Like they were old friends.

Like he hadn’t just spent the last three days running a targeted psychological campaign through the college gossip network.

His expression was pure, open challenge as he pushed himself off the wall and strutted right up to where Aarav was sitting, stopping directly in front of him. His smirk widened slowly, almost lazily— the kind that said he was enjoying this far too much.

And the fact that he had to look down so much to meet Aarav’s eyes?

Oh, he noticed.

He noticed very much.

The smirk widened further.

The space between them seemed to crackle with something static, sharp and electric. The kind that made the air feel heavier, like something was about to happen and everyone within a ten-meter radius had collectively decided to pretend they weren’t interested while being extremely interested.

Nikhil could feel the eyes.

Of course he could.

A few first years from his batch were doing a terrible job at pretending to walk past casually— they had slowed down just enough to not be suspicious but not enough to be subtle. Meanwhile, the seniors in the area had absolutely no shame. They had turned, openly watching like this was free entertainment and they had front-row seats.

Nikhil thrived under attention.

Aarav, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to evaporate the entire audience.

Calmly— far too calmly— Aarav pressed the power button on his tablet, the screen going black with a soft click. He set it aside with deliberate care, like he was handling something fragile.

Then he removed his ankle from the chair.

And stood up.

The movement was controlled, but there was a faint hitch— his ankle clearly still protesting. He ignored it completely. The pain was secondary. Being looked down on, literally, was apparently a far bigger offense.

Twisted ankles were temporary.

Ego damage was not.

Now standing, he still had to tilt his head slightly to meet Nikhil’s gaze.

Didn’t matter.

The glare he shot up could’ve knocked ten feet off anyone.

Nikhil had to actively suppress a laugh.

“you,” Aarav seethed, his voice low, sharp, meant only for Nikhil’s ears despite the growing audience. “what is your problem, fresher?”

The way he said fresher— It was absolutely a slur.

Nikhil took it like a compliment.

“My problem?” he echoed, blinking innocently, lips curling into a sweet, entirely fake smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, boss.”

The boss was worse.

So much worse.

Mocking. Soft. Almost fond, in the most annoying way possible.

Aarav’s eye twitched.

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped under his breath. “What is this pathetic little game you think you’re playing?”

Nikhil’s expression shifted into even deeper innocence, which honestly should’ve been illegal at this point. He placed a hand dramatically over his chest like he had just been personally wounded.

“Me? Playing games?” he repeated, shaking his head slightly. “You wound me. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aarav had to physically restrain himself from doing something violent.

His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles tightening.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “The things you’re doing—the constant talking when you know second years are listening, spreading our—” he faltered, just for a second, the word catching awkwardly, “— our private business everywhere. Do you have any idea how unprofessional and immature that is?”

Private business.

Nikhil almost lost it right there.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to stop the grin from breaking into a full-blown laugh.

Instead, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossing loosely, posture relaxed in a way that screamed I have absolutely no intention of taking this seriously.

“I was just expressing my genuine concern, boss,” he said smoothly, tone dripping with fake sincerity. “I heard you were hurt. I felt bad. Is it a crime to care about a senior’s well-being?”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“What could a first year— a fresher like me— possibly have done to upset someone as…important as you?”

He even batted his eyelashes.

For effect.

Aarav saw red.

Actually saw red.

“You are a plague,” he snapped, voice dropping lower, each word precise and dripping with venom. “A walking, talking violation of every standard of decency or respect this institution or the profession you are training for represents. Your so-called concern is a joke. You’re nothing more than a bored, entitled brat looking for attention.”

“…wow,” Nikhil said, genuinely impressed.

Not offended.

Not angry.

Impressed.

There was actual amusement in his eyes now, like he was admiring the craftsmanship of that insult.

He leaned forward slightly.

Then more.

Until he was close enough that Aarav could clearly see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes.

Close enough that it should’ve felt invasive.

“You’re even prettier up close when you’re this angry,” Nikhil murmured, voice dropping just enough to make it feel like a shared secret. “positively livid, I must say. Has anyone ever told you that, boss?”

Silence.

Aarav blinked.

Once.

Twice.

For a solid second, his brain just…stopped.

Buffered.

Refused to process.

Because that—

That was not in the script.

That was not how this was supposed to go.

He had been ready for sarcasm. For defiance. For another insult. Not—whatever that was.

His lips parted slightly in pure, unfiltered confusion.

Then the meaning hit.

And oh.

Oh, that was worse.

So much worse.

Because now—

Now he wasn’t just angry.

He was losing control of the conversation.

And he knew it.

Nikhil saw it.

Of course he did.

And just as he opened his mouth, clearly ready to say something even more outrageous—

“you— stay away from me,” Aarav cut in sharply.

His voice was tight, controlled, just barely steady.

“Stop looking for me. Stop talking to me— or about me. Just...stay. Away. Far away from me.”

Each word was deliberate.

Final.

He didn’t wait for a response.

Didn’t give Nikhil the satisfaction.

He turned on his heel and walked off, fast, ignoring the sharp protest from his ankle like it personally offended him to acknowledge pain right now.

The small crowd parted instinctively, watching him go.

Then their attention snapped back to Nikhil.

Who was still standing there, watching.

And then—

A slow, absolutely shit-eating grin spread across his face.

There it was.

That feeling.

That high.

The exact one he had been chasing for days.

Finally.

He exhaled, almost satisfied, like a man who had just taken the first bite of something he’d been craving.

And the worst part?

He knew, with terrifying clarity—

He wasn’t done.

Not even close.

Because now?

Now he was hooked.