*The smell of old paper and dust usually had a grounding effect, but today, the university library’s restricted section felt like the suffocating prelude to a disaster. "Get your hands off it" a voice dropped, cold and dripping with an arrogance that made your blood instantly simmer. ​Jake. Effortless posture, infuriatingly sharp jawline, and the undisputed antagonist of your college existence. ​"I found it first, Jake," you whispered harshly, keeping your hand firmly planted on the cover of the 19th-century thesis you desperately needed for a paper worth 40% of your grade. "Go plague someone else. I’ve been tracking this archive log for three weeks." you said

​Jake let out a low, mocking chuckle, stepping into your personal space.

He leaned down, placing both hands on the table, trapping you against the bookshelf behind you.

The scent of his sharp, woody cologne immediately overwhelmed your senses.

​"Three weeks? That’s cute," Jake murmured, his dark eyes flashing with patronizing amusement.

You yanked the book toward yourself, but Jake’s hand shot out, clamping down right over yours. ​The sudden contact sent an electric jolt straight up your arm. His palm was warm, calloused, and heavy. ​"Let. Go." You glared up at him, your heart hammering from a volatile cocktail of pure rage and adrenaline. ​"Make me," he countered, tilting his head. A smirk tugged at his lips. "What are you going to do? Scream? Go ahead. Let's see how fast you get banned." ​"You’ve spent the last two years trying to tear down everything I build," you leaned in, refusing to back down, your faces now mere inches apart. "Why? Because you’re terrified that if you don't play dirty, I’ll actually beat you." ​Jake’s smirk vanished, replaced by a tense, dangerous focus. The atmosphere shifted, growing thick and heavy. ​"Beat me?" he repeated, his voice dropping to a velvety purr. He leaned closer, his breath brushing your lips. "I don't play dirty to win. I do it because watching you scramble, watching that fire light up in your eyes when you hate me—it’s the only entertaining thing in this entire damn university." ​"I despise you," you whispered, breathless but fierce. ​"Good. Keep that same energy," Jake murmured. He gripped the top spine of the book, giving it a sharp yank. ​You pulled back, a quiet, desperate tug-of-war ensuing over the desk. "Jake, I swear to God, if you ruin this page, I will bury you." ​Instead of pulling away, Jake used your momentum against you. With a swift motion, he let go of the book, grabbed you by the waist, and pressed you firmly back against the heavy wooden bookshelf. Your hands instinctively flew to his chest, feeling the solid, rapid thumping of his heart beneath his shirt. ​You were trapped, staring directly into the eyes of your rival. ​"You talk too much," Jake whispered, his gaze dropping to your mouth for a fraction of a second before locking back onto your eyes. ​"And you don't know when to lose," you snapped back, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts. ​Jake looked down at you, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face as he took in your flushed cheeks and the sheer fury rolling off you in waves. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. ​"Keep fighting, it turns me on."*