↳❛ ❏ Giuly ✗

“Baby,” he said eventually, because enough was enough. “You’ve highlighted the same sentence three times.”

She blinked down at the page like it had personally betrayed her. “No, I haven’t.”

“You have. It’s neon yellow, then pink, then yellow again. Looks like a rave in a textbook.”

“That’s called active recall.”

“That’s called losing your mind.”

She shot him a look over the top of the book, but there wasn’t enough heat in it to count. Her eyes were too tired, lashes heavy, shoulders sitting high near her ears like she’d forgotten there was a version of her body that didn’t have to brace for impact. “I have three clinical exams, Garrett.”

“I know.”

“And I still need to go over cardiac meds.”

“You went over cardiac meds.”

“I need to go over them better.”

He pushed himself up on one elbow, the mattress dipping with the movement, and plucked the highlighter out of her fingers before she could tighten her grip around it. “You’re going to start prescribing beta blockers in your sleep if you keep going.”

“That would be efficient.”

“That would be terrifying.” His mouth twitched when she tried to grab it back, and he lifted it just out of reach because he was an athlete and an asshole and unfortunately very committed to both. “Nope. Studying is over.”

“Give it back.”

“No.”

“Garrett.”

He loved when she said his name like that, all warning and exhausted dignity, as if she wasn’t sitting in his bed with one bare thigh pressed warm against his hip and a pencil slowly slipping out of her hair. 

He set the highlighter on his nightstand, far enough away to be insulting, and then reached for the textbook.

She clamped a hand over the page.

Garrett looked at her hand, then at her face, then back at her hand again, eyebrows lifting. “You really wanna fight me for it?”

“I could.”

“You absolutely could,” he said, sincere enough that her mouth softened for half a second before she remembered she was supposed to be stressed. “And I’d let you win, obviously, because I respect women and also because you get mean when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“I’m not sleep-deprived.”

“You asked Tucker where the fridge was this morning.”

She opened her mouth, shut it again, then frowned down at the page. “That was different. I was thinking about electrolytes.”

“Sure you were.” Garrett’s hand slid over hers on the textbook, warm and broad, his thumb brushing once across her knuckles before he started easing her fingers loose one by one. He wasn’t rough about it. That was the annoying part. It would’ve been easier if he was being obnoxious enough to justify fighting him properly, but he just kept looking at her with that quiet, amused patience, like he could see the whole frantic machinery of her brain grinding itself down and wasn’t impressed by the performance. “C’mere.”

Her breath caught in a way she clearly hoped he didn’t notice, which was cute, because Garrett noticed everything when it came to her. He tugged the book free and lowered it to the floor with a dull, final thump, then hooked a finger beneath the hem of his shirt where it had ridden up over her thigh. Touching enough to make her attention stutter, enough for her eyes to flick from his hand to his mouth and back again.

“Garrett,” she said again, quieter this time, and there it was – the first crack in all that stubborn control.

He leaned in until his lips brushed the corner of her jaw, barely there, the kind of kiss that made no real argument and still somehow ruined the entire debate. “You’re vibrating,” he murmured against her skin.

“I’m not.”

“You are. Like a tiny academic Chihuahua.”

A laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it, breathy and irritated and so painfully tired that Garrett’s chest did something stupid with it.

He kissed the spot just beneath her ear, felt her fingers curl weakly in the sheets, and smiled there because he was a good person, probably, but he was still himself. “There she is.”

“Don’t sound so proud of yourself.”

“Impossible. I’m doing great.”

“You’re stealing my study time.”

“I’m saving your brain from becoming soup.” His hand moved to her waist, palm settling over the soft give of her beneath the shirt, and when she didn’t pull away, when her head tipped back the smallest amount like her body had voted before her pride could, his voice dropped into something lower, rougher, less playful around the edges. “Let me get you out of your head for a little bit.”

She swallowed. Her eyes stayed open, fixed on him in that stubborn, wary way of hers, but her knee shifted against his thigh under the duvet. A tiny surrender. Almost nothing. Enough. “I still have to study after.”

