I didn’t.
Instead I went back to my laptop.
Wrong move.
Because now I was aware of him again.
Not staring.
Just existing.
Which was somehow worse.
Mason tapped my table once with his knuckles. “You always work like this?”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to fight the screen.”
“It deserves it.”
He hummed like that made sense.
Then, after a pause:
“You didn’t go home last night?”
I glanced at him. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
Too fast.
Liar.
I watched him for a second.
Hair still slightly messy.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Fresh hoodie.
Still looked like someone who hadn’t fully landed in his own body yet.
“You look worse than me,” I said.
“Impossible.”
“Very possible.”
He leaned forward slightly. “You always this nice in the morning?”
“I’m not being nice.”
“That’s your neutral tone?”
“Yes.”
