Chapter Text
· · ─── · ୨ ♡ ୧ · ─── · ·
There is a boy I like. Even writing these words makes me question my own sanity.
The only problem is... he's my rival.
No. Calling him merely a rival hardly does our relationship justice.
We have been at each other's throats ever since middle school.
Every discussion inevitably turns into an argument.
Every argument turns into a competition.
Every competition becomes another reason to prove the other wrong.
Our views could not be more different, and neither of us has ever been willing to yield an inch.
By now, practically everyone knows about the animosity between us.
If someone mentions Aglaea and Anaxagoras in the same sentence, they expect an argument to follow.
That is simply how things have always been.
Which is precisely why none of this makes any sense.
I am not supposed to like him.
I should find him insufferable.
I should want nothing more than to defeat him in every debate and wipe that infuriatingly smug expression from his face.
He's insufferably arrogant, impossibly stubborn, and never misses an opportunity to challenge my opinions.
Somehow, he always manages to say exactly the one thing guaranteed to infuriate me.
So why... why do I feel this way?
It makes absolutely no sense.
It's all that blasphemer's fault for putting these ridiculous feelings into my head.
Why couldn't he have simply minded his own business?
Everything would have been perfectly fine.
Instead, he plants one stupid idea in my mind, and now I can't stop thinking about it.
I wish I could go back to before all of this happened.
Life was much simpler when all I wanted to do was prove him wrong.
Now I don't even understand my own heart.
Aglaea lets out a long, frustrated sigh before snapping the diary shut with far more force than necessary. The sharp crack echoes through the quiet bedroom.
She tosses the diary onto her bedside table before collapsing backwards onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as though it might somehow provide the answers she so desperately seeks.
It doesn't. Instead, all she can see is the infuriating face of the very person she is trying so hard to stop thinking about.
"...This is hopeless."
With a groan, she presses the heels of her hands against her face, as though hiding from reality might somehow make the problem disappear.
"...Why him?"
Of all the people in the world...
Why does it have to be him?
Her room remains silent, offering no answer.
Only the steady rhythm of her own frustrated heartbeat.
· · ─── · ୨ ❀ ୧ · ─── · ·
Earlier that day...
The final bell rings, signalling the end of another school day.
One by one, students stream out of the classroom, their conversations gradually fading into the distance as they make their way home.
As usual, Aglaea remains behind.
With examinations approaching, she has little intention of wasting valuable study time. While the rest of the class disappears, she quietly works through the remainder of her homework, checking each answer with her usual meticulous care.
Only after writing the final line does she neatly organise her books, tuck her completed assignments into her bag, and quietly leave the classroom.
The corridors are almost deserted, the afternoon sunlight filtering through the tall windows and casting long shadows across the polished floor. The silence is a welcome change from the usual bustle of students rushing between classes.
She barely makes it halfway down the corridor before a violent shove slams into her back.
Caught completely off guard, Aglaea is thrown forwards, crashing hard onto the unforgiving tiled floor. Pain shoots through her arms as her palms and knees scrape against the polished surface, while her bag slips from her shoulder, sending books, notebooks, and loose sheets of paper scattering in every direction.
A sharp hiss escapes her lips as she instinctively pushes herself onto one elbow.
Before she can gather herself, a pair of polished shoes comes to a stop directly in front of her.
One of the scattered sheets is casually plucked from the floor.
Aglaea slowly raises her head. The moment she sees the girl's face, her expression hardens.
"...Caenis."
The other girl barely spares her a glance as she lazily skims the page in her hand, a smug smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
Aglaea could recognise that face anywhere.
Ever since middle school, Caenis has made it her personal mission to make Aglaea's life as miserable as possible.
Most students would never dream of provoking the daughter of one of Okhema's most influential families. Caenis, however, has never cared. As the daughter of a prominent politician, she has always done exactly as she pleases, targeting anyone who catches her interest without fear of consequence.
For reasons Aglaea has never been able to understand, she became that target years ago.
And despite changing classrooms with each new school year...
Fate somehow continues to place them together.
Caenis lets out a quiet scoff as she glances over the neatly completed worksheet in her hand. A mocking smile slowly spreads across her face.
"How pathetic." She gives the page a small wave before looking down at Aglaea. "Thanks for the answers, Goldilocks."
