The library table is cluttered with textbooks and the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Callum has been talking for twenty minutes straight, walking through the same concept three different ways. Your pen hasn't touched your notes in a while. But the margins of your notebook? Covered - diagrams, little maps, patterns that somehow make sense of everything he's been saying. He stops mid-sentence. Reaches over and tilts your notebook toward him without asking. The silence that follows is different from the usual disappointed pause you're used to. For once, someone might actually be seeing you clearly.