**Chapter 8: Classroom Echoes**
The alarm on Ava's phone went off at 6:45 a.m.—a soft piano melody that felt almost mocking after the night she'd had. She slapped it silent and lay there in Sebastian's bed, sheets tangled around her legs, his arm still draped heavy across her waist. His breathing was slow, deep, the kind of sleep that comes after complete exhaustion. She watched the rise and fall of his chest for a full minute, memorizing the way the early light caught the faint scar just below his collarbone, the way his lashes threw shadows on his cheeks.
She should leave. She knew that.
Instead she slipped out carefully, padded barefoot to the bathroom, and borrowed his toothbrush (mint toothpaste, same brand he'd kissed her with last night). When she came back, he was awake, propped on one elbow, watching her with sleepy, unguarded eyes.
"Morning," he said, voice gravel-rough.
"Morning." She climbed back onto the bed, straddling his hips over the sheet. "I have to go soon. Early class. Then yours."
He slid his hands up her thighs, thumbs tracing lazy circles. "You could skip."
"Tempting." She leaned down, kissed him slow—morning breath and all. It still tasted good. "But I'm not giving anyone a reason to notice I'm missing."
He groaned when she pulled away. "Practical. I hate it."
"You'll survive." She rolled off him, started gathering clothes from the floor. "See you at one."
He caught her wrist before she could stand. "Ava."
She looked back.
"Be careful today. Liam's been texting me again. Asking questions."
Her stomach tightened. "What kind?"
"The kind that start with 'what's going on with you and Ava' and end with 'don't lie to me.'"
She exhaled. "Great."
"I told him nothing. But he's not stupid. And he's already on campus."
She nodded once. "I'll handle it."
Sebastian sat up, sheet pooling at his waist. "We both will. Just… don't engage if he pushes too hard. Walk away."
"I'm not afraid of him."
"I know. That's what worries me."
She dressed quickly—jeans, sweater, jacket. Kissed him one more time at the door—quick, fierce—then slipped out into the hallway like she belonged there.
The walk back to the dorms felt longer in daylight. Campus was waking up: joggers, coffee cups, laughter echoing off brick. She kept her head down, hood up, replaying last night in fragments—the way he'd held her gaze while moving inside her, the whispered confessions in the dark, the promise that they'd keep going no matter what.
By the time she reached her dorm, Mia was waiting outside her door with two to-go coffees and a knowing smirk.
"You didn't come home," Mia said, handing her a cup. "Again."
Ava took the coffee. "Observant."
"Spill. Or I start guessing loudly in the hallway."
They ducked inside Ava's room. Door locked. Mia flopped onto the unmade bed.
Ava sat at her desk, cradling the warm cup. "We spent the night. At his place. Again."
Mia's eyebrows climbed. "And?"
"And it was…" She searched for the right word. "More than sex. It felt like… choosing something. Really choosing."
Mia studied her for a long second. "You're falling."
"Maybe." Ava sipped the coffee—caramel latte, extra whip. Comfort in a cup. "But it's complicated. Liam's sniffing around. Sebastian's worried."
"Sebastian." Mia rolled the name like tasting wine. "You're on first-name basis now. Cute."
"Shut up."
They laughed—quiet, conspiratorial.
Mia sobered. "You know this is going to blow up eventually, right? Someone's going to see something. Or Liam's going to connect dots. Or a classmate's going to notice you two staring at each other like horny teenagers during lecture."
"I know."
"So what's the plan?"
Ava stared into her coffee. "There is no plan. Just… moment by moment. Until we figure out if this is worth the wreckage."
Mia reached over, squeezed her hand. "Then make the moments count. And call me the second shit hits the fan."
"Deal."
---
Hawthorne 214 at 1:00 p.m. felt different today.
The room was the same—chalkboard, podium, tiered seats—but the air carried a charge Ava could almost taste. She chose the same middle-row seat, third from the aisle. Notebook open. Pen ready. Heart in her throat.
Sebastian entered exactly on time. Same charcoal slacks, different shirt—deep navy today, sleeves rolled. He looked rested. Calm. Like last night hadn't happened.
