The King’s Table

~Toby POV~

I walk through the cafeteria, holding my tray close to my chest. The lunchroom feels like a shark tank, and I’m the smallest fish in it.

I usually eat in the service hallway or the basement, but the heater in the east wing broke, and the cold was making my fingers feel numb.

I just needed twenty minutes of heat.

Sadly, as a janitor, the cafeteria is a busy place of people who think I’m part of the furniture. I find a table in the very back corner, tucked behind a big stone pillar.

It’s perfect. It’s dark. It’s invisible.

I sit down and open my book—a worn copy of Theoretical Astrophysics. I hide the cover behind a paper bag.

If people knew the creepy janitor was reading about black holes, they’d only find a new way to mock me.

I take a bite of my apple, my eyes scanning the room.

Across the hall, the Knights' table is a scream of noise and gold.

They sit in the middle, lit up by the tall gothic windows. Alan Voss is at the head of the table, looking like a king carved out of ice and ink.

He’s laughing at something his friend said, but his eyes aren't on his teammates.

He’s scanning the room. He’s searching.

I duck my head, my heart begins to race in that familiar, anxious way. I focus on my book, trying to let the equations drown out the shouting of the crowd.

1s² 2s² 2p⁶...

Suddenly, the light in my corner darkens. A shadow falls over my table, long and broad, blocking out the rest of the room.

I freeze. I don’t look up.

I know that shadow. I know the way the air seems to vibrate when he’s near. The noise of a big plastic tray hitting the table is like a loud bang.

"Is this seat taken?"

The voice is a low, slow sound. I don’t breathe. I keep my eyes locked on page forty-two, my pulse beating in my ears.

"I’m talking to you, Toby."

************

~Alan POV~

I didn't think at all about the social suicide of leaving the team table because thinking had only gotten me a restless night and a hunger that food couldn't touch.

The mood between me and the rest of the Knights was dead.

John was still talking, probably telling another story about a girl he’d met at the Lounge, but the sound had cut out the second I spotted that shock of blond hair in the corner.

He was tucked away like a secret.

A beautiful, broken secret.

"Voss? Where are you going?" John called out, his voice quick with confusion.

I didn't answer. I didn't even give him the satisfaction of a glance. I just grabbed my tray and walked.

The cafeteria went unnervingly quiet as I cleared the center of the room. I could feel the eyes of five hundred students on my

back, but I was only thinking about the way Toby’s shoulders hunched up the closer I got.

I dropped my tray onto his table.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked.

He didn't look up.

He looked like a statue made of glass, his knuckles white as he gripped a paper bag. He was trying to be invisible, but he didn't realize that to me, he was the only thing in the room that was in focus.

I sat down anyway. I didn't care that he was vibrating with fear. I didn't care that his book was upside down.

"Is that an apple or a rock?" I asked, giving a sign to his tray. "You need to eat more than that, Toby. You’re all bones."

"What do you want?" he whispered.

His voice was so small I felt it more than I heard it.

It was the sound of an animal waiting to be killed.

"I wanted to eat my lunch," I said, my voice getting deeper and less cocky. I reached for my water, my eyes tracking the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.

"Is that a crime?"

"You don't eat here," he rasped, finally lifting his head. Those green eyes were blown out, the pupils swallowing the iris until they were almost entirely black.

"You eat... there."

He gave a sign vaguely toward the center of the room where the team was staring at us like we had both grown second heads.

"I eat where I want," I replied. I took a bite of my sandwich, watching him. "Why are you sitting in the dark? You like being a ghost?"

"I like being left alone," he spat. The flash of anger in his eyes was sudden, a spark of fire in the forest. "Are you going to do it now? Get it over with?"

I paused, the sandwich halfway to my mouth. "Do what?"

"The joke," he said, his voice trembling. "The dare. Are you going to pour your drink on me? Or is Miller waiting around the corner to film it?"

Something in me snapped.

It wasn't a clean break; it was a total defeat of my patience.

The thought that he expected me to be another miller—another monster—made the blood rush in my ears, a violent beat.

"Look at me," I commanded.

He flinched, but he looked.

"I don't do 'dares,' Toby. And I don't play games with people who are already hurting." I leaned in, my forehead almost touching his, the heat from my skin is very different from the cold fear coming from him.

"I’m here because I wanted to sit with you. Period."

He stared at me, his breath coming in rough, shallow hitches. I could see the confusion fighting with the fear in his eyes.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Maybe I like the company," I lied.

The truth was much more dangerous.

The truth was that I couldn't stop thinking about the way his lip trembled in the locker room.

"What are you reading?"

I reached for the paper bag, but he snatched the book away, squeezing it to his chest like a shield.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

"Doesn't look like nothing. Looks like science. You smart, Toby?"

He looked away, his face flushing a deep, burning red. "I’m a janitor, Alan. I mop floors."

"That wasn't the question," I said, my voice a low, throaty sound that I felt in my own chest.

I reached out, my hand calm as I grabbed an extra protein bar from my tray and slid it across the table toward him.

"Eat. That’s a command."

He looked at the bar, then back at me. He didn't take it, but he didn't push it away either.

"I'm not your project," He said, his voice getting a bit stronger.

A smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. "Good. I’ve always been better at playing defense than keeping projects."

I leaned back, letting some cold air in, but I didn’t go anywhere. I stayed close, a strong wall of muscle and tattoos, keeping the rest of the world away from him.

The cafeteria was loud with chatter and confusion, but our corner was calm.

It was that quiet moment just before something big happened, like a riot or a revolution.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Toby," I said, my voice was messed up. "I promised you that."

He didn't answer. He couldn't. But for the first time, he didn't look like he was trying to run. He just looked... tired.

‘He’s beautiful,’ I thought, the realization like a surprise punch to the gut.

And I’m going to ruin him if I’m not careful.