Chapter 7 - JEALOUSY

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The cafeteria was loud in that controlled way universities liked—trays clattering, chairs scraping, conversations overlapping into one constant hum. I picked up my lunch and scanned the room automatically, already knowing where not to look.

I chose my seat carefully.

Near the windows. Far enough from the noise to think, close enough to see everything. From here, I had a clear view of the long tables near the center of the cafeteria.

Ren sat there.

Of course he did.

Surrounded by people. Laughing easily. One elbow resting on the table, posture relaxed, open—approachable. The kind of presence that made others drift toward him without realizing why.

I set my tray down and sat alone.

No one ever noticed when I did that.

I ate slowly, eyes lowered, but my attention stayed fixed on him in that quiet way I'd perfected. He talked with his hands today. Smiled often. Someone nudged his shoulder and he didn't pull away.

Green tea, served warm.

I felt it before I saw it.

Someone stopped beside my table.

"Is this seat taken?"

I looked up.

A boy from my year—tall, polite, unfamiliar in the way that meant he'd noticed me before but never spoken to me.

"No," I said.

He smiled and sat down, setting his tray between us. "I'm Jun. We have pathology together."

I nodded. "Akari."

We ate in silence for a moment. Comfortable. Normal.

From the corner of my eye, I felt it—the shift.

Ren had stopped laughing.

Not abruptly. Just enough.

His gaze flicked past the people around him and landed on my table.

On Jun.

Then on me.

Jun spoke again, gesturing lightly. "You always sit alone. I figured I'd keep you company."

I hummed in acknowledgment, lifting my cup.

Across the room, Ren leaned forward, forearms on the table. Someone said something to him. He didn't respond immediately.

He was watching.

Jun noticed my glance and followed it. "You know him?"

"No," I said.

That was true enough.

Ren stood then.

Smoothly. Casually. He excused himself with a smile, tray in hand, and crossed the cafeteria as if he had nowhere in particular to be.

He stopped at our table.

"Oh," he said pleasantly, eyes flicking to Jun before settling on me. "Didn't see you here."

"You weren't looking," I replied.

Jun laughed lightly, a little awkward. "Hey, Ren, right? We've met once."

Ren smiled at him. Warm. Friendly. Perfect.

"Yeah," he said. "Jun, right?"

Jun brightened. "Yeah."

"I was just telling Akari about the study group later," Ren continued, turning his attention fully to me now. "Thought she might want to join."

I met his eyes. "I don't."

The smile didn't leave his face.

"Oh," Ren said softly. "Right. Sorry."

Green tea, sweetened just enough.

He turned to Jun. "She's like this sometimes. Gets overwhelmed."

Jun looked between us, uncertain. "Oh—uh—I didn't mean to—"

"You didn't," I said.

Ren set his tray down beside ours without asking. "Mind if I sit for a minute?"

Jun hesitated. "I—"

"I do," I said.

Ren chuckled quietly. "See? Like that."

A girl from a nearby table glanced over, frowning slightly—at me, not him.

Jun shifted, uncomfortable now. "I should probably go. I've got lab."

He stood, offering me a quick, apologetic smile. "Nice meeting you."

"You too," I said.

Ren watched him leave.

Then he sat.

Uninvited.

Unbothered.

"You really don't like sharing space, do you?" he said lightly.

I gathered my tray. "You like taking it."

His eyes gleamed—not angry, not upset.

Jealous.

Satisfied.

"Careful," he said. "People might think you're the cold one."

I stood. "People already do."

As I walked away, I didn't turn back.

I didn't need to.

I knew exactly what expression he was wearing.

Green tea always tasted better when no one else noticed the bitterness.

_______

I thought that would be the end of it.

I was wrong.

The next time it happened, it was worse because I hadn't planned for it.

I'd barely taken three steps away from the table when someone called my name again.

"Akari."

I stopped.

This time, it wasn't Jun.

It was a senior from the research wing—one of the teaching assistants. He stood near the drink counter, holding two cups, his white coat unbuttoned, expression relaxed.

"You left your access card in the lab yesterday," he said, holding it up. "I was looking for you."

I walked over and took it. "Thanks."

"No problem." He hesitated, then smiled. "I was about to sit down anyway. Want to join?"

I glanced back at the tables.

Ren hadn't moved.

He was still seated where I'd left him, posture deceptively relaxed, elbow resting on the table, chin propped on his hand.

Watching.

I turned back to the senior. "Sure."

We sat.

This time, I didn't choose the seat.

He did.

Too close for Ren's liking.

I could feel it—the shift in the room, subtle but real. Ren stood almost immediately, chair scraping back just a bit too loudly. Someone said his name. He waved them off without looking.

He crossed the cafeteria again.

This time, he didn't smile when he reached us.

"Oh," he said, stopping beside the table. "Didn't realize this was occupied."

The senior looked up, polite. "Hey, Ren. We were just talking."

Ren nodded, eyes flicking to the cup in front of me. "Looks like you're busy."

I met his gaze. "You said I don't like sharing space."

Something tightened in his jaw.

Just for a second.

Then the smile returned—too smooth. "Right. My mistake."

He didn't leave.

Instead, he pulled a chair from the neighboring table and dragged it closer, the sound cutting through the noise around us. He sat sideways, arm draped over the back, body angled unmistakably toward me.

Claiming space.

The senior frowned slightly. "We were discussing—"

"I know," Ren interrupted gently. "She's brilliant at this stuff."

I blinked.

The praise was unnecessary. Strategic.

The senior smiled, encouraged. "Yeah, she is."

Ren's fingers curled slowly against the chair.

"I should let you two talk," he said lightly. "Wouldn't want to distract her."

He stood.

For a second, I thought he would leave.

Instead, he leaned down, close enough that only I could hear him.

"You really enjoy this," he murmured. "Don't you?"

I didn't answer.

His eyes searched my face—hungry, restrained, irritated in a way that thrilled him far more than anger ever could.

He straightened and walked away.

This time, he didn't sit back down.

He stood across the room, talking to no one, gaze fixed on us like a warning.

The senior shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… is he okay?"

"Yes," I said quietly. "He always is."