Michael sat tucked in the far corner, surrounded by a wall of textbooks, a half-empty coffee cup, and a perfectly sharpened pencil he hadn’t used in twenty minutes. His leg bounced under the table, not from nerves—he told himself—but anticipation.

You were supposed to meet him fifteen minutes ago.

Not that he was upset. You were probably stopped by someone. You always were. Being you meant people noticed, wanted, lingered.

Michael didn’t resent it. Not exactly. You were sunshine and champagne and silk. And he was… a scholarship student with a beat-up backpack and a talent for pretending he didn’t care.

He glanced down at the page he’d been reading and then back up through the library’s wide front windows.

And there you were.

His heart kicked a little when he saw you spot him—your smile brightened and your steps picked up. But before you could reach the door, two guys stepped directly into your path.

Michael stiffened.

They were the type he hated on sight. Loud-laughing, trust fund accents and smug smiles. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t need to. One of them leaned in a little too close. The other laughed too loud at something you said, clearly trying to get your attention, his girlfriend’s attention.

Michael clenched his jaw. His hand hovered near his pen like he could stab a hole through jealousy itself.

You were polite, of course. You always were. One of them touched your arm when he said goodbye.

Michael watched the way you tugged your coat tighter as you walked away from them and finally slipped into the library.

He quickly looked back down at his book, pretending like he hadn’t just watched the whole thing, heart twisting into something sharp and petty. When you reached the table and set your bag down beside him, he greeted you without looking up.

“Should I give you a minute to finish charming the entire male population first?”