My Boyfriend Is An Octopus

Lyle's grip was steady on her arm, his gaze locked on Ollie with a calm, impenetrable focus that somehow managed to make Ginny's blood simmer.

She yanked her arm free, stepping squarely between them, casting Lyle a look that she hoped conveyed every ounce of frustration building inside her.

"Lyle," she hissed, barely managing to keep her voice low. "You're being such an ass."

He didn't even glance her way, eyes narrowing on Ollie, who looked back with a smirk that carried the tiniest hint of challenge.

"I think it's time you went home."

Ollie raised an eyebrow, unfazed, his smile deepening.

"Got it. Heading out." He turned to Ginny, his expression softening as he tilted his head. "Guess I'll get your number from Evie, then? That cool?"

Before she could respond, Lyle spoke over her.

"Or maybe you should stick to the girls in your department. They're closer to your level, and you'll actually see them again."

Ollie rolled his eyes, letting out a quiet chuckle before glancing back at her.

"Goodnight, Ginny," he murmured, his tone warm, lingering as his gaze held hers just a second longer. "See you around, yeah?"

With one last, unfazed glance at Lyle, he slipped back into the shadows of the campus path.

As soon as he was gone, the air felt heavy, stifling. Ginny crossed her arms, frustration spilling over as she turned to face Lyle fully, her voice sharp.

"What exactly are you doing here, Lyle? And why aren't you home?"

He sighed, barely looking at her, his gaze drifting to the ground like he was already miles away from the conversation.

"You're welcome, by the way," he muttered. "You're acting like I didn't just save you from some random guy who has no business hanging around the women's dorm."

Ginny shook her head, disbelief cutting through the lingering warmth Ollie had left behind.

"Save me? Ollie's not a creep. He was just walking me back, that's it."

A flash of something—skepticism, or maybe just irritation—crossed Lyle's face. He ran a hand through his hair, his sigh long and tired, like he was the one inconvenienced here.

"Fine," he muttered, half to himself. "If you say so, Ginny."

She watched him carefully, the irritation starting to soften into something else as she spoke, her voice more curious now than angry.

"Why are you actually here, Lyle? Don't avoid the question."

He shifted, finally meeting her eyes.

"I was heading home," he said slowly, almost like he didn't want to admit it, "But I remembered I still had the key to the faculty office after the council meeting. Needed to bring it back."

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as he pulled out his phone, fingers tapping across the screen with practiced speed.

"Who are you texting?"

"Cass," he replied, not glancing up. "Letting him know to tell Mom I'm heading back."

She gave him a look, rolling her eyes slightly as she turned to go.

"Now, go straight up to your room," he instructed, that quiet authority slipping back into his voice. "Don't open the door for anyone you don't recognize. Don't talk to them either."

Ginny shot him an incredulous look, tilting her head.

"You know, I don't need a babysitter. Or a lecture."

His gaze softened, though he didn't break eye contact, his voice steady.

"I'm just looking out for you, Ginny. That's all."

For a moment, Ginny wanted to push back, to insist that she didn't need him worrying about her like she was another responsibility on his list. But something in his face—the quiet intensity of his gaze, the calm patience that never seemed to waver—made her hold back.

"Fine," Ginny muttered, relenting. "Goodnight, Lyle."

He gave her a single, quiet nod, watching as she made her way through the dormitory doors, his gaze steady until she disappeared from view. Even as she climbed the stairs, she could still feel his presence, his watchful concern like an invisible thread that hadn't quite snapped yet.

The room was dark when she entered, quiet except for the soft hum of the fridge. She dropped her bag on the bed, letting Ollie's jacket slide from her shoulders in a heap on the floor. She barely looked at it, the tangled emotions of the night still lingering as she moved to the bathroom.

With a flick, the shower turned on, and she let the steam fill the tiny space, slipping out of her clothes and stepping under the warm spray. The water pounded against her skin, easing the tension from her shoulders, washing away the sticky remnants of a night that had left her reeling.

