The academy library was quieter than usual that evening. Only the soft rustle of pages, the occasional thump of a closing book, and the distant echo of footsteps filled the space. Daniel had claimed a corner table, spreading his notes across the surface. He told himself it was purely for studying, purely for focus.
But when Leo stepped inside, something tightened in his chest.
"Mind if I sit?" Leo asked softly, holding a single textbook against his chest.
Daniel blinked. "You… you can."
Leo didn't wait for invitation. He pulled the chair beside Daniel, settling in with ease. Not too close. Not too far. Just the right distance—just enough to make Daniel hyper-aware of every subtle movement.
Silence stretched between them, neither speaking. Daniel tried to focus on his notes, tracing lines of text with his fingers. Leo, on the other hand, seemed content to simply watch him, calm, patient, but impossibly present.
Finally, Daniel broke the quiet. "You don't have to sit here."
"I know," Leo replied softly. "But I wanted to."
Daniel's head snapped up. "Why?"
Leo's eyes softened. "Because you're tense. And I can tell when you're pretending otherwise."
Daniel's chest tightened. "I'm not pretending."
"You are," Leo said, almost gently. "It's subtle, but it's there. You think no one notices, but I do."
Daniel's fingers tightened around his pen. "You… you don't have to notice."
Leo's lips curved into the faintest smile. "I do. And I'm not going to stop."
Daniel exhaled slowly, trying to calm the rapid pulse in his chest. "Why me?"
Leo's gaze didn't falter. "Because you're… different. You don't push for attention, you don't seek approval, but you move like you carry the weight of something bigger. And you're strong enough to hide it. Or at least you try."
Daniel's throat went dry. "You… you don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," Leo replied. "And I can see when someone's hiding, even from themselves."
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Daniel wanted to argue, to deflect, to run. But the library, the quiet, the closeness—it made words stick in his throat.
"You're… infuriating," Daniel muttered finally, a wry edge in his tone.
Leo tilted his head, eyes glinting. "You mean that as a compliment."
Daniel's fingers fidgeted with the corner of his notebook. "Maybe."
Leo leaned back slightly, relaxed, yet every movement intentional. "I don't want to pressure you. I just… notice. And care. You're carrying more than you realize, Daniel."
Daniel swallowed. The hum of his suppressor beneath his skin made him hyper-aware, tense. "I don't… I don't need anyone to care."
"Maybe not," Leo said softly. "But I do anyway. And that's not something you can control."
Daniel looked down, trying to force his heart to slow, to ignore the warmth rising in his chest. "You should go."
Leo shook his head lightly. "I don't want to. Not yet."
Daniel's jaw tightened. "Then this is—"
"Safe," Leo interrupted gently. "For now. Just… quiet. Just this."
Daniel felt the weight of the words, the closeness, the acknowledgment. It was intoxicating—and terrifying.
A soft sigh escaped him. "You make things… complicated."
Leo's lips curved into a faint, mischievous smirk. "Maybe. But only the things worth feeling."
Daniel didn't respond. He didn't have to. The air between them was heavy, charged with unspoken words, a slow pull he couldn't resist.
When Leo finally closed his book and stood, he gave a small nod. "I'll leave you to your work… for now."
Daniel forced himself to look back at his notes, but his hands trembled slightly. His thoughts refused to stay on equations, strategies, or training.
They lingered on Leo—on the way he noticed, the way he cared, the way he existed so close to him without demanding anything.
And Daniel realized, with a shiver of both excitement and fear, that it wasn't just protection he was feeling anymore.
It was something else. Something dangerously close to wanting.