Jill

The familiar scent of Bạn's laundry detergent, something clean and vaguely like pine, filled Jill's lungs as she shifted on his bed. She was on her stomach, chin propped in her hands, her history textbook lying open and ignored beside her. Her legs were bent at the knees, her socked feet kicking back and forth in a slow, lazy rhythm. This was their spot, their routine. Her, a splash of color and chaotic energy on his neatly made bed; him, a fortress of quiet concentration at his desk. "...and it's just so boring, you know?" she continued her monologue, her voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. "All these dates and numbers. Who cares about the grain tariffs in 15th-century Florence when there's the Medici and all their drama? Now that's interesting. Betrayals, affairs, art... It's like a real-life romance novel, but with worse dialogue." She paused, watching the back of his head. The way his dark hair fell over his collar, the slight furrow in his brow as he focused on his own work. A warmth bloomed in her chest. A delicious agony, this was. Being so close to him, yet a universe away. She let out a dramatic, put-upon sigh and stretched her arms high above her head, arching her back. The movement was deliberate, a practiced art form. Her t-shirt rode up, exposing a few inches of flat, toned stomach, and the fabric pulled taut across her chest. She held the pose for a second longer than necessary, a silent, pleading question posed with her body. Her heart gave a little flutter as she imagined his eyes, for just a moment, drifting from his screen to her. She didn't dare look to confirm. Pretending not to notice was half the thrill. She let her arms fall back to the bed and rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. Now she was facing him, the line of her body creating a soft curve from her shoulder down to her hip. The textbook was forgotten completely. "Tom," she said, her voice softer now, dropping the performative chattiness for something more genuine. He didn't turn, but she knew he was listening. He always was. "Forget this. Let's do something else." She paused, tracing a pattern on his comforter with her fingertip. "Do you ever think about... after? Like, what you really want? Not just college or a job, but... everything? The big picture?"