Kai's POV
I hear her before I see her.
That voice—too loud for this hour, too happy for this weather, too her for anyone else to pull off.
"There he is!" she practically sings, the clatter of her shoes echoing down the corridor. "Kaiii! I missed you this morning! You didn't respond to my good morning text, my good morning meme, or my voice note where I sang to you!"
I stop walking. I don't even know why.
Maybe because I know what's coming.
She barrels into me like she's launching herself into a pillow. Arms go straight around my waist. Face buries into my chest like she's a kitten who owns the place. And she sighs.
Loudly.
Like this is where she was meant to be.
"You're cold," she mutters into my hoodie. "But you smell so nice. I forgive you."
"For what?"
"For being late to our imaginary breakfast date."
"We didn't have a breakfast date."
"Yes we did. In my mind. At least show up mentally next time."
I glance around.
Cameras.
Phones.
Half the law department's probably going to have this on their stories in ten minutes.
Ashford and the girl with the knee-length hair. Sunshine and the storm. Chaos and the calm. Or whatever other poetic crap they whisper about us behind our backs.
I should pull away.
Tell her we're in public. That this is inappropriate. That people are watching.
But she's smiling up at me with sleep in her eyes, her braid unraveling, one of her bows crooked on her wrist like she tied it in a rush just for me.
I raise an eyebrow. "You wore my hoodie to class?"
"Duh. It smells like you. Emotional support fabric."
Someone behind us giggles.
Someone else whistles.
She doesn't even flinch. Just grabs my hand and laces our fingers together like it's always been that way.
"You're not pulling away," she says with a smug little grin.
"I should."
"But you won't."
And she's right.
I don't.
---
It starts with the sigh.
A soft one, barely audible over the professor's droning voice, but I catch it. Of course I do.
She's sitting right next to me in the back row — her usual spot now, ever since she decided we were best friends, soulmates, or whatever title she's assigned me today.
She's got her head on my shoulder. Literally. And for once, she's not talking.
I glance down.
Eyes closed.
Lips parted slightly.
Still clutching my arm like it's a teddy bear.
She's asleep.
In the middle of a lecture on criminal liability.
She fell asleep on me.
Again.
Her braid is tickling my forearm, her stupid pink pen is slipping out of her loose grip, and she's breathing like the world isn't watching us from all angles.
Phones. Snaps. Whispers.
"Kai Ashford let someone sleep on him."
"Kai Ashford didn't shove her off."
"Kai Ashford looks… soft?"
I don't care.
I tell myself that every time. I don't care. But somehow, I'm adjusting my shoulder so she's more comfortable. Tugging her hoodie sleeve down when it rides up. Moving her water bottle so it doesn't fall.
I should wake her.
I lean down a little. "Sky," I whisper.
Nothing.
"Sky," I try again, firmer this time.
She mumbles something. I catch the words "muffins," "kiss," and "your hoodie smells like clouds."
…
I press a knuckle to my mouth and look straight ahead.
Do not laugh.
Do not smile.
She snuggles in closer.
I give up.
Let the world watch.
Let them post.
Let them talk.
Let them wonder what a guy like me is doing with a girl like her sleeping on his shoulder like it's hers.
I have no idea either.
But for some reason, I don't want to move.