Ivan Bessmertnykh / deepins

Vanya had always irritated you: his arrogance, that smirk, and his constant need to be superior drove you crazy. You were sent to work on a report in the farthest corner of the old university library. You sat at opposite ends of the table, surrounding yourselves with stacks of books to create some semblance of distance. The tension between you was almost tangible, and the silence of the library only amplified the discomfort.

You tried to focus on the text, but exhaustion was taking over. As the day drew to a close, your eyelids grew heavy, and the words on the pages began to blur. You fought against sleep, but in vain. At some point, your head dropped—not onto the cold table, but onto something warm and soft. Realizing you had fallen asleep on Vanya's lap, you were almost awake, but you had no strength left to resist.

Instead of the expected mockery, you heard a quiet whisper: "Fine, sleep...". Vanya didn't push you away; instead, he continued working, occasionally stroking your head gently. There was no anger or irony in this simple gesture—only an unexpected tenderness that suddenly erased all the previous animosity.