Chapter Three: No One's Hero

POV: Ave

---

The next morning, Ave Imani didn’t make it five minutes into the hallway before hearing her name.

Twice.

Once in a whispered hiss between lockers.

Then again in a chuckle that rode the edge of mockery.

> “Yo, isn’t that the girl who used to date Blake?” “Nah, they never dated. Just kissed and combusted.” “So what’s this competition thing then? Enemies with… benefits?”

Ave walked faster, back straight, heart hammering. She didn’t flinch — not where anyone could see. She’d mastered the art of composure years ago.

But inside?

Her nerves danced like static on broken speakers.

---

She found Nia near the vending machine before second period, and Nia barely looked up before blurting:

“You’ve been trending in the GC since 7:45.”

Ave groaned. “What now?”

“Some sophomore posted a clip of you and Blake working in the lab. He was leaning over your screen. Too close. The caption said, ‘When your enemy smells like temptation.’”

Ave’s mouth dropped open. “He what?”

“It got like a hundred saves in ten minutes. Also, someone added your names together and made a ship tag.”

“No.”

“Yes. ‘Blakeve.’”

“That sounds like a disease.”

Nia nodded solemnly. “A very contagious one. Symptoms include snark, sexual tension, and unresolved trauma.”

Ave stared at her.

Nia shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

---

By lunch, Ave had already deleted three DM requests, rolled her eyes at two hallway comments, and silently cursed the day she ever let her lips near Blake Monroe.

Not that she missed it.

She didn’t.

She didn’t miss the way his voice dropped when he got serious. Or how he always smelled like mint gum and machine oil. Or how he watched her like he was solving her — not like a crush, but like a puzzle that refused to stay cracked.

Nope. No missing here.

Just frustration.

And maybe one small ounce of regret she refused to acknowledge.

---

After school, she headed straight to the library. Early again.

Not to see him.

Just to be productive.

Definitely not because she’d memorized the way he tapped his pen when he was thinking, or how he sometimes mouthed lines from his own notebook like he was rehearsing conversations no one else heard.

She set up her laptop. Opened their project file. Reviewed the flowchart.

And then—

He walked in.

Hair still damp from practice. Hoodie slung lazily over one shoulder. Backpack half-zipped.

“Hey,” he said, like yesterday hadn’t happened. Like the kiss hadn’t happened. Like they weren’t living in a time bomb of mutual past mistakes.

“You’re late,” Ave said.

“I brought boba,” Blake replied, holding out a cup.

Ave blinked.

She almost reached for it.

Then caught herself.

“You can’t bribe me with tapioca and sugar.”

“It’s mango,” he said. “Your favorite.”

Ave stared at him.

He didn’t look smug. Or pushy.

Just... quietly hopeful.

Which was worse.

So she took the boba.

And said nothing.

---

They worked in silence for twenty minutes. Long enough for the awkward tension to crack — not disappear, but settle. Like static in the background of a storm.

Then, without looking up, Blake said softly:

“People are talking again.”

Ave tensed.

“Ignore them.”

He shook his head. “I’m used to being the villain. I just hate that they’re dragging you into it.”

She stared at him.

“Blake... you were never the villain. You were just careless.”

His shoulders fell slightly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

They didn’t say anything after that.

But the silence between them?

It was starting to change.

Not gentle.

Not safe.

But no longer sharp enough to draw blood.

Not yet.