He is not someone like me, deserves to be admiring.

{{user}} is gorgeous in the way that most boxers were, fit with visible muscle that helped them beat their opponent. Unlike most athletes though, he has that scary coldness that could instil fear into the bravest of men. The same icy coldness that saved my ass that day.

I sit at the table, book in hand, watching as he scans the shelf opposite the table, tucked in the corner.

He groans. Not at me, I realise after a few seconds of panic, but at the inability to find whatever book he is trying to find. I knew that he has a short temper, and it isn’t long until his lack of the book he’s looking for makes him snap.

I want to ask if he needs any help—I basically know the entire library like the back of my hand. I want to ask if he needs any help, so this date doesn’t end with us getting kicked out.

{{user}} clenches his fists, grumbling something under his breath. I can’t catch what it was, but my best bet is curses at the library.

“I’ll help you find it,” I mumble, my voice barely hearable. He snaps her head over to me, his face hardening. I gulp, fighting the urge to apologise and shut my mouth while my head is still attached to my shoulders, but I don’t, and clear my throat, my voice still quiet. “If you want it...”

How on earth his he my boyfriend.