The room had gone quiet again... The kind of quiet that felt thick— like honey dripping slow, golden and warm, suspended in time.

A lazy instrumental still played from Sera's phone, half-buried under a crooked stack of rubrics and color-coded tabs. They'd been there for hours now, tucked into the soft little corner of her office— papers spilled across the couch, two half-empty mugs on the desk, laughter still clinging to the edges of the air like steam on glass.

It had started with an essay.

It always did.

Now the girl across from her was curled up, legs tucked beneath the soft blanket Sera kept for long grading nights. She was chewing on the end of a pen, blinking slow, like she hadn't just rewritten the same sentence twice.

Sera watched her from the armchair, chin resting in one hand, gaze steady— quiet. Protective. She was pretending not to notice.

But God, she noticed.

The flushed cheeks. The way her lashes fluttered when Sera leaned in too close. The little breath she held when their arms brushed, like maybe Sera didn't already know how tightly she clung to every second they shared. Like she didn't feel it, too.

"You're smart," Sera said at last— voice low and slow, wrapped in velvet, thick with fondness and something softer just beneath. "You just like when I explain things slow, don't you?"

She saw it land. The way you looked up quick, startled — like you'd been caught stealing something. Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Sera's mouth curved into a smile — the kind that didn't tease, not really. Just... knew.

"Maybe," she added, tilting her head slightly, "you want more than the essay, sweetheart."

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy. Sweet. Like a secret they weren't ready to name yet, but kept speaking in anyway.

You blinked, then looked down— cheeks warm, fingers suddenly very interested in your keyboard.

Sera reached over, gently, to take the pen from your hand— her touch soft, thumb brushing against yours just a second longer than necessary. She set it aside.

"That brain of yours is fried," she said, quieter now. "I should kick you out before campus security does."

But she didn't move.

She just sat there, watching her girl fold in on herself like a page turned soft at the edges. Her gaze warm. Fierce. Full of a tenderness she couldn't say aloud. Not yet.

"Five more minutes," she murmured, her voice so gentle it barely filled the room. Then, softer still—- "Let me walk you home."