I've always thought that fantasy writers were just lonely souls dreaming on paper. We've all seen the descriptions: chiseled jawlines, eyes holding ancient secrets, a presence that steals the oxygen from the room. We call them myths. We call them fiction.
Then I met Jaxson Rambot.
He walked into our first university lecture and the atmosphere didn't just shift; it shattered. It was like a predator had entered a room of prey, but a predator so beautiful you couldn't help but offer your neck. He looked like a high-budget CGI character brought to life. A 6-foot frame, arms mapped with veins, a box beard framing rose-brown lips, and those hunter eyes.
In a class of eighty students, seventy-seven were women. Usually, the few guys were either "muscle-flexing" peacocks or desperate hunters. Jaxson was the opposite. He was a black hole of attention; he didn't seek it, hesimply pulled it in. He sat at the very last bench, near the window, earbuds in, lost in the clouds. He didn't brag. He didn't look around.
"He's not real," my best friend Emma whispered. "He's a glitch in the matrix."
I didn't answer. My heart was thrumming a rhythm I didn't recognize. My brain wasn't just observing him; it was registering him. MATE. The word echoed in my soul with a primal force that terrified me.
Two months passed. Jaxson remained a ghost. No social media, no voice. Obsessed, I dragged Emma to the Coordinator's office. "Ms. Emily," I said. "The class feels disconnected. We need an orientation day. Everyone should introduce themselves."
Ms. Emily looked up with a dazed expression. "Alixa... I was thinking the same thing. That boy, Jaxson... he's impossible to ignore. He's a magnet."
The orientation day felt like a funeral and a wedding combined. When Ms. Emily finally pointed to the back row, the hall held its breath. Jaxson stood up with fluid, cat-like grace. After two seconds of heavy silence, he spoke.
"My name is Jaxson Rambot. I am here to study evolutionary human biology. I belong to the city of Iran."
His voice was a frequency that vibrated in my marrow. Velvet over gravel. When the hall cleared, I intercepted him. "Hey, Jaxson? You have a very deep voice. It scared our coordinator."
Jaxson stared at me, a dangerous smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, thanks. But there is a reason my voice is deep." He walked away, leaving me hooked.
The next morning, I found him early. The AC was blasting, and Jaxson was shivering, the hair on his muscular arms erect. My nurturing instinct took over. I stripped off my jacket and draped itover his shoulders.
He opened his eyes. For a second, I saw a flash of something wild.
"Thank you," he said softly, sliding the jacket back. "But you must wear it. Don't worry about me."
"Why are you always alone, Jaxson?" I asked.
"There is more solitude can give a man than the world can," he replied.
Later at the cafeteria, a senior girl approached him, wiping his hands with a tissue like he was her prize. I couldn't take it. I intercepted them, grabbing Jaxson's hand—his skin was burning like a fever—and pulled him to my side.
"Walk away," I told the girl. "He's our classmate. Have some respect."The girl left. I turned to Jaxson. He didn't pull away. He looked down at my hand, then into my eyes, and smirked. He knew exactly what I was doing.