A fight..sort of

Time passes, time for class comes. The dorm room is thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction, the sheets tangled around Bryce and Stephanie’s limbs as they lay in a breathless heap. The morning sun slants through the blinds, casting stripes of gold across their flushed skin. Bryce exhales, running a hand down Stephanie’s bare back, tracing the curve of her spine. She shivers, pressing closer, her lips brushing his Then, reality intrudes—his alarm blares from the shattered phone on the floor. Stephanie groans, burying her face in his chest. “Skip,” she mumbles, fingers tightening possessively on his hip.

Sorry, but it's your class too," Bryce murmured against Stephanie's hair, though his arms stayed locked around her. The alarm kept blaring, the cracked phone screen flashing stubbornly from where it lay on the floor. Stephanie nipped at his collarbone in protest. "So? Let them take attendance. I can think of better ways to spend the morning." Her hand slid lower, fingers tracing the waistband of his boxers with deliberate intent. Bryce caught her wrist, but his grip lacked conviction. "You're a terrible influence," he said, even as he rolled her beneath him again. The knock at the door froze them both. "Bryce? You in there?"The voice—deep, male, unmistakably their TA, Mark—cut through the haze of desire like a bucket of ice water. Stephanie’s eyes widened, her grip tightening on Bryce’s shoulders as they both went rigid. "Shit," Bryce mouthed silently. Stephanie pressed a finger to his lips, her other hand fumbling for the discarded sheet to yank over them just as the doorknob rattled. "Bryce? Professor Lowell’s asking where you are. You never miss lecture." Mark’s tone shifted, a hint of amusement creeping in. "You decent in there?" Bryce cleared his throat, voice rough. "Uh—not really"

The doorknob turned anyway. Mark shouldered the door open, his amused smirk freezing mid-step as he took in the scene—Bryce half-pinned beneath Stephanie, the sheet barely covering them, the air thick with the unmistakable aftermath of what they’d been doing. Stephanie’s long blonde hair a mess, her and bryces glasses on the stand beside the bed. For a second, no one moved. Then Mark let out a low whistle, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Damn. Guess that explains the no-show." His grin widened as Stephanie yanked the sheet higher, her face burning. Bryce groaned, dragging a hand down his face. Bryce - gives a a minute to dress

Mark chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back into the hallway, pulling the door mostly shut behind him. “Yeah, yeah, take your time...Lucky bastard"

The moment the latch clicked, Bryce and Stephanie exhaled in unison, the tension snapping like a rubber band. Stephanie collapsed back onto the mattress with a groan, dragging her hands down her face. “Oh my God,..he saw my breasts, i know iit” she muttered, voice muffled.Stephanie scrambled off the bed, snatching her discarded shirt from the floor and yanking it over her head. Bryce rolled to his feet, grabbing his jeans and hopping into them one-handed while rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You do realize we're gonna be the talk of the class now, right?" Stephanie muttered, shimmying into her skirt. Bryce shot her a smirk, tossing her glasses to her. "Like you care." She caught them, sliding them on with a huff. "I don’t. But you do. Professor Lowell already thinks you’re a perfect, and dont break rules"

She caught them, sliding them on with a huff. "I don’t. But you do. Professor Lowell already thinks you’re a perfect, rule-following golden boy." Bryce snorted, buttoning his shirt crookedly in his haste. "Yeah, well, guess the cat’s out of the bag." He grabbed his backpack off the floor, then froze. Stephanie noticed his hesitation. "What?" Bryce dug into the front pocket and pulled out two slips of paper—thin, perforated at the edges, like raffle tickets. "The hell…?" Stephanie leaned in.

Stephanie snatched one of the tickets from Bryce’s fingers, turning it over. The paper smelled faintly of jasmine—Cortney’s perfume. Her stomach dropped. "Two tickets to the Black Orchid," she read aloud, voice flat. "Tonight. Backstage passes." Bryce’s jaw tightened. "How the hell did these get in my bag?" Stephanie didn’t answer. Her thumb brushed the edge of the ticket, where tiny, manicured fingernails had left crescent-shaped impressions in the paper. Cortney’s signature move. The dorm room suddenly felt too small. Stephanie crumpled the ticket in her fist. "She gave these to you dudnt she"

"Cortney must of slipped them in yesterday when I ran into her on the elevator" says Bryce .Stephanie’s grip tightened around the crumpled ticket, her knuckles turning white. "Of course she did," she muttered, tossing it onto the bed like it burned her. "Because why wouldn’t Cortney literally crawl into your life the second she gets the chance?" Bryce exhaled sharply, running a hand through his already-messy hair. "Look, I didn’t ask for this. You know I’ve been avoiding her since—" Stephanie crossing her arms. "Yeah, I remember." A tense silence settled between them. "Abd thats why im still here" stephanie muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. Stephanie’s jaw clenched as she snatched the second ticket from his hand, her fingers brushing against his palm—too quick, too deliberate. "You know what? Fine. Let’s go." Bryce blinked. "Wait, what?" "To the Black Orchid. Tonight." She straightened her glasses, her voice sharp. "Cortney obviously want you to take her, instead, you'll make me" A slow smirk tugged at Bryce’s lips. "You’re seriously suggesting we use her tickets?"

Bryce’s smirk widened into a full grin. "Oh, this is gonna piss her off so much." He plucked the crumpled ticket from Stephanie’s grip, smoothing it between his fingers. "You sure you wanna do this?" Stephanie arched a brow. "What, scared?" "Of Cortney? Please." Bryce scoffed, but his fingers twitched against the ticket. "I just figured you’d rather set these on fire than step foot in a club., that she may show up.in herself" Stephanie snatched the tickets back, tucking them into her pocket with a sharp flick of her wrist. "Oh, we’re going... But first we have class to attend."Bryce chuckled, shaking his head as he slung his backpack over one shoulder. "Right. Because nothing says romantic revenge plot like suffering through Professor Lowell’s monotone lecture on postmodern ethics first." Stephanie shot him a glare, but there was a spark in her eyes—something dangerous and electric. "Shut up. And fix your shirt." She reached out without thinking, straightening his crooked buttons with quick, impatient fingers. Her hands lingered a second too long against his chest before she pulled away sharply. Mark "so the love birds are ready then"

Bryce rolled his eyes, but Stephanie didn’t dignify the comment with a response. Instead, she grabbed her bag and shoved past Mark into the hallway, Bryce following close behind. The walk to class was silent, tension still simmering between them. .

The lecture hall buzzed with uneasy murmurs as Bryce and Stephanie slid into their seats. Something was off—several students sat rigid in their chairs, faces drained of color. One girl near the front kept twisting her necklace so tightly her knuckles matched the sickly pallor of her skin. Bryce leaned toward Stephanie, voice low. "What the hell happened before we got here?" Stephanie scanned the room, her gaze snagging on Mark at the TA’s desk. His usual smug grin was absent, replaced by tight-lipped silence as he shuffled papers with jerky movements. Professor Lowell cleared his throat, but even his droning lecture on Kantian imperatives lacked its usual monotone certainty.