all mine.

eight.

Demitra was lost in her notes, the world around her fading into a comfortable haze of focus and scribbled ideas. The campus library was quiet, the perfect retreat for a Sunday afternoon study session. The muted rustling of pages and the soft clicks of laptop keys filled the air, providing a calming backdrop as she scrawled her thoughts on the lined pages in front of her.

Then, a familiar scent broke through the stillness. It was rich and warm, with notes of amber and a hint of something slightly musky, a scent she'd come to associate with a certain someone. A smile tugged at the corner of her lips even before she looked up, her heart picking up an involuntary beat as she recognized the cologne.

A hand appeared in her line of sight, wearing a set of silver rings that caught the library's dim lighting. Around the wrist was a collection of bracelets, a mix of leather, beads, and woven threads that clinked together softly as the hand set down a coffee cup in front of her. Demitra didn't need to look up to know who it was, but she did anyway, raising her eyes to meet a pair of warm amber ones that sparkled with a hint of mischief.

"Hey, mami," Atlas greeted, her voice low enough to be library-appropriate but laced with that trademark confidence. She leaned against the edge of the table, looking at Demitra with a small grin. "Figured you might need a little pick-me-up."

Demitra arched an eyebrow, fighting the urge to smile too broadly. She didn't want to seem too eager. "And what makes you think I need a pick-me-up?"

Atlas shrugged, unbothered. "Just a feeling. Plus, I know how serious you get when you're deep in study mode. I thought I'd save you from drowning in your own brilliance for a bit." She gestured to the cup. "Extra shot of espresso. I remember you said it's how you like it."

Demitra finally let herself smile, unable to hold back the warmth bubbling up inside. She took the cup, fingers brushing over Atlas's for a split second, a touch so brief but electric enough to send a slight thrill through her. "Thank you."

Atlas smirked, sliding into the seat across from her without waiting for an invitation. "You're welcome," she said, tapping her fingers against the table, each adorned ring glinting softly. She leaned in, her gaze holding Demitra's with a curious intensity. "So, what's got you holed up in here on a Sunday? Anything exciting?"

Demitra rolled her eyes, though her heart fluttered at Atlas's interest. "Hardly. Just prepping for midterms. Research, notes, trying to stay on top of everything before things get crazy."

Atlas nodded, her expression softening as she regarded Demitra's open notebooks, the underlined phrases and neatly organized thoughts that seemed to mirror her own meticulousness. "You're really something, you know that?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Demitra tilted her head, narrowing her eyes, unsure if Atlas was teasing her.

Atlas shrugged, a slight smile tugging at her lips. "You're just... different. Focused. Driven. You take everything seriously." She gave Demitra an amused look, but there was something earnest beneath it. "I don't know too many people who would willingly give up their weekend for a date with their textbooks."

Demitra huffed, fighting back a blush. "I don't know why you're surprised. I told you I'm not into slacking off."

"I know. That's what I like about you." Atlas's voice was soft, and the weight of those words settled between them, a subtle but undeniable admission. She looked down for a second, tracing the rim of her own coffee cup, before glancing back up with a grin to ease the moment's tension. "But that's exactly why you need me here to remind you to live a little."

"Right," Demitra shot back with a mock glare, though there was no real heat in it. "Because that's exactly what I need-someone to distract me."

Atlas chuckled, unfazed. "Exactly. I'm doing you a service here, helping you maintain a balance."

They fell into an easy rhythm, conversation flowing between them in hushed tones. Atlas brought up a funny story from her weekend, something about her run-in with a prankster on campus who'd nearly convinced her that the anthropology building was haunted. Demitra laughed, her voice barely audible but rich with amusement. It was rare to find someone who could pull her out of her focused state, and yet here was Atlas, effortlessly breaking through her defenses.

The hours slipped by as they shared stories, exchanged jokes, and even argued playfully over trivial matters like the best horror movies and whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza (Atlas insisted it didn't, to Demitra's mock outrage). They drew glances from the occasional student, who probably wondered why anyone would look that relaxed in the middle of the library. But Demitra didn't care. In Atlas's company, she felt lighter, less burdened by the pressures she placed on herself.