RUIN MY 4.0

Aiden's POV

6:03 a.m. and I'm still reading.

The overhead bulb in my dorm room flickers but I ignore it because, like most things, I don't have the money to fix it.

My anatomy textbook is open on my lap, page 427, the brachial plexus diagram swimming in front of my eyes because I haven't slept and the words keep rearranging themselves into dollar signs.

My phone buzzes on the floor beside me but I don't pick it up knowing it's Mom checking if I'm awake to know if I sent the $80 for Lily's field trip yet.

I haven't.

I smell horrible and I know I need a shower, badly, but the hot water ran out sometime around 3 a.m. and I'm not in the right mental state to pour freezing water on my body so I sit just sit down calmly like I don't have somewhere to be in the next thirty minutes.

At 6:30 I have to be at the coffee shop to open. At 8:10 I have to be in the front row of Anatomy 101 looking like a properly functioning student. I can't afford to be late to either.

I flip the page, rub the sleep out of my eyes, and keep reading.

'Just ten more minutes...' I tell myself. I can't stop till I've learnt it all.

*...*...*...*...*...*...

The bell over the door of Brew & Burn chimes at exactly 6:27 a.m. and I flip the sign to OPEN with the same mechanical smile I've perfected over two years of morning shifts.

"Morning, Aiden!" Mrs. Delgado sings, already in line even though we just opened. She's here every single day for her large oat-milk latte with an extra shot and exactly three raw sugars. I have her drink started before she finishes fishing singles out of her coin purse.

"Morning, Mrs. D. You're looking radiant as always."

She blushes the same way every time. I'm dead on my feet, but my smile stays welded on.

By 6:50, people have begun to queue. I take their orders, call names, wipe spills, and every thirty seconds my eyes flick to the clock above the pastry case.

7:02. 7:09. 7:17.

I catch my reflection in the window as I wipe a table: On the outside, I look pretty normal but the ache building up in my head says otherwise.

7:28.

My replacement, Jess, finally strolls in chewing gum and scrolling through TikTok. I clock out at 7:29:59, untie my apron, and I'm out the door before she starts asking how my weekend was and all that crap.

'The sprint to campus is twelve minutes if I run fast enough.' I think to myself.

*...*...*...*...*...

By the time I reach the school gate, my lungs are burning and my shirt is soaked with sweat, but then I run into the bathroom and quickly change my clothes to the decent set I always keep with me that makes me look like a real student of St. Lucian's Medical Campus.

I skid into the anatomy lecture hall at 8:08 exactly, slide into the front row, and pull out my notebook.

At 8:10 sharp, Dr. Elena Whitlock strides in with an irritated frown on her face. Mrs. Elena is a fifty-seven year old retired neurologist who was legendary for eating first-years alive.

"Upper limb," she says without preamble, clicking the projector on. The first slide is the brachial plexus.

I exhale through my nose in relief. I diagrammed this exact thing last Wednesday. I know it forward, backward, and in my sleep (which I haven't had in three days).

Whitlock doesn't waste time. "Someone tell me the nerve that supplies the thenar muscles and the first two lumbricals."

When no one raises their hand, she turns to me.

"Mr. Cross?"

"Median nerve. Specifically the recurrent branch."

A couple of snickers come from the back but I ignore them. Whitlock's mouth twitches.

"Correct. And the exception to the 'first two lumbricals' rule?"

"Ulnar nerve supplies the flexor and opponens, but also the medial two lumbricants"

Whitlock actually smiles. "Excellent."

She continues the lecture. Pausing in-between to ask me questions she's sure I won't know but I keep surprising her by answering every question correctly.

Halfway through, someone in the third row mutters, "Jesus, they haven't even taught us this shit. How does he know all this?"

I pretend I don't hear it but pride unfurls in my chest at the statement.

At 9:45, the lecture ends. People start packing up. And while I'm sliding my pens into their exact slots, Whitlock's voice sounds.

"Mr. Cross. A moment."

When the room clears, I slowly make my way towards her. My heart is suddenly hammering harder than it did during the sprint here.

She folds her arms as she stares at me.

"I've taught this course for nineteen years," she says. "I have never and I mean, never, had a first-year walk in already knowing the entire upper and lower limb, the pelvis, and half the head and neck before week three. Your diagnostic exam score was perfect. Your practical last week was perfect. Your answers today were..." She shakes her head, almost laughing. "You're terrifying, Aiden."

Heat crawls up my neck. I suddenly don't know where to look.

"I don't say this lightly," she continues. "Whatever you're doing, however you're doing it, keep doing it. Because students like you are the reason I still show up to this circus every morning."