But even with her eyes closed, her mind drifted back to Lyle.

She didn't like admitting it, but maybe she was just like every other girl at Glenwood State.

No matter how much she tried to draw a line between them, Lyle's presence had this pull, an unsettling way of cutting through her defenses.

For all the walls she'd built and the carefully placed boundaries, there was something about him—something patient, unwavering—that made her feel things she wished she didn't.

He had that effect on people, that rare mix of quiet confidence and fierce loyalty that made him seem almost unreal.

It was impossible not to like him.

And when he looked at her with that serious, steady gaze, like she was something to protect, it was hard not to feel the weight of something more—a feeling she tried so hard to ignore, one she didn't dare let herself believe was real.

But she knew better, or at least she told herself she did.

She'd known Lyle too long, had seen the sides of him that no one else knew about. If he cared for her, it was because he saw her as family, or maybe just an extension of his responsibility to Cass.

He wasn't someone who took his duties lightly, and looking out for me was just another one of those duties, an unspoken promise he kept because it was what he was supposed to do.

Just like he looked out for Cass.

Lyle didn't do things lightly, and watching out for her was just another duty, another silent promise he kept because it was who he was.

And yet, there were nights, quiet moments where she wished things were different—that he'd see her as something more than just another sisterly figure, someone else he was bound to protect. But that was dangerous thinking, and she knew it.

Lyle's attention came with expectations, with lines drawn that he would never even think of crossing. She could care for him, be close to him, but anything more… it was a boundary he'd already decided on long ago.

That's why, she thought as she dried off and slipped into bed, she needed someone like Oliver Sinclair.

A distraction, a reminder that there was a world outside of Lyle Thorne, where she could be just Ginny—no responsibilities, no unspoken promises.

But even as she pulled the covers up around herself, she felt a strange ache that Ollie's kindness hadn't been able to touch, something deeper and more unsettling that lingered long after the thrill of the night had faded.

Just as she was drifting into sleep, the door creaked open, and Evie tiptoed in, her soft voice barely a whisper as she moved through the room. The quiet rustling of her clothes, the faint clinking of makeup brushes and perfume bottles being set back on the dresser—all of it faded as the exhaustion of the night finally pulled her under.

She woke to pale morning light spilling across the room, the haze of sleep fading as she blinked up at the ceiling. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, to shake off the lingering weight of the night before. Then she glanced at the clock on her nightstand.

Her heart skipped, panic flooding her veins as she bolted upright. She was late.

"Oh no, no, no…"

She threw off the covers, scrambling to her feet as she rushed to plug in her dead phone, cursing herself for not charging it sooner. With one hand, she pulled on a loose sweater and jeans, fingers shaking as she ran through a mental list of excuses she could give her professor.

Finally, the phone blinked to life, notifications flooding the screen. She was too focused on grabbing her bag to notice at first, but as she moved to throw her phone in, her eyes caught the messages—too many, all from an unknown number.

Her stomach dropped, the sheer volume of messages making her skin prickle.

Hands clammy, she tapped on the first one.

Unknown Number: Good morning, Imogen.

A chill ran down her spine, but she kept scrolling.

Unknown Number: Did you sleep well?

Ginny's fingers hovered over the screen, scrolling faster. The messages kept coming, each one uncomfortably personal, as if someone had been watching her while she slept, counting down the hours until she'd wake up.

Unknown Number: I thought about you last night.

Unknown Number: I wonder if you think about me, too.

Unknown Number: Are you going to ignore me, Imogen?

The words started to blur, Ginny's breath catching as she scrolled through more messages, each one making her heart pound harder. She pulled her phone closer, her thumb hovering over the "delete" button, but some part of her knew that deleting them wouldn't change the fact that someone—someone who knew things they shouldn't—was watching.

Her phone buzzed again, the latest message lighting up the screen.

Unknown Number: What are you looking at texts, for? You're gonna be be late, Imogen.