Lucien sat at the dining table with his books while Leon brought over tea, fruit, and a plate of small pastries he'd clearly prepared beforehand. The whole thing was unfairly domestic, and Lucien hated how quickly his irritation weakened.

"Open your textbook," Leon said.

Lucien did, then regretted coming.

Studying with Leon in person was different from phone calls.

On the phone, Leon's voice had already been distracting enough. In person, he sat beside Lucien rather than across from him, one forearm resting near the edge of Lucien's notebook, close enough that Lucien could see the faint scars across his knuckles and the veins shifting beneath his skin whenever he turned a page.

Lucien tried reading the first paragraph three times.

None of it entered his brain.

Leon leaned closer, looking at the page.

"This part?"

Lucien nodded too quickly.

Leon explained slowly, patiently, his voice low enough that Lucien had to focus on it. That was the problem. Focusing on Leon meant noticing everything else too: the warmth of his body beside him, the faint scent of coffee and soap, the way his shoulder nearly touched Lucien's whenever he moved.

Lucien forced himself to write a note.

His handwriting looked like a medical emergency.

Leon glanced down at it.

"You understand?"

"Yes."

"You wrote 'market sheep' instead of market share."

Lucien froze.

Lucien slammed one hand over the notebook.

"Don't look."

"I'm tutoring you. Looking is part of the job."

"You're distracting me."

The words came out before Lucien could stop them.

Silence settled between them.

Leon turned his head slowly.

Lucien realized what he had said and nearly combusted.

"I mean, because you explain too close."

Leon looked at him for a long moment.

Then he leaned back slightly.

"Better?"

The space should have helped.

It didn't.

Now Lucien was aware of the space.

Studying became torture disguised as productivity. Leon was patient, maddeningly patient, answering every question without complaint, and that only made Lucien more irritated because it supported the terrifying possibility that he really did just enjoy helping people he considered friends.

After an hour, Lucien couldn't take it anymore.

He closed the book.

Leon looked over.

"Tired?"

"No."

"Hungry?"

"No."

Lucien stared at the table for several seconds, then lifted his eyes.

"Leon."

The sound of his name in Lucien's mouth changed the room.

Leon set down his pen.

"What?"

Lucien had prepared a speech on the way here. Something casual. Something clever. Something that would test the boundaries without making him look desperate.

All of it disappeared.

He asked, "Do you hold hands with Joey?"

Leon went completely still.

Lucien's face went red, but he pushed forward anyway.

"Or your other friends."

Leon watched him carefully.

"No."

Lucien's heartbeat kicked hard.

"But you said—"

"I said what?"

Lucien stopped.

Right.

That had been Saoirse.

Not Leon.

He had almost exposed himself in the stupidest way possible.

Leon's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Who told you that?"

"Nobody."

"Lucien."

The name landed heavier than usual.

Lucien looked away.

"I just wondered."

Leon leaned back in his chair, expression unreadable now.

"No," he said. "I don't hold hands with Joey."

Lucien swallowed.

"Then why do you hold mine?"

The question hung between them.

For the first time all morning, Leon didn't answer immediately.

Lucien's fingers tightened around the edge of his notebook.

The longer Leon stayed quiet, the more embarrassed he felt.

"Forget it," he said quickly, standing too fast. "That was weird. I'm going to the bathroom."

Leon caught his wrist before he could leave.

Not hard.

Just enough.

Lucien froze.

Leon looked up at him from the chair, and something in his gaze made the air feel warmer.

"You really want to know?"

Lucien's mouth went dry.

He should say no.

He did not say no.

Leon's thumb moved once against the inside of his wrist, right over the pulse beating too fast there.

"I hold your hand because I want to."

Lucien stopped breathing.

Leon's voice stayed quiet.

"And because every time I don't, I think about doing it anyway."

Lucien stared at him, heat flooding his face so quickly it made him dizzy.

This was not friendship.

This was absolutely, catastrophically not friendship.

Leon released his wrist before Lucien could panic.

"Bathroom's down the hall."

Lucien escaped.

He shut the bathroom door behind himself and gripped the sink with both hands.

His reflection stared back at him, flushed and wide-eyed and completely useless.

So Leon did know.

Leon knew exactly what he was doing.

Lucien splashed cold water on his face, then looked at himself again.

The outfit had worked too well.

This was terrible.

This was also, unfortunately, thrilling.

When he returned, Leon had moved back to the kitchen.

"Lunch?" Leon asked as if he had not just detonated Lucien's entire emotional stability.

Lucien sat down slowly.

"What are you making?"

"Tomato egg noodles."

Lucien hated how quickly that worked on him.

During lunch, Leon didn't bring up the hand-holding again. He only placed a bowl in front of Lucien, passed him chopsticks, and watched him eat with a quiet focus that made Lucien feel both cared for and hunted.

The noodles were good.

Too good.

Lucien ate half the bowl before muttering, "You're evil."

Leon raised an eyebrow.

"For feeding you?"

"For being good at it."

Leon smiled.

"I can be worse."

Lucien almost dropped his chopsticks.

Leon only reached over and wiped a bit of sauce from the corner of Lucien's mouth with his thumb.

Then he licked it off his own thumb.

Lucien went completely silent.

Leon's gaze stayed on him, calm and dangerous.

Lucien stared at him. "Normal people use napkins."

"I'm not normal."

That, at least, was impossible to argue.

By the time Leon drove him back to the dorm in the late afternoon, Lucien's brain felt like it had survived a small war.

At the curb, Leon put the car in park but didn't unlock the doors.

Lucien clutched his backpack strap.

"I'll study the next chapter myself."

"You can try."

"I can."

"I know."

Leon turned toward him slightly.

"But if you need help, call me."

Lucien nodded.

Then, because apparently his self-preservation had died sometime between tomato egg noodles and Leon licking his thumb, he asked quietly, "And if I don't need help?"

Leon's eyes darkened.

"Call me anyway."

Lucien got out of the car before his face could betray him further.

He made it halfway to the dorm entrance before his phone buzzed.

Leon: You forgot your notebook.

Lucien stopped dead.

He looked down at his backpack.

No notebook.

Of course.

A second message appeared.

Leon: Guess you'll have to come back.

Lucien turned slowly toward the car.

Leon was still parked there, watching him through the windshield.

Lucien could see the faint curve of his mouth even from outside.

That bastard.

Lucien clutched his phone so tightly his fingers hurt.

Then he typed back.

Lucien: You did that on purpose.

Leon: Prove it.

Lucien stood there in the cold for several seconds, furious and flustered and smiling despite himself.

Inside the car, Leon watched him through the windshield and let the smile finally show.

The lamb was starting to notice the trap.

Good.

Now he only needed him to walk into it willingly.