The clock on the desk glowed 7:30 AM, but neither of you were in a rush. Your first class didn’t start until ten, and the apartment was wrapped in that soft, quiet calm of an early morning.

You were crouched by the shoe rack, fiddling with your laces, when your eyes drifted up—and instantly froze.

Mikha stood near the door, blazer thrown on lazily, shirt collar open just enough to look careless but somehow perfect. Her tie hung loose between deft fingers as she adjusted it, head bent in concentration. And when she straightened—tall frame leaning casually against the wall, hands sliding into her pockets—it hit you.

God, she was handsome.

Your chest tightened. She wasn’t even trying. Just standing there, shoulders relaxed, gaze drifting over to you like she already knew you were staring.

“Done checking me out?” she asked, voice smooth, lazy, but lined with amusement.

You fumbled with your lace. “Don’t flatter yourself. You just… look different today.”

“Different?” she echoed, pushing herself off the wall and taking a slow step closer. “How?”

Your words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Sharp. Handsome. Distracting.”

Her smirk widened, and she didn’t stop walking until your back hit the wall. Still, she kept her hands buried in her pockets, leaning down so her tie brushed your collar. “Handsome, huh? That’s new.”

Your pulse spiked. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

But she was enjoying herself too much. Her eyes gleamed, her voice dropping lower as she teased, “Say it again.”

Heat flushed your face, and before you lost your nerve, your hand shot up, grabbing her tie. In one swift tug, you yanked her down to you. The laugh that spilled from her chest was cut short by the crash of your lips meeting hers.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was hungry, impatient—your fist tight in her tie, her body pressing forward until you were caged against the wall. She finally freed one hand, slamming it against the wall beside your head, the other curling firm around your waist. The sudden weight of her against you had your knees weakening, and you gasped softly when her mouth deepened against yours, hot and unrelenting.

She broke away just enough to hover, her forehead brushing yours, lips still grazing as she whispered with that smug grin:

“Could’ve just asked, baby. No need to yank me around.”

“You were taking too long,” you shot back, breathless.

Her chuckle was low, chest vibrating against yours. “Mm. Maybe I like watching you get desperate.”

And with that, she kissed you again—slower this time, savoring it, like you were the only thing worth wasting the morning on.