Chapter Thirty-Three: Study Breaks and Butterflies
(Ria's POV)
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and textbooks. Final exams were creeping up, and I'd promised myself — and Lia — that I wouldn't procrastinate. But somehow, when Miles arrived, all my focus disappeared.
"Hey," he said, dropping his bag by the door. His grin was lazy, dangerous, and it made my stomach do that ridiculous flip it had been doing all morning.
"Hey," I mumbled, pretending to be calm.
"You look… tired," he said, eyes scanning my face like he could see every thought swirling in my head.
"I've been up since six. Finals," I muttered, shoving my notebook toward him. "Don't stare at me like that."
"I'm not staring," he said. "I'm memorizing."
I groaned. "You're impossible."
He just grinned and plopped down on the couch next to me, close enough that our knees brushed. My pulse picked up. I tried to concentrate on the notes in front of me, scribbling formulas and key points, but the words blurred as I kept stealing glances at him.
"Okay, seriously," I said after a few minutes, "are you here to study or to distract me?"
"I'm here to study you," he replied smoothly, leaning a little closer.
I threw a pencil at him. "Ugh! Miles!"
He caught it midair, holding it between his fingers like a trophy. "See? Distraction achieved."
I groaned again, hiding my face behind my notebook. I could feel his eyes on me, and it was both maddening and comforting at the same time.
"You're impossible," I whispered.
"Maybe," he said softly. Then his thumb brushed against my hand — just a touch, but it made my stomach twist.
We tried to focus on studying, really we did. Miles was surprisingly helpful, quizzing me on definitions and concepts I should have remembered but had forgotten.
"Ria, what's the derivative of this function?" he asked.
I blinked at the page. "I… don't know."
"Threads," he said, using that nickname that made my knees weak, "you do know. You just don't want to admit it because it's easier to make me help you."
"Shut up," I muttered, hiding a grin.
After an hour, I stretched and groaned. "We need a break."
He leaned back, smirking. "Oh? And what kind of break are we talking about?"
I rolled my eyes, but my heart was racing. "A normal one. Not one of your 'let's stare at each other like idiots' breaks."
He tilted his head, eyes twinkling. "Too late. You've been under my gaze for… how long now?"
I groaned again, trying to hide my blush. "Don't say it out loud!"
He laughed softly, leaning closer. "I can't help it. You're impossible."
I pressed my lips together, heart thudding. Impossible him, impossible me.
By the time the second break rolled around, we were sitting closer than before. Miles's knee brushed mine, his arm resting near mine, fingers occasionally ghosting across my notebook as he reached for a pen.
"You're really cute when you're trying to focus," he murmured, voice low.
I swallowed hard. "Miles."
"Mm?"
"Stop talking like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you're about to kiss me at any second."
He smiled, just barely, leaning so close I could feel his breath. "Maybe I am."
My heart leapt. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe properly. I just knew that the weight of last night — the kiss, the private after-party, the fairy lights, the quiet, the way he looked at me — had followed me into the daylight.
"Stop being ridiculous," I whispered, but my hands were trembling.
"I'm not ridiculous," he murmured back. "I just… can't stop thinking about you."
We sat like that for a long moment. The textbooks lay forgotten, notes scattered across the coffee table. I could feel his eyes on me, heavy, soft, protective, possessive in that way that made my stomach twist.
And then — impossibly, irresistibly — he leaned closer again.
The world shrank to just us. The books, the exams, the noise from the street outside… none of it mattered.
He whispered, "Happy birthday again, Threads."
I couldn't speak. My heart was hammering, my hands were shaking. And the night — the kiss, the closeness, the years of almosts and maybes — pressed forward in that quiet, electric way.
And I knew. Whatever happened next, it was only going to get more complicated. And I couldn't wait to see how.