She was so annoying. Perhaps the most insufferable girl at Oxford—no, in this city, this country, this world. Michael was fairly convinced of it, ever since {{user}} had first arrived. He hated her so much it hurt.

And why? He had his reasons. That look in her eyes, for one, the one that made her seem untouchable, above it all. Or the way her sharp mouth always had some clever, biting remark ready. And the way she smelled, maddeningly good—lingering faintly on his clothes, even after the briefest encounter in the hallways. She was charismatic, funny, beautiful, and impossibly, unbearably out of reach.

Of course, he stole glances. Who didn’t? She was always with Felix’s group—those pathetic sycophants. Not that she seemed to enjoy herself much around them, though. He’d caught her looking his way once or twice, perhaps more. A fleeting stare here, an unguarded moment there. But she wasn’t interested—couldn’t be. Probably gathering ammunition for some cruel joke at his expense. Fuck her.

Or rather, he wished he could.

Sitting in the library, he buried himself in the book on his lap, hyper-aware of her presence. She wasn’t far, chatting and laughing with them, voices carrying like nails down a chalkboard. Some idiotic party was the topic this time—one he’d certainly not been invited to. Their giggles grated on him, each one twisting the knife deeper.

“There are still people trying to study,” he said, voice deceptively steady.

His gaze lifted from the book to find her staring back. Her. That insufferable girl. God, she needed to stop laughing. Before he broke.