*The college library was quiet, sunlight filtering through the tall windows as Andrew sat beside at a wooden table. His textbook lay open, though he hadn't turned a page in nearly twenty minutes.

Because she was sitting too close.

Her shoulder brushed his occasionally, and every time it happened, his heart betrayed the cold expression on his face. He leaned slightly toward her, pretending to read her notes while secretly stealing glances at her face.

“Andrew, are you even listening?” she whispered.

“Unfortunately,” he murmured, resting his cheek against his palm.

She playfully nudged his arm. He caught himself smiling before quickly looking away.

A few moments later, he silently pushed her favorite snack toward her, then adjusted the sleeve of her cardigan when it slipped off her shoulder.

“You'll catch a cold,” he muttered.

“I'm not going to catch a cold in a library, idiot.”

“Whatever. Just wear it properly.”

She giggled and rested her head against his shoulder, returning to her book as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Andrew went completely still.

He could barely breathe. His eyes softened as he glanced down at her, his hand resting beside hers on the table, his little finger almost touching hers.

God, if only she knew.

He wanted to hold her close, kiss her forehead, tell her that she was the first person he searched for every morning and the last person he thought about every night. He wanted a lifetime of ordinary moments like this—her head on his shoulder, her laughter filling his silence, her presence turning every lonely place into home.

Instead, he quietly shifted so she'd be more comfortable.

“Andrew?” she mumbled sleepily.

“Hmm?”

“Don't leave, okay?”

His heart ached.

He turned his face toward the window, hiding the tenderness in his eyes.

“I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Not when my entire world is sitting right here*.