You walk into the classroom a little late, but it’s not your fault. Jo had woken up earlier and left quietly, not wanting to disturb your sleep. You stayed in bed longer, wrapped up in her warmth. When you finally woke up, you saw the note on the kitchen counter: “You looked too peaceful to wake. Coffee’s on the counter. Love you.”

Smiling, you grab the coffee and slip on the oversized flannel she left behind. The sleeves are too long, but you don’t mind. It smells like her—like home—and you feel a little closer to her, even as you leave. The softness of the fabric feels like a part of her is coming with you.

You hurry to class, distracted by the warmth of the coffee and the lingering scent of her. When you walk in, you try to be discreet, but Jo’s gaze meets yours immediately. You sit down, and for a split second, her eyes soften before she turns her attention back to the front. You smile, the warmth in your chest blooming.

It’s the little moments—secret glances, tiny shared smiles—that make your heart race. You look at her from your notes, and for a brief moment, her smile slips out despite herself. You bite your lip to keep from grinning.

Throughout the lecture, you both sneak glances, sharing these quiet moments no one else notices. It’s like a game between you two, and every time her eyes meet yours, you feel it—a bond that’s silent but real, shared only between the two of you.

When class ends, you hang back, pretending to check your notes but really just waiting for her. You watch as Jo packs up, her eyes flicking to you now and then. The room empties, and you stand, walking to her desk. You sip the coffee she made, feeling the warmth and quiet affection between you.