Onyx's POV
We had just arrived at the study corner inside the I.T. Department—a quiet pocket of space carved out for students who actually intended to get work done. Long benches were paired with wide tables, each fitted with built-in charging ports. It was the kind of place designed for endurance, where you could sit for hours without the low-battery panic or the humiliation of crawling around the floor for an outlet.
Thankfully, it was almost empty.
A few students passed by every now and then, their footsteps muted, their voices lowered as if the space demanded respect. Most of them were probably still in class. The air felt still. Contained. Safe, even.
Jace and I set our bags down on one of the tables. We sat across from each other, the distance just wide enough to feel intentional. I pulled my laptop out first, sliding it carefully from its sleeve and setting it in front of me like something fragile.
"You brought your laptop, right?" I asked.
"Yes," he said.
He rummaged through his bag for a moment, then pulled out a small, hard case and opened it right in front of me.
I paused.
Inside was a pair of eyeglasses.
They weren't exaggerated. Not flashy. Just clean. Sharp. The kind that looked deliberate.
"You... wear those?" I asked, genuinely curious. Because it didn't fit the image I had of him at all.
"Mmm," he replied as he put them on.
"Is your eyesight bad?"
"No," he said easily. "I just wear them so I look busy."
Then he smirked.
I stared at him, unimpressed.
For a moment, I had actually thought he had vision problems. Turns out, it was just for show.
Figures.
I turned back to my laptop and opened it, forcing myself to focus. But every few seconds, my eyes betrayed me—glancing at him, then back to my screen. Quick looks. Careless ones. Nothing I could stop in time.
After a moment, he finally pulled out his laptop.
It was wrapped in a deep red protective case.
He placed it on the table, unzipped the cover, and slid it out slowly.
I didn't even see the whole thing.
Just the edge.
Just the corner.
And my breath caught.
My eyes widened before I could stop them.
When he fully lifted it from the case and set it down in front of him, my thoughts went completely blank.
Sleek. Thin. Dark metal finish.
That logo.
My heart skipped.
"Wait," I said, a little too quickly. "Don't tell me your laptop is an ASUS ROG Zephyrus G16?"
I pressed my lips together afterward, suddenly aware of how eager I must have sounded.
I stared at it like a kid frozen in front of a glass display at a toy store—hands at his sides, eyes shining, pretending he wasn't already imagining what it would feel like to hold it.
Jace glanced at me.
Then at the laptop.
Then back at me.
"Yeah," he said casually. "Why?"
Why?
That thing was a monster.
OLED display. High refresh rate. Discrete GPU. A machine built for heavy workloads—virtual machines, simulations, rendering. The kind of laptop I had researched obsessively at two in the morning. The kind I had bookmarked. Compared prices for. Closed the tab on, because it didn't matter how badly I wanted it.
I couldn't afford it.
"Nothing." I said quietly.
But my eyes betrayed me again.
I leaned just a little closer, unable to help myself.
"That's... the RTX configuration, right?" I asked. "With the high-core CPU?"
He shrugged while opening it. "I think so. Whatever was the top option."
The screen lit up.
Crisp. Bright. Almost offensively perfect.
"When I went to the shop, I just told the staff to give me the most expensive one," he added. "Didn't really look at the specs. It didn't matter."
Didn't really look.
I swallowed.
How rich 'was' this guy, actually? He'd mentioned once that money wasn't an issue for him. I hadn't realized he meant it this literally.
He said it too smoothly.
Too practiced.
My eyes drifted to the way his fingers moved—straight to the right shortcut keys, adjusting the refresh rate without looking. He disabled the startup apps in two clicks. No hesitation. No trial and error.
He said it like he doesn't know or care anything about his laptop's specs.
But I watched him closely, the way his fingers went where they were supposed to go.
People who didn't understand hardware didn't move with that kind of certainty.
I said nothing.
But something about him didn't add up.
Jace glanced at me again—longer this time.
Something unreadable flickered across his face before he looked back at his screen, completely unfazed.
"You like it?" he asked.
I nodded.
Yeah.
I liked it a little too much, that's what I wanted to say.
"A little bit," I answered and shrugged it off.
He chuckled.
"But your eyes say otherwise," he said. "You looked like a kid seeing his favorite toy."
"Okay, I admit it," I said, exhaling. "I dreamed of having that laptop. I just couldn't afford it. That's all."
I turned back to my own laptop, which suddenly felt... humble. Smaller. Like it had been downgraded just by sitting next to his.
"If you want," he said, "you can use this. In case that 'thing' couldn't handle the workload anymore."
"Hey!" I exclaimed, frowning. "This 'thing' still works properly!"
He looked at me lazily.
"Didn't know you could raise your voice," he said. "I thought you were just that quiet guy who sits at the back, minding his own business."
I straightened, realizing only then that I 'had' raised my voice. Heat crept up my neck. I took a slow breath to compose myself.
"Let's just start working," I said, already typing. "If you need help with the tasks—or if you don't understand something—just let me know."
"Why?" he asked. "You think I'm dumb?"
"No," I said quickly, looking at him, my eyes widening as I shook my head. "I didn't mean it that way."
