The ride back home was awkward.
When I closed the door, the sound was too soft.
Not the hollow slam I expected, but something muted and final, like the car has sealed itself around us.
The outside world disappeared almost instantly. No wind, no distant voices from campus, not even the echo of passing traffic. Just the low hum of the engine and the faint rhythm of his breathing beside me.
It felt smaller than it should.
Not physically, but in the way my awareness kept brushing against him without permission. The heat of his body bleeding through the center console.
Every time he shifts gears, his sleeve moves, and I catch the quiet slide of fabric against his wrist.
There were no unnecessary details, no hanging charms from the mirror, no receipts stuffed between compartments. Even the faint glow of the console lights felt deliberate, cool against the shadows that gathered around his side of the car.
Streetlights pass overhead in slow intervals, filtering through the windshield and cutting across his profile.
For a second at a time, I see him clearly. The set of his jaw, the stillness in his expression, the way his hands rest too comfortably on the wheel and then he's gone again, swallowed by shadow.
It would be easier if he spoke.
Easier if he filled the silence with something casual, something meaningless.
Instead, he let it stretch between us until it becomes its own kind of pressure, something that presses against my ribs and makes every inhale feel too shallow.
The seats were pure leather, the kind that made a squeak when you tried to adjust. His cologne blended into the car, making my face flush even more.
He leaned forward to adjust the rear-view mirror, his sleeve falling down his wrist, revealing his bare arm, veins sprawling like the roots of trees. I stared at the window as he caught me staring.
His typical smirk crept up. His watch kept bouncing off the dark interior of the car, sending a cold tingle down my back, my knees, my legs. He was everywhere, even if he didn't try to be.
His fingers relaxed on the wheel before gripping it forward. The car responded with a low purr, then a roar. Of course.
His fingers relaxed on the wheel, gripping it forward. The car responded with a low purr and the a roar. Of-course.
My eyes moved back to his arm, this time unafraid. Close enough to see the subtle muscle flexes when he changed gears. Close enough to understand how much little space was separating both of us.
The car was now warmer.
The car felt warmer now. My breathing turned uneven, thighs tensing as my mind wandered somewhere it shouldn't. To all the things we could do. All the things he could do to me.
What if he stopped the car and leaned in?
Would I move away, or would I let it happen? Would I lean into it, let his hand find my hair, let myself forget where we were for just a second?
The road seemed clearer when I finally forced myself out of my thoughts.
I could see my building from far. My chest falling with comfort.
"You're staring."
My head snapped from the window. "I'm not."
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You forget the glass reflects at night."
I swallowed, pretending to study the passing streetlights. "You're very confident for someone who's supposed to be watching the road."
"I can multitask."
"Clearly."
His fingers adjusted on the steering wheel, slow and deliberate. "If it makes you nervous, you can just say that."
"It doesn't."
"Good," he replied easily. "I'd hate to think I'm distracting you."
I let out a quiet breath, refusing to look at him again. "You overestimate yourself."
"Do I?"
I scoffed, pushing his head jokingly, catching myself immediately. This was my enemy. I hated his guts, and it only took him a day for me to start behaving like this. I hated it.
But his smile, the way he looked at me. It was soft, like he cared, but I couldn't. I can't let him distract me, just like he said.
I have a three-year case I have to resolve and a criminally intensive school to graduate from with top marks. I was risking too much, and he was risking too little.
"Why do you do that?" he asked softly.
"You look so stern, and when you catch yourself letting loose, you punish yourself."
His opinion resounded in my head. I knew he wasn't lying. I just couldn't care less, or at least I tried to.
"You did it too. Remember?" His bassy laugh slapped me across the face. Offensive bitch.
"I did it because I want to be around you. If that means keeping my distance, I'm more than happy to do so."
A smile crept up my face. "There she is," he added, patting my head. The car had stopped in front of his building.
I didn't give him the actual address because I'm sure he already knew, and I didn't want that to mess my head up even further.
The last time I came to his house, it scared me really badly. Especially with all the visions I kept having.
I made sure my room was always dark. If he wants fun, I'll make sure he has a hard time having it.
I grab my bags and turn my face slightly at him. Smile never leaving my face.
"Zyren, you're a cocky fucker. I don't like you, but I appreciate everything you've done for me today." His playful side faded.
His eyes flickered, gripping my arm tightly. He leaned in, fingers tracing my tights, body leaning in.
"Atta girl. I wouldn't like to punish you for being ungrateful." He paused, his breathy laugh warming my neck.
"Though I would love to see your ass red and hot from my spanks."
The car door opened. I left the car, back to the running wind.
"Sleep well, Ayra."
I waved at him as his car roared forward, the engine sputtered like fireworks. What a show off.
I walked home, the anticipation pooled in between my legs making it more difficult.
I cursed myself out-loud as I threw myself on the bed. This time I opened the window. Lights on.
Call it an appreciation gift