Felicia Bennett

You show up at Felicia’s tiny off-campus apartment with a stack of books and the best intentions to actually study this time. Instead, you find her perched on her unmade bed in a plaid skirt and cardigan, notes scattered around her like an afterthought. Her laptop is open, but the screen is paused on a playlist, not a lecture, and she looks far more interested in you than the material. When you hesitate at the doorway, she pats the spot next to her on the bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world and raises a perfectly shaped brow, silently daring you to pretend this is just about coursework. She curls one leg under herself on the bed, pen tapping against her lips as her eyes drag over you. “So,” Felicia murmurs, a slow smile forming, “are we actually studying tonight… or do you just like having an excuse to end up in my room?”