Onyx's POV
I didn't answer right away.
Not because I hadn't heard him and also not because I didn't understand the question.
I had heard every word—too clearly.
"Try not to think too much about me when it's late,"
My eyes stayed on the screen. The cursor blinked—steady, indifferent—as if nothing had just shifted in the air beside me.
I inhaled once. Slow. Measured.
"I was reviewing our project timeline before I slept," I said at last. My voice came out even. Controlled. The way it always did. "I know I was harsh about your effort on the presentation, so I apologized. I just wanted to make sure there wouldn't be any misunderstandings today."
I resumed typing, as if the matter had been settled.
For a moment, Jace didn't say anything.
I felt his gaze—not heavy, not aggressive. Just there. Like he was waiting to see if I'd add something else.
I didn't.
"That's it?" he said finally.
"Yes," I replied.
It wasn't a lie.
It just wasn't the whole truth.
I kept my focus on the schema, adjusted a constraint, checked the relationships again—this time carefully. Too carefully. As if precision could erase the question still hovering between us.
Jace hummed softly. Not agreement. Not disbelief.
Something in between.
"Relax," he said, leaning back in his chair. "I was just asking."
"I know," I said.
"But you look tense," he added.
Did I? I had been making sure I looked composed. Or was he testing me?
Silence followed. Not awkward. Not comfortable. Just suspended—like a held breath.
Then I heard it. The familiar click of his laptop opening.
I glanced sideways before I could stop myself.
He was already logged in.
Working.
As if nothing had happened.
"I know you messaged me before that essay you sent last night," he said. "I didn't get to reply. I was busy doing my part. Can you check if it's correct? If it meets your standards?"
My attention shifted fully to him.
I moved closer and looked at his screen.
He had already laid out the framework—tables mapped, naming conventions consistent, relationships logically grouped. Not flashy. Not sloppy. Clean enough that it didn't draw attention to itself.
That alone made me pause.
He knew what he was doing.
I had expected to spot an error the moment I looked. Something obvious. Something careless.
I scanned the first table. Then the next.
My eyes slowed.
He had followed the structure I sent. Not loosely. Not approximately.
Precisely.
Even the constraints were placed where they actually made sense—not just where they worked.
I didn't comment right away.
I scrolled.
The joins were correct. The data types matched their usage. He had even added validation logic where most people wouldn't bother.
I exhaled quietly through my nose.
"You didn't rush this?" I said. It came out more like a question than praise.
"I don't half-ass things I actually touch," he replied lazily.
That wording caught me.
Actually touch.
I adjusted my position and leaned a little closer, pointing at one section of the schema.
"This part," I said. "You could normalize it further, but it's optional. It depends on how complex you want the queries to get."
He nodded once. Not confused. Not surprised.
"I thought about that," he said. "But I figured we'd keep it readable for the presentation."
I looked at him then.
Just briefly.
This guy knows exactly what he's talking about.
He was watching the screen, not me—focused, engaged. There was nothing careless about him at all. And, to my surprise, I found myself amused.
I hadn't expected him to work this out so cleanly. So professionally.
"...That's fine," I said after a moment. "It's within standards."
He tilted his head slightly. "Wow. High praise."
I ignored that.
I scrolled down a bit.
I checked one last relationship. Everything held.
I sighed, deeper this time.
He looked at me.
"Is something wrong now?" he asked. "Are you going to take back your cold praise?"
I shook my head and met his eyes.
"No," I said. "I must say, you've done really well. We can proceed with this."
A beat passed.
Then he smiled.
Not a small one. Not restrained. A full, bright smile that showed far too many perfectly white teeth.
"See?" he said lightly. "I work well when I feel like it."
I didn't respond right away.
But as I leaned back into my seat, something settled uncomfortably in my chest.
This wasn't someone pretending to know what he was doing.
This was someone pretending he didn't.
"Just make sure it stays consistent until submission," I said. "Fixing things at the last minute slows everything down."
"Okay, Boss," he said, already turning back to his laptop.
I watched him for half a second longer than necessary.
This guy—he shifted moods without warning. High to low. Calm to impossible. Impossible to unreadable. It was hard to gauge what he was thinking, harder to predict what he'd do next.
With him, it felt like you had to expect the unexpected—
—or be caught off guard the moment you let your guard down.
* * *
I was in another class now—Systems Analysis and Design.
Jace wasn't beside me anymore. He only took one unit a day, and after our Database Management Structure class, he had already gone off somewhere else. Technically, that meant he had more time than I did. More time to polish our project. More time to make it to perfection.
Maybe that was why his work actually paid off.
"As discussed," the professor said, his voice cutting cleanly through the room, "you are required to submit your System Requirements Specification by the final week of the month."
This professor didn't look like the older ones we were used to. He looked new—young, even—but there was something in his posture that made the room straighten with him. Strict, in a quiet way. The kind of strict that didn't raise his voice but still made you feel like a mistake would follow you all the way to graduation.
I adjusted in my seat.
