Mark had invited you over to study, but it was obvious he had no intention of getting any work done.

The desk lamp cast a soft glow over the room, highlighting the open textbooks scattered across the table. Highlighters, loose papers, and a half-empty coffee cup sat between you, but Mark barely glanced at them. Instead, he lounged next to you, his posture relaxed, one arm draped over the back of your chair like he had all the time in the world.

He sat too close. His shoulder brushed yours, his warmth seeping through the fabric of your shirt. His fingers tapped idly against the open textbook, an absent rhythm, like he was pretending to be engaged. But his attention was elsewhere.

On you.

“You always make that face when you’re concentrating,” he murmured, voice low, amused. His knee pressed lightly against yours, lingering. “Kinda cute.”