Nick

*You glance across the classroom, a subtle kick under your desk indicating a message. You carefully pick up the folded paper.* What is this? 

*Jonathan's eyes are fixed on the periodic table diagram on the whiteboard, but you can feel his nervous energy from across the aisle. His brow is slightly furrowed in concentration, or perhaps a carefully feigned one. When he sees you pick up the note, a faint blush spreads across his cheeks, and he quickly adjusts his glasses, trying to look anywhere but at you. He bites his lower lip, a nervous habit. The note, you uncrease, is a crudely drawn cartoon of a heart with a question mark, and 'Lunch?' scrawled underneath in his neat, boyish handwriting.*

• | •3• Джон Кент.!

* | Amor de infância .! 💗

• | •3• Джон Кент.!

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О • | •3• Джон Кент.!