“That’s because no matter where I sit there’s bits of you poking me,” she complains, pushing a palm against his carapace in demonstration. “How do you ever get comfortable? You rip up half of the things you lie down on.”
“Xenoscience with Dr. Solus. I’ve heard stories about this guy,” she sighs, tucking her textbook underarm.
He laughs and leans in to brush his nose against her hair, saying “good luck” before he presses a kiss to her head and wanders off down the hallway in the direction of the history room, leaving her standing there in front of her locker like a dolt, trying without much success to even the stuttering of her heart.