Dorian slid into his seat in the next classroom, releasing a quiet sigh of relief. For the first time since that chaotic morning patrol and the endless disruptions from Rhys, he felt like he could finally breathe. This class was one he didn't share with the Omega transfer student, and for that, Dorian was grateful.
It was a rare moment of calm, and the weight that had been pressing down on his shoulders all morning seemed to lift slightly. Without Rhys' constant interruptions and smug grin, Dorian felt like things had returned to their usual order.
His notebook lay open before him, and he absently began flipping through the pages, reviewing the notes he had taken over the past few days. Everything was in its place—clean, structured, exactly as he liked it. And yet, despite the quiet and the routine of the lesson, he felt… exhausted. Mentally drained before lunch had even arrived.
The class continued without any surprises, the teacher moving through the material with a steady, predictable pace. Dorian's hand moved across his notebook automatically, taking down notes in his usual perfect handwriting. The tension from the morning gradually eased as the familiar rhythm of the lesson took over.
It was as if the entire situation with Rhys had never happened.
By the time the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch, Dorian felt somewhat refreshed. The chaotic energy that Rhys had brought into his morning was finally behind him—for now, at least.
He stood, gathering his things and slipping his notebook into his satchel with practiced precision. Lunch was a welcome break, and he usually spent it with a few members of the student council. Talia often joined him, along with one or two others who had managed to make it past Dorian's usual walls of formality and responsibility.
Though he was well-liked, even admired by many, Dorian knew he had a reputation for being... intimidating. His status as head of the student council, his perfect grades, his composed demeanor—they made him a figure to be respected, not necessarily someone people found easy to approach. He was aware of the attention he received—the lingering looks, the whispers in the hallways, and the occasional compliments—but it all felt distant, as though there was an invisible barrier between him and everyone else.
As he entered the cafeteria, the buzz of conversation filled the large room. Students were scattered at tables, chatting animatedly with friends or digging into their lunches. Dorian made his way to the serving line, picking out a balanced meal without much thought. His mind was elsewhere, already calculating what needed to be done for the student council in the afternoon.
He moved through the motions automatically—grabbing a tray, choosing his lunch—but the sense of loneliness lingered at the back of his mind, an ever-present companion. He had everything—respect, admiration, power—yet something was missing. Something he couldn't quite place.
With his tray in hand, Dorian scanned the room, his eyes landing on a familiar face. Talia Moreau was seated at a table near the back, already waving him over. Talia, as always, was sharp-eyed and efficient, her Beta status making her a perfect second-in-command. She was one of the few people Dorian could consider a friend, though even with her, their conversations often revolved around council duties.
He started toward the table, the faint sense of loneliness still tugging at the edges of his thoughts, when something—or rather, someone—caught his attention.
A figure appeared in his peripheral vision, heading straight toward him. Before Dorian could react, Rhys Everen stepped into his path, grinning as always—except this time, there was a noticeable bruise on his cheek.
Dorian froze, his tray still in hand, his earlier relief evaporating in an instant. Rhys. Of course.
Rhys, for his part, didn't seem at all bothered by the fact that his cheek was bruised and slightly swollen. In fact, the grin on his face only widened as he approached Dorian, clearly unfazed by whatever had happened to him.
"President," Rhys greeted with his usual smirk, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Miss me already?"
Dorian's eyes narrowed, his gaze briefly flicking to the bruise before settling back on Rhys' face. "What happened to your cheek?"
Rhys shrugged, completely nonchalant, as if the injury was nothing more than an afterthought. "Oh, this? Just a little misunderstanding. No big deal."
"A misunderstanding?" Dorian repeated, skepticism lacing his tone. He could already feel his patience thinning. Of course Rhys would find trouble even in the short time they'd been apart.
Rhys winked, balancing his own lunch tray in one hand. "Yeah, you know how it is. New guy, a few misunderstandings with some of the locals. It's nothing to worry about. Happens all the time."
Dorian's frown deepened. He had no idea what Rhys was talking about, but he had a feeling that whatever it was, it involved breaking more rules—or at the very least, causing more chaos.
"You should report it," Dorian said firmly, though he knew his words would likely fall on deaf ears. "If someone's causing problems, the council needs to know."
Rhys chuckled softly, brushing off the concern with a wave of his hand. "You're sweet, but trust me, I can handle myself."
Before Dorian could argue further, Rhys stepped closer, glancing down at Dorian's tray with mock curiosity. "Mind if I join you for lunch?"
