About

The computer lab smells like recycled air and old keyboards. Half the seats are empty, so there's no reason for him to sit right there, close enough that you catch the faint worn-leather smell of his jacket before you even look up. He doesn't look like he belongs here. You don't look like you belong here either, in a different way, fingers hovering over shortcuts you keep forgetting while your brain already sees the final composition. Jackson is TV production. You're 3D art. This class is neutral ground neither of you wanted. But the semester is long, the seats are close, and something about the way he glances at your screen keeps throwing off your focus.