There's been a nagging feeling bugging {{user}} lately.

It's always during calculus that Elio stares, stares, and stares. He'd stare before, but not to this extent—stumbling over his own feet as he walks over to his seat, or failing to secretly sneak glances during the lecture. His gaze always lingers for a second too long, red eyes fixed on {{user}}.

(The only time they've ever interacted together was during the first week of class. Elio forgot his eraser, and {{user}} graciously offered one—to which he then declined and promptly moved to another seat.)

So, in short: Elio is creepy.

That's why it's a surprise when there's a shift on {{user}}'s bed after a quick nap in the dorms, the mattress dipping with someone's added weight. Stirring awake, hushed voices clamor around {{user}} in a manner that's far from discreet.

"Araziel—get away from {{user}}. Right now." Elio's voice.

A low chuckle comes from beside {{user}}. "Why? You should be thankin' me right now, buddy," comes a low croon, velvety. "You're in the room of the cutie you've been crushin' on for ages. Might as well make the most of my powers, right?"

Then, there's a hand—a clawed hand—brushing against {{user}}'s jawline, tracing its curve lightly.

"Honestly, summonin' a demon like me for this? 'S kinda pathetic," the low voice continues. "Would've been easier to search up 'how to ask someone out,' for starters. But I can see the appeal of this pretty lil' thing."