Dorian blinked, caught off guard by the sudden request. Join him? Here? There were plenty of tables, plenty of other places Rhys could sit, yet once again, he had chosen to insert himself into Dorian's space.
"You're already sitting with me," Dorian replied coldly, his voice tinged with exasperation.
Rhys laughed, clearly unbothered by Dorian's tone. "Fair point."
Without waiting for an invitation, Rhys turned and made his way toward Talia's table, leaving Dorian standing in his wake, tray still in hand. Dorian sighed, knowing he had little choice but to follow.
When they reached the table, Talia raised an eyebrow, her sharp gaze taking in Rhys' presence and the bruise on his cheek. She didn't say anything, but the question was written all over her face.
Rhys plopped down beside Dorian with his usual carefree attitude, flashing Talia a grin. "Hey, I'm Rhys. New transfer. Nice to meet you."
Talia's eyes flickered between Rhys and Dorian, clearly confused by the sudden addition to their table. "Talia," she replied, her voice cool and composed. "I take it you've... met Dorian?"
"Oh, yeah," Rhys said with a wink. "We've spent the whole day together. Haven't we, President?"
Dorian closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to summon the patience to get through the rest of the lunch period. This was going to be a long afternoon.
_
Dorian ate in silence, carefully ignoring the conversation brewing beside him. Rhys had made himself comfortable at the table, his tray positioned casually in front of him, but instead of focusing on his food, he was engaged in conversation with Talia, whose sharp eyes were already assessing the new Omega with her usual, calculating interest.
"So," Talia said, glancing at the bruise on Rhys' cheek, "I take it that mark isn't from your morning stroll?"
Rhys grinned, completely unbothered by the attention the bruise was getting. "Nah. Got into a bit of a... disagreement. You know how it goes."
Dorian's grip on his fork tightened as he continued to eat, trying to tune out the conversation. Of course Rhys got into a fight. But as much as Dorian wanted to stay out of it, Talia's curiosity had been piqued, and she leaned in slightly, her dark eyes narrowing.
"A disagreement?" She echoed, her voice calm but clearly interested. "With who?"
Rhys leaned back in his chair, his grin never fading. "Some Beta girl from my class. Clara, I think her name was. We had a little debate about... well, something kind of ridiculous, really. Started off with her giving me attitude about how I handled a group assignment. Thought I was showing off or something."
Dorian glanced at him from the corner of his eye, surprised that Rhys was telling the story so casually. Rhys continued, waving a hand dismissively. "Things escalated from there. We got into it—some back-and-forth, a lot of words flying around. You know, the usual 'you're an Omega, you should know your place' nonsense." He rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.
Talia raised an eyebrow, clearly following the story with interest. "And that led to a fight?"
Rhys chuckled, picking at his food absentmindedly. "Not exactly. It was more of a... well, let's say it got a little physical. She shoved me, I shoved back. I didn't hit her, though. I don't need to. Words can do plenty of damage."
Dorian couldn't help but frown. He still found it hard to believe that Rhys, who seemed so carefree and unbothered by most things, had let himself get involved in a physical altercation on his first day. But then again, Rhys had a knack for making everything sound like it was no big deal.
Talia seemed to think along similar lines. "So, you got into a fight over a group assignment?"
Rhys shrugged. "Yeah, something like that. She was frustrated. I was frustrated. It wasn't really a fair fight, though. I think I came out of it looking better than she did." He grinned, tapping the bruise on his cheek lightly as if it were nothing.
Dorian didn't react, focusing instead on the silence he was trying to create in his mind. The more Rhys talked, the more Dorian felt his patience slipping.
As Rhys continued chatting with Talia, the atmosphere around them shifted. There was a sudden presence behind Rhys, a shift in the energy that made Dorian look up instinctively. His eyes immediately caught sight of a girl standing just behind Rhys, her disheveled appearance and stern expression telling Dorian everything he needed to know.
Clara Thorne.
Dorian's chest tightened slightly. Clara was a known troublemaker, though she never crossed any serious lines. Coming from an elite family with plenty of influence, most of the staff turned a blind eye to her antics. She was outspoken, bold, and always seemed to find herself in situations that walked the fine line between acceptable behavior and outright defiance. Though Dorian didn't interact with her often, he knew she had a certain reputation.
And judging by the bruise on Rhys' cheek, it seemed she was the Beta Rhys had tangled with.
