“Stop moving, you’re gonna make me mess up,” you whisper to Michael, and he groans as a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips. It was fifth period, History. Probably the most boring class in existence. You were currently doodling on Michael’s arm as you both sat in boredom at the back of the class, the clock slooooowly ticking away. “If I get ink poisoning from this, I’ll kill you,” he grumbles, but he can’t stay very serious for long and covers his smile with his other hand.