The classroom slled faintly of chalk and old paper.
Dust drifted through the slanted gold of late afternoon light, turning the air hazy, almost gentle, which felt ironic considering the way Xavier stood across from like a man about to confess to murder.
He didn't look at at first.
He looked at the floor.
"I had a dream," he said.
I didn't interrupt.
I leaned back against one of the desks stacked near the wall, folding my arms loosely, trying to look casual even though sothing in his voice had already tightened my chest.
He told everything.
The castle. The collar. The scrubbing. The sounds behind the door. The jealousy. The curiosity. The punishnt.
As he spoke, his tone didn't dramatize it. If anything, it was restrained. Too restrained. Like he was trying to present evidence rather than emotion.
I listened.
When he finished describing the execution, he finally looked at .
"I woke up ashad," he admitted. "Not because I died. Because I cursed fate instead of admitting I was stupid."
I said nothing.
He swallowed.
"I've been feeling that way for a while."
"Feeling what way?" I asked quietly.
"Inferior."
The word didn't land like an accusation. It landed like a confession carved out of his ribs.
"I didn't used to," he continued. "When we first t, you were just… you. Smart. Weird. Calm. But normal. And then things changed. You changed."
His jaw tightened.
"You always have an answer now. You always seem two steps ahead. You handle things I can't even process. You stand in front of the class and people look at you like you're inevitable."
I almost laughed at that, but the sound died before it ford.
He stepped closer.
"I started comparing. And every ti I did, I ca up short."
"That's your perspective," I said evenly.
"It's reality," he shot back, though there was no heat in it yet. Just frustration. "You're… Sebastian, you're incredible. You know that, right?"
I didn't answer.
Because what was I supposed to say to that?
He exhaled shakily.
"I hated that I felt small around you. I hated that sotis I'd see everyone gravitating toward you and I'd think—what am I even doing here? What's my role? Comic relief?"
"You're my friend," I said.
"I know."
His voice cracked slightly.
"That's the worst part. I know you never tried to overshadow . You never mocked . You never flaunted anything. You're just… you. And sohow that makes it worse."
I let the silence stretch.
If soone as amazing as him had been my friend—if I had been weaker, less certain, less… whatever I was becoming—I might have felt the sa way.
Jealousy wasn't clean.
It was ugly and quiet and persistent.
"I don't bla you for that," I said at last.
He blinked. "You don't?"
"No. I'd probably feel the sa."
He stared at like I'd just handed him sothing fragile and unexpected.
"But," I added softly, "feeling sothing and acting on it are different things."
His gaze dropped again.
"I know."
There it was.
The weight hadn't lifted. It had only shifted.
"I've been jealous," he continued. "Not just of your… abilities. Of your life. The way things fall into place around you. The way people—"
He hesitated.
"Say it," I said.
"The way Belle looks at you."
The na hung between us.
I kept my expression neutral.
"I had a crush on her," he said quickly, as if ripping off a bandage. "I still do. I think I always will, at least a little."
That didn't anger .
It was predictable. Belle was extraordinary. It wasn't a cri to admire her. To want her.
Even I had wanted her before anything had been certain between us.
I nodded once.
"I figured."
He laughed weakly. "Of course you did."
"It's not a sin to have feelings," I said.
He inhaled slowly.
"That's not the part that's rotting ."
My eyes narrowed slightly.
"What is, then?"
He looked up again.
And sothing in his expression shifted. Sothing darker. Less ashad.
"Sotis," he said, voice dropping, "I imagine what she looks like when she's not Vice-Principal Ardent. When she's just… a woman."
My posture stilled.
"That's natural," I said carefully. "Attraction isn't criminal."
He didn't stop.
"I imagine what she sounds like when she's not composed. When she's not in control. When she's—"
"Xavier."
He continued anyway.
"I imagine you not being there. I imagine you failing. I imagine her realizing you're not enough. I imagine—"
My eyes went cold before I consciously decided they would.
He swallowed but pushed forward, as if determined to finish even if it cost him.
"I imagine every night that you two aren't happy. That it falls apart. That she sees you the way I see you sotis—too much. Too overwhelming. And that she—"
"Stop."
The word was flat.
He froze.
The classroom felt smaller.
"You're not angry about the crush," he said, almost defensively. "You said it yourself. Feelings aren't a sin."
"You're right," I replied, my voice level enough that it surprised even .
He relaxed half an inch.
"That's not what made my expression change."
He frowned slightly.
"Then what?"
"You wishing for my relationship to fail."
He opened his mouth.