Rhys, unaware of her presence, was still mid-sentence when Clara cleared her throat, interrupting his story. He blinked, turning his head slowly, and found himself staring up at Clara, whose dark hair was slightly tousled, her eyes narrowing as she looked down at him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The tension at the table was palpable, and even Talia straightened in her seat, her eyes darting between Rhys and Clara with interest.
Then, to Dorian's complete surprise, Clara broke the silence.
"I... came to apologize," She said, her voice low but steady.
Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard. "Apologize?"
Clara's lips twitched, clearly not used to offering apologies. "Yeah. I, uh... shouldn't have shoved you. Things got a little heated, and I lost my temper. It won't happen again."
Dorian's eyes widened slightly. Clara Thorne, apologizing? That was something he never thought he'd witness. She was notorious for her defiance and had never been one to back down or admit she was wrong.
Rhys, for his part, seemed equally surprised, though he recovered quickly. He leaned back in his chair, grinning up at her. "No hard feelings. I probably gave as good as I got."
Clara stared at him for a moment, clearly uncertain how to respond. Then, to Dorian's astonishment, a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She crossed her arms over her chest, her posture loosening slightly. "You're alright, Everen."
Rhys chuckled. "I try."
The tension that had hung over the table seemed to dissolve in an instant. Clara, now more relaxed, nodded toward Rhys. "Guess I'll see you around, then."
Rhys gave her a lazy salute. "Looking forward to it."
Without another word, Clara turned and strode off, her presence still commanding but far less hostile than it had been when she first arrived. Dorian watched her go, trying to process what had just happened. Rhys had not only managed to come out of a fight with Clara mostly unscathed, but he had somehow gained her respect in the process.
Talia, clearly impressed, glanced at Rhys. "Well, that's not something you see every day."
Rhys shrugged, his grin widening. "What can I say? I'm a people person."
Dorian, however, remained silent. As much as he wanted to dismiss Rhys as nothing more than a troublemaker, the events of the day—the perfect test score, the fight with Clara, the way he'd earned her respect so easily—were starting to gnaw at him.
Rhys was more than just unpredictable. He was someone who could navigate chaos with ease, bending the rules without ever quite breaking them.
And that made him dangerous.
After Clara's unexpected departure, the air around the table felt strangely light. Rhys, as usual, appeared completely unfazed, settling back into his chair with that same effortless charm that seemed to draw people in—or push them away, depending on who was watching. Dorian, still processing what had just unfolded, kept his focus on his food, determined not to engage any further.
Talia, on the other hand, wasn't ready to let things go just yet.
"Well," She began, her sharp gaze now fixed on Rhys, "You've already made quite the impression on your first day, haven't you?"
Rhys shrugged, clearly amused by her observation. "What can I say? I'm not one to blend in."
Talia's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Clearly. Most new students don't make it through the gates before getting into fights or challenging teachers in class."
Dorian's grip on his fork tightened at the mention of challenging teachers, but he stayed quiet, letting the conversation unfold without his input.
Rhys, as usual, seemed entirely too relaxed. "What can I say? I get bored easily. This place is all rules and structure—it's nice to shake things up a little."
Talia leaned in slightly, her interest piqued. "And I take it that's something you're used to doing?"
Rhys glanced at her, his grin softening into something a bit more thoughtful. For a brief moment, Dorian caught a flicker of something behind that carefree exterior—a hint of depth that Rhys rarely showed.
"Yeah," Rhys said, his voice a touch quieter than before. "You could say that."
Talia raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for more, and Rhys obliged, though not without a mischievous glint in his eye. "I've moved around a lot. My parents... well, they don't really stick to one place for long. I've been to a bunch of different schools, but Haleworth is... different."
"Different how?" Talia asked, curiosity evident in her tone.
Rhys leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. "It's more... controlled. More rigid. Most places I've been to are less strict about the whole Alpha-Beta-Omega thing. Here, though, it's like everything's about status. Where you fit in, who you're supposed to be. It's suffocating."
Dorian finally looked up, unable to keep silent any longer. "That structure exists for a reason," He said, his voice firm. "It keeps order. Without it, things fall apart."
Rhys met his gaze, his smile fading slightly, though his expression remained calm. "Maybe. But maybe people need to breathe a little more, too. You can't control everything, President."
Dorian's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Talia interjected.
"Sounds like you've seen a lot of different systems," She said, her tone neutral. "So why here? Why Haleworth, if you've been to so many other places?"
