Gabriel picked at a loose thread on his worn backpack strap. The Biochemistry textbook lay open, the diagram of the Krebs cycle blurring before his eyes. Numbers and arrows swam, refusing to connect. He shifted on the hard wooden chair, the library's hushed silence pressing in. It usually helped him focus, this quiet hum of collective effort, but not today. A prickling sensation crawled up his neck. The feeling was too familiar. He didn't need to look up. His muscles tensed, a slow burn starting in his shoulders. He traced a line on the page with his finger, pretending to be absorbed, but his peripheral vision already searched. Across the vast reading room, nestled between towering shelves filled with forgotten knowledge, Malik sat. Or rather, he lounged. His broad shoulders dwarfed the chair, his dark eyes like magnets fixed on Gabriel. Malik didn't pretend to read. He simply watched, a predatory stillness radiating from him, cutting through the library's quiet. Gabriel’s jaw tightened. He tried to force his gaze back to the intricate chemical reactions, but the words were just ink. Each cell in his body screamed an alert. Malik was a storm front, a low rumble on the horizon, always promising more. Gabriel had come to the university for freedom, for a fresh start, and now he felt more caged than ever. The memory of the rose and the note from James, waiting in his dorm room, flashed. J. This was a game, a twisted competition, and he was the prize. Malik’s gaze intensified, a slow, possessive claiming that reached across the rows of desks and books. Gabriel felt his own defiance rise, hot and defiant. He would not be claimed. Not by Malik. Not by James. He pushed the textbook away. Studying was impossible. --- Malik rose from his seat, the subtle creak of wood the only sound disturbing the library's peace. His steps were slow, deliberate, a predator moving in for the kill. Gabriel watched him approach, a knot tightening in his stomach. The air around Malik seemed to vibrate with suppressed energy, a barely contained fury. He stopped directly beside Gabriel’s table, casting a long shadow over the scattered notes. Gabriel didn't look up immediately, instead focusing on tidying his pen. He kept his movements slow, controlled, refusing to give Malik the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. — Então, o jantar com James foi agradável? Malik's voice was a low growl, barely a whisper, yet it ripped through the quiet like thunder. The words hung heavy, laced with a venomous curiosity. Gabriel finally met his gaze, finding Malik's eyes dark, narrowed, and burning with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. — Por que você quer saber? Gabriel’s voice was steady, betraying none of the tremor in his hands. He pushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead, a casual gesture he hoped conveyed indifference. Malik’s lips curved, but the smile held no warmth, only a predatory edge. — Eu adoro saber o que é meu, Gabriel. Especialmente quando brinca com outros. The possessiveness in his tone was suffocating. Gabriel felt a familiar surge of irritation. He wasn't a toy, not a possession to be claimed and monitored. The memory of Malik's brutal kiss, the unexpected spark, warred with his rising anger. — Eu não sou seu. Nunca fui. Gabriel’s defiance was a quiet declaration. Malik leaned closer, his scent — a mix of something musky and clean — invading Gabriel’s personal space. The intensity in his eyes deepened, a dangerous glint appearing. He placed a large hand flat on the table, near Gabriel's notes, the gesture a territorial marker. — Ah, mas é. Você só não aceitou isso ainda. Ou talvez James te convenceu do contrário? Ele tem um jeito com palavras. The name James was spat out, coated in disdain. Gabriel watched Malik's jaw clench, a muscle twitching near his ear. The jealousy was palpable, a thick cloud settling between them. It fueled a flicker of dangerous satisfaction in Gabriel. He had managed to provoke Malik. --- Gabriel leaned back in his chair, a small, challenging smile playing on his lips. He crossed his arms, mirroring Malik’s posture of dominance, but with an air of dismissive insolence. This was the game, then. He understood the rules now, or at least how to poke the bear. — James tem uma conversa interessante. Ele não tenta me trancar em uma gaiola. His words were a deliberate barb, meant to wound Malik’s pride. Malik’s eyes flared, a storm brewing behind the dark irises. His knuckles tightened on the tabletop. Gabriel watched the reaction, a dangerous thrill coursing through him. He was pushing boundaries, testing the limits of Malik’s control. — Uma gaiola? Eu te ofereço proteção, não correntes. Malik’s voice dropped even lower, becoming a menacing rumble. His gaze swept over Gabriel’s face, searching, assessing. Gabriel met his stare without flinching. He knew what Malik wanted – submission, an acknowledgment of his power. He would not give it. — Proteção de quem? De você mesmo? Gabriel scoffed, a short, sharp sound that echoed in the quiet library. A librarian at a nearby desk looked up, her brow furrowed. Gabriel ignored her, his focus solely on the man before him. He felt an invigorating surge of rebellion. This was his autonomy, his