educated guess

"You wouldn't take me for a fool, now, would you, Shad?"

A little extra gravitas between the final pronoun and the name makes Shad sense that Addam's acting a little sly - up to no good, and so forth. But he can't confirm that suspicion, nor blindly rely on it, so he stows his hypothesis, yet far removed from a theory (or should it be fur removed? for then he'd move further into contemplation).

"I should hardly think there are any fools studying here, my friend," returns Shad with a smile. "And if I should take you at all, it shouldn't be like that."

Wouldn't. Shouldn't. Couldn't talk in plain language, could they?

But regardless of its superfluous abstraction, it seems to work for these two. A certain circumspection seemed indeed to behoove.

Addam stares at Shad with his hand on his chin and his pen twiddled between two fingers steadily but unrhythmically tapping the pages of his problem set - some analyses of some supply and demand and economies of scale which usually make perfect real sense to him but right now mean nothing but chicken scratch (and his handwriting is only little better than that). Oh, of course, he could explain it to someone with absolute ease and conversant ability, but he hasn't the mind to explain anything, properly, to anyone but Shad.

Because Shad will listen in a way that few others ever will. He is compulsed to the fine details that Addam may gloss over. He is thoughtful to the ends of extremes. He is the perfect study partner, and more than that a perfect companion to someone who is, just like he, irregularly too loud and intense, then quiet and reflective.

Shad flips a single page in his notebook forth and back, back and forth. He's meaning to add a line to his proof, or at least a couple of symbols, but the right next step escapes him.

"You're not focusing," he observes.

Addam grins lazily. "When do I ever?"