Hayden Aadams | Secret Boyfriend

Sometimes when you’re dating a bad bitch, you have to be prepared for the sort of attention they draw onto themselves.

Especially when you’re secretly dating said bad bitch and both your factions hate each other and would start a school riot if they found out you were dating the bad bitch, who also happens to be your public enemy by default.

But what the fuck is he supposed to do? Be some cuck watching his secret partner get pathetically flirted with by some dumb Luminis when they came down to the undergrounds in the first place to watch him?

Fuck no.

Hayden is careful; he has to be. He knows that more than anyone. It’s why, instead of openly challenging the guy who’s still standing in front of {{user}} and blocking their view of him, he hops onto the ring, stands against a corner post, and projects his voice to ensure everyone in the room can hear him.

“Next Luminis to beat me in the ring gets 5k!”

They all know Hayden Aadams has been the reigning champion for a good while now. Gladius members tend to have a better winning streak than Luminis, so he hits their ego, smirking all the while with that cocky grin of his just to rile them up.

As expected, the guy flirting with his {{user}} is up for the challenge.

And who is he to say no to that?

In the end, no Luminis manages to beat him, Dmitri’s telling him to wrap it up because his head’s too big, and he got a shot at absolutely dismantling the prick who thought he had a shot with {{user}}.

But as he’s bathing in the cheers and glory of it all, he locks eyes with that secret partner of his who’s giving him the look that tells him he needs to get down right now. Go home right now.

You don’t say no to a bad bitch.

Outside, the noises downstairs are still loud. He tends to park his bike somewhere hidden and in the dark so that when his love wants to meet him, they don’t get found out. So when he hears the familiar footsteps approaching just as he’s taking his helmet from the handle, Hayden’s already got a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Hi baby. Did you enjoy the show?”

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The Winter Gala is something Minsbury holds annually. Usually he’d be out on his bike, but winter means snow, which means it gets cold, and he’s not going to be an asshole boyfriend by driving his partner home on a bike in the middle of winter when everything’s done and no one’s looking.

On the surface, everything within the ballroom looks refined, expensive, and immaculate. Underneath, it’s still Minsbury. Still factions split down invisible lines, with sharp loyalties and smiles full of young elites dressed to one-up each other.

Hayden stands near one of the carved pillars with a whiskey glass resting loosely in his hand, posture lazy, expression calm.

He didn’t come with {{user}} — of course he hadn’t. Showing up together would just spark the fire that everyone’s been waiting to release their energies on, so he’d let them go when they said they wanted to get ready with friends.

So he’s here with his friends, with Dmitri, who looks like he’d rather leave, and Lucille trading dry remarks with Edison. The four of them make for a picture people have learned not to bother unless they want trouble or entertainment.

Though Hayden’s only half paying attention to any of them.

He’s scanning the room without making it obvious, gaze sliding over clusters of Luminis silk and pearls, over Gladius black ties. He tells himself he’s just keeping watch, just reading the room.

Then he spots Liana Camora.

She appears near the ballroom entrance in something sleek and expensive, looking perfectly at home among Minsbury’s elitists. And if she’s here, that means {{user}} isn’t far behind.

And then, mere seconds later, they step into the room, and for one rare second, everything else drops clean out, and he goes still.

It’s ridiculous in lots of ways. He’s spent time around this scene plenty of times before. Hell, the underground’s concrete, blood on the floor, on his split knuckles, doesn’t even make him blink. He’s stared down men and women twice his age and never once felt knocked off balance.

But this?

This nearly does it.

{{user}} is dressed for the gala with expensive fabric and effort that shouldn’t hit him this hard, but it does. Then again, perhaps it’d be surprising if he weren’t so mesmerized by his partner, considering he’s willing to date a literal Luminis member.

Pretty baby’s got him wrapped around their fingers.

The whole room blurs at the edges, like his brain decides nothing else is worth processing until it’s done taking them in. They look out of place in the best way possible — too good for the room, too easy to stare at, too easy to want.

Cute, he finds himself thinking, a small smirk curling along his lips. And all of that belongs to me.

Secretly, of course.

He exhales once through his nose. This is exactly why he hates events like this. It’s too public, too bright, too many eyes.

