"This—this is your fault." I spoke.
Xavier raised a brow, completely unfazed. "Mine?"
"Yes, yours!" I whisper-hissed, pointing a finger in his face. "If you hadn't decided to play Fast and Furious and drag me into your stupid death match, we wouldn't have had to sneak back past the patrol from hell."
"You could've said no," he said, voice maddeningly calm.
"Oh please," I snapped, "like you even gave me a chance. You showed up with that smug face and said, 'Let's go,' like I'm just supposed to follow you into whatever chaos you've got planned."
He leaned against my wall, arms crossed, watching me like I was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all week. His lips twitched, just barely.
"What are you smiling at?" I growled.
"You." He shrugged.
My eye twitched.
I was this close to launching a pillow at his face.
"Get out," I snapped, pointing at the door.
Instead of obeying like a normal person, he made himself right at home. Tossed his jacket on my desk chair. Took off his boots.
Then—oh no. Oh hell no.
He walked right over and flopped onto my bed.
My bed.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"I'm tired," he said, like that explained anything. "You wore me out with all that dramatic sneaking around."
"You're the one who—ugh!" I threw my hands up, pacing the tiny room like a tiger in a cage. "I don't even know why I try talking to you."
"I don't either," he murmured, arms folded behind his head like he belonged here.
I turned to glare at him, ready to let loose another round of verbal fireworks—but stopped.
He looked… off.
Like he was trying way too hard to seem casual. Like the mask was slipping.
His jaw was tight. His shoulders were tense under that black shirt. His eyes—usually so sharp and cocky—were darker now, flickering over me in a way I couldn't name. Like he was looking at something he wanted but wasn't allowed to touch.
I swallowed.
"You okay?" I asked, softer this time.
His gaze snapped to mine, and for a second I saw it—just a flicker—something hungry. Something wild.
"I'm fine."
Liar.
"You don't look fine," I said, inching toward my dresser. "You look like you're trying not to explode."
He shifted, the corner of his mouth tugging up in a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe I'm just trying not to laugh at how dramatic you are."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're deflecting."
"And you're nosy."
We stared at each other for a second, the air so thick you could cut it with a blade.
Then he patted the spot next to him on the bed.
"Come sit. I won't bite."
I gave him a flat look. "Funny."
He chuckled. It was low and rough and a little too amused.
Boys were annoying.
But Xavier Cage?
He was a menace.
***********
I pulled the curtain back just a sliver and peeked out the window again.
Still there.
The matron trio—undeterred, unmoving, like some kind of late-night coven on caffeine. One of them even had a mug in hand, sipping like she planned to stand there until sunrise.
I sighed.
"Of course," I muttered.
I let the curtain fall back and turned toward my room, rubbing the back of my neck. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving a sleepy ache in its place. My limbs felt heavy. My eyelids were starting to droop.
And there, on my bed, sprawled out like some ancient god carved out of temptation and poor decisions, was Xavier.
Fast asleep.
His head was turned toward the window, lashes casting faint shadows on his cheekbones. His brows were relaxed for once—none of the usual scowl or that ridiculous cocky tilt to his mouth. Just peace. Quiet. Barely rising chest. Sharp jawline softened by sleep.
Ugh.
Of course he looked perfect sleeping. Because why wouldn't he?
Annoyingly, maddeningly perfect.
I leaned against my desk and watched him for a second longer than I meant to. Something clenched in my chest—something hot and heavy and definitely unwelcome.
He looked like he belonged here.
Which he absolutely, definitely did not.
I shook my head, tearing my eyes away and glancing at the time. 11:17 PM.
The matrons would be gone soon.
Just a few more minutes.
I grabbed my phone and set an alarm for twenty minutes from now.
Just twenty. Long enough for them to finish their little gossip circle and crawl back to their rooms, satisfied no one had dared to break curfew.
I turned off the overhead light, letting the glow from my desk lamp cast soft shadows across the room.
And then… I hesitated.
I looked at the floor. Then at the edge of the bed.
There was enough room.
Barely.
And he was on top of the covers. His boots were off. He didn't even bring in mud, the respectful menace.
I could sit.
Just for a bit.
I climbed in, careful not to touch him, and curled up on my side of the bed like a tightly wound spring. My back to him. Eyes on the wall.
The bed dipped slightly beneath his weight, and I could feel the warmth radiating off him like a space heater made of arrogance.
Just twenty minutes.
That's all.
Not because I liked him. Not because he looked stupidly perfect asleep or because my heart did that weird fluttery thing when I saw him so unguarded.
----
I don't know how long I stayed still—listening to the distant shuffle of patrol footsteps fade out, the soft whir of my desk fan, and the ever-present rhythm of Xavier's breathing beside me.
Eventually, I rolled over to face him.
He hadn't moved.
Still fast asleep.
Still irritatingly gorgeous.
The shadows danced lightly over his face now. Moonlight filtered through the crack in my curtains, catching on his cheekbones and painting soft silver over his skin. He looked.... peaceful. Human, almost.
Not that Xavier Cage had ever felt human.
He was too sharp. Too untouchable. Too everything.
I stared, letting my eyes wander over the dark lashes, the curve of his nose, the little scar at his brow that I'd never noticed before. I wondered, for a second, how he got it.
Then I reached out before I could stop myself.
My fingers hovered above his hair, the hesitation thick like fog.
Don't do it, Coco.
Do. Not.
I did it anyway.
I ran my fingers lightly through his hair, just once—soft and slow and careful, like he might break or wake or catch me in the act.
It was softer than I thought it'd be.
Not fair.
I stared at him, smile tugging at my lips despite every part of me screaming not to.
Of course there had been other girls. Girls who'd done this. Who'd run their fingers through his hair, traced the edges of that perfect jaw, stared at him with hearts in their eyes.
He was beautiful. Deadly and rude and maddening, yes—but beautiful.
He made it very clear, though.
He didn't like me.
Not like that.
He barely tolerated me. He spent more time teasing me, infuriating me, making me want to scream than anything else.
And I… I didn't like him either.
Obviously.
Clearly.
Even though the thought of him being with another person makes me want to punch something
I blinked away the thought and pulled my hand back, curling up on my side once more.
He didn't even stir.
His breathing stayed steady—slow and even and warm. And there was something about it… that made everything else fade. The tension. The ache. The thoughts I didn't want to name.
I let my eyes close.
Just for a moment.
And somewhere between his breath and the quiet of the night, sleep caught up to me.
Like I'd been waiting for it to find me.
Right here.
Next to him.