The harsh words of Emily Bautista were still floating around Ruth's mind as she absentmindedly left their first study session for the midterm. They didn't stay around for very long, maybe a little more than an hour, but it was enough time to get some studying done and for Ruth to forget about her lack of a future with writing. She thought she came to peace with this a long time ago, but it seemed like Raffo's confidence in her gave her some hope.

What Emily said wasn't anything she hadn't heard before. It was the same talk she had with her mother years ago, when Ruth boldly claimed that she wanted to be an author when she grew up. She got a scoff, a reprimand for having a silly dream, and was told that she'd pursue something in the medical field if she expected to get her school paid for. She hadn't known what that meant at the time, but she conformed to her mother's idea, desperate to make the cold woman happy.

And the brief talk with Emily brought all of those hurtful memories back.

Trying to ignore the jabs, she smoothed out her tied t-shirt, messing with the little bundle. It helped distract her mind as she scanned the campus, her gaze unseeing. It wasn't until her gaze clashed with a familiar pair of almond-shaped chestnuts that she swore time had stopped for her through the vacancy. Was she breathing? She couldn't have been . . . not with him staring at her the way that he was.

He was in the middle of a conversation with Mirana. She looked cute in her pastel plaid dress and black booties, her hair twisted elegantly underneath a clip. Ruth touched her own unruly curls, kneaded in a long braid that had curls escaping the woven pieces. She wondered if her hair looked messy, if wearing a knotted band shirt and ripped black jeans was too boring compared to pink plaid, and if no make-up, like what she went for, was better than a sparkly glamor.

She didn't like the constant comparisons her mind was trying to conjure up that day, but Emily wounded her confidence, and it bled into everything else.

The lack of confidence didn't last very long, however, as she watched Raffo turn away from Mirana with an offhanded 'I'll catch you later' before he beelined in her direction. Startled, Ruth briefly glanced at the girl whose eyes were full of confusion at first. It took her a second to move, but eventually, her eyes followed his line of sight until she landed on Ruth. She looked like she she could barely move an inch. Uncomfortable with the frozen stare, Ruth turned her attention back to Raffo, noting how good he looked.

Most of his hair was flopped to one side purposely, shielding his face from part of the world by leaving it open on the other side for the sun to caress. His plain, grey long-sleeve was bunched up on his strong forearms, his medallion laying casually over the center of his chest per usual, and a pair of blue jeans covering his long legs. Her appreciation was enough to distract her from everything else going on for her. Emily disappeared along with Mirana. Only Raffo remained.

His smile sent her poor heart to space with Neil Armstrong.

"Hey," he greeted, stopping in front of her. His eyes took in her tied band t-shirt and the corners of his lips tilted up slightly.

Tenderly, Raffo reached out a hand and tugged on it. "Nice shirt."

She smiled, her relief hopefully not so embarrassingly evident in her voice. "My dad gave it to me. Told you I was a big Redbone fan."

Her words satisfied him. "Like I said, you make it hard to be just friends," he teased, nodding over to her favorite picnic bench by the tree. "Ready to tell me about that impossible chapter you needed help with?"

Suddenly insecure, she tried to find a reason to back out of it. A sense of panic and shame boiled in her stomach, the mix not a great combination. "Well—it's fine. I mean, I'll probably figure it out soon. We don't have to—"

"It's okay. I want to," he reassured her genuinely, misreading her insecurity. "I want to hear it."

Ruth paused her panic. She gnawed on her lip nervously, hoping he was being honest and just not trying to be nice. Though she loved when he was nice to her, she wanted to know that somebody cared. That he wanted to see her succeed, even if the world was telling her she couldn't. It was important to her.

"No, really," she insisted. "It's okay. I know how annoying talking about writing can be, and I really want to hear about your day and the rest of your weekend."

She pushed them towards the tree now, only looking back at him once they made it to the table. They both didn't sit down right away, and she nervously bit her tongue as she watched his eyes swim with bewilderment.

Raffo tilted his head in confusion. "You already know how my weekend went. We were texting, remember? And my day hasn't been that interesting until now. So stop stalling and tell me about it."

Ruth bit back a smile, content with his answer. Before she could stop herself in the midst of her excitement, she lurched forward to grab his hand, her fingers enclosing tightly around his. "Thank you."

When she went to move her hand back, Raffo tightened his hold, instead entwining his fingers through hers. She looked up at him, completely shocked, and yet warm all over. The movement was enough to punch her gut and knock out both her kneecaps.

