Page 28 of My Defiant Mate
The silence in my room is absolute. No music from down the hall. No laughing students passing my door. Just the soft, steady ticking of my alarm clock. Tick. Tick. Tick. Measuring out the seconds of the perfect, orderly, empty life I've chosen.
My phone buzzes with a text from my mother.
"Just checking in, honey! Dad and I are so proud of you. Love you!"
I read her text and feel my chest tighten. Proud. They're proud of me. But they don't even know me. Not really. They know the version of me I've carefully constructed—the dutiful son, the perfect student, the responsible RA with color-coded planners and an LSAT study schedule mapped out two years in advance. They have no idea who I actually am.
Do I even know?
Three days ago, I thought I did. But then Jionni opened his door, and something wild and primal and true woke up inside me. Something I've been suffocating my entire life.
I close my eyes and let myself remember. The feel of his hands on my skin. The look in his eyes when he played that song for me. The way he made space for my order in his chaos, never once asking me to be anything other than exactly who I am.
And I pushed him away. I chose the plan over the person. I chose the future over the present. I chose fear over love.
My eyes snap open. The clock reads 9:36 AM.
I can still make it.
I don't think. I just move. I grab my phone, my keys, and nothing else. The half-packed boxes can wait. The plan can wait.Everything can wait except this one, crucial thing—Jionni is fighting for us, and I need to be there.
The door slams behind me as I run, my loafers slapping against the linoleum in a frantic rhythm. I burst out of the dorm into the bright morning sunlight, momentarily blinded. The campus is waking up, students drifting to morning classes, but they're moving too slow, too casual. Don't they understand? Everything is at stake.
I cut across the quad, ignoring the "Please Use Sidewalks" signs. My breath comes in ragged gasps. I'm not built for running. I'm built for sitting at desks, for following rules, for careful, measured steps. But not today. Today I'm running like my life depends on it.
Because it does.
The administration building looms ahead, a brutalist block of concrete and glass. My lungs burn. My legs scream. But I don't slow down. I take the steps two at a time, nearly colliding with a professor coming out.
"Sorry!" I gasp, not stopping.
The lobby is cool and quiet, the air thick with the smell of old paper and important decisions. I check the directory. Housing Board, Room 307. Third floor.
The elevator would be too slow. I hit the stairs, taking them at a pace that makes my thighs burn. By the time I reach the third floor, I'm a mess—hair wild, shirt untucked, gasping for breath. But I'm here. I made it.
I see the room at the end of the hallway. The door is closed, a small placard beside it reading "Meeting in Progress." My heart sinks. Too late? No. I refuse to be too late.
I slow to a walk, trying to compose myself, trying to look like someone who deserves to be heard, not a wild-eyed madman. I straighten my shirt, run a hand through my hair. It's useless.I look like exactly what I am—someone who's just run across campus in a desperate bid to save the one thing that matters.
I reach for the door handle, my hand trembling. Then I hear his voice through the door, low and certain.
"Your own rules—Section 7.3—say you have to make accommodations for bonded pairs. This includes modifications to professional responsibilities that might create a conflict of interest."
Jionni. He sounds… different. Controlled. Authoritative. My alpha, fighting with words instead of fists.
I open the door as quietly as I can and slip inside.
The room reminds me of a courtroom—polished wood tables arranged in rigid rows, the smell of furniture polish and stale coffee. A long table at the front with five people behind it—the housing board. Henderson sits at a smaller table to the left, his thin face twisted in a sneer. And there, standing before them all, is Jionni.
My breath catches. He's wearing a button-down shirt. It's a little rumpled, like he pulled it from the bottom of a drawer, but he's trying. His wild curls are somewhat tamed, and he's standing straight, shoulders back, a soldier facing a firing squad. He's holding a sheaf of papers in his hands, and he's speaking with a clarity and precision I've never heard from him before.
"And right here," he says, tapping the paper in his hand, "it says that includes 'housing reassignments.' You can move him. It's right in your own policy."
Henderson scoffs. "This is absurd. Mr. Alarie conveniently discovers he has a 'mate bond' right when it serves his purpose. There's no evidence this is anything more than a casual relationship—one that violates Mr. Song-Gi's contract, I might add."
The head of the board, a stern-looking woman with steel-gray hair, leans forward. "Mr. Henderson raises a valid point. Theseaccommodations are meant for legitimate mate bonds, not... convenient arrangements."
Jionni's shoulders tense, but his voice remains steady. "Look, you can test our compatibility if you want. But I know what he is to me. This isn't something we're making up."
