Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rio’s alarm hadn’t gone off. Or maybe she’d snoozed it too many times, who knows. She checked the time on her phone, 8:39 AM. Fuck. She was late. Rio usually had a strict morning routine: wake up at 6:45, go for an early run, buy her vanilla-flavored coffee, shower, get ready for class, and so on. This morning, however, was completely different for God knows what reason.

She jumped out of bed, fingers running through her hair as she brushed her teeth, trying to tame the dark strands that sat somewhere between wavy and straight, just brushing past her shoulders. Her reflection looked annoyed and sharp in that familiar way, auburn-brown eyes already alert despite the chaos. She grabbed the closest clean shirt and a pair of jeans, threw them on, then scrambled for her bag and shoved her laptop inside before practically flying out of the dorm room.

Rio rushed through the halls, long strides eating up the distance as she scanned for PHIL 504. “No fucking way I’m about to be late for my first lecture this year, especially Harkness’ class,” she muttered to herself.

Professor Harkness was rumored to be the most intense professor in the whole college, hell, maybe the country. Her class was supposedly impossible to get through, with exams that crushed souls, students dropping left and right, and a glare that could make grown adults crumble. Only some know-it-all freaks, the ones who thrived on challenge, could survive PHIL 504, and Rio had a feeling today she was about to find out which kind she was.

When she finally burst through the lecture hall doors, the class was practically already full. The only seats available were, of course, the front row. “Fuck my life,” Rio thought.

A pair of sharp blue eyes were already on her.

Professor Harkness stood at the front of the room, long dark golden-brown hair falling freely down her back, presence commanding before she even spoke. Her eyes were striking in a way that felt almost unfair, beautiful and unsettling all at once, the kind that pinned you in place the second they landed on you.

She hurried to the front row and slid into a seat, slightly out of breath, aware of every movement she made.

As she sat down, those piercing blue eyes finally moved away.

“Good morning,” Professor Harkness said, her voice calm but commanding, cutting through the murmur of whispers like it was nothing. “I trust everyone has read the syllabus. I will assume you understand it.”

The lecture moved on, Professor Harkness speaking with the kind of confidence that made people sit up straighter without realizing it. She talked about moral responsibility, about choice, about how people liked to believe they were good until circumstances proved otherwise. The room stayed quiet, students scribbling notes as if their lives depended on it.

Rio listened. Actually listened. This was not like other classes, where professors talked in circles to sound smart. Professor Harkness was sharp. Direct. Every sentence felt intentional, like it was aimed at someone specific.

Every now and then, her eyes swept the room again. When they landed on Rio, even briefly, Rio felt it. Not intimidating, exactly. More like being seen.

Another question followed. Then another. A few students answered, most poorly. Some answers earned a curt nod. Others earned nothing at all. The silence after bad answers was worse than criticism.

Eventually, Professor Harkness looked straight at the front row again.

“Ms…?” she said.

The room went quiet.

“Vidal,” Rio said. “Rio Vidal.”

“Yes,” Professor Harkness said. Calm. Expectant. “Do you agree with that interpretation?”

A few heads turned toward Rio. Great. First day, front row, already singled out. What the fuck is life?

Rio inhaled once, shoulders squaring instinctively. “Not entirely,” she said. “It assumes people stay calm when they are under pressure. Most people do not. Fear changes what they are willing to excuse.”

The room stayed quiet. Professor Harkness did not interrupt her. That alone felt like a victory.

“Go on,” Professor Harkness said.

Rio did. “People think they know who they are until something is taken from them. When fear or loss is involved, morality stops being simple. It becomes about choosing the least terrible option.”

She finished and waited, hands clasped together to keep from fidgeting.

Professor Harkness studied her for a moment. Blue eyes sharp, unreadable.

Great, now you said something that didn’t make se-

“Good,” she said finally. “You are paying attention.”

Oh.

That was it. No praise. No smile. But something about the way she said it made Rio’s chest feel warm anyway.

As the lecture wound down, Professor Harkness turned back to the class and dismissed them.

“That’s all for today. I’ll see you all tomorrow.” Her eyes moved slowly across the room before settling on one particular student. “9 AM sharp.”

Rio’s eyes widened for a split second before she looked down. She gathered her things too quickly, shoving everything into her bag, and rushed out the door in a haze of embarrassment.

The rest of Rio’s day went smoothly, but she always had one professor on her mind.

If she sometimes zoned out thinking about Harkness’ hair, always flowing a second behind her movements, the way she put her glasses on in the middle of class, how perfectly said glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, her sharp features, those piercing blue eyes that made one feel fucking naked, especially that hair, God, that hair. If she thought about what it would be like to have a fistful of it in her hands, pulling, bending her over—

Okay. Pause.

Uhm. Anyways. What was wrong with that?

Later, she finally collapsed onto her bed, landing face first into the mattress.

The door opened again, and she heard a familiar voice laughing. “Rough day, I suppose?”

Rio sat up, looking over her shoulder and shooting her roommate a scolding look. “Alice, you fucker.”

“Hey, hey, hey, you were not getting up,” Alice said, hands raised as she sat down on her own bed. “You were in some Aurora type sleep. You weren’t moving, talking, and I mean cursing my whole family like an ancient witch chanting. I genuinely thought you were dead for a second.”

Rio groaned dramatically, threw herself back onto the bed, and stared up at the ceiling.

“Sooo… were you late for Harkness’ class?” Alice asked, pulling her legs up and sitting cross-legged on her bed.

Rio sighed. “No, but I was really fucking close. Walked in right before she started the lecture.” She propped herself up on her elbows and looked directly at Alice. “Even at the end. She stared at me, said I need to be there at 9 AM sharp! She stared me in the eyes, no one else!”

Alice laughed, throwing her head back. “At least she acknowledged your presence?”

“Yeah, but in such a bad way.”

“Okay, just forget about it for now. Just make sure you aren’t late tomorrow,” Alice said as she shrugged, trying to be uplifting in her own weird way.

The rest of the night was spent talking about how Harkness’ class wasn’t as bad as people had said, how Alice was obsessed with Professor Kale and her way of teaching, or just her in general. They ate dinner, talked until their voices got quiet, and eventually went to sleep.

Rio’s alarm went off at 6:45 AM.

She silenced it on the first buzz and lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. No panic this time. No rush. Just the comfort of routine settling back into place.

She went for her run while the city was still half asleep, breath steady, shoes hitting the pavement in a rhythm she trusted. Afterward, she stopped by the café on the corner and ordered her usual vanilla coffee. Everything felt aligned again.

By the time she was showered and dressed, her nerves were quiet. Focused. Controlled.

PHIL 504 was already open when Rio arrived.

She stepped inside early, earlier than most students ever bothered to be. The lecture hall was quiet, sunlight spilling in through the tall windows. She chose her seat without hesitation, set her bag down, and opened her notebook.

For the first time since that first day, she felt prepared.

A soft click sounded from the front of the room.

Rio looked up.

Professor Harkness was already there.

She stood near the podium, coat still on, glasses in place, eyes on her watch. She adjusted it once, then glanced up.

“Ten minutes early,” she said.

Her gaze lifted fully, sharp blue locking onto Rio’s. The corner of her mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

“Let’s hope this will be the new normal for you for the rest of the semester, hm?”

“I’ll try,” Rio said, then immediately wished she hadn’t.

Chapter Text

Rio’s routine was back to normal.

Mostly.

Over the past month, she’d started waking up twenty minutes earlier. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to. Because apparently her brain had decided that sleep was optional now and Professor Harkness was not. She took longer getting ready, lingered in front of the mirror, stared at her reflection like it might confess something if she waited long enough.

She adjusted. Fixed. Checked again.

All for one person.

One very specific professor, if she was being honest.

God, was this really what her fucking life had become?

She woke up at 6:25 now. Went for her run. Grabbed her vanilla-flavored coffee. Came back, showered. And then, unlike before, she actually did something with her hair. Blow-dried it. Styled it with a side part, letting the longer section fall toward her face in a way that felt deliberate. She put on more makeup too, just enough to look awake, just enough to justify the earlier mornings.

And she always made sure her outfits were on point.

Sometimes, like today, that meant a skirt with stockings and boots, a sweater pulled on over everything. Today’s sweater was a deep forest green.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

Which was bullshit.

She’d also spent the past month talking about Professor Harkness far more than was normal or healthy.

At first, it had been academic. Complaints about how brutal PHIL 504 was. About how insane the workload was. About how terrifying Professor Harkness could be.

Then it escalated.

“She’s actually fucking insane,” Rio had said one night, pacing the dorm room while Alice lounged on her bed and Billy sat cross-legged on the floor. “Like, not normal. Not human.”

Alice had looked up slowly. “You say that like you’re into it.”

“I’m not,” Rio had snapped immediately. Then paused. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Billy had glanced up from his phone. “Is she at least hot?”

Rio had rolled her eyes. “Unfortunately, yes. So fucking hot.”

Alice had laughed so hard she’d nearly fallen off the bed. “Oh my god! No. You are not allowed to be into your professor.”

“I’m not into her,” Rio had said. “I just have eyes. And bad luck.”

Billy, traitor that he was, had nodded thoughtfully. “Is it scary hot or quietly devastating?”

Rio hadn’t answered.

Now, walking toward the lecture hall, she told herself again that none of this meant anything. That this was just her brain being stupid. That she wasn’t actually rearranging her mornings, her clothes, her entire sense of self around a woman who graded her papers.

