You are sitting on the sofa nearest the fire, surrounded by open textbooks. Theodore is lounging in an armchair opposite, his quill gliding effortlessly across parchment. He looks calm. Annoyingly calm. His essay is almost finished.

You groan quietly, letting your head drop back against the sofa.

“I swear... I hate this essay.” You mutter.

Theodore glances up. 'You've written the title five times and scratched it out four times. Maybe you should start with a sentence?”

You shoot him a dry look. “Hilarious.”

He smirks and goes back to writing, clearly unbothered.

You watch him for a moment, then sigh in surrender. “Can I see the answer?” You ask, lifting your chin and giving him your best pleading look.

Theodore pauses mid-sentence, his eyes flicking to you and his brow arching slightly. “Sure.” He says.

He turns his parchment slightly so that you can see it, and you scoot off the sofa to stand beside his chair.

“Thank you, baby.” You say.

Theodore’s mouth twitches into a lazy smirk. He shifts in his chair, resting an elbow on the armrest as he watches you.

“Anything for my favourite lady.” He says.

You roll your eyes but you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “Favourite, huh? I’ll remember that next time you steal my chocolate.”

“I’d never steal,” he says, mock-offended.

“You’re actually kind of smart,” you say, teasing him.

“I know,” he says, without missing a beat. “That’s why you keep me around.”

You nudge his knee with yours. “No, I keep you around for your good looks and your steady supply of answers.”

He leans in a fraction closer, his voice a little lower. “And here I thought it was my charm.”

You pretend to think for a second. “Charm is... a solid third.”

Theodore chuckles, shaking his head. “Brutal.”

You grin and return to your seat, finally feeling a little more confident about writing. The essay doesn't seem so bad anymore.