You Really Do Have Beautiful Eyes

I tapped my pen against the table, the rhythm slow and steady, almost as if the motion could keep my racing thoughts at bay. The equations in my mind tumbled in chaotic waves, defying my every attempt to make sense of them. Julian sat opposite me, his presence as distracting as ever, a teasing smile curving on his lips. His eyes sparkled with amusement, and I could feel them on me, though I refused to look up.

"Still don't need my help?" he asked, his voice warm, low, almost playful, as he leaned in slightly. He was already done with his work, the final answer jotted down on his paper half an hour ago, while I, hopelessly lost in numbers, struggled with the Physics of Magic. Maths was my weakest subject. I passed it—barely. But Julian didn't need to know that.

"Why do you ask?" I replied, careful to avoid his gaze.

"Because you've been stuck on the same question for an hour—and I know you're lying." His words were soft but direct, the kind that left no room for denial.

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to smile at how well he knew me. Just keep it together. Just keep it together.

"You are very confident," I said, my voice cool despite the rush of heat in my chest. "Hypothetically speaking, even if I was lying, how would you know?" I glanced away, hoping my attempt to deflect the truth would work.

Julian chuckled, the sound rich and knowing, like he had heard this dance before and knew exactly how it would end. "Look into my eyes and say you're not lying."

Dammit. He's got me. There was no escaping now. His challenge hung in the air, like a dare I couldn't back down from, and yet, I couldn't bring myself to admit the truth. I crossed my arms, steeling myself for whatever came next. I can do this. I can't let him win.

"I'm not lying," I said, my voice as steady as I could manage, but I kept my gaze firmly on the curve of his broad shoulders, unable to meet his eyes.

The next moment was swift, unexpected. He reached forward, his fingers gently cupping my chin, lifting my face so my eyes finally collided with his.

"Say that again," he whispered, his voice soft but edged with something more—something unspoken, yet undeniably there. The words felt different now, laced with a tension I hadn't anticipated.

This wasn't the first time we'd been so close, but this time… this time was different. 

I could feel the pulse of my heartbeat echoing in my ears as Julian's fingers gently rested under my chin. The touch was soft but deliberate, as if he was grounding me, holding me in this moment where everything I'd tried to hide was suddenly spilling out.

"I'm lying," I whispered, the words heavy, but they came with a certain relief. Admitting it to him somehow felt freeing, even as it left me exposed.

Julian stayed quiet for a long moment, his gaze never leaving mine, almost as if he were contemplating something. His thumb absentmindedly traced the edge of my chin, a slow, rhythmic motion that sent shivers down my spine. But even with that quiet, tender touch, there was no sense of urgency in the way he acted—just an overwhelming sense of calm, like he already knew exactly what was going on inside my head.

"Why didn't you want my help?" he asked, his voice low, steady, but with an edge of something—concern? Curiosity? I couldn't tell.

I looked down. "Because you've already helped me enough," I said quietly, the confession slipping out before I could stop it. "I don't want to keep bothering you with everything."

He let out a soft breath, but his expression didn't change. His gaze softened, though there was no hint of the affection I had expected. His smile stayed light, playful, but there was an unfamiliar warmth in the way he regarded me. He didn't say anything for a moment, and I couldn't tell if he was processing what I said or just waiting for me to say more.

"I see." His tone was almost too neutral, and it made the air between us feel strange—like there was something I wasn't picking up on, something he wasn't saying.

My heart was racing, and for a moment, I wasn't sure what to do with the flutter of confusion in my chest. He'd always been close to me—always there in his quiet, protective way—but this afternoon felt different, and I couldn't quite understand why. The way he was looking at me now... there was something there. Something deeper than the usual teasing.

But then he tilted his head slightly, studying me with that same knowing, unreadable expression. "How did you know I was lying?" I blurted before I could stop myself.

Julian leaned back in his chair, his smile curling up at the edges, and for a second, it was as if I had asked the most obvious question in the world.

"Easy," he said with a shrug. "When you lie, you look away. You avoid eye contact. You're not great at hiding guilt. And you're always trying to act like you don't care, but I can tell when something's off. It's cute, actually."

I frowned, my confusion deepening. "Cute?" I repeated, almost unsure if I had heard him right.

