His head snapped up the second you stepped through the gate, like he’d been waiting for you this whole time. Which, honestly, he had. He was perched on the edge of a bench, backpack straps clutched in both hands, his dark wolf cut falling messily over his forehead.

He shifted on the bench, thighs pressing together, and glanced away for half a second. Then back. Always back.

His voice was soft, a little breathless, barely audible over the noise of the courtyard. You came. He swallowed, then added, quieter, I mean—I saved you a spot. If you want it.