The warm thing feeling in my chest swells up till I feel tears at the back of my eyes. "Thank you, Dr. Whitlock," I manage. My voice is rough.

She waves me off, already turning to her laptop. "Go. Get coffee or sleep or whatever you do. I'll see you Wednesday."

I walk out in a daze.

The hallway is bright with morning sun that shines through the tall windows. Students stream past me laughing, complaining about the quizzes and comparing Apple watches. I lean against the cool marble wall for just a second and let my head fall back.

Every blister from standing eight hours at the coffee shop, every skipped meal, every night I chose flashcards over sleep, it was all worth it.

For one minute, the weight of everything I'm held back with lifts from my shoulder.

But it was obviously too good to be true.

My phone buzzes and my heart stops at the message I receive.

Mom: Lily threw up at school. The nurse says it's bad and that she needs to be picked up. I'm at work till 6.

I push off the wall, and head for the bus stop immediately.

When am I ever going to get a fucking break?

Aiden's POV

The school nurse's office smells like cheap antiseptic. Lily is limp in my arms, her body burning hot, while the nurse speaks to me.

"She threw up twice in class, Aiden. Her temperature was 101.8. And honestly..." She lowers her voice, glancing at the sleeping child. "She's down another four pounds since the spring screening. That puts her in the fifth percentile for an eight-year-old. She's malnourished. I'm required to file a report if there's no improvement by next month."

Her words hit like a punch to my chest. I nod once, my jaw locked so tight it ached. "Thank you for telling me."

I carry Lily the eight blocks home because the bus takes too long and I need the air to calm me down. She weighs almost nothing, and even that makes my heart break.

'I love her more than the whole sky,' I think to myself. I will burn the world down before I let it keep hurting you.

*...*...*...*...*...*...*...

The apartment reeked of stale beer before I could even get the key in the lock.

I step inside and the living-room light is off, but the TV is flickering some late-night shopping channel at full volume.

Lily stirs when the door clicks shut so I freeze and comfort her. "Shh, shh, I've got you, little star." I ease us past the living room, down the short hallway, into the bedroom we used to share.

I lay her on the mattress, peel off her vomit-stained uniform, wipe her down with a warm washcloth, and dress her in my softest T-shirt. She's already asleep again before I tug the blanket up.

I sit on the floor beside her, my back against the wall, and count her breaths to make sure they're steady. One, two, three... I stroke her hair until my hand stops shaking.

"You're safe, you're safe, you're safe," I murmur with every stroke.

Then I walk back into the living room and allow my rage to flare in my chest. I step into the kitchen, and gather every single beer bottle, and line them up on the counter like evidence. I snap a picture and send it to my dear mother before recording a voice note.

"Listen to me carefully. The next time I come home and find bottles of liquor, I'm calling CPS and I'm not stopping them. You want to drink yourself to death? Fine. Do it somewhere that isn't around my sister. If I ever see another bottle within ten feet of her, I will make sure you lose the only thing you have left. Test me. I'm done asking nicely."

I hit send, block her number for the night so I don't have to hear whatever slur-filled reply she'll leave, and grab my keys.

My phone rings before I'm out the door.

Unknown number?

"Hello?" I call out.

"Mr. Cross? This is Dr. Halvorsen, academic advisor to the scholarship cohort. We need you on campus immediately. My office. It's urgent."

I look back at Lily's door. She's eaten and taken her pills. I'm pretty sure she'll be out till tomorrow.

"I'll be there in twenty."

I lock up, pocket the keys, and start heading towards the school.

*...*...*...*...*...*

With most students in their dorms, the school was creepily quiet. Dr. Halvorsen's office door is slightly ajar. I knocked once before stepping in.

And stopped breathing.

Behind the desk, leaning back in a chair like he owns the entire continent, was the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

Not handsome. Beautiful.

Brutally, impossibly so.

Mid-twenties, maybe. Shining black hair, sharp heekbones, shining silver eyes and perfect pink lips.

He's wearing a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my yearly tuition, the jacket was open, his white shirt unbuttoned at the throat, hints of his tattoos peeking above the collar.

Who the fuck was he?

Dr. Halvorsen suddenly hurries in behind me, slightly out of breath. "Aiden, thank you for coming so late. This is Nikolai Serrano. Mr. Serrano has requested, well, rather unusual curriculum adjustments that directly concern your schedule."

Nikolai's gaze slides over me slowly. He shamelessly examines my entire body and when his eyes finally meet mine again, something electric slams straight through my sternum.

My pulse beating so loudly, I'm shocked that no one else can hear it.

"Pleasure, Aiden," he says lowly, his faint accent curls around my name. "I've been looking forward to meeting the only person in this entire program who scored higher than me on the entrance diagnostic."

I scoffed at that.