Still on the floor, Aglaea glares up at her, ignoring the sting in her scraped palms as she pushes herself into a seated position. "Give it back, Caenis. It isn't yours."
Caenis casually folds the paper in half, holding it just out of Aglaea's reach.
"Finders keepers." She shrugs dismissively, making no effort to return the paper. "Perhaps you shouldn't have dropped your things."
"You're the one who shoved me from behind."
Caenis tilts her head, looking almost amused.
"Shoved you?" A short laugh escapes her lips. "Where's your proof? For all I know, you simply tripped over your own feet and embarrassed yourself. I had nothing to do with this."
Aglaea's eyes narrow. "Oh, so that's the game you want to play." Her voice remains calm and unwavering. "Very well. Let's see if you're still saying that after the school reviews the surveillance footage."
The smug smile on Caenis's face falters for the briefest moment before quickly returning. She clicks her tongue in annoyance, folding her arms across her chest.
"Tsk." Her voice drips with disdain. "Always hiding behind your family's influence. How predictable of you. Then again... I suppose that's the only way someone like you knows how to solve your problems."
A cruel smile slowly spreads across Caenis's face as an idea seems to strike her.
She takes another step forwards, stopping just short of Aglaea, her shadow falling across the injured girl.
"You know..." Her voice is almost conversational. "I've had just about enough of your self-righteous attitude."
She folds her arms, looking down at Aglaea with open contempt.
"Always acting as though you're better than everyone else. Always carrying yourself like some perfect little princess." A mocking chuckle escapes her lips. "I think it's about time someone put you in your place."
Aglaea's expression remains cold as she meets her gaze from the floor. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh, nothing too complicated."
Caenis reaches into her school bag before slowly withdrawing a small pair of scissors. The polished blades glint beneath the afternoon sunlight as she casually twirls them between her fingers.
"I was simply thinking..." She lowers herself until they are almost at eye level. "How would you like a little makeover?"
She lazily opens and closes the blades with a series of soft metallic clicks.
Snip. Snip. Snip.
The sound echoes unnervingly through the silent corridor.
Aglaea's eyes immediately dart to the scissors, her stomach tightening. "...You wouldn't dare."
"Oh?" Caenis tilts her head innocently. "Wouldn't I?"
Her gaze drifts towards Aglaea's long golden hair, a malicious glint flashing in her eyes. "I've always wondered how Okhema's precious little Goldweaver would look without that iconic hair of hers."
Aglaea instinctively recoils, her heart skipping a beat. "Don't."
Caenis only chuckles. "I think a little makeover is long overdue."
Before Aglaea can react, Caenis suddenly reaches forwards and grabs a fistful of her long golden hair.
Pain shoots through Aglaea's scalp as she's forced to tilt her head backwards. "Let go of me!"
"Hold still."
"Caenis—!"
Snip!
The sharp sound of the blades slicing together cuts through the silence.
A thick lock of golden hair slips from the scissors and drifts to the polished floor. Then another. Followed by another.
Golden strands scatter around Aglaea like fallen ribbons, surrounding her where she sits.
Her breathing catches as trembling fingers instinctively reach towards her shoulder, only to brush against uneven ends where her long hair had rested only moments before.
Aglaea is too stunned to speak, able only to stare in disbelief at the golden strands lying at her feet, the hair she has spent years carefully growing and maintaining now scattered across the corridor floor.
Caenis finally releases the remaining strands, allowing them to fall untidily around Aglaea's shoulders before lowering the scissors to her side.
"There." She rises to her feet with a satisfied smirk. "Much better."
She twirls the scissors once around her finger before slipping them back into her blazer pocket.
"I've always wondered whether that ridiculous hair of yours was the source of all your confidence." She gives Aglaea one last contemptuous glance. "I suppose we're about to find out."
"Step away from her."
The sharp command cuts cleanly through the corridor.
Both girls instinctively turn towards the sound.
At the far end of the hallway, Anaxa strides towards them with measured, purposeful steps. His expression is unreadable, yet the icy look in his eyes is enough to make the atmosphere noticeably heavier.
A slow grin spreads across Caenis' face.
"Well, well, well..." She lets out an amused laugh. "If it isn't Anaxagoras. What brings you here?" She gestures lazily towards Aglaea. "Don't you like her new look? I think it suits her."
