The drive upstairs felt longer than it actually was.

Lucien sat rigidly in the elevator with his backpack hugged against his chest while Leon stood beside him in suffocating silence, one hand in his pocket, the other flexing once at his side before going still again.

One of them was trying very hard not to lose control.

The other was getting progressively more offended by the second.

By the time they reached the apartment, the tension between them had thickened into something almost physical.

Leon unlocked the door first and stepped aside to let Lucien in. The larger space seemed to help him recover some composure. By the time the door shut behind them, his expression had settled back into that calm, unreadable mask he wore whenever he was hiding too much beneath it.

Something felt strange.

Leon was polite. Careful. Almost distant.

And somehow that bothered Lucien more than the touching ever had.

The second Leon turned his back, the smile vanished from his face entirely.

Desire sat beneath his skin like fever.

He crossed the kitchen in long strides, grabbed a bottle of ice water, and drank half of it without stopping. Cold helped a little. Not enough, but enough to function.

Unfortunately, Lucien had not come here to study sincerely.

Leon disappearing into the kitchen ruined the entire plan.

Lucien sat on the couch and sulked for approximately four minutes before deciding intervention was necessary.

"Leon," he called. "Can you help me?"

Leon walked back into the living room.

"What happened—"

The words stopped halfway out.

Lucien was kneeling on the floor beside the couch, bent forward with one arm shoved underneath it while the other braced against the carpet. His shirt had ridden up slightly in the back, exposing a strip of pale skin above the waistband of his shorts. The position forced the fabric tight across his hips, and when he shifted again, the shorts dragged higher against the tops of his thighs.

Leon went completely still.

Jesus Christ.

Lucien kept reaching blindly beneath the couch cushions, oblivious.

"My pen rolled under there," he said. "I can't reach it."

Leon's hands curled slowly into fists at his sides.

He could see too much.

The soft curve of Lucien's waist.

The smooth line of his lower stomach.

The way those tiny shorts stretched when he moved.

Leon inhaled once through his nose then regretted it.

"Stand up," he said, voice rough enough that even he noticed it. "I'll get it."

Lucien finally looked back at him.

There was a pause.

Then he pushed himself upright slowly.

Leon saw the faint pink marks on his knees where they'd pressed into the carpet.

Something inside him twisted hard.

He crouched, retrieved the pen in under five seconds, then held it out toward Lucien.

Lucien stepped close, soft and warm and entirely too near.

"Thank you."

Sunlight streamed through the windows behind them, throwing their shadows long across the floor. Lucien's disappeared completely beneath Leon's larger silhouette, swallowed whole by it.

The sight sent something dark and deeply satisfying through Leon's chest.

Mine.

The thought arrived instinctively.

Leon looked away before it could settle too deeply.

"Your shorts are too short."

The comment came out abruptly enough that Lucien blinked.

Then, slowly, his eyes narrowed with interest.

"Oh?" He looked down at himself deliberately. "I thought they looked fine."

Leon turned his head before he did something reckless.

"They don't."

Lucien almost smiled.

Good.

Very good.

Leon retreated toward the kitchen again with visible self-control hanging by threads.

Lucien watched him leave and clenched both fists against the couch cushions.

What exactly was Leon's problem?

If they were supposedly "just friends," then why did he care about the shorts?

Lucien flopped dramatically across the couch and grabbed his phone with the energy of a man entering emotional warfare.

If Leon wanted to act confusing, fine.

Lucien could also become difficult.

Jamie had apparently decided today was dedicated to public service because a stream of shirtless men began flooding the chat.

Gym selfies.

Mirror photos.

Abdominal muscles under suspicious lighting.

Lucien scrolled through them without much enthusiasm.

Honestly, after seeing Leon shirtless, regular men had started feeling underwhelming.

The Saoirse account still had the best chest out of all of them.

"Want some cake?"

Leon's voice appeared overhead.

Lucien startled so hard the phone slipped from his hands and crashed onto the floor.

"You walk like a serial killer," he accused.

Leon bent to retrieve the phone before Lucien could stop him.

Unfortunately, the screen was still on.

A red-haired guy was posing shirtless in front of a mirror while biting the hem of his shirt upward for maximum abdominal visibility.

Silence.

Then Leon gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Maybe you're just too focused," he said calmly.

Lucien snatched the phone back.

"I haven't even opened the more extreme ones," he said coolly. "Those require headphones."

Leon looked at him for several long seconds.

His expression became unreadable in a way Lucien suddenly disliked very much.

