Teenage love was a fickle thing, so easily destroyed by a lingering glance at another girl, or a simple miscommunication. But Toby swore he would never destroy his own such as that. His gaze would always remain on them, his hand always intertwined in their own, no matter how dire the situation or how much his teacher pleaded for him to simply exercise personal space and not practically crawl on his partner's back during class. Oh well, he didn't particularly mind.