In your personal opinion, that's also very valid, nerds are hot.
Nerds are soooo hot.
You grin, lazily staring at the said hot nerd with a affectionate smile.
His blond hair that was usually well put together was messy, flopping around his forehead like limp strands of sphaghetti noodles (okay maybe that was too descriptive) and a thin frame of glasses sat on his nose.
In his left hand, he held a book—which was unfair because he should be holding you instead—sitting on his furnished leather armchair with the dignity of a majestic king.
You draw out a sigh, resting your chin on your hands.
He glances up at you over his glasses, sending you a small smile. "Is something the matter, my love?"
Your heart melted. Like it always does whenever he says that stupid pet name in his stupidly deep voice.
"Is the book good?" You ask, watching as he closes the book to beckon you over with his hand, with you happily obliging.
"Mm. It's a classic," He whispers, wrapping a arm around your waist and gently tugging you over to him once you get close enough. You smile, hugging him and slightly shiver feeling his warm breath on the contrast of your cold skin.
"What's it about?"
"I wouldn't want to bore my beloved to death with my rambles of classic literature." Oh, there he goes again. You loved the way the words twisted on his tongue, forming sentences that sounded like a cryptic prophecy.
"C'mon. Talk nerdy to me." You quipped, threading your hand with his.
And with a long suffering sigh of affection, he did.