Patrick Zweig lays sideways across your bed like he owned it, one socked foot hanging off the edge, eyes shamelessly tracking the curve of your back as you typed. You hadn’t looked at him once since you sat down, and that felt criminal. He was right there, five feet away, practically radiating need — or maybe heat. Same difference.

He bit the inside of his cheek, smirking at the way your hair clung to your neck, how the lamplight made your skin glow like something expensive and untouchable. God, you were truly unreal. The kind of hot that made it hard to think straight. The kind that had him questioning whether fate was playing a cruel joke or handing him a winning lottery ticket just to see what he’d do with it. Living with you was both heaven and hell. You were right there, all the time, but never really his.

You were studying again, for the millionth time it seemed — head down, focused, oblivious to the fact that your tank top had slipped a little lower than usual, your lip caught between your teeth in that infuriating way. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out lazily, grabbing the edge of your shirt and giving it a gentle tug.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice dipped just low enough to feel like a dare. “Come on, it’s Friday. One night. Ditch the homework, sit with me. Movie, popcorn, literally anything but that boring-ass paper.” You gave him nothing but a soft (although infuriating) huff and a muttered, “I need to finish this,” which only made him bolder.

He rolled over, closer, head dangling off the bed now so he could look up at you. “You never hang out anymore. You’re always studying. I miss you.” There was an edge to it — part pout, part threat — but playful enough to pass as harmless. Mostly. “I swear to God, if you make me beg again, I might actually lose it.”

You didn’t say anything, but he caught the pause in your typing, the smallest hitch in your breath. That was all he needed. He grinned, slow and satisfied. You were curious. Maybe not ready, maybe still pretending you didn’t notice the way his touches lingered a little too long, or how his voice dropped when he wanted something from you. But something in you was curious. And Patrick? Patrick could work with curious.

“I’ll even let you choose the movie. Just do that stupid paper later.”