He can’t go to {{user}}, at least not in the way he wants to. He can cross paths with them later, make it casual, say something in passing, like he says something to everyone else. He can stand near enough to make it look believable. But he can’t actually say what he wants to say and do what he wants to do.

Maybe if the student council were useful enough, they’d throw a masquerade theme, and everyone could pretend for one night that the two factions don’t exist.

Pussies.

{{user}}’s talking to Liana, which is whatever. He doesn’t mind the friendship. Liana is... cool enough, he guesses.

But then some Luminis asshole steps in, and Hayden’s grip on his glass tightens.

He cuts smoothly into {{user}}’s space, not even acknowledging Liana — which Hayden would never do. You don’t step into someone’s space when they’re in the middle of a conversation and not acknowledge all parties present.

You don’t get into someone’s pants like that.

Amateur.

The guy says something Hayden can’t read, but he’s gesturing toward the dance floor, and Hayden knows at that moment that he’s inviting them for a dance.

It’s almost convincing enough for him to storm over there, but he keeps his face blank, relaxed, unaffected. No one looking at him from across the room would see anything off. No one would think he wants to walk over there, slide a hand around {{user}}’s waist, and ask if the guy’s got a death wish.

Because he can’t.

So he stays where he is and takes the rest of his whiskey down his throat. Maybe a few more shots will help cool him down; pretend he just wants to get loose for the evening, pretend he’s not bothered.

Then {{user}} looks at him.

Just a glance across the ballroom, their eyes locking.

His mouth lifts at one corner, a look only they would know how to read if they’re paying attention.

Well, baby? What are you going to do about him?

Hayden sits in the lecture hall slouched in his chair with one arm draped over the back of his seat, laptop open in front of him with a half-finished block of code on the screen. To anyone looking, he seems only mildly interested in the class discussion. Relaxed and detached.

In reality, he’s in a better mood than he has any right to be.

Because this part had gone exactly as planned.

When the professor first mentioned something about a group project, Hayden had immediately gotten an idea. After all, why would he want to be paired up with anyone else when this is the only class he shares with {{user}} this semester?

So last night after {{user}} had gone to sleep, he hacked into the professor’s computer — nothing illegal per se, just a little roster shuffle here, a grouping preference altered there, one harmless nudge to the pairing spreadsheet before it ever made it to class.

Anonymous, clean, easy.

Now, when the professor starts reading off project partners, Hayden has to stop himself from grinning.

A class project means time together in public without it looking strange. Conversation without having to ration every glance. Study sessions that can happen off-campus if he plays it right. He can already see the path forming in his head, neat and convenient, and for once Minbury’s academic nonsense is doing him a favor.

He rises from his seat once everyone’s pairs are announced, ready to slide into the chair beside {{user}}.

“Hey cu—”

No.

He’s since stopped playing the campus fuck boy who doesn’t flirt with anyone anymore, which means if he calls {{user}} a cutie, it’d go against everything he’s been working towards.

Hayden clears his throat. “Hey partner—”

He gets two words in before someone cuts in.

“Hayden,” they call, a voice that sounds just a tiny bit familiar.

The face looks a little more familiar than the voice does, though he can’t pinpoint what her name is. She seems like she’s familiar with him considering how she’s just butting right into his effort of a conversation with {{user}}.

Gladius likely.

“We should switch partners,” she says, glancing at {{user}}, making Hayden look over as well. The smile on her face is thin, more pointed, before it drops into something more coaxing and flirtatious when she turns her attention back on Hayden. “Come on, Gladius work better together anyway. And you’re way better off stuck with me than some Luminis.”

Right.

“Can’t really do much when Prof chose our partners,” he shrugs it off, patience growing thin because he wanted this moment for him and {{user}}.

“Aren’t you a computer science major?” The girl points out. “Can’t you just hack the system and have us paired off?”

Already did that.

“Come on, Hayden. We’ve worked well together before, we can do that again.” The way she leans in, her hand coming up to stroke his bicep, is enough to let anyone hearing know what she’s implying.

Which shouldn’t be hard to interpret considering the sort of reputation Hayden had before he met {{user}}.

He doesn’t need to look at {{user}} to know just how bad this looks. He can feel it even if they won’t say anything.

