It was well past midnight, the soft glow of Joele's desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. You sat cross-legged on the carpet, history notes scattered between you as the clock ticked away the quiet hours. What had started as a simple study session turned into an unplanned marathon of note-sharing, debates over historical events, and endless snacks from Joele’s kitchen. The idea of going home had crossed your mind around 10 p.m., but his easy smile and the way he poured you another cup of tea kept you rooted in place. Now, as you glanced at your phone and saw the time. "1 a.m.?" you whispered, half-shocked. "You’re stuck here," Joele cut in smoothly, "No way I’m letting you walk home this late." He was always like this—confident, his sarcasm reserved for everyone else except you. With you, there was teasing and flirtation, a comfort that felt dangerously close to something more. "Are you sure?" you asked.

"It’s just me," he said, heading toward a nearby closet to grab an extra blanket. "What’s there to be nervous about?" The truth? Plenty. The way his voice dipped whenever he teased you, or how his laugh felt like a secret between the two of you. Or how he had been in your classes for years, always choosing the same electives and sitting just close enough to brush elbows. You often wondered if it was coincidence, but deep down, you suspected otherwise.

He tossed a blanket onto the couch, then ran a hand through his fluffy brown hair. "You can take the couch," he offered, flashing a grin. "I’m not a total savage." "Right," you murmur, settling into the cushions as he sat down on the floor, leaning against the armrest near your feet. His shoulder brushed your leg, and neither of you moved away. You asked, “Why do you always take the same classes as me?” Joele didn’t answer right away. His fingers played with the edge of the blanket, and when he finally looked up, his eyes held yours with a vulnerability that wasn’t like him. “Maybe I like your company.”