I scored higher than everyone on the entrance exam, so who does he think he is?

He offers his hand but I don't take it.

Nikolai's smile widens predatorily, like he can hear my exact thoughts.

Dr. Halvorsen pretends not to notice the way we're communicating through our eyes.

"Mr. Serrano will be... joining several of your courses," she says. "Starting tomorrow."

Nikolai never looks away from me.

"Every single one of them, actually," he corrects softly.

My heart stops.

"Excuse me?" I snap. Nikolai's eyes glitter with amusement.

Dr. Halvorsen jumps in. "Aiden, the board approved the request. Mr. Serrano's transfer credits are... exceptional. And his family's donation to the new surgical wing gave him certain scheduling privileges."

Of course it did.

"So let me get this straight," I say, my voice cold and deadly quiet. "You bought your way into every single one of my classes? And you want me to...what? Guide you? Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I'm obsessed," he murmurs, his silver eyes piercing into my soul.

My skin prickles. Heat crawls up my throat. I hate how my body reacts, hate the way my pulse spikes like he just touched me.

"Stay out of my fucking way, Serrano," I say, barely above a whisper. "I don't know what you want but you won't fucking get it."

His licks his lips and smirks. "Too late, Cross," he whispers back.

Dr. Halvorsen clears her throat. "Gentlemen-"

Neither of us looks at her.

"I hope you're this mouthy in...other ways, Aiden," Nikolai whispers.

I can't stop the flush that fills my cheeks. Did he just mean what I think he did?

Nikolai smirks, obviously pleased to know he affected me. I turn and barge out of the room ignoring his last words.

"Sleep well, Aiden. You're going to need it."

Aiden's POV

I didn't sleep last night. I couldn't.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that slow, filthy smile and I just got riled up again.

Now I'm on hour four of my 5 a.m. shift at Brew & Burn and my entire body feels like it's been dragged behind a bus. The espresso machine keeps hissing like it's personally offended by my existence.

I'm wiping the counter when the bell chimes and that accented voice that makes me shiver comes through.

What the fuck is he doing here?

"Large black coffee, extra hot."

Nikolai Serrano is leaning against my counter in a dove-gray cashmere coat with collar popped. He looks like he walked off a Paris runway and that just made me more pissed.

"We're out of coffee."

He laughs loudly, obviously amused. "You can't be out of coffee. This is a fucking coffee shop."

I slam the bell harder than necessary. "Fine. Name for the order?"

"You already know my name, Aiden," he murmurs, voice pitched low so the two customers in the corner can't hear. "You screamed it last night. Remember?"

Heat floods my face. I hiss, "What the fuck are you saying!? Shut. Up."

He leans closer over the counter, forearms braced, coat falling open to reveal a black shirt stretched across his chest. "Make me."

I want to throw the entire pitcher of steamed milk at his perfect face.

Instead I ring him up his stupid coffee, slap the cup on the counter without writing his name. "Seven fifty."

He slides a black card across the table. "Keep the change. Buy yourself something that makes you less homicidal. Maybe a sense of humor."

I shove the card back. "We don't take cards."

He laughs again then brings out change from his pocket and hands it to me. "See you in class, then."

He's gone before I can tell him to choke on the coffee.

An hour later, I clock out and step outside only to hear the clouds rumbling and feel drizzle fall from the sky.

Rain hammers the sidewalk.

Of course I forgot an umbrella. Of course the hot water at my dorm has been out two days ago and I've been showering with ice-cold water, so my throat already feels raw.

Perfect.

I'll just show up to class looking like a drowned rat.

I'm weighing pneumonia versus tardiness when a sleek black Maybach glides to the curb. The rear window lowers silently.

Nikolai leans out with one elbow on the ledge, huge black umbrella resting on his shoulder.

"Get in, Cross."

"Fuck off."

"You'll be late."

"I'd rather die of hypothermia."

He sighs. "So dramatic." He pops the door open himself. "I'm parked illegally. Clock's ticking."

Rain lashes my face. My teeth are already chattering and because I don't really have a choice, I get in.

The second the door shuts, I sigh in relief. He has heated leather seats. I can smell that new-car smell mixed with whatever cologne Nikolai bathes in.

He doesn't even look at me, just hands me a folded warm white towel.

I snatch it. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Noted," he says, pulling away from the curb smoothly.

*...*...*...*...*...*...*...

We reach campus in about four minutes. I'm out of the car before he kills the engine, but he catches up in two strides, umbrella tilted over both of us so casually it feels intimate.

"Personal space," I mutter.

"Never heard of it," he answers, guiding me through the downpour.

People are staring. I hear someone whisper, "Holy shit, that's Nikolai Serrano," like he's a celebrity. Which, I later discover, he is.

