Chapter 62: Too Much, She Thought
We walked back into class together.
Side by side.
Celestia slid into her seat, mine right next to hers, like it had always been meant for her.
It wasn’t subtle.
Not in the slightest.
The shift in the room was immediate. Heads turned, whispers buzzed low. Everyone saw it—because of course they did. One day we’re not talking, the next we’re back together like nothing ever broke in the first place. That was us. That was Celestia.
Even Avery noticed. Especially Avery. Her eyes flicked over once, sharp and unreadable, before she turned back to her notebook like she hadn’t been watching at all. But I saw it. That crack in her perfect, practiced smile.
The rest of class felt almost normal again. Celestia leaned against her hand, bored in that dramatic way only she could pull off, doodling in the margins of her notes while I pretended to pay attention. Every so often, she’d nudge my arm with her pen just to see me glance her way. And I did. Every time.
And as I sat there, I caught myself thinking—this was why our fights never lasted long.
They burned hot, fast, sharp. But they never stretched out longer than they needed to. Because Celestia Valentina Moreau didn’t bring pride into it. She knew when to let go, when to reach for me again. And I was always dumb enough, or lucky enough, to take her hand when she did.
By the time the final bell rang, I felt... lighter. Like the storm had passed.
But storms have a way of circling back.
I was just about to sling my bag over my shoulder when Avery walked over. That same smile on her face, the kind people would call sweet if they didn’t know better.
"Hey, Kai," she said, voice soft, almost too soft for the noise of the classroom. "Do you have a minute? I was hoping you could maybe start helping me with Halifax’s class today. You’re so good at explaining things, and..." She trailed off with a little laugh, tilting her head like it was all innocent.
If this were yesterday, I might’ve hesitated. But not today. Not after everything.
"Sorry, Avery," I said, keeping my tone steady. "I can’t."
Her smile twitched, but she didn’t drop it. "Oh. Maybe tomorrow then?"
I shook my head. "No. Not tomorrow either. If you need help, you should ask Marina. She’s sharp with Halifax’s material."
That hit. I saw it in the quick blink, the pause just a second too long before her mouth curved again. "Marina?" she repeated, like the name tasted sour.
"Yeah," I said. "She’d be better for you than me."
For once, I didn’t feel the need to explain myself. I didn’t feel guilty. I’d drawn the line. And I wasn’t moving it.
Celestia was already waiting by the door. Avery was still standing there. And me? I was already walking toward the only person who mattered.
---
She didn’t ask, though I could see it written all over her face. The slight squint in her eyes, the way her lips pressed together like she was holding the words back. Normally, she’d blurt it out without hesitation—"What did she want?"—but not this time.
She only lifted her chin and said, "Ready?"
"Yeah," I nodded.
We walked out together. Her car was parked where it always was, gleaming like it belonged in some glossy magazine, and I slid into the passenger seat. She started the engine, hands smooth on the wheel, eyes fixed straight ahead.
A minute passed in silence. Then I smirked.
"So," I said, leaning back in my seat, "not gonna ask?"
Her eyes flicked toward me for half a second before darting back to the road. "Nope."
I let out a small laugh. "Okay."
The car hummed forward. The air was steady, not heavy like yesterday, not awkward like the morning—it was light, like we were circling back to who we were. Still, I could feel her fidgeting beneath the surface, like her curiosity was clawing at her ribs.
"You can tell me if you wanna," she said after a beat, her voice quieter this time, almost cautious.
"Okay."
Another pause. She glanced at me again, this time longer. "So?"
"So what?" I grinned.
Her lips pursed. "Tell."
"Don’t wanna." I shrugged, smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.
She blinked. "Oh." Her tone was flat, but I caught the faintest pout as she turned her focus back to the road.
I knew what she was doing—holding back, trying not to be the brat she always defaulted to—but if I knew Celestia Valentina Moreau at all, keeping quiet like this was probably killing her inside.
For ten whole seconds, the car filled with nothing but the low purr of the engine. Then she suddenly pulled over, eased the car to the side of the street, and put it in park. Her hands stayed on the wheel as she turned toward me, brows raised in that dramatic, pleading way only she could pull off.
"Please?" she said, softer this time.
I laughed, shaking my head. "You’re ridiculous."
Her eyes widened. "Not fair."
"Life’s not fair, Val."
"Ugh, don’t ’life’s not fair’ me," she muttered, tugging at the seatbelt strap. "You’re supposed to tell me stuff. That’s, like, the rule."
"Since when?"
