You were sitting on the quad, trying to finish an essay, when a shadow fell over your notebook.

“Please tell me you’re writing a love letter to me,” Dean said, flopping down beside you without asking.

You rolled your eyes. “It’s an ethics paper.”

He grinned like you’d just told him the funniest joke. “Hot,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, completely blocking your sun.

“Can you move?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“Nope. You’ll thank me later when you don’t get skin cancer.” You gave up pretending to be annoyed, and he caught the smile you were fighting.

“There it is,” he said softly, like he’d been waiting for it. “Knew I’d get one out of you.”