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Lowering my head, I make my way down the stairs. Damien’s gaze follows me and by the time I reach him, my attention has already drifted to his forearms. Scars disappearing beneath tattoos and veins. Black roots around a compass, wrapping all the way to his wrists.

“Do we have a plan?”

He looks at the empty class around before leaning closer and then replies, “Meet me at the library tonight, same time, same place.”

“Case study?” I ask.

“Yes, not the cliffs.”

Before I can say anything else, he takes a step back and leaves.

63

Damien

Play - Where’s My Love - Acoustic by SYML

Crossing Line

This library is starting to haunt me, or maybe it’s the memories of us in here that does. Either way, we’re still here. She knows that the best opportunity is this gala.

What she doesn’t know is that I don’t want her to participate. It’s strange to feel this way. To be jealous I mean.

I don’t remember inviting it in. It tastes like anger, the necessity of interfering, pulling rank and rewriting everything, even the entire mission just to keep her out of it.

I should feel proud that she's almost done with her formation, that she did so well that she's one of the best students at the academy. And I am.

She’s sitting next to me, focused on what I just told her about the donors and what it involves; and she cracks her neck. Once. Then again.

“You crack your neck often,” I say, without really thinking.

She looks at me, head titled to the side, eyebrows almost touching for her confused look. “I do that?”

And I stupidly smile, pulling her chair toward me with my feet. “Yeah every time we work together and you take a sip of your water, you crack your neck.”

Her hand falls on her nape and she replies, “I didn’t … you’re probably right.”

“You have a lot of habits, Miss Vitelli.”

The smile on her face returns, it’s still sad, it’s still not complete, but it’s here and I’m happy to see it again. “Oh? like what?”

“You crack your fingers after you write for more than five minutes.”

“I do that but it’s for stress relief.”

“You also love to put your hand on your cheeks “

“That’s not a habit. I do it because my face is often warm and my hands are cold.”

This time, a faint smile appears on my lips as I remember how soft she looks whenever she’s too exhausted to hide her sadness. “I know, I’ve touched your face before. Your cheeks turn red whenever you’re anxious or overthinking.”

“You finished analyzing me yet, Mister Caldwell?”

“No, you also draw eyes every time you dissociate, it could be on paper, on any surface that is drawable. And you have a disgusting amount of shells in a jar in that room. And judging by the fact that it ends up piling up since you started being here, I suppose you’ve been collecting them.”

“You also have a lot of habits!” She says with a lot of determination.

“Mmm, tell me more?”