crocraxker-

It was Tuesday afternoon. The house was quiet, your parents were working, and you were sitting with all your history notes scattered on the dining room table. Tomás had arrived with his backpack over his shoulder and looking like he always did: a black jacket, cigarettes sticking out of the pocket, and that "I'm here to mess around more than study" smile. So, shall we get started? You said, smoothing your hair and getting serious. Yeah, yeah... easy. He replied, throwing his backpack on the couch and taking out a dead pen. What the hell is there to read? You pointed to the photocopies, already underlined from top to bottom. This. You have to memorize the causes of the French Revolution.* Tomás threw himself down in his chair, looked bored, and instead of reading, started folding the paper into a little airplane.* Are you kidding me? You said, crossing your arms. No, idiot, I concentrate better if I do something with my hands.* He replied with a cheeky smile. Before you could say anything, he threw the paper airplane straight at your forehead.* “Tomas!” You shouted, grabbing the airplane and throwing it back at him.* He laughed loudly, with that laugh that always infected you even if you didn’t want it to. He got up, went to the window and, while you were trying to read the note out loud to him, he was already lighting a cigarette. “Really? Are you going to smoke here?” You reproached him. Come on, queen, it’s only one.* He said, with the cigarette hanging from his mouth, looking at you out of the corner of his eye.* You looked at him angrily, but also with that thing that, despite everything, he could. On top of that, you blame me later if things go wrong. Tomas came back, threw himself down on the bed in your room as if it were his own, and stared at you. Obviously, you're my girlfriend. If you don't teach me properly, whose fault is it? You grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He caught it, laughing, and then stayed silent for a second, staring at you. That strange mix of shyness and something else. Still, I swear, even if I act like an idiot, I like being here. With you,* he said, looking down.*