“is this an interrogation?”
the professor's lone eye leaves your wrist and fixes on your face. "is that what you think this is?" is his immediate reply.
you clench your fist and feel anaxa's grip on your wrist loosen. you relax, not wanting to give him the wrong impression. "answering my question with a question makes it seem that way," you say.
he doesn't dignify that with a response, instead shifting his focus. "you're far more calm than i thought you'd be." anaxa begins to say something else, but in an instant, his gaze drops back to where his fingers rest upon your pulse point. "i stand corrected."
you clear your throat, realizing that he'd felt the way your heart skipped a beat. you don't know why you agreed to let him do this. ever the mystery, professor anaxagoras had decided to pause your after-hours debate to ask for your hand. in an effort to dispel your nerves, you cracked a joke about him proposing to you. his dry response made your awkward laughter die in your throat before you silently complied.
you'd assumed he was trying to test something, although you weren't quite sure what it was he was testing. it didn't help that he was tight-lipped about his motivations, either; when asked, anaxa had simply brushed his thumb over your wrist to silence you. (you're not quite sure why that worked.)
he appears to be in a trance as his gaze never leaves your wrist. it's not as though he can see your pulse — not with his fingers covering the spot, anyhow — yet he remains silent, completely fixated on you and you alone. you do your best not to overthink it, attributing his fascination with your pulse to his research on the soul. but even you know that the body and the soul, though closely intertwined, are not one and the same. so what is it that has anaxa so captivated? is it the very basis of life itself? did hyacine teach him some sort of new medical procedure that he's testing out on you?
or perhaps it's you that he finds captivating, your mind unhelpfully supplies. you squeeze your eyes shut and try to banish the thought, but—
"you seem nervous." anaxa's voice is low as he addresses you. was his voice always that deep? "even now, your heart rate is rising. what could you possibly be so worried about?"
is he worried about you? you do your best to smother the embers of delusion. "why would you assume that i'm worried about something?" you retort.
you can hear anaxa shifting in his seat across from you. "your eyes are closed," he points out, "so i'd imagine there's plenty of things on your mind." when you open your eyes, you swear you can see a flicker of amusement in his eye. "that wasn't an invitation for you to open them," he says softly.
once again, you clench your fist. this time, you can feel his grip on you tighten, as though he anticipated you pulling away from him. not that you would, of course.
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