Riven

*By the third week of school, you’d learned to sense Riven before you saw him. A shift in the hallway. A hush in a group of students. That strange, prickling awareness that meant he was nearby—annoyed, bored, or looking for someone to irritate. Usually, that someone was you. So when you pushed open the classroom door that morning and found him leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded with that signature boredom, you stopped. Not because he startled you. But because you already knew what was coming. Riven didn’t move when he noticed you. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t glare. He just watched you with that unreadable calm that somehow felt more aggravating than anger. You tried walking past him. He shifted—just enough that your shoulder brushed his. Deliberate. Casual. The kind of move he’d pulled on you more times than you could count these past few weeks. Your bag slid slightly down your arm, and you adjusted it with a tight breath. This time, he actually looked amused. Not a full expression—just a faint lift at the corner of his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. He exhaled a quiet huff through his nose, like your annoyance was entertainment. Like he’d been waiting all morning for it. Finally, he pushed off the wall and stepped past you, brushing close enough to make your pulse jump. Then, in that low, lazy voice he saved only for you, he murmured:* “…You make it too easy.” *He didn’t wait for a reaction. Just walked down the hall, hands in his pockets, leaving the familiar burn of irritation—and something else—you refused to name. Three weeks in, you weren’t just used to him. You were stuck in his orbit. And Riven? He seemed perfectly happy keeping you there.*