Between the Lines

Chapter 3

Chapter 3 — “Fractured Memories, Lingering Heat”

The sun was slow in rising, draping the sprawling campus of Columbus Academy in a soft, golden haze. Kyoshi Shintani’s footsteps echoed through the cobblestone path leading to the Arts Building, a rhythmic sound that seemed almost meditative. Yet inside, his mind was far from peaceful. The past clung to him like a stubborn shadow, and every corner of the academy whispered reminders he was unprepared to confront.

He had spent the morning immersed in the quiet hum of the library, the scent of old pages mingling with the faint musk of ink and polished wood. He tried to focus on his assignments, letting the meticulous notes of literature and art theory occupy his thoughts, but they always drifted back to one face, one impossibly golden gaze that haunted the edges of his memory: Marcus Von Labros.

Marcus.

Even now, when Kyoshi tried to picture him from a distance, he could recall the faint tremor in his own chest at the memory of that one confessional night in Tokyo. The city lights had been cruel, mocking in their brilliance, fireworks tearing through the night sky while Marcus’s words, still sharp and deliberate, had branded themselves in Kyoshi’s soul.

"Don’t. You’re an omega. And I can’t— I won’t."

The words had cut deeper than any blade. And yet, even as he walked through the academy halls now, Marcus’s presence was impossible to ignore.

It was during lunch that their worlds collided again, almost violently. Kyoshi had chosen a quiet corner in the sunlit courtyard, a book resting in his lap, hoping to remain invisible to the currents of social hierarchy that flowed through the campus like an unspoken tide.

But nothing could shield him from Marcus.

The moment Marcus strode across the courtyard, surrounded by his usual circle of admirers, the air seemed to shift. The subtle scent of alpha dominance, warm and commanding, brushed against Kyoshi’s senses like a tidal wave he couldn’t resist. His heart betrayed him, thudding heavily against his ribcage.

Marcus’s golden eyes met his, and for a heartbeat, the world paused. Neither of them spoke, but in that charged silence, a storm of unspoken words, regrets, and desire crackled between them.

Kyoshi felt his knees weaken ever so slightly, forcing him to focus on the book in his lap, even as the ink on the pages blurred. He could almost feel the heat of Marcus’s gaze tracing the contours of his shoulders, lingering on the delicate line of his neck, and his pulse quickened, betraying every ounce of control he had left.

“Kyoshi,” a voice interrupted, sharp and amused.

Kyoshi blinked and looked up to see Andreas Mac Ranali leaning casually against a nearby tree, smirking like he knew exactly what was happening. “Enjoying the scenery?” Andreas teased, his tone light but carrying an undertone that made Kyoshi’s ears burn.

“I… I’m reading,” Kyoshi replied, his voice soft, too soft, as if he could disappear into the shadows.

Andreas chuckled. “Sure, you’re reading. Marcus seems… distracted today. Don’t tell me it’s you again.”

Kyoshi’s chest tightened. He didn’t know whether to feel shame or… a shiver of something else entirely. Something longing and dangerous.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he murmured, eyes returning to the blurred words on the page, though he knew he hadn’t truly read a single one.

Andreas leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I do, more than you think. And you’d better be careful. That alpha of yours… he’s unpredictable. And stubborn.”

Kyoshi swallowed hard, biting the inside of his lip. The warning was clear, but it did little to soothe the sudden ache of desire that Marcus’s mere presence stirred in him.

Later, in the afternoon, the Art Studio became a stage for unspoken tension. The room smelled of oil paint and wet clay, the sunlight slanting across canvases and busts of classical sculptures. Kyoshi worked on his own project, fingers coated in the faint smell of wet pigment, when Marcus appeared at the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

“Shintani,” Marcus said, the single word sharp yet tinged with something unreadable.

Kyoshi’s hands froze. “Marcus,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. The brush trembled slightly in his grasp, leaving a streak of unintended color across the canvas.

Marcus stepped into the room, moving with the quiet, predatory grace that had always unsettled Kyoshi. He paused behind him, the heat from his presence pressing down on the omega like a physical weight. Kyoshi’s breath hitched.

“You’ve changed,” Marcus said, low and controlled. “Stronger… quieter… but still…” His golden eyes softened imperceptibly, tracing the delicate lines of Kyoshi’s jaw, the subtle curve of his shoulders. “…still the same.”

Kyoshi’s heart raced. The words were a balm and a blade at the same time, cutting deep into old wounds while igniting sparks of desire he had tried to suppress.

“I—I’ve had to,” Kyoshi whispered, unable to meet Marcus’s gaze, afraid that if he did, the dam of memory and longing might finally break.

Marcus leaned closer, their proximity charged, and the faint brush of his hand against Kyoshi’s arm sent shivers cascading through him. It was an intimate, almost careless touch that spoke of a control Marcus was reluctant to relinquish but that Kyoshi secretly craved.

The tension between them only escalated during a shared walk across the sprawling gardens later that evening. The cherry blossoms were in bloom, petals drifting through the air like whispered secrets. Marcus walked beside Kyoshi, their shoulders brushing occasionally, sending jolts of warmth through the omega’s body.

“You’re tense,” Marcus observed, his voice low, private, carrying the subtle weight of concern—or perhaps, curiosity.

Kyoshi forced a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just… thinking.”

Marcus’s gaze lingered on him, golden and unreadable. Then, with a deliberate slowness that made Kyoshi’s chest tighten, Marcus reached out, brushing a stray lock of platinum hair behind Kyoshi’s ear. The touch was electric, intimate, yet restrained, sending a shiver down Kyoshi’s spine that had nothing to do with the cool evening air.

“You can’t keep running from it,” Marcus said softly, close enough that Kyoshi could feel his warm breath against the side of his face.

“I’m not…” Kyoshi started, but his voice faltered, and the words died on his tongue.

Marcus’s hand lingered near his face, brushing against his cheek, tracing the sensitive curve of his jaw. The proximity was unbearable, yet intoxicating. Kyoshi’s breaths came in shallow bursts, his body betraying every rational thought he tried to hold onto.

“You’re… an omega,” Marcus murmured, almost to himself, a reminder of the societal divide that had driven them apart in Tokyo. “And I… I don’t know how to—”

He stopped, as if realizing the danger in his own confession. Kyoshi’s gaze lifted to see his vulnerability mirrored in the storm of gold and gray.

In that moment, the unspoken history, the shared longing, and the pulse of desire that neither wanted to acknowledge hung between them like a fragile thread, taut with tension and inevitability.

By the time the sun had fully set, casting long shadows across the academy grounds, neither of them had spoken another word. Yet the electricity between them was undeniable. Kyoshi retreated to his room, heart hammering, mind aflame with memory and anticipation. Marcus, somewhere in the distance, was haunted by the same ache, the same desperate desire to undo the past while fearing the consequences of crossing the line.

Their reunion had begun, fragile and volatile. But the fire that simmered beneath polite conversation and fleeting touches promised a storm that neither could—or would—avoid.

And for Kyoshi, the question was no longer whether he could resist Marcus… but whether he even wanted to.