Chapter 40
The class ended.
Chairs scraped. Voices rose. Students left.
Theodore stayed a second longer.
Closed the book.
Stacked his notes.
Adjusted his glasses.
Then he stepped out.
“Hey.”
Clara.
She fell into step beside him like it was natural.
They walked out of the building.
“By the way,” she continued, tone shifting, “one of my students is throwing a birthday party.”
Theodore frowned slightly. “A student?”
“Yes,” Clara said. “And before you say anything—half the faculty was invited. It’s not just us.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” Theodore replied.
“It makes it normal,” she corrected. “It’s a rooftop bar. Public place. Not some house party.”
They reached the steps, walking down together.
“I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” Theodore said.
Clara rolled her eyes. “We’re not grading them at the bar, Theodore. We show up, say hello, leave. That’s it.”
He didn’t answer.
She bumped his arm lightly. “Come on. I don’t want to go alone.”
He sighed.
“…Where is it?” he asked.
Clara smiled a little. “Rooftop downtown.”
Theodore looked ahead, already unconvinced.
Clara kept going. “It’s decent. Not chaotic. You’ll survive.”
A pause.
“…When?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. Eight.”
Theodore exhaled slowly.
Tomorrow.
Of course.
“I won’t stay long,” he said.
“That’s fine,” Clara replied immediately.
“Really,” he added. “I’m not staying.”
She laughed softly. “You’ll stay enough.”
He didn’t argue again.
They reached the edge of campus.
“Eight,” she reminded.
Theodore gave a small nod.
Then they split.
Clara turned back.
Theodore kept walking.
Alone.
His steps steady.
His posture perfect.
But his mind wasn’t on the party.
Not really.
Because “fine”—
wasn’t even close.
Theodore kept walking.
Out of the campus gates.
The late afternoon had that usual noise—cars, voices, movement—but none of it really reached him.
Until—
Laughter.
Loud. Easy. Familiar.
Theodore’s steps slowed—just slightly.
Across the street—
Killian.
Leaning against his car like he owned the space around him.
A small group circled him—two guys talking over each other, a girl too close, laughing at something that wasn’t that funny.
Killian looked exactly like he always did out there.
Relaxed.
Untouched.
Like nothing followed him.
Then—
he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Killian’s expression shifted.
Not much.
Just a flicker—
recognition.
Something sharper underneath.
Then it was gone.
Back to normal.
Back to easy.
He looked away first.
Said something to the girl beside him.
Smirked.
Like Theodore wasn’t even there.
Theodore stood still for half a second longer than necessary.
Then moved again.
Didn’t look back.
Didn’t slow down.
The bus stop was already crowded.
People shifting, checking phones, waiting.
He stepped in line.
The bus arrived.
Doors opened.
He got in.
Took a seat by the window.
Only then—
he let his head rest back.
Jaw tight.
“…Of course,” he muttered under his breath.
Of course Killian could just—
switch.
Walk out of that room and go back to that.
Like nothing stuck.
Like it hadn’t happened.
Theodore let out a slow breath.
Maybe that was better.
Maybe that was exactly what he needed too.
Distance.
Separation.
Tomorrow—
the party.
He could go.
Stay an hour.
Leave.
No Annex.
No Killian.
The thought settled.
For a second—
it almost felt like relief.
Theodore closed his eyes.
“…Good,” he murmured.
Then quieter—
more honest:
“I just have to get through it.”
Twenty-four days.
That was all.
He exhaled slowly.
And stayed still—
as the bus carried him forward
whether he wanted it to or not.
Next day-
The doorbell rang.
Theodore was still buttoning his shirt.
“Coming—”
Another ring.
He exhaled, finishing the last button as he walked to the door, fixing his cuffs on the way.
He opened it.
Clara.
She didn’t wait.
She stepped inside like she owned the place.
Theodore frowned slightly. “You could’ve waited to be invited.”
“I could’ve,” she said, already walking in. “I didn’t.”
She stopped in the middle of the room.
Turned.
Looked at him.
And stayed there.
“…Wow,” she said.
Theodore adjusted his sleeve. “Don’t start.”
“No, seriously,” Clara said, eyes moving over him—slow, assessing. “You clean up well.”
“I always look like this,” he replied.
“You don’t,” she shot back immediately. “You look like a lecture most days.”
Theodore let out a quiet, dry laugh.
Clara tilted her head, still studying him. “If I didn’t have a fiancé, I’d flirt with you.”
