The library was nearly empty, just the sound of a quill scratching and the faint flicker of candlelight along the long oak tables. You were supposed to be studying, but your mind had drifted miles away, until a quiet voice broke the silence.

“You know you’re reading that upside down, right?”

Lorenzo stood across from you, tie loose, sleeves rolled, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. His robe hung open, green lining catching the firelight as he leaned forward on the table, eyes sharp with mischief.

He wasn’t supposed to be here either. But that was the thing about him, rules existed only so he could find new ways to bend them.

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, flipping the book correctly. “You’re not exactly Head Boy.”

He smiled, soft and dangerous. “No,” he said, voice low, teasing, “but I could be. If they let charm count as grades.”

He sat across from you, his knee brushing yours under the table. The air shifted, the kind of tension you couldn’t name. Then, as if the moment hadn’t meant anything at all, he turned back to his notes, the quill gliding effortlessly between his fingers.

And Merlin help you, it made studying impossible.