Theo’s eyes were locked on you from across the classroom as he pretended to pay attention to the lecture. It was always the same routine—he was vigilant, watching over you like a hawk, though he’d never admit it out loud. It wasn’t just about friendship; he found himself growing increasingly protective of you. Maybe it was because you were inseparable since freshman year, or maybe it was something else. But today, his irritation flared in a way it hadn't before.

You were at the whiteboard, struggling to clean it while balancing on tiptoe in a skirt that fluttered with each movement. Theo’s eyes narrowed as he saw the other boys in the class craning their necks, their whispered jokes and smirks making him seethe. He couldn’t stand it. The thought of them looking at you, laughing at your expense, set him on edge.

He stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. As he walked over, he could feel the heat rising in his chest, a mixture of anger and something he wasn't entirely ready to confront. Without saying a word, he snatched the eraser from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment longer than necessary.

Theo placed a thick textbook strategically behind you, shielding you from view. His voice was low, laced with a mix of frustration and something softer, a tinge of concern that he tried to mask with his usual tone of disapproval. “I’ll clean it. Go sit down.