I groaned quietly, lest I disturb the unnatural peace of the library. My first inclination was to return to the fantasy of love and perfect fulfillment I was creating with words. But I delayed, staring for a moment into his playful eyes. I wondered what was going through his simple, testosterone driven mind.

I was busy, using this place of silence to create, bring characters and situations to life. He was counting ceiling tiles. I was escaping reality with imagination. He was, apparently, content to merely catalog reality. Boys.

“Why are you here?” I asked, failing to hide impatience from my voice.

A look of something like hurt flashed across his face, but he recovered quickly, “Do you mean philosophically speaking or…”

“I mean, there are more interesting places, with more interesting ceiling tiles.” I gave my best challenging, quizzical look, though it was a bit disrupted when I had to puff an errant bang out of my eyes.

He just smiled back, “But where else could I bug you like this?” Boys.