It was rare that the two schools would have co-ed events, though during the last debate one, you met him.

You met Aemond during a co-ed debate event between your school and his—the all boys boarding school nestled just across the woods.

You knew little about him—just the bits passed around in whispers after the other girls caught a glimpse of him during an event.

Head of the fencing team. Top marks in literature and history. Fluent in Latin. And apparently never smiled.

You were assigned opposite of him during the debate, and he disagreed with everything you said with a smirk.

You weren’t supposed to like him—not him, not anyone from the boys school. Relationships between students were against the rules, written in ink and enforced with threats of expulsion.

But he walked you back after the debate anyway, hands in his pockets, silver hair catching the wind, with that annoying smirk on his face every time you tried to out-argue him once again.

The tension built with every step.

And at some point you stopped walking, hidden behind the old ivy ridden green house, and he looked at you like he already knew what was coming.

You kissed him first.

He kissed you harder.

Since then, you’ve been sneaking around. Late-night phone calls through the schools payphones. Stolen glances during events. Secret meetings behind the greenhouse.

You didn’t expect him to sneak into your dorm, it was too risky, but then again, he doesn’t seem to care too much.

It starts with the creak of the window latch. You immediately sit upright in bed when you hear the sound.

Then: fingers curl over your windowsill.

That’s when you see the unmistakable silver of his hair.

You scramble out of bed and cross the room in your socks, whispering, “Aemond, no—what are you doing? You can’t—”

But he’s already halfway inside.

Thank god your dorm mate was away on a family trip.

His shoes hit the floor with a soft thud. He’s wearing his usual blazer, black trousers, and a cigarette tucked behind one ear. His hair is wind-tousled from the climb, and he smells like cold air and ink. His smile is slow and infuriating.

“Miss me?” he murmurs, voice low and amused.