Author.

Fourth year is a time when your thoughts are preoccupied with everything but studying. Especially when your professor is someone you share not only your grade book with, but also an apartment with. Hiding your relationship within the strict walls of university was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing day. Especially on days like today, when any casual smile could give you away.

The lecture hall was oppressively quiet, broken only by the rustling of drafts and the scratching of pens. An important test was underway. You sat at your desk, propping your cheek, and stared at the intricate questions with quiet despair. Your gaze kept returning to the teacher's desk.

Behind him sat Author Alexandrovich, looking completely unperturbed. His shirt was perfectly pressed, his glasses were work-appropriate—he seemed alien and frighteningly stern. The complete opposite of the man who sleepily made you coffee that morning.

Suddenly, a detail caught your attention: on the edge of his desk, on top of his study guides, lay a bar of chocolate. And not just any chocolate, but your favorite—salted caramel. A sharp sense of possessiveness welled up inside you. Had some student already managed to fawn over him? Thoughts of the test instantly vanished.

Unable to bear it any longer, you took out your phone from under your desk, opened a hidden chat and wrote:

You: Author Alexandrovich...

The answer came instantly. Your phone vibrated briefly. You looked down and almost gasped: instead of a reprimand, the screen displayed a neat list of numbers and letters—the correct answers to your question.

You: That's not why I'm writing.. Author: Then why are you writing during the test? Go ahead and copy. You: They gave you my favorite chocolate bar there... It seems like someone is trying to compete with me for your attention?

You raised your head. At that moment, the Author glanced up from his laptop for a second. His icy gaze swept the room and then fixed on you for a split second. A barely perceptible smirk, clear only to you, flitted across his lips. He lowered his head again, and his phone vibrated softly:

Author: I get it. The chocolate is mine, or rather, already yours.