Intimate.
It’s intimate.
Far more than getting off together. Even more than kissing.
This is so messy. This is such afuckingmess.
“Okay.” I talk fast. “I’ll do for your project what you did for mine, start going through evocation texts for anything that might apply. We can also see if what works for my project works for yours, since they’re both dealing with energy limitation. Send me what you have for your project, research and papers and shit, and I’ll get to work familiarizing myself with it.”
“Sebastian,” he whispers.
I clamber off his lap and he lets me go. But I put my back to him, straightening my glasses, smoothing my hair,resetting.
We’re hooking up.
That’s it.
He told me about his mom because he needed to explain why this project means so much to him.
That’s it.
But he told me while holding me. Like he needed that connection. And that word is corporeal inside me now,intimate,a parasitic growth.
“We should start pulling together a preliminary report for Friday’s check-in,” I continue and face him, but I don’t look at him. “Detailing how we’re using both evocation and conjuration, and what progress we’ve made.”
He clears his throat. “I’ll keep moving on the best ways to test the theory for your project. We can reconvene after you’ve read through my materials and figure out if there’s some overlap—if not, I say we run one or two tests for your project while exploring options for mine.”
“Yeah. That sounds good.”
He pulls out his phone and types. “Just sent you my project materials.”
My phone vibrates behind me. Thio gives me a less forced smile and turns to pick up a book at his desk.
When his back is to me, his shoulders bow.
I open my laptop and pull up the materials he emailed.
We work in silence, doing what we came here to do, but it’s off-balance, and I can’t figure out if it’s because I let things go too far… or they didn’t go far enough.
Chapter Eleven
We’re back in that state of professionalism.
For the next few days, we work around each other, talking only to share ideas or ask about progress. We don’t discuss our hookup Sunday night or how we decided we’d be fuck buddies but haven’t taken any further steps toward that, and I think some of the energy that swirls around us is sexual tension. But neither of us makes a move or invites the other to his apartment; is it another challenge? Horny chicken?
It doesn’t have that challenge feel though. The way Thio watches me, concedes to me in our conversations and interactions—is he waiting for me to initiate it? Since he initiated it the first time. And I’ve been nothing but hesitant from the start, so yeah, it makes sense he’s hanging back, letting me be the one to confirm that I do, in fact, want this.
Oh gods. We’ll be waiting forever.
By the time our check-in meeting rolls around on Friday, it isn’t a surprise that my knee’s bouncing while Thio and I give Davyeras, Thompson, and Thio’s advisor the spiel we came up with.
In a conference room in Bellanor Hall, we ensure they know that Thio and I are workingtogethernow, and how we’re incorporating conjuration ideas into my project while I’m starting to do the same for his. We talk about our future plans, and when I’m midway through a run of word vomit about potential tests we’ll do, Thio kicks my foot to get me to stop fidgeting.
My face heats. “Um, yeah. That’s where we’re at,” I finish. Then realize we should’ve had more flare, maybe? I spread my fingers and give them jazz hands. Because that’s collegiate.
Thio drops his chin to his chest with a soft moan.
But Thompson is smiling across the long table. “Very good, Mr. Walsh. Mr. Tourael.”
