Leni slid into the seat next to Marco, her notebook thudding softly against the table.
Not too close.
Just enough distance to breathe. To think.
She kept her eyes on her notes, scribbling out the same algebra problem for the third time. Marco didn't say anything at first—just leaned back in his chair, arms crossed lazily as he watched her with that unreadable look he always wore.
Then she felt it.
A flicker of awareness down her spine.
Someone was watching her.
She glanced up.
An older guy—maybe a substitute or a college student doing work nearby—sat a few tables away, glancing over the top of his laptop. Not just once. Twice. Three times. His eyes lingered too long, dipping a little lower than her face.
Leni shifted in her seat, pulling her skirt subtly down as if it would help. She didn't want to make a scene. She didn't want to give it attention.
But Marco noticed.
He always did.
Without a word, he reached over and hooked an arm around her waist. Gently—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he pulled her closer. Not all at once. Just an inch.
Then another.
Then again.
Each time, slow. Careful. Like he was giving her a chance to pull away. She didn't.
Soon, she was pressed against his side, her thigh brushing his, the heat of him seeping into her skin.
Her heart beat faster, not because of the eyes on her anymore, but because of him. The way he didn't even look at the guy. Didn't make it a big deal. Just... took care of it.
Of her.
Marco leaned in, close enough that she could feel the edge of his smile. "You're better off right here," he murmured, voice a quiet thunder in the hush of the library.
She looked up at him, eyes wide.
And he just looked back, calm and unreadable—like this was the only place she was ever supposed to be.