Mattheo crouched down in front of you, his dark curls falling across his forehead. His jaw was set, the way it always was before he did something he didn't want you to see.

His hand found your chin, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. They were soft now, softer than anyone at school ever saw. The flicker of a smile tugged at his lips.

He'd called you that since you were born, when you'd fit in the crook of his arm. The nickname stuck like glue, even now that he had to look down to meet your eyes.

A boy stood in the doorway, tall and pale, with white-blond hair that caught the light like winter frost. His grey eyes swept over you with slow, deliberate disinterest.