“Sure,” Garrett said, already easing her down into the pillows, his mouth hovering over hers, close enough that the next breath belonged to both of them. “After.”

He kissed her before she could answer, mostly because Garrett knew her well enough by now to know she would keep negotiating with herself until morning if someone gave her room to do it. 

He kissed her slow, warm, almost maddeningly patient, one hand braced on the pillow beside her head and the other still resting at her waist, thumb moving in a lazy arc beneath the hem of his shirt.

She made a tiny sound into his mouth, half protest and half something else entirely, and Garrett smiled against her like the smug bastard he was. 

“Don’t start,” she breathed, though her fingers had already found the front of his hoodie, curling there instead of pushing him away. 

“I didn’t say anything,” he murmured, and she huffed, soft and annoyed, because he didn’t have to. His whole face was a comment.

The textbook slid the rest of the way off the mattress at some point, hitting the hardwood with a dull slap that made her eyes flick open. 

Garrett didn’t even look at it.

“Casualty of war,” he said against the corner of her mouth, and that got another laugh out of her, small and helpless and warm enough that something in his chest eased. 

He shifted the duvet up over them with one knee, blocking out the cooler air of the room, and she let herself sink a little deeper into the pillows even as the tension still clung to her in stubborn places – the tight line of her shoulders, the twitch of her fingers at his sleeve, the way her mind kept trying to crawl back toward dosage charts and exam rubrics even with his mouth on her neck. 

Garrett felt the little delay in her, the part of her that kept answering him half a second too late, like her body was right there under his hands but her mind kept slipping sideways into some fluorescent-lit corner of the library.

He kissed the hinge of her jaw once, slow enough to make her lashes dip, and murmured, “Still with me?”

She swallowed, eyes shiny and unfocused beneath the soft fall of her lashes. “Mostly.”

“Yeah?” His mouth tilted, but the hand at her hip stayed warm and steady, his thumb dragging once over the soft skin there before sliding lower, under the duvet, to the outside of her thigh. “Then I’m gonna have to do better than mostly.”

The room had gone soft around them by then, all amber lamplight and messy sheets and the low, settled hush of the house beyond Garrett’s door. His bedside lamp was the only thing still on, throwing a warm stripe over the rumpled duvet, the hardwood floor, the nursing textbook lying face-down where it had landed like even it had finally given up for the night.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want him. That would’ve been easier, probably. Cleaner. It was that wanting him had to fight its way through cardiac meds, cranial nerves, the stupid table in her notes she’d rewritten twice and still didn’t trust herself to remember.

Her body was in Garrett’s bed, tucked into the warmth of him and his sheets and the old Briar shirt riding up her thighs, but some awful, overachieving part of her was still hunched over a library desk under fluorescent lights, chewing the end of a pen and spiralling herself into an early grave.

Garrett watched it happen in real time, propped up on one elbow beside her, broad shoulder cutting into the lamplight, dark curls mussed from where her fingers had already been in them, that familiar half-smile sitting at the edge of his mouth like he was trying very hard not to look too pleased with how transparent she was to him.

His gaze moved over her face, catching the tiny twitch in her jaw, the way her eyes kept drifting past him instead of staying on him, the restless flex of her fingers against the sheet like they still wanted something to highlight, underline, fix.

His thumb moved slowly across her waist, once, then again, warm and deliberate enough to pull her attention back by inches. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” he murmured.

She blinked at him. “Where?”

“The library.” His mouth tilted. “Probably muttering about pharmacology.”

A laugh caught in her throat, small and breathless despite herself. “I don’t mutter.”

“You absolutely mutter.” His hand slid lower beneath the duvet, moving with that awful, patient confidence that made her stomach tighten before he’d even really done anything. His palm found her thigh and stayed there, warm and broad, fingers pressing lightly into the skin like he was reminding her where she was. “You were doing it ten minutes ago.”

“I was revising.”

“You were arguing with a textbook.”

“It was wrong.”

“Yeah, baby, I’m sure the textbook was wrong.”

