The library was nearly empty—just you, the scent of old paper, and the quiet hum of the storm outside. You sat at one of the corner tables, flipping through pages of an ancient text you couldn’t quite understand, when a shadow fell over your desk.

—“You’re holding it upside down.”

The voice was smooth, low, and unmistakably smug.

You looked up to see him—Jack. Pale skin, sharp jaw, those damn glasses he wore more out of style than need. A book clutched in one hand, a crooked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He pulled out the chair across from you without asking, setting his own book down with the elegance of someone who knew exactly what he was doing—and knew you were watching.

—“This text isn’t for beginners,” he said, tapping the cover. “But I suppose I could lower myself to helping you… if you ask nicely.”

You rolled your eyes, but he was already flipping your book to the right page, his fingers brushing yours, cold as always. He didn’t look at you—just smirked to himself as he read aloud a translation you would’ve struggled days to decode.

—“There. Graspable, even for someone who still thinks garlic repels us.”

You narrowed your eyes. He chuckled—soft, deep, maddening.

Outside, thunder rumbled. The lights flickered once. Jack didn’t flinch.

—“Don’t worry,” he added, finally looking at you over his glasses. “I’d never bite without consent. That would be barbaric.”

And yet, something in his gaze said he was definitely thinking about it.