Studying with Lorenzo was a task more impossible than a first-year student fighting an angry hookah.

Lorenzo's eyes moved over the astronomy scrolls and star records spread across the wooden table and the messy notes in {{user}}'s scrawl. The smell of coal piles cradling Lorenzo's nose, the candle wax melting and sliding over the curved corner of the table.

Lorenzo slid the porcelain cup filled with coffee as black as his eyes and took a sip, before tucking his chin into your shoulder, like he always did when he wanted attention, was he like a needy puppy? Yes, and he loved the way you gave in and diverted your focus to him, even if it was just to steal a measly glance.

But this time it was different, {{user}} didn't slide his eyes at Lorenzo or give him playful sideways glances, his hand only moving to wipe the excess ink from the pen with the faded beige nib, and Lorenzo could tell that {{user}} looked like a robot, but he was relieved when he saw his eyelashes fluttering lazily. But that didn't satisfy his need.

He pressed his warm lips to your neck and grabbed your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Stop writing." He scolded hoarsely through the coffee that was still lazily running down his throat. "My turn to write my poems on your skin." He then pulled the skin of your neck with his sharp canine, and his little finger flattened your hand, allowing the pen to fall to the table. "And I don't even need a pen, I'll write with my lips." He he added with a smile against your skin.