CHAPTER 28: _ PARANOIA

The assistant walks too fast for Darien’s liking. Darien tries not to scowl. He hates this already. The Academy’s administrative building always smells like dry ink and ambition which is a disgusting combination... and now he’s chasing a woman through it just to get a damn uniform for someone who probably won’t even say thank you.

Heidi. Heidi with the big mouth and bigger eyes.

"Right this way, Alpha Darien," the assistant says, glancing over her shoulder politely. "Storage is just downstairs. We don’t get many students personally requesting uniforms—especially not at this hour."

"Yeah, well, first time for everything," Darien mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets.

The storage room smells like starch and sealed boxes. Rows of navy-and-gold Academy uniforms hang in eerie stillness like they’re waiting to be picked for battle. The assistant flips on a light, and Darien squints against the flicker of the fluorescent overhead.

"Alright," she says briskly, pulling a clipboard from a cabinet. "I’ll need a description. Female, yes? Can you provide measurements or should I estimate based on your preference?"

Darien blinks. "Preference?"

She raises an eyebrow. "You know, some boys like their girls swimming in sleeves, others like them tight-fitted..."

What?

What the heck? Their girls?! Heidi is not that kind of girl to him! Darien almost flipped the cabinet over but had to control himself.

"I didn’t come here to talk about preferences," he snaps, maybe too quickly. "I just need the right size. That’s all."

"Mmhmm. Then describe her. Height, build, bust, waist, hips. Shoe size, if possible."

Darien gulps. Describe Heidi? That means thinking about her body... about her and he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t think about Heidi. She’s not worth the smallest space in his thoughts.

But then he thinks about it—unfortunately.

Heidi’s form materializes in his head in full 3D high definition. The way her waist curved when he accidentally—or not so accidentally grabbed her during that dumb kiss. Her breath had risen, her fingers had twisted into his shirt, and her skin had been warmer than it should’ve been.

Darien clears his throat.

Her lips. Her breath on his face. His hand around her waist. The exact fit of her body against his.

Dios.

"She’s... shorter than me," he begins, voice a little too rough. "A little above my shoulder, maybe. Slender frame, but not bony. Just—" he makes a vague motion in the air that could mean anything from ’hourglass’ to ’holdable’. "She’s got curves. Small waist. Long legs. Great—uh—posture."

The assistant blinks.

Darien clears his throat.

"She has a tight torso. I mean... toned. Like a dancer, probably. Her arms are slim, but there’s strength in them, you know? She’s not delicate." He pauses, then, in a softer voice, "Small hands. Soft palms."

The assistant is scribbling. Then she glances up slowly. "Are you sure this isn’t for a girlfriend?"

Darien nearly trips over a box of shoes. "What? No!"

"You seem to know her body really well."

"It’s for an investigation," he snaps, almost too quickly. "I had to...observe. For investigation purposes."

He can tell she doesn’t believe him as she stares at him like he’s grown a second head. "You’ve either dated her or memorized her like flashcards."

Darien flushes. "It’s not like that. I just—I’m a good observer."

"Sure," she says, dragging out the word as she writes. "Bust?"

W-what?! Now he has to describe her bust? Her bust... well, he nearly shuts his lids as memories of how soft they felt when her chest pressed into him during that kiss. How...

What?! What the hell is he doing? Darien’s eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. He gulps again.

"I’m not answering that."

The assistant smirks. "I’ll guess."

"You better not make it weird."

"Mhm," she says flatly.

He glares at her but says nothing as she leads him deeper into the room. She pulls out a labeled drawer and begins flipping through uniform sets. Darien leans against the wall, arms crossed, simmering in his own embarrassment and trying not to remember how her waist had felt beneath his palm or how her lips had tasted like stubbornness and heat.

Kairos stirs in his mind, tail swishing lazily. "You should’ve just told her you wanted to lick her collarbone again. Would’ve saved everyone time."

"Shut up."

The assistant finally hands him a neatly folded set wrapped in clear plastic. "Here you go. One standard female uniform, tailored for dancer-built mystery girls with soft palms."

Darien snatches it with a grunt. "Thanks."

She smirks. "Tell your girlfriend I said hi."

"She’s not... never mind."

As he walks back across the courtyard toward the lecture hall, holding the bag like it’s an egg that might break if mishandled, he smacks his own forehead.

"What am I even doing?" he mutters. "It’s a damn uniform."

"It’s for your mate. And you touched her waist. Touched her lips. You think about it every time you blink."

"I DON’T!"

Kairos scoffs. "You know you liked all of that."

"I hated every second."

"You described her body from memory, bro. You didn’t even hesitate. I could feel the hormones."

Darien grits his teeth. "Shut up."

"And you’re doing all this so she won’t get in trouble? Adorable. Absolutely adorable. Daddy would be so proud."

"I will throw you into a ditch."

"Not before you sniff that uniform one more time."

Darien chokes and almost trips on a step. A nearby junior watches him with horrified curiosity, then quickly looks away. His reputation as the school’s grumpy prince remains intact... thankfully.

By the time he gets to the lecture hall, his entire body is vibrating with agitation. The doorknob feels too cold. His palm is sweaty. And, of course, everyone turns when he enters. Because Darien Bellamy has arrived and he’s holding... a nylon package.

Havelock pauses mid-sentence and squints. "Mr. Bellamy, is that a new uniform I see in your hand? Upgrading again?"

Darien freezes like someone caught him stealing money from his mother’s purse.. "What—no. It’s...not mine."

The teacher tilts his head. "Oh?"

"It’s for..." Darien glances around. Everyone is watching. Lira seems to give him her full attention now. That’s bad.

What if she tells Amias? But the two don’t seem to be on good terms now, so maybe he’s safe. Hold on a sec... what would she tell Amias?

She doesn’t even know who the uniform is for! Argh, why is he so paranoid? He’s done absolutely nothing wrong.

Darien mutters, "It’s for a transfer student. For a report."

The teacher nods slowly. "Ah, research. Of course." He returns to the board, clearly not believing a word.

Darien slinks into his seat, stuffing the uniform under his desk like it’s contraband. Every few seconds, he glares at it. Heidi had better appreciate this. Hell, she better fall to her knees and declare him her savior because this... this is absurd and yet, he does it.

For her...

The lecture blurs into white noise. Darien taps his pen. Then he twirls it. Then he drops it and growls when it clatters on the floor.

Heidi.

She’ll be in their study room in an hour. Waiting. Wearing that damn dirty uniform, looking like a hurricane stuffed into a teacup. She’ll probably argue again. Probably insult him. Probably roll her eyes and act like she didn’t feel the same jolt he did when their mouths met.

But she did. He knows she did. Still. It’s the investigation. That’s all this is. He glances at the uniform. His cheeks burn.

Kairos yawns. "You’re so far gone, bro."