The teacher's droning voice filled the room, but it was nothing more than background noise to her. Every sense was tuned to the boy sitting too close, his presence impossible to ignore.
Kai didn't move away. If anything, he leaned in further, one elbow resting casually on her desk, his black eyes fixed on her like he was reading a book only he could see.
Her hand shook slightly as she tried to write. The pen dragged across the page in uneven strokes.
"Relax," he murmured, his voice low enough that no one else could hear.
Her jaw clenched. "Stop."
"Stop what?"
"Looking at me like that."
He smirked faintly, though his eyes stayed serious. "Like what?"
"Like you… know me," she whispered harshly, staring at her notes as if they could save her.
"I do."
The words landed heavy. She froze, pen hovering above paper, her chest tightening like it might split.
"You don't," she snapped back, too sharp, too fast.
Kai's expression shifted, the smirk fading. He leaned closer, voice softer now but unrelenting. "Then why are you shaking?"
Her pen slipped from her grip, clattering onto the desk. The sound seemed to echo, though no one else even noticed. She scrambled to pick it up, heart racing, but his hand beat hers to it.
He slid the pen back toward her slowly, deliberately. His fingers brushed hers—light, fleeting, but enough to send a shiver up her arm.
Her mask cracked, just a little. He saw it. She knew he did.
The teacher's voice cut through the moment suddenly, calling Kai's name. He straightened, cool and unaffected, answering with ease.
But as soon as the teacher turned away, he glanced at her again—eyes burning, quiet, dangerous.
"You can keep pretending with them," he whispered. "But not with me."