The way he said it, half grimace, half hope, slipped under my guard before I knew what I was doing. My hands were already at my scarf, pulling it free. When I draped it around his neck, the edge of it brushed his jaw, cool skin under my fingers. I should have stepped back, but I didn’t.
“You don’t have to—” His voice dropped, softer than before.
“You looked cold,” I said, straightening the ends. “Can’t have one of my students getting sick this early in the semester.”
My hands twitched.
Why did I do that? Especially after the attitude he's been giving me, was I really that influenced by the halo effect? Me?
He hesitated, then smiled, smaller, but it reached his eyes this time. I didn’t comment on the noticeable exhale he let out.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
I started leaving and so did he, it was a bit awkward going in the same direction. I noticed through the hallway windows that it had gotten significantly much darker in the span of 10 minutes.
I turned to him. He was still visibly cold, his arms wrapped around himself.
Fuck.
“Do you need a ride?” The words were out before I’d fully decided if I even wanted to offer. “It'll be faster and you can get warmed up a whole lot quicker.”
He glanced over, hesitated, then said, “Yeah.”
At the elevator, he hit the 1 button. His hands were flushed red from the cold.
“Are your hands cold?” I asked.
He pulled them from his pockets, palms turned up as if offering proof. “A little.”
Then he stepped closer. My back shifted against the rail before I realized he was just pressing his palm to my cheek. Cold, startling, lingering for a second longer than the gesture needed.
“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost smiling. “Pretty cold.”
I slid my gloves over his hand, fastening them at the wrists. He stayed still, eyes locked on mine, like he was taking in my reaction.
“There you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Wow… you have big hands,” he commented, his tone light but edged with something I couldn’t place, “the gloves hardly fit.”
“Yeah, how would I teach without these bad boys?”
He chuckled politely. “Oh, I’m sure they’re so helpful.” His voice carried a shade of something, but before I could overthink it, I was walking him toward my car.
Once we were in the car, I cranked the heater, hoping to thaw him out. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him sniff my scarf.
Did it smell bad? I’d just washed it.
“You have a nice car,” he said, genuine surprise in his voice. “I thought teachers didn’t make that much?”
I chuckled at the bluntness, glancing at the road as the wipers swept away streaks of rain. “They don’t. I’m just good at managing my money.”
“Oh. Cool.” He flipped down the passenger sun visor, checking himself out in the tiny mirror.
The quiet stretched for a moment, only broken by the heater’s low hum. He fiddled with my scarf, winding the ends around his fingers.
