You're leaning against the edge of the fountain, chatting with Ethan. He's talking about an assignment, gesturing with a parchment in one hand and a grin on his face.
You smile, nod along and brush a strand of hair from your face when...
Two warm arms wrap around your waist. You flinch slightly in surprise, then relax as the familiar scent of cedar and something smoky wafts around you. Mattheo.
“Hi, princess,” he murmurs against your ear, his tone deliberately smug.
Your stomach turns - not at the nickname, which he's clearly using just to get a reaction, but at the gentle way his fingers are spread across your waist, as if you were something fragile. Precious.
You turn your head just enough to glance at him. “Do you have to do this every time I speak to a boy?”
Mattheo doesn't answer. Instead, he lets his lips brush the side of your neck in a slow, casual kiss that sends goosebumps up your spine. Ethan's smile fades awkwardly. He takes a step back, blinking.
Mattheo finally lifts his head to glare at him, as if he's daring Ethan to say something. He looks between the two of you and stammers, "Uh-I'll just, um... see you in class."
He scurries off without another word.
You let out an exasperated breath. “Seriously?”
“What?” Mattheo says innocently, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’re taken. I’m just reminding the world.”
“I can talk to people. It’s allowed.”
"Not when they look at you like that."
“Like what?”
He steps around to face you, eyes narrowed. “Like you’re available. Which you’re not.”
You squint at him, trying not to smile. “You’re crazy.”
“And you love it.”
He’s wearing your black hair tie around his wrist again—the one you were sure you lost in the library last week. You notice it just as he reaches for your hand.
“Is that mine?”
He shrugs, not even trying to hide the smile tugging at his lips. “You left it. It’s mine now. A trophy.”
You shake your head, biting back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I am devoted,” he corrects with a playful bow.
Just then, he glances down and sees something peeking from your robe pocket.
“Wait—what is that?” His tone shifts instantly.
You freeze.
“Don’t,” he says, reaching into your pocket before you can stop him. He pulls out a half-empty pack of cigarettes. His jaw clenches.
“Mattheo—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You literally smoke every day,” you argue.
He holds the pack up between you. “Yeah, and I hate that I do. That’s me. Not you.”
“So what, I can’t make my own choices now?”
“You can,” he says. “But I’m allowed to care, aren’t I? You don’t need this. I don’t want you doing what I do just because it looks cool.”
You sigh, frustrated, but you can’t ignore the worry in his voice. He slowly lowers the pack and tucks it in his own pocket. “I’ll give it back. Just… not now.”
You're about to protest again when he suddenly looks up at you with those eyes.
“What now?” You smirked.
He steps closer, tugging your hands into his. “I need a favor.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re not getting out of another detention.”
“But I was barely involved this time. It was Theo’s idea.”
“Was it?”
He pouts, full puppy-dog mode engaged. “He dared me to hex the suits of armor. You know I can’t turn down a dare.”
You try not to laugh. “You are such a menace.”
“Please?” he says, pressing your joined hands to his chest. “I’ll let you call me whatever annoying nickname you want. Just once.”
You pretend to think, then smirk. “Fine. But I’m calling you Pumpkin. In public.”
He groans. “You’re evil.”
You lean in close, lips barely brushing his. “And you love it.”
His hands find your waist again. “More than you know.”