a bracelet.

Like a restraint.

Not violent. Not crushing.

But firm.

Unyielding.

“Say it properly,” Nikhil said, leaning closer until their faces were inches apart. “Say it to my face that you don’t care.”

“I don’t care—”

“You really expect me to believe that when you can’t even look me in the eye?”

Aarav looked.

And that was the mistake.

Because there it was.

In those sage-green irises — regret. Hurt. Want. A mess of emotion so raw and electric it made the air between them feel charged.

That same look that always made it impossible for Aarav to truly let go.

And then—

A tear slipped down Aarav’s cheek.

Just one.

That was all it took.

Nikhil snapped.

He kissed him.

It wasn’t gentle.

He pinned Aarav’s wrist above his head, the other hand tangling into dark brown hair before crashing their mouths together.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t romantic.

Aarav gasped against his lips and tried to shove him back, hands struggling against Nikhil’s grip.

“Stop—” he tried, voice muffled against Nikhil’s mouth.

Nikhil didn’t let him pull away.

There were no thoughts in his head.

This wasn’t the calculating, charming, flirtatious Nikhil Goyal everyone knew.

This was just Nikhil.

An eighteen-year-old boy with too much heart and too much ego, letting something reckless claw up his throat and spill out.

Aarav bit him.

Hard.

Not in a playful or sexy way.

It was voilent. Punishing. Something which was meant to hurt. 

The taste of iron bloomed instantly.

Pain shot through Nikhil’s lower lip and he swore under his breath, grip loosening instinctively.

That opening was all Aarav needed.

He wrenched his hands free and shoved Nikhil back with both palms.

The slap came a second later.

Sharp.

Clean.

Echoing.

Nikhil’s face turned sideways from the impact.

Both of them froze.

A thin line of blood trailed from Nikhil’s lower lip, sliding slowly down toward his chin.

Aarav was shaking.

Completely furious. Completely hurt.

“Do you think this is a game?” he demanded. “Am I a joke to you? What makes you think you have any right — any right — to do something like this?”

Nikhil wiped his lip with his thumb.

It came away red.

“You kissed me back,” he said automatically.

“I bit you!”

“Still counts.”

Another slap.

He didn’t dodge this one either. 

“I am not a plaything for you to toy with because you’re bored or curious,” Aarav snarled. “Go back to her. Go back to whoever you want. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Nikhil said quietly.

“Don’t act like you care,” Aarav shot back. “You don’t.”

That stung harder than the bite.

Harder than the slap.

For a split second, something indecipherable flickered in Nikhil’s gaze.

Gone just as fast.

Locked away.

He could not be vulnerable. Not right now.

“You’re right,” he said coolly, even though the words tasted like ash. “I don’t.”

Aarav looked like he’d been physically struck.

“You’re sick,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” Nikhil replied. “But don’t act like you’re the one who made me this way, boss.”

Aarav shoved him sideways and unlocked the stall so hard it banged against the wall.

“This is your last warning,” he said, voice low, trembling. “Stop it. Stop all this.”

He didn’t turn around.

And then he was gone.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

The bathroom felt too large. Too empty.

Nikhil’s back hit the wall as the tension drained from his muscles. His chest rose and fell unevenly.

He touched his lip again.

More blood.

Bright against his fingers.

He stared at it for a long moment.

Then he laughed softly.

Despite himself, something tender — something aching — edged his gaze.

“Dramatic,” he muttered.

A pause.

“But I suppose… that’s why I like you.”

He wiped the blood off his mouth.

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