Control Freaks

08

"He doesn't just email," you muttered. "He ran into me hungover at a grocery store once and remembered which brand of acetaminophen I bought."

Ymir choked on her drink.

"Jesus Christ. That's not a professor. That's your dad."

"Nope." You leaned your head back against the chair. "If he were my dad, I wouldn't wanna fuck him."

"Whaaaaat," they both groaned in unison, like they'd just stumbled into the juiciest soap opera of the year.

"So are you serious about him?" Historia asked, lips glossy and wicked.

"Serious?" You repeated the word like it tasted wrong. "Me? Him? This? Serious?"

You laughed. Bitter. Lovely.

"No, babe. I'm not serious. I'm in full calculated seduction mode. I'm trying to ruin him. I want him losing sleep, misplacing his notes, walking into staff meetings distracted. I want to haunt him like a glitch in his philosophical framework."

"You're insane," Ymir exhaled, clearly impressed. "I love you."

"Has he snapped yet?" Historia asked, eyes gleaming.

"Not yet." You clinked the edge of your glass with your finger. "But almost. He's a judge next week. Academic debate panel. I registered."

They stared.

"You're competing?"

"I fought to compete."

You beat out half the grad student delegation with an extended version of "When Control Becomes Seductive". Topic of your upcoming presentation?

Aesthetic Obedience and the Construction of Legitimacy: The Tragic Extension of Power in Modern Politics.

Translation: You were about to turn your ideological BDSM with Erwin Smith into a fully cited, formally footnoted academic exhibition.

The pool water glimmered pink. Like a stage waiting for curtain rise.

You sipped. Tapped your nails on the glass. Strategizing.

"You're actually insane," Ymir repeated, more serious now. "Wait. He's a real professor? Not just a fever dream?"

"Real." You tipped your cup toward her, solemn. "Erwin Smith. History Department. Thirty-five. 抖阴社区s in monospaced type and color-codes his footnotes. Teaches like he's cross-examining witnesses."

You didn't sound embarrassed. You sounded like you were bragging.

Ymir clicked her tongue. "I can't believe our chaos queen is becoming a straight-A student for dick."

"Correction." Historia grinned, "She's turning the entire university into foreplay."

Ymir leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, eyes gleaming.

"So. What's your endgame, then? Do we go full dark academia: standing ovation, wild sex, next morning he pretends nothing happened?"

"Or do you make out with him in front of the panel and land yourself a tabloid headline 'Student Seduces Professor with Thesis Footnotes'?"

You didn't answer right away.

You set your glass down, laced your fingers, and stared at your red-tipped nails.

"Endgame?" you repeated softly. "Who said there has to be an ending?"

Historia burst into laughter. "Right. You don't do conclusions."