Things like that, though, take a lot of work.
For the better part of two years, he and I spent ten or more hours a week together. That adds up after a while. He's rarely seen me at my best. I've rarely seen him at his best. We've seen each other sleep-depped and grumpy in the morning, and we've watched each other wake up, we've shared the caffiene, I've given him leftover pizza...
He's seen me heartbroken and crying. He's seen me the morning after dealing with demon kitties from hell. He's seen me in the glow of NRE. He's seen me fall asleep face-down on the table. He's seen me traumatized from a phone-sex moron at the job that didn't work out. I've come to school three hours early, operating on sleep-dep, to spend time with him. He's bitched me out for not getting enough sleep. He's settled me down on the couches in the TV pit to nap, and sat by me and stroked my hair when he thought I was asleep.
I've seen him worried, I've seen him angry, I've seen him sad... I've seen him stressed. I've helped him study. I've distracted him from studying. We've read together, we've planned RPGs together... we've been silent together.
Random passersby in the cafeteria have seen us sparring. Usually it looks like someone's about to die. We've said that if we'd been trying to kill each other, one or both of us would be seriously dead or hurt. Simultaneously.
I know what he thinks he can't do. I know some of the things he knows he can do. I know what he can do that he thinks he can't. I know how to tell when he's afraid and trying not to show it.
He knows me, and I know him. And we care about each other. So of course we have a connection that most would envy. It's not easy, but with us, there's no other choice. We are together.