His eyes pin me, stripped bare in a way I can’t handle. “Like you still see me.”
My pulse stutters, heat crawling up my neck. I should deny it, laugh, tell him he’s imagining things. But I don’t. Because he’s right. And that’s the problem. He’s always been the one person I couldn’t look straight at without feeling seen—even back then, when it should’ve been simple. Before vows. Before rings. Before everything got heavy.
Past
I remember one time, sophomore year, the night before my comms midterm, and I’d barricaded myself in the library with highlighters and a venti caramel latte. I told myself no distractions, no excuses, just me, a hundred notecards, and three chapters of media theory. Emma was tucked away a few rows over, headphones in, already lost in her own stack of notes, so I figured I was safe from interruptions.
The library smelled like old paper and burnt coffee, the hum of the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Students whispered over half-open laptops, the shuffle of pages and the scrape of chairs filling the quiet. I’d staked out the corner table, the one with the crooked lamp, determined not to move until every card in my stack made sense.
And then Jace slid into the seat across from me like he owned the place. Backward cap, smug grin, and a bag of pretzels he tossed on top of my carefully organized stack.
My pulse tripped before I could stop it. He always had that effect on me—turning focus into static, nerves into sparks. I tightened my grip on my highlighter like maybe the neon plastic could anchor me against the pull he never seemed to notice—or maybe he noticed too well.
“Studying,” I warned, holding up a highlighter like it was a weapon.
“Relax,” he said, leaning back so casually it made me want to scream. “I’m just here to provide moral support.”
“Pretty sure moral support doesn’t involve crinkling a bag every two seconds.”
He grinned wider, popped a pretzel in his mouth, and chewed obnoxiously slow just to get under my skin. I tried to focus on my notes, but he had that look—the one that said he was two seconds away from making me laugh when I needed to be serious.
“Quiz me,” he said finally, kicking one long leg out under the table. “Come on. If I can’t be your snack supplier, at least let me prove I’m useful.”
I rolled my eyes but flipped a notecard anyway. “Fine. Define framing theory.”
He raised his brows. “That’s easy. It’s what happens when I stand in your doorway shirtless, and suddenly you can’t think straight.”
Heat flared up my neck, spreading across my cheeks. I opened my mouth to shut him down, but the words tangled, useless, because damn it, he wasn’t wrong about how easily he could derail me. “That’s not even remotely what that means,” I snapped, but my voice wavered more than I wanted it to.
“You didn’t deny it,” he cut in with a smirk sharp enough to make my pen slip across the page.
I tried to scowl, but my lips twitched, and then he was laughing, low and warm, like the sound was just for me. My chest did that stupid skip it always did when he was around, the one I pretended was caffeine but knew better.
“Okay, coach,” I muttered, flipping to another card. “Term: selective exposure.”
“That’s when you only make out with me during finals week.”
My mouth dropped. “That happened one time.”
The table between us felt suddenly too small, his breath warm enough that the tiny hairs at my nape prickled. I tried to lean back, but the chair dug into me, pinning me in place.
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a whisper. “Once you’ll admit.”
My pulse jumped so hard I nearly dropped my pen. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re smiling,” he said, pointing at me with his pretzel like he’d just won something.
I tried to wipe the grin off my face, but it clung stubbornly, and his eyes softened in a way that made the whole world tilt. Like the game was over, and what was left underneath was the truth neither of us said out loud.
The librarian cleared her throat from across the room, and we both ducked our heads, guilty but grinning. I scribbled nonsense on the margin of my notes just to keep my hands busy, while Jace sat there like he hadn’t just derailed my entire night with a handful of jokes and one look that lingered too long.
By the end of the hour, I knew exactly three more terms for the exam. But I knew the shape of his smile by heart.
It’s strange, looking back now, how easy it all was. How quick the laughter came, how natural it felt to have him across from me, filling the spaces I didn’t know were empty. Maybe I should’ve known then that easy never lasts.
…………
The flash of memory dissolves, and I blink back into the present, the hiss of the espresso machine, the scrape of chairs, the weight of Jace only a few feet away.
