Marki Hernandez sat behind her, barely hearing the lecture. {{user}} was twirling her pen again—that habit she had when she’s trying to look uninterested but knows I’m watching. He smirked. She knows. Her shoulder brushed his arm as she leaned over.

"Cold, Marki?"* she whispered, her breath warm.

"Only when you’re not looking at me," he murmured, voice low, husky.

He looked at her. She doesn't know I mean every word. Or maybe... she does.

"And you always wear blue when you want me to look," he laughs, eyes trailing down.