"This document will account for a significant portion of your final grade," he continued. "More importantly, it determines whether you will be cleared for completion of this subject."
He tapped the screen behind him. The outline was already familiar—scope definition, functional requirements, constraints, validation.
"I will not accept late submissions," he added. "Not even by a minute."
A pause.
"This subject is about planning. If you miss the deadline, that tells me everything I need to know."
I glanced down at my notebook, my pen hovering midair.
Three weeks.
That was enough time. I could finish it. Inside my mind, I had already drafted most of it—I just needed to refine the use cases, finalize the diagrams, clean up the language. It was manageable.
Still, something about his tone unsettled me.
The lecture continued—formatting standards, citation rules, the exact submission portal.
No flexibility.
No extensions.
When the class ended, the room filled with movement and noise. Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Bags zipped.
I stayed seated for a moment longer, scanning my notes again, making sure I hadn't missed anything.
I had an hour vacant before my next class.
I knew exactly what I'd do with it.
I packed my things and headed for the study corner—
—and stopped short.
There, sitting in the same spot as before, alone and busy on his laptop, was Jace.
He stretched, lifting his arms briefly, then raised his head.
That was when he saw me.
He immediately looked my way and lifted a hand, waving.
I glanced left. Then right.
There was no one else behind me.
So... me.
"You done with your class?" he asked.
"Mmm," I replied, nodding as I sat across from him. "I thought you went home already."
"Why?" he said lightly. "Gonna miss me?"
I looked at him, unimpressed.
He laughed—easy, bright, like he was in an unusually good mood.
I sighed and opened my laptop. "I'll be working on a project for another unit. Just let me know if you have questions about the Capstone—or if you want me to check your progress."
"Okay, Boss," he said cheerfully.
Too cheerfully. Almost theatrical.
I focused on my screen.
Minutes passed. Then more. Somewhere nearby, a class must have ended—groups of students passed by, laughing, sharing stories, filling the space with noise and motion.
Then voices rose behind me.
"You were amazing during recitation earlier, Melody! How did you answer all the questions in our Network Security class?" one girl said.
My fingers froze above the keyboard.
Melody?
My eyes widened slightly.
That... talkative girl.
Their group sat on the same long bench, a short distance away.
"I just have really detailed notes and reviewers!" another girl—Melody, I assumed—said, giggling.
I turned just enough to see her. Careful. Casual. As if I weren't trying at all.
She had short hair cut just above her shoulders, a soft fringe falling over her forehead like it refused to stay in place. Her smile came easily—too easily—bright and unguarded. She leaned forward when she laughed, and when she did, the giggle slipped out without warning, light and clear, carrying farther than it should have.
She looked... approachable.
Memorable, in the way cheerful people always were.
I looked away immediately.
I didn't want her to recognize me.
I didn't want her to know who I was.
"You look inspired lately," one of her friends teased. "I wonder why?"
Melody giggled, and her friends immediately pounced.
"Who is it?"
"Wait—do you have a boyfriend now?"
"You didn't tell us!"
"Is he cute?"
"Stop it," Melody said, laughing. "I don't have a boyfriend. But there is someone who keeps me inspired to do better. I hope I get to meet him someday."
"Who?" another friend asked. "Is he from our department too?"
"Yes," Melody said. "But the funny thing is I don't even know his name."
Their voices dropped into whispers after that—too quiet to catch.
Then they all giggled at once, like they were sharing a secret only they were allowed to hear.
A sharp slap sounded.
I looked back instinctively.
They were all looking at me.
Every single one of them.
Laughing, nudging Melody, slapping her arm playfully while grinning in my direction.
I held my gaze for less than a second.
Then I turned back to my laptop—calm, controlled—
—as if nothing had just landed squarely in the space between us.
I was in the middle of my work—deep enough that the world had narrowed to lines, logic, and quiet—when a shadow fell across my desk.
One of the girls from Melody's group stood behind me, hands clasped in front of her, smiling a little too brightly.
"Hello," she said.
"Yes?" I replied. "Do you need something?"
"We have a friend who's been wondering what your name is," she said, a hint of curiosity—and amusement—in her tone.
Before I could even process the question—
"He's busy."
The voice cut in cleanly.
I turned toward Jace.
He hadn't looked up from his laptop. His posture hadn't changed. His expression remained neutral, as if he had simply stated a fact—precise, final, unquestionable.
The girl blinked.
Jace paused, exhaled once, then finally lifted his gaze to her.
"Can't you see? We're in the middle of something," he added lazily.
There was no edge in his voice. No raised volume. No overt threat.
And yet—
The girl stiffened. I swear she almost stepped back.
"Oh! Sorry!" she said quickly, bowing a little too abruptly before retreating toward her friends.
They left immediately.
All of them.
Melody—whoever that was—cast one last glance in my direction before turning away completely, her group practically fleeing as if they were trying to get out of Jace's line of sight as fast as possible.
I stared after them, then slowly turned back.
