Just Like That - Cole McCade Page 0,19

gleamed almost burgundy in the low hanging overhead light, glossed so deeply that it almost perfectly mirrored his reflection—from the stark silver of his eyes to the sharp edges of his glasses, from the streaks of gray in his tightly-bound hair to the deep, steely color of today’s perfectly pressed button-down, a dark gray that only brought out the pale amber of his skin in a luminous glow.

The precision of his posture only accented the angular, broad strength of his shoulders, and the fact that at his height his chair was a little too small for him; any chair would be a little too small for him, Summer thought, when he was larger than life...

...and currently refusing to look up from the stack of student papers in front of him.

Summer tilted his head.

...I know you know I’m standing right here.

But Iseya only scratched off a quick-dashed mark in red ink.

And Summer smiled fondly, his heart squeezing in the best and worst ways.

“Good morning, Professor Iseya,” he said, stepping in and closing the door behind him.

Iseya still didn’t look up.

He just pointed his pen at the curving chair opposite his desk and bit off a terse, almost subvocal, “Sit.”

It was almost embarrassing, how quickly Summer scrambled to obey.

But then he always had had a weak spot for the natural sense of authority Iseya exuded, and it made Summer’s breaths catch just a little to let himself give in to the urge to do exactly as Iseya said.

He sank down in the chair, shifting a bit uncomfortably, trying to find the right way to sit before he just gave up and leaned forward, resting his folded arms on the edge of the desk.

He wanted to ask.

Nearly vibrated with it.

But instead he made himself say, “Grading pa—”

His voice cracked. Squeaked.

And Iseya’s gaze flicked up, sharp-edged blades of silver skewering Summer over the rims of his glasses.

Iseya said nothing.

Summer’s cheeks went hot, and he cleared his throat, dropping his eyes to stare down at the desk. His own reflection stared back up at him, just a little too wide-eyed and timid, and he didn’t think all of the red in his cheeks could be blamed on the cherrywood lacquer.

Right.

Try again.

“Grading papers?” he managed to ask in a rather stilted mumble, then closed his eyes, suppressing a groan.

Whatever confidence he’d had yesterday morning, standing by the lakeshore and watching how the sunlight dappled over Iseya’s hair and shoulders...

It had clearly deserted him today.

His bones felt like water, and the only reason he didn’t turn and bolt was because he didn’t really think his body would hold him up if he tried to stand.

“If you have the slightest recollection of my classes at all,” Iseya said crisply, his deep, rolling voice edged in glacial frost, “you’ll recall I have no patience for obvious questions.”

“Don’t,” Summer said. It came out faint, soft, but he made himself say it. That was something he’d been trying to learn to do since he’d escaped Omen: make himself say the things that needed to be said, even if his voice was small when he said them. “Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your misbehaving students. Please. I’m supposed to be your peer, even if I have a lot to learn from you before I’m ready to teach.”

“Is that what you want to be to me, then?” Iseya asked, deceptively soft when there was a core of flint to those precise words. “My peer?”

Summer drew his brows together. “I don’t know if you’re asking me that in a professional context or a personal context.” He darted his tongue over his lips. “And I don’t...know what your note meant. ‘Challenge accepted.’ I wasn’t trying to challenge you—”

“Weren’t you?” Iseya countered. Still so flat, so cool, almost mocking, and Summer deflated. “Isn’t that the point of your little game? Not just to challenge yourself, but to challenge me? To prove that you can convince me to break down my walls for you, one day at a time, one kiss at a time?”

That stung—like brambles wrapped around his heart and digging in, that stung, and Summer flinched, lifting his gaze to find Iseya watching him with that same icy, impenetrable stare, almost accusing.

“Why are you being like this?” Summer blurted. “Are you...are you that upset that I want to see you as a person instead of this...this terrifying figurehead?”

“I am not upset,” Iseya hissed, slamming the pen down atop the pages, the uncapped tip dipping to leave a deep red inkblot like blood