Enduring 8

The bell rang, signaling the start of first period, and I reluctantly shoved my hands deep into my pockets, absolutely determined not to let my gaze wander over to where the rugby lads were gathered at the far end of the hallway. I focused intently on the floor tiles, counting the scuff marks, anything to keep my eyes from drifting in their direction. Of course, as if the universe was playing some cruel joke on me, that was precisely the moment when Fionn decided to catch my eye. His gaze deliberately flicked toward me from across the crowded corridor, that all-too-familiar cocky smile slowly tugging at the corners of his lips, dimple appearing on his left cheek, as if he was personally daring me to look away first, knowing full well I wouldn't.

I didn't.

Instead, I leaned back against the cold metal of my locker, pretending to be deeply fascinated by the years of scrawled notes and declarations of love etched into the wall beside me, desperately pretending that the sudden flutter in my chest was absolutely nothing worth acknowledging. It's just Fionn, I reminded myself. It's always just Fionn with his knowing looks and hidden meanings, and that's exactly why I need to finally stop caring about what he thinks or does or says.

"Scorpion," he said, his voice deliberately pitched low enough that only I could hear him over the hallway chaos, though I could feel the familiar weight of it settling heavily in the pit of my stomach, making my breath catch slightly. "How has the day been treating ya?"

"Same as always," I replied tersely, still not quite meeting his eyes directly, my voice coming out noticeably colder and more distant than I had actually intended it to be.

He leaned in a little closer, invading my carefully constructed personal space, that insufferably smug expression never once leaving his face. "Still running the school with that legendary icy stare of yours, huh? Some things never change."

"Guess I have to keep up appearances, don't I?" I straightened up defensively, closing the locker with a deliberate, resounding thud that echoed in the space between us. "You're still exactly the same as always, I see. Not surprising in the least."

The hint of something unidentifiable flickered briefly across his features—something complex I couldn't quite name or pin down with any certainty. Was it genuine regret hidden beneath that confident exterior? Or was I just pathetically projecting what I desperately wanted to see in that moment? He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, stepping back just slightly, creating minimal distance, but somehow the proximity still felt overwhelmingly too much to handle. "Yeah, well, you know me better than most. I don't change unless I absolutely have to. Old habits and all that."

I watched him carefully for a long moment, trying desperately to make some sense of the confusing emotional mess I'd thoughtlessly left him in months ago. Was he deliberately trying to provoke some kind of reaction from me now? Testing my limits? Or was he simply being his usual arrogant, self-assured self without giving it a second thought? Either way, the words I wanted to say—needed to say—hung heavily in the air between us like a sharpened knife, too dangerously sharp to grasp and cut through the tension.

I shook my head decisively, the carefully prepared words dying unceremoniously on my tongue. "I really don't have time for any of this right now."

With that final statement, I turned abruptly and walked with deliberate steps toward the classroom at the end of the hall, pretending with every fiber of my being that the telltale heat rising in my face wasn't actually there. Pretending forcefully that the persistent ache forming in my chest simply didn't exist.

As I slid into my assigned seat, narrowly avoiding being marked late for English class. Not that it particularly mattered much to Mr. Carrick, who barely looked up from his seemingly permanent coffee mug when I entered through the doorway. He was definitely the type of teacher who'd rather be absolutely anywhere else on the planet, and it was painfully obvious in everything he did—like how he consistently never bothered to make even fleeting eye contact during his monotonous lectures, or how he regularly let the class slide into complete, unrestrained chaos without issuing a single reprimand to anyone.