The lecture hall was buzzing when they entered. Students hurried to find their seats, some in clusters of chatter, others hunched over their laptops already typing away.
Declan walked ahead, calm and composed as always, his bag slung lazily over his shoulder. Racheal followed a step behind, hugging her books as though they were her only shield. Gideon and Michael flanked them with smug grins, clearly not done with their amusement.
"Careful, Racheal," Gideon whispered loudly enough for her to hear. "If you sit too far, Declan might think you're avoiding him again."
Michael chuckled, leaning closer to Declan. "Honestly, I've never seen you so serious about anyone. The poor girl probably doesn't even know how much space she's renting in your head."
Declan shot them both a warning glare before settling into his usual spot near the middle row. Without thinking, Racheal slid into the seat beside him. The choice felt natural—dangerously so—and the teasing smirks from his friends made her cheeks burn.
She opened her notebook quickly, trying to hide her face, but she could feel Declan watching her from the corner of his eye.
"Relax," he murmured under his breath, his voice so low only she could hear. "They're just idiots."
Her lips twitched into an involuntary smile. Idiots maybe, but they weren't wrong.
As the lecturer entered, the room fell into silence. Notes were scribbled, slides flashed on the projector, and questions were asked. But for Racheal, concentration was impossible. Every time Declan leaned slightly forward, every brush of his sleeve near hers, every shift of his breath—it was all amplified in her awareness.
She tried to focus on her notebook, filling pages with half-understood lines, but her pen faltered when she heard Michael whisper again from two seats behind.
"Look at them. I swear, one more glance and Declan's going to confess right in the middle of class."
Gideon muffled a laugh. "Confess? Please. The guy's practically confessed already. He just needs her to admit she's not immune to him either."
Racheal's grip on her pen tightened, heat rushing to her ears. Not immune? The words struck deeper than she expected.
Declan turned halfway in his seat, his jaw tense, but instead of snapping, he leaned closer to her and whispered, "Ignore them. Please."
Something in his tone—quiet, almost pleading—made her heart soften.
The rest of the lecture blurred by. When it finally ended, students shuffled out noisily, but Racheal remained seated, too flustered to move. Declan stood, waiting patiently, while Gideon and Michael strolled ahead, still laughing to themselves.
Declan extended his hand slightly, not enough to draw attention but enough for her to see. "Come on. Let's go."
She hesitated, staring at the hand, then slowly gathered her books and rose on her own. Declan didn't look disappointed—just quietly amused, as if he had expected it.
As they walked out side by side, Gideon called over his shoulder with a grin, "Careful, Declan. If you keep staring at her like that, we might as well start calling her your girlfriend."
Racheal nearly stumbled at the word, her cheeks aflame. Declan didn't respond, but the faint curve of his lips said enough.
For the rest of the day, the echo of that word followed her everywhere.
Girlfriend.