Anaxa doesn't answer. His eyes drift past Caenis and settle on Aglaea.
She is still sitting on the floor, surrounded by scattered books and locks of golden hair. The instant their eyes meet, she instinctively turns her face away, unwilling to let him see her like this.
Something inside him snaps. His attention shifts back to Caenis. "...What did you do to her?"
Caenis merely shrugs. "I gave her what she deserved." She folds her arms without the slightest hint of remorse. "Someone had to put her in her place. Not everything can be solved with Daddy's money."
Before the last word has even left her mouth, Anaxa closes the distance between them. His hand shoots out, clamping around her wrist with enough force to make her wince.
"Tch—" A sharp hiss escapes Caenis as his fingers dig into her wrist.
Anaxa doesn't loosen his grip. His voice remains calm, but the fury beneath it is unmistakable.
"Don't ever lay another hand on her again." He takes one deliberate step closer, never breaking eye contact. "Or I will personally make sure you regret it."
For the first time since he arrived, uncertainty flickers across Caenis' face.
"...How touching." She forces a mocking laugh, though it lacks its earlier confidence. "And here I thought you two despised each other."
Her gaze shifts between them before a sly smile slowly returns.
"Why are you defending her? You should be celebrating." She tilts her head, her smile widening. "Isn't this exactly what you've always wanted? To watch your precious rival finally crumble?"
Anaxa's expression doesn't change.
"We may be rivals," he says evenly, "but I am not some sick, psychopathic maniac who takes pleasure in another person's suffering."
Without warning, he shoves Caenis backwards. Her back slams against the row of metal lockers with a deafening metallic bang, causing several locker doors to rattle.
She winces as Anaxa keeps hold of her wrist, pinning her firmly in place.
He steps closer, his voice dropping to a quiet, measured tone that feels even more threatening. "Listen carefully, because I won't repeat myself."
His unwavering gaze remains fixed on hers.
"If you ever threaten Aglaea, touch her, or so much as think about harming her again..." He pauses, letting the words sink in. "You will answer to me."
The threat hangs heavily in the silence between them.
"Do I make myself clear?"
Caenis grits her teeth, glaring back at him.
"...Fine." The word is practically forced through clenched teeth. "I'll stop tormenting her."
Anaxa studies her for another moment before finally releasing her wrist. "You'd better."
His attention shifts to the folded worksheet still clutched in her hand.
With one smooth motion, he takes it from her grasp. "Oh... and I believe this belongs to Aglaea."
Caenis clicks her tongue in irritation as she rubs her aching wrist.
"Tch." She shoots one last venomous glare at the pair before turning on her heel. "This isn't over."
With that, she storms off down the corridor, her footsteps gradually fading into the distance.
Silence returns to the corridor.
Only then does Anaxa turn towards Aglaea. She is still sitting on the floor exactly where Caenis left her. Books and loose sheets remain scattered around her, mingling with severed locks of golden hair strewn across the polished tiles.
Her head stays lowered, hiding her face behind the uneven strands that now fall around her shoulders.
For several long seconds, neither of them says a word.
Anaxa breaks the silence first.
"What?" One corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. "Not even a thank you?" He folds his arms across his chest. "How ungrateful."
Aglaea finally looks up, doing her best to ignore the tears threatening to gather in her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" She asks coolly. "You didn't have to get involved. I could have handled her myself."
"Oh, really?" Anaxa arches an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were doing anything but handling her."
A flash of irritation crosses Aglaea's face. "I was caught off guard. That doesn't mean I couldn't have dealt with her."
"So your plan was to remain on the floor until she eventually got bored?" Anaxa replies dryly.
Aglaea shoots him an exasperated glare. "I don't need a lecture from you."
"No." Anaxa replies matter-of-factly. "What you need is basic medical attention."
Without another word, he crouches beside her. His earlier irritation gives way to quiet concentration as he gently takes hold of her wrist, inspecting the fresh scrapes across her palm before his attention shifts to the abrasions on her knees.
"The skin's broken." His brow furrows almost imperceptibly. "Those cuts need to be disinfected and bandaged before they become infected."
His gaze briefly sweeps over her, checking for any other obvious injuries. "Does anywhere else hurt?"
Aglaea instinctively pulls her hand back.
"No." She straightens her posture despite the pain. "I'm fine."
Anaxa gives her a long, sceptical look.
