He didn’t come across as relaxed, and he didn’t come across as at ease; everything about him read as controlled in the way people learn when they’ve figured out exactly how much of themselves is acceptable to show.
Some fucked up part of me recognized that immediately, not because I wanted to romanticize it,even though part of me probably did, but because I’d spent years studying the difference between resilience and performance and knew what it looked like when someone blurred the line.
“He didn’t talk like someone who’d moved on. He talked like someone who’d gotten very good at not being asked follow-up questions.”
Rhys watched me closely now, lips flat and eyes a little too knowing. “That sounds like a you observation.”
“I guess so.”
Because the truth was, I wasn’t projecting blindly. I was recognizing something I’d spent years learning how to name, and this time it was looking back at me.
“I don’t think he’s faking it. I think he’s… selective at who he shows his pain to.”
“Makes sense,” Rhys hummed. “The guy is being watched by an entire institution that wants him to be the poster child for inspiration.”
I swallowed, heat still lingering in my palm where Henry’s hand had been earlier.
Some fractured, inconvenient part of me had clocked him the same way he’d clocked me, and that recognition felt less like attraction and more like being seen in a language I hadn’t agreed to speak out loud.
“You are absolutely going to fall in love with him.”
“Jesus Christ—” I choked, coughing hard enough that I had to grab my water. “That is not what’s happening. I do not fall in love with professors I met once in an interview.”
“You absolutely do. You just call it ‘academic interest’ and pretend it’s not horny.”
“I am not?—”
“I’m not saying it’s bad. I’m saying it’s obvious. He’s smart, he’s composed, he looks at you like you’re interesting instead of fragile,andhe survived something that rewired his entire life.”
I swallowed, forcing myself to chew. “That’s not why.”
“Sure,” he said. “But it’s notnotwhy.”
I stared at that spot on the wall again. “He looked at me like he knew what I was. Not my résumé. Me.”
Rhys didn’t joke this time. He let the silence stretch, which was somehow worse. “That look usually means you’re already halfway gone.”
I huffed a laugh. “That’s not a thing.”
But it sure as hell felt like one.
Something in me had already tipped forward, like my body had hit accept while my brain was still reading the terms and conditions.
I kept replaying the way Henry sat across from me, every movement deliberate enough to feel chosen instead of natural. I wondered what kind of pressure it would take to crack that composure?
I wanted to open him up just enough to see what he kept buried and then stitch him back together wrong on purpose. I wanted to leave marks he’d have to carry quietly… the same way he carried everything else.
Fuck.
I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to lose myself completely or remember every second of the interview in vicious detail, but either way, I knew it wouldn't be forgettable.
Nothingabout him was forgettable.
Rhys shifted his weight, arms folding loosely as he looked at me like he was enjoying this a little too much. “Best-case scenario, you fall in love with him in a deeply inconvenient, slow-motion way that ruins your concentration and your sleep schedule.”
I grimaced.
“Worst-case scenario, you let him rail you against his bookshelves.”