rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

h. harvard hottie + studying

"hayden...?"

he barely turns his head, committed to reading the last half of this page. "baby," he returns, lengthening the a sound to mimic your flirty greeting.

a solid object thuds by the corner of his textbook, drawing a smirk from him. he gives the bright red straw and the thick, caramel-colored liquid a once-over.

flicking at the thick clear plastic, he grins. "is this why you were being so loud in the kitchen?" he bought you that mini blender for your birthday a few months ago.

"sorry."

now, hayden turns, softening at the sad look you bestow upon the second milkshake clutched between your hands. "don't be sorry." three tugs on your harvard-red sweater and you gift him with a shy kiss. "mmm."

"stop," you whine, though you let him taste you again.

"chocolate... banana?" he pretends to be unsure, though he saw you return home with a yellow bunch of fruit a few hours ago, back when the sunlight had still brightened the hallway and he could watch you through his open door.

you smile. "yours is coffee." you mix the milkshake on the desk, trying to distribute the parts that have already melted.

"thank you, baby."

you sip a little, then keep your straw between your teeth as you ask, "can i stay here while you study?"

he pats your hip. "as long as you're quiet, i gotta concentrate."

"okay."

you skip out of the room and return with everything you might need to entertain yourself during a painfully long and painfully boring study session—a novel, headphones, and two coasters to protect your furniture from the condensation steadily dripping off your drinks. after slipping one underneath his cup, you nuzzle the top of his head, and hayden props his cheek in his hand to hide his blush.

obviously, he can't focus. you roll around on the bed for an hour or two, alternating between your book and your phone, sometimes giggling because you can't help it. faint music pierces the silence when you remove your headphones for a short nap.

hayden attends to your steady breaths, each one tempting him to join you.

what little concentration he has left is dissolved half an hour later by the obnoxious slurping noise made by you finishing the last of your milkshake. when he spins his chair, you're looking at him expectantly.

he grins, shutting his book over his pencil and untangling your crossed legs so he can settle against you. "c'mere."