Our Constant Friction

Inside the University Library, there were two worlds that should never have collided. At the end of the long wooden table sat Nyxiel Soler. If you looked at him, you would see the exact definition of STEM burnout. He wore a hoodie even though the sun was blazing, had two empty espresso cups by his side, and was practically burying his face in his Advanced Calculus reviewer. For Nyx, life was just like math: it had logic, it had formulas, and above all, it was predictable. He hated chaos. He hated distractions. And most of all, he hated people who acted like they owned the entire campus just because they knew how to dribble a ball. Then, there's Vesper Thorne Silverio. The moment Vesper entered the quiet zone, the atmosphere shifted. The sound of every step from his high-cut rubber shoes echoed. He smelled of citrus and chlorine—the scent of someone who had just come straight from training and didn't even bother to take a proper shower before stepping into the library. He dropped his heavy gym bag right beside Nyx, creating a thud that echoed through the silent hall. "You're late. Thirty minutes," Nyx muttered, not even lifting his gaze from his notes. His voice was cold, sharp like a compass needle. "Traffic, Soler. Relax," Vesper replied with that annoying, cocky smirk that made Nyx's skin crawl with irritation. He leaned back, his muscular frame looking far too big for the library chair. "Besides, it's just Calculus. Can't we take some shortcuts? You know, the Silverio way?" Nyx finally looked up. His eyes, framed by his thick glasses, were blazing with a mix of exhaustion and pure disdain. "There are no shortcuts in my session, Silverio. Either you sit down and solve for x, or you walk out that door and fail your eligibility for the finals. Your choice." Vesper stared at him. For a second, the arrogance flickered. There was something about the way Nyx looked at him that made him feel like he wasn't the "Golden Boy" of the university, but merely a problem that needed to be solved. It was infuriating. It was insulting. And for some reason, it made Vesper's heart skip a beat he couldn't explain. "Fine," Vesper whispered, leaning closer until Nyx could smell the salt and heat radiating from him. "Teach me, then. But don't cry when I prove I'm smarter than you think." Nyx scoffed, slamming his pen down. "In your dreams, Athlete." They hated each other. It was clear in the way they crossed their arms, in the way their knees accidentally brushed under the table, causing both of them to flinch as if burned. They were two parallel lines that were never supposed to intersect. But in the world of university physics, friction creates heat. And heat? It eventually leads to a burn that neither of them was ready to handle.