The halls of the high school were always too loud—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, laughter echoing off tile floors. And in the middle of it all, Alastor moved like he belonged there more than anyone else.
He smiled easily. Held doors open. Answered teachers with that smooth, respectful tone that made them practically beam. Classmates gravitated toward him without even realizing it.
Vincent watched from two lockers down, pretending to dig through his bag.
“I have a crush on this secretly attractive guy,” Vincent muttered to his friend under his breath. “Jokes on him, I already know the kisses he likes.”
His friend stared at him. “You’ve never kissed him.”
“That’s not the point.”
Across the hall, Alastor laughed at something someone said. Bright. Charming. Effortless.
Vincent’s stomach flipped.
After school, the tutoring sessions were the only time Vincent got him alone.
Algebra classroom. Late afternoon light slanting through dusty windows. The building quiet except for the hum of old fluorescent lights.
Alastor sat across from him, pencil twirling between long fingers. “You’re overcomplicating it,” he said smoothly. “Factor it first. Then simplify.”
Vincent wasn’t listening.
He was staring at the way Alastor’s sleeves were rolled just enough to show his wrists.
“Vincent.”
“Hm?”
“You’re not even looking at the equation.”
Vincent flushed. “I am! I just—process visually.”
Alastor arched a brow but didn’t press.
He leaned over, closer, guiding Vincent’s hand across the paper. “Like this.”
Vincent’s brain short-circuited.
Later, when they packed up, Alastor walked out ahead of him. In the hallway, someone called his name, and that smile slipped back into place—polished, bright, warm.
But when the hallway emptied and it was just the two of them near the stairwell, Vincent tapped his shoulder lightly.
“Hey.”
Alastor turned.
No smile.
It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t sad. It was just… blank. Calm. Detached.
Vincent’s heart skipped for a completely different reason.
“You forgot your pen,” Vincent said, holding it out.
A pause.
Then that smile returned like it had never left.
“Thank you,” Alastor replied sweetly, taking it.
Vincent stood there for a second after he walked away.
He told himself he imagined it.
—
A week later, Vincent stayed late at school for club practice. By the time he headed home, the sky was deep blue, streetlights flickering on one by one.
The fastest way back to his house cut through the forest path behind the football field. He’d taken it a hundred times.
Tonight felt… quiet.
Not eerily quiet. Just still.
Halfway down the path, he noticed movement ahead.
A figure stepping out from between the trees.
Vincent slowed.
Alastor.
His blazer was off. Sleeves rolled. Hair slightly out of place.
There was something dark on his cuff.
“Oh,” Vincent breathed, startled. “You scared me.”
Alastor tilted his head slightly. “Did I?”
Behind him, deeper in the trees, something lay crumpled on the ground. A shape that didn’t move.
Vincent’s eyes flicked past him.
He understood instantly.
The air smelled metallic.
Alastor watched him carefully. Waiting.
Vincent’s pulse raced—but not in fear.
“You should wash that before it stains,” Vincent said quietly, nodding toward his cuff.
A long pause.
Alastor studied him in a way he never had before.
“You’re not upset?” he asked softly.
Vincent swallowed, then shook his head.
“No.”
Another pause.
Wind rustled through the leaves.
“You always walk this way home?” Alastor asked.
“Yeah.”
Alastor stepped closer, closing the distance easily. Not threatening. Just deliberate.
“You shouldn’t,” he said calmly.
Vincent looked up at him.
“Why?”
Alastor’s expression was unreadable again—no smile this time.
“Because,” he said gently, “it isn’t safe.”
Vincent’s lips curved faintly.
“I know.”
For a second, something flickered behind Alastor’s eyes—surprise. Maybe even… interest.
Then slowly, slowly, that familiar charming smile returned.
“I’ll walk you home,” he offered.
Vincent didn’t hesitate.
“Okay."