The world outside his office was cold and fast, voices in hallways, midterms in motion, the buzz of vending machines and fluorescent lights.

But inside this small, book-lined room, time felt slower. Warmer.

Alex sat at his desk, still in that grey sweater you loved, sleeves neat, collar just barely rumpled from a long day.

He held a pen in one hand, gesturing toward the page between you, murmuring through an equation in that low, even tone that always made math sound almost poetic.

But you weren’t really looking at the numbers.

You were curled into his side, your head resting gently on his shoulder, both arms wrapped around his.

His hand kept moving, steady, unbothered, as if tutoring you like this were the most natural thing in the world.

And in the quiet of this hidden space, maybe it was.

“You see where it balances?” he asked softly, tapping the equal sign with his pen.

You nodded, your cheek brushing the fabric of his sweater. “Mhm. You make it make sense.”

He looked down at you out of the corner of his eye, the tiniest smile pulling at the edge of his lips. “You’re not even watching.”