"I guess you wanted to flirt with them instead of doing your project?" Jace said.
When I looked at him, he was smirking—annoyed, unmistakably so—as he shook his head.
"You were observing them far too long," he added.
...Was he watching me earlier? I thought he was busy.
"You didn't have to scare them," I said, grasping for the safest topic available.
"I'm not scaring them," he replied, turning his head toward me. "Did you hear me raise my voice?"
I didn't answer.
Because he was right.
"We're really busy," he continued, already refocusing on his laptop. "Didn't want any interruptions. This project is my top priority." He paused, then added, "I hope it's yours too."
I frowned.
Really? Coming from him?
I was about to laugh—actually laugh—when he suddenly looked at me.
Not teasing.
Serious.
So I swallowed it and composed myself.
"Come to think of it," Jace said, resting his elbow on the table. He leaned his chin against his knuckle, studying me with unsettling focus. "You were looking at that one girl. Short hair with annoying fringe."
Melody.
So he had been watching me.
"Your girlfriend is okay with that?" he asked suddenly.
"I don't have a girlfriend," I said flatly, already turning back to my screen.
"I see." He nodded once. "You've never had one?"
"No."
"Even crushes?"
"Not my priority."
"With that mentality of yours," he said lightly, "maybe you really won't."
I frowned despite myself.
"Maybe that's why you were checking her out," he added. "You want a girlfriend that badly already."
I exhaled.
"Please," I said evenly, "if it's not relevant to our project, I'd prefer not to talk about it. I want to keep things professional between us."
"Professional, eh?" he said, smirking. "Okay."
He turned back to his laptop.
At least, I hoped it was the project he was focusing on.
Then his phone rang.
"Yeah, what's up?" he said.
Silence followed as he listened.
I wasn't trying to hear it.
I just... did.
A girl's voice.
"Now? It's eleven in the morning," Jace said. "And I'm doing some project shit."
I sighed and forced my attention back to my work.
"Okay. Where?"
I glanced at him without thinking—and found him already looking at me.
I immediately looked away.
"Okay. I'm coming," he said. "Yeah, I brought my car. I'll pick you up."
That explained it.
The urgency in the girl's voice. The timing.
Jace ended the call, closed his laptop, and began packing his things.
"I'm going now," he said. "You okay here?"
Why would he be concerned?
"Yes," I replied. "I have my next class soon anyway. You can leave."
"I'm going out for a drink," he said while stuffing everything into his bag.
That was why he said it was early.
I nodded once.
"Okay. Go. Your girlfriend is waiting for you to pick her up," I said.
"Girlfriend?" he repeated, brows drawing together.
"I heard a girl's voice," I explained. "She sounded... distressed."
"Oh," he said slowly.
Then he smirked.
"Yes. That's my girlfriend." He slung his bag over his shoulder. "I guess she'll scold me if I take too long."
And with that, he turned away.
Leaving behind a silence that felt far louder than before.
He had already taken a step away when I called out.
"Wait..." I said.
The word left my mouth before I could reconsider it.
To my surprise, he actually stopped.
Jace turned back, brows lifting slightly as if he hadn't expected me to say anything at all.
"Don't drink too much," I added. "You're driving."
For a fraction of a second, he simply looked at me.
Then he grinned.
The kind of grin that made my fingers tighten around my keyboard.
I immediately dropped my gaze back to my laptop, pretending the screen was suddenly the most important thing in the world.
"Wow," he said, amused. "Are you concerned about my welfare?"
"I'm not," I replied quickly, my fingers flying over the keys as I typed absolute nonsense. "I'm just... professionally looking out for my partner."
"That's the same thing," he said.
"It's not."
"Sure it is."
I exhaled. "Go now. Stop arguing with me. Your girlfriend is waiting."
"Okay, Boss," he said easily. "Message me if you need something."
He waved once and walked away.
I told myself not to look.
I failed.
My eyes followed him—his back, his stride, the way he disappeared into the corridor—until he was completely out of sight.
Only then did I reach for my personal phone.
I unlocked it.
Opened our chat.
Typed something.
Deleted it.
Typed again.
Deleted it again.
I stared at the blinking cursor, my chest tight for reasons I refused to examine.
"Okay," I muttered under my breath. "You can do this. You're professional, Onyx."
I typed anyway.
Me:
Let me know when you get home safely.
Sent: 11:48 a.m.
The moment the message sent, my palm met my face.
"What was that?" I whispered to myself. "Why did I do that?"
I shook my head slowly.
Why did it feel like real concern?
Why did it feel... personal?
I never acted like this.
So why now?
My phone buzzed.
I froze.
Jace:
Don't do that.
Sent: 11:48 a.m.
I frowned, staring at the screen.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up.
Me:
Don't do what?
Sent: 11:48 a.m
The reply came almost instantly.
Jace:
Don't think about me too much.
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
My throat went dry.
Before I could even process it, another message appeared.
Jace:
I might get used to it.
Sent: 11:49 a.m.
End of Chapter 8