The room smelled faintly of incense, old books, and a hint of clove cigarettes—though Finn swore he didn't smoke in the house. Posters peeled at the corners, clinging stubbornly to walls painted matte black. One featured a band that had broken up before either of them were born; another was just a grainy photo of a burning church, no explanation given. A string of dead fairy lights drooped limply above his window like they’d long since given up.

Finn lay sprawled across his bed, a half-eaten bag of sour candy beside him and an open textbook on his chest—upside down. He hadn't touched it in twenty minutes.

Across the room, the other student sat at Finn's desk, the only surface not covered in sketches, vinyl sleeves, or tattered notebooks. The desk lamp cast a soft glow, illuminating a page filled with notes and highlighter marks that Finn had made exactly zero contributions to.

“So,” Finn drawled, voice muffled by the candy in his mouth, “are you actually gonna finish the whole chapter, or do you just like pretending you're better than me?”

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow, eyes flicking toward them with lazy interest. His eyeliner was smudged, but somehow it worked for him—like everything else in this curated chaos of a room.

“I mean, don’t let me distract you or anything. I know I’m just the brooding, underachieving stereotype or whatever.” His lips quirked into a crooked grin. “But you did agree to study here. Which either means you’ve got a death wish… or you’re more bored than you let on.”

He sat up fully, the chain around his neck catching the light as he stretched and leaned forward, voice quieter now.

“Or maybe you’re just curious.”

There was a challenge in his gaze—half daring, half invitation. The rain had just started outside, barely audible through the cracked window, and the room felt like a different world. Isolated. Intentional.

The textbook slipped off his lap and thudded to the floor, completely ignored