Isobel Langford

When I see Kazuo's response, I can't help but roll my eyes, typing away a quick reply before dropping the device onto the desk. The loud bang that echoes throughout the room however, is enough to startle both me and the students seated a few feet away. A groan rumbles in the back of my throat as I duck my head behind the screen of my MacBook, sensing the thunderous glares being thrown my way.

Exam season was a few weeks away, and that meant the number of cranky, failing students in the library was rising exponentially-though that's not to say I wasn't one of them-I was a failing student, but without the crankiness. Alas, I was baffled, yet quite pleased, at how I had managed to make it this far into medical school. At A Levels, forty percent was well below a passing grade, but at university, I learnt that it was barely scraped a passing grade.

Nonetheless, it still allowed for progression into the next year. I used to hit the eighties and nineties back in first and second year, but this year the struggle is unbearable. I'm barely hitting a sixty in my assignments and modules, and I'm hoping the winter finals will be somewhat of a turning table for me.

I couldn't fail now; not after I've come this far.

I shake my head and turn back to the anatomy booklet in front of me; pages decorated in deep shades of blue and red, black ink covering the white paper with ineligible notes. The grown on my lips deepen as I release yet another sigh, groaning into the crook of my arm.

Are you having another one of your weird episodes again? Should I leave? The deep, velvety voice that permeates my senses leave me short of breath.

I can't deal with this right now.

Both my fingers gripping the roots of my hair, pulling at my scalp frustratingly, and the whine that begs to slip past my lips come to an abrupt stop when I lift my head.

There's no doubt about it, my cheeks flush in embarrassment when I'm left staring at the same shade of dark grey eyes I found myself fawning over two days earlier. My mouth drops, my brain short circuiting when he raises an eyebrow in amusement, and before I know it, he's slipping into the seat in front of me. My heart hammers against my chest, mouth drying up as he unpacks his things agonisingly slowly.

I stupidly duck my head halfway behind my MacBook, eyes peeking from the top of the screen as his eyes remain on me. His hair hangs messily over his forehead, the ambient lighting of the room casting a shadow over his face. He involuntarily flexes his arms, crossing them over his broad chest as he leans back into his seat, gaze unwavering.

I should ignore him, but when the corner of his mouth lifts up into a teasing smirk, I'm left starstruck-utterly starstruck.

I wait.

I blink.

Show me that pretty face, Aiyana.

And there it is.