Normally, when Rio walked into the lecture hall, Professor Harkness acknowledged her immediately. Sometimes it was just a glance. Sometimes a pause. Sometimes nothing more than the faintest shift in attention.

Today was different.

Today, Professor Harkness was on the phone.

Her back was half-turned, posture rigid, one hand pressed flat against the desk like she needed something solid beneath her. Her voice was low and sharp, every word clipped, restraint stretched thin to the breaking point.

Rio slowed near the doorway, backpack still slung over one shoulder, planning to slip in quietly.

She stopped.

“I have already explained this,” Professor Harkness said. “More than once. I am not going to keep having the same argument just because you refuse to hear the answer.”

She went quiet, listening. Her fingers curled slightly against the desk.

“No. Don’t do that,” she cut in. “Don’t twist this into something it isn’t. You don’t get to rewrite how this shit ended.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

Rio barely breathed.

“I’m done having this conversation,” Professor Harkness said, voice sharp now. “I’ve been done. You just keep pretending there’s still something left to discuss.”

She paced once, then stopped.

“I don’t give a fuck, Wanda. It’s over. It’s done. The papers are in your mailbox.”

Silence.

Professor Harkness didn’t fill it. She ended the call without another word.

Then she looked up.

And saw Rio standing in the doorway.

“Ms. Vidal?” Professor Harkness said, eyes widening just slightly at the realization. “How much did you hear?”

“Uh— uhm… not much, really,” Rio started, then hesitated. She could lie. She should lie. Instead, she opened her mouth again. “Just that you’d already explained something more than once, that someone was refusing to hear the answer, that they couldn’t twist this into something it isn’t, that they don’t get to rewrite how it ended, and that you were done and the papers are in the mail—”

“Okay! Okay,” Professor Harkness cut in quickly, lifting a hand. “That’s enough.”

She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then exhaled, slow and controlled.

“Forget everything you just heard,” she said. “Got it?”

Rio nodded immediately. “Yes, sir.”

Professor Harkness’ gaze snapped back to her at that, and zeroed in on her.

That gaze. That specific gaze that made Rio feel naked.

Not exposed in the physical sense, but stripped. Like there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to tuck herself away. Like Professor Harkness could see every thought she hadn’t said out loud, every instinct she’d tried to keep buried. Rio’s breath hitched, her skin prickling under the weight of it.

“Professor,” she corrected quietly.

“Right. Professor,” Rio said immediately, heat rushing to her face.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Professor Harkness adjusted her glasses, pushing them higher up the bridge of her nose, the movement precise and controlled. When she straightened, the shift was instant. The distance snapped back into place.

“Class starts in a few minutes,” she said evenly. “You can take your seat.”

“Yes,” Rio said, already moving.

She slid into her seat in the front row and kept her eyes down, hands busy with her notebook, her pen, anything to keep from shaking. Her heart was pounding loud enough that she was convinced everyone could hear it.

She could still feel it. That gaze on her back. Heavy. Deliberate.

Naked, her brain supplied again, unhelpfully.

She was suddenly hyper-aware of everything. The way she was sitting. The way she breathed. The way her knee bounced under the desk. She felt exposed in a way that had nothing to do with being a student and everything to do with being seen when she wasn’t ready for it.

You didn’t do anything wrong, she told herself.
You’re fine.

It didn’t help.

When Professor Harkness finally turned away, the relief was immediate and humiliating. Rio exhaled slowly, staring at her notebook without actually seeing it.

By the time the lecture started, Professor Harkness sounded composed again. Controlled. Professional.

But Rio knew she’d never forget that look.

Professor Harkness moved through the material with her usual precision. Moral responsibility. Choice. Accountability. Words that felt heavier than they should have. Rio wrote them down anyway, her handwriting messier than usual.

She couldn’t focus. Not fully.

She was too aware of herself. Of the short hem of her skirt when she crossed her legs. Of how bare her thighs felt against the chair. She told herself it was ridiculous. She’d worn worse. She’d worn shorter.

This shouldn’t be a problem.

But it was.

Every time Professor Harkness’ gaze swept the room, Rio felt it pass over her like heat. Not long enough to be obvious. Not long enough for anyone else to notice.

Just long enough to make her feel naked all over again.

That gaze. That specific gaze.

She shifted once, then forced herself still, trying to look like a normal student and not someone actively unraveling. Her pen hovered uselessly when Professor Harkness asked a question.

Someone else answered.

Wrong.

The silence afterward was brutal.

Rio swallowed and looked up for just a second.

Big fucking mistake.

Professor Harkness was already looking at her.

“Ms. Vidal,” she said. Neutral. Professional. “What do you think?”

Rio inhaled and answered. Sharp. Measured. Grounded. She didn’t let her voice betray her.

Professor Harkness listened. Actually listened. Then gave a single nod and turned back to the board.

No praise.
No correction.

That somehow felt worse.

By the time class ended, Rio’s nerves were fried. She packed up quickly and was one of the first out the door, desperate for air, for distance, for anything that wasn’t that room.

She found Alice and Billy outside by the stairs like always.

Alice’s eyes dropped immediately. “Okay, but the skirt? Bold choice for Harkness’ class.”

Rio groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. “Don’t.”

Billy smiled faintly. “You look good,” he said, like it was a fact. Then added, “You look stressed.”

“She almost made me combust with eye contact,” Rio muttered.

Alice lit up. “Oh? We’re getting eye contact now?”

“It wasn’t good eye contact,” Rio said quickly. “It was… intense.”

Billy hummed. “That tracks.”

They started walking, falling into step without thinking about it.

“”So,” Alice said casually, turning around and walking backward in front of them, “your birthday’s in like, two days, right?”

Rio’s shoulders loosened a little. She smiled. “Yeah. Finally legal.”

“Finally!” Alice said, already planning something dangerous.

“We are going out! We’re going to that bar right down the street!”

Billy nodded. “I can come for one drink. Ginger ale. Then I’m leaving.”

Rio clutched her chest dramatically. “On my birthday?”

Billy laughed. “I’m meeting Eddie.”

“Oh,” Rio said, smirking. “Boyfriend.”

“Yes,” Billy said, proud. “Boyfriend.”

Alice grimaced. “Disgusting. Happy for you.”

They laughed, and the knot in Rio’s chest loosened just enough for her to breathe.

“Okay,” Alice said, clapping her hands. “Plan is drinks, shots, bad decisions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Rio said. “I’m not about to be stupid when I’ve already been stupid all week.”

Her brain immediately disagreed.

A bar.
Her birthday.

And the very real possibility that Professor Harkness existed outside of campus too.

Rio shook the thought away.

What were the fucking chances of running into her at a bar, of all places?

Chapter Text

Rio woke up to singing.

Not necessarily bad singing, but definitely not Stevie Nicks singing.

Her eyes fluttered open with a groan. “What the fuck…”

“Happy birthdaaay to youuuuu,” two familiar voices sang, growing obnoxiously closer. “Happy birthday dear Riiioooo—”

She pushed herself up on her elbows and rubbed at her right eye, squinting until the blur resolved into two very familiar menaces standing at the foot of her bed.

Billy and Alice.

She glanced at the clock on her bedside table.

6:37 AM.

Who the fuck wakes a person up at 6:37 AM?

Alice was balancing a breakfast tray like a deranged waiter, grinning way too hard for someone committing this level of crime. On the tray sat a plate stacked with fluffy pancakes drowning in whipped cream and topped with mango slices, strawberries, and blackberries. Rio’s favorites. A tall iced vanilla coffee sweated beside it.

Okay. Slight forgiveness.

“Happy birthday you old haaaag,” Alice sang sweetly.

Rio squinted at her. “You’re literally older than me..”

Billy cackled. “Finally leeee-gal, bad choic-es are upon uuussss,” he sang dramatically, pointing finger guns at Rio like a gremlin.

Alice added another verse without missing a beat, voice sliding into full theatrical nonsense. “Twenty-one and emotionally unstable, shots in your future, trauma in your paaast—”

“Okay, okay, cut the remix,” Rio groaned, dragging her blanket up around her shoulders. “I didn’t consent to the deluxe edition.”

They finished the song in a completely unnecessary harmony that absolutely did not deserve the effort.

Alice bowed slightly. “You’re welcome.”

Billy wiped an imaginary tear. “We practiced.”

“I’m calling the police,” Rio muttered.

Alice carefully stepped forward and lowered the tray onto Rio’s lap. “Eat and shut up.”

Rio looked down at the pancakes again. Mango juice glistened under the light. The strawberries were sliced perfectly. The whipped cream situation was aggressive.

Her stomach betrayed her immediately.

“Oh,” Rio said quietly. “You’re trying to seduce me.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Alice said smugly.

Rio stabbed a strawberry with her fork and took a bite, eyes closing for half a second. “Okay, fine. I forgive you. Temporarily.”

Billy leaned closer. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Rio said, squinting at the plate. “For not poisoning me.”

Alice scoffed. “Rude.”

They migrated to the tiny table by the window once Rio had enough brain function to stand without collapsing. Sunlight spilled across the floor, dust floating lazily in the air like the universe was having a chill morning, unlike them.

Rio drowned her pancakes in syrup and whipped cream without shame. Mango juice dripped down her fingers and she licked it off without thinking.

Billy watched her like a Victorian child witnessing scandal. “You’re eating like a feral raccoon.”

