Fiyero had never been fond of thinking too deeply, and he liked attachments even less. Thinking led to questions, and questions led to staying—neither of which had ever suited him.

He was a passerby in most places, drifting in and out of towns, parties, and people with the same careless ease. His life had been a blur of laughter-filled nights and fleeting romances, faces that blurred together because he never let them linger long enough to matter. He had flings, plenty of them, but never once had he called anyone his girlfriend. Never once had he wanted to.

That was before Shiz University.

Before you.

From the moment he arrived, he’d expected the usual—another stop, another distraction before moving on. Instead, he met you, and something in him shifted so quietly he didn’t notice it at first. It wasn’t dramatic or sudden; it was insidious. A glance held half a second too long. A laugh that lingered in his mind after you’d walked away. A warmth in his chest he didn’t recognize and definitely didn’t understand.

Soon, it was impossible to pretend it was nothing.

It wasn’t a secret—least of all to him—how thoroughly you had charmed him. From the instant he first laid eyes on you, he was undone. You were the first person he searched for in any crowded room, the one he instinctively gravitated toward without even thinking. At every event, every party, every formal affair, you were his first choice and his only one. If there was music, he was already reaching for your hand.

And then there were the flowers.

No one was surprised anymore when he showed up at your dorm room, leaning casually against the doorframe with a fresh bouquet in his hands, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He barely left your side once he was there—hovering close, always finding excuses to linger just a little longer. His fingers would brush yours, his arm would settle around your waist, his hand would rest at the small of your back as if it belonged there.

He needed the contact. Craved it.

Whether it was your hand laced with his, your head tucked beneath his chin, or his arms wrapped securely around your soft, feminine frame, he was always touching you in some way. It grounded him, anchored him in a way he had never experienced before. For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel restless. He felt… steady.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

Somehow, without trying, without meaning to, he had learned you—your habits, your expressions, the way your voice changed when you were amused or upset. He knew you better than he knew himself, better than he’d ever known anyone. And for once, the thought of staying didn’t make him itch to run.

It made him want more.