𝐁𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐀 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝

II

Where were you last night? Are you okay? I don't want to jump into conclusions - Alyssa
Says the most emotional person here - Xander
Hey. - Jayden
Yeah, hey. - Alyssa
You guys are impossible -Xander
I stare down at the message, unsure of how to reply. Sorry I bailed on you last night, I was burying a body? Oh, and there's a witness. Accomplice. Whatever you call him. She'd tell me 'have you not watched any criminal minds episode, like, ever?'

Before I could construct a reply, a hand lifting my book snapped me out of my thoughts, though as soon as I saw the culprit I just glared. I examined Henry Vitiello as he took the chair next to me, lazily leaning back on his chair, and I did a sweep of his features. He wore charcoal pants and a white button down shirt that fit his lean yet muscular frame. His blue tie was loose, and the cuffs of his sleeves rolled up. His dark brown locks untamed and pinkish eye bags formed under his gray eyes and pigmented lips, a contrast to his sharp cheekbone and his pale skin. If I were a nice person I'd say he looked gorgeous in a way sin was tempting, but I wasn't a nice person, especially not to him. If he weren't so infuriatingly aware of his own intelligence, he'd be quite attractive, I suppose.

"The secret history," he said, turning my book in his scarred hands. He flipped through it, careful to be gentle with the pages. "Death is the mother of beauty. And what is beauty? Terror." He quoted, his British accent making his low yet smooth voice sound almost indecent.

He handed it back to me, our hands slightly brushing as I snatched it back. Before I could retort anything he said, "You're a beauty."

I glared at him for that backhanded comment. "Did you just call me terrorizing?"

His lips turned up, "I've called you worse."

Before I could retort, professor Donovan cuts in, "Please, no threats today." he mutters before clearing his voice and addresses the class. It's nothing new, something I already know, but I engage in answering every question anyway. And I know for a fact Henry knows the answers as well, but he stays quiet unless it's to debate an answer with me. He's been observing me this whole time, and I don't like it.

"Henry, pay attention to the lesson and not the girl, won't you?" The professor says. I can feel my traitorous skin turning red and I glare at Henry.

Stop looking at me, I mouth.
No, he mouths back.

The bell rings, and I make my way through the crowds of people. I feel a hand at the small of my back, and I whip around. I swat Henry's hand away and say, "You're like the plague, you know?

"A brilliant, dominant lesson of moral plagency? You make me blush."

"The disease, Henry. Not the book."

"I think I'll take my version of it." I rolled my eyes and pushed past him, but before I can go into the class he hands me a piece of paper and leaves. I take a seat and open the note; 10092014. The code to his dorm room.

Henrys pov

It's close to midnight when Jane Ivers barges into my dorm flat. I take her in, her dark brown locks braided back, her freckles, her hazel eyes, her lips that are always painted red. She wears the same outfit she had on this morning; a dark red blouse tucked into a black miniskirt that drove me only a little insane, and of course, her heels.

She always dressed like this, as if determined to be as feminine as she is brilliant. I think back to my adolescence, where every time I stared at Jane Ivers, I wanted to drop to my knees.