“It’s my birthday,” Rio said through a mouthful. “I get rights.”

Alice stole a slice of mango straight off her plate. “You get exactly zero rights in this household.”

“Thief.”

“You’d steal from me too.”

“She’s right,” Billy added. “You’re morally flexible.”

Rio pointed her fork at him and deadpanned. “Watch your tone before I stab you.”

They laughed too loud for that hour of the morning, syrup smearing fingers, whipped cream casualties everywhere. Someone knocked on the wall once from the neighboring room. They ignored it.

Rio didn’t go for her run.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel even remotely guilty about it.

A slow morning felt like a gift she was allowing herself to accept.

After breakfast, they scattered to get ready for class. Rio lingered alone in the bathroom longer than usual, steam fogging the mirror as the shower warmed her muscles and loosened the knot of anticipation sitting stubbornly in her chest.

She took her time afterward. Lotion. Perfume. Careful touches instead of rushed autopilot.

When she dressed, she leaned into it.

Deep green miniskirt. Stockings. Boots. A fitted top that hugged her just enough to feel dangerous without screaming for attention.

Then the earrings.

She held them in her palm for a moment.

The right one was a small curved horn knife charm, sharp even in miniature.
The left one was a delicate rio dipladenia flower.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

She clipped them in carefully, watching them sway when she tilted her head.

Her hair she wore half-up in a relaxed braid, the rest falling in soft waves that never quite stayed where she told them to. She tugged a few loose strands into place, then gave up.

She leaned closer to the mirror and smirked at herself.

“Okay,” she murmured, smirking at herself. “If I saw me across a room, I’d fuck me so bad.”

 She grabbed her bag, still riding the dangerous high of her own reflection, and headed out into the morning.

The city felt brighter than usual. Louder. Alive in that buzzing, electric way that only happened when something important was about to go terribly wrong. Rio walked with a stupid little bounce in her step, braid brushing against her shoulder, earrings catching light every time she moved. The knife charm tapped softly against the flower as she walked.

Blade and bloom.

Yeah. That tracked.

She crossed campus with a coffee buzz and birthday energy humming in her veins, replaying Alice’s off-key singing and Billy’s gremlin finger guns in her head. For once, her mind wasn’t already spiraling over readings or deadlines or existential dread.

Okay, maybe it still was.

But today, it felt lighter.

PHIL 504 was unlocked when she arrived.

Of course it was.

Of course she was first to class, she always was after the first day's ‘scandal’.

The lecture hall was quiet, sunlight spilling through the tall windows and washing over the rows of empty seats. The city stretched beyond the glass, distant and glittering, like a promise or a threat. Rio dropped into her usual front-row seat and set her bag beneath the desk, rolling her shoulders back and letting herself breathe for a second.

Birthday.
Good mood.
Hot professor.

What could possibly go wrong.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Her spine straightened on instinct.

Professor Harkness stepped inside.

She looked… unfair.

A deep purple top hugged her frame beneath a structured dark layer that draped over her shoulders like a cape, sharp and elegant at the same time. High-waisted trousers sat perfectly on her hips, cinched with a belt that felt intentional rather than practical. Her long dark golden-brown hair fell loose down her back in soft waves, catching the light when she moved.

And at her throat, exactly where it always was, rested the pendant.

Mother, Maiden, Crone.

Three small symbols intertwined, subtle but unmistakable once you noticed them. She never took it off. Ever. Rio had clocked that weeks ago without meaning to. It had become one of those stupid little details her brain stored like a treasured secret.

The glasses perched neatly on her nose, framing those terrifying blue eyes that could dismantle a person emotionally in under three seconds flat.

Rio swallowed.

Okay. Breathe. Act normal. You’re a functioning adult. Allegedly.

Professor Harkness’s gaze flicked toward the front row almost immediately.

“Good morning, Ms. Vidal.”

Her voice was smooth. Neutral. Professional.

Then she paused.

Just for a fraction of a second too long.

Her eyes lingered, scanning Rio in a way that felt… different. Not clinical. Not distracted. Deliberate.

“You look particularly put together today.”

Oh.

Oh no.

On my fucking birthday? Are you genuinely trying to kill me?

Rio’s mouth opened, closed, then managed to produce something resembling a response. “Uh. Thank you, Professor.”

Her brain, meanwhile, was fully on fire.

The corner of Professor Harkness’s mouth twitched slightly before she turned toward the podium and began organizing her notes.

Rio stared at the back of her head like it had personally betrayed her.

You can’t just say that.
You can’t just casually say that to a person.
Especially not when that person looks like a dangerous library fantasy.

She shifted in her seat, tugging her skirt down half an inch out of reflex even though it absolutely did nothing.

The lecture began.

Moral frameworks. Ethical responsibility. The illusion of control in human decision-making. Professor Harkness’s voice filled the room with its usual calm authority, slicing clean through the low hum of the class settling in.

Rio tried to focus.

She really did.

She took notes. She underlined key points. She wrote tiny angry stars next to phrases she knew she’d want to come back to later.

But every time Professor Harkness turned toward the class, Rio felt her gaze linger just a beat too long before moving on.

A heartbeat.

A flicker.

A fraction of a second that made Rio’s skin buzz like static.

“Jesus Christ,” Rio muttered under her breath at one point, barely audible even to herself.

What the fuck is happening today.

She caught herself watching the way Professor Harkness gestured with her hands when she emphasized a point, the way the pendant shifted slightly against her collarbone when she leaned forward, the way the purple fabric caught the light differently when she moved.

Get it together.

Someone answered a question halfway through the lecture. It was wrong. Painfully wrong.

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut glass.

Rio felt it in her bones.

Professor Harkness’s eyes drifted back to the front row.

“Ms. Vidal,” she said evenly. “Your thoughts?”

Rio straightened instinctively and answered without hesitation. Clear. Controlled. Grounded. She kept her voice steady even though her pulse was trying to escape her body.

Professor Harkness listened. Actually listened.

Then she nodded once and turned back to the board.

No praise.
No commentary.
Just acknowledgment.

Which somehow felt more intimate than either.

By the time the lecture wrapped up, Rio’s brain felt like it had run a marathon in heels.

Students began packing up around her. Backpacks zipped. Chairs scraped. Conversations bubbled up in overlapping noise.

Rio stayed seated half a second too long.

She was processing.
She was replaying the you look particularly put together today line like a cursed playlist.
She was trying not to look insane.

Professor Harkness gathered her notes at the podium.

Then—

“Ms. Vidal.”

Rio looked up.

For a moment, the room seemed to narrow. Like the noise dimmed. Like everything else softened around the edges.

Professor Harkness stepped closer. Still professional. Still controlled.

“Your response today was solid,” she said. “Your reasoning is getting sharper.”

A pause.

Eye contact.

“Keep pushing it.”

That was it.

No smile.
No softness.
But the tone carried weight. Intentional. A little too aware.

Rio nodded quickly. “Yeah. I mean- thank you. I will.”

Professor Harkness inclined her head once and turned away.

Which should’ve been the end of it.

Should’ve.

“Professor?”

Professor Harkness glanced back over her shoulder. “Hm?”

“You look particularly put together today as well,” Rio blurted.

Oh my god.

Professor Harkness blinked once, clearly not expecting that.

Rio immediately panicked, grabbed her bag, and bolted for the exit like the building was on fire.

“Fuuuuuck me,” she muttered under her breath as she practically fled down the hallway. “What the fuck is wrong with me. Oh my fucking god.”

Her entire nervous system was screaming.

Who says that to their professor?

Rio, apparently. What a fucking idiot..

The rest of the day passed in a haze of secondhand embarrassment and delayed adrenaline. She replayed the moment over and over, mentally throwing herself into traffic every time.

When she got back to the dorm, Alice was already mid-rant about Professor Kale’s shoulders.

“—I’m just saying, if she wanted to ruin my life, I’d let her,” Alice declared dramatically.

Rio dropped onto her bed. “If I had a nickel for every time you talked about Professor Kale, I’d be a fucking billionaire.”

Alice pointed at her. “Deflection. You’re thinking about your scary hot professor again.”

“I am not.”

Billy leaned against the doorframe. “You literally just said her name in your sleep.”

“I did not.”

“You said, and I quote, ‘stop looking at me like that,’” Billy said cheerfully.

Rio covered her face with a pillow. “I hate this house.”

Alice lifted a finger immediately. “Dorm, not a house, honey.”

Billy nodded solemnly. “Important distinction. This is a place of suffering and unpaid tuition, not a home.”

Rio groaned into the pillow. “I hate this institution.”

“There we go,” Alice said, satisfied.

Three hours later, they were getting ready to go out.

Rio watched Alice rummage through her closet. “So where are we going? A bar? A club? A secret underground cult?”

“Oh honey,” Alice said sweetly. “We’re going to our own little witch cave.”

Rio frowned. “What.”

“It’s a bar,” Alice clarified. “It’s called The Witches Road. That’s what I meant.”

“Oh,” Rio said. “Yeah. That makes more sense.”

There was no universe where she was voluntarily driving back toward Westview for fun. Absolutely not. That place could stay in her rearview mirror forever.

They pregamed lightly before heading out. Just enough to loosen their edges, not enough to be catastrophic.

Rio changed into something bold. Confident. Loud in the quiet way that said notice me without screaming it.

Billy met them outside the bar.

