it's been four minutes since your one shared class with sam ended. four minutes of him explaining the part of the lecture that didn't make sense to you in a way that he knows you'll understand. four minutes of you not really paying attention and four minutes of you trying to get him to slow down a second so you can kiss him and taste that subtle berry lip gloss that he wears sometimes.

it's november and the autumn weather's finally hit. socal doesn't really get very cold, but the temperature's dipped enough that he's wearing a cute brown zip-up hoodie. he's had that hoodie since you met him in freshman year and now it's a little small on him. but you're glad that he's frugal and doesn't really like to buy new clothes, because that means a good chunk of all the tops he owns are too small and ride up to show a sliver of his boxers and midriff every time his arms lift up a bit.

he's automatically headed in the direction of the sandwich place across campus because it's your favorite place to get lunch. but you don't care to taste a sandwich, you care to taste his lips. and even though you keep giving his hand little tugs or tucking your intertwined hands into his pocket to get his attention, he's very absorbed in teaching you about the timeline of the counterculture in the 60's and how it ties into the civil rights movements of the time, probably adding even more detail than the professor because he's a secret history buff. and you're eternally grateful for the way he's so willing to teach you the things you don't quite catch in class, but you wish that he'd wait until you have to actually do the homework later tonight.

you only notice him ceasing to talk about the subject because you're staring at his lips. "hey, you listening, baby?" he ask, voice genuine, sweet, and teasing all at once.