You were sitting sideways on one of the sofas, with your legs tucked under you. Mattheo was beside you, not just sitting, but practically draped along the sofa, his arm snugly hooked around your waist. His thumb traced lazy circles over your hip.

“Do you ever sit like a normal person?” you asked, not looking up from your book.

“Normal’s boring,” he replied. “Besides—” His lips curved into that maddening smirk. “—I’ve got the best seat in the place, princess.”

Your head snapped towards him. “Mattheo—”

He grinned wider. “What? It’s true.”

“You call me that one more time and—”

“And what?” His eyes glinted, daring you. “You’ll blush? You’ll roll your eyes? You’ll pretend you don’t like it?”

You scoffed, snapping your book shut. “You’re insufferable.”

Before you could think of a better comeback, someone approached - a boy from one of your classes who was holding out the quill you’d lent him earlier that day. “Here... thanks for this,” he said, smiling.

You could barely get out a 'You're welcome' before you felt Mattheo shift behind you. His arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back against him. You felt him lean in and then his lips touched your skin.

The boy’s smile faltered. “Uh-right. See you later.”

When he was gone, you twisted in your seat and glared at Mattheo. “Was that necessary?”

He looked utterly unfazed. “What? I was being affectionate.”

“You were being territorial.”

“Semantics.” His grin was lazy. “Worked, though.”

You let out a frustrated sound, stood up and muttered something about needing some air.

An hour later, you found him leaning against a wall in the courtyard with his hands in his pockets. Even before you saw the smear at the corner of his mouth and the fresh split in his knuckle, you could smell the metallic scent.

You stopped a few paces away. “What did you do?”

He tilted his head. “Depends. What's the question? What did I do, or who did I do it to?"

Your eyes narrowed. “Mattheo.”

He sighed, as though it were all terribly inconvenient. “Some idiot said something he shouldn’t have. I made sure he won’t say it again.”

“You picked a fight,” you accused.

“Picked, started, won... call it what you want.”

You stepped closer and caught his wrist, pulling his hand up to inspect the damage. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered.

His lips twitched. “You always say that when I fight.”

“Because you do it on purpose. So I’ll scold you.”

He didn’t deny it. “Maybe I like it when you fuss over me.”

Your gaze flicked to his other wrist, where one of your hair ties sat snug against his skin. “You’re still wearing that?” you asked quietly.

He glanced down. “Always. In case you need it.”

“You mean in case you need it,” you said.

He smirked, tossing the argument aside as he straightened. “Come here.”

When you didn't move quickly enough, he closed the distance himself and slid his arm around your waist again. His thumb resumed its lazy circles, the same ones that had driven you mad earlier.

“You’re bIeeding,” you murmured, still half-annoyed.

“You’ll fix it,” he said simply, leaning down to brush a kiss against your temple. “Because you love it when I’m trouble.”