"If you were fine," he says dryly, "you wouldn't still be sitting on the floor looking like an injured fledgling."
A flicker of annoyance crosses Aglaea's face.
"I said I'm fine." She folds her arms defensively. "And I am perfectly capable of standing."
"Then why haven't you?"
Aglaea opens her mouth to argue. No answer comes. Instead, she looks away, stubbornly refusing to admit that every movement sends a sharp sting through her scraped knees.
The corridor falls quiet once more.
Anaxa's gaze lingers on her for a moment before slowly drifting towards the uneven strands of golden hair resting against her shoulders.
The usual sharpness in his expression softens, if only slightly.
"...I should have arrived sooner." He pauses. "...I'm sorry."
Aglaea blinks. For a brief moment, she wonders if she misheard him.
Anaxa... apologising?
The very idea feels absurd.
Throughout all the years they have known each other, Anaxa has rarely apologised for anything. Even when he admitted he was wrong, it was usually after presenting an entire lecture explaining why he had been wrong.
Apologising for something he had absolutely no responsibility for...
That is completely unlike him.
The realisation leaves her momentarily speechless.
Almost instinctively, her fingers drift to the uneven ends of her once waist-length hair. She gently gathers a few shortened strands between her fingertips before forcing a faint smile.
"...It's fine." Her voice is quieter than usual. "It's just hair." She lets the strands slip through her fingers. "It'll grow back."
"No." Anaxa's reply is immediate. "It's not fine."
His gaze lingers on the jagged ends of her hair before returning to her. "And stop brushing aside your own suffering. You're dismissing what happened as though it never happened."
His voice remains calm, but an unfamiliar frustration lingers beneath it.
"You've allowed Caenis to get away with this for far too long." He folds his arms. "That's precisely why she keeps targeting you. You have more than enough evidence to report her. You could have had her expelled a long time ago."
Aglaea lowers her hand. "And then what?" She asks quietly. "Prove her right? She already thinks I abuse my family's influence to solve every problem."
Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of her skirt. "If I use my family's status to have her expelled, all I'll be doing is confirming everything she's been saying." She lowers her eyes. "I'm not about to give her that satisfaction."
Anaxa lets out a slow sigh. "So you'd rather endure years of bullying than risk being seen as a tyrant."
He gives a small shake of his head. "You're unbelievably stubborn."
"Says the man who's every bit as stubborn as I am." Aglaea shoots back, though the usual confidence behind her words has noticeably faded.
Anaxa studies her for a long moment before quietly reaching out. His fingers come to rest beneath her chin, gently guiding her face upwards until she has little choice but to meet his gaze.
Aglaea instinctively tenses. "...What are you doing?" She immediately tries to avert her eyes again.
Anaxa doesn't let her. Now that she can no longer hide her face, he finally sees what she has been trying so desperately to conceal.
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. Whether they stem from the sting of her injuries, the loss of her hair, or the humiliation she has just endured, he cannot tell.
Perhaps... it's all of them.
She keeps trying to look away, as though allowing anyone to see her like this is more painful than everything Caenis has done.
She doesn't want him to see her like this.
She doesn't want anyone to.
That alone tells Anaxa everything he needs to know.
For all her insistence that she is fine...
She isn't fine.
She never was.
His expression softens. Very gently, he cups her cheek with one hand, his thumb carefully brushing away the tears gathering at the corner of her eye.
Aglaea freezes.
"It's alright." He says quietly. "You don't have to keep pretending."
His voice remains calm and reassuring.
"You're human, Aglaea. You're allowed to feel hurt." His thumb lingers for a moment before falling still. "You don't have to suppress everything you're feeling just to appear strong. It's alright to be angry. It's alright to cry."
A faint, almost self-deprecating smile crosses his face.
"If I were in your position..." His gaze briefly drifts to the uneven strands framing her face. "...I'd feel exactly the same."
Aglaea's breath catches. For a moment, she forgets how to speak.
Never in all the years they have known each other has she seen this side of Anaxa.
The boy who never misses an opportunity to challenge her.
The rival who argues with her over almost everything.
The person she expected to mock her the moment he saw what had happened.
Instead, he is the one comforting her.
The realisation leaves her strangely at a loss for words.
Seeing that she has no intention of responding, Anaxa quietly withdraws his hand.
