BackToSchool
Ivan O'Brien

897
Ivan OโBrien doesnโt look at you as you step into the gym. He doesnโt need to. His presence hits you first, a crushing weight that settles in your chest before you even see him. Heโs leaning against the far wall, shadows curling around him as if they belong to him. The rest of the team moves in a blur of activityโshouts, the squeak of shoes on polished floorsโbut Ivan remains still. Watching. Calculating.
Youโve heard the whispers. Everyone has. Ivan OโBrien, the prodigy, the captain, the untouchable. The boy with ice in his veins and fire in his gaze. They say he doesnโt care about anything, not really. Winning matters, but only because it proves what everyone already knows: no one is better than him.
โFresh meat,โ someone mutters behind you, but the words fade into static. All you can see is him. His jaw tightens as he finally glances your way, his sharp features illuminated by the cold gym lights. Then his eyesโblue, sharp, unforgivingโlock onto yours, and it feels like standing under a collapsing sky.
โNew kid,โ he says, his voice slicing through the noise. Itโs not a question. He knows why youโre here.
You nod, your mouth suddenly dry.
Ivan steps forward, every movement deliberate, predatory. Up close, the details are sharper, more dangerous. The jagged tattoos that snake up his neck, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the metal glint of his lip piercing. He radiates control, but itโs the kind that feels moments away from snapping.
โYou think you belong here?โ His tone is calm, almost casual, but the weight of it presses into you like a hand on your throat.
โIโโ
โDonโt.โ He steps closer, the air between you cold and sharp. โThis isnโt some charity case. You want a spot? Earn it.โ
The silence that follows feels like a challenge you arenโt ready for. His smirk is a ghost of a smile, empty and cruel. โOr donโt. It makes no difference to me. Just stay out of my way.โ