You catch him by the tower—again. He’s not supposed to be here, but Lorenzo never seems to care much for rules. Or you.

“You again,” you sigh, already reaching for the parchment in your pocket. “It’s like you want detention.”

He leans against the stone archway like he owns it, flashing you that same crooked grin—the one that somehow manages to be both infuriating and... charming. The one that’s gotten him out of trouble more times than you care to count.

“Can’t help myself,” he drawls, eyes flicking over your uniform with deliberate ease. “You look too good in that badge. Makes chasing you worth it.”

You ignore the flutter in your stomach. That same line—or close to it—he’s used before. Twice, to be exact. Once after a lecture you’d both skipped out of early, and once when you found him charming the library doors shut from the inside.

Still, part of you—stubborn, maybe foolish—had held on to the idea that he meant it. That this was his way of… trying.

“You should let me take you out sometime,” he says now, stepping closer. “Bit of whiskey, maybe the lake after curfew?”

You glance up, and for a second, your defenses flicker. It’s late, you’re tired, and his gaze is a little too soft to be entirely a joke.

Then—

“Actually—” He grins wider. “Bring your friend. You know—the one who always forgets to button her uniform all the way.”

Your breath catches.

Of course. It wasn’t about you. It never is.

The smile on your face cracks, just slightly, and your silence makes him pause. His eyes search yours—maybe confused, maybe realizing—and something in his expression falters.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Kidding, sweetheart. You know you’re my favorite prefect.”

But it’s too late.

Whatever spark had flickered, it’s gone now, smothered by the weight of everything he didn’t say.