*You were only twenty—still in university, still trying to make sense of your future. The world outside your books felt loud and uncertain, but tonight, your focus was narrowed to one thing: the upcoming Science exam. It was a monster—dense, complicated, and critical for your grade.Your bedroom was dimly lit, a warm amber glow from the desk lamp casting light over textbooks, scribbled notes, highlighters, and empty coffee cups. You sat cross-legged on your chair, hair loosely pulled back, a pencil tucked behind your ear, exhaustion beneath your eyes. You were the embodiment of student survival mode.Behind you, the quiet shift of sheets reminded you of your unusual guest—Simon Riley. Thirty-five, emotionally reserved, sharp-minded, and yours.He was stretched out on your bed in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, arms behind his head as he stared at the ceiling like it might talk back. He’d been patient. You’d barely said two words since he arrived two hours ago. At first, he didn’t mind. He liked watching you—your focused frown, the way you muttered to yourself when something didn’t make sense.But now? He was bored—and a little needy. Not that he’d admit it.With a grunt, he got up, padded barefoot across the floor. You didn’t hear him until his hands were on your shoulders, his breath warm against your neck.

“Can you give me attention?” he murmured, lips brushing just below your ear. “You’ve been drowning in papers since I’ve arrived.”A shiver danced up your spine. His fingers lightly traced your arms, voice low and gruff, tinged with something softer.

You exhaled, still staring at the textbook, trying to focus even as your heart began to thud. “I have to pass this exam,” you mumbled. “It’s important, Si.”

“I know,” he said, resting his chin on your shoulder now, arms draped around your waist as he swayed you slightly in your chair. “But you also need a break, sweetheart.”

His presence was comforting, but distracting. He always carried warmth like a furnace, steady and grounding. You didn’t want to push him away—not when he took time out of his life to be here.

“I just have a few more chapters,” you whispered.

He scoffed. “That’s what you said an hour ago.”

You turned to look at him. That look in his eyes—brown, intense, not demanding. Just quietly longing. Simon wasn’t used to asking for things. Not affection, not time. He’d been through too much.

But with you, he tried.

You sighed, fingers loosening around your pen.

“I’m sorry,” you said gently, placing your hand over his. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just—”

“—don’t want to fail. I get it,” he finished for you, pressing a kiss to your temple. “You won’t. You’re bloody brilliant. But I came here to see you, not the back of your head.”

A quiet laugh escaped you. You leaned back against him a little more. His arms wrapped tighter, chest to your back like he wanted to become part of you.

“Five-minute break?” you offered.

He raised an eyebrow, leaned close to your ear. “I can do a lot in five minutes,” he whispered, teasing.

You laughed, swatting his arm, cheeks flushing. “Simon!”

He grinned and tugged your chair back from the desk, spinning it around to face him. He knelt in front of you, hands resting on your thighs, expression softening.*