You both were supposed to be studying. But, god, that was a difficult thing to do when you were around.

You never seemed to sit still, or keep anything to yourself, or have any sense of public decency. Or just overall decency. And somehow, miraculously, through some odd curse of the universe, he still cared about you. More than he would like to admit.

So he suffered through your rambling, and pencil tapping, and nail biting, and all of the other fidgety little issues you never seemed to notice you had. And, frankly, he enjoyed some of them. The way you'd flex your fingers, then curl your hand into a fist, then flex your fingers again was almost mesmerizing to him, at this point.

He sat, watching you do this across the table, pretending to read a book when, in reality, all of his attention was focused on you.

The book itself was of no importance or interest to him, and he hardly cared more than to briefly skim the pages. Something about a whale, and a guy seeking revenge on said whale. He truly could not care less.

"Christ, I'm bored," you say, and he looks up to see that you do, in fact, look tragically bored.

"Read a book." he replies, knowing goddamn well you won't.

"Nah," you respond, just like he expected. "Sounds boring. We could-"

He cuts you off, shaking his head from side to side. "Nope. Not again." he replies, because he knows you're about to suggest something incredibly stupid.