Ségra: DID YOU KISS?

  You: How about hello first? It’s 7:04

  Ségra: I don’t have time for that, tell me if you guys kissed

  You: You shouldn’t be that excited about the love life of your older brother, elena, it’s weird

  Ségra: LOVE LIFE??

  You: Stop shouting this early in the morning

  Ségra: We’re texting, boomer, stop yelling inside your own head

  You: Get yourself ready for school

  Ségra: Not until you answered me about the KISS

  You: What if we had done more than that?

  Ségra: OMG ALEX! DID YOU?

  You: No. Neither.

  Ségra: Oooh… Are you pissed?

  You: Why would I be pissed?

  Ségra: You added a period. Like this. See. Sounds like I’m mad.

  You: Not really, no

  Ségra: Okay this is disappointing, when are you going to put a ring on that perfect man??

  You: Easy tiger, there’s a few years between a kiss and a ring

  Ségra: Now I’m the pissed one.

  You: Get a hold of your emotions young padawan, this won’t serve you

  Ségra: Ugh double boomer, making star trek references

  You: That’s Star Wars, you idiot

  Ségra: Don’t bother sending messages until you two have kissed

  You: Unbelievable.

  ?

  “How about this?” He finishes writing a few words on his paper before stretching it to me. “Same beginning, but ‘behavioral states shape the immune system’ instead?”

  Working on the symposium together had been easier than expected. Despite our very different work manners and scientific fields, we managed to carve out chunks of similarity and determine a good problematic to present.

  It might also be easier because of the discussions we had.

  “It’s good. We should find a link to make these two ideas correspond. And then—”

  “We’ll have a perfect transition for the therapy slide, yes.”

  I give him his paper back and watch him furiously scribble on it; a pencil stuck behind his ear. He chews on his lip when he’s concentrating. And slightly extends his mouth, like in a smile. It is entertaining to work with him. “Do you want some water?” I ask, catching his attention with a shy grasp of his arm.

  “Hum, yeah. I’m dehydrated.” I know he is. He’s been gulping for the past half an hour, but he was so absorbed by our power-point, I didn’t want him to lose focus on his ideas. As I reach for the water jug, I notice how few students and teachers currently populate the Tisch Library.

  Usually, the place is cramped, so that most of the tables are occupied and not a single square meter of the room is available just for a tad of privacy. Despite being an area of work, when more than fifty people join in one space, silence is nearly impossible to reach.

  But this morning is perfectly peaceful.

  A few weeks ago, I would have felt terribly relieved that only half a dozen souls could witness my forced project with Doctor Andrew Miller, but today, I couldn’t begin to care.

  He immediately turns his head when our fingers touch.

  He plunged headfirst into work the second that we entered the library and barely made eye contact. Last night has definitely made both of us realize the variances that occurred between us. But I’ve yet to understand why his attitude drastically changed from taunting to extremely reserved. From confident to hesitant.

  Since we’re already late on our schedule, I decided to wait for a better setting to ask about it. But I might not query at all because the way he’s undeniably blushing each time he’s looking at me is one of the cutest things I’ve ever had the chance to behold.

  I grab one foot of his stool and start sliding it between my legs. “Come here, I can’t even read.”

  My hand on his lower back supports his upper body as I pull him toward me. He apologizes and clears his throat, again burying his attention in the papers and the computer.

  “I don’t think this slide is important,” he’s munching the pencil. “It feels like we’re just repeating ourselves.”

  “Could we just merge it with the other one?” I reach for the pad and lean my chest onto his shoulder. “The less text on the slide, the better. We want a good dynamic.”

  “Y--yes.” He gulps the entirety of his water cup in one go.

  “We shouldn’t let the data overcome the emotional and human aspect of the presentation.” I’m very close to the tender skin behind his ear, and I channel my willpower to avoid kissing it in the middle of the library. “Have you thought of the patient yet?”

  “Not entirely. But it’ll be judicious to talk about a student or a graduate. We’ll have lots of knowledge on the subject. Could even organize a survey among the ones at Tufts.”

  “That can be arranged.” He touches his nape, kneading the muscle. “Tense?”

  “A little.”

  “Is it finally hitting? The symposium?”

