The computer lab hummed with the mechanical whir of cooling fans, but for Jim, the air felt thick and dangerously still. Mauwa's presence was a physical weight, his muscular frame dwarfing the plastic school chair as he leaned over Jim's keyboard.
"Let's look at your topic," Mauwa murmured, his hand brushing Jim's as he reached for the mouse. "Network Security. Protecting a system from unauthorized intrusion. That's very... on brand for you, isn't it, Jim?"
Jim pulled his hand back as if the contact had shocked him. "It's a logical field of study. Please, just help me find the source material for the firewall protocols."
Mauwa didn't click on the library link. Instead, he pulled up a blank document and typed a single word: BOUNDARIES.
"In IT, a firewall is only as strong as the person who programs it," Mauwa said, his voice a low, melodic baritone that seemed to vibrate in Jim's chest. "If the programmer is afraid, he over-encrypts. He locks everything down so tight that the system can't even function. It's not security, Jim. It's a prison."
"I am not here for a lecture on philosophy," Jim hissed, casting a panicked glance at Mr. Halloway, who was busy helping Sarah across the room. "I am here to pass a project."
"And I'm here to mentor you," Mauwa countered. He leaned in closer, his lips inches from Jim's ear, his scent—cedarwood and the sharp, clean tang of adrenaline—completely overwhelming the sterile smell of the lab. "Tell me, Class Rep... when you're building these 'firewalls' around your life, do you ever worry about what happens when someone already has the password? When the 'intruder' is already inside the house? Inside the room?"
Jim's fingers gripped the edge of the desk until the plastic dug into his skin. "No one has my password."
"Are you sure?" Mauwa's voice was a soft challenge. He reached out and slowly, deliberately, moved Jim's cursor over the 'Enter' key. "Because you're sitting here with your heart racing so fast I can see it through your blazer. You're glitching, Jim. Your system is failing because you're trying to run a program—that wasn't designed for the hardware you actually have."
"Stop it," Jim gasped, his vision tunneling until the only things in the world were the glowing monitor and the heat of Mauwa's body. "You're... you're being vulgar."
"I'm being technical," Mauwa whispered. He clicked the mouse, opening the university's restricted archives. "Look at the data, Jim. You can't pray away a physical reaction. You can't encrypt a feeling. You're so worried about 'unauthorized access' that you haven't noticed that the system wants to be opened."
Mauwa straightened up slightly, but he didn't move away. He began to type with a practiced, effortless speed, pulling up complex diagrams of encrypted tunnels. "Let's talk about 'Vulnerability Scanning.' It's the process of finding the weakest point in a structure so you can exploit it. If I were scanning you, Jim... where do you think I'd find the hole in your defenses?"
Jim stared at the screen, watching the lines of code flicker. He felt exposed, as if Mauwa's "mentoring" was actually a slow, digital stripping of his clothes. "I have no weaknesses. My faith is my shield."
"Even shields have cracks," Mauwa said. He turned his head to look at Jim, his eyes dark and impossibly deep. "And sometimes, the crack is the most interesting part. It's where the light gets in. Or the heat."
Mauwa's knee brushed Jim's under the desk—a firm, lingering contact that Jim was too paralyzed to break.
"Now," Mauwa said, his tone shifting back to a mock-professionalism that was even more infuriating. "Let's find those firewall protocols. We wouldn't want the Principal to think his 'Golden Boy' is being distracted by his mentor, would we?"
For the rest of the hour, Jim sat in a daze of "guidance." Every technical term Mauwa explained felt like a double entendre, a secret message designed to dismantle Jim's resolve. By the time the bell rang, Jim felt as though he had been through an interrogation rather than a class.
As Mauwa stood up, he tapped Jim's shoulder—a brief, searing touch. "Good session, Jim. I think we made a lot of progress on your... internal security. I'll see you at the car. Don't be late; I have a feeling your 'firewalls' need more work tonight."
The hum of the computer lab was suddenly shattered by the screech of a chair legs against the linoleum.
"That is enough!" Jared shouted, standing so abruptly his knees knocked into the desk. His face was a mask of livid crimson, his chest heaving as he stared down at Mike, the university student assigned to him.
The entire class froze. The clicking of thirty keyboards died instantly. Jim, still reeling from Mauwa's psychological assault, looked up in shock.
