It was supposed to be just a tutoring session. Lip Gallagher sat on the floor of the quiet university library, trying to focus on the girl across from him instead of the math he was meant to explain.

She was too curious for her own good—asking questions about everything, laughing softly at his sarcasm, brushing her hair behind her ear in a way that made his chest feel tight.

He leaned closer, trying to point something out in her notebook, but their knees touched and neither of them pulled away. The silence stretched, heavy and magnetic.

"I love him," she thought, suddenly and without warning. It scared her. She bit her lip, eyes falling to his. He looked so tired, so beautifully broken, like someone you'd want to fix even if it destroyed you.

Then she kissed him. Softly at first, then like she'd wanted to for weeks. He froze, then gave in, his mouth warm against hers, his hands tentative but aching.

"Oh yeah, baby..." she whispered between kisses.

"Touch and touch and touch and touch me..." she pleaded, barely breathing.

They sank into the carpet, hidden behind the tall stacks of books and forgotten equations. Her hands explored him, not just skin, but every scar, every silence he never put into words.

"I wanna feel guilty," she said quietly, lips near his ear. "I wanna feel that it's wrong."

He pulled back just enough to look at her. His thumb brushed her cheek.

“It is wrong,” he said, voice thick, “but damn... I’ve never wanted anything more.”