Matthew paid without another word, jaw tight.
Bag in one hand.
Ava still over his shoulder.
As they walked out—
She leaned slightly closer, inhaling softly.
"You smell nice," she murmured, clearly enjoying his suffering.
Matthew didn't respond.
But his grip tightened slightly.
And his ears—
Were still red.
By the time they reached the building, the energy between them hadn't settled.
Matthew pushed through the glass doors first, Ava following right behind him, the faint rustle of grocery bags filling the quiet lobby.
Inside the elevator—
The doors slid shut.
A soft ding echoed.
Only then did Matthew finally put her down.
Ava landed lightly, adjusting her jacket like nothing happened.
Matthew turned to her, eyes narrowed slightly.
"You're the one who said I could pick it," Ava muttered, crossing her arms.
"I didn't mean that," Matthew replied, rubbing his temple before glancing at her again, clearly exhausted.
"Well, you should know I don't think normally," Ava shot back without missing a beat.
Then her expression shifted.
A slow smile spread across her lips.
"But seriously…" she added, stepping closer, her fingers catching his tie, pulling him down just enough. "You look hot when you blush."
Before he could react—
She leaned in and brushed a kiss against his ear.
Warm.
Quick.
Gone.
Matthew froze for half a second.
Then exhaled slowly.
He flicked her forehead.
"Behave."
The elevator opened.
They stepped out.
The hallway was quiet, carpeted floors muting their footsteps as they walked side by side.
At her door, Matthew handed her the grocery bags without a word.
Then immediately turned and walked to his own apartment like he was escaping something.
Fast.
Ava watched him go.
Then smirked.
And entered hers.
Her apartment—.
Identical layout.
Three bedrooms, clean lines, wide windows.
Designed for people like them—young, rich, living alone on family money.
She dropped the groceries on the counter and started arranging them casually, humming under her breath.
Her phone buzzed.
Once.
Then again.
She picked it up.
Messages from her family assistant.
Short.
Efficient.
Everything handled.
The people on the bus—dealt with.
Ella and her group—withdrawn from school.
Ava skimmed through it, her expression barely changing.
Then she tossed her phone aside like it didn't matter.
Across the hall—
Matthew shut his door and leaned against it for a second.
Silent.
Then he ran a hand through his hair and walked straight to his room.
He opened a drawer, took out his pills, and swallowed them dry.
Today had been… too much.
Too many temptations
Too many emotions rollacster cause by her
He exhaled and headed straight to the bathroom, turning the shower on colder than usual as the drug ain't working.
The water hit his skin—
Sharp.
Grounding.
Good.
Just a few more days, he thought, closings his eyes. It symptom ends this Sunday and he would be more clear headed and not easily bothered by her touches.
Later—
Clean.
Changed into loose pajamas.
Hair still slightly damp.
Matthew sat on his bed, a book open in his hand, the room quiet again.
Peaceful.
Finally—
Knock.
He didn't look up.
Knock. Knock.
For his mental health he shouldn't open that door.
But he also knew something else.
She wouldn't stop.
With a quiet sigh, he stood and walked over, unlocking the door.
The moment it opened and paused.
Then burst out Laughing.
Ava stood there, her face completely covered in black smudges, streaks of charcoal unevenly spread across her cheeks and forehead.
Her hair slightly messy.
Clothes… suspiciously intact, but the evidence was clear.
"Laugh all you want," she said, walking past him like she owned the place. "It's a face mask."
Matthew closed the door behind her, still chuckling.
"What happened?" he asked, glancing at her again. "Don't tell me you tried cooking and destroyed your house."
Ava tilted her chin up proudly.
"…It was a small mistake."
Matthew raised a brow.
"Everything is black and smoky," she admitted after a beat, waving a hand dismissively. "So I'm here until it clears."
She dropped onto a chair casually.
"So, let's read… or I can shower in your house or even stay....."
Matthew stepped forward and covered her mouth with his hand before she could finish.
"Don't push your luck," he said calmly.
She blinked at him.
Then smiled against his palm.
Minutes later
They were seated.
Books open.
Matthew explaining in away a s wanted to faint it wasn't hard but if she failed one she had to do it again
From the beginning
Her head tilted slightly, eyes half-lidded as she tried—failed—to focus.
The pen in Matthew's hand tapped against her head.
Once.
Twice.
"Focus."
Ava groaned softly, rubbing her forehead.
"This is torture…"
Matthew ignored her completely, flipping a page.
"Read."
Ava stared at the book like it personally offended her.
Time dragged.
Painfully.
Her leg bounced slightly under the table.
Her fingers tapped.
Her eyes drifted—
Then—
Another tap to her head.
"Focus."
Ava finally snapped.
"Nope."
She pushed her chair back abruptly and stood.
"I'm leaving."
And before he could stop her—
She ran out.
The door slammed lightly behind her.
Silence returned.
Matthew looked at the empty space she left behind.
A faint smirk appeared.
The next morning
The air felt lighter.
Fresh.
The sun wasn't harsh, just warm enough to sit on the skin without burning.
A soft breeze moved through the buildings, carrying that quiet, perfect calm that only came with a Friday.
