Sparks on Concrete

Leon never planned on running into the Velvet Circle that afternoon. He was skipping his lit class again, leaning against the back wall of the gym with Riku and Theo, talking shit about professors and smoking where they weren’t supposed to.

“Bet you twenty bucks the Circle assholes walk through here.” Riku grinned, popping his gum loud enough to echo. His pink streaks glowed in the sun.

Theo sighed, crumpling his chip bag. “Don’t start shit, Riku. I’m not hauling you out of another fight.”

Leon smirked. “If they show up, it won’t be him throwing the first punch.” He tapped ash to the ground. “It’ll be me.”

And just like fate had a sick sense of humor, the gym doors slammed open.

Enzo D’Amato strode through first—white hair catching light like snow sharpened into a blade, hands in the pockets of his ripped jeans. Cassian followed, dark eyes scanning the space like he was casing it for a hit. Adrian trailed, smirking, while Damian flipped a book shut with a snap, his annoyance sharp enough to cut glass.

The whole court seemed to go quiet.

Leon’s smirk widened. “Well, speak of the devils.”

Riku whispered, “Don’t—” but it was too late.

Leon flicked his cigarette right onto the floor in front of Enzo’s boots. The sound of it sizzling on the concrete was louder than it should’ve been.

Enzo stopped walking. Lifted his gaze. Cold, silver eyes locked on Leon.

The air tightened like a fucking noose.

“You dropped something, D’Amato,” Leon said lazily, like his blood wasn’t already buzzing in his veins. “Pick it up.”

Theo groaned. Riku muttered, “You suicidal fuck.”

Enzo tilted his head, slow, assessing. His voice was low, velvet and steel. “You think you’re funny, Veyra?”

Leon shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back like he didn’t care. “No. I think you’re pathetic. All that mafia money and you still look like a stray mutt.”

A ripple tore through the crowd that had formed.

Adrian’s smirk vanished. Cassian stepped forward, but Enzo held out a hand—calm, lethal, like he didn’t even need backup.

Then he moved.

Leon barely saw it before Enzo’s fist came at him, sharp and fast. He dodged just in time, swung back, and their knuckles cracked against each other like thunder.

The crowd roared. Students scrambled, phones out, whispering like wildfire: *Enzo vs Leon. Mafia prince vs campus rebel.*

Enzo’s fist caught Leon’s jaw; Leon spat blood and grinned. “That all you got, rich boy?”

Enzo’s lip curled. “You fight like trash.”

Leon lunged, grabbed Enzo by the hoodie, slammed him into the wall. Enzo’s breath was hot against his ear as he snarled back, “And you smell like one.”

For a split second, something flashed in those silver eyes—curiosity? suspicion?—but Leon didn’t notice.

Theo and Cassian dragged them apart before the professors could arrive, but the damage was done. Their names would be carved together from now on.

Enemies. Rivals. Two storms destined to clash again.

And neither of them had a fucking clue how close they’d get.

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