Rain drums steadily against the windows. You’re curled up in Tom’s bed, the sheets still carrying his scent. It’s late. Past curfew. Past excuses.

The door creaks open, and Tom slips inside - robes damp, hair tousled, carrying the scent of rain and something faintly floral... someone else’s perfume.

“You’re still up?” Tom says, unbuttoning his cloak, his eyes flicking to you, testing your mood.

You don’t answer. You just stare at him, your expression unreadable. He shrugs off the rest of his clothes and tosses them over the chair.

“I didn’t think it’d be that late,” he mumbles, like that’s supposed to make a difference. “We just grabbed drinks. Nothing important.”

“She’s pretty,” you say. “She’s the one who always sits beside you in the library, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” he says. “But it wasn’t serious. It never is.”

You scoff under your breath and look away, but he steps closer, closing the distance.

“You know I tell you everything. I don’t lie to you. You’re the only one I can be real with.”

“Right,” you mutter. “So real that you spend the night flirting with someone else, then crawl into bed with me after.”

“You’re the only one who knows everything. The only one who sees through the rest of it,” he says. “You think I let anyone else sleep in my bed every night?”

You raise your chin. “Then why chase all the others?”

He looks at you for a long moment, and for once, the sharp-tongued, arrogant boy everyone else sees is gone. What’s left is something raw.

“Because I don’t know how to stop,” he says. “But I always come back to you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

There’s a pause. Then you shift over, pulling the blanket back just enough. A silent answer.

Tom slips in beside you and he exhales like he’s finally safe again. His fingers find yours under the sheets. “Do you still want me?” he asks. “Even after all this?”

You pause, your breath catching slightly at the question.

Tom lets out a heavy sigh. “Every night I come back in my room and you’re here. But one day… you won’t be. Will you?”