It was supposed to be a quiet walk — just the two of you winding through the amber-colored paths near the edge of campus, leaves crunching beneath your shoes, scarf tucked close against the breeze.

But Knox?

Knox had other plans.

He bumped your shoulder with his, trying not to grin when you stumbled a step. “Do you have to walk that fast? You know I lose all coordination when you’re ahead of me.”

“You lose coordination anyway,” you muttered, biting back a smile.

“Exactly.” He skipped ahead just enough to face you as he walked backwards, hands in his coat pockets like he wasn’t moments away from tripping over a tree root. “But I’d gladly fall on my face if it meant I got to look at you longer.”

You rolled your eyes — again — but before you could call him a menace, he was at your side, arm slipping easily around your waist. A gentle tug, and you were pulled right against his chest.

“Knox—” you began, half-scolding, half-laughing, but he just pressed a kiss to your cheek, then your lips, warm and soft and obnoxiously perfect.

He pulled back just a little, face alight. “Three months,” he murmured, like he still couldn’t believe it. “You know, I think I might write you a sonnet. Or twelve.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirked. “And yet, here you are.”