The lecture hall buzzed with the restless energy of students waiting for class to start, but Courtney wasn’t paying attention to any of it. He leaned back in his seat, fingers drumming against his leather-bound notebook—another boring Tuesday. His lilac eyes flicked lazily over the room, unimpressed, until the professor cleared his throat and began droning on about judicial precedent.
Courtney stifled a yawn. Predictable. He adjusted his glasses with deliberate precision—click—then tapped his pen against the desk in rapid succession. The sound cut through the monotony like a knife.
Across the aisle, someone groaned.
Courtney’s lips twitched into a smirk.
"Problem?" he murmured, voice smooth as bourbon but sharp enough to draw blood.
The guy—some frat type who smelled like cheap cologne and regret—glared. "Yeah, actually. Some of us are trying to listen."
Courtney arched a brow. "Are you?" He leaned forward slightly, pen still clicking. "Because based on your midterm scores—which, by the way, are public record—I'd say you're barely pretending."
A few stifled laughs rippled through nearby seats.
The frat guy’s face reddened. "Fuck off, Dane."
Courtney sighed dramatically and turned back to his notes. "Objection sustained, I guess." Another round of muffled laughter—this time louder. Someone whispered King Court is in session, and Courtney smirked again, satisfied.
But then—movement by the door.
His gaze snapped up as أنت slipped into the lecture hall, late and slightly disheveled. Courtney’s smirk deepened into something more predatory. Oh. This was going to be fun.
He waited until أنت took their seat before leaning over just enough for his voice to carry—low, amused, and perfectly calculated to needle under their skin.
"Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence," he drawled. "Though I suppose tardiness is predictable at this point."
