Aiden was just starting to scribble down a rough line when the unmistakable sound of high-pitched laughter sliced through the quiet of the library.
"Oh my god, there you are!" Jessica's voice rang out like a fire alarm.
"Jess," Angela hissed behind her, "it's the library—"
Too late. Both girls were already hovering at the edge of their table.
Rosalie didn't look up. Didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
Aiden, on the other hand, dropped his pen with a sigh and rubbed his temples.
Jessica leaned over, hands braced on the table like she was about to climb into their personal space. "You guys look so intense. What are you working on?"
"Poetry," Rosalie said, flat and unimpressed, her eyes still on her notebook.
Jessica blinked. "Wait. Seriously? You're writing poems together?"
Angela gave a quiet, amused smile. "It's for French, right?"
"Yeah," Aiden muttered, barely restraining his annoyance. "Apparently not about the French Revolution."
Jessica laughed, oblivious. "So what's it about then?"
Rosalie finally looked up, her tone dry as sandpaper. "Love. And hate."
"Ooh," Jessica said, eyebrows dancing. "Which one are you writing about?"
"Hate," Rosalie said instantly, like the answer had never been in question.
Angela glanced between them, reading the tension. "So I'm guessing Aiden's got love?"
"Not got stuck with," Aiden snapped. "I picked it."
Jessica tilted her head. "Huh. Wouldn't have pegged you as the love-poem type."
"Well, people usually peg wrong," he muttered, flipping his notebook over so they couldn't see what he'd written.
Rosalie shut her laptop with a soft but deliberate click. "We were making progress. If you're finished, we'd like to get back to it."
Angela nodded, offering a quick, apologetic look. "Right. Got it. Sorry."
Jessica lingered, still watching them like she was trying to solve a puzzle no one asked her to.
"We were gonna grab something from the vending machine—"
"Non," Rosalie cut in, sharp but not rude. "Nous allons bien."
(No)(We are fine)
Jessica blinked, thrown by the sudden switch to French, then nodded with a little pout. "Okay. Later, I guess."
Angela tugged her gently away. As they left, she whispered something that made Jessica snort behind her hand.
The silence that followed was thick—almost comfortable.
Aiden picked up his pen again, letting it hover above the page.
"Thanks," he said after a beat.
Rosalie didn't look at him, just clicked her pen and resumed writing. "Don't mention it."
And just like that, they returned to the slow, simmering rhythm of working side by side—love and hate bleeding onto the page in two completely different hands.