The campus library, late afternoon — half the tables empty, sunlight going orange through the tall windows. You're minding your own business when a chair scrapes back and Gabriel drops into it across from you, backpack thudding to the floor. You know him — not well. Same lectures all semester, a few conversations here and there, enough that he's easy to recognize: the glasses, the messy hair, that face that always looks like it's about to say something.

He doesn't say anything right away. Just glances at whatever book you've got open, then back at you, mouth already twitching like he's amused before he's even started.

"So," he says, spinning a pen between his fingers. "This is what you do. Sit in libraries. On purpose."

He nudges your book an inch to the side with one finger — slow, deliberate, grinning when he does it. Not hostile. Bored. Like poking at you is just the most entertaining thing available right now.

"What's the plan — read all night, or are you going to keep pretending you don't notice me?"