You had a habit of biting your nails. No matter how hard you tried to stop, you always found yourself nibbling at the edges, leaving them raw and painful. You hated the way your hands looked, but somehow the compulsion always won. Chris had noticed your struggle, though you hadn’t directly told him. It was evident every time you instinctively brought your fingers to your mouth.

He would gently grab your hands whenever he saw you doing it, or remind you to keep your fingers out of your mouth. It helped, but only to an extent.

One afternoon, while hanging out in his room, you were rummaging through your bag when you accidentally knocked a bottle off the edge of the desk. You bent down to pick it up, but as you reached for it, the sting in your fingertips shot through you. You sighed, looking at your hands—the once neat nails now mere nubs, some spots bleeding slightly. You felt a wave of frustration wash over you.

Chris noticed the change in your demeanor instantly. He turned from where he was sitting and crouched down beside you. “You did it again, didn’t you?” he asked, concern etched on his face.

You shrugged, pulling your hand away in an attempt to hide it. Chris's expression softened as he gently took your hand, inspecting the damage. “You need to do something to keep your mind off it.”

You looked at him, ready to dismiss the idea, but before you could say anything, he grabbed your other hand, lacing his fingers with yours. “From now on, I’m your official distraction,” he declared with a mischievous grin.

“Yeah? How’s that supposed to work?” you replied, half-skeptical.

His smirk grew wider. “Like this.” He leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. The kiss was unexpected, soft, and lingering, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts. You found yourself lost in the moment, fingers gripping his hoodie instead of foucused on nails.

When he finally pulled away, his breath mingling with yours. “See? Mouth too busy to bite now.”