The Witches Road looked exactly like something pulled straight out of a gothic fever dream. Warm amber lighting. Dark wood walls carved with strange symbols. Hanging plants and candles tucked into alcoves. A long bar that glowed like molten gold under low lights. Cozy and dangerous all at once.

Alice and Billy handed Rio a sparkly 21 headpiece the second they got inside.

They drank. They laughed. Billy nursed his ginger ale like a responsible angel. Shots happened. Loud stories happened. Poor decisions were discussed enthusiastically.

They started talking about witches at some point, as one does.

“You’re a protection witch,” Rio declared, pointing at Alice. “You’d absolutely die protecting someone.”

Alice stared at her. “What the fuck.”

“I’m serious,” Rio insisted. “You’re such a protector. It’s wild.”

Billy laughed. “It’s true though. You’d probably be a cop in another life.”

He turned to Rio. “What about me?”

Rio squinted at him. “Chaos magic. No question.”

Alice snorted. “You’d be a green witch.”

Rio groaned. “Ew. I’d rather be Lady Death.”

“Girl, Lady Death is legit the original green witch..”  Billy added with a smug face.

Rio flipped him off. “Shut your twink-ass up.”

Billy gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Homophobia. On your birthday. In this economy.”

Alice snorted so hard she nearly choked on her drink. “She’s right though. Lady Death would eat you alive.”

Rio leaned back in her chair, grinning lazily. “Worth it.”

The conversation dissolved into more nonsense after that. Half-baked theories about witches, chaotic debates about who would absolutely die first in a horror movie, whether ghosts could legally haunt people, and whether cursed objects should come with warning labels.

More drinks appeared. Then shots. Then louder laughter. Then slightly worse ideas.

Billy stayed loyal to his ginger ale like a responsible little angel while Alice and Rio slowly lost their grip on reality. Alice kept leaning across the table to aggressively retell the same story about a freshman who cried during her first quiz with Professor Kale, each time getting more dramatic and less accurate.

Rio laughed so hard at one point she had to put her head down on the table, forehead pressed against the cool wood while her shoulders shook.

“This is the best birthday ever,” she announced to absolutely no one in particular.

“You say that every year,” Alice said.

“And I’m always right.”

Time blurred in that warm, buzzy way where minutes stopped mattering. The bar grew louder. The lights felt softer. The world narrowed down to clinking glasses and stupid jokes and the comfort of being exactly where she wanted to be.

Eventually, Billy checked his phone and sighed dramatically.

“Hate to abandon you heathens,” he said, standing up and slipping his jacket on, “but I gotta go meet Eddie.”

Rio groaned. “Traitor.”

Alice waved him off. “Go kiss your boyfriend or whatever.”

Billy leaned down and hugged them both, squeezing tight. “Make sure you don’t end up dead in a ditch, please. I need you alive and emotionally available.”

Rio laughed. “No promises.”

Billy turned to leave.

Took exactly three steps.

Stopped dead.

Then he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet and slammed both hands down on the table.

“Oh my god.”

Rio blinked at him. “What?”

Alice squinted. “Did you forget your phone or something?”

Billy’s eyes were wide. Unblinking. Staring past them like he’d just seen a ghost walk through the bar.

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

Rio straightened in her seat now. “Billy, what?”

He leaned closer, voice dropping into a whisper-yell. “Don’t freak out.”

That was the worst possible thing he could’ve said.

“I’m already freaking out,” Alice snapped. “Spit it out.”

Billy slowly tilted his head toward the bar behind them.

“Guess who’s here.”

Rio followed his gaze without thinking.

Her eyes swept past the bottles, the warm lights, the blur of bodies pressed together in easy chaos.

And then she saw her.

One gorgeous, devastatingly familiar silhouette.

Professor Agatha-fucking-Harkness.

Rio stared.

Her brain stalled like a computer hitting the blue screen of death.

No.
Nope.
Absolutely the fuck not.

“That’s not,” Rio started, then stopped. “That’s not her.”

Billy’s face said otherwise.

Alice twisted in her seat to look. Her eyes widened instantly. “Oh. Oh my god.”

Rio whipped toward her. “Don’t confirm it. Don’t you dare confirm it.”

So yeah. The chances were actually very, very fucking high of running into her in a godforsaken bar.

“That is absolutely your terrifying hot professor,” Alice whispered, awe and chaos vibrating in her voice. “She looks like she could emotionally ruin someone in under five minutes.”

“I hate this bar,” Rio said flatly.

Billy laughed nervously. “This is the universe bullying you on your birthday.”

Rio dragged her hands down her face. “I literally told myself this wouldn’t happen. I literally said, ‘What are the chances?’”

Alice leaned forward eagerly. “Okay but listen. This is kind of iconic.”

“No.”

“You have to talk to her.”

“No I fucking don’t.”

“You absolutely do,” Alice insisted. “You can’t just ignore the main character moment.”

Billy shook his head. “Do not encourage her. She’s already unhinged.”

Rio peeked back toward the bar like she was checking on a dangerous animal. Agatha sat alone, posture elegant even on a barstool, one hand resting around the stem of her glass. She looked relaxed in a way Rio had never seen on campus, shoulders looser, expression softer, hair catching the amber light.

God. Of course she looks like that.

“Why does she look hotter outside of class,” Rio whispered miserably.

Alice grinned. “Forbidden fruit effect.”

“I’m going to throw up.”

Billy grabbed her arm lightly. “Please don’t flirt with your professor. Please don’t do anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Rio stared into her drink like it held the meaning of life. “What if she doesn’t recognize me?”

Alice snorted. “Girl. You sit front row and terrorize her brain every lecture. She knows you.”

“Fuck.”

Billy checked his phone again. “Okay, this is my cue to leave before chaos erupts.”

He stood up, pulled his jacket tighter around himself, and leaned down to hug them both again.

“Please don’t do shit you’ll regret,” he said softly to Rio. “I love you.”

Rio nodded solemnly. “I will absolutely regret everything.”

Billy sighed. “That’s not comforting.”

He disappeared toward the door, leaving Rio and Alice vibrating in mutual unhinged energy.

Alice immediately turned to her. “You’re doing it.”

Rio shook her head violently. “I’m not doing shit.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not.”

Alice slid her a shot. “Hydration.”

“That’s not hydration.”

“It’s emotional support.”

Rio stared at the glass.

Then sighed.

Then took it.

Then immediately coughed. “Jesus Christ.”

Alice grinned. “Again.”

Another shot appeared.

Then another.

Rio lost track somewhere around the fourth one.

Her face felt warm. Her limbs felt floaty. Her fear started getting drowned out by reckless confidence and birthday delusion.

She peeked toward the bar again.

Agatha was still there.

Still devastating.

Still very real.

“Oh my god,” Rio whispered. “I’m going to die.”

Alice nudged her shoulder. “You’re going to flirt.”

“I’m going to embarrass myself.”

“Same thing.”

Rio rolled her neck once, then twice, psyching herself up like she was about to jump into traffic.

“Okay,” she said finally. “Okay. Fuck it.”

Alice clapped once. “There she is.”

Rio took one more shot for courage.

Then another because she was already committed.

Her legs wobbled slightly when she stood, laughter bubbling out of her chest like nervous energy on steroids.

Alice grabbed her hand briefly. “Go break some hearts, birthday menace.”

Rio smirked. “If I die, delete my browser history.”

“Deal.”

Rio inhaled deeply.

Then exhaled.

Then immediately regretted everything.

She finally gained the confidence to walk up to her professor.

The so-called confidence was too-many-to-count’s of shots deep and held together by spite, poor judgment, and birthday audacity.

There she was.

Professor Agatha Harkness, alone at the bar, one elegant hand curled around the stem of an espresso martini. Deep purple top tucked neatly into tailored trousers, dark jacket draped over the back of the stool like she owned the damn place. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, soft waves catching the warm amber light. The familiar glint of her mother, maiden, crone pendant rested against her collarbone.

Rio’s brain short-circuited for a solid three seconds.

Oh. Oh she looks illegal. That should not be allowed in public spaces.

She cleared her throat and stepped closer, swaying only slightly — impressive, really.

“Professor Harkness?” she called, quiet but loud enough to cut through the slow, aching drawl of Wicked Game by Chris Isaak pouring from the speakers.

That did it.

Agatha startled so hard she nearly knocked her drink over, shoulders jerking as she spun on the stool.

“Ms. Vidal?” Her eyes widened for half a second before dragging slowly over Rio’s figure — the skirt, the stockings, the braid, the ridiculous sparkly 21 headpiece perched proudly on her head.

The look was fast. Controlled.

Not fast enough.

“What are you doing he—” Agatha began, then stopped herself.

Her gaze flicked up to the headpiece.

“…Oh,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “Happy birthday.”

Rio beamed like she’d just been knighted by the Pope.

“Thank you,” she said, way too brightly. “I’m legally allowed to make terrible decisions now.”

Agatha huffed a quiet laugh before she could stop herself. “That’s… deeply concerning.”

Rio leaned one elbow against the bar, absolutely invading her personal space, by accident and very much on purpose. The edge of her knee brushed Agatha’s, the warmth of her body bleeding into the small gap between them.

“You’re here alone,” Rio observed, squinting like she was solving a murder mystery. “That’s sad. You should fix that.”

Agatha raised a brow. “Is that an offer?”

Rio blinked.

Oh.
Oh fuck.
Brain buffering. Dial-up noises.

