...….☆...…
The lecture hall for Advanced Microeconomics felt less like a place of higher learning and more like a high security prison block. Kaelan had limped into the room early, moving with the gingerly care of a man made of cracked porcelain. His fluffy black tail was shoved so deep into his waistband it was causing an uncomfortable lump, and his panther ears were flattened under a beanie he'd pulled down to his eyebrows.
He sat in his usual back corner, every nerve ending screaming in livid protest.
Before the lecture began, Tamsin and Marcus slipped into the seats beside him. Kaelan tensed, his first instinct to snarlingly dismiss them, but the memory of his explosion the night before made him pause.
"Look," Kaelan muttered, his voice a low, sarcastic rasp, not meeting their eyes. "I'm sorry for being a feral nightmare yesterday. I was... occupied with being a victim of Draconic home wrecking. If I tried to claw your faces off, just know it was aimed at a certain nose bleeding lizard and you were just in the splash zone."
Tamsin reached out as if to touch his shoulder, but caught herself, giving him the space he desperately needed. "We know, Kaelan. We're not mad. We're just... worried. He's a god, and you're a guy with a new tail and a lot of resentment."
"I'm a guy with a ruined physical state and a debt to society for not murdering him yet," Kaelan corrected bitterly.
"We're here," Marcus whispered, his usual childish grin replaced by a look of grim determination. "If he tries anything in here, I'll start a fire drill. Or a small riot. I'm flexible."
Kaelan felt a small, reluctant spark of gratitude, but it was quickly snuffed out by a sudden, violent shiver that raced down his spine. It wasn't cold. It was a greasy, perverse sensation of being watched ,no, being imagined. It felt like invisible hands were tracing the exact path of his swollen injuries.
"Ugh," Kaelan groaned, hugging himself. "I just felt a psychic slime trail. He's thinking about me. I can feel the narcissism radiating through the floorboards."
At the front of the room, Ignis was sitting in the professor's high backed chair, looking like a celebrity icon who had just been voted "Most Likely to Start a Cult." He wasn't looking at the textbook. He was staring at the back corner of the room.
Inside his mind, a voice rang out the dry, rasping telepathic tone of Vorlag, his attendant.
"Your Majesty, the Council of Scales is demanding an audience regarding the trade embargo. Your presence in the Mortal Realm is becoming... an administrative catastrophe. Please, respond."
Ignis didn't even blink. He flicked the mental connection away like a bothersome fly. "Not now, Vorlag. I am in the middle of an audit. The asset is showing remarkable resilience."
"The asset is a student in a hoodie, Sire! You are ignoring a kingdom for a—"
Ignis cut the link entirely. He had no room for politics. His mind was occupied by a far more intense obsession. He was replaying the bathroom encounter ,specifically, the exquisite tightness of Kaelan's body and the way his fearless green eyes had glared even in the height of pain.
The thought hit Ignis like a physical blow. Beneath the desk, shielded from the students' view, he felt himself go hard instantly ,a rock hard, demanding ache that made his golden eyes darken to the color of molten copper.
He's sitting right there, Ignis thought, a dark smirk twitching on his lips. Sore, angry, and utterly mine. I can feel his soul vibrating with outrage from here. It's delicious.
Kaelan, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, started whispering to Marcus and Tamsin, his sarcastic defense mechanism in high gear.
"Look at him," Kaelan hissed, nodding toward the front. "He looks like he's trying to solve a complex math problem, but we all know he's just thinking about his own reflection or how to turn my life into a worse version of a 'National Geographic' special. Look at that smug face. He probably spends three hours a morning telling his mirror how lucky it is to see him."
"He does look... focused," Tamsin noted uneasily.
"Focused? He's a predatory lizard with the social graces of a hurricane," Kaelan snapped. "I hope he trips on those fancy robes and falls face-first into a pile of tax forms. I hope he gets a hangnail that lasts a thousand years. I hope his 'royal' coffee is perpetually lukewarm and tastes like wet dog."
Suddenly, the Professor cleared her throat, and the room went silent. Ignis stood up, his tall, powerful frame casting a long shadow over the front row. He didn't speak to the class. He looked directly at the back corner, his gaze locking onto Kaelan's.
"I find," Ignis rumbled, his voice carrying that terrifying, deep baritone, "that some students are... distracted today. Perhaps they require a more hands-on approach to their studies."
Kaelan felt another shiver, his black ears twitching violently under the beanie.
"If he comes back here," Kaelan whispered to Marcus, his knuckles white as he gripped his pen, "I'm going to use this highlighter to perform an unscheduled lobotomy on him. I swear to god, I will."
Ignis didn't move, but the smirk widened. He could hear the heartbeat. He could smell the flustered panic. The audit was going exactly as planned.