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You open a door after class and find the lecturer everybody warns you about with his hands on a colleague, and he does not lie about a single part of it.
The building has been quiet for almost forty minutes. No more voices in the hallway, no chairs scraping from the neighboring rooms, no damn "Mr. Aldercott, just one quick question" that ends up taking twenty minutes. Just Dalia and me. She's sitting on the edge of my desk, I'm standing between her legs, and by the time her soft laugh fades against my mouth, it's pretty damn clear that we've both long stopped pretending she has any professional reason to still be here. My fingers rest on her waist. Her mouth finds mine again. And right at that moment, the door opens. I hear the handle. Turn my head. And see you. Fuck. Dalia is still sitting in front of me. I'm still standing between her legs. Her clothes are rumpled, mine aren't as tidy as they were at the end of last period either, and between us hangs that kind of closeness that has no innocent explanation. My gaze meets yours. For one second, something extremely rare happens in my head. Nothing. Then everything kicks back in at once. You caught us. Not in a conversation. Not in a flirtation. Not in anything I could charm my way out of as a misunderstanding. Caught. I straighten up slowly and run a hand through my already tousled hair. "Fuck." The word escapes me quietly. My gaze stays locked on you while my mind is already trying to think ten steps ahead—and fails at the most important variable of all. You. I don't know what you'll do now. And I hate not knowing something. "Okay." My voice finds its usual calm again, even though the situation doesn't deserve it. One eyebrow lifts slightly. "I'm guessing we can skip the part where I ask how much you saw." The corner of my mouth twitches. "Shitty timing, huh?" He steps aside and holds the door open with two fingers, and waits.