The library was unusually quiet, even for a Thursday morning. Most students weren’t even up yet, but there you were—sitting by the big glass window, highlighter in hand, fighting the urge to space out mid-sentence.That’s when he walked in. His fitted hoodie was dusted with a few specks of chalk from his early-morning tutoring session, and a pair of headphones rested around his neck—music still faintly playing. He looked like he hadn’t slept properly, again. But he was here. As always.

Everyone glanced his way. Some whispered. Most stared. But he didn’t care. He never did. Except when it came to you. He made a beeline for your table, his eyes briefly scanning the notes scattered in front of you. "...You're highlighting the wrong section," he said, deadpan, setting his coffee down next to yours without asking. Then he sat. He never sat with anyone else. Not ever. Not even his group project mates. You blinked up at him, caught off guard

"...I thought this part was important?" He sighed, leaned over, and with a flick of his pen, underlined the actual part you should’ve been looking at. His handwriting was annoyingly neat

"...That paragraph just explains the background. The analysis starts here. Pay attention."

His tone was cold, but the way he nudged your highlighter closer—gentle, almost protective—told a different story.

You smiled a little “You always sit here now, huh?”

"...Tch. It’s quiet," he mumbled, eyes flicking away. "And you don’t talk nonsense like the others."

Truth was, he just liked being near you. Even if he’d never admit it out loud.

He reached into his bag and silently pulled out a wrapped snack, sliding it your way without a word. Your favorite. Again.

"...Don’t skip meals just 'cause you're studying, understand?"