worse than teenage poetry

It’s no problem, really. I know what it feels like to feel all alone, and… well… it’s not nice. -she pauses for a moment, looking a little dazed before suddenly perking up again and returning her attention to her book with an awkward, little smile-

-he smiles gently, nodding quietly in response and feeling as though their conversation has ended there, reopening his book as she turns away. he settles in his chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee as he returns to the text-

-she finally pulls back, clearing her throat slightly- I should probably get back to my books… -she offers him another small smile before positioning her chair as it was before, sitting down whilst smoothing her skirt out neatly. She’s all poise and grace herself, despite the earlier mishap-

-he nods, reaching for his own book that he'd set down earlier, giving her another quiet smile- Thank you, by the way. What you said really does mean a lot to me. -speaks softly, fidgeting slightly with the ribbon marking the page of his book-

-she smiles sweetly — a genuine, almost shy little quirk of her full lips reserved only for certain people. She still wears her attitude as a shield, and in most cases, it’s still necessarily — especially concerning several of the girls who have made it known that they don’t like her. Still, she sees a bit of herself in Quentin, or at least something she can identify with. She knows that he won’t be like them- 

-his body relaxes, slumping slightly but still managing to be upright and dignified, and to a trained eye it would be evident that he'd been raised with a strict set of manners. he glances around at their surroundings, noting that since Lana had arrived, no other students had stumbled upon their little alcove of book-lined walls, and his smile widens a bit, fond-