For all that he had made his you can learn from everything speech to Charlotte, he sure as hell was not learning anything now. A sigh, a little drawn back look. Even their very attractive professor’s poetic antics couldn’t draw James’s attention today. Chair lifted, walking across the room in strong movements, he was buzzing with energy, but their energies, their restlessness clashed, were on a different wavelength, perhaps. And so, impatiently, James tapped his pen against the desk, resisting the urge to go on his phone. (It was a sinkhole, his phone. Once he began, he wasn’t going to look up again.) He was majorly zoning out, and only caught himself a minute or so in. He corrected it immediately, because as much as he wanted to fuck around - there was still a standard he needed to ascribe to, if not for himself then for his scholarship. And so he glanced down at his notes, and then to the person seated beside him. It was a shame, he couldn’t even sit beside Charlotte because some asshole had decided to arrive earlier than him, and he didn’t feel like making a scene today. He gave the boy a cursory glance for one moment, before asking, in a whisper: “Sorry, what is he talking about now?”