Page 22 of Keep Me

“Library,” I confirmed. “Third floor. By the windows.”

“Text me when you’re done.” He picked up his backpack, then paused in the doorway, looking back at me with those eyes doing their quiet inventory of my face. Whatever he found there must have been fine because the corner of his mouth came up. “One more, Seren.”

“One more,” I echoed.

After.

The library during finals week became its own ecosystem. Every table was a campsite, every outlet was contested territory, and the silence had a texture to it, hundreds of people being quiet together, all that panic politely compressed. I claimed a table on the third floor by the tall windows, just like I told Zane I would, and set the blue travel mug down like a flag and spread my notes across my territory. The afternoon sun came through the glass in long warm bars. Somewhere below, Zane was sitting down in a lecture hall with a pencil and a superstition. My dad was at home filling the feeder. Everything was stored exactly where I had left it.

I got to work.

I was forty pages into my Communications theory review, highlighting definitions of “interpersonal dynamics” that felt like common sense repackaged as tuition costs, when a shadow fell over my laptop. I didn’t look up. In the library, looking up meant inviting eye contact, and eye contact meant someone asking to borrow a charger.

“Hey. No bodyguard today?”

The voice was low, dry, but a bit hesitant. I looked up. It took me a moment to place him, but eventually I recognized the blond hair and ordinary features. Finn was standing at the edge of my table, a massive, dog-eared biology textbook tucked under one arm and a half-empty bottle of water in his hand. He was wearing a faded red hoodie that had seen better days, and he was looking down at me with a mild, friendly sort of curiosity.

I blinked, my brain still half-stuck in a paragraph about the evolution of mass media. “What?”

“Your boyfriend,” Finn said, gesturing vaguely toward the door with his drink. He wasn’t smirking; he just looked genuinely amused by the memory. “The one from the coffee stand. He looked like he was about to check my ID and clear the perimeter. He’s not here?”

A tiny, involuntary laugh caught in my throat. Everyone else in my life, Cassidy, Gavin, even my dad, handled the situation around Zane and me with a kind of fragile understanding. They knew why he was protective, so they knew why it was genuine and not controlling.

“He’s in an exam,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “So, you’re safe for at least another ninety minutes.”

“Oh, good,” Finn said, pulling out the heavy wooden chair at the table directly next to mine and setting his backpack down. “I don’t think I have the energy to navigate that today. This bio stuff is kicking my ass.” He sat down, stretching his legs out under the table and flipping his book open.

“Zane said you spend the entire lecture looking at your watch,” I said, the phrase slipping out before I could censor it.

Finn didn’t look offended. He just ran a hand over his hair, looking down at a diagram with a tired but patient sigh. “Yeah. I have to catch the four-fifteen bus to the commuter lot to make my shift at the warehouse. If I miss it, I’m late, and my manager is strict about the timecard. I’m just always tracking the minutes, so I don’t get stuck.”

“Right,” I said, slightly wincing at the awkwardness. “That makes sense. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like…”

“No, it’s fine,” he said, looking over at me with a quiet, reassuring smile. “It probably looks like I’m just counting down the seconds to escape. Which, to be fair, sometimes I am. What are you studying?”

“Communications,” I said, gesturing to my notes. “Just a ten-page paper on corporate branding.”

“Sounds a lot better than statistical biology,” he said, turning back to his pages. “Trade you anytime.”

For the next hour, the only sound between our two tables was the clicking of keys and the occasional heavy sigh from a stressed-out sophomore three rows over. Around three, Finn stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked down at his laptop, then over at me.

“Hey,” he said, dropping his voice to a quiet library whisper. “I’m going to run down to the basement cafe and grab a coffee before my brain completely shuts down. Do you mind watching my stuff for a minute?”

I looked at his open MacBook, his expensive graphing calculator, and the car keys sitting carelessly on the wood. “You want me to watch your things?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” he said simply. “Just so no one walks off with the laptop. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Thanks. Hey, I never got your name.”

“Oh,” I blinked, realizing he was right. “It’s Seren.”

He disappeared down the stairwell, leaving me alone with his life spread out across the table. It was a stupid, mundane thing, the universal library understanding of stranger-safety, but as I sat there, keeping watch over his belongings, I realized the room hadn’t changed shape. My chest did not hurt. The threat dynamic that usually dictated every interaction I had outside of Zane’s line of sight had not crept in, and it had happened without any effort at all. Ten minutes later, he came back with a paper cup and a small brown bag. He set a mini package of gummy worms quietly onto my notebook.

“For helping me out,” he murmured, sliding back into his seat.

“Oh. Thanks,” I said, staring at the bright neon sugar. “You didn’t have to do that.”