  He slides a hand on his face. “You could say that.”

  “Do you want to be the first one answering the poll?” I clench an imaginary mic in my palm and speak into it. “Doctor Andrew Miller, how do you feel in this institution?”

  He takes a few seconds staring at me, making sure that the role-playing is serious, and then he crosses his arms on his chest to start his impersonation. “I feel great, actually. I was a bit stressed coming back to teach, especially knowing the topic I had chosen, but I’ve been particularly well received.” He focuses on me intently, and I don’t bother hiding my smile.

  “Then what is the reason for your current tension? Tell us everything.”

  Again, he leans forward on the invisible mic. “I have to work with a very unpleasant colleague, and the stakes are pretty high.”

  “You—”

  He pushes me out when I try to tickle him. “I’m joking. But I am stressed about this. I don’t want to let you down. This is important for your future.”

  He sounds stern. Is this really why? “You don’t have to worry that much, Andrew. Whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll turn out great.”

  “Believe me, I’m giving my best here.”

  “I know you are.” I squeeze his knee and grin with teeth showing. He blinks a few hundred times furiously and gets back to work.

  ?

  I’m dragged against my will inside the cafeteria for the second time in five years.

  Efforts have been made. More talking with my peers. Opening up about my emotions. Visiting the professor’s lounge from time to time.

  Andrew doesn’t seem phased about my undeniably grumpy expression and navigates around the place like it’s his second home. Some students and teachers shake his hand and warmly greet him. They only nod their heads to my intention, but I wouldn’t ask for more, anyway.

  “We should really just grab a quick bite and continue working; we’ve lost enough precious time,” I whisper in his ear when we’re in front of the buffet.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “We barely passed over the threshold. Has your social battery run out already?”

  “Not for you. I just want to work. Properly.”

  He glances at me and eventually nods. “Alright.”

  I snatch the tray from his hands and pile each element he agrees on. Soon, the entire thing is full, and we make our way to the exit when a familiar voice calls us out. “If it isn’t my two favorite people in the world!”

  Neither of us needs to turn around to know who it is. But I still do it, slower though, to avoid spilling the totality of our food onto Isabella’s clothes.

  “Bella,” Andrew smiles profoundly.

  “Andrew, dear,” they both hug with obvious complicity. They don’t need excuses to touch; the gesture is second nature, just a reflex of their undeniably strong and friendly relationship. “How are you two doing?”

  She gestures for me to bend, and I offer her my cheek, which she kisses fondly. “I’m good.”

  “Still your usual solemn self, I see.” She pinches my chin as I straighten up.

  “We’re working on the presentation,” Andrew elaborates, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants.

  She gives me side glances as we both remember our latest call. She can’t possibly deduct how much has changed again, between our conversation and this exact moment. “Is Alex nice?” she demands, and I feel my cheeks getting hotter.

  “He is, yes.”

  “Did you manage to tame him?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Tame might be too strong a word,” he laughs it off, but there’s a glint in his eyes. If not for the tray, I would have held his neck and squeezed. “It seems we can be professional together.”

  “That’s good. I did not expect that much. I know he can be a pain,” she rests a hand on Andrew’s shoulder.

  “Hello?” I wave my free hand in front of Isabella’s face. She pretends not to see.

  “He’s quite alright, actually.”

  “Perfect. Let's have lunch together, shall we?”

  ?

  “That’s a very strong opening, good job,” Isabella chews a mouthful of her Cesar salad between two words. We’ve figured that performing our current advancement could only help us get the best out of our work. She nodded about a dozen times and even laughed at the jokes Andrew insisted on adding. I accepted them, as long as he wasn’t forcing me to make ones as well.

  “So, Alex would handle the biological foundations; cortisol, adrenaline, show some biomarkers as well, data on the immunity impact. And I would take care of the behavioral insight, by implementing a survey we would coordinate on the students here, at Tufts.”

  “The objective being the recognition of the influence a stressful work, or familial environment has over the body’s immune system altogether.”

  Isabella finishes her food and sets down her fork before giving us two loud claps. “Would you look at that? Your specialties, cohabitating. Isn’t it fantastic?”

  Andrew slides a hand into his hair. I know this is directed at me because I was the one going against him from the very beginning.