“I, I mean,” she laughed, waving a hand vaguely. “Like, socially. As a citizen. A concerned member of the nightlife community.”

“Mhm.” Agatha took a slow sip of her martini, eyes never leaving Rio. “And what exactly does the nightlife community recommend?”

“Well,” Rio said, lowering her voice like she was sharing classified information, “shots. Dancing. Maybe emotional oversharing if the vibe is right.”

“That sounds like chaos.”

Rio grinned. “I am chaos.”

Agatha’s lips twitched despite herself. “So I’ve noticed.”

Rio swayed slightly, catching herself on the bar with a sheepish laugh. “Okay, maybe I’m a little tipsy.”

“A little?” Agatha echoed dryly.

Rio leaned in closer. Not just closer, but dangerously close. Close enough that Agatha could feel the warmth of her breath, catch the faint sweetness of syrup and vanilla clinging to her like a ghost of breakfast and bad decisions. Their noses were barely inches apart now, the space between them tight and charged and absolutely irresponsible.

Rio lowered her voice into something teasing and conspiratorial.

“In my defense,” she murmured, eyes flicking briefly to Agatha’s mouth before snapping back up again, “it’s illegal to be sober on your twenty-first birthday.”

Agatha did not move.

Did not pull away.
Did not lean in either.

“I don’t think that’s a law,” she said calmly, even as her gaze darkened a fraction.

“It is in my heart.”

Agatha’s eyes dragged slowly over Rio’s flushed cheeks, the reckless curve of her grin, the way she hovered far too close like she had no concept of personal boundaries or self-preservation. Something sharp and unreadable flickered behind her gaze.

“You’re already pushing your luck,” Agatha said evenly.

Rio scoffed and pulled back. “Please,” she shrugged “I’m built diferent.”

“You almost walked into a barstool.”

“That barstool started it.”

Agatha laughed again, this time fully. The sound slipped out low and surprised, like it escaped without permission. And right at the end, a tiny, completely unflattering snort betrayed her.

Agatha froze.

Absolutely betrayed by her own lungs.

Rio’s heart promptly forgot how to function.

Oh fuck.
That laugh should be illegal too.

“Okay,” Rio sighed. “But if I wake up tomorrow haunted by my own behavior, I’m blaming you.”

Agatha smirked. “Naturally.”

Rio hesitated, then leaned in right beside her ear, just enough to lower her voice again. “For what it’s worth… you look really fucking good tonight.”

Agatha inhaled slowly through her nose.

“…Goodnight, Ms. Vidal.”

Rio grinned like an idiot, the small gap between her front teeth flashing shamelessly as she stumbled backward toward Alice, adrenaline buzzing through her veins like she’d just committed a felony.

“Goodnight, Professor Hot-ness,” she called over her shoulder, finger-gunning wildly before nearly tripping over her own boots.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

Chapter Text

“Goodnight, Professor Hot-ness,” Rio called over her shoulder, finger-gunning wildly before nearly tripping over her own boots as she made her way back toward her table.

Agatha laughed before she could stop herself, the sound slipping out warm and automatic, the kind that followed good conversation and decent alcohol without asking permission first. Her fingers stayed loosely wrapped around the stem of her espresso martini as she watched Rio disappear into the crowd, still grinning like she hadn’t just done something wildly inappropriate in public.

Then the words actually registered.

Her smile faltered, the warmth draining from her expression as the realization landed a half second too late.

That voice hadn’t belonged to a stranger. It hadn’t been some harmless drunk flirting with a woman whose name and boundaries didn’t matter.

That had been Rio Vidal.

Her student.

Agatha’s gaze drifted instinctively toward the table where Rio had gone, catching the familiar dark hair and animated movement as she slid back into her seat beside her friend, laughter still clinging to her like an afterthought. Rio looked relaxed, unbothered, blissfully unaware that she’d just thrown Agatha’s internal balance completely off its axis.

Agatha stared for a second longer than she should have.

What the fuck.

Her chest tightened in a way she didn’t like, not quite panic and not quite fear, but something sharper and warmer that made her suddenly hyperaware of the way her body sat in the chair, the pressure of the stool against her legs, the faint buzz of alcohol in her veins, the way her pulse had spiked without her permission.

She’d always known she was attractive. That wasn’t news. She didn’t walk through the world blind to the way people looked at her or responded to her presence. Years of being observed, desired, evaluated had carved that awareness into her bones.

But this?

Her goddamn student calling her hot.

Sixteen years younger. In her class. Sitting front row every lecture, eyes bright, mind sharp, mouth always just a little too quick for its own good.

The thought didn’t land like a joke she could brush off or an insult she could ignore. It landed in her body, low and unsettling, like a spark catching on dry ground before her brain could smother it.

This had to be nothing. Drunk bravado. A lack of impulse control. A meaningless comment that didn’t deserve space in her head.

Still, her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass.

Agatha didn’t allow the spiral to build. She lifted the martini and drained it in one long swallow, welcoming the sharp burn of espresso and alcohol as it slid down her throat, grounding her just enough to interrupt the unwanted heat crawling through her system.

She set the empty glass back onto the bar with a decisive clink, reached for her coat, and slid off the stool without letting herself glance back toward Rio’s table again.

Time to go.

The night air hit her face the moment she stepped outside, cool and crisp against the lingering warmth of the bar. She leaned back against the brick wall near the entrance, muscle memory already guiding her hand to the cigarette in her pocket and the lighter that followed it, the brief flare of flame reflecting against the lenses of her glasses before disappearing into the dark.

She inhaled slowly, letting the familiar burn settle her nerves, then exhaled into the open night.

Her phone came out next, thumb moving automatically through the Uber app, confirming the pickup location and paying without much thought. The screen told her the car was still several minutes away, which felt mildly insulting considering how badly she wanted the night to be over already.

She settled into the waiting, the hum of distant traffic drifting up the street, the muted pulse of music bleeding through the walls behind her, the quiet ritual of smoking anchoring her back into herself.

Her nervous system started to slow.

Her phone buzzed.

Agatha unlocked it, already annoyed, and was immediately met with a stack of unread messages under Wanda’s name.

Wanda M., 11:08 PM
Baby please talk to me

Wanda M., 11:28 PM
Come home baby, lets talk this out.

Wanda M., 11:34 PM
Agatha, cmon get your shit together and get the fuck home.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose as she scrolled.

“Oh my fucking god, shut up,” she muttered, thumb hovering over the screen before she locked it instead.

Three seconds later, it buzzed again.

She unlocked it with a tired sigh.

Wanda M., 11:34 PM
Where the fuck are you???

Her jaw tightened.

Before she could lock the phone again, another message appeared.

Wanda M., 11:36 PM
You’re fucking cheating on me, arent you?

Agatha let out a short, humorless laugh.

“Oh you wish i was out cheating,” she muttered under her breath, typing nothing and sending nothing before locking the phone and shoving it back into her pocket.

The word cheating lingered unpleasantly in the back of her mind, heavy with irony.

She hadn’t touched anyone. Hadn’t even come close. Hadn’t crossed anything that could reasonably be called a line.

And yet, her body still remembered the warmth that had sparked in her chest when Rio had called her Professor fucking hot-ness.

That unsettled her far more than Wanda’s accusations ever could.

The Uber still hadn’t arrived. The app said a few more minutes due to traffic, which felt like a personal attack at this point.

Agatha shifted her weight against the wall and took another drag, telling herself she was just tired, that the drink had hit harder than expected, that the divorce had her nerves stretched thin and her boundaries slightly frayed in ways she didn’t usually allow.

Reasonable explanations. Acceptable explanations.

Her mind continued to betray her anyway, replaying Rio’s grin uninvited, the careless confidence in her voice, the way she’d said it like it meant nothing at all.

Agatha exhaled slowly through her nose.

Get it together.

The bar door opened behind her, spilling warm light and laughter into the cool night air.

Agatha stiffened before she could stop herself.

She recognized that laugh instantly.

Rio stepped out onto the sidewalk, still half laughing as she tugged her jacket higher on her shoulders and immediately started rummaging through her bag with growing frustration, her movements loose and uncoordinated in that very specific way that came with being drunk and convinced you were still perfectly functional.

“Where the fuck are theeeyyy..” Rio groaned, dragging the word out like the universe might respond if she complained loudly enough.

Agatha didn’t mean to look.

She really didn’t.

But her eyes betrayed her anyway, tracking the familiar silhouette, the dark hair catching the streetlight, the careless way Rio leaned into her own space like gravity had slightly relaxed its grip on her tonight, and the thought surfaced uninvited, sharp and inconvenient.

Fuck. She truly is beautiful.

The realization irritated her immediately, not because it wasn’t objectively true, but because she noticed it at all, because her body reacted before her brain could shut it down, because there was that faint, unwelcome warmth again curling low in her stomach like an echo of the earlier moment.

She took another drag of her cigarette and focused on the burn in her lungs, grounding herself back into the present, back into control.

Rio sighed and shoved her bag back onto her shoulder, clearly giving up the search.

“That fucking twink took my cigs, didn’t he,” she muttered, shaking her head with a crooked little laugh.

Agatha snorted quietly before she could stop herself.

It wasn’t loud, barely more than a breath of amusement, but it carried enough in the open air.

Rio’s head snapped up.

Her eyes scanned the sidewalk for a split second before landing on Agatha, recognition blooming instantly across her face, followed by something brighter and more mischievous, like she’d just stumbled into a plot twist she hadn’t expected but was absolutely ready to exploit.

