Fuck, Bastian, get out of my head!
Kai’s phone buzzes again.
This time, when he picks it up and reads the message, his energy changes like someone flipped a switch.
His shoulders tense. His jaw tightens.
He stares at the screen for a long moment, then sets the phone facedown on the coffee table.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“No one.”
I frown. “Didn’t look like no one.”
“It’s nothing, Haven.” He picks up his highlighter, focusing on his textbook. “Just drop it.”
But I can’t drop it. Because I know that look. I’ve seen it before—the way his face goes carefully blank, the way his eyes won’t quite meet mine. His whole body is coiling as if he’s preparing to bolt or fight.
Something’s wrong.
“Kai—”
“I said drop it,” he growls, like a dog if you get too close to its bowl while it’s eating.
Which, of course, makes me want to push harder.
Because there’re only two people I can think of who could cause such a sudden change in Kai…and one of them is in hospital.
“It’s Bastian, isn’t it?”
Kai’s head snaps up. “What?”
“What did he text you?”
“Jesus Christ.” He tosses his highlighter onto the coffee table. It rolls off and hits the floor. “Not everything is about him.”
“Then who?—”
“Can we just study? Please?” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I really don’t want to do this right now.”
“Do what? Talk? Share? Act like we’re actually in a relationship instead of just fucking each other and pretending we’re fine?”
Kai’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his eyes sullenly glued to his notes, refusing to respond. I try to go back to my textbook, but I end up studying Kai’s body language instead of Piaget’s bullshit.
I last maybe a minute.
“If he’s still messaging you, then we should?—“
Kai’s phone blasts out the chorus of the hip-hop song he uses as his ringtone.
His head whips to stare at his phone on the coffee table. The screen lights up, displaying a name I can’t quite read from this angle.
But I can read his face just fine.
And he looks terrified.
“Gonna get that?” I ask.
