Consuming

I finish taking another bath. The paint smudges are gone from my arms, the sticky sweat rinsed off, but the heaviness in my chest lingers like something that can't be washed. I towel my hair lazily and step back into the room, dressed in a pair of hot pants and an oversized shirt that slides off one shoulder.

Theo is already sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, laptop open, papers scattered across the low wooden table. His glasses—those rectangular ones he only wears when working—perch on his nose, making him look like he walked straight out of a campus film noir. Focused. Quiet. Hot. Damn fine. 

"I told you, you should be a model instead," I comment.

He looks up at me, smirking. "Am I that cool to you?"

"Annoyingly, yes."

"Oh, thank you."

I grab my tablet and flop beside him. No laptop? No problem. I tap the screen, letting it hum awake beneath my fingers. I open the e-learning platform and dig into my own assignments.