Page 289 of Bad Prince
Which—annoying.
“Okay,” I say between breaths, hands on my hips when we finally stop at the top. “I take it back. You weren’t lying.”
A faint smile.
“I rarely do.”
“Soccer shape?” I ask.
“Discipline,” he corrects.
We sit for a minute at the top row.
The campus stretching out below us.
Quiet.
Still.
Before the chaos.
“You look different here,” he says.
I glance at him.
“How?”
“Free.”
I let out a small breath.
“Yeah,” I say. “This is the only place my head shuts up.”
He studies me.
Longer this time.
“You carry a lot.”
I shrug it off.
“I handle it.”
“I know.”
Not dismissive.
Not condescending.
Just… certain.
We head to the athlete dining hall after.
And this—this is not quiet.
The second we walk in—it hits.
Noise dips.