"And the way you talk about her," I continued, cutting him off. "Like she's an object in your fantasies instead of a person."
His jaw tightened. "Don't twist it."
"I'm not twisting anything."
"You think you own her?" he snapped suddenly, frustration finally surfacing. "You think just because she chose you, no one else is allowed to think about her?"
"That's not what I said."
"You're acting like I committed a cri."
"You didn't commit a cri," I replied calmly. "You committed sothing worse."
His brows drew together.
"You let your jealousy rot into resentnt."
He flinched.
"And then," I added, my tone cooling further, "you nurtured it."
"That's not fair."
"You told you imagine us unhappy every night."
He didn't deny it.
"You told you fantasize about her being disappointed in ."
Silence.
"You told you wish I wasn't enough."
His fists clenched.
"Because sotis you're not!" he burst out. "You're not human, Sebastian! You don't fail. You don't hesitate. You don't look lost. How am I supposed to stand next to that and not feel like debris?"
The word debris echoed faintly in the empty room.
I stared at him.
"You think I don't struggle?" I asked quietly.
"Not the way the rest of us do."
"You think I don't doubt myself?"
"You don't show it."
"So because I don't bleed in front of you, I don't bleed at all?"
He didn't answer.
I pushed off the desk and stood fully upright.
"You being insecure is not the problem," I said. "You being jealous is not the problem. You wishing you were in my place? Still not the problem."
He looked confused.
"The problem," I continued, "is you choosing to feed the ugliest version of those feelings."
His expression hardened.
"And what was I supposed to do? Pretend I didn't feel them?"
"No," I replied. "You were supposed to confront them before they turned into this."
He laughed bitterly. "And what is this, exactly?"
"This," I said evenly, "is you admitting you lie awake hoping your friend's happiness collapses."
The words landed heavier than I intended.
He recoiled slightly.
"I hated myself for it," he said.
"Good."
He stared at .
"You should."
His face paled.
"I ca here to be honest," he whispered.
"And I'm responding honestly."
His breathing quickened.
"You don't get to stand there like so moral monunt," he snapped. "You think if the roles were reversed, you'd be perfectly noble?"
I held his gaze.
"Yes."
The certainty in my voice shocked even .
He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Of course you would."
"This isn't about being superior," I said quietly. "It's about lines."
He shook his head. "You're just angry because I said the quiet part out loud."
"No," I corrected. "I'm angry because you said it proudly."
His lips parted.
"You didn't confess that as a plea for help," I continued. "You confessed it like a challenge."
"That's not true."
"Then why does it feel like you wanted to see if I'd break?"
Silence again.
That was answer enough.
My chest felt strangely calm.
Not explosive. Not fiery.
Just cold.
"You crossed a boundary," I said at last.
He stepped forward. "So what? You're going to punch ? Cut off? Pretend I don't exist?"
I walked past him toward the door.
He turned quickly. "Sebastian."
I paused, hand resting lightly on the handle.
"I trusted you," he said, voice cracking. "That's why I told you."
"And I listened," I replied without turning around.
"Is that it?" he demanded. "You're just going to walk away?"
I finally looked at him over my shoulder.
"Yes."
His eyes widened.
"You don't get to poison my happiness and expect to comfort you for it."
"I wasn't—"
"You were."
The words were sharp now.
"You wished for my relationship to fail. You imagined her disappointed in . You reduced her to fantasies. And you expected what? Understanding?"
He looked small again.
But this ti, I didn't feel sympathy.
"I could forgive insecurity," I said. "I could forgive jealousy. I could even forgive resentnt."
My grip on the handle tightened.
"But I won't tolerate malice."
"I didn't an—"
"You ant it enough to repeat it."
His shoulders sagged.
"Sebastian…"
"Don't."
My voice flattened completely.
"Don't soften it now because you see the consequences."
The air between us felt like glass again.
"You said you felt inferior," I continued. "You said you hated yourself for it. That's sothing you can fix."
He looked up weakly.
"But wishing harm on the people who care about you?" I shook my head once. "That's sothing else."
Tears welled in his eyes, though he refused to let them fall.
"So that's it?" he whispered.
I opened the door.
"Yes."
He took a step forward. "You're really going to end it over thoughts?"
I looked at him one last ti.
"Over intent," I corrected.
The hallway outside was quiet, the golden light dimming toward evening.
"Don't show your face to again," I said coolly.
His breath hitched.
"And if you value what little remains of your dignity," I added, "reflect on why."
I stepped out.
The door clicked shut behind with a soft, final sound.
I didn't look back.
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