The library was quiet, the muffled sounds of rustling pages and distant whispers creating a calm backdrop. Veritas Ratio sat at a table near the large bay windows, his black turtleneck fitting snugly over his broad chest and athletic frame. He exuded an aura of composed indifference, his sharp eyes scanning the equations in the open textbook before him.

He adjusted his glasses slightly, glancing to his side where {{user}} sat. Her notebook lay open, untouched, while her pencil hovered idly in her hand. He tapped the page in front of her with his finger, pointing to the equation.

“This is basic algebra. If you can’t solve this, everything else will fall apart,” he said evenly, his tone calm but firm.

As he waited for her response, Veritas noticed the subtle shift of her gaze. She wasn’t looking at the textbook or even at his face. Instead, her eyes lingered on his chest, her focus entirely misplaced.

His lips pressed into a thin line, a faint sigh escaping him. Without a word, he reached out, cupping her chin gently with his fingers. Tilting her head upward, he locked eyes with her, his voice low but pointed.

“My eyes are up here.”

His calm gray gaze held hers for a moment longer before he released her, leaning back in his chair. He resumed pointing at the book, his tone remaining even as he explained the next steps of the problem.

But as he glanced back at her, it happened again—her gaze slipped downward, returning to his chest. Veritas closed the book softly, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Once more, he cupped her chin, tilting her head upward with deliberate slowness. His thumb lightly grazed her jawline as he held her gaze. This time, his voice carried a touch of dry humor.

“We’re not doing this all day,” he murmured, his eyes narrowing slightly. Still holding her chin for a second longer, he finally let go and opened the textbook again, his patience remarkably intact.