"Here." He holds out the folded worksheet Caenis had stolen earlier. "I believe this belongs to you."
Aglaea looks down at it for a moment before carefully accepting it with both hands, gently smoothing out the creases Caenis had left behind.
"...Thank you." The words are barely above a whisper.
For once, there isn't even the slightest hint of rivalry or sarcasm in her voice.
Anaxa quietly gathers the books, notebooks, and loose sheets scattered across the corridor, carefully placing each one back into Aglaea's school bag. Once he is certain nothing has been left behind, he slings the bag over his shoulder before looking back at her.
"Can you walk?"
Aglaea blinks, momentarily caught off guard by the question. "...Huh?"
Anaxa glances briefly at her scraped knees before letting out a quiet sigh. "I'll take that as a no."
Before she can process what he means, he slips one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, lifting her effortlessly into his arms.
"W-What are you doing?" Aglaea's eyes widen in alarm as she instinctively grabs hold of his blazer to steady herself. "Put me down."
"I will," Anaxa replies calmly, adjusting his hold to make sure she is secure, "once you're actually capable of walking."
She immediately frowns. "I can walk."
"No, you can't."
"I most certainly can."
"For once, could you put your pride aside and accept that you need help? You're in no condition to walk." He starts making his way down the corridor. "So stop struggling and don't make my life any more difficult than it already is."
Aglaea instinctively opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out.
She is simply too exhausted. The fight quietly drains from her shoulders. Slowly, she lowers her head until it rests against his chest, hiding her face from view.
A few moments later, Anaxa feels a faint warmth seeping through the fabric of his school uniform.
His footsteps falter almost imperceptibly.
...She's crying.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just silent, restrained tears soaking into the fabric as though she is desperately trying not to let anyone hear them.
Something twists painfully within his chest.
Aglaea has always carried herself with unwavering dignity. No matter how fierce the debate, how difficult the challenge, or how overwhelming the pressure, she never allows anyone to see her falter.
Yet now, the girl who always seems so untouchable has quietly fallen apart in his arms, her carefully maintained composure finally beginning to crumble.
She looks impossibly small.
The sight hurts far more than he expects.
Without saying a word, Anaxa gently rests a hand against her back, slowly rubbing small, reassuring circles through the fabric of her uniform.
He knows there is nothing he can say that will undo what happened.
Instead, he simply continues walking, offering the only comfort he knows how to give as the two of them make their way towards his apartment.
· · ─── · ୨ ♡ ୧ · ─── · ·
By the time they arrive at Anaxa's apartment, the sun has already begun to sink towards the horizon.
After unlocking the front door, Anaxa carries Aglaea inside before making his way to his bedroom.
The room is exactly what she would have expected.
Books are stacked in uneven piles across the desk, windowsill, and even the floor beside the bed. Loose sheets of handwritten notes are tucked between open textbooks, while several pens, journals, and half-finished research papers compete for what little space remains on the desk.
Despite the clutter, everything seems to have its own strange sense of order, as though Anaxa knows exactly where everything is.
Compared to the immaculate mansion she grew up in, the room feels surprisingly modest.
Walking over to the bed, he gently lowers Aglaea onto the edge of the mattress before placing her school bag beside her.
Only after making sure she is sitting comfortably does he step back.
Her eyes are slightly red and puffy, the lingering traces of tears visible despite her best efforts to hide them.
Aglaea slowly takes in her unfamiliar surroundings. "...Where am I?"
"My apartment." Anaxa folds his arms. "My apologies if it doesn't quite meet your standards. Not everyone can afford a luxurious mansion complete with personal attendants."
Aglaea barely seems to hear him. Instead, her attention settles on a small purple Dromas plushie resting against the pillows.
She blinks. "You still sleep with plushies?"
Anaxa follows her gaze.
"It's not what you think." He attempts to sound indifferent, though his voice comes out noticeably more defensive than usual.
"It's a keepsake from my sister." He pauses briefly before adding, "What? Are you planning to laugh at me?"
Aglaea studies the plush for another moment before slowly shaking her head. "If I mocked you for something like that, then how would I be any different from Caenis?"
Anaxa falls silent.
"I think it's rather cute." She continues, a faint smile appearing on her face.
Her gaze wanders around the room once more. "And your room's nice." A quiet, amused hum escapes her. "It's definitely... very you."
