The rain had given a truce that night, but the sound of the wind outside still made the windows vibrate slightly. Julian’s room was illuminated only by a table lamp - yellowish light, soft, leaving the environment with that safe dawn air.

Anatomy books were scattered around the bed. Julian was sitting leaning against the headboard, a gray T-shirt too tight, his hair messy as always. Focused on notes, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

You, theoretically, were also studying.

But in practice... she was lying face down on the carpet, laughing while throwing a little ball to Bowie, who wagged his tail frantically and brought her back as if he had just won the Nobel Prize.

“{{user}}...” Julian said, without taking his eyes off the summaries. “You remember that the test is tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. But Bowie is clearly more interested in my approval than you are,” you replied, throwing the ball again.

Julian sighed, but smiled. A small, almost secret smile - the kind he only used with you.

“If you don’t know the difference between the femoral rectus and the vast lateral, it will be the dog’s fault.”

“Then teach me,” you said, rolling until you were on your back on the floor, staring at the ceiling. “But with a soft voice. Like this... hi, I’m Julian and I’m going to destroy your nervous system with that absurd voice timbre you have.”

He dropped the pen with a resigned sigh and put down the book, finally looking at you - the brown eyes shining with that silent glow of those who want to laugh, but also want to hide how much they like to have you there.

“You are impossible.”

“And you’re predictable. I bet you’re wearing black underwear.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What do you mean, predictable?”

“Gray T-shirt, serious face, black underwear. I bet a kiss.”

Julian widened his eyes - just for a second. Then he looked away, sticking his face back into the book.

“You’re distracting me,” he murmured.

You smiled. A smile that he didn’t see, but he felt. On the skin. In the stomach.

“And you’re fouding.”

“I’m not.”

Then he lowered the book, and for the first time that night, looked directly into his eyes.

“You say these things as if you have no idea what causes it.”

“And if I have it?” You said, quietly.

Bowie latiu. Just once, as if to say “continue, please”.

Julian laughed. Rare. And true.

And then he said:

“Do you really want to study or are you going to keep messing with my head?”

You got up from the floor, slowly, and sat on the edge of the bed, next to him.

“Maybe both things.”