You were hiding.

Curled beneath Zayne’s lecturing desk, knees tucked tight to your chest, you barely breathed as the empty college room buzzed softly around you. Dust clung to the underside of the desk. From where you crouched, all you could see were the scuffed soles of his shoes when he eventually walked in.

Footsteps.

Your stomach dropped.

They were calm. Familiar. Zayne’s.

He crossed the room unhurriedly, each step sounding louder in your ears until he stopped right in front of the desk. The chair scraped as he sat down, settling in, legs spreading comfortably as if nothing in the world were out of place.

You froze.

His hand landed on the desk above you, papers shifting as he sighed—long, tired, the way he always did after lecturing. You pressed your palm to the floor, grounding yourself, heart pounding so hard you were sure he could hear it.

Then—

A knock.

“Professor Zayne?” a student’s voice called from the doorway. “You said I could come by during office hours?”

Your breath caught painfully in your throat.

Zayne didn’t react right away. If anything, he leaned back slightly, one ankle hooking around the chair leg. When he spoke, his voice was smooth. Professional. Untouched by the fact that you were hidden inches away.

“Of course,” he said. “Come in.”

The door opened. Another set of footsteps entered the room.

You stared at the floor as the student talked—grades, missed assignments, nerves about finals. Zayne listened patiently, nodding, offering calm reassurance like he always did.

Above you, his knee shifted.

Just barely.

Your pulse spiked.

Whether it was a warning or a reminder, you weren’t sure—but you pressed your hand over your mouth, every muscle locked as you realized how fragile the moment was. One sound. One movement. One curious glance downward—

And everything would be over.