The college library was a fortress of silence, its towering bookshelves casting long shadows over the quiet corner where I had staked my claim. The air was thick with the musty scent of old paper, a smell that always grounded me, even when my mind was anything but grounded. I sat hunched over my notebook, a fortress of textbooks strategically placed around me to shield my little secret from prying eyes. My pencil danced across the page, sketching curves and lines that were decidedly *not* safe for a public space. A sly grin tugged at my lips as I added a particularly daring detail to the figure on the page—a fantasy inspired by the steamy web content I’d been devouring late at night. My pulse quickened, not from the art, but from the thrill of doing something so brazen in such a sacred, stuffy place.
Across the room, I caught a glimpse of him. Armeo Amil R. Aldover. My nemesis since high school, the thorn in my side who somehow managed to be both infuriating and... distracting. He was sprawled in a chair, one leg kicked over the armrest, his dark hair falling messily over his forehead as he frowned at a textbook. I rolled my eyes, pretending to refocus on my sketch, but my gaze kept drifting back to him. The way his brow furrowed, the way his lips parted slightly as he muttered to himself—it was annoyingly captivating. I hated that about him. I hated that I noticed.
“Ugh, this is torture!” His voice shattered the silence, dramatic as ever, as he threw his head back and groaned loud enough to earn a few glares from nearby students. I bit back a laugh, my pencil hovering over the page as he stood and started pacing. Of course, he’d make a scene. Of course, he’d head straight for me, because apparently, I was his designated audience for every trivial complaint.
“Serena, I’m dying over here,” he whined, dropping into the chair across from me with all the grace of a toddler having a tantrum. “This econ assignment is going to be the death of me. Why do I even need to know about supply and demand? I’m a graphic design major, for God’s sake!”
I didn’t look up, keeping my focus on my notebook as I shaded in a particularly suggestive line. “Maybe if you spent less time whining and more time working, you’d figure it out, Armeo,” I shot back, my tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Or is your brain too busy obsessing over... what is it this week? Anime girls? Celebrity crushes?”
He grinned, leaning forward with that infuriating twinkle in his eye. “Oh, come on, Serena. Don’t act like you’re above distractions. What’s got you so engrossed over there? Drawing dicks again?”
My pencil froze mid-stroke, and I snapped my notebook shut with a sharp *thwack*. Heat crept up my neck, but I refused to let him see me flustered. I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms and fixing him with a glare that could melt steel. “First of all, my art is none of your damn business. Second, even if I were drawing dicks, they’d be better than anything you could come up with—artistically or otherwise.”
His grin widened, and he propped his chin on his hand, completely unfazed. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But tell me, Miss High-and-Mighty, do you prefer them circumcised or not? You know, for... artistic accuracy.”
I barked out a laugh, loud enough to earn a shush from a nearby librarian. Leaning forward, I lowered my voice to a dangerous purr. “Armeo, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were fishing for a personal critique. Careful, or I might just assume you’re volunteering as my next model. Though, let’s be honest, I’d need a magnifying glass to get the details right.”
His jaw dropped for a split second before he recovered, laughing despite himself. “Ouch, Serena. You wound me. But hey, if you’re offering to inspect the goods, I’m game. Just say the word.”
I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched into a smirk. “Keep dreaming, Aldover. I don’t do charity work.”
He clutched his chest dramatically, slumping back in his chair. “You’re brutal. I’m just a humble man seeking your expert opinion. But fine, if you’re not in the mood to play nice, maybe you can help me with something less... personal.” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck—a rare moment of uncertainty that piqued my interest. “Do you have access to the library printer? I need to print some pics for a project. Celebrity references, you know, for a collage.”
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. “Celebrity pics? What, are you making a shrine to Margot Robbie or something?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, just some classic Hollywood icons. Think Marilyn Monroe, James Dean. Gotta impress the prof with my ‘vintage aesthetic’ or whatever.”
I sighed, pushing my chair back and gesturing for him to follow. “Fine. But you owe me. And if I catch you printing anything weird, I’m ratting you out to the librarian.”
As we walked to the printer station, I couldn’t help but notice the way his phone lit up with a notification as he pulled it out to check something. The lockscreen caught my eye—a candid shot of a golden retriever, tongue lolling out in pure, goofy joy. My steps faltered for a moment, and I bit my lip to suppress a smile. Armeo, the insufferable drama queen, had a soft spot for dogs? It was... oddly humanizing. Endearing, even. Not that I’d ever admit it.
“What’s with the face?” he asked, catching my expression as he pocketed his phone. “Don’t tell me you’re judging my wallpaper now.”
I smirked, recovering quickly. “Oh, I’m judging. Didn’t peg you for the ‘man’s best friend’ type. Thought you’d have something more... predictable. Like a half-naked model or a meme.”
He shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises. That’s my dog, Max. Best boy in the world.”
I didn’t respond, but my mind was already spinning with this new tidbit of information. We printed his pictures in silence, the hum of the machine filling the space between us. As we returned to our corner of the library, I settled back into my seat, flipping open my notebook once more. Armeo lingered for a moment, muttering a half-hearted thanks before returning to his own spot across the room.
My pencil hovered over the page, and then, with a wicked grin, I started a new sketch. This one wasn’t inspired by faceless fantasies or online content. No, this one was all Armeo—his sharp jawline, the cocky tilt of his head, the glint in his eye as he’d teased me earlier. I added a playful twist, sketching him in a pose that was far from innocent, a smirk on his lips that mirrored my own.
I glanced up at him one last time, catching his oblivious frown as he wrestled with his textbook. Our rivalry was far from over, and if anything, today had only stoked the fire. I closed my notebook, the sketch hidden away for now, and leaned back in my chair with a satisfied smirk. Let the games continue, Armeo. I was just getting started.
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