"Since always. Since boyfriend-girlfriend law number one." She crossed her arms, pretending to sulk, though I caught the little twitch at the corner of her mouth that gave her away.
I leaned back, folding my arms too, playing into it. "Boyfriend-girlfriend law, huh? I must’ve missed that lecture."
"Don’t play dumb," she said, voice sharp but playful. "You know."
I let her stew for another second, enjoying the way her impatience colored her cheeks, before finally sighing.
"Fine. She wanted me to tutor her."
Celestia’s eyes narrowed, but just a little. "Tutor her?"
"Yep. Halifax’s class. Today. Like right now."
> "And?"
"And I said no."
Her arms loosened, but only slightly. "Just no?"
I smirked again. "That... and then I sent her to Marina."
That got her. She blinked, stunned for a beat before her lips broke into the smallest, most reluctant smile. "You sent her to Marina?"
"Yeah. Figured Marina’s the better option anyway. Smarter than me. Plus, I thought it’d be fun."
Her smile tugged wider despite herself, and she gave a little shake of her head like she was trying not to laugh. "You’re evil."
"Me? Evil?" I chuckled. "Nah. Strategic."
She tilted her head, finally letting the laughter slip out. "Strategic, huh? That’s what we’re calling it now?"
"That’s what we’re calling it," I confirmed, leaning back in my seat, smug.
For a moment, she just looked at me, the corners of her mouth curved upward, her eyes soft in a way that made my chest feel stupidly warm. Then she let out a breath, muttering, "Still not fair."
"Maybe not," I said, grinning. "But at least you got the story out of me."
"Only because I asked nice," she shot back.
I raised a brow. "That was you asking nice?"
"Yes," she insisted, chin high, though the color blooming in her cheeks betrayed her. "And it worked. So."
I laughed again, the sound filling the car, and for the first time all day, I realized how good it felt to just... laugh with her.
---
When we got back to my place, I asked the first thing that popped into my head. "Where’s Duchess?"
"At mine," she answered quickly, tugging off her shoes by the door. Then, before I could say a word, she added, "Don’t worry. She’s safe. I’m not a bad mother."
The little smirk she threw at me almost made me laugh. Almost.
Then she straightened, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I’m gonna shower. Be back in a bit."
I nodded, tossing myself onto the couch.
By the time she padded back out, the TV was on but I wasn’t really watching.
She was in my white shirt. Just my shirt. Her hair was still damp, strands clinging to her neck, and the fabric carried faint wet patches that made it nearly translucent in spots. Not indecent, but close enough to set my brain on fire.
And she knew it.
She curled onto the couch beside me, knees tucked under, as if nothing about her appearance was out of the ordinary. "Let’s never fight again," she said softly, almost childlike.
I couldn’t help but smile at that. "Deal"
But then she looked down at her hands, voice dropping even lower. "I’ll... try to be less bratty. From now on."
"You don’t have to," I said immediately.
Her lips tugged up, but she shook her head. "I want to. For you. For us. I know how I get, Kai. I know I’m... a lot. I talk too much, I push too much, I throw myself at you even when you don’t want me to. And you’re always patient with me when you shouldn’t have to be. I—" She hesitated, fingers tightening on the hem of my shirt. "I know I don’t deserve that.
The honesty in her voice hit harder than any of the arguments we’d had.
She went on though. "You could have anyone. Someone easier. Someone who doesn’t pick fights or drag you into her chaos. And yet you’re still here. With me."
Her throat bobbed, and she forced a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "I just... I want you to know I see it. I see what you do for me. And I know I don’t make it easy."
I wanted to tell her she didn’t need to change, not for me, not for anyone. But the more she spoke, the more it sank in—last night had wrecked her. Just the thought that I’d shut her out, that I’d cut her off, was enough to make her question everything about herself. The way she laughed, the way she teased, the way she filled my space like it was hers. All of it.
And suddenly I realized how much weight my choices carried. How much power I had over her without even meaning to.
My chest tightened with guilt... and then, because I was weak and human, my gaze slipped—down. The loose collar of my shirt, the damp cling of the fabric against her skin. She was too close. And I was just a guy with hormones that didn’t know how to behave.
Her eyes flicked to mine, and the faintest smile curved her lips. "You’re staring," she whispered, not accusing, just... noticing.
I snapped my eyes up, but she gave the faintest shrug. "It’s okay."
And in that quiet, I realized something that almost floored me.
All this time, I thought I was the one who didn’t deserve her. But in her head, it was the other way around.
---
To be continued...