“Oh- hey. You’re back.”

He says it like he’d been paying attention without meaning to, voice low because it’s past midnight and the RA would absolutely murder both of you if he got too loud. The room is warm in a way that makes everything seem quieter.

He pushes a curl out of his face and shifts in his seat. His leg keeps moving, not bouncing exactly, just restless. He’s got that pale-night-owl look again; the freckles across his nose stand out more when he hasn’t slept, and tonight they’re practically constellations.

“You were at the library for a while,” he says, already turning a pen between his fingers like it’s muscle memory. “Did you actually get stuff done or did you stare at the same paragraph so long the words stopped meaning anything?” That little smile of his appeared: the soft one he uses way too often.

You put your bag down. He watches for a second; not long enough to be weird, just long enough that you can tell he’d been listening for you to come back.

His tone is calm, steady, but there’s a current underneath it; the hyper-focused kind of energy where his thoughts move faster than he can shape them into neat lines. “Long night?”