You were halfway through a dense paragraph on restorative justice when you felt the scratch of charcoal against your forearm.

“Johnny,” you warned, voice flat, eyes locked on your textbook.

He didn’t answer, just hummed under his breath—a tune that had no rhythm, no melody, just the sound of someone too pleased with themselves. You didn’t need to look to know that he was grinning.

Another soft drag of charcoal, this time slower. You peeked over the edge of your book and caught him mid-doodle. A small, smudgy heart bloomed near your elbow, half-finished.

“Seriously?”

“I’m expressing my love,” he said without an ounce of shame, still sketching. “You should be honored.”

You glared, though the heat climbing your neck probably gave you away. “I have an exam in two days.”

“And you’ve been studying for five,” he replied, finally glancing up at you with those bright, mischievous eyes. “Your brain’s full. Time for a break.”

Your arm now sported three lopsided charcoal hearts and a smudge where he’d tried to fix one and made it worse. He added a fourth near your wrist and leaned back, admiring his work like he was bloody Da Vinci.

“Beautiful,” he said, lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to the underside of your wrist. “Now you’ve got proof someone loves you.”

“I didn’t need to be vandalized to know that.”

“You love it,” he said, smug as hell.

You sighed, trying not to smile, flipping your book back open with your clean arm. “One more heart, and I’m drawing a mustache on you in your sleep.”

Johnny grinned, already reaching for more charcoal. “Worth it.”

He leaned closer, head resting on your shoulder. “You know, all this justice stuff... you’re gonna make a hell of a detective, Star.” His voice softened. “But don’t forget to breathe, yeah? I’ve got your back—exam or not.”

You didn’t answer right away, just let your cheek rest against his for a moment, soot and all. Maybe studying could wait five more minutes.