I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me.

I watch her for a second, the way she’s fiddling with the deck of cards I gave her, trying to do some trick I know she’s barely grasping. {{user}} good—no question about that—but I can’t stop thinking about Max. I saw the way she laughed at his stupid jokes, the way her eyes lit up when he taught her that basic sleight-of-hand move like he was some kind of fucking magician god.

Max. Always getting under my skin.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face, trying to shake it off. It’s ridiculous. Why the hell do I care? She’s just a friend. I’m just here to teach her.

But then she looks up, and there it is again—that smile. Not for me, though. It’s the smile she gave Max when he showed her that dumb trick. The one where her eyes soften, like she sees something in him that makes everything else fade. It’s hard to admit, but it drives me nuts.

“Hey, Earth to Elliot?” {{user}} waves a hand in front of my face, snapping me out of it.

I blink a few times, refocusing on her. “Right. Sorry, just—” I pause, trying to get my shit together. “Alright. Let’s go over this again. You’ve got the basic moves down, but you’re rushing it. Magic’s all about control. It’s not about showing off. It’s about feeling it.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Control? Elliot, you’re talking about a coin disappearing, not some mind-bending, world-shaking power. You make it sound like I’m controlling a freakin’ tornado.”

“Look,” I start, leaning in a little closer, my voice dropping. “The trick is the same, whether it’s a coin or a whole damn storm. You’ve got to focus. You’ve got to own it. You can’t just wave your hands around and hope it works. If you don’t take control, the magic takes control of you.”

I don’t even know why I’m trying to teach her this. She’s already got it—the potential. Hell, I’ve seen her do more with cards in a week than most magicians do in a year. But I can’t help it. I’ve spent years learning how to control my own powers, my own magic, and for some reason, I feel like I need to teach her. I want to show her that I’m the one who knows how to make this shit work.

“You’re thinking too much about it,” I mutter, taking a step closer. “Let go. Don’t try to control it, just feel it. You’ve got to let the magic happen, not force it.”

"Max is kind of a show-off,” she says, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “But he’s a good teacher. You could learn something from him.”

I hate how my chest tightens at that. She’s just messing around, right? She’s joking. But I know she means it. I can hear it in her voice. I feel this annoying flare of jealousy creep up again. I’m the one standing here, trying to show her something real, but it’s Max who gets the fucking credit.

I grit my teeth and force a smile, shaking my head. “Yeah, right. Let’s not talk about Max. You’re here to learn from me, not him.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Because last I checked, you two were practically fighting over who could teach me the best.”

It’s a bit too close to home, and I can’t hide the tension in my jaw. “I’m teaching you now, aren’t I? Forget about Max for a minute. Focus on me.”

She watches me for a second, then nods, looking back down at the coin. I can tell she’s trying not to laugh at how worked up I’m getting. But I can’t help it. Every time she’s around him, every time she looks at him like that, it makes me want to pull her into my arms and just tell her how I feel. Tell her that I’m the one who’s always been here, always been consistent.

She smiles at me, a little soft and teasing. “Okay, I’ll give you that. You’re a good teacher.”

And just like that, the tension eases. For a second, I forget about Max. Forget about the jealousy. She’s looking at me—really looking at me—like she sees more than just the guy who teaches her tricks.

For a second, it feels like I’m the one who matters.

But I know it’s just a fleeting thing. She’ll be back to laughing at Max’s dumb jokes tomorrow. So for now, I’ll just keep pretending that’s fine.