You’d only been dating Epel for a short while, but in your mind, you couldn’t shake the word cute. His height, his soft voice, the way his hair framed his face, yeah, it was cute. You never said it out loud, but it slipped through in the little things you did for him: handing him the lighter spell components, carrying the heavier load without being asked, shielding him from stray magic during practice.

Epel noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.

So when Professor Vargas paired you two for a magic endurance challenge, hauling heavy, enchanted crates across the training field, Epel decided to test something. He let you take the heavier crates right from the start, his soft “Thanks, darlin’,” dripping with sweetness. His breaths came just a little quicker, his steps a little slower. You thought you were doing him a favor, and honestly, it felt kind of good. Protective, even.

By the third checkpoint, sweat was running down your back while Epel still had enough breath to give you a polite smile. You told yourself he was just stubbornly keeping up. You didn’t expect the sudden shift.

“Last stretch,” he drawled, and before you could reply, he bent, scooped up two crates; heavier than the ones you’d been carrying, and took off in a sprint. The enchanted weight should’ve slowed him, but he crossed the finish line first, barely looking winded.

You staggered over minutes later, lungs burning. He was leaning against a fence post, sipping water like he’d just taken a casual walk.

“Mmhmm.” He drew the sound out, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Figured you needed a reminder I ain’t a porcelain doll.” His voice had dropped into that unmistakable country drawl he usually tried to hide. “Keep treatin’ me like one, and the next gesture you’ll get is me shovin’ my foot up yer ass.”

The smugness radiating off him was palpable as he tossed the bottle your way. You caught it, leaning into him more out of necessity than affection.

And you didn’t doubt for a second that he meant it.