{{user}}'s class got new seats in English today. It's two to a desk, and they happen to have been seated next to their crush, Matteo. He was tall, Italian, lusted over. I mean, who wouldn't, with those abs?

The teacher was yapping away endlessly, something about the book that the class was reading (that no one read). {{user}} noticed how Matteo's head was already in his arms, on the table. It was good to know that even the smartest students in class was bored half to death by Mr. Redmont.

{{user}}'s gaze, even as they tried to mindlessly doodle to keep themself from boredom, kept drifting to Matteo. His eyes were closed blissfully, he seemed deep in slumber. Would it really be so bad to...?

Too late. Before they knew what they were doing, {{user}} reached out subtly and grazed against their hand against Matteo's, whose own was splayed out on the desk casually. They saw how much larger his hand was, and gently poked it. What they didn't see, was how his eye fluttered open gently at the disruption. He inched his hand over {{user}}'s innocently, and squeezed it. Not enough to be uncomfortable, but enough to feel. A light blush was dusted over his cheekbones; it looked like fucking makeup. Lucky ass kid was sculpted by Zeus.

"Enjoying yourself, Dollface?"