My heart thudded so loudly I could almost hear it echo in the narrow hallway. Slavvy's dark eyes were locked on mine—sharp, unreadable, yet carrying an intensity that made the air feel heavy.
The corridor around us seemed to shrink. The noise of distant students faded into a dull hum, swallowed by the silence between us. His hands rested lightly on my shoulders—steady, controlled, and somehow commanding. A faint tremor ran through me, something I couldn't name, something I didn't quite want to understand.
He was too close. Too calm. Too sure of himself.
For a moment, I forgot to breathe.
His gaze dropped, briefly, to my lips before returning to my eyes. It wasn't predatory—just careful, deliberate, like he was studying every flicker of emotion crossing my face. My mind screamed move, but my body refused.
Then he leaned closer—slowly, deliberately. His breath brushed against my skin, warm and laced with the faint scent of cologne and mint. The space between us disappeared.
When our lips met, it wasn't rough or hungry—it was measured, restrained, as if he was testing something fragile. My body tensed instinctively, and for a second, I felt suspended in time. His warmth seeped through, calm but electric, and when he finally pulled back, I could barely think straight.
His eyes searched mine. Something unreadable flickered there—softness, maybe, or conflict.
"I… liked that," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough at the edges.
I didn't know what to say. My chest fluttered with nerves and confusion, but beneath it all… there was a quiet, reckless thrill.
Before I could find my words, Slavvy's arms slipped around me, lifting me gently off the ground. His strength startled me—effortless, controlled.
"What are you doing?" I whispered, half-protesting, half-laughing as I glanced toward the empty hall. "Someone could see us."
He smiled faintly, that quiet, dangerous kind of smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry—there's nobody here."
I pressed a finger to his lips, hushing him. The air between us stilled again. In that fragile moment, I could almost forget everything—the whispers, the warnings, the fear.
"People will always talk," he said softly, his tone shifting, deeper now, steadier. "Good or bad. You can't live waiting for them to approve you."
Something in his voice carried weight—a quiet authority that didn't belong to a high school boy. It sounded like he'd seen more of the world than he should have.
I took a slow breath. "Maybe you're right."
He studied me for a long second before a faint smirk broke the tension. "Shall we get to our homework, then?"
I laughed softly, shaking my head. "You call this studying?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he guided me outside, his hand resting lightly at my back. Every gesture was effortless, natural—but it held that same air of quiet control.
The late afternoon sun spilled gold across the courtyard. The air carried the faint scent of the ocean, and beyond the school gates, Cape Town stretched endlessly—beautiful, unpredictable.
"Where are we going?" I asked as we approached his car.
He unlocked it with a soft beep, holding the door open for me. "Somewhere," he said simply. His voice was calm, but there was something else beneath it—something secret.
The drive was quiet at first. The world outside blurred into color and motion, and the city lights began to bloom in the distance. The hum of the engine and the rhythm of soft R&B filled the silence.
When I recognized the song, I smiled despite myself. "You listen to this?"
His fingers tapped the steering wheel in time with the beat. "You like R&B," he said, not as a question but as a fact.
"I love it," I admitted. "And gospel. Sometimes country."
He raised an eyebrow, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Country? Didn't see that coming."
"I like songs that feel honest," I said quietly. "Songs that… speak to something real."
He nodded, eyes still on the road. "That's rare."
For a moment, he looked like someone else—still, thoughtful. Then the light turned red, and he glanced at me. "You ever think about what makes something real, Testimony?"
I hesitated. "I guess… it's when you can feel it. When it's not just words."
He nodded once, then turned back to the road as the car rolled forward. "Good answer."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was… intense. I could feel him there—calm, alert, every movement precise.
We pulled into a drive-thru. He ordered with quiet confidence, his tone polite but firm. "Two Big Mac meals. Extra fries. Nuggets. And a salad."
When the cashier smiled too long, his expression barely changed—but his eyes did. A flicker of something cold passed through them before disappearing as quickly as it came.
He glanced at me. "You want anything else?"
"No, I'm good," I murmured, uneasy at how composed he always seemed.
When we parked, he handed me a drink without breaking eye contact. "Hold this for me," he said softly, the words low and possessive, yet oddly gentle.
My heart fluttered for reasons I didn't understand.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, trying to sound bold.
He smirked slightly. "Someone was jealous."
"Jealous?" I repeated, confused. "Of what?"
He leaned back in his seat, the corners of his mouth curling. "The cashier."
I rolled my eyes, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in my cheeks. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," he said quietly. "But I'm honest."
His tone shifted again—subtle, serious.
As the car moved down the quiet road, I caught his reflection in the window. For a heartbeat, I saw something in his expression that didn't belong in a boy our age—something tired. Dangerous. Like a man carrying secrets too heavy to speak aloud.
I didn't know who Slavvy really was.
But in that moment, I knew one thing for sure—
he wasn't ordinary.
And maybe that's what scared me most.