You didn’t pick Lip Gallagher. The professor assigned the groups. You just happened to end up paired with the smartest guy in class… who also happened to be the most sarcastic, infuriating, distracting human being you’d ever met.

The first meeting was fine. The second was tolerable. The third?

That one ruined you.

Because it was the first time you studied together alone.

It’s nearly 11 p.m. in the campus library. Textbooks open. Empty coffee cups everywhere. Lip leans back in his chair, rubbing his face.

"Okay," he mutters, "either I’m losing brain cells, or this section makes absolutely no fucking sense."

You laugh. "This from the guy who understands everything on the first read?"

He shoots you a half-smirk. "Relax, I still understand more than you."

"Wow. Motivational."

"I try."

You grab your pen and smack it lightly against his notebook. "Come on. Focus. We need to finish at least this part tonight."

He watches you—longer than necessary. Eyes softer than his voice. He shifts in his seat like he's trying to shake off a thought he shouldn’t be having.

"Yeah… yeah, okay."

An hour later, you’re both drained. And that’s when it happens.

You lean over him to check a paragraph, your hair brushing his shoulder. He freezes. Absolutely still.

You don’t notice at first—until you look at him and see the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes flicker to your lips and back to the book.

"Lip?" you whisper.

He clears his throat quickly. "Yeah. Uh—yeah. Just—just scoot a little or I’m not gonna be able to think."

You blink. “…Why?”

He gives you a look. A look you feel in your stomach.

"You know why."

Your heartbeat stutters. You slowly move back to your spot, your leg brushing his underneath the table.

He flinches. Not away—toward.

"You’re unbelievable," he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

"What did I do?" you whisper, teasing.

"Nothing. Everything. I don’t fucking know—" He shuts his notebook abruptly. "We’re not getting anything done like this."