Page 26 of Watching You
We walk in silence for a few beats, the campus buzzing around us. I feel his presence like gravity, pulling, steady, impossible to ignore. Then I glance sideways and say, “My room smells like you.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pretend. Just smirks, slow and deliberate. “Does it?”
I shrug. “Weird. I don’t remember inviting you in.”
He laughs under his breath. “You didn’t. But you didn’t lock me out either.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Because he’s right. And because part of me doesn’t want to push him away.
Halfway down the path, he slides his arm around my shoulders. Casual. Confident. Like it’s always been there.
We reach the edge of the humanities building, and I slow my steps, heart thudding louder than it should. Kane’s arm is still draped over my shoulders, warm and heavy, like it belongs there. LikeIbelong there. Students pass us, glancing, whispering, watching. I feel their eyes like static against my skin.
I hate being seen.
I hate beingnoticed.
But I don’t pull away.
Kane doesn’t seem to care. He walks like the world bends around him, like attention is currency he never has to spend. And now he’s spending it on me.
We stop just short of the entrance, and he turns to face me, eyes scanning my face like he’s memorizing it. “You good?”
I nod, but it’s not convincing. “I guess.”
He leans in slightly, voice low. “You smell like me.”
My breath catches. I look up at him, pulse skipping. “Funny. I was going to say the same thing about my pillow.”
His smile is slow, deliberate, and dangerous. “Guess we’re syncing.”
I roll my eyes, but it’s weak. Because he’s right. Because I feel it. Because something in me is already shifting to match his rhythm.
He reaches out, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear like it’s nothing. Like it’s his to touch. “I’ll see you after.”
I nod again, quieter this time. “Okay.”
He steps back, but not far. Just enough to let me go. Just enough to remind me he could follow me in. That hemight. That he’s already inside more than I ever let anyone be.
As I step into my classroom, something in me stutters. Not because of Kane’s lingering scent on my skin or the phantom weight of his arm still wrapped around my shoulders, but because I hadn’t counted. Not the sidewalk cracks. Not the steps. Not the seconds between breaths. The walk from Meadow View to the humanitiesbuilding was long enough to count. Ialwayscount. It’s how I stay upright, how I keep the chaos from swallowing me whole. But this time, I didn’t. Kane had been there, his presence loud enough to drown out the numbers, his voice threading through my thoughts, his touch anchoring me in a way that made me forget the rituals I’ve built my sanity around. And now, standing alone in the quiet room, I don’t know what scares me more—that I broke my routine… or that I didn’t miss it.
He’s there again. Waiting outside the building like he’s part of the architecture now, leaning against the column, hoodie pulled up, eyes already locked on me before I even step out. It’s becoming a pattern. A rhythm. He’s at every class, every exit, like he’s syncing himself to my schedule.
I pause, heart thudding. “Why are you always here?”
He shrugs, casual. “I wanted to give you something.”
His smirk is slow, deliberate, and when the dimple appears, my stomach flips. Butterflies. Real ones. Not the anxious kind. The dangerous kind.
I nod, tentative. “Okay.”
We walk in silence to his dorm, the air between us thick with something I don’t have words for. When he opens the door and gestures for me to go in, I hesitate but only for a second. Then I step inside.
It’s clean. Surprisingly clean. Not sterile like mine, not neurotic, but intentional. His bed is perfectly made, corners tucked, sheets smooth. It makes me feel safer than I expected. He doesn’t have a roommate. The space is quiet. Private. His.
“Sit,” he says, nodding toward the bed.
I do. Carefully. Like I’m stepping into something sacred.
