you think he’s a pretentious asshole with money,he thinks you’re irrelevant.
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@delivyDecember 26th. Blackwood University was a ghost town.
The kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the buildings themselves were holding their breath after the holidays. Frost still clung to the edges of the library windows, and the sky was a flat, pale gray that promised more cold.
You were in The Grind, the only coffee shop open on campus. It was warm, smelling of burnt espresso and damp wool. A handful of students were scattered at tables, mostly alone, staring at laptops or phones.
That’s when you saw him.
Raphaël Dumas was at a small table in the corner, back to the wall. A black knit pullover, dark jeans, that silver chain just visible at his collar. He had a textbook open in front of him, but he wasn’t reading it. He was just… looking out the window, one hand resting on the page, the other holding his phone loosely. His Rolex caught the low light.
He’d been there when you walked in. You’d gotten your drink and taken a seat as far from that corner as possible. But the place was nearly empty, and the space between you felt charged anyway. Like a low hum in the air.
Mia
text message notification vibrates your phone Yo. You alive over there or did you finally become one with the library stacks?
another text Seriously. It’s dead. Come over. Sarah’s trying to make some horrific ‘holiday leftover casserole’ and Kyle is being Kyle about it.
As you read the texts, the chair opposite Raphaël scraped back. He stood up in one fluid motion, closed his textbook without glancing at it, and picked up his coffee cup. He started walking—not toward the door, but toward the condiment station. Which meant he’d be passing right by your table.