The bully's redemption

The late morning sun poured into Damon's balcony, crisp and bright, spilling through the leafy canopy of trees and pooling in golden streaks across the polished marble. The air buzzed softly with the hum of life—a distant birdcall, the faint rustle of leaves—and yet, between Damon and Zendaya, an unmistakable stillness lingered.

Zendaya's heels struck the marble with a quiet rhythm as she approached, her figure cutting a sharp silhouette against the garden's vibrant greens. She moved with an effortless confidence, but her narrowed eyes betrayed her curiosity at the storm brewing in Damon's expression. He leaned against the wrought-iron railing, arms crossed over his chest, as if bracing himself.

"You didn't have to work them over like that," he said finally, his voice low and even, but carrying a weight Zendaya couldn't ignore.

She blinked, halting just a few steps from him. A delicate crease appeared between her brows. "Work them over? What, being polite is a crime now?"

Damon's gaze flickered, a muscle in his jaw tightening before he turned his attention to the garden. For a moment, it looked like he might let the comment slide, but then he exhaled sharply, his voice edged with restraint. "Engaging. Laughing. My parents don't need more reasons to pry into my life."

There it was again—that quiet irritation she'd seen before, so neatly tucked behind his charm. Zendaya let out a breath, slowly crossing her arms as her chin tilted upward, mirroring the tension he threw at her.

"I thought that's what I was here for," she said, her voice light but clipped. "Pretend girlfriend. Smile, nod, and make you look like a decent human being."

Damon's lips twitched at her jab, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "You don't have to play it so well. They'll start asking questions. About us."

Something flickered in his expression—a wariness he quickly masked. Zendaya noticed, her gaze lingering on the faint crease between his brows. Questions? She could feel the unspoken words hovering in the air. Damon was protecting something, but what?

A smirk curved her lips, though it didn't quite meet her eyes. "Well, I hate to break it to you, but I'm excellent at this role. Maybe i should be asking you why you're not keeping up."

That earned her a look—a sharp one that softened almost instantly into reluctant amusement. Damon shifted his weight off the railing, taking a single step toward her. "Be careful, Zendaya," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make her notice. "You keep this up, and someone might think you actually care."

Her heart gave an unsteady thump, and her arms loosened instinctively. She lifted a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, a subtle move to occupy herself. "Oh, please," she scoffed, though the words came out breathier than she intended. "You're flattering yourself."

Damon tilted his head, his gaze studying her like he was unraveling a puzzle. "Am I?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. There was a teasing edge to his tone, but something else lingered beneath—something more uncertain.

Zendaya's lips parted slightly, ready with a sharp retort, but she hesitated. In that fraction of a second, the weight of his words settled in, and for once, the quip she'd prepared felt… hollow.

He's wearing that smirk again, she thought, like an armour. It was infuriating and yet—effective. He made it so easy to see what he wanted her to see. The real Damon, the one she glimpsed in moments like these, was buried deeper.

"As if I'd fall for someone as insufferable as you," she said finally, her voice regaining its edge.

Damon chuckled softly, his amusement genuine this time. "Careful. You're starting to sound defensive, dear girlfriend."

She rolled her eyes, the movement slow, deliberate—enough to give herself a moment. "Defensive? You wish."

He leaned closer, his voice barely above a murmur. "If you say so."

The air between them stilled again, the garden sounds fading into the background. Zendaya held his gaze longer than she meant to, searching for cracks in his charm. Damon, for his part, looked back as if daring her to find them.

He's hiding something, Zendaya thought, her smirk softening into something unreadable.

Damon, meanwhile, watched her carefully, a thought tugging at the corner of his mind—one he refused to entertain. Why does she make it look so easy? For all her sharp edges and defiance, she fit into this role as though she'd been made for it, slipping beneath his walls without ever asking permission.

A breeze swept through the verandah, carrying the faint scent of jasmine. Zendaya broke eye contact first, her fingers trailing briefly along the iron railing as she turned back toward the house.

"Let's get one thing straight," she said over her shoulder, her tone breezy despite the knot in her chest. "I'm just here to play my part. Don't start thinking you're special."

Damon watched her go, the ghost of a smirk lingering on his face as the light caught the edges of his sharp profile. Too late,he thought, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

----

The hallways of Washington D.C. International School thrummed with the usual chaos—shouts, footsteps, lockers slamming shut. Yet, something was off Kamsi felt it immediately. A shift. A subtle wrongness that crawled over her skin like an unseen shadow.

She slowed her pace, her shoes tapping hesitantly against the floor. Stares. They were coming from everywhere—lingering, sharp, invasive.

"Why is everyone looking at us?" Kamsi murmured, her voice soft but edged with unease. Her eyes darted toward Zendaya, desperate for confirmation.

Zendaya, walking with her arms crossed, glanced at the crowd. A flicker of worry flashed in her dark eyes before she caught herself. "I think… it's you," she replied quietly, her tone careful but laced with something Kamsi couldn't quite name.

"Me?" The single word barely made it out of Kamsi's mouth. Her chest tightened, her pulse kicking up like a warning drumbeat. "Why?"

Before Zendaya could answer, their phones buzzed simultaneously. The sound cut through the tension like a blade. Loud. Inescapable.

Kamsi stopped dead, her fingers shaking as she fished her phone from her pocket. Her heart lurched painfully. Please don't be _

The screen lit up: a message, a link, a video. The thumbnail alone turned her stomach.

"No…" Her voice cracked. She clicked it. A short clip began to play, blurry at first but unmistakable as it sharpened. There she was—her, leaning clumsily toward Zendaya, lips brushing her cheek. Laughter echoed faintly through the recording, then came the moment Kamsi wanted to claw from existence: her body hunched over, retching violently.

Kamsi's stomach dropped as if the floor beneath her had vanished. Her vision blurred. Around her, the hallway noise dulled to a hum.

"Oh my God," she whispered. The words caught in her throat, brittle and broken. Her legs wobbled, and she pressed a hand against the nearest locker to steady herself. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think.

Zendaya's face had gone pale, her brows knitting together as she took in the video. "This is bad." The words were simple, but her voice was low, tight—like she was trying to contain the fallout before it spiraled.

Kamsi's head snapped toward her. "How did this happen?" The question tumbled out, jagged with disbelief.

Kamsi stared at her, unblinking. Pieces of the night before teased at the edges of her mind—fragmented, like a broken mirror: flashes of lights, laughter, Xavier's sharp gaze, then… darkness.

"I—I can't…" Her voice trailed off as a sickening realization settled in her chest. Someone had filmed her at her most vulnerable. Someone had shared it.

"Kamsi." Zendaya's voice was sharper now, urgent. "Listen to me. Just don't—"

But Kamsi wasn't listening. Her attention snagged on something—or rather, someone.

Gilbert. Damon. And Xavier, standing just a few steps ahead in the hallway.