The Borrowed Shirt
668 Words
Marianne was good at keeping her composure.
But standing in the hallway with a completely ruined shirt sticking to her skin, she couldn’t help but seethe.
Lila Monroe was going to pay for this.
She had barely managed to suppress her irritation when a familiar voice reached her.
"What happened this time?"
Marianne turned her head, already recognizing the exasperated tone. Felix Everstone stood a few feet away, arms crossed, glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose as he examined her with a mix of amusement and concern.
"Art," she said smoothly. "I was experimenting with modern expressionism."
Felix sighed. "Marianne."
She only smiled.
Without another word, he turned on his heel and gestured for her to follow.
"Come with me."
—
Felix’s office was neat—almost too neat. Books stacked in perfect symmetry, papers aligned as if measured, and a small wooden shelf filled with old, leather-bound novels. A cup of coffee sat untouched on his desk, its steam long gone, forgotten in whatever task had held his attention before this.
He left the door wide open as he moved towards his cabinet, rummaging through his things before pulling out a crisp, navy-blue dress shirt.
"Here," he said, handing it to her. "Put this on before you catch a cold."
Marianne took the shirt but made no move to change. Instead, her eyes wandered.
Felix’s office was far too intriguing to ignore.
Her fingers trailed along the edges of his desk, stopping at the small bookshelf. The titles were old, some even in Latin. She smirked, pulling one out. Of course he read pretentious classics.
Her gaze then fell to the slightly open drawer beside the desk.
Curiosity got the better of her.
With a quick glance at Felix—who was still occupied with something by the cabinet—she reached for the handle and tugged it open just enough to peek inside.
A single letter lay on top of a stack of papers.
Unlike the others, which were crisp and professional, this one was old. Faded at the edges. The envelope was slightly torn, as if it had been opened and reread too many times.
Before she could even process what she was doing, she reached for it.
But just as her fingers grazed the paper—
A hand slammed the drawer shut.
Marianne blinked, startled, only to realize Felix was suddenly right in front of her.
His hand remained on the drawer, trapping hers beneath it. His other hand gripped the desk, as if anchoring himself.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Felix’s eyes—usually guarded—held a sharp, unreadable glint. He was close enough that she could see the way his jaw tensed, the way his chest rose and fell in steady control.
"You’re nosy," he muttered, voice lower than usual.
Marianne tilted her head, unfazed. "And you’re hiding something."
Felix didn’t move. "Let go."
She didn’t. Instead, she smirked, pressing a little closer.
"Must be something important," she teased, voice softer now, more curious than playful.
Felix swallowed. She watched his throat bob slightly, his grip on the desk tightening.
"Marianne."
Her name left his lips like a warning.
She should’ve let it go.
But where was the fun in that?
Marianne leaned in just a fraction, eyes flickering between his and the drawer. "What is it, Professor?"
Felix exhaled sharply through his nose. Then, as if realizing just how close they had gotten, he abruptly stepped back.
Marianne let out a small, victorious hum.
"You’re impossible," he muttered, adjusting his glasses.
She grinned. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."
With one last glance at the drawer, she stepped away, holding up the shirt. "I’ll go change now. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to keep staring?"
Felix groaned, rubbing his temples.
Marianne laughed softly, heading toward the restroom, his shirt in hand.
Felix watched her go, his heart still hammering in his chest.
Marianne Madison was the only one who ever made him hesitate.
- Writer
