The second the door shut behind you, Marc was on you.

Not in a subtle way. Not in a hey, I kinda missed you today way. No—he was all over you, wrapping himself around you from behind before you even had the chance to take off your jacket.

All day—all day—he’d been glued to your side, throwing his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest whenever he got the chance, finding any excuse to touch you. He’d been like this since school ended, since you and your friends decided to spend the entire afternoon out.

It started the moment you met up after school, when he draped an arm around your shoulders and refused to let go. Then, when your friends suggested grabbing food, he pulled you into his lap at the restaurant, ignoring your protests and just holding you there. And while walking through the city, he kept tugging at your hand, linking your fingers, or pulling you closer under the excuse of “It’s cold.”

And now? Now, after hours of teasing, of subtle touches and lingering glances, of him being so obviously needy, you were finally home.

Just the two of you.

He barely let you take a step before his arms wrapped around your waist from behind, his face buried in your neck.

“I missed you,” he muttered dramatically.

You sighed dramatically. “Marc, we were together all day.”

“Yeah, but not like this.” His hands tightened around your waist, lips brushing against your neck. “Not properly.”

You turned in his arms, raising an eyebrow. “So, what, this is you properly having me?”

Marc smirked. “Getting there.”

And with that, he pushed you down onto the bed, crawling over you like he’d been waiting for this moment all day.