[Campus Infirmary – Friday Morning]

Lydia sat at her desk, pen hovering above a half-filled chart. She’d read the same line three times.

Focus.

It wasn’t difficult before.

Before Garren Wolfe walked back into Ravenscar.

Before she’d touched his chest. Before she’d watched him train shirtless like it meant nothing.

Now every interaction sat in her body like heat she couldn’t shake.

She hadn't scheduled anything today. But that didn't matter.

He could walk in at any moment.

[Training Center – Same Time]

Garren didn’t go to class.

He went to the gym.

Again.

He hit the treadmill first. Sweat rolled quick. The room echoed with steady footfalls and mechanical hum.

He didn’t stop after ten minutes.

He pushed to twenty.

Then weights.

Then pull-ups.

He wanted to be overheated. Slick. Just enough to test her.

When he finished, he didn’t bother with a full towel-off. He threw on a shirt and walked directly to the infirmary.

No text.

No request.

Just walked in.

[Infirmary Office – Minutes Later]

Lydia looked up and froze mid-sentence.

He stood in the doorway, shirt damp, hair wet, chest rising evenly.

She noticed all of it.

“Did you schedule a check?” she asked, trying to steady her voice.

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

He stepped inside. “You said I need weekly evaluations.”

“That’s next Tuesday.”

“I don’t mind starting early.”

She hesitated.

He’s testing you. Again.

“You’re sweaty,” she said flatly.

“You’re observant.”

She grabbed the clipboard, fast, and pointed to the bench.

“Sit.”

He obeyed.

She pulled gloves on. Her hands shook slightly. She forced her tone flat.

“Remove your shirt.”

He didn’t move for a second.

Then pulled it off in one smooth motion and dropped it beside him.

She stepped forward, trying not to look directly at his chest, but the sweat made it harder. The definition. The sheen. The slow rise and fall of his breath.

“Pulse first,” she said.

He offered his wrist.

Her gloved hand closed around it, but the latex didn’t stop the feeling. His skin was warm. Steady.

She counted. Too slow.

“Your heart rate’s a little elevated,” she said, eyes still on his wrist.

“I ran.”

“You ran yesterday too.”

“Didn’t come see you after.”

She blinked.

You walked into that one.

She set his hand down and reached for her stethoscope. When she moved forward, he adjusted slightly, his torso facing her more directly.

“Breathe in,” she said.

He did.

The stethoscope touched just under his ribs, where a scar curved faintly around his side.

Her eyes caught on it. Her fingers slowed.

“Knife?” she asked again, softer.

“Glass. First foster home.”

Her hand stilled. She looked up.

He didn’t blink. Just met her eyes like he’d dropped a brick on the floor and was waiting to see if she’d flinch.

“Sorry,” she said quietly.

“Don’t be.”

Her hand didn’t move.

“Still breathing?” he asked.

She stepped back like she’d been burned.

“Vitals are fine,” she said.

“Anything else?”

“I’m sure you’re healthy enough to survive without flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting.”

“Good.”

He stood.

So did she.

But she was too close.

She moved around him to grab a form off the counter, trying to mask her shaking hands.

He moved behind her — slow.

He wasn’t touching her.

But she could feel the heat of his body. His breath close to her neck.

“Next check-in is Tuesday,” she said, voice strained.

He didn’t say anything.

He leaned closer.

Close enough that she felt the edge of his breath behind her ear.

“You’re breathing faster again.”

She spun around, fast — but didn’t step back.

He was standing too close.

Way too close.

“You need to leave,” she said.

“Say please.”

Her lips parted.

She didn’t say anything.

His hand brushed the paper from her desk and handed it to her. Casual. Calm.

But his fingers touched hers.

She took it too quickly.

He turned and walked out without a word.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lydia stared at the empty space where he’d stood.

She hated how warm her skin felt.

How fast her pulse still raced.

How much she didn’t want to stop him next time.

[Later – Library Study Room]

Garren sat across from Aria at the long table. Her skirt was tighter today. He noticed. She didn’t meet his eyes.

“You’re late,” she muttered.

“I was at a check-in.”

“With Nurse Voss?”

He didn’t answer.

“Figures.”

“Jealous?”

She scoffed. “You’re nineteen.”

“And you’re staring.”

Her gaze dropped for half a second.

He smirked.

“That’s what I thought.”

[Library Study Room – Continued]

Aria’s eyes snapped back up. She didn’t smile.

“You’re cocky for someone with no academic standing.”

“I don’t need one.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To take back what’s mine.”

Aria paused. “What exactly is that?”

He leaned forward across the table.

“You’ll see.”

She straightened her back like she needed the extra distance between them. But her legs shifted under the table.

She wasn’t walking away.

[Lydia’s Apartment – Late Night]

She stood at the bathroom sink, makeup half-removed, staring into the mirror.

Her hair was down. Her blouse hung open at the collar. She didn’t remember unbuttoning it.

The smell of his skin still clung to her gloves. She could swear it did.

This was insane.

He was a student.

She was on faculty.

But every time he looked at her, it wasn't like a boy trying to flirt. He didn't stutter. He didn't try to impress.

He just stood there like he already knew how this would end.

She set the gloves down and turned off the light.

[Next Morning – Infirmary]

Lydia arrived earlier than usual.

Coffee. Files. Fresh coat of lipstick.

She wasn’t expecting him.

But she still checked the door twice before sitting down.

Her phone buzzed once.

Unknown Number: Are we doing Tuesday or today again?

Her heart skipped.

She stared at the message for too long.

Then she deleted it.

Don’t answer. Don’t reply. Don’t let him pull you into this.

But her breathing had already changed.