Chaos.
Bastian is pure chaos, and there’s no fucking logical reason I should be inviting any more of it into my life.
Except…like our dear professor so elegantly put it…I apparently can’t fucking help myself.
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again.
@inherentvice
Another time, then.
No pressure. No guilt trip. No veiled threat.
Who the fuck is this man, and what did he do with Bastian Rooke?
Kai leans over, reading my screen. I don’t hide it. We agreed—no more secrets.
At least…no new ones. That’s how I understood it, anyway.
“He’s being weird,” Kai mutters.
“I know.”
“I don’t trust it.”
“Me neither.”
But Kai sounds less suspicious and more…disappointed? Like he almostwantedBastian to push so he’d have an excuse to fight and—ultimately—submit.
Or maybe I’m projecting.
Okay, I’mdefinitelyprojecting.
“Time’s up.” Bastian’s voice makes both me and Kai look up at him. “We’ll continue this discussion next week. For those of you who found today’s topic uncomfortable—“ his eyes sweep the room, landing everywhere yet nowhere “—that discomfort is the point. Lean into it. And be on the lookout for moments where you’re tempted to become the architect of your own suffering. Chances are they happen more often than you realize. They might even be second nature to some of you.”
The rustle of bags and shuffling of feet fill the lecture hall as students pack up. Kai is already standing, shouldering his backpack with a tension in his shoulders that’s been there since Halloween.
I shove my pink STFU notebook into my tote and follow him toward the door, keeping my eyes forward as we pass Bastian’s desk.
“Miss Lee.”
Fuck.
I stop, and Kai stops with me, his hand immediately going to the small of my back.
Bastian doesn’t even glance at him. His attention is fixed on me, expression perfectly neutral. “A word about your midterm essay, if you have a moment.”
“No,” Kai says flatly.
“It’ll only take a minute.” Bastian still doesn’t look at Kai, and I feel Kai tense against me like that’s pissing him off. “Or would you prefer I email the feedback? I?—”
He cuts off as a pair of students pass within a foot of us on their way out, his eyes tracking them carefully until they’re out of earshot.
“This is not an attempt at manipulation,” he says, dropping his voice low as he finally looks at Kai, “I simply find in-person discussions more productive than email chains.”
Kai flinches against me as soon as they lock eyes. The hand on my back slides around my waist, his fingers digging into my side hard enough to make my breath catch.
Bastian’s challenge is subtle, but it’s there. He’s daring Kai to admit he doesn’t trust his girlfriend alone with her professor for sixty seconds.
