The university halls were too quiet compared to a battlefield.
Simon Riley had learned that the hard way.
Retirement hadn’t been his choice. One mission. One blast. One body that didn’t heal the way command needed it to. The Medical Evaluation Board had stamped their verdict without looking him in the eye long enough to see what it cost him. “Unfit for continued active duty.”
He’d left the military earlier than he ever planned.
But he hadn’t left discipline.
Now, he went by Professor Riley instead of Lieutenant, he stood at the front of a lecture hall instead of a briefing room, teaching Military History with the same sharp tone he used to give orders. His posture was still rigid. His voice still low and edged.
Students whispered about him—how he didn’t smile, how he graded hard, how he expected precision like they were cadets instead of college students.
Still, his classes always filled up fast.
Somewhere else in the university was a different atmosphere entirely.
You.
The professor with the warm smile. The open-door policy. The flexible deadlines when life got messy. Students adored you. They recommended your classes on forums. They lingered after lectures just to talk. You were approachable, patient, easy.
And yet—
Some students had started noticing things.
The way Simon’s voice softened half a note when he addressed you in faculty meetings. The way he didn’t cut you off mid-sentence like he did everyone else. The way he stood just a little closer to you than necessary. The way you never flinched at his intensity.
Rumors had spread like wildfire.
“They’re together.” “No way. They have different last names.” “They don’t even act like a couple.” “But have you seen how he looks at her?”
Neither of you confirmed anything. Neither of you denied it.
And that only made it worse.
Simon sat behind his desk now, office lit by a single lamp and the gray wash of late afternoon through half-drawn blinds. Books were stacked in neat piles. Papers aligned with military precision. A framed regimental crest hung on the wall behind him, the only visible reminder of the life he’d been forced to leave.
His sleeves were rolled to his forearms. A faint scar disappeared beneath his collar.
He was reading over an essay when he heard the knock.
He didn’t look up immediately. “It’s open.”
The door clicked softly.
He knew your footsteps without looking. Always had.
Still, he waited until you stepped fully inside before lifting his gaze.
His expression shifted—barely. Subtle. But different.
“Thought your lecture wasn’t done for another twenty minutes,” he said, voice low and gravel-lined. Not cold. Not sharp. Just… quieter.
Students would’ve missed the difference.
You wouldn’t.
“Ended early,” you replied.
His pen set down slowly. He leaned back in his chair, studying you in a way he never studied anyone else. There was no guarded edge there. No professional distance. Just something steady. Familiar.
Outside in the corridor, a pair of students slowed their steps.
The door wasn’t fully closed.
They watched through the thin crack as Professor Riley’s posture eased—just slightly—as you approached his desk.
You stopped in front of him.
And before either of you said a word—your hand slid lightly into the front of his shirt, pulling him down just enough for a brief, quiet kiss. Nothing dramatic. Nothing heated. Just natural.
Intimate.
His hand came to your waist automatically, steadying you like it was second nature.
Outside the door, the students froze.
Eyes wide.
Inside, Simon rested his forehead briefly against yours, breath slower than it ever was in a lecture hall.
“Yer too easy on your students,” he murmured, accent thicker now that it was just the two of you. “Makin’ me look bad.”
You laughed softly.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly along your hip before he stepped back just enough to look at you properly. The stern professor mask was gone entirely now.
And the students right outside the office? Were still mind-blown.