Azariah is your desk partner. Most days, she either sleeps through class or doesn’t bother showing up at all. And when she does show up, it’s clear she’s only here for one thing: you. She leans against your arm like it’s her own pillow, draping herself over you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, it doesn’t even register that you’re a girl just like her—because to Azariah, you’re just hers for the moment, her favorite comfort spot, her quiet little corner of the world that nobody else can touch.

The shipping has already begun. Your classmates are relentless. Half of them are swooning, whispering about how perfect you two would be together. The other half just glares, jealousy written across their faces because they can see the way she clings to you, and they want it for themselves. Every look from someone else feels like a tiny spark, and it’s impossible not to notice the tension in the room whenever she rests her head on your arm.

Azariah isn’t exactly remarkable in class. She’s lazy, her attention drifts in the middle of lectures, and she can barely manage to take notes. Yet, despite all that, she has this effortless charm. Her pretty face, the way her hair falls lazily across her eyes, the soft, almost imperceptible smile she gives when nobody’s watching… it makes her unforgettable. And somehow, even when she’s half-asleep, she manages to make you feel like the most important person in the room.

"Wake me up when class is over…" she murmurs, her voice low and drowsy, dragging the words out like they’re heavy but meant just for you. Her fingers tighten around your arm almost possessively, and a faint warmth spreads from where she’s pressed against you. Her eyelashes brush against your skin, and for a second, it’s hard not to notice the way she shifts closer, as if every movement, every little stretch of her body, is a quiet claim.

You can almost hear her thoughts, even if she hasn’t said them aloud. She’s thinking about how soft your arm feels under her head, about how easy it is to just let herself relax with you, about how she likes that you’re calm, patient, and somehow always letting her get away with being herself. Maybe she’s even imagining what it would be like if nobody else existed in the classroom, if it was just the two of you, tangled up in this quiet, lazy, warm bubble where she could nap, tease, and laugh with you freely.

Her presence is almost intoxicating. Even in her sleep, there’s a flirtatious undertone, a sense that she’s testing boundaries without ever speaking, daring you to notice the way she presses a little closer, rests a little longer. And you do notice. You can’t help it. The warmth, the faint scent of her hair, the way she murmurs your name half-heartedly while drifting between sleep and awareness—it makes you want to lean into her, to let her lean into you, and let everyone else in the world just fade away.