The Monday morning hallways buzzed like a beehive, everyone still crackling with leftover energy from the rave in the woods. The smell of cheap body spray and fresh notebooks mixed with chatter that never quite dipped below a hum.
"Three counties over and still the biggest party we've had all year," a girl with glitter still stuck in her hair gushed to her friend by the lockers. "I swear, I'm still seeing strobe lights every time I blink."
Aiden passed them, keeping his head down. He could already feel eyes sliding toward him.
"Yo, that's him," a junior whispered a little too loudly, elbowing his buddy. "The one who dunked Ben at the river."
"Dunked? Bro, he straight up tossed him," another voice laughed. "Like—whoosh!" He mimed throwing a bag over his shoulder, earning a round of snickers.
From the other side of the hall, someone called out, "Hey, Aiden! Are you taking on challenges or what?"
Aiden slowed but didn't answer, jaw tightening.
Ben himself wasn't far. He leaned against his locker, wet hair memory hanging over him like a ghost. He shot Aiden a look that wasn't quite angry, wasn't quite friendly either, more like a question mark.
"Yo, Ben," a kid teased, clapping him on the shoulder. "Still drying off, man? Heard you were fish bait."
Ben rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, hilarious." His gaze flicked back to Aiden, then away. "Better than half of you puking in the bushes."
The hallway burst with laughter again.
Aiden kept walking, but voices followed him like smoke.
"Bet he's got a temper."
"Nah, bet he just doesn't care."
"Man, you should've seen it. Ben was like—'splash!'"
Finally, a bold girl with dark lipstick stepped in front of Aiden's path, smirking. "So, what's the story, Aiden? You planning on making a habit of throwing boys into rivers, or was that a one-night-only show?"
Aiden's eyes narrowed. "He tripped."
"Tripped?" someone repeated, cackling. "Yeah, with your hands."
Aiden's lip twitched like he was holding back either a smirk or a snarl. He shoved past without another word, his silence feeding the legend more than anything he could've said.
Behind him, the whispers started again, sharper now, like the birth of a rumor given wings.
[Later that Day]
The diner's neon sign flickered faintly as Aiden and Steve slid into a worn vinyl booth. The smell of frying onions and coffee hit Aiden immediately, a familiar comfort he hadn't realized he'd missed.
"Table for two," Gena said, approaching with a clipboard in hand. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw Steve.
"Steve! I didn't expect to see you tonight," she said, her voice slipping into something warmer, softer, almost motherly.
"Hey, Gena," Steve said, smiling as he shook her hand. "Just grabbing a bite before my shift."
Aiden raised an eyebrow, taking in Gena for the first time. She looked slightly older than he expected, kind, confident, but there was something in the way she looked at Steve, a familiarity that went beyond friendship. She noticed him immediately, too.
"Oh! And you must be Aiden!" she exclaimed, stepping closer. "Steve's mentioned you. Wow… you're tall. You look just like him. The resemblance is uncanny."
Aiden smirked quietly to himself, spotting the subtle differences, his own jawline sharper, his eyes darker—but didn't argue. She set down menus and gave him a small nod of approval, as if she were assessing a younger version of her friend.
"Wow," Aiden said under his breath, leaning slightly toward Steve. "You two are… almost intimate, huh?" His smirk was sly, subtle.
Steve chuckled, shaking his head. "Watch it, kid. You're pushing your luck."
Aiden shrugged, leaning back. The banter was familiar, comforting, and it reminded him of another time, another diner. He remembered the quiet clatter of a small-town eatery, the smell of syrup and toast, and Mrs. P sliding into the booth across from him.
"You don't have to live like this," she had said softly, her hand hovering over the table as if she could physically shield him from the life she knew would trap him. "There are better choices than what's waiting for you out there."
But Aiden had only smiled, a little bitter, a little determined. "I know, Mrs. P. I appreciate it. But no one's stopping me from getting what I want. No one."
The memory faded as his phone buzzed on the table. Rosalie.
"We need to meet at the library after school to finish our French presentation. Don't bail."
Aiden glanced up at Steve, who caught the text notification and immediately grinned. "Library, huh? Looks like someone's got a date… with homework," he teased, loud enough to make Gena smirk.
"Shut up," Aiden muttered, face heating slightly, though the corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement.
"You're gonna be late for your shift, Steve," Aiden said, trying to steer the conversation back.
"I'll manage. But seriously…" Steve shook his head, still grinning at Aiden. "Rosalie, huh? Careful, she's got a reputation."
Aiden rolled his eyes, focusing on the menu but remembering the diner memory, Gena's motherly tone, and Steve's easy laughter. Life felt… layered, and he was right in the middle of all of it.
