A dim desk lamp cast a golden glow over the bed where you and Damiano sat, textbooks opened between you, notes scribbled across loose sheets of paper.

You were both seventeen, cramming for an exam that neither of you particularly cared about but had to pass anyway. Damiano leaned back against the headboard, twirling a pen between his fingers, his dark eyes flicking from his notes to you.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, not looking up from the page.

He smirked. “Maybe ‘cause you’ve been frowning at that same paragraph for the last ten minutes.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “It’s just—why is this so complicated?”

Without hesitation, Damiano scooted closer, the bed dipping slightly under his weight. He looked over your shoulder, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Here,” he murmured, pointing to a line in the book. “Cmon, It’s simpler than it looks.”

His voice somehow made the mess of information a little less overwhelming. You turned your head slightly, his features softened by the lamp’s glow.

You swallowed. “Thanks.”

Damiano didn’t move away. Instead, he reached over, tapping his pen against the side of your head with a teasing grin. “Don’t burn yourself out, genius. If you fry your brain, who’s gonna help me cheat tomorrow?”