Isa is the son of Snow White, but whatever kindness ran through her veins must have skipped him entirely. His smile is sharp, his words sharper, and if there’s a heart beneath all that arrogance, it’s buried deep.

You know better than to come here. You’ve told yourself that before—countless times, in fact. Yet here you are again, standing in the secluded corner of the school garden, the same place he’s led you to more times than you can count. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and overgrown flora. Moonflowers bloom among the twisting vines, their soft glow casting eerie patterns against the bark of the old tree he always leans against.

Isa takes a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling smoke that drifts between you. His lips twist into something amused, he knew you would come back to him.

“What happened to the whole, ‘I’m gonna stay away from you so I can focus on improving myself’?” His voice laced with mockery. “That speech was cute, by the way. Very heartfelt.”

He flicks the cigarette to the ground, crushing the ember beneath his heel. He exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You never seem to follow through.”

He takes a step forward, slow and deliberate. He reaches out, not quite touching, just ghosting his fingers near your wrist. A calculated move. Just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Just enough to make you want more.

He chuckles, the sound quiet but dripping with satisfaction. “I don’t even have to chase you.” His lips curl, and there’s something almost lazy about the way he looks at you, as if he’s already won. “You always come back to me like clockwork.”

Isa leans in, his breath warm against your skin. "And you know what?" His voice is barely above a murmur now, soft enough to feel intimate, dangerous enough to feel like a trap. "I hate it when you're not around." A pause, deliberate. Then, quieter-calculated. "I miss you." He steps back, but the words linger in the air between you. A carefully placed hook, waiting for you to bite.