  “I was sure you would end up finding common ground eventually.” She loses her train of thought when a ping on her phone resonates through her office. As she watches the screen, she blows out an exasperated sigh.

  “Something wrong?” Andrew leans back on his chair, cleaning up his hands with a towel.

  “Same as always. I’m being pressured on all sides.”

  “Is it Haynes?” I ask, still eating my bread and cheese.

  She ties her brown hair up. “Among the others. The head departments have been on my back since the announcement.”

  “About Clark’s nephew in Psychology?” Andrew crosses his legs, our knees brushing.

  Isabella nods. “I have no idea why they come to me about it, but they do! I just can’t believe nobody saw it coming. When I asked the committee, they all shooed me away like I was some fly messing with their plates. They just don’t care anymore. They only see the money coming in.”

  “Shouldn’t we do something about it?”

  “What, exactly? Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to. But what we lack is evidence. And he’s buried them all. If it isn’t in his own files, it’s within the silent accords with the board and the President.”

  “This is going too far,” I interrupt. My rejection of Tufts labs is one thing, but scheming against departments, or rather in favor of certain ones, is shady, to say the least.

  “It’s been going on for a while. We just don’t really know where to start,” Isabella’s voice exudes fatigue. “I have kept a log of everything weird that he did, in case someone comes into my office one day and demands what I know about the man. But I don’t see myself carrying the boat.”

  “I’ll ask my father about it. He’s a lawyer. Maybe he can help,” I watch Andrew, and he’s watching me. Stefan already shared about his trial with a former Dean of the Arts and Science University. There’s a slight possibility that the shadiness has some similar aspects. Although he can’t talk about the convict’s identity, I’m sure he’ll be alright with giving out some information.

  Isabella turns my way. “Don’t drag him too much into this. I wouldn’t want him to have problems.”

  “Is it that bad?”

  “With Clark, I prefer caution. We never know what he’s capable of.”

  “That sounds ominous.” Andrew continues.

  “Because it is,” She leans on her elbows. “He’s a bad person.” Silence follows her statement, as if Haynes's presence loomed over us three. For a few seconds, we all listen to our own breaths before Isabella claps her hands a third time. “Sorry about this, kids. I shouldn’t keep you from working.”

  “It’s alright. Thanks for the invitation,” I say while standing up, waiting for Andrew to lead the way.

  “See you later,” He adds, and we leave Isabella’s office, a weird and dark sentiment filling our heads.

  I close the door behind us both, and we slalom along the numerous corridors of the establishment to reach the Tisch library again.

  Andrew mindlessly follows next to me, and by the way he absently moves, I can tell something is wrong. “What are you thinking about?”

  His head takes its sweet time turning my way. “Hmm?”

  “What’s happening in your head?”

  “Lots of things, as usual.” Yet again, he slides his hand into his blond hair.

  “It’s that big brain of yours. So smart. What’s bothering you?”

  He flushes just a little and giggles. “Nothing important.”

  We cross the hall and deviate left, along the biology classes. “Still. You can tell me.”

  He stops abruptly for a microsecond, and his stare is nerve-wracking. A flood of emotions heaves out of him, but I’m not sure I’m able to name even one of them. His mouth opens and closes, without a single sound coming out of it.

  I take a step forward before he continues walking. “Are you alright?”

  His throat bobs. His chest rises furiously, and his gaze switches from my right eye to my left to my lips. Is he hiding something from me?

  I would be much more worried if he had paled, but he’s again so red, I’m fighting my demons not to touch. He closes his eyes, and some sort of grunt blows out of him, before he decides not to respond and paces toward our destination without a second thought.

  “Wait, why are you—” Despite his long strides, I catch up with him quickly. It is funny and endearing, seeing him so out of control. As we turn right this time, I notice a glimpse of ink on his neck. “One sec—”

  My fingers fall on his nape, and he instantly freezes. I can feel the shiver that courses through his entire body as my thumb is taking the mark out. “You have some—”

  Before I can finish my sentence, Andrew whirls around and shoves me inside the nearest room. As he closes the door with my back, pushing me against the hardwood, the place is plunged into the dark. Only the light from the outside shines timidly through the half-closed stores. He breathes fast and hard, and I stand there, shaken through the core.