Her gaze flicked briefly to the cigarette between Agatha’s fingers, then back to her face, then back again, the wheels visibly turning.

A slow, crooked smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, that small gap appearing once again.

Oh no.

Rio adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and started walking over, that same loose confidence rolling off her in waves, completely unbothered by the idea that maybe, just maybe, this was not a situation she should be leaning into.

“Heyyy,” Rio said, stretching the word playfully as she approached.

She misjudged the uneven pavement by exactly one step.

Her boot caught slightly, her balance tipped forward, and her body lurched before she could correct herself.

Agatha reacted on instinct, her hand shooting out to grab Rio’s arm and steady her, fingers closing firmly around the sleeve of her jacket as she pulled her back upright without hesitation.

“Get your shit together, Ms. Vidal,” Agatha snapped automatically, the words sharp with reflex more than irritation. “Don’t fucking fall.”

Rio froze, the sudden proximity hitting them both at once.

She was close enough now that Agatha could see the lighter flecks in her honey-brown eyes, close enough to catch the faint mix of alcohol and something sweet on her breath, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her body into the narrow space between them.

Rio’s lips parted slightly in surprise before curving into that infuriating grin again.

“What can I say,” Rio said lightly, eyes bright with mischief. “I fall on my knees for y-.”

Her hand moved before her brain could intervene, palm coming up to cover Rio’s mouth in a sharp, reflexive attempt to stop the words from existing at all.

Agatha’s heart slammed so hard against her ribs it almost startled her.

“Shut the fuck up,” Agatha hissed, eyes narrowing, grip firm but controlled. “You can’t say shit like that.”

Rio made a muffled sound beneath her hand, something between a laugh and a protest, her eyes widening in exaggerated innocence, clearly enjoying the reaction more than she should’ve been.

Agatha became acutely aware of how close they were standing, of the way her hand rested against Rio’s face, of the way Rio’s breath ghosted warm against her palm.

The awareness made her chest tighten.

She dropped her hand abruptly.

“What,” she demanded, sharper than necessary.

Rio blinked at her once, then twice, lips parting like she’d been rebooted mid-thought.

“Can I bum one,” Rio asked, suddenly very innocent.

Agatha stared at her.

“Huh? Bum what?”

Rio tilted her head slightly and let her eyes flick pointedly toward the cigarette between Agatha’s fingers.

“Oh,” Agatha said, finally catching up. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her pack, flipping it open and offering it without ceremony.

Rio stepped closer to take one, her fingers brushing against Agatha’s for the briefest second as she pulled a cigarette free and placed it between her lips.

It was stupid how much that tiny contact registered.

Rio didn’t move away right away. She just looked at Agatha expectantly, cigarette resting lazily between her lips like she had all the time in the world.

Agatha hesitated for half a second too long before flicking her lighter open.

The flame flared to life between them, casting warm light across Rio’s face, catching the curve of her cheek, the focus in her eyes, the soft concentration in the way she leaned in slightly to light it.

Their faces were suddenly much too close.

Close enough that Agatha could feel Rio’s breath against her skin, could see the subtle movement of her lashes, could smell the faint sweetness clinging to her.

Rio cupped her hand around the flame, leaning in just a little more.

The distance between their mouths narrowed to something dangerously small.

Agatha’s pulse kicked hard in her ears.

For half a heartbeat, neither of them moved away.

Rio inhaled, drawing the first drag into her lungs, smoke curling between them as she pulled back slowly, eyes never leaving Agatha’s face.

“Lifesaver,” Rio murmured, voice softer now, lower, something less performative and more real.

Agatha swallowed, forcing herself to step back a fraction, reestablishing space that suddenly felt both necessary and deeply unwelcome.

“Don’t make a habit of it,” she replied evenly, though the steadiness of her voice didn’t quite match the tension buzzing under her skin.

Rio smiled like she absolutely intended to make a habit of exactly that.

Rio leaned back against the wall beside Agatha, shoulder resting against the cool brick, cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers as smoke drifted lazily into the night.

The casualness of it made Agatha hyperaware of how close they were standing, of the way Rio’s presence filled the narrow slice of space beside her like gravity had slightly shifted.

“You always steal other people’s cigarettes or what?” Agatha said, mostly to occupy the quiet that had settled between them, though her eyes betrayed her by tracking the way Rio exhaled, the soft parting of her lips as smoke slipped free.

“Only when mine disappear mysteriously,” Rio replied easily, rolling her eyes. “Billy definitely took them from my jacket earlier. I should’ve known better than to trust any man with my shit.”

Agatha huffed a quiet laugh despite herself.

Rio tilted her head slightly, studying her with open curiosity, her gaze lingering longer than polite conversation usually allowed.

“You look different out here,” Rio said after a moment.

Agatha lifted a brow. “Different how?”

Rio shrugged lightly, cigarette dangling lazily between her fingers. “Less.. scary.”

Agatha scoffed. “I’m not scary.”

Rio laughed softly, shaking her head. “Oh, you most certainly are.”

There was no fear in it. No mockery. Just honest amusement.

“And yet,” Rio added, eyes flicking back to Agatha with a playful glint, “you’re still standing here letting a menace bum one of your cigarettes.”

“Don’t push your luck,” Agatha replied dryly.

Rio grinned.

The silence that followed felt comfortable in a way Agatha didn’t expect, the night humming quietly around them, traffic murmuring somewhere in the distance, laughter drifting faintly through the bar doors behind them.

Rio shifted slightly, angling herself just a little closer without making a show of it, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

Agatha noticed immediately.

Her body reacted before her brain could intervene, awareness tightening low in her stomach, attention sharpening in a way she didn’t appreciate.

Rio’s gaze drifted upward again, catching on the edge of Agatha’s glasses this time, lingering there with open interest.

“You know,” Rio said slowly, voice lowering just a touch, “you look really hot with those on.”

Agatha stiffened before she could stop herself. “I beg your pardon.”

Rio shrugged, entirely unapologetic. “Your glasses. They make you look dangerous. In a good way.”

“That’s not appropriate,” Agatha said flatly, though the faint heat creeping up her neck betrayed her composure.

“I didn’t say it was,” Rio replied easily, lips twitching with amusement.

Agatha turned her head slightly, trying very hard not to be aware of the way her pulse had picked up, of the way Rio’s attention felt like a tangible weight on her skin.

“I’m serious, Ms. Vidal.”

“I know,” Rio said, softer now. “I am too.”

Her gaze lingered again, slower this time, thoughtful instead of playful.

“They suit you,” Rio added quietly. “Makes you look like you could ruin someone’s life and not even lose sleep over it.”

Agatha swallowed despite herself.

That was not helping.

“You should go back inside,” Agatha said, aiming for firm and landing closer to strained.

Rio didn’t move.

Instead, she tilted her head again, studying Agatha with unsettling attentiveness. “You always wear them when you’re thinking hard.”

Agatha’s brow creased. “You wouldn’t know that.”

Rio smiled faintly. “I pay attention.”

The words settled heavier than they had any right to.

The space between them felt thinner now, charged in a way that made Agatha acutely aware of her breathing, of the warmth radiating between their bodies, of the way Rio stood angled just slightly toward her like she was being pulled in by something magnetic.

“This is a bad idea,” Agatha said quietly, more to herself than to Rio.

Rio’s gaze flicked down briefly, then back up, something unreadable flickering behind her eyes. “Maybe.”

Rio shifted a half step closer.

Their shoulders brushed.

The contact sent a sharp spark through Agatha’s chest, unwelcome and electric, her breath catching before she could stop it. The air between them felt suddenly thinner, fragile in a way that made every movement feel dangerous.

Without fully realizing she was doing it, Agatha lifted her hand.

Her fingers brushed Rio’s jaw first, tentative, like she was testing reality, before her palm settled more firmly against the warmth of her cheek. Rio’s skin was warm beneath her touch, softer than Agatha expected, the contact grounding and destabilizing all at once.

Rio froze for half a heartbeat, before her hand came up automatically, fingers wrapping around Agatha’s wrist, thumb pressing lightly against her pulse like she was anchoring herself there, like the connection mattered too much to let go of.

Their faces were suddenly far too close.

Close enough that Agatha could see the faint flutter of Rio’s lashes, could feel the warmth of her breath against her lips, could sense the way the moment tightened between them like a held inhale.

Rio’s grip tightened just slightly on Agatha’s arm.

Not pulling.

Not pushing.

Just holding.

Agatha’s thumb shifted against Rio’s cheek without permission, a barely-there movement that made something dangerous coil low in her stomach.

For a suspended heartbeat, neither of them moved.

The space between their mouths narrowed to almost nothing.

Almost.

Agatha became painfully aware of how easy it would be to close that distance, how little effort it would take to tip the moment into something neither of them could undo.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

The sound shattered the air like glass breaking.

Agatha inhaled sharply and pulled her hand back, the sudden absence of contact ringing louder than the noise itself as she took a step away and forced real space between them, her fingers already reaching for her phone as if she needed something solid to ground herself.

The Uber.

Relief flooded her system like a lifeline.

“My ride’s here,” she said, voice steadier than she felt.

Rio blinked, the tension draining only slightly from her posture. “Right. Yeah.”

They lingered for one more beat, the air still thick with everything unsaid.

