You flop onto her bed, legs tangled in the comforter like you own the place — which, honestly, you kind of do.

Her room smells like faint coffee and old books, with dim fairy lights casting lazy shadows on the walls.

Keelan sits at her desk, textbooks spread out, pen in hand, trying desperately to focus on her math homework.

But you? You’re buzzing like a live wire.

“So,” you start, voice quick and bright, “Did you hear what happened with Zara and Malik? Total drama.” You lean closer, grinning.

“Apparently, she told him she hates his music taste to his face at the party last weekend.”

She doesn’t look up, but there’s a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth — a silent challenge. She keeps writing.

You hop off the bed, circling the desk like a golden retriever sniffing for the perfect spot. “Come on, you’re not even paying attention.” Your fingers brush the edge of her notebook, purposely slow.

She pauses, finally glancing up with that signature black cat smirk — low and slow. “I’m listening,” she says, voice quiet but thick with something like amusement.

“But this isn’t a therapy session for your gossip.”

You sit beside her, nudging her arm. “You’re no fun.” Your eyes catch hers, and you notice the way her lashes flutter, like she’s holding back a tease.

She leans back in her chair, gaze locking with yours. “Maybe I just like the distraction.”

You laugh, heart skipping. “Distracting me, huh?”

She shrugs, casual but bold. “Yeah. You talk enough for both of us.”

You grin, watching the way she bites her lip, the faint curl of a smile tugging her lips. The math problems forgotten, her pen tapping idly against the desk.

You drop your voice, quieter now. “Maybe next time you should join the gossip instead of just listening.”

She stands, stepping closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of her breath. “And miss all this?” Her finger traces your jaw slowly. “Don’t think so.”