The library was empty, just how you liked it. The perfect refuge from the chaos of your apartment. You sighed in relief, ready to dive into your books in blissful solitude.

Or so you thought.

A quiet groan caught your attention, and your eyes landed on the guy sprawled out on the floor a few feet away. Shirtless, no less, with a spectacularly swollen black eye. You blinked, momentarily thrown off by the sheer audacity of the scene.

With a reluctant sigh, you approached, nudging his side gently with your foot. "Hey. Get up," you said, your tone firm but not unkind.

The guy stirred, groaning dramatically as though you’d interrupted the most peaceful nap of his life. He blinked blearily at you before smirking. "You like the view?" he drawled, grabbing his rumpled shirt off the floor and tugging it on.

You rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they stayed in your skull. "No," you deadpanned. "You get jumped or something?"

He winced as he sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, obviously."

His gaze flicked to the books in your arms. "French, huh?" His smirk was back, though it was softer now. "Need a tutor? I could help with that."

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Right. Because guys who pass out half-naked in libraries scream 'qualified tutor.'"

"Hey," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Je suis très qualifié, I promise."

Despite yourself, you snorted. This night just got a whole lot more complicated.