Chapter 4

There are a lot of ways I could have woken up this morning.

Alone, for example.

That would have been nice.

But no. That would be too easy. Too normal.

Instead, I wake up to warmth. Too much warmth.

The blankets feel heavier. The air is too still.

And—most concerning of all—there's a strange, steady rhythm near me.

Breathing.

Something is very, very wrong.

I turn my head.

And there he is..

Neil Fucking Varian.

Sleeping. In my bed.

Like this is a completely normal fucking thing.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

I have woken up in many strange places in my life.

A bathtub? Normal.

A stairwell? Happens.

A rooftop with a half-eaten sandwich in my hand? Don't ask.

But waking up to Neil Varian, comfortably sleeping next to me?

Unacceptable.

I stare at him. Really stare.

The early morning light filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his face. His breathing is steady, slow. His expression is relaxed. Too relaxed.

His lips—soft. His eyelashes—unfairly long.

He looks... peaceful.

Like he belongs here.

Like he's done this before.

And that thought?

Makes my skin crawl.

I move slowly. Carefully.

Because if this motherfucker wakes up and says something like "Good morning, darling," I am going to actually commit murder.

I shift. Pull the blanket away.

And then—

"Leaving already?"

FUCK.

Neil doesn't even open his eyes immediately. Just smirks like he knows exactly what he's doing.

I fucking hate him.

I inhale sharply. Keep my voice even. Do not react.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Neil finally opens his eyes—sharp, too-knowing, smug.

"Sleeping," he says simply.

Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Like this is his bed, not mine.

I sit up, rubbing my face aggressively.

Okay. Think.

Did I let him in? Maybe.

Did he sneak in like a cryptid with no regard for privacy? Yes.

Did I shove him into my closet last night to stop my father from finding him, only for him to invite himself into my bed like a deranged housecat? Also yes.

I side-eye him.

Neil is still watching me, head tilted slightly, like he's studying me under a microscope.

"So?" I press. "What the fuck are you still doing here?"

He stretches, completely at ease—like he owns the place.

"You looked like you needed company."

My brain short-circuits.

I. What. Excuse me.

I let out a slow, deep breath.

Don't react. That's what he wants.

Instead, I stand up.

"Get out."

Neil sighs dramatically, as if I'M the one being unreasonable.

But—he listens.

He slides out of bed, stretching like a fucking cat, then walks toward the balcony.

Because of course. That's how he got in.

I watch as he casually steps onto the railing like it's a sidewalk.

He glances back at me.

"Try not to miss me too much, Charssein."

And then—he fucking jumps.

I don't move.

I don't react.

I just watch.

If he dies, that's his fucking problem.

Five seconds later, a soft thud from below.

"Still alive, by the way."

I roll my eyes and shut the door.

I Am Losing My Mind. Trying to figure out where my life went wrong.

The cold air seeps in, but the blankets still hold warmth.

I should be freaking out more.

I should be throwing things, calling security, maybe setting this entire mansion on fire.

But instead?

I just sit on the bed.

Staring at the spot where Neil was.

And for some goddamn reason—

It feels colder now.

But Guess What? The Day Gets Worse. I barely get ten fucking minutes to process before my door swings open.

A servant stands there, stiff and formal.

"Your father is waiting for you in the car, young master."

I exhale sharply.

Right. That bullshit.

I grab my phone.

I am not going on that flight.

But if I want to escape? I need to do it smartly.

I head to his office first. On his stupidly expensive desk, I leave a beautifully written note.

"Fuck off."

Neat. Precise. Straight to the point.

And then? Obviously, I climb out the window just like that asshole did.

By the time I reach campus, I've almost convinced myself that Neil sneaking into my bed was a fever dream.

Well… almost.

The hallways are loud. Crowded. Voices blend together in an endless murmur of bullshit I don't care about.

I light a cigarette the moment I step outside.

The air smells like damp books, spilled coffee, and fake intellectualism.

God, I hate it.

Under the stone archway, my so-called "friends" are loitering like stray dogs.

"Charssein!" Migs grins. "Spare some cash?"

I roll my eyes but hand over a few bills I snatched from my father's drawer.

Because that's why they keep me around, right?

Not for friendship.

Not for connection.

Just money.

"Bro is literally our walking ATM," Kenji sighs, pocketing his share.

"Yeah, and y'all still insist on asking," Cel snickers. "Like, at least pretend to be subtle. Slip a donation box in his bag or something."

"Right?" Migs sighs dramatically. "We need a 'Charssein Pity Fund' for his mental illness and financial generosity."

