You and Stiles are sitting on one of the benches on campus. Stiles is halfway through ranting about Mr Yukimura’s pop quiz when your attention drifts.

You spot Theo across the quad. He’s leaning against a tree with a textbook in one hand as he talks to Sabrina, a cheerleader with a loud laugh and a reputation for flirting back just as hard. Theo has that cocky glint in his eye that he always gets when he knows someone’s watching.

And he knows.

Because he glances directly at you.

You immediately look away.

But not fast enough.

Stiles catches it.

“Oh no,” he mutters. “Not this again.”

You shrug. “What?”

Stiles follows your gaze, squinting. “You mean Theo leaning casually against that tree like a model from a supernatural magazine, while Sabrina practically climbs into his lap?”

“Stiles.”

“I’m just saying. He’s being obvious. It’s Theo’s favorite move: flirt with someone else to see if you’ll set something on fire.”

You glare. “I’m not jealous.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Stiles deadpans. “That’s why you’ve been clenching your jaw so hard I think your molars are breaking.”

You sigh, digging your nails into your palm to keep from looking again.

Stiles leans in. “Look. I know he’s hot. Like, infuriatingly hot in that morally-gray-villain-who’d-probably-betray-you-but-make-you-like-it kind of way. But he’s also Theo. And he sucks.”

“I know he sucks.”

But your voice doesn’t sound as convincing as you want it to.

Before Stiles can respond, Theo starts walking towards you.

Of course.

Sabrina says something, pouting when he leaves her side, but Theo’s already tuned her out — his attention is fixed on you like a wolf stalking prey.

He stops right in front of you and Stiles. “Hey,” he says, looking at you. “Didn’t know you were still here.”

“Yeah, well, not everyone leaves school early to flirt with cheerleaders,” you snap without thinking.

Theo raises an eyebrow. “You jealous?”

Stiles groans dramatically. “And here we go.”

You shoot him a look, but Theo doesn’t even glance at him. “I’m not jealous,” you say.

Theo takes a slow step closer. “Sure you’re not. That’s why you’ve been staring for the past ten minutes.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Maybe I was trying to get your attention,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d come over. Or if you’d just keep pretending you don’t care.”

You blink. “Why would I care what you do?”

“Because,” he murmurs, “for all your clever comebacks and fake indifference, you feel it. Same as I do.”

Stiles is watching with wide eyes now, torn between his role as protective best friend and unwilling witness to a soap opera.

You rise from the bench, standing toe-to-toe with Theo. “You think you can mess with people just because you’re hot and dangerous and—”

“Hot? And what?” Theo interrupts, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You think I don’t see the way you look at me?”

Your breath catches.

He leans in closer, and it’s like everything around you goes quiet — except for Stiles, who finally mutters, “Okay, I’m just gonna go… anywhere else. Literally anywhere.”

Theo’s voice is a whisper now. “You don’t hate me. You hate how much you want me.”

You don’t respond.

You can’t.

Not with your heart slamming in your chest like it’s trying to break out.

He lets the silence hang for a beat, then steps back. “But keep pretending,” he says with a shrug, turning away. “It’s cute.”

You stand frozen, watching him walk back towards the quad — towards her — and you realize that you’ve never wanted to punch someone and kiss them so badly in the same moment.