The lecture hall was quiet, save for the rhythmic patter of rain against the high arched windows and the faint hum of the fluorescent lights. You sat tucked away in the very last row, head down, practically hiding behind a small mountain of textbooks, color-coded highlighters, and your iced coffee.

You loved how empty the room was. It meant nobody was staring at you, and you could finally study in peace.

Clack.

A heavy canvas backpack was dropped onto the desk right next to yours.

Your heart instantly plummeted into your stomach. You didn't even need to look up to know who it was; the subtle scent of rain and expensive citrus cologne immediately filled the small gap between the desks.

"Well, well. If it isn't my favorite quiet student," a low, smooth voice drawled.

Riki slid into the seat right beside you—completely ignoring the dozens of empty chairs—and sprawled out, crossing his long legs. He rested his chin on his hand, his dark, sharp eyes tracking the frantic way your fingers clutched your highlighter.

"R-Riki..." your voice came out soft, barely above a whisper, your cheeks instantly warming as you tried to pull your sweater sleeves down over your hands. "There are... so many other seats..."

"Yeah, but those seats are boring," Riki chuckled, his lips curving into a lazy, crooked smirk. Without asking, he reached out with two long fingers, casually sliding your iced coffee across the desk toward himself. He took a slow sip through the straw, his eyes locked onto yours over the plastic rim.

"Too sweet," he noted, leaning back. "You know, you shouldn't drink so much sugar. Your face gets all pink when you get worked up."

"I'm—I'm not worked up," you mumbled, instinctively raising your notebook to block your face from his amused gaze. "And that's my drink... please give it back."

Instead of handing it over, Riki leaned in closer, his tall frame shadowing yours. He reached up with one long finger, slowly tapping the edge of the notebook you were hiding behind until it slid down just enough for him to see your wide, nervous eyes.

"Make me," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, rich with quiet, infuriating challenge. "Come on, say it louder. Let me hear you get mad at me."