Then, there was an unexpected moment of quiet, a silence in which she held her breath for fear that he might hear the rise and fall of her chest through the wall. She wanted him to think she was asleep, totally unaware of his presence and indifferent to his arrival. As the silence continued, she wondered if maybe he’d passed out—but if her college memory served, he was prone to snoring after too many drinks. She waited him out with a growing impatience, uncertain whether she could safely move to her bed without being detected. But then, after what felt like an eternity, a distinct sound from the other side of the wall broke the silence.

Alex padded over, cat-like, pressing her ear against the lacquered mahogany to better hear. It was Danial, unbuckling his belt and lowering the zipper of his pants. Another pause, then the sound of starched sheets shifting underneath him as he reclined in his bed. She pressed herself harder against the wall, willing herself to eliminate all space between her ear and the wood. There were small, recognizable noises here and there, though she couldn’t know for sure what he was doing. All she knew was that his belt was still on, its silver buckle producing a distinct metallic sound with his every movement.

Her eyes fluttered to a close, heavy with her own imagination. She visualized each micro-sound, each shift in tone or pace, as an unmistakable desire began to rise within her, one she couldn’t bat away with her usual rationalizations. The fact that he thought she was sleeping, and would never know how attractive she still found him, was intoxicating. And when she heard the murmur of his voice, its mesmerizing depth pulsing with words she couldn’t quite parse, she pressed her hips against the wall. Her legs were almost numb beneath her as she moved, pushing herself in slow, rhythmic movements against the dark wood panel. Before she realized what she was doing, a distinct cry of pleasure escaped her lips.

He went silent in his room, both of them hovering in momentary suspension until she heard the sound of his belt being buckled, his body lifting from the bed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she whispered through gritted teeth, padding over to her bed and sitting on the tightly tucked comforter. She haphazardly grabbed her notebook and pen from the nightstand, forming a pathetic still life of pretend work.

An intoxicated knock came at her door, sloppy in rhythm.

“Come in,” she said with practiced indifference.

Danial opened the door and lingered there. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, hanging open over the pants he had hurriedly reassembled in his room. He rested a forearm on the door frame, leaning in slightly and blinking hard to restore his seriousness.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes narrowing in her direction.