Law textbooks were everywhere.

Stacked on the coffee table, half-open on the floor, filled with sticky notes and highlighted passages that probably only made sense to one person.

You had long since accepted that Quackity lived in a constant state of organized chaos — especially during the semester.

Cases, notes, deadlines, lectures… and somehow, in between all of that... Streaming.

You didn’t know how he managed it.

You just knew you ended up at his place more often than your own.

At first it had been accidental.

Late study sessions that ran too long. Missed buses. “Just crash here” turning into a routine neither of you really questioned anymore.

Now you had a toothbrush in his bathroom.

A hoodie that wasn’t really his anymore.

A spot on his couch that felt… claimed.

Tonight was no different.

You were curled up on the couch, half-focused on your own work, the quiet scratching of your pen mixing with the low hum of Alex’s voice from his desk across the room.

“…and that’s why that law is completely stupid— okay, not stupid, just— badly written,” he corrected himself mid-rant, gesturing at his screen as if the people watching him could actually feel the frustration radiating off him.

His stream chat was flying by, probably encouraging the chaos.

You smiled faintly to yourself, shaking your head as you tried to focus back on your notes.

“You’re gonna fail that exam if you keep arguing with your chat instead of studying,” you called out without looking up, your tone light but teasing.

“Excuse me?” Alex turned in his chair immediately, one eyebrow raised, hand pressed dramatically to his chest as he looked at you like you had just personally offended him. “I am studying.”

You finally looked up, giving him a look.

“You’re yelling at strangers on the internet.”

“That’s called multitasking,” he shot back, spinning slightly in his chair before pointing at you like he was making a legal argument. “Very important skill for a future lawyer, actually.”

You snorted quietly.

“Yeah? I’m sure that’ll hold up in court.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but there was a smile fighting its way onto his face.

“Oh, absolutely,” he said, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms as he tilted his head. “Your honor, my client is innocent because— chat, back me up here—”

You laughed, the sound softer, warmer than you intended.

He stopped for a second.

Just for a second.

Watching you.

Then his expression shifted — less exaggerated, more real.

“Hey,” he said, quieter now, turning slightly so he was facing you more than the camera. “You’re staying over, right?”

It wasn’t really a question.

You hesitated for half a second, then nodded.

“Yeah. If that’s okay.”

He scoffed lightly, like the idea of it not being okay was ridiculous.

“Obviously it’s okay,” he replied, rolling his eyes a little as he turned back toward his desk— but not before reaching over and tossing one of his hoodies at you. “You already live here half the time anyway.”

The hoodie landed in your lap, still warm.

And for some reason, that felt more intentional than the words.