Rhys' grin returned, though there was a flicker of something more serious behind his eyes. "Scholarship," He said simply. "My parents don't really stick around long enough to pay for fancy schools. But I've got good grades, and I can keep up. This place was just the next stop."
Talia nodded slowly, processing the information, but Dorian remained skeptical. Something about Rhys' story felt too... convenient.
"And you're fine with that?" Dorian asked, his tone sharper than intended. "Just moving from place to place, making trouble wherever you go?"
Rhys tilted his head slightly, his smile returning but with a hint of challenge in it. "You think I'm making trouble? I'm just trying to keep things interesting, President. I'm not the one with all the rules."
Dorian exhaled slowly, forcing himself to maintain control. Rhys wasn't just reckless—he was unpredictable. And Dorian didn't know what to do with that.
Talia, ever observant, watched the exchange with interest but didn't press further. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking between the two boys. "Well, Rhys," She said finally, her tone more neutral, "It sounds like Haleworth is in for an interesting ride with you around."
Rhys grinned, clearly amused by the implication. "That's the plan."
He leaned back in his chair, his casual grin firmly in place as he glanced between Dorian and Talia. The conversation had flowed easily enough when it was about him, but Dorian could feel Rhys' attention shifting—his sharp eyes now fixed on him, like a cat toying with its next bit of amusement.
"So, President," Rhys began, his tone light but laced with curiosity. "We've talked about me. Let's hear about you. What makes Dorian Vaelis tick?"
Dorian didn't look up from his tray, focusing instead on his food as if it would save him from the conversation he didn't want to have. He wasn't interested in sharing anything with Rhys—not about his life, not about his responsibilities, and certainly not about what 'made him tick.'
But Rhys, as usual, didn't seem to care about what Dorian wanted.
"You're, what—top of the class? President of the council? Best grades, best everything, right?" Rhys continued, clearly enjoying himself as he leaned forward slightly. "Sounds exhausting."
Talia's eyes flicked over to Dorian, curious to see how he'd respond, but Dorian remained silent for a moment longer, trying to decide how much he was willing to give away. He wasn't used to talking about himself, especially to someone as unpredictable as Rhys.
"I do what I'm supposed to do," Dorian said finally, his voice calm and measured. "That's what's expected of me."
Rhys raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with the answer. "Expected by who? The school? Your parents?"
Dorian's grip on his fork tightened slightly, but his expression remained composed. "By everyone," He replied simply, though there was an edge to his voice that hinted at more than he was willing to reveal.
Rhys leaned back again, his grin softening into something more thoughtful. "Sounds like a lot of pressure."
Dorian met Rhys' gaze for the first time since the conversation had started, his dark green eyes steady but cold. "It's not pressure. It's responsibility. There's a difference."
Rhys' smile didn't waver, but Dorian could see the flicker of interest behind his eyes, as if Rhys was piecing together parts of Dorian's life that he hadn't meant to reveal.
"Responsibility, huh?" Rhys mused, tapping his fingers lightly against the edge of the table. "And what happens if you don't meet those responsibilities? What if you mess up? Ever thought about that?"
Dorian's jaw tightened. The idea of failing—of not meeting the impossibly high standards set for him—was something he had pushed aside long ago. There was no room for failure in his world. There never had been.
"I don't mess up," Dorian said firmly, his voice colder than before.
Rhys chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Come on, President. Everyone messes up. Nobody's perfect, no matter how hard you try."
Dorian bristled at the casual way Rhys said it, as if it were something so obvious, so natural. But for Dorian, perfection wasn't just an option—it was a requirement. It was what kept him in control, what kept his life in order. Without it, everything would fall apart.
Talia, sensing the growing tension, interjected with a calm, neutral tone. "Dorian's been leading the student council since last year. He's good at what he does. That's why he's president."
Rhys glanced at her, his smile softening. "Oh, I'm sure he's good at it. But doesn't it ever get old? Keeping everything so... perfect?"
Dorian didn't respond immediately, his mind briefly flickering back to the earlier thought he had shoved down—the tiny, fleeting question of what it might be like to let go, just once. To not be perfect.
But he snapped out of it before the thought could take root.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Dorian said, his tone sharp. "You don't seem to care about order, or rules, or anything that keeps people in line."
Rhys smirked, but there was a glint of something deeper in his eyes. "You're right—I don't. But you? You're all about control. I get that. It makes you feel... safe, doesn't it? Like if you can keep everything perfectly in line, nothing can go wrong."
