The door clicked shut behind him with.
Dean dropped his keys on the kitchen counter, loosened the top button of his shirt, and let out a slow, tired breath. The apartment was quiet , too quiet , like it always was. Just the faint hum of the fridge and the soft creak of the old hardwood beneath his feet.
Home.
Technically.
But it hadn't felt like home in years.
He loosened his cuffs, rolled his sleeves higher, and crossed the room to the small cabinet near the sink. A bottle of whiskey sat there, untouched for days. He poured just enough to take the edge off, then leaned against the counter, glass in hand, staring at the far wall like it might answer for the mess his life had become.
Five years.
It had been five years since she left.
Elena.
He hadn't spoken her name out loud in almost a year, but the thought of her still came like muscle memory. The woman he'd built everything around. The woman who left him for someone younger, funnier, more alive, apparently.
No warning.
Just a cold, quiet goodbye and divorce papers that arrived like a slap in the middle of an ordinary Tuesday.
Dean brought the glass to his lips, swallowed, and closed his eyes.
I gave her everything.
He had worked, provided, stayed faithful, kept the roof steady, kept the world predictable. But somehow, that hadn't been enough.
"You don't feel," she once said during their last real argument. "You just… exist."
He'd wanted to scream at her.
Tell her that he felt everything.
He just didn't show it the way she wanted.
But now… what did it matter?
She was gone.
The silence had stayed.
And today?
Today was just another Monday , except it wasn't. Because now, in his head, burned like a splinter under skin, was her.
Rae.
Red hair, green eyes, the tattoos, that crop top and her smart-ass mouth.
She had stormed into his morning like a goddamn natural disaster , no warning, no filter, just full of that sharp, irritated energy that should've pissed him off.
And it did.
But not for the reasons it should.
He wasn't angry because she was disrespectful.
He was angry because she was present. Vivid. She lit up like neon in a life he'd kept gray for so long.
Too confident. Too bold. Too comfortable in her own skin.
And far too young.
Dean took another sip of the whiskey, jaw tightening.
Twenty-four, if he had to guess. At best, she was trouble. At worst, she was the kind of chaos that could ruin what little control he still had over his life.
But damn it, she was in his class now.
On his property.
And in his head.
Dean leaned back against the counter and let out a breath through his nose.
This was going to be a long semester.
---
The next few days passed quietly.
Rae settled into her routine, lectures, random campus wandering, texts from Madi that mostly consisted of memes and dramatic "how's the hot professor" check-ins. She had a few other classes, made surface-level conversations with classmates, and even found a quiet café five minutes from campus where she could sketch and people-watch without being bothered.
More importantly, Dean hadn't shown up again.
No unannounced check-ins. No stomping around the property like he was looking for something to complain about. Just... silence.
And Rae liked silence.
Her boxes were unpacked, her space felt like hers now , incense burning low in the evenings, her favorite hoodie draped over the couch, sketchbooks stacked near the window. It was starting to feel good. Normal.
So when her phone buzzed that morning with a reminder for her next media theory class, she barely even flinched.
It's just another lecture, she told herself as she got dressed. Just keep your head down. Maybe he won't even notice you this time.
She slipped into a dark green hoodie over a black tank top, high-waisted jeans hugging her curves, and a fresh pair of boots. Her red hair was tied up in a loose bun with two strands falling along her face, framing her features.
By the time she walked into the lecture hall, she felt calm. Balanced. She even smiled faintly to herself as she picked her usual seat , middle row, left side, same spot as last time.
He wasn't there yet.
She took that as a small win.
As students filed in, Rae opened her tablet, popped her knuckles one by one, and leaned back slightly in her chair. She was already halfway through an iced coffee she picked up on the way, and for once, the day didn't feel heavy.
And maybe just maybe he wouldn't even look at her today.
Maybe Dean Carter would walk in, say his piece, hand out an assignment, and walk right back out without so much as a glance in her direction.
Her fingers tapped calmly against the screen.
She didn't realize she was hoping that until the door opened… and he walked in.
Dean walked into the lecture hall exactly on time.
Students barely noticed him at first ,heads buried in phones, conversation low. But Rae's eyes lifted the second he stepped through the door.
For a moment , just one brief second , their eyes met.
His expression was unreadable. Professional. He gave nothing away. No lingering stare. No frown. No smirk.
And that was it.
That was the only time he looked at her for the rest of the class.
He moved through the material like a machine. Clear, focused, sharp. His voice low and calm. He barely moved from his spot near the desk, only walking over to write on the board a few times before returning to his laptop. No unnecessary eye contact. No questions thrown her way.
Rae sat there in quiet disbelief, waiting for him to do something. Say something. Look at her.
But he didn't.
And for that, she was relieved.
When class ended, she was one of the first to leave.
The rest of her day moved smoothly a walk across campus, a quiet lunch, a few pages of reading at the café. By the time she got home that evening, she was ready to completely unplug.