“Goodnight, Ms. Vidal,” Agatha said, professional mask sliding firmly back into place.

Rio’s lips curved into a softer smile. “Goodnight, Professor.”

Agatha turned and walked toward the waiting car without looking back, her pulse still racing, her skin still humming from proximity alone.

Okay.. What the fuck just happened?

The car smelled faintly of air freshener and old upholstery, the kind of neutral scent meant to erase evidence of every passenger who came before. Agatha sank into the back seat and pulled the door shut, the sound landing with more finality than she expected.

“Agatha?” the driver asked.

She just looked at him, and nodded her head. 

The city blurred past the window in streaks of light and shadow, reflections sliding across the glass like thoughts she didn’t want to finish forming.

Her pulse still hadn’t settled.

She rested her forearm against the door, fingers curling loosely into the sleeve of her coat as if grounding herself in the pressure might quiet the static humming under her skin. It didn’t. The warmth of Rio’s cheek lingered on her palm in a way that felt deeply unfair, like her nerves had memorized the moment without asking permission.

That was unacceptable.

She shifted in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs once, trying to physically shake the sensation loose. Her body refused to cooperate. The images kept resurfacing anyway, unwanted and vivid.

The way Rio’s breath had brushed her skin.
The way her fingers had wrapped around Agatha’s wrist without hesitation.
The way the air had tightened between them like a held breath.

Agatha exhaled sharply through her nose and stared harder at the passing streetlights.

This was nothing. A lapse in judgment. A moment misread because she was exhausted and stretched thin and emotionally hollowed out by a divorce that refused to resolve cleanly. Her brain was searching for novelty, for distraction, for something that didn’t feel heavy and stale and familiar.

That didn’t make it meaningful.

And it absolutely didn’t make it acceptable.

Her jaw tightened.

She knew exactly why that moment was wrong. Power imbalance. Authority. Influence. Ethics. She could dismantle the entire thing in her head like a case study if she wanted to.

Her body did not give a single fuck about her arguments.

Her fingers flexed unconsciously against the fabric of her sleeve.

The warmth lingered anyway.

Agatha swallowed hard and forced herself to sit still, letting the city swallow her attention instead of her own thoughts, but the hum under her skin followed her all the way home.

The apartment lights were already on when Agatha stepped inside, the glow spilling across the living room like a stage set for a fight she hadn’t agreed to attend.

She barely had time to close the door before Wanda’s voice snapped through the space.

“Are you serious right now?”

Agatha paused, hand still on the door handle, then slowly turned.

Wanda stood near the kitchen counter, arms crossed tight against her chest, red hair pulled back messily, eyes sharp and already burning with accusation.

“You ignored every single message I sent you,” Wanda continued. “Do you have any idea how fucked up that looks?”

Agatha exhaled slowly. “I saw them.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you answer?”

“Because I didn’t feel like being interrogated at eleven forty at night.”

Wanda laughed sharply. “Oh, don’t give me that. You disappear for hours and just expect me to sit here and pretend that’s normal?”

“It is normal,” Agatha snapped. “We’re not together anymore, Wanda. What part of that are you still struggling to understand?”

Wanda’s eyes flashed with nothing but rage. “So you just get to vanish whenever you want now?”

“Yes,” Agatha said flatly. “That’s kind of how being separated works.”

“Separated?” Wanda scoffed. “We still live in the same apartment, Agatha! You don’t get to pretend I don’t fucking exist.”

Agatha felt irritation flare hot in her chest. “Living under the same roof does not mean you get access to my time, my location, or my life.”

“So where were you?” Wanda demanded. “Out getting drinks? Meeting someone?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Wanda stared at her. “So that’s a yes? You were out cheating on me!”

Agatha’s jaw tightened. “You accuse me of cheating on a relationship that ended weeks ago. Do you hear yourself? Do you know how fucking unhinged that sounds?”

“You said the papers were in my mailbox like that magically erases everything!” Wanda shot back. “Like we didn’t build a whole life together!”

“It ends the marriage Wanda,” Agatha said sharply. “That is the part you keep refusing to accept.”

Wanda stepped closer, voice rising. “You’ve been cold for months. Distant! You barely look at me anymore. And now you’re out late ignoring me like you’re hiding something.. What the fuck am I supposed to think?!”

“You’re supposed to think that my life no longer revolves around you!” Agatha snapped.

Wanda’s mouth twisted. “Wow. So you really don’t give a single fuck anymore, do you?”

Agatha didn’t answer immediately, her silence sharp enough to sting.

Wanda scoffed bitterly. “God. You moved on fast, didn’t you?”

“There is nothing to move on from,” Agatha shot back. “You and I were already dead! Long before the paperwork caught up.”

“That’s such bullshit,” Wanda said, voice cracking. “You don’t get to rewrite history just because you’re bored now.”

Agatha stepped forward, temper finally breaking through the restraint. “I’m not bored. I was fucking miserable, and needed out from your fucking chains around me.”

Wanda froze. “Miserable? Chains? You’re blaming me now?”

“I’m telling you the truth,” Agatha said coldly. “Something you seem allergic to.”

Wanda’s eyes shone with fury. “You still sleep ten feet from me, you still eat in the same kitchen. We still share the same goddamn apartment!” She gestured sharply around them. “You don’t get to pretend I’m some.. stranger you can just discard!”

Agatha’s voice cut sharp. “Oh my god, then move out! Get the fuck out!”

Wanda recoiled slightly. “You can’t seriously be saying that.”

“I most certainly am,” Agatha replied. “One of us needs to leave, because this?” she gestured sharply between them, hands splayed, “this is fucking unbearable.”

Wanda shook her head, laughing humorlessly. “Unbelievable. You really are heartless.”

Agatha’s chest tightened. “No. I’m just fucking done with you.”

Wanda’s voice dropped, dangerous and raw. “This isn’t over.”

Agatha met her gaze without blinking. “Yes, yes it is.”

She turned and walked away, the argument still vibrating through the apartment like a fault line that refused to settle, the shared space suddenly feeling far too small for two people who no longer belonged in the same life.

Agatha moved through her nighttime routine on autopilot, brushing her teeth, washing her face, folding herself into bed like a woman trying very hard to convince her nervous system that the day was over.

It didn’t work.

The room was dark and quiet, the city humming faintly beyond the windows, and still her mind refused to settle. Every time she closed her eyes, Rio’s face surfaced uninvited, sharp and vivid in a way that felt deeply unfair.

Her mouth.

The curve of it when she smiled.

That fucking tooth gap of hers.

The way her lips had parted slightly when the flame caught the cigarette.

How close they’d been. Close enough to feel breath.

Agatha shifted beneath the sheets, jaw tightening.

How would they feel?

Warm? Soft?

How would it feel to kiss her?

How would it feel to bend her over her office desk, pulling her hair back, fucking her so fucking rou—

Nope.

Absolutely not.

She dragged a hand over her face, exhaling sharply into the darkness, annoyed at herself, at her body, at the way her thoughts kept slipping past every carefully built boundary like they’d never existed in the first place.

Sleep came eventually, dragging her under whether she wanted it or not.

She looked up and saw Rio leaning against her desk while she sat in her chair, the office warped in that soft, unreal way dreams always carried, edges slightly blurred like the room couldn’t decide whether it was morning or night. Light filtered through the blinds in uneven stripes, dust floating lazily in the air.

There was something darker in Rio’s eyes than Agatha had ever seen in real life. Something bold. Expectant.

“Come on, Agatha,” Rio said, voice low, stepping closer until the space between them felt fragile. “Show me exactly what you want.”

Before Agatha could think, Rio was in her lap, warm weight settling against her thighs like it belonged there. Agatha’s hands lifted automatically, cupping Rio’s face, thumbs brushing her jaw with a familiarity that made her stomach tighten. Rio’s fingers wrapped around Agatha’s wrists in response, grounding and possessive all at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Agatha heard herself say, the words raw and unfiltered, stripped of every ounce of restraint she normally lived inside.

Their mouths crashed together, the kiss messy and urgent, all heat and impatience, like the dream had skipped every step that usually slowed her down. Rio bit her lower lip, and a low sound slipped from Agatha’s throat before she could stop it.

Something sharp and possessive flared in her chest.

Her hands slid from Rio’s face to her hips, gripping firmly, claiming space without asking permission. One hand tangled into Rio’s hair and pulled her head back deliberately, not gentle, not accidental, forcing her to look up.

The control felt intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

“You’re mine,” Agatha said, the words heavy even inside the dream. “Only mine. Got it?”

Rio’s eyes darkened further, breath catching slightly, fingers tightening around Agatha’s wrist like she was bracing herself against the pull of it.

Agatha lifted her easily and laid her back against the desk, the surface cool beneath her palms, the office bending around them like it was complicit in whatever her mind was about to cross into next. Her gaze flicked instinctively toward the bottom drawer, the thought arriving fully formed before logic could intervene.

The implication alone sent a dangerous pulse through her.

Rio’s mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile.

“Prove it to me, baby.”

Her eyes snapped open.

Cold sweat dotted her skin.

She stared up at the ceiling, pulse slowly settling, the weight of what her brain had just manufactured sitting heavy in her chest.

“Get a grip,” she muttered into the empty room.

Her phone clock glowed faintly on the nightstand.

4:02 AM.

Of course.

Anyways, sleep wasn’t coming back.