I take a slow drag from my cigarette. "You're all fucking parasites."

"And yet," Migs grins, "you keep feeding us."

I flip him off.

Cel just grabs my wrist.

And instantly, the mood shifts.

His grin flickers as he stare at the fresh bandages.

"Ayo," he whistles. "Wrist game crazy."

Kenji leans in. "Deadass. You beefing with life and losing?"

"Must be nice," Migs hums, sipping his coffee. "Some of us gotta suffer without the fruit ninja skills"

Reid, who has been silent this whole time, suddenly punches me in the arm.

"Ow— What the fuck?" I scowl.

"You're fucking dumb," he mutters.

And before I can react—

SLAP. Cel just smacks the back of my head.

"Stupid asshole" he says casually.

Migs clicks his tongue. "Real talk, how are you rich and still depressed?"

"Skill issue," kenji adds.

I exhale slowly, rubbing my temple.

"You dumbasses," I say. "If I was actually suicidal, this wouldn't be helping."

Cel shrugs. "Then we'll just roast you back to life."

Reid crosses his arms. "If you actually tried to die, I'd personally drag your ass back just to kill you myself."

Kenji sips his coffee. "We'd take turns."

Migs grins. "I'd record it."

"Fuck all of you."

"Yeah, yeah," Cel smirks. "Love you too, wristband Barbie."

I groan.

"You're all insufferable," I mutter. "A burden. A plague upon this world."

"And yet, here you are," Migs says. "With us."

Kenji grins. "So… who's really the dumbass?"

I take a long sip of my coffee.

"I hope all of you choke."

Just as I think I can escape this bullshit conversation—

"Hey, speaking of choking on bad decisions," Kenji suddenly says. "Did y'all hear about the new kid?"

I pause.

Reid raises an eyebrow. "You mean the weirdo?"

"Oh—Neil or something?" Cel chimes in.

I sip my coffee. "Never heard of him."

Reid scoffs. "Liar."

I blink. "Excuse me?"

"You literally met him yesterday," Reid deadpans. "He's in your Literature Class."

That asshole.

I sip my coffee. Pretend to be unbothered. But the moment they start talking about him, something tightens in my chest.

Neil Varian.

A name that shouldn't mean anything. A person I shouldn't care about.

And yet, here he is, sticking to my life like a smudge I can't wipe off.

Reid watches me. Sharp. Calculating.

"You sure you don't know him?" he asks, voice unreadable.

I take another drag from my cigarette. "Yeah."

Lying through my teeth.

Because Neil Varian was in my room last night. Standing on my balcony like he belonged there. Looking at me like he knew me.

Like he'd seen something in me no one else could.

And worst of all?

He wasn't wrong.

---

The next class is literature.

I slide into my usual seat near the window, arms crossed, head tilted back. The teacher drones on, but my mind is stuck in a haze—half-awake, half-dissociating.

And then—

A chair scrapes beside me.

I don't have to look to know who it is.

Neil.

His presence is like static, like something humming at the edge of reality. Too quiet. Too there.

I pretend not to notice.

He leans in slightly. "You look like shit."

I flick ash from my cigarette—before realizing oh right, I'm inside. I sigh. "Thanks, Sherlock."

He tilts his head, watching me. Like he's picking apart every piece of me with those too-knowing eyes.

"You didn't sleep."

I scoff. "I never sleep."

Neil hums. Doesn't push. Just rests his chin on his hand and stares.

The air feels heavier.

I hate it.

I shift in my seat. "Do you have to sit here?"

"Yes."

I glare at him. "Why?"

Neil blinks. "Why not?"

I open my mouth. Close it. Because what the hell am I even supposed to say to that?

"You're annoying," I mutter instead.

Neil doesn't react. Just continues watching me like he's reading between the lines of a book only he can see.

Then he says, almost too softly—

"Does it still hurt?"

My breath catches.

My wrist throbs.

For a second, I think about lying.

Then I remember the way he looked at me last night. The way he said, I didn't want you to be alone.

And the lie dies in my throat.

I look away. "...Not really."

Neil doesn't believe me. But he doesn't push.

Instead, he just reaches into his pocket—

And slides something onto my desk.

A lollipop.

I blink at it. Then at him. "...The fuck is this?"

"You skipped breakfast."

I stare.

Neil just looks back, expression unreadable.

And for some goddamn reason—

I take the lollipop.

Not because I want it. Not because I care.

But because, for some reason—

I can't bring myself to refuse.

And I don't know why.

---

TO BE CONTINUED…