"Jared? What's going on?" Mr. Halloway asked, peering over his spectacles.
"He's shameless!" Jared pointed a trembling finger at Mike. "He just—he sat there and called me 'beautiful.' Right in the middle of a database lecture! He's being completely inappropriate!"
A few students snickered, while others whispered in disbelief. Mike, however, didn't look bothered in the least. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Unlike Mauwa's intense, dark energy, Mike possessed a playful, imprudent charm that made his boldness feel even more reckless.
"I was just being honest, Mr. Halloway," Mike said, a casual shrug of his shoulders. "I don't see why the truth is so offensive. There's nothing wrong with praising someone's looks. It's not a crime to have eyes."
Jared looked like he was about to explode. "We are here for IT research, not to be... to be..."
Mr. Halloway sighed, rubbing his temples. He was clearly tired of the drama the university mentors had brought into his quiet lab. "Jared, settle down. While the timing might be unorthodox, Mike is right—there is nothing inherently wrong with a compliment. You're overreacting. Sit back down and focus on your SQL queries. We have a deadline."
"But—"
"Sit. Down. Jared," Halloway commanded, his voice final.
Vanquished and vibrating with irritation, Jared slowly lowered himself back into his seat. He pulled his chair as far to the left as possible, trying to create a physical gap between himself and the mentor.
Mike didn't say a word. He didn't even look back at the screen. Instead, he turned his head and stared directly at Jared. He wore a wide, fixed smile—a "creepy" grin that didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold and predatory. It was the look of a cat watching a bird it had already decided to catch.
Jared shivered, his hands hovering uncertainly over the keyboard. He could feel Mike's gaze like a physical heat on the side of his face. The "handsome" mentor wasn't just imprudent; he was unsettling.
Jim watched his friend's distress from the next terminal, a cold realization sinking in. It wasn't just Mauwa. The University hadn't sent mentors; they had sent a pack of wolves.
The bell for the end of the period rang with a jarring finality, but before anyone could move, Mr. Halloway stood up and raised his voice over the rustle of backpacks.
"One more thing! This research is extensive. It must be carried out over the weekend starting tomorrow," he announced, gesturing to the mentors. "I expect you to coordinate with your assigned university partners. Plan where and when you will meet to finalize your data sets. No excuses on Monday."
Jared didn't wait for the instructions to finish. He threw his books into his bag, his heart hammering in his throat, and made a dash for the door. He just needed to get away from the predatory gaze of the "handsome" Mike.
He was halfway down the corridor when a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Jared spun around, nearly tripping. Mike stood there, his height and presence suddenly blocking out the hallway light. The "creepy" grin had softened into something that looked—to a casual observer—like genuine concern, but Jared could still see the glint of amusement in his eyes.
"Hey, hold on," Mike said, his voice smooth and projecting a calm he clearly didn't feel. "We didn't finish our schedule. How are we meeting this weekend? My place or yours?"
"Neither!" Jared snapped, yanking his shoulder away. "I'm doing it alone. I'll do the work, I'll write the report, and I'll put both our names on it. You don't have to bother yourself. Just stay away from me."
Mike stepped closer, tilting his head. "I'm sorry about earlier, Jared. Really. I didn't think a compliment would be such a big deal to you. It's just... when I see something that striking, I can't help but voice it out. It's a habit."
"I don't care about your habits!" Jared hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening. "I don't want to meet you, I don't want to talk to you, and I certainly don't want to spend my Saturday with you."
Jared turned to flee, but Mike's voice followed him, low and chillingly confident.
"I have your address from the student registry, Jared," Mike called out. Jared stopped dead, a cold shiver running down his spine. Mike walked up until he was standing right behind him, leaning down to whisper: "You can say no all you want here. But I'm coming to your house this weekend whether you like it or not. We have a project to finish, and I'm a very... dedicated mentor."
Jared stood frozen as Mike patted him on the shoulder and walked past, whistling a cheerful tune.
A few feet away, Jim and Mauwa stood by the lockers, having witnessed the entire exchange. Jim felt a wave of nausea. The walls weren't just closing in on him; they were closing in on everyone he cared about.
"Your friend looks like he's seen a ghost," Mauwa remarked, leaning casually against the lockers, his eyes fixed on Jim.