I don't watch the show, so if anything is inaccurate, oops. lol. _(ツ)/

And this might be poorly written and hella (hella) cheesy and gross but whatever

"I don't understand what I'm doing, Char." Henry groaned, pushing his chewed-up pencil and math notebook onto her lap as he slouched down against the back cushion of the couch, proceeding to cross his arms in a petulant manner. At the sudden movement, a wavy strand of blond hair fell in front of the tips of his eyelashes, irking him in the slightest degree. He huffed the strand out of his vision. Usually his hair was neatly gelled back like he'd prefer, but since he was g̶r̶o̶u̶n̶d̶e̶d̶ restricted (it sounded less juvenile) from leaving the house, he had no reason to pamper it.

It was Saturday, and upon his mother's order, he wasn't to leave the house until he finished his studies. (God, he felt like a child.) Apparently his mother received an email from his teacher voicing her (false) concern over his failing math grade (Mrs. Stafford never liked him, and the feeling was eminently mutual). Although most would think otherwise, he wasn't failing the class because the lessons were too difficult for him to comprehend. Rather, it was largely due to his impromptu nap sessions during the lectures, and, as a result, he was missing the material he should know for the assignments and tests.

Why the naps? Well, maybe he had been too busy this past month saving a multitude of lives to have time for a decent rest. Crime had been at its peak lately, and he (nor Ray) could not catch a break. You're welcome, Swellview! (He should get paid for this.) But, of course, he couldn't reveal this to his mother, and to appease her, he had to settle for a tutor:

Charlotte, i.e., his girlfriend.

Which wasn't the best idea considering the amount of times she would distract him from work. Alright, it was probably the other way around, but could you blame him? Charlotte was so . . . Charlotte. Her entire existence practically implored him to notice her, to bug her; her presence seemed to demand his attention, as if she were a burst of light in a cave of absolute darkness—his eyes would follow her and he couldn't help but feel inextricably drawn to her. And now that they were together, he felt this gravitation intensify whenever she was next to him, and he had this constant, irrepressible desire to wrap her in his arms and cuddle, as silly as that sounded.

Charlotte cringed as she reluctantly picked up his pencil, bite marks blemishing it. "Okay." She nodded lightly, eyeing it weirdly. She turned to face him. "Let's start with the basics, refresh your memory a bit." She smiled, relieving his slight pout. It was the casual one that ignited a warm, fluttery sensation within him, the kind that made his heart skip a beat. She twirled the pencil around her fingers and went on and on about variables and bivariate data and honestly, he wasn't paying attention to any of it.

Not when her curly dark hair was up in a bun and her shorts were riding up too high and her exposed legs were a bit . . . distracting, to say the least. He subtly bit his bottom lip, cheeks lightly tinged red. (Why, why did she have to look so cute today?)

Feeling a little touch starved, his hand discreetly met with her free one as she rambled, and he intertwined their fingers, loving how perfectly they fit together. Like them. (It was an admittedly saccharine thought but completely genuine.) A small smile on his face, his thumb slowly drew circles on the back of her hand, observing how his pale tone juxtaposed her darker one and how his size enveloped the dainty thing.

"—Which is contingent on—Are you even listening to me?" She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing at their clasped hands for a hot second but not questioning it.

Sitting up straight, Henry looked up and absentmindedly hummed in response, now focusing on her mouth instead, still unaware of what she was talking about. Was she wearing a little gloss? Or was it simply chapstick? Whatever it was, it made her lips look really nice. (Had he lathered enough lip balm himself?)

It wasn't that he didn't want to pay attention to the content of her words, Charlotte just happened to be way more endearing than statistics. Or anything else, really. (See?! She's distracting!)

Charlotte scribbled some words onto the paper. "Looking through your past assignments, I've broken down the areas you've been struggling with into three parts." She showed him the paper, pointing at the three bullets. She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with merriment. "What do you want to do first? I'm down for whatever."

A playful, knowing grin slowly crept onto his face, and he pretended to think, tilting his head to the side. He then swooped down to her eye level, catching her by surprise. "You," Henry teased, brushing their noses together, eyes bright.

She lightly pushed him away, scrunching her face, a smile threatening to break through her (pretty) features. "That was unbearably corny."

He chuckled, advancing towards her once more, this time landing a small peck on her lips.

Although she tried to suppress it, the corners of her mouth lifted. "As much as I like this, for your own good, you need to focus, Hen."

Being his usual stubborn self, he ignored her, picking up the books from her lap and moving them over to the coffee table in front of them. Wearing a mischievous look on his face, he leaned even closer to her, burying his nose in her neck. "And what if I don't want to?" he murmured, purposefully planting a kiss there, knowing its effect. He noticed her heartbeat quickening. Getting in the mood, his hand snaked around her thigh and brought her leg around his waist, using his other arm to pull her closer from the low of her back.

"Then maybe . . . we can . . . take a short break?" She struggled to talk as he began to slowly trail kisses down her neck, messing with her thought process and coaxing her to gradually lie down on the couch.

He smiled against her skin. "I've been waiting for you to say that."

Happy belated Valentine's Day!