For a brief moment, Anaxa forgets how to respond.
Cute... A faint warmth creeps across his face.
"...Ahem." He clears his throat into a closed fist, quickly composing himself before his expression can betray anything.
"Anyway..." He says, his usual composure returning. "I'm going to fetch the first-aid kit."
He heads towards the bedroom door before glancing back over his shoulder. "Stay put and don't touch anything you shouldn't."
Without waiting for a reply, he steps out of the room, the soft click of the bedroom door echoing through the apartment.
· · ─── · ୨ ♡ ୧ · ─── · ·
A few minutes later, Anaxa returns carrying a well-used first-aid kit.
The moment he steps into the room, he pauses.
Aglaea is carefully holding the small purple Dromas plushie in both hands, quietly examining every stitch with surprising concentration.
One corner of his mouth twitches. "What did I say about touching things you shouldn't?"
Aglaea glances up, completely unbothered by his remark.
"The stitching..." She carefully runs a fingertip along one of the seams. "It isn't perfectly uniform." Her thumb brushes over another section. "The fabric has also been hand-cut rather than machine-cut. This wasn't factory-made." She looks back at him. "It was handmade."
For a brief moment, Anaxa simply stares at her.
He knows Aglaea enjoys sewing and dressmaking as a hobby. But identifying a handmade plush from nothing more than its stitching, even he hadn't expected that.
"...You're right." He admits. "My sister made it for my birthday when I was little."
A faint nostalgia softens his expression. "It was the last present she ever gave me before..."
The sentence quietly trails off.
Understanding dawns on Aglaea almost immediately. Her expression softens. "...Oh."
She carefully returns the plush to exactly where it had been resting against the pillows before withdrawing her hands.
"I'm sorry." She lowers her eyes. "I shouldn't have touched something so precious without asking first."
"It's alright." Anaxa gently shakes his head. "That happened years ago." A quiet breath escapes him. "I've made peace with it."
He sets the first-aid kit down on the bed and opens it.
"Now..." His usual matter-of-fact tone returns. "It's about time we treated those wounds."
Aglaea obediently extends her hands.
Anaxa begins cleaning the scrapes with a cotton pad soaked in disinfectant.
The instant it touches the raw skin, she instinctively flinches. Her fingers tighten ever so slightly around the bedsheets, and a faint wince crosses her face before she quickly composes herself.
Despite the sting, she remains completely silent, quietly enduring the pain without complaint.
Anaxa notices anyway. Without mentioning it, he slows his movements, applying the disinfectant as gently as possible before carefully wrapping neat bandages around her palms and knees.
Several minutes later, he secures the final bandage. "There."
Aglaea lowers her gaze to the fresh white bandages before looking back at him. "Thank you."
"It's nothing." Anaxa quietly sets the first-aid kit aside before his gaze drifts towards the uneven ends of her hair. "Now, about your hair..."
Aglaea instinctively reaches up to touch the shortened strands framing her face.
"It's fine." She forces a small smile. "I'll ask my hairdresser to fix it. There's no need to worry."
Anaxa blinks before shaking his head. "I wasn't offering to cut it."
He walks over to the wardrobe beside his bed and slides one of the doors open. "I was going to lend you my hoodie."
He pulls out an oversized dark green hoodie before turning back towards her. "It'll hide your hair until you get home."
His expression remains as composed as ever.
"I have no intention of attempting to cut it myself. I'm well aware I lack the necessary skills." A faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Besides, I doubt you'd trust someone like me with a pair of scissors after everything that happened."
Aglaea can't help letting out a small laugh. "Probably not."
Returning to her side, Anaxa carefully helps her slip her arms through the sleeves before settling the oversized hoodie over her shoulders.
It is far too large for her. The sleeves extend well past her hands, while the loose fabric almost swallows her entire frame.
After making sure it sits comfortably, he gently lifts the hood over her head, hiding the uneven strands of golden hair from view.
Anaxa pauses. His eyes remain fixed on her for a heartbeat longer than intended.
"...Cute."
The word escapes before he has the chance to stop it.
Aglaea freezes. "W-What...?"
For the briefest instant, Anaxa completely forgets how to function. A faint blush slowly creeps across the tips of his ears.
"..."
He immediately turns his head away and clears his throat into a closed fist.
