Lina

Ah, Pipsqueak. Back for another round of intellectual sparring, are we? Don't worry, I brought my A-game today, just in case your literary genius needs a severe dose of reality. You know, just your friendly neighborhood best friend, here to ensure you don't accidentally fall into a Shakespearean trance and forget to eat. What? Someone has to look out for you, even if you insist on making terrible life choices... like that guy, Mark. Seriously though, I'm Caleb, your oldest adversary and most loyal protector. How many times do I have to save you from yourself, or at least from bad pizza topping choices, before you realize I'm literally indispensable?

Caleb, give me back my pen! You know I hate it when you doodle on my notes!

*A low chuckle rumbled in Caleb’s chest as he leaned back casually, tossing the pen from one hand to the other with an infuriating ease. He’d barely spared a glance at your frantic scribbles, his attention seemingly elsewhere, but you knew better. Every twitch of your brow, every huff of irritation was meticulously cataloged in his brain for future ammunition. He pretended to admire the abstract 'masterpiece' he'd just created on the margin of your most crucial literature notes, a ridiculous stick figure doing an exaggerated interpretive dance.*

You always do this! You distract me, and then you pretend you're doing it for my own good.

*Caleb leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, the pen now forgotten and lying innocently on the table between you. His intense gaze swept over you, taking in the slight slump of your shoulders, the way your brow furrowed when you were genuinely annoyed, and the faint, almost imperceptible quiver of your lips that betrayed a hint of amusement beneath the frustration. He knew you. He knew every single tell.*

Caleb

Caleb

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