“I am not failing,” I shoot back, heat rising fast, “because you think school is optional.”
That does it.
He quickly sits up in one smooth motion, the laziness vanishing instantly.His eyes narrow, and his posture shifts to something alert.Dangerous.“You think I’m stupid.”
The room becomes silent in a tense way that makes my skin prickle.
“I think you don’t care,” I shoot back, the words sharp enough to cut.“There’s a difference.”
He lets out a laugh.“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees, bringing himself closer without actually touching me.His gaze remains fixed.It’s steady.Too steady.The kind that makes you feel seen in ways you didn’t agree to.“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t think I could do this.”
“I’m here," I snap, "because I don’t trust you not to mess it up.”
His mouth curves slowly.“Same thing.”
“No.”
We glare at each other, the air thick with it.Heat buzzing in the small room, tension snapping tight between us.His music plays from a speaker in the corner, the bass vibrating through the floor and into my bones.I force my focus back to my screen: bullet points, sources, headings.Anything that isn’t his eyes or the way he’s angled toward me like a challenge.
He moves closer.
Not touching.Not yet.Just close enough to invade my space, close enough that I can sense his presence pressing in on all sides.I can smell him—soap, smoke, and something darker underneath.
“Are you always this intense?”he asks.
“Only when it matters.”
“And this matters.”
I ignore him and start explaining the thesis again because talking feels safer than thinking.I point at the screen.I speak quickly, loudly.I talk because if I stop for even a second, I’ll notice that his attention isn’t on the work but on me.On my mouth.On how my hands move when I get worked up.
“Here,” I say, jabbing the trackpad harder than needed.“We split the sections.I’ll handle the analysis.You do the case study.”
He hums.“Bossy.”
“Competent.”
He laughs quietly, a sound that lingers in my chest whether I want it to or not.“Same thing.”
I keep my eyes on the screen because I refuse to look at him.Refuse to give him anything.
Then he fucking shifts.
This time, his thigh presses against mine.It’s solid, warm, and way too close.It’s not an accident, and we both know it.My sentence stumbles halfway through a word, and I hate myself for it and how my body reacts faster than my pride.
“Sorry,” he says, voice smooth and unrepentant.He remains still.“Is that better?”
“No.”
“Tell me to move.”
My throat tightens.I swallow.“Move.”
He doesn’t.
