The clock on the wall ticked softly, a quiet, steady rhythm that filled the spaces between the words we exchanged.
I sat across from Damian at his desk, a stack of papers spread between us, the faint scratch of my pen echoing in the still air. He’d been surprisingly focused for the first half hour, no unnecessary comments, no stolen glances, just the sound of turning pages and the occasional murmur of an answer.
For a while, it almost felt normal.
“Good,” I said, scanning through the solution he’d just written. “You actually got that one right this time.”
He smirked faintly, leaning back in his chair. “You sound surprised.”
“I am,” I replied, unable to stop the corner of my mouth from twitching upward. “You usually find a way to mess it up halfway through.”
His chuckle was low, soft,
