Barty lounges against the stone wall just outside the courtyard, a cigarette burning low between his fingers. He’s not really listening to whatever his Evan is rambling on about—his eyes are following you across the hall again.

“She annoys me,” he says suddenly, cutting Evan off.

Evan glances over, follows his gaze. “{{user}}?”

Barty scoffs. “Obviously. Drives me absolutely insane.”

“She shoved you into a suit of armor last week.”

“And I still can’t stop thinking about her,” Barty mutters, eyes dark. “That’s the problem.”

Evan laughs, half-disbelieving. “What is it with you two? You fight like you hate each other.”

“She steals things off my desk. Rolls her eyes at everything I say. Talked back to Moody in front of the entire class and got away with it.” He takes a long drag from the cigarette, exhaling slow. “She breaks every bloody rule.”

“And yet you let her.”

Barty doesn’t answer at first. Just smiles, slow and sharp. “She’s the only one who gets away with it.”

He falls quiet again, and Evan watches the shift in his expression. Something heavier now—something softer.

“Maybe it’s the way she looks at me,” he says finally. “Like she’s not scared. Like she should be… but isn’t.”

And now it’s not just amusement in his voice. It’s something rougher. Unspoken.

His mind flickers back—her fingers curling in his shirt, her breath ghosting his skin, the way she whispered his name like it was dangerous. He clenches his jaw. That night’s burned into him like a curse.

“…And maybe that’s why I can’t stay away.”

Evan whistles low. “You’re in trouble, mate.”

Barty chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just obsession. Possession.

“She’s chaos,” he says, watching you disappear around the corner.

“She’s trouble. A bloody nightmare.”

A pause.

“And she’s mine.”