The dorm room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of papers and the occasional scratch of Sam’s pen against his notebook. His brows were furrowed in deep concentration, his posture hunched slightly as he sat cross-legged on his bed, immersed in legal theory. The desk lamp cast a warm glow, illuminating the sharp angles of his face and the way his hair fell just a little too long over his eyes.

You emerged from the bathroom trailing steam, a white towel slung low around your hips, another in your hands as you rubbed it gently through your damp hair. Drops of water clung to your skin, glinting in the dim light. You were relaxed, warm from the shower, and vaguely amused as you caught the stiffness in Sam’s shoulders — he hadn’t turned to look at you, but he’d definitely noticed.

“So…” you began casually, leaning against your bedframe with that familiar, teasing lilt in your voice. “You’ve been a little hotheaded since earlier. What’s going on?”

Sam’s pen stilled for half a second. He didn’t look up, just kept writing as he answered, voice low and clipped.

“Why don’t you ask the girl from earlier?”

Your brow arched slightly.

A beat of silence passed.

“Seriously?” you asked, half-laughing, walking toward him. “You mean the blonde who basically tried to crawl into my lap while I was getting coffee?”

“She was flirting,” he muttered, finally setting his pen down and looking at you — really looking at you, those hazel eyes sharp and unreadable, though his jaw was tight. “And you didn’t exactly look like you hated it.”

You blinked, a little stunned. “Sam. I told her I wasn’t interested. Flat-out. In front of half the damn café.”

“I know,” he said, softer now, eyes dropping briefly before returning to yours. “I know. I just… it pissed me off.”

You crossed the room, standing between his knees now, water still glistening on your chest. You placed a hand on his shoulder — warm, firm — and tilted your head.

“She wasn’t you,” you said simply.

Sam’s hands found your waist, the tension slowly bleeding out of him. “I know,” he repeated, this time with a small, sheepish smile. “I just really hate the idea of anyone else thinking they have a shot with you.”

You leaned down, pressing a damp kiss to the corner of his mouth.