Lessons In Butterflies ｡ ｡ ｡ (StudentxTeacher Romance)

Chapter 29: Why Are You So Close?

Shella's POV: 

It was late. Like, really late. The kind of late where the world feels heavy, where the hum of fluorescent lights gets louder, and where everything—no matter how mundane—feels oddly significant.

Mr. Caldwell was asleep.

I couldn't blame him. He'd been hunched over his desk for hours, papers scattered in front of him, his pen slipping from his fingers when exhaustion finally won. His head was tilted at an angle that would definitely hurt when he woke up.

I shifted in my chair, trying to find a more comfortable position. The office wasn't exactly designed for waiting out an endless lockdown. 

My back ached from sitting so long, and my legs were stiff from not moving.

Looking at him, though, all peaceful for once instead of sharp and commanding, I felt... I don't know. A weird sense of calm.

Still, I couldn't just sit here doing nothing. The quiet was getting to me.

I adjusted my glasses, fiddled with the hem of my blazer, and then—without really thinking about it—pushed my chair closer to his.

The wheels squeaked, and I winced, freezing in place. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up.

I exhaled softly and leaned in, resting my chin in my hand as I watched him.

What would he think if he woke up right now? Probably something sarcastic. Maybe he'd roll his eyes and tell me to stop staring. Or maybe he wouldn't say anything at all, just give me one of those looks that made my stomach flip.

Ugh, stop it, Shella.

I tore my gaze away, glancing at the papers scattered across the desk instead. His handwriting was neat but firm, like him. Notes scribbled in the margins, some of them harsh critiques, others unexpectedly encouraging.

I smiled faintly, reaching out to nudge one of the papers with my finger.

"Should I just grade the rest of these for him?" I whispered to myself, half-joking.

And then his eyes fluttered open.

Crap.

For a second, he looked disoriented, blinking up at me like he wasn't sure where he was.

"Shella?" His voice was rough, groggy.

"Hi," I said, my voice unnaturally high-pitched.

He straightened slowly, wincing as he stretched. "What... what time is it?"

"Late," I answered, avoiding his eyes.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and groaned softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Why are you so close?"

"Why were you asleep?" I countered, trying to deflect.

He gave me a look, one eyebrow raised, and I felt my face heat up.

"I moved my chair because... I don't know. It was uncomfortable over there," I mumbled.

He didn't respond immediately, just leaned back in his chair and sighed, running a hand through his hair. The movement made it stick up in all directions, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.

"You should try to sleep," he said after a moment, his voice softer now.

I shrugged. "Not tired."

"Liar," he muttered, leaning forward to gather the papers on his desk.

"I'm serious," I insisted, sitting up straighter. "Besides, someone has to keep an eye out in case that dog comes back."

He smirked faintly, his eyes flicking to me. "Still paranoid, huh?"