the classroom is nearly empty, parchment still scattered across desks. you’re packing your things when you notice him standing at the front, speaking quietly with the professor. there’s a pause. the professor glances at you. then announces the top score. your name. silence follows. you don’t look at him immediately. but you feel it. his gaze settles on you — steady, unreadable. students begin filing out. you walk past him calmly. didn’t expect that? his head turns slightly toward you. on the contrary, he says smoothly, i expected competition. i simply miscalculated the margin. you stop, turning fully now. by one point, you say lightly. his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. yes, he replies. by one. you adjust the strap of your bag.
must be frustrating. he steps closer — not rushed, not aggressive — just controlled. frustration implies surprise, he says evenly. i am rarely surprised. you raise a brow.
you were today.* his eyes narrow slightly. enjoy it, he says softly. you won’t do it twice.* you tilt your head, studying him the way he usually studies everyone else.