He smirked and shook his head slowly.
"Relax," he said, clearly amused. "I'm not trying to scare you off. If I don't know how to do something—" he glanced at me, "—I'll ask you."
Then he turned back to his laptop.
I released the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
For a moment, I honestly thought I had triggered his hostility—that he might think I saw him as stupid, careless, just another reckless student with money and no substance.
But he didn't snap.
He didn't scoff.
He just... accepted it.
And somehow, that felt more unsettling than if he had.
* * *
Minutes slipped by. Maybe thirty. Enough time for the quiet to settle into my bones.
I stretched slightly, rolling my shoulders, then glanced at Jace—just a quick look meant to be harmless.
He wasn't typing.
His eyes narrowed and his brows pulled together, the way people looked when they were either deeply confused... or refusing to admit they were.
I hesitated.
Should I ask if he needed help?
Or should I wait for him to ask first—just to make sure I didn't step on his pride?
I scratched the back of my head and let out a slow breath. I was about to turn back to my work when—
"Boss..."
The word stopped me cold.
I looked up.
He was still staring at his screen, but there was something almost reluctant in the way he spoke, like the word itself cost him something.
"Can you make me fully understand this task," he said at last.
There it was. The signal.
"Sure," I replied casually, as if my chest hadn't tightened just a little.
He angled his laptop toward me.
And I forgot how to breathe.
Not because of the code.
Because of the laptop itself—up close now. Sleek. Clean. Almost unreal, like something that didn't belong in a university study corner but in a showroom behind glass.
I didn't realize my lips had parted until—
"You can touch it if you want," he said suddenly.
My hands moved before my pride could stop them.
I brushed my fingers over the keys, slow and reverent, like I was handling something sacred. The relief that washed over me was embarrassing. I smiled before I could stop myself, inspecting every detail like a child finally allowed to play.
From the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head.
"You're really funny," he said, amused. "You can touch it all day if you want."
That snapped me back.
I straightened immediately, withdrawing my hands as if I'd been caught doing something illegal.
Right. Focus.
"Okay," I said, clearing my throat. "Which part don't you understand?"
I leaned closer to the screen.
"This annoying thing right here," he said, pointing at a block of code.
"Let me see first," I said.
He removed his finger and rested both hands on the table, relaxed. Too relaxed.
I scanned the code, then began explaining.
"You're supposed to establish the data flow before you jump into the validation logic. Right now, you're skipping steps."
No response.
I assumed he was listening.
I continued anyway.
"Think of it like this," I said, tracing an invisible path on the screen. "The system doesn't care how clean your interface looks if the backend doesn't know where the data is going. So you start here, define the relationships, then—"
I stopped.
Something felt wrong.
Too quiet.
I glanced at him.
Jace wasn't looking at the screen.
He wasn't looking at the code.
He was looking at me.
Not lazily. Not distracted.
Focused.
His chin rested against his knuckles, elbow propped on the desk, eyes narrowed—at my face.
Heat crept up the back of my neck instantly.
I straightened slightly, pretending I hadn't noticed, and forced my gaze back to the screen.
"—then you normalize the tables so you don't repeat values," I continued. "Otherwise, the system becomes inefficient."
Still nothing.
I risked another glance.
Unblinking.
I cleared my throat.
"Jace."
"Hm?" he responded immediately, like he'd been waiting for his name. "Yes, Boss?"
"You're... not following," I said carefully.
"I am."
"You're not looking at the screen."
He tilted his head, eyes never leaving mine.
"I already know what my screen looks like," he said.
That did it.
My ears burned.
I turned back to the laptop at once, pretending to scroll.
"I'm not talking about the screen," I said a little too quickly. "I'm talking about the project. You asked me to explain the task. Not... whatever this is."
A pause.
Then—
"So explain it again," he said. "Slower. And in more human-friendly language."
I exhaled through my nose.
Fine.
I leaned in again, this time deliberately keeping my eyes glued to the monitor.
"Okay," I said. "Look here. This function—"
I felt it again.
His gaze.
Following every movement. Every shift of my shoulders. Every small gesture.
I tried not to think about it. I focused harder.
"This is where most people mess up," I said. "They assume the system will—"
"You tend to do that thing."
I stopped.
"Huh?" I asked.
He gestured vaguely.
"When you're concentrating," he said. "Your brows knit together. Like this."
And then he did it.
I froze.
"You're supposed to be learning," I said flatly. "Or else you won't get this task properly."
"I am learning," he replied. "Just not what you're teaching."
I looked at him.
Big mistake.
He was smiling—cocky, satisfied—like he'd won something small and personal.
"I'm studying you," he said.
I straightened immediately, putting distance between us.
"Focus," I said, tapping the desk once. "If you don't understand this part, we cannot move on."
He finally turned his attention back to the screen.
For exactly three seconds.
Then—
"So," he said casually, "do you always look this serious when you're teaching people, or is this just for me?"
I stared at the code.
The code did not help.
"Yes," I said stiffly. "I'm like this with everyone."
He hummed, unconvinced.
"That's disappointing," he said. "I thought I was special."
I swallowed harder than necessary.
You are so special that I hope I never have to see you again after this.
