The library was hushed as always, the scratch of pens and the low hum of the air-conditioning pressing down like a blanket. At their corner table, hidden away behind rows of reference books, Qin Mo Ran's head was still half-buried in his arms.
An Ran sat down across from him, clutching her books like they were armor. Qin Mo's hood shadowed most of his face, his head buried in the crook of his arm. For a moment she hesitated, then leaned forward, her glasses sliding slightly down her nose.
"Um… hey, Qin Mo Ran?" she whispered, barely audible. "The library isn't for napping."
As soon as the words left her lips, her chest tightened. Why did she sound like she was nagging? She bit the inside of her cheek, heat rushing to her ears. Thankfully, his breathing stayed slow, steady—unbothered.
She let out a small breath of relief. Maybe he hadn't heard—
Clink.
Her hand, trembling, knocked against a pen lying near his sleeve. The pen rolled across the wooden desk with a noise that felt deafening in the silence of the library.
Her heart lurched.
Slowly, like it cost him more effort than it should, Qin Mo lifted his head. The hood slid back slightly, exposing pale skin and eyes that looked too dark, too empty, rimmed faintly red. His gaze locked on hers, heavy and unblinking.
An Ran froze, her fingers still curled around the edge of her textbook. It felt as though he was staring straight through her.
An Ran's throat went dry. Her words tangled in her chest, and before she could stop herself she blurted, "Y-you can't just sleep here forever, you know. We… we came to study."
She forced a laugh, light and awkward, but it died quickly in the silence between them.
Qin Mo didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stared, as though waiting for something she herself couldn't name.
Her fingers fumbled with the corner of her notebook, nails pressing into the paper. Heat rushed up her neck. "Um… here." She shoved one of the practice sheets toward him, desperate to fill the emptiness. "Let's start with something simple, okay?"
Finally, his gaze dropped to the paper. He didn't reach for it. For a heartbeat, she thought he'd ignore her completely—but then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he took the pen.
An Ran bent forward unconsciously, her shoulder almost brushing his. "That's right… mm, just like that." She tilted her head, scanning his work. "But—ah—you missed a step. Look, if you arrange the terms like this…"
Her fingers brushed the edge of his notebook as she adjusted it, drawing a quick example. She didn't notice how close she'd leaned until his scent—faintly clean, with something bitter beneath—reached her nose.
Heat rushed to her cheeks. She pulled back slightly, embarrassed, but when she dared to glance at him, Qin Mo was already staring at her. His gaze was steady, unreadable, for three long seconds. Then, without a word, he turned back to the paper.
Her stomach fluttered.
"You're… actually good at this," she murmured, more to herself than him. "You just don't bother."
His pen moved again, filling in the answer. He didn't confirm or deny, but when she peeked at his work, it was correct.
An Ran's lips curved faintly, though she tried to hide it. "See? I knew it. You're smarter than you pretend to be."
He made a small sound, almost like a hum. That was all, but for him, it was enough to make her blink in surprise.
Halfway through the sheet, her stomach gave a tiny growl. She winced, then fished inside her bag. "I, uh… brought this," she said quickly, pulling out a small packet of crackers. She set it halfway between them on the desk.
It wasn't the first time. She always seemed to have something—crackers, bread, even a sweet bun once. She never offered outright, but always placed it there, as if by accident, before turning back to her books.
Today was no different. She pretended to busy herself with her pen, but from the corner of her eye she saw his hand slide across the table. He picked up a cracker without a word, snapped it in half, and ate slowly.
Her chest warmed.
Encouraged, she pushed another problem toward him. "Okay, next one. Try this. No doodling this time, promise me."
His eyes flicked up at her, blank but steady. Then he bent forward and began to write.
For the next hour, their rhythm settled. She talked, explained, corrected; he listened, scribbled, responded in monosyllables.
At one point she leaned closer again, pointing at his notes. "No, not that line—the other one. Yes, here. If you—"
She realized too late that her hair had slipped forward, the strand brushing against his sleeve. She froze, mortified, but Qin Mo didn't move away. He didn't move at all, except for the pen gliding across the page.
She quickly tucked her hair behind her ear, heart racing. "S-sorry."
Still, he said nothing. But his pen didn't stop, and when he pushed the completed answer toward her, it was correct again.
An Ran bit back a smile.
As the library bell chimed softly to mark closing time, she began packing her things. Her eyes flicked toward him—his hood still shadowing his face, his movements slow and heavy as if every gesture cost him.
"Thanks… for today," she said softly.
He didn't reply. But when she stood to leave, she noticed his gaze following her just for a moment, before dropping back to the desk.
It was small. Barely anything at all.
But for An Ran, it was enough to make her walk out of the library with her heart pounding a little too fast.