Thursday dawned with a pale sun struggling to break through the heavy gray clouds — but to Kara, the day felt brighter than ever. The memory of Alice's arms around her waist the night before still tingled on her skin, a physical imprint she kept revisiting every five minutes.
In the cafeteria, the usual clatter of trays and chatter filled the air. Kara and Natalie sat at their usual table. Natalie was demolishing a muffin while watching Kara, who was just idly poking her fork at her plate, lost in thought.
"You're gonna drill a hole in that plate if you keep stabbing it like that," Natalie said, brushing crumbs from the corner of her mouth. "Still thinking about your goth Wonder Woman?"
Kara sighed, dropping the fork.
"Don't tease me, Nat. You saw what happened. It was… surreal."
"More like fast, that's what it was. Speaking of—" Natalie subtly tilted her chin forward.
Kara turned. Alice was there, sitting alone at the corner table, absorbed in a thick, dark-covered book. Unlike other days, she didn't look statuesque or detached — there was tension in her shoulders, as if she were hyperaware of her surroundings.
"Go," Natalie whispered, kicking Kara's shin under the table. "Thank her for not letting you smash your face on the stairs. Perfect excuse."
Kara hesitated for a moment, but the pull was stronger than the fear. She picked up her tray and stood.
"Wish me luck."
"Good luck! And see if she's got a single sister," Natalie called, laughing.
Kara crossed the cafeteria. As she got closer, Alice lifted her gaze from the book. There was no surprise there — only that deep, knowing look of someone who already sensed she was coming.
"Hey, Alice," Kara said, stopping beside the table. The vampire's scent hit her again, intoxicating. "Mind if I sit? Or does the isolation rule still apply?"
Alice closed the book slowly. The corner of her lips twitched in a barely-there smile.
"I think I broke that rule last night, didn't I? Sit."
Kara sat across from her, feeling a small but meaningful victory.
"I wanted to thank you again. For last night. I'd be a mess of broken bones if it weren't for you."
"You seem to have a knack for finding danger in the most ordinary places," Alice teased, her voice velvet-smooth. "Stairways, hallways… should I start worrying about flat sidewalks too?"
Kara laughed, surprised at the hint of humor.
"Hey, I'm usually coordinated! It was an accident. But I'm glad you've got ninja reflexes."
"Ninja reflexes…" Alice repeated, amused. "Let's just say I'm… attentive."
"And you're not eating anything?" Kara gestured toward the empty space in front of Alice. "I've got an extra apple if you want it."
Alice leaned back slightly, a flicker of shadow crossing her eyes.
"No, thank you. I… have a big breakfast at home. I'm not hungry right now."
"Okay." Kara didn't push, but she couldn't help noticing how uneasy Alice seemed at the mention of food. "Oh, right — we've got Literature next. The professor's assigning pairs for the semester project."
Alice looked up, eyes sharp.
"Really? And do you already have a partner?"
"Well, Natalie's pairing up with the girl she's into… so I'm free." Kara smiled, eyes sparkling with unspoken invitation. "What do you say?"
Alice held her gaze for a long moment, as if weighing the risks.
"I think that would be… interesting."
The classroom was stuffy. The professor droned on about Romanticism, but Kara and Alice, sitting side by side in the back row, were in their own world.
"Alright," the professor said. "For this project, I want a comparative analysis. Choose your works."
Alice twirled a pen between her long, pale fingers.
"I suggest something heavy. Crime and Punishment, Dostoevsky. The psychology of guilt, the weight of a terrible act…"
Kara watched her, captivated.
"Wow. That's intense. I was thinking Faust, by Goethe."
Alice stopped spinning the pen and turned to her.
"The man who sells his soul for knowledge and worldly pleasure?"
"And for love," Kara corrected softly. "He risks eternity for a single moment of fulfillment. I think that's romantic — in a tragic way."
"It's dangerous," Alice said, her voice lowering a tone. "Making pacts with forces you don't understand always ends in tragedy, Kara."
"Maybe," Kara leaned closer, closing the gap between their chairs. "But sometimes the risk is worth it. Like last night. You showed up out of nowhere and saved me. That was almost like a protection pact."
Alice laughed — a low, rough sound that sent a shiver down Kara's spine.
"So now I'm your Mephistopheles? The demon in the story?"
"No," Kara whispered, daringly. "You're my hero. My red-coated savior."
Alice stopped laughing. Her eyes flicked to Kara's lips, then back to her eyes. The air shifted — humor gone, replaced by raw electricity.
"I'm no one's hero, Kara. Heroes save people. I just… delayed the inevitable."
"You're too hard on yourself," Kara murmured, lightly placing her hand on Alice's arm.
The touch was like a spark. Alice glanced at Kara's hand but didn't pull away.
"And you're far too bold for someone so fragile."
The bell rang, shattering the fragile bubble around them. Chairs scraped, voices filled the room again.
"Come on?" Kara said, gathering her books. "We can keep this going in the library. Unless you've got another rescue planned."
"The library will do," Alice replied, rising with her usual grace.
The afternoon slipped by. Outside, the sun sank behind blue-gray clouds, casting a melancholy glow through the tall windows.
They debated passages, read poetry in low voices, shared comfortable silences. Kara discovered Alice's humor was dry and cutting; Alice discovered Kara was sharper, more perceptive, than any human she'd met in decades.
When the librarian announced closing time, they were the last ones there.
They walked side by side between the tall shelves, the scent of old paper surrounding them. Near the exit, in a narrow corridor between the stacks, Kara stopped.
"Thanks for today," she said, turning to Alice. The space was small — too small. They were dangerously close.
"It was… less tedious than I expected," Alice admitted, leaning casually against the shelf.
Kara took a step closer, invading her space. The attraction was magnetic, physical. She could feel the chill radiating from Alice's body — a delicious contrast to her own warmth.
"Less tedious? That's all?" Kara teased, voice dropping to a whisper. She placed her hand on the shelf beside Alice's head, subtly trapping her.
Alice didn't move. Her dark, deep eyes flicked down to Kara's lips. Kara's breath hitched.
"You're playing with fire, Kara."
"I like the heat," Kara replied.
Slowly, as if caught in a trance, they drew closer. Kara could see the golden flecks in Alice's irises. She could feel the static crackle between them. Alice tilted her head, her nose brushing lightly along Kara's jawline as she inhaled deeply.
Kara trembled, closing her eyes, surrendering to the moment. Her pulse throbbed at her neck. She wanted the kiss. The touch.
Alice's hand slid to Kara's waist, firm, pulling her closer. Cold against warmth. For one suspended second, Kara thought Alice would actually kiss her there, between the shelves of poetry.
But then — Alice froze. Her body went rigid.
She released Kara abruptly and stepped back, as if burned.
"Alice?" Kara blinked, breathless and confused.
Alice was already several steps away, adjusting her coat, her face turned to the shadows to hide the hunger and longing twisting her features.
"I have to go. Now."
"But… what did I do?" Kara asked, hurt and frustrated.
Alice stopped at the door, glancing back. Her eyes were fierce — almost pained.
"You didn't do anything. I just remembered something I need to take care of. Goodbye, Kara."
Before Kara could protest, Alice was gone, the library door slamming behind her.
Kara stood alone in the aisle, her body still buzzing from the near contact, the metallic-floral scent of Alice clinging to her clothes. She touched her lips, both frustrated and smiling faintly.
Alice had run away. But Kara had felt that grip on her waist.
And now, without a shred of doubt, she knew, the attraction wasn't one-sided.
Alice wanted her just as much as she wanted Alice.
And that changed everything.