But then Nathaniel walks in, and the tension doubles.
If my arrival had drawn attention, his presence amplifies it.
He doesn’t slow, doesn’t acknowledge the stares. Just moves straight toward me, lowering himself into the seat beside mine like he never considered sitting anywhere else.
Maybe that’s what they see—how effortless it looks, how inevitable it feels.
A few of our usual study partners greet us, polite but curious.
“You two were in New York together for the holidays, right?” one girl asks, eyes flicking between us with a knowing smile. “Looks like it went well.”
Nathaniel reaches over, his hand finding mine as he threads our fingers together on the desk. “Extremely,” he tells her.
I stiffen slightly at the public acknowledgment.
He notices. His thumb moves in slow, rhythmic strokes over my knuckles, grounding me in his touch. I tell myself it’s nothing, but my pulse betrays me, quickening under the weight of his attention.
I shouldn’t feel self-conscious. We’ve been together for months now.
But this feels like a debut.
Nathaniel turns his head slightly, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Everything all right?”
I nod automatically. “Yeah. Just…getting used to being back.”
He hums in acknowledgment, but his gaze remains, assessing. He sees through me, as always.
The moment stretches, his fingers tightening briefly around mine before he leans in, brushing a kiss against my temple—soft, fleeting, but unmistakably possessive.
When I glance up again, I catch someone watching.
And in that instant, I understand.
It’s not the attention. It’s that something has changed.
That maybeIhave changed.
I glanceup from my notes, stretching my fingers before picking up my pen again. Across from me, Nathaniel sits with an open book in front of him, but he hasn’t turned a page in a while.
He’s watching me.
Not obviously—he’s careful about that. His posture is relaxed, one arm resting on the table, his other hand idly tapping his pen against the edge of his book. But his eyes track every small movement I make.
Warmth spreads across my skin, as if his attention alone can leave a mark.
I’ve always known Nathaniel was observant, but lately, it’s been sharper. Heavier. His focus feels less like casual affection and more like he’s cataloging me, committing each tiny habit to memory with an almost surgical kind of precision.
It’s not unsettling, not really. If anything, it’s…comforting, knowing that he pays attention, that he notices things even I don’t.
I reach for my cup of tea, only realizing that it’s been refilled when I feel its warmth.
My gaze flicks to my left. A set of highlighters—the exact colors I use—lined up neatly beside my notes. An article I needed printed and waiting by my laptop.
My brow furrows. I didn’t ask for these things.
“Are you comfortable, baby?” His voice is low, gentle but insistent, like he already knows the answer.
I blink at him. “What?”
