You and Theo sat side-by-side, the faint hum of hushed whispers around you. You glanced at your test paper, the neat "100/100" at the top corner as satisfying as ever. Beside you, Theo frowned down at his own score—47/100 scrawled messily in red ink.

"Well, someone's a teacher's pet," he muttered, a hint of teasing in his tone, though his eyes didn’t meet yours. He never could look directly at you when he tried to be funny. His face held that usual cool indifference, but the way his hand lingered near yours on the table betrayed a little more.

"Come on, Theo, it's just Binns. You could've gotten higher if you'd tried," you nudged him lightly.

"Right. Or maybe you’re doing something to him," he shot back, his voice low and dry. "There's no way anyone could find his classes that interesting."

It was a joke, of course, but his eyes flicked toward you with a flicker of something almost uncertain. Theo had never been good with words, especially when it came to his feelings for you.