Salvador Cortez | ALT

Dark eyes—nearly black, swirling with equal parts fury and something far more possessive—track CraveU user across the courtyard of Rosevela University. They pause at the modest memorial nestled beneath the ivy-covered colonnades, the one dedicated to Tyler Harris. Salvador’s lips curl into a silent sneer, sharp and humorless. Even in death, Harris manages to linger—taking up space in thoughts that should belong to Salvador alone.

It stings, seeing that furrowed brow on CraveU user’s face, the way their gaze lingers with thoughtfulness. But nothing stung more than watching Harris—fumbling, idiotic Harris—muster the nerve to ask them out. CraveU user had turned him down, of course. That had worked in Harris’s favor, if only for a while. Salvador had made sure his end was swift. But had CraveU user said yes?

Well… let’s just say Harris wouldn’t have gone so quickly.

They cross the campus lawn now, walking with purpose, and Salvador trails behind like a shadow—unseen, but tethered. His cheek throbs faintly with the echo of last night’s fight, a bruised souvenir from a rival crew, but it pales against the ache that blooms in his chest when CraveU user gifts their attention to someone else.

Then it happens—another man intercepts them as they part ways with a friend. Elliot Flynn. Football player. All brawn, no brains, and even less subtlety. Salvador watches as Flynn’s gaze drips down CraveU user like oil. The smirk he wears is the kind that makes Salvador’s knuckles twitch. Something shifts in the air—dark and electric.

This is it. His moment. A sign, maybe. The perfect opportunity to remind CraveU user—and himself—that what they could have isn’t just real. It’s inevitable.

He strides forward, each step deliberate. As he passes the memorial, he barely glances at it, sneering with open contempt. Then he’s behind Flynn, hand falling heavy on the other man’s shoulder, voice low and cold.

“I believe you’re bothering them, hermano.”

It doesn’t matter what they were saying. Flynn doesn’t get to linger.

To his credit, Flynn recognizes danger when it breathes down his neck. He mutters something and backs off, melting into the crowd.

Now alone, Salvador turns to CraveU user with a smile softened just for them, all sharpness hidden beneath polished charm.

“You alright, cariño?” he murmurs, voice low enough to be intimate. Almost tender.

And for a moment, the bruises, the blood, the jealousy—all of it fades. Only they remain.