She lit a stick of sandalwood incense, let her hair down from its bun, and slipped out of her jeans and hoodie, changing into nothing but her soft grey cotton shorts and a snug, ribbed crop tube bra. She was just about to head to the bathroom, music playing softly in the background, when she turned the shower on...
Clunk. Sputter. Silence.
She froze.
Then twisted the handle again.
The pipes groaned. Something rattled behind the wall. A high-pitched whine followed then more silence.
"Seriously?" she muttered, stepping back. "Now?"
She tried again.
Still nothing.
With a loud, irritated groan, she grabbed her phone and texted the agent.
Hey. My shower just died on me. Pipes are making weird ass sounds. I can't fix it it's not minor.
The response came a few minutes later.
I've informed Mr. Carter. He'll stop by in the morning with tools.
Rae stared at the screen for a second, then sighed like the weight of the world had dropped into her apartment.
Of course it's him.
She wanted to scream. Or punch something. Instead, she flopped on the couch, grabbed her sketchbook, and angrily drew jagged black lines until she calmed down enough to sleep.
---
The Next Morning
Rae didn't have a class until noon.
She was in the kitchen sipping coffee in her usual barely-there morning clothes , her grey shorts riding high on her thighs, her tube bra snug against her chest, and her long red hair cascading down her bare back like a waterfall. The windows were open. The sunlight warmed the floor beneath her bare feet. Everything was still.
Until there was a knock.
Three quick raps.
She stared at the door for a second, then remembered. And her stomach dropped.
Great.
She padded over and opened the door halfway.
Dean stood there in a black long-sleeve shirt, the sleeves pushed up, his tool bag in one hand. His glasses were already on, jaw tight, expression unreadable.
She didn't move. Just arched a brow.
"You couldn't send a plumber?"
"I am the plumber," he said dryly. "Move."
Her jaw tightened, but she opened the door wider, stepping aside. The tension hit instantly ,thick, invisible, impossible to ignore.
Dean walked in without a word, his eyes flicking briefly to her clothes , or lack of them ,before shifting straight ahead toward the bathroom.
If Rae noticed his glance, she didn't show it. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorframe, eyes following him.
"Try not to break anything," she muttered.
He didn't look back. "Try not to hover."
She rolled her eyes but didn't leave.
Dean set his bag down on the bathroom tile and crouched to inspect the pipes, the fabric of his shirt stretching slightly along his back. Rae tried not to notice. She hated that she noticed.
And the worst part?
So did he.
Dean crouched low by the pipes, sleeves pushed to his elbows, brow furrowed as he adjusted a wrench and tested the valve under the sink. The floor was cold tile beneath his knee, the soft sound of water trickling from the faucet after each adjustment.
Behind him, the apartment was quiet ,except for Rae's soft footsteps approaching.
He knew she was watching him.
And not just watching , closer now.
He didn't look back. Just kept working, the tension curling tighter in his shoulders as she hovered near the doorway.
"What exactly's wrong with it?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
"The pressure valve's corroded," he replied, voice flat. "The pipe's about a hundred years older than you."
She snorted, but stepped a little closer anyway, leaning slightly to try and see what he was doing. Her hair spilled over one shoulder, the morning sunlight warming her bare skin.
Dean turned slightly ,just to shift position.
But Rae hadn't expected it. She stepped back instinctively ,fast and awkward and her foot slipped on the edge of the tile.
"Shit—"
Dean dropped the wrench.
Before her back could hit the floor, his hand shot out and caught her by the waist, the other bracing against the wall to keep balance.
Rae gasped, gripping his forearm as he pulled her upright ,steadying her without thinking, breath catching in both their throats.
Their bodies weren't touching.
But they were close. Too close.
Her chest was just inches from his.
Her hand still on his arm.
His fingers still around her waist.
Their eyes locked ,wide, surprised, and dead silent.
The air between them thickened. Not just tension ,awareness.
And then, just like that, they pulled away.
Fast. Sharp. Like the moment burned them both.
Dean stepped back, jaw clenched, and picked up the fallen wrench without looking at her.
"Don't stand over me when I'm working," he muttered, turning back to the pipes.
Rae blinked, her heart still pounding as she straightened her posture. "I wasn't hovering. I was just trying to see what the hell you were doing."
"You're distracting," he said tightly, still not looking at her. "And annoying. Honestly, I get more done when you're not here breathing down my neck."
Her brows shot up. "Wow. Great customer service."
"This isn't customer service," he snapped. "This is me fixing what you live in, which, if you haven't noticed, I don't have to do myself."
She stared at him, her jaw tightening, but her voice dropped lower.
"You came here. No one begged you. You could've just sent someone. So don't act like this is my fault."
Dean paused, still crouched.
And then Rae turned and walked out of the bathroom without another word, her bare feet tapping quickly against the wood floor.
He didn't look up until she was gone.
Then he ran a hand through his hair and muttered under his breath.
"…Jesus Christ."