Except when his eyes swept the room, they lingered on her for half a second longer than necessary.
She felt it like a touch.
He started lecture without preamble.
"Today we finish Hester Prynne's scaffold scene and move into Dimmesdale's private torment. Open to chapter twelve."
Pages rustled.
He paced slowly. "Dimmesdale stands on his own private scaffold every night—alone in his chamber, whipping himself, starving himself, refusing absolution because he believes he doesn't deserve it. Why?"
A hand shot up. Pink-hair girl from Tuesday.
"Because he's punishing himself for something the town would punish him for publicly if they knew."
"Exactly." Sebastian stopped pacing, leaned against the podium. "But notice—he never confesses. Not really. He hints. He preaches around the edges of truth. He lets the guilt fester because the alternative—exposure—would cost him everything: reputation, position, the very people who admire him."
Ava's pen hovered.
He continued. "So the question becomes: Is secrecy mercy? Or is it cowardice dressed as protection?"
The room was quiet. Heavy.
Then the door at the back opened.
Liam slipped in.
Late. Hood up. Face tight.
He scanned the room, spotted Ava immediately, and took the seat directly behind her. Close enough she could smell his cologne—the cheap, woodsy one he'd worn since high school.
Sebastian didn't react outwardly. Just kept talking.
But Ava felt the shift. The air thickened.
Liam leaned forward, voice low, just for her. "We need to talk. After class."
She didn't turn. Didn't answer.
Sebastian's voice cut through. "Miss Thompson."
Her head snapped up.
He was looking right at her—calm, professional. "You've been quiet. Care to weigh in? Is Dimmesdale protecting Hester by staying silent… or protecting himself?"
Every eye turned to her.
She swallowed. Felt Liam's stare burning into her back.
"I think…" Her voice came out steadier than she felt. "He's doing both. He tells himself it's for her. But really, he's terrified of losing the version of himself everyone loves. The perfect minister. The good man. So he keeps the secret, even when it's killing him. Even when the truth would set them both free."
Sebastian held her gaze for a beat longer than necessary.
"Sharp insight," he said quietly. "Thank you."
He moved on.
But the damage was done.
Liam's breath hitched behind her.
Class dragged. Every minute felt like an hour.
When it finally ended, students filed out. Sebastian stayed at the front, gathering notes, pretending not to watch.
Ava stood slowly. Turned.
Liam was already on his feet. "Outside. Now."
She glanced at Sebastian. He gave the tiniest nod—go.
She followed Liam into the hallway.
He didn't stop until they reached a quiet alcove near the stairwell.
"What the hell was that?" he hissed.
"What was what?"
"That answer. That look he gave you. You two know something I don't?"
Ava crossed her arms. "You're being paranoid."
"Am I?" He stepped closer. "You've been weird since the birthday. Distant. Then I see you coming out of his building the other morning—same clothes, hair messed up. And now you're in his class answering questions like you're having a private conversation."
Her stomach dropped.
He saw her face. "I knew it. Something's going on."
"Liam—"
"Don't lie to me, Ava. Not after everything."
She met his eyes. "I'm not with you anymore. I told you I needed space. Real space."
"Because of him?"
She didn't answer.
His face crumpled—anger giving way to hurt. "He's my uncle. He's supposed to be family. Not… whatever this is."
"It's complicated."
"It's wrong."
"Maybe." She softened her voice. "But it's real. And I'm not sorry."
Liam stared at her like he didn't recognize her.
Then he laughed—short, bitter. "You're going to regret this. Both of you."
He turned and walked away.
Ava stood there until her legs stopped shaking.
When she looked up, Sebastian was leaning in the classroom doorway, arms crossed, watching her.
He didn't speak. Just held her gaze.
She walked toward him.
Stopped a careful distance away.
"He knows," she said quietly.
"I gathered."
"What now?"
Sebastian exhaled. "Now we decide how much we're willing to fight for this."
She stepped closer—close enough to feel his warmth. "I'm in."
He reached out, brushed a knuckle along her cheek. "Then so am I."
The hallway was empty.
For now.
But the echo of Liam's footsteps still lingered.
And the next lecture was only forty-eight hours away.
---