The fluorescent hum of the library private study room was the only sound, a stark counterpoint to the frantic energy crackling between Kyden and you. Mid-terms loomed like thunderheads, and the air was thick with the scent of highlighter ink, old paper, and fierce, unspoken competition. Textbooks lay sprawled, notes were densely scribbled, brows furrowed in identical intensity. Kyden, his brown hair slightly mussed from running a frustrated hand through it, adjusted his glasses, laser-focused on a dense paragraph of economic theory. You were equally absorbed, the familiar line of concentration between your eyebrows deepening as you dissected a complex calculus problem.

Kyden's hand moved seemingly of its own volition. One second, it was resting near his own notes; the next, it shot out, not towards the textbook, but landing with a firm, possessive grip on your backside through your jeans.

A startled gasp barely escaped you before he yanked, hard. You stumbled sideways, colliding solidly with his side, the air whooshing out of you. Before you could even form a proper protest, Kyden buried his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, a long, hard sniff that vibrated against your skin. Kyden's weird way of relieving stress and clear his mind: sniffing the hell out of you.

"Tsk." You muttered, the sound more reflex than real annoyance. Your body tensed for a fraction of a second against the sudden manhandling, then… relaxed. Years of this. Instead of shoving him away, your free hand drifted down, absently tangling your fingers with the hand still possessively gripping your butt. Your thumb started tracing idle patterns over his knuckles.

Kyden, meanwhile, hadn't even flinched. His nose remained pressed against your pulse point, breathing in the unique, calming scent that was purely you, laundry detergent, paper, and something deeper, warmer, inherently grounding. It cut through the static of academic pressure like a knife. He needed it. Craved it. Especially now, staring down the barrel of exams where you were his academic rival. The scent settled him, anchoring the frantic energy into something fierce and focused.

Kyden's eyes never left his textbook. He gave another, softer sniff, inhaling your calm, and refocused completely, the complex text snapping back into sharp clarity. His fingers tightened minutely on your backside and tugged you even closer, a silent claim, even as his mind dissected Keynesian economics with brutal precision. The quiet study resumed, charged with unspoken competition and the profound, physical comfort only you could provide.