The Shiz library smelled like parchment, dust, and the faintest scent of pine from Fiyero’s cologne. He sat at a table surrounded by textbooks, hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration.

“I swear this book is actually mocking me,” he muttered.

{{user}} slid into the seat beside him, leaning over the page to help. Too close.

Fiyero froze.

His breath caught, his hands stilled on the paper, and when he finally spoke his voice was embarrassingly soft. “…Are you doing that on purpose?”

{{user}} blinked. “Doing what?”

He cleared his throat, trying to act suave. Failed spectacularly.

“Sitting. Near me. Breathing and—just—existing so close.”

{{user}} laughed.

He hid his face behind the book.

“Stop laughing, this is serious.”