That earned her a sharper look.
“You say that like it’s a compliment.”
“It is,” she said easily.
Theodore shook his head once, already moving past her. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To dismiss the nurse,” he replied.
Clara waved a hand. “Go.”
He disappeared down the hallway.
For a moment, the apartment fell quiet.
Then—
voices.
Low.
Controlled.
Clara didn’t move, but she listened anyway.
“…yes, that’s fine. Give him the medication after dinner.”
A pause.
“No, I’ll be back before midnight.”
Another pause.
“Call me if anything changes.”
Silence again.
Footsteps.
Theodore returned, jacket now in hand.
“They’re settled,” he said simply.
Clara pushed off the wall. “Good. Let’s go before I regret inviting you.”
“I already regret accepting,” he replied.
She smirked. “You’ll survive.”
Theodore grabbed his keys.
They headed for the door.
Clara glanced at him once more as they stepped out. “You really do look good.”
Theodore didn’t answer.
He just closed the door.
And followed her out.
The hallway lights flickered on as they stepped into it.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
Clara’s heels echoed ahead of him, steady, confident.
Theodore looked to the door behind them, checking it once—out of habit more than necessity.
“Relax,” Clara said without turning. “We’re not going to war.”
“That remains to be seen,” he replied.
She laughed softly as they reached the elevator.
Theodore pressed the button.
A pause.
Then—
the doors opened.
They stepped inside.
Silence settled again, thinner this time.
Clara glanced at him through the mirror panel.
“You look like you’re going to a meeting,” she said.
“I am,” Theodore replied.
“Social event,” she corrected.
“That’s worse.”
The elevator stopped.
Doors opened.
They stepped out into the street.
The air was cooler.
City noise filled the space immediately—cars passing, distant voices, movement.
Clara raised a hand.
A taxi slowed.
Stopped.
“See?” she said as she opened the door. “That wasn’t so difficult.”
Theodore didn’t answer.
He got in after her.
The door shut.
And just like that—
the outside world blurred away.
The taxi ride was quiet at first.
Clara leaned back like she belonged anywhere she sat.
Theodore sat straight.
Hands resting on his lap.
Posture exact.
“Lana’s the birthday girl,” Clara said, scrolling through her phone. “Third year. Marketing. Loud, but harmless.”
Theodore nodded once.
“I don’t think I’ve had her.”
Clara snorted.
“That came out wrong.”
Theodore didn’t react.
“I haven’t taught her,” he corrected.
“Better,” Clara said, amused.
A pause.
“She invited half the department,” Clara continued. “And the other half invited themselves.”
Theodore looked out the window.
“Sounds crowded.”
“It will be,” she said easily. “But it’s a rooftop. Plenty of space. You can hide in a corner and judge people like you always do.”
“I don’t judge.”
Clara looked at him.
“You absolutely do.”
Silence.
Then—
“Oh,” she added, like she’d just remembered. “That rich boy is going to be there too.”
Theodore didn’t move.
“Killian Drake.”
A beat.
The city lights passed across the window.
Theodore’s reflection didn’t change.
“I see.”
Clara glanced at him.
“That’s your student, right?”
Theodore turned his head slightly.
“Yes.”
Clean.
Immediate.
Nothing more.
Clara nodded.
“Figures,” she said. “He’s always around those places. Rich, bored, too much time.”
Theodore looked back out the window.
“He doesn’t seem particularly busy.”
Clara laughed.
“That’s a polite way to say he wastes his life.”
A pause.
Then, teasing:
“He’s good-looking though.”
Theodore didn’t answer.
Clara smirked.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“I don’t make a habit of evaluating students that way.”
That—
was technically true.
Clara raised an eyebrow.
“Right. Of course you don’t.”
Theodore’s gaze stayed on the glass.
Steady.
Controlled.
Like nothing existed beyond it.
Clara went back to her phone.
“Anyway,” she said, “just avoid him if you don’t want trouble. He’s the type.”
Theodore’s jaw tightened—
just slightly.
“I’m not concerned.”
Another lie.
The taxi slowed.
Music filtered in faintly from above.
Lights.
Voices.
Clara leaned forward.
“That’s us.”
The car stopped.
She opened the door.
Stepped out.
Theodore didn’t move immediately.
Just for a second—
he stayed still.
Then—
he stepped out too.
Because now—
it wasn’t about avoiding anything anymore.
It was about walking straight into it.