At Crownside Elite High this Fridays meant something different.
Sports day.
No strict uniforms.
Just the school's sportswear—stylish enough to still remind everyone where they belonged.
Matthew opened his door.
He stepped out in a fitted pair of tapered black joggers, the fabric smooth and structured instead of loose, paired with a crisp white short-sleeve athletic tee that sat cleanly against his frame.
Over it, a blue-and-white varsity-style jacket hung open, the sleeves slightly pushed up to his forearms.
On his feet—sleek Nike Air Max Plus, clean and sharp.
A compact, structured Louis Vuitton Christopher PM Backpack rested on one shoulder, sitting perfectly in place like it belonged there.
He looked… effortless.
Like he didn't try but still got it right.
He paused.
Ava was sitting right in front of his door.
One leg crossed over the other, casually leaning back against the wall as she took a bite from a fried meat pie, a chilled banana milk drink in her other hand.
"…What are you doing?" Matthew asked, one brow lifting slightly.
Ava looked up at him like it was obvious.
"Waiting," she said, chewing calmly. "I knew you wouldn't wait for me, so I woke up early."
She swallowed, then added
"And bought food."
She stood up in one smooth motion and fell into step beside him.
Her outfit didn't look like typical sportswear.
But it was a white and blue fitted sports dress, designed to look like a layered shirt and skirt set.
The top half resembled a cropped athletic shirt—structured at the shoulders, slightly loose at the sleeves, with faint golden thread patterns stitched along the seams that caught the light subtly.
The lower half flared out like a skirt but it wasn't soft fabric.
It was built like a sporty pleated layer, slightly structured so it held its shape as she moved, the inner lining tight enough to keep it practical.
Movement without exposure.
Style without effort.
The same gold threading traced lightly along the edges, tying both halves together.
On her feet—clean Adidas Ultraboost Light, white with faint blue accents.
Her wrist carried a slim gold bracelet, minimal but expensive. A small, compact Dior Saddle Nano Bag hung across her shoulder, bouncing lightly with her steps.
Her red hair was tied up again, high and neat.
Bright.
Alive.
"Where did you even buy street food from?" Matthew asked as they walked toward the elevator.
Ava took another sip of her drink.
"That building near our apartment," she said casually. "Owned by some politician's wife."
Matthew glanced at her.
She continued like she was explaining something obvious which was if he paid attention.
"She turned it into a 'rural-style' restaurant.
Street food, oily stuff—everything people pretend not to like."
She smirked slightly.
"But the twist? Everything inside costs more than people's yearly salary."
Matthew didn't react.
Ava shrugged.
"The rich get to act out their 'poor life' fantasy. The people cooking get paid like they hit the jackpot. The food is good."
She took another bite.
"Win-win."
The elevator doors opened.
They stepped in.
Moments later—
The doors slid open again, and Ava moved first, grabbing Matthew's hand without asking.
"My driver is here," she said quickly, already pulling him along.
Outside a Rolls-Royce Droptail waited
Expensive in a way that didn't need to announce itself.
They got in.
The ride to Crownside Elite High was smooth, uninterrupted.
When they arrived
The car didn't stop at the gate.
It drove straight in.
Past the security.
Past the usual limits.
And parked right in front of the school building.
A privilege only a few had.
Ava was one of them.
They stepped out.
The campus was quiet.
Too early for most students.
Only a few could be seen—those from the dorms, some already in the classrooms, others still lingering around the corridors.
No one paid much attention.
No one noticed them arriving together.
Matthew didn't wait.
He headed straight toward the dorm building.
Inside the room was exactly the same.
On the left side two bunk beds aligned neatly, with large wardrobes placed between them.
Each bed had its own study desk and chair positioned beside it, clean and organized.
On the right—another set of bunk beds, mirrored in arrangement, wardrobes placed between them again, with study desks flanking both sides.
Everything symmetrical.
Intentional.
Near the entrance—a compact kitchen space, simple but fully equipped.
In the center of the room—a low round table surrounded by soft bean bags and floor cushions, arranged casually but still neat.
The balcony doors were open.
Curtains drawn slightly to the side, letting in the morning light.
From there, the view stretched outward not inside the building.
But across the dorm compound.
Below, the small provision store for their domitory which opens one or twice a week or two it could be seen, shutters half-open, preparing for the day.
Paths curved neatly through the compound, connecting buildings, with a few early students walking through them.
From the third floor everything looked calm.
To the east the girls' side.
Three separate dormitory buildings stood there, spaced just enough to give privacy but still connected by paved walkways lined with trimmed hedges and soft lighting.
To the west the boys' side mirrored it.
Three dorm buildings again, rising clean and structured, each one slightly different in design but equal in presence.
From above, the layout almost looked planned like a small city.
And honestly that's what the school was.
A city.
Beyond the dorms, other buildings stretched across the campus.
There was the Peach Building, a place students went at night when sleep felt optional.
Warm lights glowed through wide glass windows, a huge building for all garde all class to study also to relax and have fun and a huge pool different rooms for different stuff.
Further in more buildings.
A gaming center filled with high-end consoles and quiet competition.