Then Leon looked away first.

"Try the cake," he said instead. "I used blueberry jam."

The cake had already been sliced.

Lucien took one bite and forgot how to be suspicious.

Warm vanilla sponge.

Blueberry sweetness.

Soft enough to melt instantly.

Happiness spread visibly across his face while he chewed.

Leon sat beside him without touching his own slice, watching Lucien finish nearly half the cake with unwavering attention.

The sight alone felt rewarding enough.

"Done?" Leon asked eventually.

Lucien nodded even though he absolutely could've eaten more. Being stared at like prey made continued chewing difficult.

Leon moved the plate aside and nodded toward the disaster zone covering the coffee table.

"How's studying going?"

Lucien glanced at the untouched textbooks and answered with heroic dishonesty.

"Pretty good."

"Mm."

Leon picked up one of the notebooks, flipped through several pages, then uncapped a red pen.

"Come here."

Lucien felt like he was being summoned by a professor.

He shuffled closer reluctantly and sat beside Leon on the couch while Leon started circling mistakes with terrifying efficiency.

Lucien's spine straightened automatically.

Humiliation spread slowly through his body each time another spelling error appeared beneath the red pen.

His spoken English was decent.

His written English looked like a hostage situation.

Leon continued marking corrections while Lucien sat there trying not to combust from embarrassment.

At the same time, Leon kept noticing Lucien's thighs pressed together against the black leather cushion.

He remembered exactly how those thighs felt in his hands.

Soft.

Warm.

Barely fitting beneath his grip.

Leon forced his attention back to the notebook.

"You translation went sideways," he said evenly. "If you misunderstand the question, obviously the answer won't make sense."

The irritation in his voice wasn't truly about calculus.

It was about the men on Lucien's phone.

About the realization that Lucien apparently spent his free time looking at strangers online while Leon was over here losing sleep because of one glimpse of Lucien's knees.

At one point, Leon had genuinely wanted to throw the phone across the room and drag Lucien into his lap just to teach him a lesson for testing his patience this recklessly.

Instead he sat there pretending to discuss economics.

Beside him, Lucien's expression dimmed slightly.

So that was it.

Leon was reminding him not to misunderstand things.

Focus on studying.Stop reading into harmless behavior.Stop acting ridiculous.

Lucien bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt.

Then Leon slid a blank sheet of paper toward him and switched awkwardly into Mandarin.

"Start with translating the first question first, okay?"

Lucien blinked.

"You learned Chinese for this?"

Leon looked down at the notebook.

"Seems useful now."

Again.

Again with this impossible behavior.

Lucien scooted closer before he could stop himself, leaning toward the page until his shoulder nearly brushed Leon's chest.

"Then where did I calculate wrong?"

Leon's hand jerked slightly, leaving a streak of red ink across the paper.

Lucien was too close.

Close enough that Leon could smell blueberries lingering sweetly on his breath from the cake.

Damn it.

Leon wanted to kiss him so badly it bordered on physical pain.

Not softly either.

He wanted Lucien pinned down and breathless beneath him, mouth swollen from kissing, those pretty lips wet and trembling while Leon kept forcing them apart with his tongue until Lucien forgot every word except his name.

Instead he explained derivatives.

Slowly.

Carefully.

While his thoughts spiraled somewhere deeply inappropriate.

Gradually, Lucien stopped trying to flirt and actually focused on the lesson. He sat properly beside Leon now, head lowered over the notebook while scribbling down explanations in concentrated silence.

Leon rested his temple against one hand and watched him write.

Lucien's eyelashes looked absurdly long from this angle.

If Leon covered his eyes with one hand, would they flutter against his palm like that while he kissed him?

Would Lucien become more sensitive without sight?

Would he shake?

Would his skin flush pink everywhere if Leon touched him the right way?

"Like this?" Lucien asked suddenly.

Leon dragged himself back to reality.

Lucien was pointing at the notebook with one finger, nail pale pink and perfectly rounded.

Leon's throat tightened unexpectedly.

He wanted that finger in his mouth.

"Yeah," he said roughly. "That's right."

Lucien smiled faintly and returned to writing, completely unaware of the danger sitting inches away from him.

Leon leaned back against the couch slowly and stretched one arm along the backrest behind Lucien's shoulders.

From a distance, it looked almost like an embrace.

Leon let himself enjoy the image for one selfish second.

He'd been patient long enough.

Eventually, one way or another, the lamb was going to end up in his arms for real.