"Do you want me to guide you or not?" I asked. "Because if you're just going to play around, we can end it here."
He leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased.
"I do," he said. "Very much. Go on."
Then, softer—
"I'm listening."
And I hated that my pulse had started to pick up anyway.
I started explaining everything again from the beginning—and this time, finally—finally—he was actually paying attention to the laptop screen.
Not half-listening. Not pretending. Not leaning back with that lazy, unreadable look like he was only here to pass the time.
He was focused.
Seconds passed, and he stayed that way. Genuinely listening. Serious in a way I honestly hadn't expected to ever see from him. I had already braced myself for interruptions, for teasing comments, for him derailing the explanation just to see my reaction.
But none of that happened.
"Ah," he said slowly, nodding as if something had clicked into place. "So that's how it goes."
"If you still don't understand some of the next tasks," I said, keeping my tone steady, professional, "just tell me. Okay?"
"Sure, Boss," he said, grinning.
I didn't react.
I refused to give him that satisfaction. The moment he sensed I cared, he'd turn it into a whole thing—and I wasn't about to let that happen. Still, I couldn't deny the quiet surprise settling in my chest.
This wasn't the person I thought I knew.
The version of him I had encountered before—through messages, through clipped words and sharp replies—had been rude, impatient, almost reckless. But sitting here with him now, face to face across the table, he felt... different. Lighter. Easier.
That didn't mean I trusted him.
And it definitely didn't change my plan.
Once this semester was done, we would go our separate ways. I was only here to be professional. Nothing more.
I turned my attention back to my own work, fingers moving across the keyboard, though my eyes betrayed me. I kept glancing his way—just quick checks—to make sure he was actually doing something.
For a few minutes, he looked focused. Which made me suspicious.
Was he really working on our project, or—
Beep. Beep. Phew. Phew.
I froze.
I didn't even need to look. The sounds alone were enough to tell me everything.
Slowly, I stopped typing and turned my head toward him, my expression completely flat.
The moment he noticed me staring, he looked back.
"Yes?" he asked innocently. "Any problem?"
"You're playing, aren't you?" I said.
"No," he replied immediately, shaking his head far too quickly. The denial was written all over his face.
"You can leave if you're bored," I said calmly. "I don't mind."
"No, really," he insisted. "I'm not playing."
He turned his laptop toward me.
I blinked.
It was a PowerPoint presentation.
He clicked once—and a dramatic 'phew' sound followed as text appeared.
"I was working on our presentation," he said proudly. "Making it, you know... not boring. So I added sound effects. What do you think?" His eyebrows wiggled as if he'd just cracked some genius-level idea. "It should feel executive-level."
I stared at the screen.
He clicked again.
The slide changed.
A bold title appeared:
"Welcome to Jace and Onyx's Wonderful and Enjoyable Presentation! ;)"
My eyes widened.
He clicked again.
Curtains slid across the screen in an unnecessarily dramatic transition, taking a full three seconds to reveal the next slide—followed immediately by the sound of loud applause.
I blinked.
"What the—" I murmured under my breath.
"It's good, right?" he asked, grinning like he was genuinely proud.
Another click.
Words appeared one by one, each accompanied by a sharp gunshot sound.
I just... stared.
"If you were the professor," he said confidently, "you'd be amazed, right?"
My lips parted, but no words came out.
Another click. More transitions. More sound effects. At this point, the presentation felt less like an academic project and more like a cinematic trailer fighting for attention.
And then—before I could stop it—a sound escaped me.
A laugh.
Soft. Brief. Completely unplanned.
The moment it happened, I froze.
I straightened immediately, clearing my throat, already trying to reclaim my composure. But it was too late.
Jace had gone quiet.
Slowly, he turned toward me.
Not smug.
Not teasing.
Just... interested.
"...Finally," he said quietly, "I saw a different emotion this time."
I looked away at once.
"It was nothing," I said, already typing random words on my laptop, pretending I was busy.
"Are you sure?" he replied lightly. "Because it looked like you enjoyed my presentation."
I typed faster.
"It's eye-catching," I said firmly. "But if I were the professor, I'd fail you for excessive transitions. It distracts from the actual purpose of educating. I'll handle the presentation so it stays balanced and informative."
He leaned back in his chair, clearly satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with my critique.
"That's a shame. I feel like it would've made a lasting impression." he said lightly.
I didn't respond.
I didn't trust myself to.
"But," he added, "you should do that more."
"Do what?" I asked, still staring at my screen.
He didn't answer right away.
I glanced at him—just briefly—and saw him closing his laptop, arms crossing as he leaned back. I immediately returned my attention to my screen, clicking and refreshing it pointlessly. I didn't want to meet his gaze. I didn't want him misreading anything.
But I could feel it.
He was looking at me.
He sighed loudly, the kind of sigh meant to be noticed, but I didn't look up. I didn't entertain it. I couldn't let myself become casual with him. We were not friends. We couldn't be.
Once this was over, I would disappear from his life again—for my own safety.
"You should laugh more," he said.
My hands stopped moving.
I still didn't look at him.
Then, softer—
"You look cute when you do."
End of Chapter 6