The library lights flickered, signaling closing time. A few remaining students packed their things, the quiet hum of the building dimming as the staff moved around to shut it down for the night.

Anastasia closed her notebook with a soft thud, stretching her fingers before slipping it into her bag. "Looks like they’re kicking us out," she murmured.

Killian had barely touched his notes. He had spent most of the evening studying her instead—her mannerisms, the way her brow furrowed slightly when she concentrated, how she tucked her hair behind her ear only to have it fall back a second later. She was completely unaware of how much space she took up in his mind, and for some reason, that only intrigued him more.

They walked out together, the crisp night air replacing the warmth of the library. Campus was quieter now, the usual energy of the day fading into a softer, more intimate atmosphere.

Killian shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, glancing at her. "Coffee?"

Anastasia blinked at him.

He smirked. "The café down the street is still open. I’ll pay."

She tilted her head slightly, as if trying to figure out his angle. Then, after a pause, she said, "No, thanks."

Killian wasn’t sure what threw him off more—the refusal or the fact that she didn’t even hesitate.

"Not a coffee person?" he asked, keeping his tone light.

"I like coffee."

"So… you just don’t want to get one with me?"

Stolen story; please report.

Anastasia’s lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Something like that."

Killian let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "You’re seriously turning down free coffee?"

"You make it sound like I should be grateful."

"Most people wouldn’t say no."

"You should spend less time worrying about what most people would do," she replied easily.

Killian studied her, but she didn’t offer an explanation. No teasing, no flirtation—just a quiet statement of fact. She turned toward the path leading to the dorms, clearly ready to go.

He should have let her. Should have shrugged it off, laughed, and moved on like he always did. But instead, he found himself stepping in front of her. Not enough to block her way—just enough to make her stop.

"Okay, I’ll bite," he said, his voice quieter now. "Why don’t you care?"

Anastasia met his gaze, unbothered by the directness of the question. "Care about what?"

"Me."

A flicker of something crossed her expression, gone too fast for him to catch.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she looked up at the dark purple sky, as if weighing her words. Then, finally, she said,

"Because I know who you are, Killian. Or at least, I think I know what you are."

His brows furrowed. "And what exactly am I?"

Anastasia’s gaze returned to him, calm and unreadable.

"Someone who’s used to getting what he wants," she said simply. "And I have no interest in being another thing you chase just because you’re bored."

Killian felt something tighten in his chest.

Bored?

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Anastasia stepped past him.

"Goodnight, Killian," she murmured, disappearing down the path.

He stood there for a moment, unmoving. It wasn’t what she said that got to him. It was the way she said it. As if she had already figured him out. As if she knew something about him that he didn’t.

And for the first time in a long time, Killian realized— he wasn’t the one in control of this weird situation.