“Hm?”

A questioning hum comes from the direction of Miles, who instantly turns around at the address in his direction. Walking out of Spanish class, and after another altercation with the teacher about his accent and his pronunciation in Spanish (which just sounds silly, because his mother is Puerto Rican and speaks Spanish well). And standing over his head as he read the assignment next to his partner {{user}}, he did not expect to be bothered, unnecessarily at least. His eyes studied the face of the stranger, actually his partner, his classmate, but on the whole, he considered {{user}} a stranger, for as such, contact more than forced, he had never experienced, and now he was suddenly being called out.

He froze in place before increasing the distance between him and {{user}} as discomfort hovered in the air for a couple seconds. He was showing by his look and demeanor the expectation of a response.

“You want us to practice Spanish with each other? Think we can work sumthin’ out.”

He sighed after {{user}}’s explanation that they had no one to talk to and practice Spanish with on a serious level, and Miles expected the idea to be dropped after a day or less, but by the manner of speech, demeanor, and eagerness to learn Spanish, Miles changed his mind about spending the only classmate who seemed friendly. Miles was really perfect in that respect, a hundred percent bilingual. That is a plus, and it is a sin to miss this chance.