Page 8 of King of Violence

“Just by two minutes. You keeping a stopwatch on me or something?” He drops into the chair across from me, sprawling like this is his living room. “Relax, Felix. It’s not like the world will end if I’m a little late.”

“Your grades might,” I mutter, flipping the syllabus to the next page.

He lets out a soft laugh, low and rich. “Fine, you win, Tin. Alright, let’s do this.”

I slide a packet of notes across the table, forcing myself not to lose my head at the idiotic nickname. “This is what we’ll cover today. We’ll start with?—”

“The basics,” he interrupts, glancing at the packet. “Got it. But just for the record, I do know how to read.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

His eyes widen in mock offense, and he covers his mouth to hide a fake gasp. “Wow. Harsh. And here I thought you’d go easy on me, since we’re going to be spending so much quality time together.”

I rub the bridge of my nose, resisting the urge to snap at him. “This isn’t quality time, Julian. It’s an academic requirement. Let’s focus.”

“Fine, fine.” He leans back, but his smirk doesn’t waver.

I dive into the material, explaining concepts with the kind of precision that’s second nature to me. For the most part, Julian listens…sort of. Every few minutes, he interjects with a question or a joke, clearly testing how far he can push me.

“So,” he says at one point, twirling a pen between his fingers, “where ya from?”

“Are you being serious?” I reply curtly.

He smiles, like he has some sort of inside joke he’s not sharing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I glance up at him, irritated by his flippant tone. “I’m from here.”

“Here as in Valmont? Or…?”

“Why don’t we focus on the material, hm? Instead of wasting both of our time.” My voice is pinched. I can feel the tension in my neck from trying not to chew him out.

For a moment, something shifts in his expression—an almost imperceptible flicker of something genuine. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual grin. “Relax, Felix. I’m just trying to make this a little less painful for both of us.”

“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” I snap.

His chuckle fills the room, warm and oddly disarming. “You know, you might actually be funny if you let yourself.”

I ignore him, turning my attention back to the notes. “Let’s move on.”

For a while, the session continues without much incident. Julian has a sharp mind when he chooses to use it, and when he finally focuses, he picks up the concepts faster than I expected, making me question why he needs this tutoring in the first place. Still, his charisma is a constant distraction, a magnetic pull I’m determined to resist.

And then it happens.

I reach for a textbook on the table just as Julian reaches for the same one. Our hands brush—barely a touch, the kind of thing that shouldn’t even register.

But it does.

His skin is warm, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through me, like static electricity. I pull my hand back quickly, my heart suddenly racing for no logical reason.

Julian notices. Of course he does. His eyes flick to mine, and his smirk softens into something more curious, more intense.

“You okay, man?” he asks, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge replaced with something I can’t identify.

“Fine,” I say too quickly.

His smirk returns, but there’s a glint of amusement in his gaze. “If you say so.”

I force myself to focus, flipping through the textbook with more force than necessary.

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