Chapter 10 Toby
Toby
Iread Jionni's message three times before it sinks in.
I stare at the message until the screen dims, then goes black, my fingers cramping from how tightly I'm gripping the phone. The darkness is a relief. I don't deserve his fight. I don't deserve his certainty.
My room feels like a tomb. Half-packed boxes surround me—my surrendered life, disassembled piece by piece.
The RA handbook sits on top of the nearest box, its laminated cover gleaming under my desk lamp.
I've memorized every single rule, built my days around them, even recited them to myself when I couldn't sleep.
And for what?
I check the time. 9:32 AM. If I leave now, I could make it. I could be there.
But then what? Watch Jionni throw himself against the system for me? Watch him get crushed because I was a coward? I can't. I just can't bear it.
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. These accommodations 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."
His voice—certain, raw—makes my chest ache. He's fighting for us with everything he has. And what am I doing? Hiding in the back, frozen.
No more.
"He's right."
My voice rings out, stronger than I expected. Every head in the room turns toward me. Henderson's face darkens with fury. The board members look surprised. But Jionni—his whole face lights up, his eyes flashing with something fierce and proud that makes my heart race.
I step forward, moving to stand beside him. Our shoulders almost touch. I can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the familiar, intoxicating scent that first turned my world upside down.
Dr. Lawson raises her eyebrows. "Mr. Song-Gi. I wasn't aware you would be joining us."
"Neither was I," I admit. "But I couldn't let Jionni fight for us alone."
Henderson stands, his chair scraping against the floor. "This is highly inappropriate. Mr. Song-Gi has already agreed to end this... relationship. He's made his choice."
"No," I say, turning to face him directly. "I made a choice based on fear. You presented me with an ultimatum that you had no right to give. You tried to force me to choose between my mate and my future."
Henderson's voice drips with disdain. "Your mate? You met him three days ago!"
"Three days," I agree. "And I'll spend the rest of my life with him."
I feel Jionni's hand brush against mine, a silent question. I take it, lacing our fingers together. His palm is warm and slightly calloused from guitar strings. It feels like an anchor in a storm.
"You can have the job," I tell Henderson, my voice clear and firm. "I'm keeping him."
The room falls silent. I can hear my own heartbeat, feel Jionni's pulse racing where our wrists press together. Dr. Lawson looks between us, her expression unreadable.
"Mr. Song-Gi," she finally says, "are you saying that you and Mr. Alarie have formed a mate bond?"
"Yes," I say without hesitation. "We have."
"And you're willing to give up your position as an RA in order to maintain this bond?"
I swallow hard. "If I have to. But Jionni is right about the policy. Section 7.3 provides for accommodations in exactly this situation. I could be transferred to another building. I'd still be able to do my job, and there would be no conflict of interest."
Dr. Lawson glances at the other board members, a silent communication passing between them. She turns to Henderson. "Mr. Henderson, is there any reason why Mr. Song-Gi couldn't be reassigned to Westbrook Hall? They're short an RA this semester, as I recall."
Henderson looks like he wants to spit. "This is... this is completely inappropriate. They're manipulating the system. They're—"
Dr. Lawson's voice sharpens. "Mr. Henderson. I asked you a specific question. Is there any reason why Mr. Song-Gi couldn't be reassigned?"
Henderson's mouth works silently for a moment. "No," he finally spits out. "But this sets a dangerous precedent. If we allow this, every student with a crush will claim a mate bond to get special treatment."
One of the other board members sounds amused, "As Mr. Alarie pointed out, mate bonds aren't something you can fake. They're biological."
"And they're protected by federal law," Jionni adds, his voice quiet but firm. "Denying accommodations for a legitimate mate bond could open the university to legal action."
I stare at him, momentarily stunned. When did Jionni become an expert on housing law? He catches my look and the corner of his mouth quirks up in a small, private smile. Later, it seems to say.
Dr. Lawson clears her throat. "The board will confer briefly."