the night air was cool.

your office was warmer compared to the outside air, though. it always felt different at night– quieter, warmer, lit only by the soft yellow glow of your desk lamp. the hallways outside were long empty, so you heard his steps immediately as they arrived.

they were always the same. measured. soft. absolutely intentional.

phainon knocked once– polite, restrained– before pushing the door open just enough to peek inside.

"professor," he greeted, voice a little breathless, as if he'd hurried the entire way here.

"you're late today," you said without looking up from your papers, though you couldn't hide your smile.

"I had lab. the instructor kept us longer."

a beat.

"I.. didn't want to miss you."

you never really dissuaded him from these visits. he'd started doing them early in the semester– just dropping by to "ask a question," then "follow up," then "discuss something," until he simply showed up with a notebook and let himself sit in the armchair across from you like it was his rightful place.

tonight was no different.

as soon as you nodded, he walked in and took his usual spot– except today, instead of a textbook, he brought a book on metaphyics.

you raised a brow. "light reading?"

"it's about the teleology of the mind," he said, already animated, already ready to dive deep. "the author makes a flawed but interesting argument about purpose– here, in chapter seven–"

he launched into it, hands moving as he spoke, voice low but passionate. his eyes lit up when he got into academic territory; his brows knit just slightly, hair falling over his forehead, and he didn't bother to push it away. he was beautiful like this– unguarded, earnest, entirely absorbed.

you should've been listening.

instead, you were staring at him like an idiot, chin propped on your hand. he was adorable. he never realized how emotional he got when he talked about these ideas, how his voice softened when quoting. he thought he was subtle.

he wasn't.

"..so the philosopher claims we bear meaning without recognizing we do, but that's– professor?"

he froze when he finally noticed the way you were looking at him.

you sat forward. "phainon."

the quiet way you said his name, lilted warm and soft, made his breath hitch.

"yes?" he asked, trying and failing to sound composed.

"you have no idea how cute you are when you ramble."

he blinked. hard. "I– I wasn't– that is not–"

you stood.

he shut up immediately.

you walked towards hum, slow, intentional, till you could cup his jaw, thumb brushing the faint stubble he hadn't bothered to shave– and he inhaled sharply. his pulse jumped beneath your fingertips, frantic and unsteady.

"do you want me to stop?" you asked softly.

he shook his head too fast. "no. please– don't."

and then you kissed him.