Caesar should have left it alone.
After their argument in the courtyard, there was no reason to push further. Blythe had made it clear where she stood, and Caesar had already made enough of a mess of things.
But that wasn't how this worked.
Because the distance between them wasn't just emotional anymore—it was becoming visible.
Blythe didn't acknowledge him in class. She didn't glance his way in the hallways. And worst of all, she didn't react to him. No sharp looks, no biting remarks, not even an eye roll when he was around. It was like he had become background noise to her life.
And that? That was worse than fighting.
---
Their next blow-up happened in the middle of class.
It started small—just an English assignment, something about analyzing dialogue in a novel. But when the teacher paired them together, the tension between them became impossible to ignore.
Blythe barely looked at him as she pulled out her notebook. "Let's just get this over with."
Caesar frowned. "You don't have to sound so miserable about it."
She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Right. Because you're so thrilled to be stuck with me."
He clenched his jaw. "That's not—"
"Save it, Caesar." She finally looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Let's just do the assignment."
For a few minutes, they worked in silence. Caesar tried to focus, scribbling notes in the margins of the book, but his eyes kept drifting toward her. The way her fingers gripped the pen a little too tightly. The way her shoulders were tense, as if she was bracing herself for something.
He wanted to say something—anything—to break the awful, heavy silence.
But before he could, Blythe spoke.
"Why did you even bother arguing with me the other day?"
Caesar blinked, caught off guard. "What?"
She didn't look up from her notebook. "You're the one who wanted distance. You pushed me away first. So why did you get so mad when I gave you what you wanted?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Because she was right.
And he hated that she was right.
Blythe exhaled, shaking her head. "Forget it."
"No." Caesar's voice was sharper than he intended. "I didn't—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his dark hair. "I didn't want this."
She finally looked at him again, blue eyes searching his face. "Then what did you want?"
Caesar hesitated.
He wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before everything got messy, before his emotions became too complicated, before he started feeling things he didn't know how to explain.
But he couldn't say that.
Not when he wasn't even sure if she wanted things to go back.
So instead, he muttered, "I don't know."
Blythe let out a quiet laugh—one that wasn't amused at all. "Then maybe that's the problem."
And with that, she went back to writing, leaving Caesar to sit there, drowning in everything he still couldn't say.