"Guess I better finish my fries before we head out," he said finally, pushing the plate closer to himself, trying to ignore the sly commentary from Steve.
"Yeah, finish them," Steve said, standing up. "And don't forget that library date."
Aiden smirked, shaking his head, already drafting excuses in his mind, but knowing he'd be there, ready for whatever Rosalie had planned.
[The Next Day]
The library was quiet, broken only by the rustle of pages and the occasional cough from a student two rows over. Aiden leaned back in his chair, stretching lazily, while Rosalie sat across from him, posture straight, eyes locked on the paper between them. Her pen scratched with deliberate precision, but Aiden noticed how the grip was just a little too tight, the knuckles faintly pale against the ink-dark wood of the desk.
"You're wound up," Aiden murmured, smirking as he tilted his head. "What's got you all tense? This project? Or me?"
Rosalie's golden eyes flicked up, sharp, but just for a heartbeat. Then she smoothed her expression, lips curving into something that was almost a smile, but her hand betrayed her, tapping the pen a shade too quickly.
"You imagine far too much of yourself," she said coolly, voice steady. But her shoulders didn't relax.
Aiden leaned forward now, elbows on the table, his grin widening. "See, that right there—" he gestured casually toward her pen, still tapping against the page. "that's irritation. Or maybe frustration. But with whom, I wonder?"
Her gaze lingered on him longer than it should have, narrowed slightly, and Aiden felt the shift in the air, like static before a storm. He wasn't sure if he should back off, but something in him wanted to keep pushing.
"You keep staring at me like that," he teased, "and I'll start thinking you actually like having me here."
Rosalie exhaled, slow, almost imperceptible, as if reigning herself back in. She tilted her head, giving him a smile that was sharp at the edges. "If I did, you'd be the last to know."
But he caught it—the faint flex of her jaw, the way her pen finally stilled, the tiniest crack in her unshakable mask. And for the first time, he realized he was getting under her skin.
Rosalie's posture was immaculate, as though carved from marble. She looked completely at ease, pen gliding over the paper, but Aiden could feel something humming underneath, like the tension in the air before a storm.
"So," she said, her tone smooth and deliberate, "what did you do this weekend?"
Aiden leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the table like he owned the space. He smirked lazily. "Oh, nothing special. Tossed some kid into the pond. Got chased by cops. Crashed at home after."
Her pen paused, just for a second. She looked up at him, eyes cool and unreadable. "You threw someone into the pond."
He shrugged, easy. "Yeah. He needed it. Mouthy little punk. Water fixed that."
Rosalie blinked once, slowly, then lowered her gaze back to the page. Her pen resumed its elegant script. "And the police?" she asked, the question almost too casual.
Aiden ran a hand through his hair, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "They tried. Didn't catch me. Didn't even come close." He gave a little laugh, like it was nothing. "Just another Saturday night."
Her hand stilled again. This time longer. Her calm expression held perfectly, but Aiden caught the faintest flicker in her eyes, the tiniest tightening in her grip.
"You take risks like consequences don't exist," she said quietly, words even but carrying a strange weight.
Aiden tilted his chair back a little, resting his arms behind his head. "Maybe the consequences just don't like me. Or maybe I'm just good at ducking 'em." His grin widened, boyish, unbothered.
For a moment, Rosalie studied him with that too-perfect calm, like glass so clear it didn't look real. Then she lowered her eyes, pen moving again, though slower, as if the rhythm betrayed her focus.
"You'll find one day that some lines push back harder than you expect," she murmured.
Aiden just smirked at her, rocking his chair slightly. "Guess I'll cross that bridge when it smacks me in the face."
Her lips didn't move, but her stillness said everything. Beneath her polished calm, something stirred.
[10 Minutes Later]
The library smelled of old books and quiet concentration. Aiden leaned back lazily, smirking, while Rosalie sat across from him, posture immaculate, pen poised.
"Alright," she said, voice smooth and precise, "we start from scratch. I'll take the first line."
Aiden shrugged, casual. "Go ahead. Don't make it too sharp—I might get hurt."
She shot him a glance, unamused but perfectly calm. "Hurt? I doubt it. But you'll see."
She wrote quickly, each word deliberate:
Aiden leaned forward lazily, pen hovering over the page before him.
She glanced at him, amber eyes sharp, then returned to her notebook, fingers tightening slightly around the pen.
Aiden smirked, leaning back again, clearly unfazed.
Their two flames were already at work, her edge hard, precise, disciplined: his soft, enduring, fluid. The tension between them hummed in the quiet library, each stanza a dance of control and challenge.
Rosalie remained flawless on the surface, but Aiden noticed the faint shift in her posture, the subtle tremor of her fingers, the first hints of a storm she was carefully keeping contained.