"Yeah," he said, his tone light but strangely affectionate. "You're like a terrible liar, and I think that's kind of adorable."

I wasn't sure if I should be flattered or embarrassed, but what unsettled me more than anything was the way he said it. His words, so casual and almost teasing, held something I couldn't place/ something he wasn't ready to say.

I could feel my confusion knotting tighter in my chest. I stared at him, waiting for something more—an admission, a sign that he felt the same shift in the air between us. But Julian's eyes stayed steady, his smile never faltering, like he wasn't even aware of the unspoken weight between us.

"You've been watching me, huh?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

"Well, that's my job," he said, glancing away for the briefest moment before looking back at me with a smile that was just a little too easy. "I'm your protector."

I swallowed, a strange ache forming somewhere deep inside me. Protector. The word hung between us, like it was supposed to mean something else, but he wasn't saying it.

I looked away, trying to shake off the tightness in my chest, but it stayed with me, like a question I wasn't sure how to ask. The way Julian was acting—so calm, so steady—was nothing new. But this afternoon, it felt like something had changed. I couldn't explain it. Was I imagining this shift in the way he was looking at me? Or was he acting this way for a reason?

He didn't seem to notice the way my heart raced, or maybe he did, but chose not to acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and smiled again, as if nothing had changed. But it had.

And I couldn't tell if he was holding something back, or if I was just reading too much into it.

For a long moment, the only sound was the quiet tap of my pen on the table, the rhythm slow and uncertain, like my thoughts.

"Shall we get something to eat?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Julian nodded, his smile still there, but his eyes were unreadable. "Okay." he said softly. "But if you need help, I'm still here. You know that, right?"

I nodded, but the knot in my chest tightened again. "Yeah," I said, but I didn't know what to make of what he had said—or of what he hadn't. "I know."

But did I? Did he? And why, all of a sudden, did everything feel so much more complicated?

I ordered a large plate of spaghetti, watching as Julian chose a small sandwich, his movements as casual as always. But the quiet hum of something unfamiliar in the air seemed to follow him, something that hadn't been there before.

When Julian finished eating, he didn't speak right away. Instead, he simply stared at me, his gaze soft, almost too soft. I could feel his eyes tracing the curve of my face, lingering in ways that made my skin feel both warm and electric.

I put my fork down abruptly, unable to ignore the growing discomfort—and something else, something fluttering—under his stare. "What is up with you today? You're acting… different. Strange… I don't even know how you're acting."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a lazy, knowing smile. "Am I?" His voice was light, but there was a weight to it, something unspoken that made the words hang between us.

Before I could respond, Julian's thumb brushed over my lips, gently wiping away a streak of tomato sauce. The touch was so tender, so bold, it sent a jolt through me. Then, to my shock, he licked his finger clean, his eyes never leaving mine.

My breath caught in my throat, my pulse thudding in my ears. The boldness of the gesture made my mind short-circuit for a moment. Julian left me speechless.

"Maybe it's just your imagination," he said, his smile still in place, but now there was something else in it. Something deeper. Something playful, yes, but also… possessive?

I couldn't look away, even though I felt like my heart was about to explode out of my chest. His proximity, the way he was watching me, the small, intimate moments between us—each one seemed to bring us closer, and yet, farther from what I could admit to myself.

Julian's smile softened, but there was no mistaking the quiet intensity in his gaze. "You're thinking too much again," he whispered, leaning in just enough that his breath grazed my skin, and for a split second, I could almost feel the heat of his lips against my cheek.

I clutched my chest, as though holding my racing heart inside, but it was no use. The knot in my chest tightened, and I could feel the distance between us growing smaller, suffocating in its tension. Was I imagining this shift, or was something real—something that went beyond the usual teasing—starting to unfurl between us?

Julian sat back in his chair, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, unwavering, as if waiting for something—waiting for me to bridge the gap, to say the words we both were holding back.

And for a long moment, the air between us hung thick with unspoken questions.

"Do you really think I'm just imagining it?" I whispered, my voice quieter now, vulnerable in a way I wasn't used to.

Julian didn't answer. Instead, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing the back of my hand, just a fleeting touch that felt like a spark. And in that brief second, I realised—maybe it wasn't my imagination after all.