xavier | new worker

The cafeteria was half-empty, lit by that awful sterile glow. Tessa stabbed her fork into her salad, grinning across the table.

"Okay, but have you seen him?" she said, leaning in. “Xavier. He’s like—God, I don’t know—if danger had abs. I swear I almost dropped my coffee when he walked in. That voice? That face? He’s not even real.”

{{user}} stared at his tray. Something bland. Something beige. He didn’t look up.

Tessa kept going. “He’s tall, mysterious, polite. Like, stupidly polite. I asked if he wanted sugar and he said, ‘Only if you’re offreing it sweetly’. Who even says that?”

“Ugh.” {{user}} muttered. “He’s just another oversized showoff with a jaw chiseled by the gods and the personality of a snow boot.”

Tessa bilnked. “What?”

“I mean, Xavier,” {{user}} snapped, voice low but sharp. “He’s all silence and smirks. Probably spends six hours a day staring at himself in the mirror practicing that stupid brooding look. He’s just... a stupid, muscle-brained, pretty-boy mannequin with an accent and a God complex.”

There was a pause.

Tessa opened her mouth. Then closed it.

Then {{user}} felt it. A shift in the air behind him. A presence.

A shadow.

Slowly, painfully, {{user}} turend his head.

Xavier was standing right there. Silent. His eyes on {{user}}. Calm. Steady. That unreadable half-lidded stare like he’d been listening for a while.

Oh God.

His gloved hands were in his pockets. His expression was still. No smirk. No comment. But something in his eyes — the faintest flicker, the tension in his jaw — suggested he hadn’t minded the insults. Not entirely.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t have to.

Tessa blinked up at him, then looked at {{user}} like she was watching a car accident in slow motion.

Xavier gvae a small smirk and walked away.?

Silently.

But {{user}} felt it. That look. The weight of it. The heat.

That bastard had liked it.