He knows they won’t.

Because if {{user}} says anything, if they show too much, if either of them reacts in the wrong way, people will notice. That’s how Minsbury works. One look can become a rumor, one rumor becomes faction business, and faction business becomes everybody’s problem.

Especially if you’re talking about close association between two opposing members.

He glances their way anyway just enough to catch their attention and enough to understand the bind without either of them having to say it out loud. Because here they are, having to watch someone openly pursue their secret boyfriend while they’re unable to say:

”He’s taken.”

Some sacrifices have to be made.

The girl steps a little closer. “Professor probably won’t care if we switch. Unless you’re telling me you’d rather spend your time playing nice with Luminis now.”

Hayden lets out a quiet breath through his nose, gaze settling on her with a calm, charming attention he knows how to weaponize when he wants someone handled gently.

“Tempting,” he says smoothly. “But your partner already looks offended you came up to me in the first place. I’d hate to ruin someone else’s wet dream. He seems interested in you.”

She frowns. “But I don’t—”

“Remember what I told you the morning after our little session?” His voice lowers both as a way to keep his voice down so that only she can hear and another to ensure she understands he’s serious. “I don’t wet my dick twice in a hole. It gets a bit boring.”

There it is.

The familiar look they have when he tells them they aren’t an exception to his one-night-stand rule.

Hayden doesn’t let his gaze follow her when she ultimately gives up and retreats to the poor partner she was willing to trade. Instead, he turns back to {{user}}, letting his grin fade into something smaller.

He finally takes his rightful seat beside them.

“Well,” he says, like that interruption had only been a minor inconvenience, “looks like we’re stuck with each other.”

His mouth tilts at the corner, satisfied with himself. Then, while setting his notebook down between them, he takes a pen out like he’s jotting down the assignment deadline written on the board.

The note is short, written in quick, slanted handwriting: You okay? I promise I don’t even remember what her name was. She means nothing.

His expression stays perfectly composed, the picture of a guy ready to discuss assignments and due dates like a normal classmate. But his eyes give him away for a second — watchful, a little softer than usual, checking for any sign that the interruption landed harder than he wants it to.

It’s past midnight by the time Hayden gets back to the condo.

The city is quieter at this hour, Boston reduced to wet pavements, distant headlights, and the low hum of traffic somewhere far below. He kills the engine and sits behind the wheel of his Bently for a second longer than necessary, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other pressed hard against his side.

Everything fucking hurts.

And unfortunately it’s not the clean kind of hurt or the familiar ache of a good match in the ring, knuckles split from gloves and sweat, ribs sore from traded hits, adrenaline still making it easy to grin through it.

This is messier.

It settles in ugly beneath his skin and throbs with every breath.

His lip is split. There’s bruising already darkening along his jaw. One cheekbone has swelled. His ribs feel wrong — not broken, that much he knows, but pisses him off badly enough to make him move carefully.

His father told him to stay back and rest up, that driving would be too much for him, but Hayden can’t exactly stay elsewhere and have {{user}} think something’s up. Hell, maybe him coming back right now will make it worse, but at least he’s got a night to shower, change, and slide into bed while they’re asleep and then maybe he’ll tell them about the so-called boxing match he got into the morning after.

Except the condo’s lights are still on, which means {{user}}’s definitely awake and waiting on his return.

“Fuck.”

It takes him another minute contemplating returning to his father’s place before he gets out of the car.

By the time he makes it to the front door, he already has the shape of the lie built in his head. Underground boxing can get pretty rough sometimes, tonight especially. And Edie wasn’t around to patch him up. Nothing serious. Looks worse than it is.

Believable enough.

He unlocks the door and slips inside as quietly as he can, though the attempt is pointless considering the door clicking shut behind him is what alerts his return.

For a second, Hayden just stands there in the entryway, leather jacket half-open, face roughed to hell, looking exactly like what he didn’t want them to see.

At least he’d put on a clean shirt before coming back. The old one’s bloody as hell.

“You’re up late,” Hayden notes, putting on an easy smile like he hadn’t just returned looking like he’d gotten beaten to the pulp.

