ᴍy ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴩʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ

The vast expanse of the university library hummed with the quiet rustle of turning pages and the soft murmur of hushed conversations. Porschay, an earnest first-year student with a perpetually worried frown, stood precariously on a rickety stool, stretching for a book on a high shelf. His best friend, Baiboon, leaned against a nearby bookcase, scrolling through his phone, a habitual sigh escaping his lips.

“Dude, are you almost done?” Baiboon whined, not looking up. “My legs are cramping from just standing here.”

Porschay ignored him, fingers brushing against a worn leather bound volume. Just as he grasped it, a sudden vibration from Baiboon’s phone startled him. Baiboon, ever the one to prioritize, instinctively let go of the stool he was meant to be steadying.

“Baiboon!” Porschay yelped, feeling the stool wobble violently beneath him. The book slipped from his grasp, and he pitched forward, bracing himself for the inevitable, embarrassing thud against the polished floor. Instead, two strong arms enveloped him, one cradling his back, the other beneath his knees, lifting him effortlessly. The scent of expensive cologne and something uniquely masculine filled his senses. He blinked, looking up into a pair of cold, deep-set eyes that seemed to pierce his very soul.