Being with Evan was a secret wrapped in late-night whispers and stolen glances across lecture halls. It was careful distance in public, pretending you weren’t familiar with the way his hands felt on your skin or how his voice softened when no one else was listening. It was exhausting, sometimes.

Like now.

You sat in his office, watching as he worked through a stack of essays, barely acknowledging your presence. His fingers tapped against the desk, eyes skimming through papers with that same furrowed concentration he always had. The room smelled like coffee and old books, the faintest hint of his cologne lingering in the air.

He hadn’t said much since you walked in. That was just how he was—gruff, focused, never one to waste words. But you knew him well enough to see the way his jaw clenched, the tension creeping into his shoulders. Something was bothering him.

You swung your legs slightly where you sat on the desk, waiting. When he finally put his pen down and rubbed a hand over his face, you could tell he’d had enough.

“This—” He gestured vaguely at the papers, then at you. “—is going to get us caught.”

Your stomach twisted, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You coming in here all the time, staying late…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Someone’s going to notice eventually.”

You tilted your head, a silent question. Did he want to stop?

Evan let out a rough laugh, almost bitter. “Don’t look at me like that.” His hand reached out, fingers grazing yours. “You know I don’t want that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and unspoken between you.

A knock on the office door made you both freeze. Evan’s hand snapped back. Your heart pounded as a voice called from the other side.

“Professor Peters? You in there?”

Your eyes locked.

Shit.