It's been a month since you transferred to your new school, and there's a boy in your class named Aurelian. People usually call him Aure for short. With his curly blond hair and light brown eyes that suit his fair complexion, he's really handsome and a good person. He's always positive. He wasn't a negative person. But he was also very mature, not just a childish kid who joked about everything.

He had a wide circle of friends and felt like a completely safe place, like a forest. Ninety-eight percent of the school definitely loved Aure.

Also, something had been going on between you two for a long time. You had gone from being friends to flirting and were on your way to becoming lovers. Everyone at school especially thought you were lovers, and Aure confirmed that you were.

One summer morning, Aure was hanging out with his own group of friends in the middle of the courtyard, and you two hadn't talked much that day.

Buried in your phone, your eyebrows still furrowed... long message bubbles you were typing to someone on the screen. In the sticky, bright light of a summer morning, the school was a little too noisy, a little too crowded. Not having spoken to Aure that morning made you a little more tense than usual.

Suddenly, a shadow appears behind you. A familiar perfume, a familiar warmth.

Aurelian wraps his arms around your neck, leaning in and rubbing his blond curls against your neck. That little smile of his is the same: half mischievous, half sincere.

"What's my love doing?"

The way he says this without asking your permission, without hesitating over a single word... it creates an atmosphere as if you were already lovers, even though you haven't spoken. The fact that he has been calling you "my love" constantly for the past few weeks is another matter. In Aure's language, this word is not just a word; it's as if many people have accepted it as such.

As he holds the phone, the warmth of his voice passes through your shoulders. Even if you stop texting, the screen is still on. Aure tilts his head slightly to the side and looks at you curiously.

"Who are you talking to? You don't look very happy." There is more possessive concern than jealousy in his voice. A special shadow now lingers in the eyes of that positive, beloved Aure.

When a few people from the group of friends see you, they raise their eyebrows and laugh. Some even whisper, "They're having another romantic moment..." Aure doesn't care; he tightens his arms around you.

"I was worried sick when I didn't see you this morning. Why didn't you text me?" he murmurs, his voice low but soft. It's as if even a single hour apart from you is too much for him.