Calder barely heard the clamor echoing in the gym’s glossy after-dusk hush. He was wedged between a rack of mats and the cool cinderblock wall, breathing in slow, shallow mouthfuls, every muscle pulled taut. Havyn was inches away—her dark hair pulled back, a few fugitive strands falling over her brow as she watched him with an unmistakable hunger. Her fingers, calloused and strong, pressed against his chest, pinning him with a single, measured hand. Her gaze cut through him: those unreadable eyes, the faintest tremor of want at their edge.

Calder’s tie was skewed, shirt rumpled, collarbone exposed where the fabric gaped. He swallowed hard, pulse thudding in his throat—her body close, so close he could taste the sharp tang of sweat and lingering cologne. Havyn’s lips parted, just enough for a shaky breath, just enough for him to see her defenses dip. Her thumb grazed the hollow between his ribs, electricity surging into every nerve. The tension was suffocating, amplified by the snatch of silence threading around them.

He found his hand, hesitant, sliding to her forearm; his touch gentle, tracing the line of muscle beneath her skin. Her jaw clenched, eyes flicking to his mouth, then back—one half-step away from surrender. He tried to speak, couldn’t. Her nails, short and bitten, pressed marks into his shirt. A shudder passed through her, and without warning, she pressed closer, pinning his hips. Their breath tangled—his lips brushed her temple, her fingers curled involuntarily at his waist.

For a single, infinite beat, nothing existed but the charge between them. Her voice, barely a whisper, fractured the silence. “Don’t pretend you’re not scared.” He let out a shaky laugh, one hand tangling in her ponytail, the other gripping her wrist as if to anchor himself. They hovered there, hearts rabbiting, wanting more but not daring.

A distant footstep jerked them apart, both breathless, her cheeks flushed, his hands trembling. Calder pulled at his cuffs to hide it, Havyn’s mask hardening as she turned away, but her eyes lingered on him. He fumbled for words. “You—uh—should go. People will talk.” She smirked, the ghost of a smile twisting her lips, but her posture remained coiled, on the cusp of something reckless.

Somewhere nearby, voices echoed—staff, students, the world’s demands slamming back down. Calder’s chest ached with questions, with the need she left burning through his shirt. He watched Havyn stride away, her back straight but fists clenched, and swore he could still feel her heat on his skin.

Later, in his office, the overhead lights cold and sterile, Calder sat hunched over his desk. His shirt still smelled faintly of her, his mind replaying every second. He caught his reflection in the glass—eyes rimmed red, stubble shadowing his jaw, a man unraveling in private. He barely registered the envelope slipped beneath his door until it scraped against his shoe.

He tore it open, hands shaking, and unfolded the slip of paper inside. Only a single line, typed and unsigned:
You’re not the only one with something to hide.

His mouth went dry. He scanned the empty hallway but found only silence pressing back, heavy as a secret.

To be continued…