Relaxation lounges where students could disappear into comfort.
Restaurants that didn't feel like school cafeterias at all—more like private dining spaces, polished and expensive.
A full library complex that stretched across multiple floors, silent but alive.
Everything connected.
Everything intentional.
The size of the school wasn't something you understood in one glance.
You felt it the more you moved through it.
To the north
The main academic buildings stood tall.
That was the first thing anyone saw upon entering the school grounds—clean, structured, almost imposing in the way it carried authority.
To the south life shifted.
The gym, the sports arena, outdoor training fields, and club buildings spread out, filled with movement and energy.
Even the summer class buildings were there but unlike normal expectations, they weren't just for studying.
They were built with entertainment in mind too.
Because here
Even "extra classes" didn't feel ordinary.
But among all these.
The dormitories still held their own hierarchy.
Everyone knew it.
No one said it out loud.
But it was there.
The first dorm the most desired ,the hardest to get into.
From the outside, it didn't look dramatically different.
But inside Everything changed.
Only eight students per room.
Spacious—twice the size of the others.
Each room came with its own small kitchen, personal study spaces, and wide living areas that didn't feel cramped.
Every floor had clean, individual bathroom stalls—one per person, no waiting, no sharing beyond necessity.
Balconies doubled as personal laundry spaces, though there were dedicated laundry rooms available too.
Every three floors had a quiet reading room.
Even a private cafeteria existed—paid, of course—but available.
Lights out?
Between 12 and 1.
Flexible.
Controlled.
There were even designated spaces to bring guests—areas built for comfort, not supervision.
It wasn't just a dorm.
It was privilege.
The second dorm
Still good.
But different.
Twelve students per room.
Bigger in size—but less personal.
No individual study rooms.
No private kitchens.
Instead, each floor shared a common kitchen.
The bathrooms remained clean and structured like the first dorm—but the atmosphere was stricter.
Lights out came earlier—
Between 11 and 12.
No personal appliances.
No gadgets allowed after a certain time.
No cafeteria access like the first dorm.
It was still comfortable—
But controlled.
The third dorm—
A different world entirely.
More crowded.
Less structure.
Each floor shared one large bathroom.
No kitchens.
No study rooms.
No laundry spaces.
Everything shared.
Everything limited.
Lights out?
Between 12 and 2 am
And yet even here no one called it "bad."
Because this was Crownside Elite High.
Even the lowest standard—
Was still above what most people could ever touch.
From the third floor of the dorm building—
Looking out across the campus—
It was easy to understand one thing.
This place didn't just teach students.
It ranked them.
Silently.
Constantly.
And everyone—
Knew exactly where they stood.
Inside the dorm room, the air carried a mix of noise and lazy comfort—the kind that only came from people who had lived together long enough to stop caring about appearances.
Felix was sprawled across the upper bunk of the first bed, one leg hanging off the side as his fingers moved rapidly over his laptop.
The flashing lights from the screen reflected on his face, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration as occasional clicking sounds filled his corner.
Above the second bunk, V leaned against the wall, one arm resting behind his head while his phone was held lazily in the other. His lips curved into a faint smile as he typed, clearly distracted—probably texting his girlfriend again.
Below Felix, Rick lay on his stomach on bed space one, a manga spread open in front of him. One leg swung back and forth in the air absentmindedly as he flipped through the pages, his expression shifting every now and then with whatever scene he was reading.
On the other side, Derek's bed—neatly arranged, unlike the others—was empty. His mosquito net was already set, tucked in with unnecessary precision. Instead, he was sitting on Kai's bed nearby.
Kai was fast asleep, his head resting comfortably on Derek's shoulder, breathing slow and even.
Derek didn't seem to mind. With his headphones on, he leaned slightly back against the wall, eyes half-lidded as music played, one hand occasionally adjusting the wire.
Above them, Philip sat cross-legged on his own bunk, a book resting on his lap.
His posture was straight, calm, flipping pages quietly like he existed in a completely different world from the chaos around him.
Jay occupied the top bunk on the far end, completely knocked out, one arm hanging over the edge of the bed, unmoving.
The room felt full—but not crowded. Just lived-in.
Then the door clicked open.
Matthew stepped in.
The noise didn't stop, but it shifted—subtle awareness passing through the room.
He closed the door behind him and walked in without a word, his movements calm, unhurried, like he had done this a thousand times.
Rick was the first to react.
He immediately sat up, the manga slipping down onto the bed as his face lit up.
"Ah—you're here!" he said, grinning. "I missed you."
V glanced up from his phone, one brow raising slightly as he tilted his head.
"So you still remember you have a dorm," he said dryly, lips curling into a teasing smirk. "I thought you got corrupted by your life off camp and had gone tired of hostel life."
"V, shut up," Rick cut in instantly, clicking his tongue as he slapped his hands together.
"Don't start putting nonsense into his head. I was literally planning to come drag you back tomorrow."
Matthew didn't respond immediately.
He had already walked to his bed.
Standing beside it, he reached down and began removing the protective cover from his things, his movements precise, almost mechanical.
The faint rustle of fabric filled the brief silence between their voices.