I t Tom in the last year of high school.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated a guy that much before.
The perfect student, the perfect classmate-
Always funny.
Confident.
Handso.
To the point, nobody cared he was a beta. Despite his secondary gender, he earned the alpha privileges like it ant nothing to him.
I couldn’t help but be jealous.
"I like you."
I can picture it even now. Vividly.
He’s leaning over my desk like he’s got nothing better to do, his shadow falling across my notebook.
His red hair looks like it’s never heard of a comb, ssy in a way that seems intentional, like he knows it works for him. His bangs almost cover his teal eyes, but not enough to hide the sharpness in them.
They’re focused right on , not my notes, not the desk—.
He’s too close, close enough that if I lift my head even slightly, I’ll bump into him.
His arm is braced on the edge of the desk, his body angled like he’s blocking in.
It’s the kind of move that would feel threatening if he weren’t grinning like that.
Not a big, goofy grin, but sothing small and teasing, like he knows exactly how annoying he’s being. And he does.
He did.
I try to ignore him, scribbling sothing down that doesn’t even make sense, just to look busy.
But he’s not making that easy.
He leans in a little more, enough that I can feel the warmth of him at my side. His cologne—subtle but definitely there—carries over the scent of pencil shavings and cheap classroom cleaner. It’s distracting, and he knows it.
I can hear his group of friends giggling behind us. One inch closer and I’m sure they will start writing a fanfic about us.
If only they would be as passionate about their studies as they are about the little stunt his buddy is flexing on .
I don’t even have to look up to know he’s wearing that look—eyes narrowed just enough to seem interested, mouth tilted like he’s in on so joke I’m not part of yet.
I can feel it.
Every second he stands there, hovering, feels like he’s waiting for to give in and acknowledge him.
I keep my head down, because if I look at him, that’s giving him what he wants.
But the problem is, ignoring him feels impossible when he’s this close, when his presence fills up every inch of space around .
He shifts slightly, just enough for the desk to creak, and I know he’s doing it on purpose.
Everything about him feels deliberate, from the way his hair falls across his forehead to the casual way he leans, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
I grip my pen tighter and focus on the page.
If I pretend hard enough, maybe he’ll get bored and leave.
Except with the way he’s standing there, like he’s got all the ti in the world, I know he’s not going anywhere.
"You’re hurting my feelings. I just confessed to you. At least notice a bit."
He’s all over my desk like it’s his personal space, long legs spread out as much as the tiny surface allows.
It’s a miracle the thing doesn’t collapse under his weight.
At six foot one, he takes up more room than this desk was ever ant to handle, and now it looks even smaller with him sitting there like he owns it.
)
I keep my head down and focus on my notebook, pretending he’s not sitting there like so oversized cat, but then he reaches out.
My pen is gone before I even realize he’s taken it.
He twirls it between his fingers like he’s done it a hundred tis before. Smooth, practiced, like this is just another way to pass the ti.
The way he glances at while doing it feels calculated. He’s not just fidgeting—he’s performing, waiting for to react.
His grin widens when I don’t.
He tilts his head slightly, still spinning the pen with ease.
The casual way he does it makes sothing tighten in my chest, and not in a good way. I can feel his eyes on , taking in every little twitch of irritation I’m trying to hide.
He shifts again, leaning forward so he’s closer.
The desk groans under the movent, and my notebook nearly slides off the edge.
His little group of fans ischeering him on loudly.
His knee brushes the corner, and suddenly there’s no space left for .
Not that there was much to begin with. Now it feels like I’m suffocating in my own seat.
I roll my eyes hard enough to make a point, snap my notebook shut, and push my chair back.
His gaze follows every movent, amusent flickering across his face like this is the exact reaction he wanted.
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a look when I stand.
I just grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder.
He’s still perched there, acting like he has all the ti in the world.
The pen spins one last ti before he catches it and lets it rest against his lips.
He watches the whole way as I turn to leave, like this was all part of so joke only he gets.
I don’t say anything.
I don’t even look back.
If I do, he’ll win.
And from the way he’s smiling, he already thinks he has.
Little did I know, I wasn’t doing anything, but fuel his newfound obsession with .
Day after day.
Class after class.
He followed like a lost puppy.
Calling himself my boyfriend.
Always hovering over .
Even after high school, he just followed to college.
The library was empty.
Late afternoon sunlight filtered in through the tall windows, leaving most of the room in shadows.
I’d been hoping for so quiet, a place where Tom wouldn’t find , but of course, he did.
I heard his footsteps before I saw him, that easy pace like he had nothing better to do than trail around campus.
Just like high school.
Just like every damn day since then.
I kept walking, pretending not to notice, but the sound followed deeper into the rows of shelves.
When I turned the last corner, I stopped.
So did he.
That was it. I’d had enough.
I moved fast, catching him off guard for once.
My hand hit his shoulder hard, and I shoved him back into the narrow space between two bookshelves. His back t the wall with a dull thud, and for the first ti, he looked a little surprised.
I stood close, blocking any way out, my hands pressing into the shelf behind him so he couldn’t slip past .
His grin ca back quick.
Always does.
Like this was so kind of ga.
Like I hadn’t just slamd him into a wall because I was done with his constant following.
My chest was tight, breathing a little harder than I wanted to show.
He tilted his head, eyes glinting in the dim light, studying like I was the one doing sothing ridiculous.
The amusent in his face only made angrier.
I leaned in closer, enough that he couldn’t ignore how pissed I was.
My voice would’ve co out sharp if I’d used it, but I didn’t.
No words.
Just that look.
His grin didn’t fade.
If anything, it grew.
His eyes softened though, the joking still there but mixed with sothing else I couldn’t pin down.
The silence stretched.
I could feel the heat rolling off him in the cramped space, and it only made my pulse quicker.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away, didn’t even act like being shoved into a wall mattered.
He just stared at like I was the only thing worth paying attention to.
Then he moved.
Not to push back, not to argue.
Just fast enough that I didn’t see it coming. His hand slid to the back of my neck, and his mouth crashed into mine.
No hesitation.
No asking.
Just Tom being Tom—reckless, bold, doing whatever the hell he wanted.
It was deep, firm, like he’d been holding back for years and finally decided to stop.
For a second, I froze, my brain blank, every thought scattered.
The anger didn’t vanish, but it shifted, tangled up with sothing hotter, harder to fight off.
It didn’t felt like a joke anymore.
His other hand gripped my arm like he was afraid I’d pull away, though the grin against my lips told he wasn’t worried.
Not at all. If anything, he was thrilled.
I could feel it in the way he kissed , all energy and hunger, like this was what he’d been chasing since day one.
Like this was what he was after all this ti.
My fists stayed planted on the shelf for a mont before they finally unclenched.
The thud of my heartbeat was louder than anything in the silent library.
He pulled back just enough to look at , and even in the shadows, I could see it—his teal eyes bright, almost glowing, and so damn happy.
Like pinning him to a wall had been the best thing that ever happened to him.
"You finally noticed !"
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