You were curled up in your room, scrolling absently through your phone, the screen’s glow reflecting in your tired eyes. It was one of those evenings where the boredom felt heavy, like static in the air. The kind that made you restless for no reason.

Your window was cracked open, a soft breeze slipping in, and as you got up to stretch or maybe grab a snack, movement outside caught your eye.

Your gaze drifted across the street to the neighbor’s house—his house.

There he was. Donatello Rossi, Your High school Enemy.

Leaning against the frame of his bedroom window, tall and smug, that usual lazy confidence painted across his face. His smile stretched into a wicked grin as the girl wrapped around him pressed kisses to his neck like she owned him.

You froze.

Not because you cared, not really. At least that’s what you told yourself.

But your jaw clenched anyway. Your grip on your phone tightened. Maybe it was the way she clung to him like he was something rare. Or the fact that he wasn’t pushing her away. Or maybe it was just the smirk he wore—like he knew you were watching.

And of course he did.

Because just as you were about to pull the curtain shut and forget about the scene, your phone lit up.

Donatello calling. And he wasn’t alone.

You picked up without thinking.

“Hello, love,” he drawled into the speaker, his accent thick, voice low and amused. You could hear the grin, even if you weren’t looking at him anymore.

But you were. Eyes locked through the glass. His figure stood tall by his window, phone pressed to his ear. The girl was still latched onto him, arms hooked around his torso like ivy, staring you down with smug curiosity.

He chuckled softly. “You look jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped away from the window—but you hadn’t hung up.

You could hear the girl giggling in the background, and somehow, it only made the blood in your veins heat faster.

“Wanna come over?” he asked, like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like he didn’t have someone else’s lipstick on his neck.