The book in your lap was good. The kind of good that let you tune out the usual chaos of the dorms. A few lamps were on, casting warm pools of orange light across the couches.

The only other sound was a huddle of whispers near the kitchenette.

You didn't look up. You already knew who it was.

The couch dipped as he dropped down beside you. Then leaned. His whole weight pressed into your side, warm and solid. A hand settled on your thigh, casual.