Ch: Dangerous Flirtations
I turned to leave, hoping the quiet corners of the library would swallow me whole, but his voice followed me like static I couldn't shake.
> "Careful," he said. "Keep storming off like that and I might think you're obsessed with me."
I froze mid-step, the sound of my own heartbeat loud in my ears. Deep breath. I turned slowly, arms crossed, face blazing.
> "Oh, absolutely. You caught me. I rearranged my entire schedule just to be haunted by your smug face in every corner of campus."
He leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, that infuriating smirk growing wider by the second.
> "You're getting better at sarcasm. I'm proud."
I arched a brow, tugging at the strap of my bag.
> "I'll add that to my résumé: Managed to survive an overconfident professor with delusions of charm."
He chuckled, low and amused, eyes darkening in a way that made my pulse skip.
> "You forgot devastatingly handsome."
I squinted at him.
> "Must've slipped my mind. Along with your actual teaching credentials."
> "Ouch." He pressed a hand to his chest, feigning a wounded heart. "Sharp tongue. You should be careful. Someone might fall for it."
> "Someone needs to fall on it," I snapped, rolling my eyes.
His laugh echoed softly through the stacks, light and teasing.
> "You know, this back-and-forth we've got going? It's dangerously close to flirting."
> "Then clearly you've never been insulted properly," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder.
> "I'll take notes. Over coffee?"
I blinked. He actually meant it?
> "I don't drink coffee with people who can't hold a book the right way up," I said, nodding at the upside-down text he hadn't noticed.
He looked down, cursed under his breath, then grinned sheepishly.
> "Touché."
I finally started walking away for real, lips twitching despite myself. Maybe it was the way his brown shirt caught the afternoon sun, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and collarbone. Or maybe it was that smirk—half mischief, half something I couldn't name.
I stepped on the edge of a slightly raised tile. My foot slipped. My bag swung wildly. I gasped, flailing as gravity pulled me toward the cold, unforgiving floor.
Strong hands wrapped around my waist before I could even scream. My body collided gently against a hard chest, and I felt the warmth of him anchor me.
> "Careful, dangerous," he murmured, holding me steady. His face was inches from mine, eyes dark and unreadable. "You almost embarrassed yourself in the library. That would've been… tragic."
My face burned. Burned.
> "I… I didn't—" I stammered, trying to free myself.
> "Relax," he said, hands still firmly on my waist. "I've got you."
I swallowed hard, realizing I was still leaning against him. His brown shirt smelled faintly of coffee and something faintly like cedar. His hands didn't move, didn't release me. They just held me… like he was claiming that moment.
> "Let go," I whispered, voice tiny.
> "Not until I'm sure you won't kill yourself on the tiles again," he said softly, almost teasing—but there was a sharp edge beneath it. A warning.
I finally managed to step back, straightening my messy bun and tugging my cardigan down self-consciously. My glasses had slipped, and I hastily pushed them back into place. My heart was hammering in my chest, and I knew I was bright red.
> "You're… you're impossible," I muttered, trying to mask my embarrassment with irritation.
> "And yet, here you are," he replied smoothly, smirk returning, eyes glinting with amusement. "Looking like a slightly flustered mess. It suits you."
I groaned, sliding my hands into the pockets of my flowing skirt.
> "You're enjoying this way too much."
> "Maybe," he said, leaning casually against the bookshelf now, one leg crossed over the other, brown shirt fitting like it had been made for him. "But you're making it too easy."
I stopped, blinking at him.
> "Making it easy?"
> "Yes," he said slowly, voice lowering. "You try so hard to act indifferent. So careful with your words, your gestures, even your eyes… And yet…" He tilted his head, examining me like a piece of art. "You can't hide the way you notice me."
Heat rushed to my face. I felt my chest tighten.
> "I… I don't notice you," I lied, fumbling with a loose strand of hair.
> "Liar." His smirk softened, just slightly, but his eyes darkened in a way that made my knees weak. "And don't think I haven't noticed the way you glance at me when you think no one's watching. Or the way your hands fidget with your bag strap when I'm around."
I took a step back, heart pounding.
> "I—That's not…"
> "Yes, it is." He leaned closer, letting the faint scent of coffee and brown paper catch me off guard. "And that's fine. You don't have to hide it from me. I like it."
I swallowed hard, feeling my pulse race uncontrollably. My glasses fogged slightly from the rush of my own breath.
> "You—what are you doing?" I whispered, voice trembling.
> "Holding you upright," he said lightly, hands brushing my arms gently, almost dangerously. "Keeping you from falling. From embarrassment. From… yourself."
I flushed bright red.
> "I… I can stand on my own—"
> "Sure," he said softly, letting me step back. "But I like having you in my orbit."
I blinked at him, cheeks hot, skirt flowing around my legs, glasses slightly crooked, messy bun faltering.
> "Orbit?"
> "Yes. My orbit," he said, smirk curling. "Don't test me. You'll get pulled in too fast."
I couldn't decide if I was terrified, annoyed, or… something else. Something dangerous.
> "I think I need… coffee," I muttered, trying to escape the magnetic pull of his gaze.
> "Coffee?" he repeated, leaning on the edge of the table, one hand in his pocket. "I know a place. We could… compare sarcasm notes."
I froze mid-step, one foot still half-raised.
> "Compare sarcasm notes?"
> "Yes." His smirk widened. "Or maybe… I'll just observe how you make yourself blush next time you think no one's looking."
I groaned, tugging my cardigan around me.
> "I think… I think I'm done for the day."
> "For now," he said softly, voice a dangerous whisper. "But I'll be seeing you. And next time, don't slip. I like seeing you… intact."
I blinked, heart hammering, and scurried out of the library. My skirt swirled around my legs, cardigan bunched at my wrists, messy bun threatening to unravel. My glasses slid down my nose once, twice, and I pushed them back frantically, trying to convince myself I hadn't just been caught flustered.
But the thought of him… brown shirt, teasing smirk, eyes dark and unreadable… followed me all the way out.
> This was far from over.