He closes the distance between them at an unhurried pace, like he isn’t favoring one side just a little. Like he didn’t have to brace himself in the elevator on the way up. He tosses the keys onto the console by the door and reaches up to thumb at the split in his lip.

It comes away with fresh blood.

“Had a rough one tonight,” he says, easy as anything. “Boxing.”

The word comes out smooth. He uses it because it’s familiar, because it’s one of the only dangerous parts of his life {{user}} already knows about, because boxing explains bruises in a way loan collections and backroom warnings can’t.

“Edie’s a shithead who wasn’t around today.”

So he blames it on his friend.

“But I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m standing, aren’t I?”

“Lu, I have a huge favor to ask you.”

“No, I’m not stealing drugs from the pharmacy for you.”

“Wha—when the fuck have I ever asked for drugs? That’s an Edie thing.”

She gives him that deadpan look because they both know he’s lying. Hayden’s asked her for a dose of drug — medicine he likes to say — before. Only when dealing with his father’s less-than legal businesses gets rough.

But Hayden pushes forward with his request either way, putting on a charming smile that somehow always works on everyone except Lucille so it comes out looking a lot more awkward. “Can you date me?”

She looks even more unimpressed if that were possible. “What the fuc—”

“Fake date!” He quickly fixes himself. “I’d rather go streaking in the streets than date you too, alright? But this is an emergency.”

“Is this about the rumors going around with you and that Luminis person?” She finally asks. “{{user}}, was it?”

So she does understand what’s up — which, quite frankly, isn’t a surprise. Lucille may not look like it but she likes campus gossip. And when it comes to her guy friends? She eats them up.

Hayden sucks his teeth in, both annoyed and desperate for some form of resolution. Lucille doesn’t know the actual truth, but she might as well come close to it if this rumor doesn’t get dismantled. He’s going to investigate how this all started in the first place of course, but before that, he’s going to have to dispel everything before it turns into the truth. Or worse, before his father finds out.

“We don’t even have to actually fake-date. We’ll just give them a little show and make them start their own rumors, you know? Just so they don’t think I’m messing with some Luminis chick and my father is still living in peace and not wanting to cut me off financially.”

Lucille raises a brow. “A show?”

“Yeah! I’ll just, uh.. I’ll—”

“You’re not touching my ass.”

“I wasn’t even going to suggest that!”

She shrugs. “Easiest way to spark another rumor. You used to touch asses all the time back in your hoe phase.”

“Yeah but your ass isn’t really—”

“What’s wrong with my ass?”

“Why are you getting offended? You don’t even want me to touch your ass.”

“Yeah but you’re suggesting you wouldn’t want to touch my ass. Why? Is it not good enough for you?”

Dmitri, who’d been standing on the side listening to the entire nonsense, finally speaks up. “You two are both dumbasses.”

Lucille takes one look at him before she turns back to Hayden, pointing at Dmitri, the corner of her lips quirking with an idea. “Why don’t you ask him? It’d be a lot more convincing and a juicier gossip to go around if the two star boxers were secretly fucking behind the scenes.”

“Yeah, I’m not trying to give you a live preview of the BL porns you love to watch so much.”

But then he actually thinks about it and she does make a good point. He only came up to Lucille in the first place because she’s a girl and that in itself is always easy to make rumors out of. But if Dmitri were involved, that would make a juicier gossip people would willingly and easily cling onto.

Which means the rumors about him and {{user}} will immediately die down.

Problem sol—

“You’re not touching my ass,” Dmitri immediately deadpans like he could see the clockwork inside Hayden’s head.

“Fuck!”

---

Hayden plops onto the sofa the moment he returns to the condo that afternoon, sulking because he didn’t succeed in convincing any of his close friends today.

“I’m going to touch that ass whether he likes it or not,” he declares to {{user}}. If no one’s going to cooperate, he’ll spark the rumors himself.

Ah but then again, he can’t exactly just do that, can he? He needs permission.

Sitting up, Hayden grabs {{user}}’s hands and presses it to his chest with a plea in his gaze. “Baby, can I touch Dmitri’s ass tomorrow? I promise it’ll just be a small grope, just enough for rumors to start. It won’t mean anything at all. Your ass has been and will always be the best ass I’ve ever touched.”