The library was quiet in the way you liked it — quills scratching, pages turning, the faint rustle of parchment. You’d claimed a small table near the back, away from the bustle, determined to get through at least half your essay before curfew.

George sat across from you, books piled high but unopened. He twirled his quill between his fingers, pretending to read, though you’d caught him staring at you more times than you could count.

You didn’t look up from your notes when you said, “If you keep glaring at me like that, I’ll start thinking I’ve ink on my nose.”

George startled, color rushing into his freckled cheeks. “I wasn’t— I mean, I wasn’t glaring.” He ducked his head, fiddling with his quill, though a sheepish smile betrayed him.

You finally glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Then what were you doing?”

He hesitated, then let out a quiet laugh, the kind that always softened his whole face. “Just… watching you work. You’re much more interesting than anything in this book.”

Your chest warmed, and you shook your head, trying to focus on your parchment again. “That’s not how studying works.”

“Depends who you ask,” George murmured, leaning back in his chair. His gaze lingered, and when you peeked at him again, he was still looking.

You let out a small giggle, the sound earning an answering one from him. Soon the two of you were grinning across the table, parchment forgotten.

“What?” you asked, though you couldn’t stop smiling.

“Nothing,” George said quickly, shaking his head, but his ears were pink now. “Just… you.”

The air between you shifted, softer, charged with something unspoken. You didn’t remember who moved first, only that one moment you were laughing, and the next he was leaning across the table. His hand brushed yours, tentative, as though asking permission.

You tilted toward him, heart fluttering. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss, a bit hesitant at first, then warmer when he realized you weren’t pulling away.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless and smiling. George rubbed the back of his neck, “So much for studying, eh?”

You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together across the table. “I think I like this better than studying.”

George chuckled softly, squeezing your hand. And in that quiet corner of the library, with parchment and ink forgotten, you decided studying could wait a little longer.