The garden behind the law building was Meilin's quiet spot. The trees filtered the golden sunlight just enough, casting soft shadows across the stone bench she'd claimed as her own. Her law book sat open on her lap, notes tucked into the margins, highlighter uncapped.
It was peaceful.
Until it wasn't.
Because suddenly, without warning, Theo Ashford—sweaty, flushed, and very shirtless under his unzipped football jacket—flopped onto the bench like he owned it.
Correction: not the bench.
Her.
His head landed squarely in her lap.
Meilin froze, blinking. "What—?"
He let out a groan, dramatically tossing an arm over his eyes. "God, I'm dying."
"Get up," she whispered, frantically looking around.
"No." His voice was muffled. "This is nice."
"You're literally sweating all over me."
"Yeah," he sighed, almost purring. "I had practice."
"I can tell."
He chuckled and cracked one eye open to look at her. "You don't sound thrilled to see me, Firecracker."
"I am…concerned," she said, carefully. "You shouldn't exhaust yourself like this all the time."
"Oh?" He smirked, eyes still closed again. "Worried about me, are you?"
She bit her cheek. "You're too dramatic for me to worry about."
"Liar."
She didn't respond. Instead, she pulled her water bottle from her bag and uncapped it.
"Here," she said, quietly. "Drink."
Theo opened his eyes again, blinking up at her. Something softened in his gaze.
"No teasing today?"
"Do you want the water or not?"
He accepted it without a word, sitting up just enough to sip. When he handed it back, she noticed the sweat clinging to his forehead, his neck, even his jaw. Her fingers itched. She tried to ignore it.
Tried.
But before she could stop herself, she dug out a tissue and reached for his face.
He stiffened just slightly. "What are you doing?"
"You're sweating all over the place," she muttered, dabbing gently at his brow. "You'll catch a cold."
"You sound like a housewife."
"Shut up," she whispered, pressing a new tissue to the side of his face.
He didn't flinch. Just watched her.
Her hands moved carefully, brushing damp strands of hair away, catching sweat along his cheekbone, his temple.
"Most girls would run if I showed up like this," he said, his voice unusually quiet.
"Well, most girls don't carry tissues around like an auntie," she replied, glaring down at him.
His smile curved slowly, lazily. "You're dangerous, Meilin Chen."
She blinked. "What?"
Theo reached up, catching her wrist—not tightly, just enough. His fingers were warm.
"It's the way you take care of people. Without even realizing it."
She looked away, suddenly hyperaware of everything—the heat of his skin, the quiet rustle of the trees, her heart hammering way too loud for comfort.
"I just didn't want you passing out," she said, tugging her hand free. "You looked… tired."
"I was," he admitted. "Until I found the best pillow in the world."
"Theo."
"Okay, okay." He chuckled, eyes closing again. "I'll be good."
But he didn't move. If anything, he nestled in deeper, more comfortable now, breathing slower.
Meilin exhaled through her nose and turned back to her book. Her hand absentmindedly brushed through his damp hair—once, twice. A habit she didn't even realize she'd formed.
And somewhere behind a tree, someone's phone camera clicked.
---
That night, a blurry picture exploded across Ellesmere's anonymous Instagram confessions page.
> "The football prince and the tiny law girl… is this real life???"
#lapPillow #CigaretteGirl #PowerCouple???"
The photo showed Theo's head resting in Meilin's lap, her hand poised mid-air with a tissue, lips parted as if speaking softly to him. The angle—slightly hidden, slightly romantic—wasn't great.
It was perfect.
The comments were chaos.
> "WAIT IS THIS THE GIRL WHO TOOK THE CIGARETTE OUT OF HIS MOUTH???"
> "I AM NOT OKAY."
> "Protect her at all costs. That's our Elle Queen now."
> "Theo?? Getting babied?? Oh we're in danger."
> "I will throw myself into the Thames."
Meilin stared at the photo that night, phone screen glowing in her dark dorm room.
Across campus, Theo saw it too.
And smiled.
He sent her a text, as casual as anything:
Theo:
Didn't know I looked that good when I'm half-dead. You make me photogenic, Firecracker.
She didn't respond.
But her cheeks burned for hours.