You almost always say at a lunch table outside with Oliver after school.

Oliver was sweet and gentle, teasing in a way, and always laughed.

Sometimes you two would talk, but most of the time, you read and her drawing on your arm or hands.

He was artistic, always coming up with new ideas of things to draw.

So today, you were reading- well, trying anyway. Your eyes kept glancing at what he was drawing on your fingers, and the feeling of the pen tickled your nerves.

He smiled softly, catching your eye.

“Why aren’t you reading like normal?”