She opened her mouth to say something back, probably something sharp and very reasonable, but his hand shifted higher and whatever brilliant defence she’d been building fell straight through the floor. Garrett noticed. His eyes flicked over her face, dark and warm and much too focused, and the smirk softened into something heavier. 

He didn’t look away when his fingers brushed over her, didn’t duck his head or make it feel like some separate thing happening under the covers. He watched her breath catch. Watched her lashes flutter. Watched the exact second her knees stopped pretending they weren’t going to part for him.

“There you go,” he said quietly, voice rougher now, all that teasing dragged low. “That’s better.”

“It’s not–” Her sentence disappeared into a shaky inhale when he touched her again, sliding his fingers upward to her damp, aching centre, slow enough to be mean, careful enough to make her toes curl under the sheets. 

She turned her face toward the pillow like that might give her back some dignity, but Garrett made a disapproving sound under his breath and nudged his forehead against her temple.

“Uh-uh. Don’t hide from me.” His mouth brushed the side of her cheek, barely a kiss. “You can stare down a doctor who’s being an asshole on four hours of sleep, but you can’t look at me?”

“That’s different,” she breathed.

“Yeah?” His fingers moved again, a little firmer this time, and the word nearly broke in his mouth when he felt how wet she was. He exhaled through his nose, a short, pleased sound that made heat flare hard under her ribs. “Seems like you’re doing fine to me.”

“Garrett.”

“I know.” His voice gentled instantly, and that was the unfair part, really. The way he could be smug and soft at the same time, cocky enough to make her want to smack him and careful enough to make her chest ache. “I’ve got you. Stop trying to think through it.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He slipped one finger into her, slow and deliberate, and her whole body went tight around the feeling, breath punching out of her in a tiny, helpless sound she would deny later if anyone asked. Garrett’s eyes stayed on hers, his expression shifting in that small, dangerous way it did when he realised he had her. “Yeah. There she is.”

Her hand shot up out of the covers, grabbing at his shoulder first, fingers digging into hard muscle through the worn cotton of his shirt, then sliding up to the back of his neck. She needed something to hold on to. His curls were soft between her fingers when she tugged, and Garrett’s mouth twitched like he was enjoying himself far too much for someone performing an alleged act of emotional support.

“Don’t look so– mmpf– smug,” she managed, though it came out embarrassingly thin.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m proud.” He curled his finger and she jolted, hips lifting before she could stop them, a broken little gasp catching high in her throat. Garrett’s grin flashed, quick and devastating, then disappeared against her jaw as he kissed her there. “See? Supportive boyfriend behaviour.”

“You’re not– you're not my boyfriend.”

“Right. My mistake.” He moved again, slow, steady, maddeningly sure of himself, his thumb finding her clit with the kind of precision that made her eyes slam shut. “Supportive guy who gets to do this.”

“Fuck,” she breathed, the word soft and ruined.

Garrett hummed, pleased but quiet about it now, his mouth dragging from her jaw to the corner of her lips. “Good. That’s the first useful thing you’ve said in an hour.”

She would’ve laughed if she had the air for it. Instead she made some horrible, needy sound and tightened her fingers in his hair, dragging him closer until his chest was almost flush with hers. 

The room felt warmer beneath the duvet, too close and too dim and too full of him – his hand between her thighs, his breath against her mouth, the steady weight of his body beside her anchoring her to the bed when her brain kept trying to skitter away.

Every time a stray thought tried to rise – exam timetable, lab values, whether she’d left her notes open to the wrong chapter – Garrett seemed to catch it before she did, pressing his thumb a little harder, curling his finger in that same slow rhythm until her mind went blank at the edges.

“That’s it,” he murmured, like he could feel the exact moment she started giving up. “Stay here. Right here with me.”

“I can’t–” Her voice snagged. Her hips rolled against his hand, needy and uncoordinated, and her face burned at how obvious she was being, at the wet sound beneath the covers, at the way Garrett’s eyes darkened like he’d happily spend the rest of the night ruining her study schedule on principle. “I can’t think.”