right to choose, to refuse. — Você está se metendo em um jogo que não entende, garoto. James é um predador diferente. Ele te seduz com promessas vazias. Malik’s voice held a genuine warning, but it was lost on Gabriel. He heard only the attempt to undermine James, to regain his perceived territory. Gabriel merely raised an eyebrow, a clear challenge. — E você, o que me oferece? Mais beijos forçados? Mais ameaças veladas? The question hung in the air, a direct confrontation of Malik’s tactics. Malik’s expression hardened, his jaw setting. Gabriel saw the brief flicker of raw anger in his eyes, a moment where Malik almost lost control. It was intoxicating. He had power here, a strange, dangerous power over this imposing man. — Eu te ofereço a verdade. Que você pertence a mim. Malik’s words were a declaration, not a plea. His voice was laced with an unwavering certainty that chilled Gabriel, even as his defiance burned brighter. — Eu pertenço a mim mesmo. Gabriel’s own conviction vibrated in his tone. He wouldn't back down. Not now. Not ever. --- Malik clenched his fist on the table, the wood groaning faintly under the pressure. His gaze was a searing brand, fixed on Gabriel. The subtle tremor in his hand was the only sign of the effort it took to maintain a semblance of calm. Gabriel watched, fascinated and repelled by the raw emotion flickering in Malik’s eyes. — Você se engana se pensa que essa sua "liberdade" vai durar. James não te dará nada de graça. Ele cobra. E ele cobra caro. Malik's voice was hoarse, thick with a possessive anger that bordered on desperation. The words weren't a warning so much as a demand. He wanted Gabriel to see James as a threat, to run back to the 'proteção' Malik offered. — E você não cobra? Seu tipo de 'proteção' é uma prisão. Gabriel shot back, his voice rising slightly despite himself. The librarian coughed loudly, a clear signal, but Gabriel barely registered it. This confrontation had become a vortex, pulling him deeper. He was aware of the audacity, the sheer foolishness of provoking Malik in a public place, but he couldn't stop. Malik pushed himself off the table, his chair scraping loudly. He moved closer, invading Gabriel's space entirely. His chest brushed Gabriel's shoulder. The heat of Malik’s body radiated, a physical manifestation of his simmering rage. Gabriel could feel the tremor in Malik, the barely contained violence. — Você acha que está no controle? Que está jogando os dois lados? Malik’s whisper was a venomous hiss, his breath warm against Gabriel’s ear. It wasn't a question, but an accusation. Gabriel’s pulse hammered against his ribs. He refused to shrink away, though every instinct screamed at him to retreat. — Eu não estou jogando. Eu estou vivendo. E você não tem o direito de dizer como. Gabriel’s defiance was a fragile shield, but he held it firm. Malik’s eyes, usually so controlled, were wild for a split second, revealing a naked, desperate obsession. It was a terrifying glimpse into the man’s mind. — Cada movimento seu, Gabriel, eu vejo. Cada passo que você dá em direção a James... me irrita. Me enfurece. Malik’s admission was raw, stripped of his usual bravado. It was a revelation of a possessiveness so profound it verged on madness. Gabriel felt a jolt of fear, quickly followed by that dangerous surge of power. He was getting under Malik’s skin. He was truly affecting him. --- Malik took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly reining in his temper. The wildness in his eyes receded, replaced by a cold, hard resolve that was almost more terrifying. He straightened, his imposing height looming over Gabriel. The librarian cleared her throat again, louder this time, her gaze pointedly on them. — Você gosta de testar os limites, não é? Acha que a coleira não está apertada. Malik’s voice was low, controlled once more, but the menace was sharper, more refined. Gabriel felt a cold dread seep into his chest, replacing the earlier thrill. Malik wasn't just angry; he was dangerous. — Não existe coleira. Gabriel insisted, though the words felt hollow even to his own ears. He tried to project confidence, but his heart beat a frantic rhythm. Malik’s expression remained unreadable, a mask of stone. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture that was both dismissive and profoundly threatening. — Você e James... uma aliança, certo? Ele gosta de ter as rédeas. The casual mention of James's alliance, and the subtle mockery in Malik’s tone, was a deliberate jab. It suggested Malik knew more than Gabriel wanted, that he was aware of the dynamics at play. Gabriel felt a chill. How much did he know? How did he know? — Isso não é da sua conta. Gabriel’s voice was flat. He tried to gather his scattered notes, a small, futile attempt to create distance. Malik’s hand shot out, quick as a viper. He clamped down on Gabriel’s arm, his grip like iron. Gabriel gasped, his body freezing. The sudden contact was electric, a jolt of fear and something else, something familiar and unwelcome. Malik’s fingers tightened, digging into the flesh of Gabriel’s forearm. His eyes, dark and unwavering, locked onto Gabriel’s. — Se você acha que está livre, está enganado. Eu apenas deixei a coleira um pouco mais longa.

O Olhar Possessivo