“What even is this? I don’t, why are there, you can’t just do,” Sonny couldn’t complete a sentence as he tried to read your notes. While Sonny studied law, you were going for a Master’s in math.
“What’s wrong? Is it my handwriting or the problem itself?” You asked, writing furiously on your notecard while sitting opposite him on the floor of his apartment.
“The problem. How did you get to this point?”
“I leave out a lot of steps because they’re obvious. To me at least.” You replied.
“And what are these drawings?” He asked, pointing to your diagrams.
“It was an example my professor gave us for Catalan numbers.”
“Are they numbers from Catalonia?”
“No. They’re named after some guy. Could you please just quiz me on the formulas? The exam is in two days.”
“I’m sorry. I know it makes sense to you. You’re so smart.” Sonny praised, causing you to blush. “How many possible combinations are there of my compliments, if I can only use 3 per day?”
You laughed. Sonny wasn’t always the best study-buddy, but he always made you feel better.
“Depends, how many compliments do you have in your repertoire?”
“Is infinity an option?”
“Stop it. And no, it’s not.” You reached over and slapped his arm playfully.
You plugged the numbers and your eyes bugged a bit. Even being a mathematician, you were still impressed with how big some numbers could be.
“There are, essentially an infinite number of combinations you could choose. So if you ever say you’ve run out, I’ll know you’re lying.” You replied, pretending to glare at Sonny.
It was Sonny’s turn to laugh.
“Don’t worry, I never will.”
The conversation returned to studying, at least for about 30 minutes. Then Sonny was getting bored.
“[Y/N] pay attention to me. I’m bored.” He pawed at you and gave you the puppy eyes you almost never could resist.
“Sonny please. One more hour.” You refused to look up from your notes, knowing the look he was giving you.
“You need a break. You know, they’ve actually proven that taking study breaks-”
“Okay fine.” You sighed.
Sonny smiled and tossed your notes to the side, pulling you toward him. You spun around and rested your head on his shoulder. Sonny kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you.
“After your exam, a weekend for us. We can stay in, watch movies, bake cookies. Whatever you want to do.” Sonny murmured. You hummed your agreement, eyes closed and relaxed for the first time all week.
You see, I was the scrawny kid way back when. Guys in the neighborhood ―they used to pick on me everyday. The worst was this … this kid, Bobby Bianchi. One day when we were at school, he grabbed me by the hair, he shoved my face through a plate glass window … I was bleeding, I was all cut up. The principal asked what happened, and now I could’ve put an end to it. Right there. All I had to do was say Bobby’s name. But I didn’t. Because I didn’t want Bobby to get into trouble … Nobody ever knew what happened. You know where Bobby is now? He’s in Sing Sing for stabbing some poor sap to death during a bar fight. And I always think, “What if I would’ve said something? What if I just would’ve said something? Maybe … that guy would still be alive.” I missed my shot … and not a day goes by that I don’t regret it.