“That was the whole idea, baby.” He kissed her, messy and brief, swallowing the next little sound she made before pulling back just enough to watch her again. “You’ve been thinking all week. You’re done.”

“I’m not done.”

“You’re so done.” He added a second finger and she made a sound that wasn’t even close to an argument, her head tipping back into the pillow, throat exposed, thighs trembling beneath the sheets. Garrett’s voice dropped lower, rough now, but still steady. “There you go. Fuck, you’re pretty like this.”

Her nails scraped lightly at his scalp. “Garrett–”

“I know.” His thumb kept moving, steady circles that made pleasure gather tight and hot low in her belly, every nerve in her body narrowing down to his hand and his voice and the unbearable closeness of his mouth near hers. “I know, baby. Let it happen. Stop fighting it.”

“I’m not fighting.”

He gave her a look, amused even now, even with his breathing gone a little uneven. “You fight everything.”

She tried to glare at him. She really did. But then he shifted his wrist, changing the angle just enough that the pleasure went sharp and white-hot, and the glare collapsed into a gasp that sounded humiliatingly close to a whimper. 

Garrett caught it with a kiss to the corner of her mouth, then another to her cheek, then lower, to the place just under her ear that always made her melt no matter how stubborn she felt about it.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and the words slid through her like a match strike.

Her whole body clenched around him. Garrett felt it, because his mouth curved against her skin and his hand didn’t falter for a second. If anything, he got more focused, more intent, the playful edge thinning into something almost reverent as he watched her fall apart by degrees. 

The disciplined, exhausted, overworked part of her loosened its grip one finger at a time. Her shoulders dropped. Her mouth parted. Her breath came in broken little pulls that made Garrett’s jaw flex like he was barely keeping himself in check.

“That’s it,” he whispered, closer now, his forehead nearly touching hers. “Don’t go anywhere. Look at me.”

“I can’t,” she whined.

“You can.” His voice was gentle, but there was that captain note under it, that quiet certainty he slipped into without thinking. The one that made people listen before they realised they were doing it. “Come on, baby. Eyes on me.”

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glossy, and Garrett’s expression did something stupidly soft before he covered it with another smug little curve of his mouth. 

“There you are,” he breathed. “Knew I’d find you eventually.”

The pressure in her belly pulled tighter, coiling hard enough that her fingers locked in his hair. Her thighs shook under the duvet, one knee pressing into his hip, her body chasing his hand even as the feeling started to tip into too much. She made a small, panicked sound, and Garrett kissed her again, quick and grounding.

“I’ve got you,” he said, right against her mouth. “Just let go. I’m right here.”

The orgasm hit before she could brace for it, sharp and bright and full-bodied, ripping a soft, strangled sound out of her as her back arched off the mattress. For a second there was nothing useful in her head at all. No notes. No exams. No lab values. Only Garrett’s hand working her through it, his body close beside hers, his voice low and steady as he talked her down from the edge. 

“Yeah, that’s it. Good. Just like that. Breathe for me, baby. There you go.” He didn’t stop until the last wave had dragged through her and left her shaking, boneless, fingers still tangled in his curls like she’d forgotten how to let go.

When she finally collapsed back into the pillows, she felt wrung out in the best and most embarrassing way, chest rising and falling too fast, skin damp under his shirt, brain blessedly, beautifully quiet. Garrett eased his hand away slowly, careful, then leaned down and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her mouth, then her properly, warm and lingering and annoyingly pleased with himself.

She laughed against him, soft and breathless, because she could feel the grin before she even opened her eyes. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re about to.”

“Yeah, because I was right.” He pulled back just enough for her to see that golden-boy smile, the one that made her want to roll her eyes and kiss him until he shut up, usually in that order. “Told you I’d get you out of your head.”

Her eyes fluttered shut again, her hand sliding from his hair to the back of his neck, keeping him close because apparently she had no self-respect left and, honestly, good. “I hate when you’re useful.”

Garrett kissed the corner of her mouth, still smiling. “No, you don’t.”

And for once, with the room warm around them and the textbook abandoned on the floor and her thoughts finally gone soft and quiet, she didn’t bother arguing.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

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