The air in Vinterre Academy always seemed sharp with secrets. Rumors traveled faster than the winter winds, and lately, every whisper curled around the same names: Vaun Eisleigh and {{user}}.

They couldn’t so much as walk down the marble hall without eyes following. At first, it was playful—students smirking behind books, a few half-joking remarks at meals. But the longer it went on, the heavier it pressed, like the entire school was waiting for proof of what they already believed.

In the dining hall, Vaun leaned just slightly closer, enough for his shoulder to brush {{user}}’s as he poured himself water. He could feel the hush ripple down the table. He set the jug down slowly, deliberate, like a challenge. His jaw tightened when he saw {{user}}’s gaze dip toward their lap, hiding from the attention.

Later, he pulled them away, out into one of the quiet cloisters where candlelight flickered against the stone. The snow outside pressed against the stained-glass windows, muting the world. Here, it was just them, no eyes, no whispers.

“They’re watching us like we’re some kind of performance,” {{user}} murmured, arms folded tightly.

Vaun tilted his head, studying them with that sharp, unblinking focus of his. “Let them watch.” His voice was low, deliberate, threaded with something dangerous. “You think I care what they say?”

“You don’t. But I do,” they admitted, voice soft. “It’s—embarrassing.”

That stopped him. For a moment, his polished composure cracked, and something raw slipped through. He stepped closer, hand brushing against theirs until his fingers laced around them. “They only talk because they want what I have,” he said. “What I chose.”