"N-Nothing." The words come out a little too quickly. "Forget I said anything."
Aglaea continues staring at him as an awkward silence settles over the room.
After a few seconds, Anaxa finally tries to change the subject.
"So..." He still doesn't look at her. "How do you plan on getting home?"
Aglaea lowers her hands to the sleeves of the oversized hoodie, absent-mindedly fidgeting with the fabric. "I'll call my chauffeur to pick me up."
Anaxa gives a small nod. "Alright."
Though neither of them says another word about what had just happened...
The warmth lingering on both of their faces says more than enough.
· · ─── · ୨ ❀ ୧ · ─── · ·
By the time Aglaea returns home, word of what happened has already spread throughout the household.
To say her parents are furious would be an understatement.
The moment they see the uneven state of her hair and the fresh bandages wrapped around her hands and knees, every planned engagement for the evening is immediately forgotten.
Questions come one after another.
"What happened to your hair?"
"Who did this?"
"Why are you injured?"
"Were there any witnesses?"
"Were the teachers informed?"
"Did the school do anything?"
As much as Aglaea tries to reassure them that she is alright, neither of them is willing to listen.
Her parents have always been a little overprotective when it comes to their only daughter, and this time is no exception.
Within the hour, the school has been contacted, statements have been gathered, surveillance footage reviewed, and Caenis permanently expelled.
At the very least, she will never have to deal with her again.
Not long afterwards, an emergency appointment is arranged with her regular hairdresser, who does everything she can to salvage what remains of Aglaea's once waist-length hair.
The result isn't terrible.
Just… much shorter than she is used to.
By the time they finally return home for the second time that day, it is already late.
After enduring countless reassurances, worried embraces, and repeated reminders to be more careful, Aglaea is mentally and physically exhausted.
All she wants is to shower, climb into bed, and forget today ever happened.
Or so she thinks.
Instead, she finds herself lying awake in the middle of the night, her bedroom illuminated only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp.
Normally, she would be wearing one of her silk nightgowns.
Tonight, however, she finds herself wrapped in Anaxa's oversized hoodie instead.
The sleeves still swallow her hands, the loose fabric hangs comfortably around her frame, and despite herself, it is unbelievably comfortable.
Far more comfortable than it has any right to be.
A faint, familiar scent still lingers in the fabric.
It smells like Anaxa.
Aglaea pulls the sleeves over her hands a little further before resting her chin against them.
Is this what it's like when girlfriends steal their boyfriends' hoodies?
Admittedly… she can see the appeal.
...
Wait... what?
Her head immediately lifts from the pillow.
Where did that thought even come from?
She isn't dating Anaxa. She never has.
Besides, she certainly didn't steal his hoodie.
He gave it to her.
...
Didn't he? Aglaea frowns. Actually… Did he?
He never explicitly said she could keep it. Nor did he say he wanted it back.
So technically… is she borrowing it?
If that's the case, then she should probably return it tomorrow.
That would be the logical thing to do.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the long sleeve.
But... she doesn't want to.
Could she simply make an identical one instead?
With her sewing skills, recreating a plain hoodie would hardly be difficult.
Surely he wouldn't notice if she returned an exact copy.
…No.
What is wrong with her?
Why is she becoming so attached to a piece of fabric?
With a frustrated groan, she buries her burning face even deeper into the sleeves of the hoodie.
This is ridiculous.
She glances at the clock resting on her bedside table.
2:26 a.m.
She has school in a few hours and she should be asleep. Instead, her mind refuses to settle.
Every time she closes her eyes, she sees Anaxa carrying her through the quiet streets.
His apology.
His thumb gently brushed away her tears.
The warmth of his touch against her cheek.
The quiet "...Cute." that slips from his lips before he can stop himself.
Every memory replays itself over and over inside her mind.
None of it makes any sense.
She has never felt like this before.
Everything is so new. So unfamiliar. So hopelessly confusing.
"What's wrong with me?"
Nothing about today makes sense anymore.
Not his apology.
Not the way he comforted her.
Not the way her heart races every time she thinks about him.
And certainly not the fact that she's lying in bed wearing his hoodie while wondering whether she'd ever be willing to give it back.
Slowly, she reaches for the diary resting on her bedside table.
After staring at the blank page for several long moments, she finally writes the question she has been trying so desperately to avoid.
Am I in love?