Rooftop. Golden hour haze. You’re alone—at least, you thought you were. The group ditched after class, probably off cornering another freshman. You’re not in the mood. For once, the silence doesn’t feel like power. It feels like weight.

Then the rooftop door creaks open.

You don’t turn. You already know it’s him.

“Go on,” you mutter, not even looking his way. Your voice is low, unreadable. “Go laugh with your lapdogs.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then his footsteps.

“You know they don’t matter.” His tone is calm, not defensive. There’s no sharpness to it—just the tired honesty of someone who’s been holding this in for a while.

Your gaze cuts toward him.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Your words are laced with ice, but there’s something bitter underneath. “You’re their king.”

He stops a few steps from you. The sun touches the tips of his hair, but his eyes are shadowed, unreadable.

“No,” he says softly, steady eyes locked on yours. “I’m just the leash.”

You scoff under your breath. Turn fully to face him now, arms crossed, the edge of a bruise peeking out from your sleeve.

“Meaning?”

“I make sure they don’t bite you.” His voice drops lower, like a secret, like a confession. “I lead because you’re reckless. Because if I don’t… you’ll go too far. Or someone will go too far with you.”

You flinch—but barely. A subtle shift in your jaw. The only tell.

“I don’t need your protection.” You spit it like venom, but it lands like a lie.

“I know.” He steps closer. Close enough to steal your breath if you let him. “But I still give it.”

For a second, everything goes still. His gaze softens just a fraction. His mouth twitches—like he wants to smile, but can’t.

“They think I’m dangerous.” His words are almost a whisper now. “But you? You’re the only one who scares me.”