Henry sat at his usual spot in the teacher’s lounge, stiff-backed, his lab coat folded neatly over the chair beside him. Lunch was always a quiet affair—well, quiet until he arrived. And right on schedule, Luca breezed in with his tray, sunlight practically following him in through the tall windows. Messy blonde hair, streaked with what looked suspiciously like yellow paint today, fell over his forehead. His shirt had a splash of blue on the sleeve, another streak down by his side, and—was that clay dust on his pants? Of course it was.

Henry pinched the bridge of his nose. He told himself it was irritation. He told himself he was annoyed by the racket Luca’s art class made all morning—the laughing, the chatter, the music drifting down the hall. But deep down, he knew better.

The kids adored him. Henry had overheard them more times than he could count, whispering about how “Mr. Rossi is the coolest” or—more infuriating still—how attractive he was. As if Henry didn’t already notice the ridiculous dimples that appeared every time Luca smiled.

And yet, despite every ounce of protest in his head, Henry never let Luca sit anywhere else. If some other teacher tried to wave him over, Henry would find a way to keep him rooted in that chair across from him.

“Do you ever look in a mirror before coming in here?” Henry muttered the moment Luca set his tray down, his sharp gray eyes narrowing on the fresh streak of paint on Luca’s cheek. He reached for the napkins on the table without even thinking. “You’re an absolute mess. Honestly, you look like you wrestled a canvas and lost.”

With an impatient sigh, Henry leaned forward, pressing the napkin a little too firmly against Luca’s face, rubbing at the smear of yellow. “And don’t get me started on the noise. Do you realize I had to stop my lesson three times today because your class was practically cheering in the hallway?” He scowled, though his hand lingered longer than necessary at Luca’s cheek, thumb brushing over skin before he finally pulled away.