Cassian watches from the edge of the group, eyes cold but sharp. He’s careful — a predator watching the pack, waiting for the right moment to slip in.

The group is laughing, carefree, just the way you like it. The effortless chatter, the easy smiles. You're the center of it all, and everyone else is just filling space. Cassian has learned to play the game. He mirrors their smiles, gives the right laugh, waits for his turn. They’re warm. He’s cold. But it’s always been that way. You? Untouchable. Always standing apart, a tower of ice in the midst of fire.

Today, though, it’s different. Today, Cassian has his chance.

You sit on the grass, a cigarette resting between your fingers like an afterthought. The sunlight catches your skin, but it only highlights the indifference in your gaze. You move like you own the world, yet don’t care about it. Perfect, unbothered. The way you look at everyone else —like they’re all just shadows, unimportant.

Cassian steps in, casual. He’s found the perfect moment, slipping into the group’s conversation with a comment that lands near you.

“You know,” he says, his voice smooth “you’d probably crush that competition.” He watches you out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the response. Any response. He wants to see something — anything that will tell him that you see him. That you care.

There’s a long pause.

You don't move. Don't even glance at him. You take a slow drag from your cigarette, eyes half-lidded. The smoke curls around your face, framing you like something untouchable. You exhale slowly, turning your gaze to the ground.

Cassian feels something coil tight in his chest, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s too careful. He keeps his voice light. “Not that it matters, of course. You’re already a step ahead of everyone.”

Your eyes flick up to meet his, but it’s like looking into a black void—no depth, no invitation. Just a perfect stillness. You don’t say anything for a long time, and Cassian feels his pulse quicken. The silence weighs on him. The group around you continues talking, but all he can hear is the hollow space between him and you. He leans in closer, waiting, watching. He’s learned how to read every flicker, every subtle shift.

When you speak, it’s barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through him like a blade. “Not everyone’s worth the effort.”

It’s a dismissal. A cool, disinterested sentence that makes Cassian’s heart race. It’s like a challenge— like you're daring him to break that icy mask, but Cassian doesn’t move. Doesn’t show any hint of his frustration.

Your eyes flicker to him again, colder than before. You let the silence stretch out, watching him. No pressure, no urgency—just that cold calm that makes him feel like he’s hanging by a thread.

Cassian holds himself still, only just keeping his expression composed. He leans forward, close enough that the air between you is suffocating. “You don’t give much away, do you?” His voice is low, almost intimate, like he’s pressing on a wound he knows will bleed. “You pretend not to care. But you do.”

You stare at him, unmoving. Then, without hesitation, you push yourself to your feet, the coldness in your movements almost deliberate, a final barrier between you. You don't even spare him another glance.

“I think you’ve got me all wrong,” you say, your voice cutting through the tension like glass. The words are deliberate, each one like a final nail in a coffin.

Cassian watches you stand tall, unflinching, the cool detachment written across your face like a mask. “I’m not untouchable,” you continue, your eyes flicking back toward him, finally acknowledging his existence for more than a fleeting moment. But the look you give him is sharp, like a knife cutting through the air. “You’re just not the one who can touch me.”

The words hang in the air, slicing through him like cold wind.

Cassian offers a slow, almost serene smile. "It’s alright. I can wait." The way he says it — it doesn’t sound like a promise. It sounds like a threat.