  “There’s just so much I can take, Alex.”

  “What—”

  The word dies in my throat because Andrew’s lips are on mine.

  I’m too stunned to reciprocate, at first. Because I can’t focus on anything other than his soft lips, his addictive scent, his teasing teeth. It takes entire large seconds for my brain to rewire properly. To send the right messages to the proper muscles. For the latter to acknowledge the whole situation.

  He nibbles and playfully tests the waters. Pecks gently on my upper lip, then my bottom. His hands are still pushing against my chest, and his fingers dig into the soft flesh. Travel southward. Dangerously. I grab the back of his head before it’s too late, forcing him to meet my gaze.

  He’s blushing hard. Wholly aroused. The fabric of my trousers is suddenly tighter. “Andrew.”

  “Hmm,” his whole attention is glued to my lips. My hand relaxes over his hair, and he nestles against my palm, irresistible whines coming out of his mouth. When he leans forward again, I let him. And I kiss him back.

  He’s well inside the waters now, and obviously, the temperature suits him just fine. His oxygen becomes my own, and I feed on his moans. He acts ravenous. Insatiable. He sucks on my lips, dances with my tongue, reaches forward for our bodies to merge, and there’s no point in denying what we both feel on our respective thighs. He thrusts irrepressibly against mine and—

  “Andrew.”

  “If you keep saying my name like that, I—”

  With a firm grip on his hips, I pivot us around, and he’s now the one against the door. The top of his shirt is unbuttoned. I have no recollection of fumbling with them. “I thought we had to wait for the third date.”

  He looks vexed. “Your fault. You kept touching me all day long.” He followed the path on my body with his fingers. “My neck, shoulder, arm, hand, hip…”

  I squeeze his waist harder. “Wasn’t on purpose.”

  “That’s even worse.”

  Our sentences get shorter as we struggle to soothe our breaths. “How?”

  “Means you can’t help it.” He hooks his index finger to my belt and brings me closer. I shouldn’t fight it. Shouldn’t fight him.

  I could bend him over a table and whisper dirty secrets into his ear. Like how bad I’ve dreamed of this moment. Since the dream that changed my perspective on the situation. Since he put his thick black glasses on. Since he set his eyes on me.

  It's getting harder and harder to resist as he scatters sweet, wet kisses on my throat. Is it really what we both want? Fucking out the frustration between us? Comply with our most basic instincts? Our trivial desires?

  Do I want my first time with Andrew to be quick and rough in the university compound?

  The sound of an open belt snatches my attention back from the rambling, pulling me onto the present moment.

  “Andrew.”

  “Yes?”

  “We can’t do this here.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “Never been straight, anyway.”

  I nervously chuckle. “Come on.”

  “Are you seriously turning me down?”

  “I am.”

  He slowly obeys, but his eyes clearly show his disappointment. “Is something wrong?”

  I kiss him tenderly before answering. “No. Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want to do it here.” He bends his head to the side, carefully listening. “I want to take my sweet time exploring every inch of you. And this is not happening here. Not right now.”

  He takes a deep inhale against my cheek and rubs his face against mine before responding. “You have a point,” his fingers play with my hair while he catches his breath slowly. “It can wait for tonight.”

  I let out a surprised chuckle. “Tonight? How impatient are you, exactly?”

  “Very. You have no idea,” he caresses the bump of my nose, and I wonder if he likes it or not, “how many times I’ve imagined it.”

  “Well,” I breathe his unbearably delectable scent, “that makes two of us.”

  Heads touching, drowned in his chocolate eyes, I feel like staying there forever.

  “Should we…” he slurs in a breathy, charged voice.

  “Hmm?”

  “Get back to…”

  “Work?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes. Yes, we should.”

  None of us moves for the next couple of minutes. We silently absorb the other’s beauty while our senses readjust. While our vitals soothe. We give ourselves the time to come down this rush together.

  It feels like a dismemberment, tearing myself out of his body’s curves. They’re perfect for me. In more ways than I ever could have imagined. And looking at him, scrumptiously desirable, otherworldly alluring, I question my sanity. How have I not gone completely mad for this man yet?