Dorian's chest tightened, the words hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit. But he refused to let Rhys see any sign of weakness, any crack in the perfectly controlled mask he wore.
"I do what I need to do," Dorian said, his voice low and final. "That's all you need to know."
Rhys held his gaze for a moment longer, as if weighing Dorian's words, before leaning back in his chair once again with a casual shrug. "Fair enough."
The brief silence at the table felt heavier than it should have. Dorian, still bristling from Rhys' previous remarks, was focusing on finishing his lunch, trying to block out the irritating presence beside him. Talia, ever watchful, sat quietly, her curiosity piqued but tempered by her usual calm.
But Rhys wasn't done yet.
He sat back in his chair, his eyes flicking to Dorian with that same casual grin. "You know," He began, his tone light but laced with something sharper, "I think I've got you figured out, President."
Dorian didn't bother looking up, unwilling to engage any further. But something in Rhys' voice made his chest tighten. Figured him out? He highly doubted that. Rhys didn't know anything about him, about his life, about the weight of responsibility he carried.
And yet, Rhys continued, undeterred. "You're the perfect son, aren't you? Top of your class, running the student council, never a hair out of place. Your parents expect you to be the best, to lead, to never mess up. And you do it, every single day, because it's what you're supposed to do. But at the same time... it's exhausting."
Dorian's fork froze in midair, his knuckles white as he gripped it a little too tightly. He hadn't expected that.
Rhys leaned forward slightly, his grin softening, though his eyes gleamed with a kind of knowing amusement. "You wake up early every morning, make sure you look perfect before anyone else even sees you. You go through the motions—doing what's expected, keeping up appearances—because if you don't, if you slip up even a little, they'll be disappointed. Right?"
Dorian's heart skipped a beat, but he refused to let it show. He kept his eyes fixed on his tray, his face a mask of cold indifference. Rhys didn't know anything. He couldn't know.
But the more Rhys spoke, the more uncomfortable Dorian felt.
"You're always in control," Rhys continued, his voice low but cutting. "Because control is the only thing that keeps everything from falling apart. You don't get to let go, not even for a second. If you do, all that pressure comes crashing down, and you're not sure if you can handle that. So, you don't take the chance. You keep everything locked down tight. Neat. Perfect."
Talia glanced over at Dorian, her eyebrows lifting ever so slightly as she sensed the growing tension. She had known Dorian for a while, but hearing someone else describe him like this—especially someone who had only known him for a day—was clearly surprising.
Dorian's chest tightened, a knot forming in his stomach. How could Rhys know all of this?
Without looking up, he spoke, his voice cold and controlled, though a hint of something darker slipped through. "You think you know me?"
Rhys' grin widened, but there was a surprising gentleness to his tone as he replied. "I think I've seen enough to make a pretty good guess."
Dorian set his fork down carefully, his movements precise as always, but his mind was racing. He wanted to dismiss Rhys, to brush off everything he had just said. But the truth was... Rhys had hit far too close to home.
For a moment, Dorian wondered how. How could Rhys, of all people—someone so reckless, so chaotic—see right through him?
He clenched his jaw, trying to push the discomfort down, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed mask.
"You're wrong," Dorian said finally, his voice steady but hollow. "You don't know anything about my life."
Rhys tilted his head, still smiling, but there was a flicker of something more thoughtful in his eyes. "Maybe. But I've seen a lot of people like you. People who spend their whole lives being perfect, living up to everyone's expectations... until it gets to be too much. Then one day, they snap."
Dorian's heart thudded in his chest, the weight of Rhys' words sinking in deeper than he wanted to admit. He clenched his hands into fists under the table, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to maintain control.
Talia shifted in her seat, sensing the growing tension but choosing not to intervene just yet. She watched Dorian carefully, her sharp eyes noting the subtle way his posture stiffened, the slight tremor in his hands.
Rhys leaned back again, his tone becoming lighter once more. "But hey, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you've got it all figured out."
Dorian finally looked up, meeting Rhys' gaze with a cold, steely glare. "I do."
Rhys raised his hands in mock surrender, though the amusement never left his face. "Alright, President. I'll take your word for it."
The conversation died down after that, the tension thick in the air. Dorian returned to his food, though the taste had long since faded. He could feel Talia watching him from across the table, her gaze curious but silent.
But it was Rhys' words that lingered, that gnawed at the back of his mind.
Maybe you've got it all figured out.
For the first time in a long while, Dorian wasn't sure if he did.