Inside the lecture hall it's worse. People squeal and surround him, I head straight for the front row, and pretend I don't feel a bit weird at the attention he's getting.

Dr. Denine walks in and drops a bomb.

"Pop quiz. Everyone clear your desks."

Groans ripple through the hall but I feel my mouth curve.

I finish in nine minutes. Nikolai finishes in eight. He slides his paper forward, stretches like a cat, and winks at me.

I just roll my eyes at him. He probably just wrote shit.

*...*...*...*...*...*...

I attend the rest of my classes, trying to ignore Nikolai, then at the end of the day, I walk towards the news board for our test results and am left speechless by the sight before me.

1. Aiden Cross – 100

2. Nikolai Serrano – 99

The rest of the list is a distant blur.

My eyes burned and my fists clenched so hard, my nails drew blood. He lost just one point. One fucking point??

I'm staring at those two names when someone's warm breath ghosts the shell of my ear.

"I lost the point on purpose, baby," Nikolai's voice purrs, directly behind me, his chest almost touching my back. "Didn't want you to quit while it was still easy."

He lost a point on purpose??

Something inside me snaps

I whirl around so fast and yell. "What the fuck do you want from me?"

Nikolai stares at me with a guarded expression before pinning me against the wall.

His palms slap the wall on either side of my head, caging me. The hallway is mostly empty, but anyone can walk in on us, and he doesn't give a single damn.

His thigh slides between mine, pinning me harder. The expensive wool of his coat brushes my chest.

"I told you the other day," he says, his voice rough. "I'm obsessed with you."

Before I can say anything, his mouth is on my neck.

He makes a hot, open-mouthed kiss, uses his teeth to scrape the tendon, then begins to lick and suck me in a slow drag that made my knees buckle.

My hands fly up to shove him, but they end up fisted in his coat instead.

He sucks hard, right under my jaw, and I feel the pull all the way to my cock. A helpless sound rips out of me.

"Nikolai-"

"Say it again," he growls against my skin, sucking another bruise higher, closer to my ear. "I want my name in that angry mouth while I mark you up."

His hips slowly roll once, letting me feel exactly how hard he already is. My own traitorous body answers instantly, grinding back before my brain catches up.

I shove at his chest, but it's weak. "Someone could see-"

"Let them." He drags his teeth up to my earlobe, bites, then soothes it with his tongue. "Let the whole fucking school see who you belong to now."

His hand slides down, bold as hell, cups me through my jeans, and squeezes my dick just hard enough to make my vision white out.

He hasn't even properly touched me and I'm already leaking.

"Fuck, look how hard you are for me," he rasps, palming me roughly, thumb dragging up the ridge of my zipper until I jerk into his grip.

I hate him.

I hate him so much my hips roll again, shamelessly chasing friction.

"Shut up," I snarl, but it comes out wrecked and breathy.

He laughs against my throat, then bites down hard enough that I know it'll bruise purple tomorrow.

His fingers pop my button open one-handed, slide the zipper down.

What the fuck am I doing? Am I really going to allow him touch me? Where anyone can see?

"Nikolai-"

"Say please and I'll let you come right here against the wall."

His hand slips inside my jeans, inside my boxers, then wraps around my thick cock, making me choke on air.

He strokes my dick once, smearing the bead of pre-cum over the head with his thumb.

"Look at you," he whispers, lips brushing the shell of my ear. "Soaked already. You've been hard for me since this morning, haven't you? Since I walked into your little coffee shop and you wanted to climb over the counter and ride my face."

I whimper.

I actually fucking whimper.

He squeezes the base of my cock, cutting off the orgasm that's already clawing up my spine.

"Not yet." He licks a stripe up my neck. "You come when I say. Or not at all."

I'm shaking with my thighs trembling, pinned between the cold wall and his burning body.

"Please," I hear myself say, voice broken. "Please, Nikolai-"

He groans loudly at me begging, then strokes me with fast brutal pulls, twisting on every upstroke until my knees give out completely.

He holds me up with one arm banded across my lower back, the other jerking me off with ruthless precision.

"Come for me, baby," he growls against my mouth. "Right now, right fucking here where anyone can walk by and see how pretty you fall apart for me."

I do.

I come so hard my vision whites out, pulsing thick and hot over his fist, into his palm, dripping down his wrist while I bite his shoulder to muffle my scream.

He keeps stroking, milking every last shudder out of me until I'm boneless and gasping.

He brings his hand up between us, eyes locked on mine, and slowly licks my cum off his hand, moaning like it's the best thing he's ever tasted.

He stares into my eyes for a full minute, then walks away like nothing happened.

What. The. Fuck??