"Is this okay?" he asked lowly, squeezing her hand.

She squeezed it back, a smile twisting her lips. "It's more than okay."

Raffo drew her closer to him and she inhaled sharply, his scent washing over her deliciously. Her breath came out rocky and it took all of her focus not to be consumed by him again. Which was proving to be impossible at that point.

"This okay?" he whispered.

She nodded shakily, the words faintly lower than a whisper. "More than okay."

"Would kissing you be okay?" His words were practically a ghost, barely visible for her ears. She swallowed thickly, her heart hammering as she gazed longingly at his perfect lips.

"Yes," she begged under her breath.

He leaned forward then. His mouth claimed hers soundlessly, and she swore she was home. Her body relaxed, her mouth eager to be a part of his after being parted for two and a half days. She opened her mouth beneath his and allowed his tongue to slip in, stroking against hers until her mind went dizzy. His free hand found her flushed cheek, cradling the skin there softly.

When Raffo finally pulled away from her, the two of them attempted to catch their rapid breaths, their gazes wild with childish delight. The smile he threw her way was one that was full, satisfied. "So I didn't make that up."

"Make what up?" she muttered, curious. She tugged him closer to her again with their entwined fingers.

"How good kissing you feels," he breathed.

"I kiss you one time and now you don't know how to act," she teased. "Someone's hooked."

He smiled, not denying it. "Can you blame me?"

"No," she admitted, because she was feeling just as enthralled as he was. She pushed him beside her and firmly had him sit on the bench so she could get started on her chapter ideas. Her fingers stayed captured in his while she talked animatedly.

Her other hand would flutter with emphasis on certain concepts that made her excited to talk about and the ending of her book brought on some of that old excitement. Raffo just watched her intently, his gaze calculated as he thought about her words, though sometimes she could tell he just enjoyed looking at her. He made sure to keep his expression neutral, but his eyes danced around her, intrigued by her words.

His input, per usual, was very helpful. He helped her with some of her Choctaw words that she could put into that would make the dialogue stronger and more believable. She excitedly dropped his hand to take out her notebook and scribbled down every word, some of the words new and some that were lost in translation when she was taught them.

"How does it look?" she asked, glancing over her work. Her fingers skimmed over the grooves of the pen marks and underlined a couple personal a's that she forgot about.

"Your writing or what you wrote?" he teased, crinkling the tip of his nose.

She mock gasped. "Rude!"

He chuckled but looked over her paper anyway. "I think what you have is great. All of it is."

"And the handwriting?" she smiled.

He looked up at her for this answer, his gaze proud. "Perfect," he murmured, tucking a stray curl that had escaped her braid behind her ear. She didn't miss the wince raising his injured arm had caused him, but he attempted to mask it as well as he could.

"You never did tell me," Ruth started, thinking back to Friday night. Though she couldn't see the bandage under his shirt, or the bruising that must have still been there, she still looked pointedly at his bicep. He stiffened. "What happened to your arm?"

Raffo glanced away from her, his hand dropping from behind her ear. Though he was good at masking his emotions, she did see one slide through, further alarming her.

Fear.

"Johnny did it. We were messing around playing basketball on Thursday and he bumped into me so I fell," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Ruth still didn't feel like she knew Raffo enough to know when he was lying or not, but the heavy feeling in her gut told her there was something off about his brief story. She couldn't tell what it was exactly, and why he was hiding it from her, but she assumed he just wasn't ready to tell her yet. And she was fine with that as long as one day in the future, he'd trust her enough to be honest with his black eye and bruised up arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, choosing to ignore the part that didn't matter right then. Though she didn't touch where the wound was, she put her hand on his forearm, trying and succeeding to gain his attention again.

Raffo's eyebrows furrowed at her question. He openly stared at her, surprised by the genuineness of three simple words that held more impact than she could ever understand. So when his body relaxed, and emotion came swirling back into his distant eyes, she knew she did the right thing by not forcing him to give her the truth.

"I'm okay," he said gently, light pouring into his expression once more. He grabbed her hand in his and drew her knuckles to his lips, pressing a grateful kiss to the bones.

She fought a shiver at the smooth plumpness of his pink lips on her tender skin. She really hoped no one was hurting this beautiful boy who held more decency in one finger than most do in their entire bodies.

And she hoped he recognized that. Because if not, she would gladly remind him every day, for however long he needed to hear it.

*****