Agatha laid there for another minute, staring at the ceiling like it might offer absolution or a temporary lobotomy. No such luck. Her mind stayed wired, fragments of the dream replaying in sharp, irritating flashes, her nervous system refusing to believe the threat had passed.

She exhaled slowly and pushed herself upright.

If she wasn’t going to sleep, she might as well stop pretending.

Her laptop sat untouched on the bedside table. She stared at it for a beat longer than necessary before flipping it open, the screen casting pale light across the dark room. The familiar glow felt intrusive and accusing this late at night.

She opened her browser.

Instagram loaded automatically, muscle memory doing most of the work before her brain could intervene.

This was a bad idea.

She knew that.

Her fingers moved anyway.

She typed Rio Vidal into the search bar.

@riovidal

Rio Vidal 🖤

private: @evilhag

Her eyes flicked to the bio before she could stop herself.

A short line. Minimal. Casual.

She hesitated, then clicked.

The private account opened to a locked page.

@evilhag

River Of Life 🍃

time makes you bolder — Fleetwood Mac (1975)

Agatha stared at the name longer than she should have.

Of course she would do something like that. Of course she’d turn her own name into a poetic little joke, something earthy and pretentious and quietly clever at the same time. River. Life. Growth. Philosophy student energy radiating through a single leaf emoji.

Agatha shook her head faintly, smiling despite herself.

She clicked back to the public profile.

Photos filled the screen in neat rows. Friends. Coffee cups. Night lighting. Blurry laughter. Candid moments that felt lived-in instead of curated. Rio looked alive in every frame, like she never did anything halfway.

A photo from earlier caught her eye.

Rio and Alice, arms slung around each other, cheeks flushed, grinning like they’d just made at least three bad decisions and were proud of all of them.

The caption read:

always a pleasure making bad decisions with you Wu-Gulliver 🖤

Agatha snorted quietly, “You don’t say.”

Her mouse slipped.

The heart filled red.

Her stomach dropped straight through the mattress.

“Oh fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” she hissed, clicking frantically like she could reverse time with enough panic.

She unliked it immediately, pulse spiking, staring at the screen like it might accuse her out loud.

Had it notified her?

Did it still show up?

Did Rio now think her professor was stalking her Instagram at four in the morning like a complete psychopath?

Fuuuuuuuckkkk..

Agatha slammed the laptop shut and set it back on the table like it had personally betrayed her.

She leaned back against the pillows and dragged a hand down her face.

This was officially a problem.

Agatha survived the morning on nothing but coffee, nicotine, and the fraying remains of her self-control.

Sleep had been impossible. Not with her mind replaying every inch of last night like it owed her answers. Not after that dream. Not after the accidental Instagram like. Not with the weight of Rio’s voice still echoing in her head, soft and drunk and far too close.

She was wired and strung out by sunrise, already pacing the fire escape in her robe, cigarette tucked between her fingers, fifth coffee half gone. Her body moved like it had muscle memory for burnout. Her thoughts were too sharp and too slow all at once.

By the time she walked into PHIL 504, the exhaustion had curdled into something tighter. Quieter. Her face was set. Her hair was perfect. Her notes were in order. The students filtered in around her like they always did.

But Rio wasn’t there.

She scanned the front row out of habit. Empty seat, middle left. The one Rio always took. Her seat. The one she staked out on day one like it meant something.

Agatha checked the clock. It was already past nine.

Her mouth tightened.

Rio wasn’t late. Rio was never late after the first day.

When the door finally creaked open, Agatha looked up with more anticipation than she was willing to admit.

Rio staggered in like the concept of time had personally offended her.

Sunglasses on. Hoodie up. The picture of post-birthday regret. She looked like she had been chewed up by the night and spit directly into her lecture with the hangover of someone who made too many bad decisions and remembered too few of them.

She paused, eyes sweeping the front row.

Full.

Of course.

No hesitation. No eye contact.

She trudged up the aisle and collapsed into a seat near the back, dropping her bag without ceremony, head falling into the crook of her arm like she was clocking out of her own body.

Agatha watched her for a full five seconds.

No movement. No apology. No effort. 

Just stillness and the slow rise and fall of her back as she melted into the desk.

Agatha should have said something. Called her name. Sent her out of the room entirely. She had kicked students out for less.

But her voice stayed quiet.

Instead, she turned to the board and began the lecture.

Her tone was flat. Clipped. Focused in the way only people trying not to feel anything could manage. She moved through moral theories and frameworks like she was narrating someone else’s script, her thoughts only half in the room.

Rio didn’t stir once.

She didn’t look up. Didn’t shift. Didn’t even pretend to listen.

The sunglasses stayed on. The hood stayed up. The sleep stayed deep.

Agatha kept talking.

She hated how much she noticed.

She hated the way her gaze kept flicking toward the back row like it had its own agenda, how her brain catalogued every detail even when her mouth was reciting something else entirely. The angle of Rio’s head. The fall of her hair. The shape of her breathing.

She told herself she was annoyed.

She wasn’t sure she believed it.

The lecture wound down. Questions went unanswered. She didn’t bother engaging. Her energy wasn’t built for discourse this morning. She didn’t trust her mouth not to betray her.

When the clock hit time, she closed her folder and dismissed them without another word.

Students filtered out, as always, loud and thoughtless, already half elsewhere. Some said goodbye. Most didn’t.

Rio didn’t move.

Agatha watched the door swing shut behind the last student, then finally exhaled.

The room was quiet again.

She walked slowly up the aisle.

Stopped beside Rio’s chair.

“Ms. Vidal,” she said.

Nothing.

Not a twitch. Not a sound.

Agatha waited a beat, then leaned in slightly.

“Rio.”

Still nothing.

She reached out and tapped the side of the desk with two fingers, sharp enough to make a point, soft enough not to startle.

Still no reaction. Just a quiet groan buried in fabric and hair.

Agatha’s hand hovered for a second.

Then, almost without thinking, she reached down and brushed a few loose strands of hair away from Rio’s cheek, tucking them carefully behind her ear. The movement was gentle. Thoughtless. Too familiar.

Her fingers lingered longer than they should have.

Rio’s skin was warm. Her breathing steady. Her lashes fluttered at the contact.

Agatha pulled back.

"Rio."

The voice that came out was lower than before. Softer. Still controlled.

Rio stirred this time, blinking slowly. Her sunglasses slid halfway down her nose.

She sat up sluggishly, squinting. Her hoodie was falling off one shoulder. Her mouth parted slightly in confusion.

"...Is the lecture already over?"

Agatha folded her arms.

"You slept through all of it, Ms. Vidal."

Rio froze.

"...Shit."

Her voice was wrecked. Raw at the edges. Embarrassment slowly registered behind her eyes, even through the sunglasses.

"I didn’t mean to. I just—" She sat up straighter, rubbing at her eyes. "God. I swear I didn’t plan to fall asleep."

"You were late. The front was full. You took a seat in the back and passed out cold."

"I know, I just— it was my birthday, and Alice had shots lined up before I could even blink, and then it all kind of—"

Agatha held up a hand.

"I’m not interested in the details."

Rio shut up immediately.

Agatha’s voice dropped slightly.

"But i’ll let it go this time."

Rio blinked at her. “You… didn’t call on me?”

"You weren’t exactly in a state to contribute."

Rio ran a hand through her hair, clearly panicking now. "Fuck. I don’t even remember walking in."

"You looked like hell."

Rio groaned. "This is so embarrassing."

Agatha raised a brow. "It wasn’t your finest hour."

Rio winced. "No kidding."

Then she paused.

Rio looked down at her lap, then back up again, eyes wide behind her sunglasses.

"...Wait."

Agatha didn’t move.

Rio blinked. "Last night. At the bar. I didn’t just… dream that, right?"

Agatha’s silence was enough.

Rio’s face dropped. "Oh my god."

"Well.. You called me hot," Agatha said, still cool. Still composed. "You nearly walked into a barstool, saying ‘that barstool started it.’, you stole one of my cigarettes, you told me I looked really good."

Rio made a strangled noise and dropped her face into her hands. "Please. I’m begging you."

Agatha paused, just for a breath.

Her voice stayed flat, but something shifted in her face. The faintest flicker of humor ghosted across it, like she was holding back a laugh at her own expense.

"And you said I looked less scary outside of class."

Rio groaned louder. "Why are you like this?"

"And you very nearly said something else that would have gotten you in real trouble."

Rio peeked through her fingers, horrified. "What did I say?"

"You started a sentence with, ‘I fall on my knees for—’"

Rio gasped. "Okay! I get it!"

Agatha’s expression didn’t change, not really.

But her eyes sparkled, just for a moment. Just enough to make Rio feel like the floor was tilting beneath her.

And then it was gone. Her face reset, neutral again.

"You should go drink water," she said calmly. "And get something in your system before you pass out in another class."

Rio stood too fast, like movement could erase humiliation. "Yes. Yes, Professor."

She turned to go, but paused at the top of the stairs.

"I really am sorry," she said, quieter now. Sincere.

Agatha didn’t smile. But her voice softened, just slightly.

"See that it doesn’t happen again."

She didn’t even know what she was referring to. The sleeping through class, or whatever happened at the bar. Maybe both. Probably both. But.. She sure as hell didn’t totally regret last night, no matter how much she should have.

Rio blinked, caught in it for a second too long. Then nodded, flustered, and turned to go.

Agatha let her gaze follow her. Just a moment longer than necessary.

You need to get out of my head, Rio Vidal.