Chapter 4. Second Time

The sun beat down on the cracked pavement of Old Town’s old park. Skate wheels clattered against concrete ramps, and Aurelius carved sharp turns with the ease of someone who could make even rebellion look graceful.

Amelia slowed on her way home from school, satchel bouncing at her hip. She stopped at the fence, squinting against the glare.

That was him again — the soaked “funeral-lily boy” from the flower shop.

He launched off a ledge, board spinning beneath his feet before slamming back to the ground. Smooth. Too smooth for the ragtag local kids. A little crowd cheered.

Amelia shook her head, hiding a smile, and sat on the bench. She pulled her notebook out, flipping to math homework. Numbers and formulas stared back at her. She tapped her pencil, muttering under her breath.

A shadow fell across the page.

“You’re gonna wear a hole through that equation,”

Aurelius said, leaning over her shoulder. His hair stuck to his forehead, skin sun-warmed.

Amelia tilted her head up, unimpressed. “What, you skate and stalk girls now?”

He grinned. “Only the ones who laugh at me in flower shops.”

She rolled her eyes, but he plopped down beside her anyway, resting his board against the bench.

His gaze flicked over the page, and before she could stop him, his hand darted for her pencil.

“Here. You set it up wrong. See?” He scribbled quick notations, shifting terms like it was nothing.

“You need to balance the variables first.”

Amelia blinked at the corrected line. Then at him. “...Wow.”

“What?” Aurelius tilted his head, amused.

“You’re not just a pretty face with bad flower taste.” She squinted.

“You’re actually smart. Where’d you go to school?”

Aurelius hesitated. The Selvarra Academy halls flashed in his mind — white marble, gilded crests, training yards filled with heirs and Vestal scions. Worlds away from this sunlit bench.

“I studied… outside Bastovar,” he said casually.

Amelia’s brows rose.

“Oh. You moved here from out of town?”

He half-smiled. “Kinda like that.”

She studied him for a long second, then laughed softly. “That explains it. You always look… different. Like you don’t quite belong here.”

Aurelius shrugged. He wasn’t about to tell her just how much he didn’t belong.

Amelia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, trying not to stare at the way Aurelius sprawled back against the bench like he owned the sunlight. He had that infuriating ease — the kind that made everyone else look like they were trying too hard.

She nudged her notebook toward him.

“Fine. Since you’re so clever, you can finish the rest of it for me.”

Aurelius raised an eyebrow. “That’s not how tutoring works.”

“Oh, so you are my tutor now?” she shot back, lips curving.

He chuckled, tapping the pencil against her page.

“Only if you pay me in sunflowers.”

Amelia snorted. “Still not living that down, huh?”

“Never,” he said, grin widening.

“I’ll take that humiliation to my grave.”

The kids at the ramps whooped as someone bailed spectacularly, but the noise felt distant compared to the strange bubble around their bench. Aurelius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, golden eyes catching the sunlight in a way that seemed unreal.

Amelia found herself staring again before she could stop it. She dropped her gaze quickly, pretending to fix her braid. Get a grip. He’s just some boy who doesn’t know the difference between funeral flowers and birthday bouquets.

He glanced sideways at her, smirk tugging at his mouth. “You keep looking at me like I’ve got dirt on my face.”

“You wish,” she said primly, scribbling down the next problem.

His laugh was quiet this time, not for show. He let the silence linger, watching her pencil move. Then, softer: “You’re different, you know. Not like the people I usually meet.”

Amelia raised her brows, skeptical. “What, you mean I don’t trip over myself when you walk into the room?”

“Exactly,” Aurelius said, grin crooked but eyes serious.

“It’s… refreshing.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by the honesty. The sun was too bright, the air too warm, and suddenly her math homework felt like the least important thing in the world.

Amelia closed her notebook with a snap.

“Well, Uptown boy,” she said, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder, “if you’re gonna keep turning up in Old Town, at least try not to embarrass yourself next time.”

He stood too, grabbing his board with one smooth motion. “No promises.”

She rolled her eyes, but as she walked toward the fountain, she caught herself smiling.

And when she glanced back, he was still there — board under his arm, watching her with that same restless fire in his eyes.

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