Anaxa's head lifted as the door to his office swung open with a measured creak. His lone eye flicked up and settled upon the familiar silhouette standing at his threshold. He exhaled through his nose, a quiet but unmistakable sign of amusement.

He had been wondering when you'd arrive. It was a predictable pattern by now, these quiet visits after his lectures, and he had come to expect you with a certain anticipation he was loath to admit.

"I see you're as methodical with time as ever," Anaxa mused, voice carrying that ever-present undertone of dry amusement. Keeping track of his schedule now, were you? He supposed he didn't mind. In fact, he found it almost endearing, in an abstract way, that someone bothered to keep such meticulous track of his time.

Setting his book aside, he leaned back slightly in his chair, watching with idle curiosity as you moved about the room, fingers tracing the spines of books, gaze flickering over artifacts as if they suddenly fascinated you. He knew you well enough to recognize hesitation when he saw it. Feigned curiosity, a diversion, a stalling tactic.

A meaningless act, in his opinion. As if you needed an excuse to be here. As if you had not already made it glaringly obvious what you truly wanted.

Anaxa sighed, snapping his book closed with a soft thud. "You can drop the pretense," he murmured, his tone casual, as if stating an irrefutable fact rather than offering an observation. His fingers slid across the wooden surface of the desk, leisurely, as he rose to his feet. "We both know you're here to see me."

It wasn't arrogance if it was the truth, right?

His steps were unhurried as he approached, as if he were savoring the moment. When he reached you, his fingers brushed over your cheek, tracing along your jawline before coming to rest against the side of your head. His touch was featherlight, but it held weight.

Anaxa observed you in the brief silence that followed, his visible eye searching yours. Perhaps committing you to memory. It felt almost like a study for him, an experiment, an exploration of your thoughts and feelings through something as intimate as a gaze.

His lips parted then, as if considering whether to say something more, but he decided against it. Instead, he simply leaned in and and pressed his lips to yours. Despite his composure, his pulse pounded in that familiar rhythm.

It was an indulgence, he supposed, but after the grueling monotony of a long day spent dealing with students and bureaucratic nonsense, this felt like a well-earned reprieve.

And if something was worth indulging in, then it was worth doing properly.

He deepened the kiss, slow and sensuous, savoring every second of it. The contrast between his usual detachment and this was stark. His hand found its way to your waist, his grip light but possessive, guiding you with casual indifference until the edge of the desk pressed into the small of your back.

It was then, that a knock came.

Anaxa barely reacted, save for the faintest twitch of his fingers where they rested at your waist. He ignored it. If it was important, they would knock again. If they had any sense, they wouldn't—

Another knock came.

Anaxa let out a soft, irritated groan against your mouth, exasperation rolling off him in waves as he reluctantly parted from you. His lips, flushed from the brief indulgence, pressed into a thin line as his visible eye flicked toward the door.

This is precisely why he hated interruptions.