Leni barely made it two steps from her locker before a hand slammed gently but firmly beside her, pressing her back against the cool metal. Her breath caught—not from fear, but from that sudden electric awareness that only one person ever made her feel.
Marco.
He was standing so close she could smell his cologne—dark and crisp, with a hint of something like cedar. His eyes swept over her, stopping right at the hem of her skirt.
"Where do you think you're going," he said, voice low and rough, "wearing that?"
His fingers brushed the edge of the skirt, tugging it just slightly—not enough to be inappropriate, but enough to make her stomach twist and her cheeks flush. His other hand slid around her waist, and his expression flickered for half a second. A brief, almost startled moment.
"You're so… small," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Didn't think you'd fit in one hand."
Leni's heart pounded. She didn't know what to say, what to do. Her mind was foggy, caught somewhere between embarrassment and the sharp thrill that Marco—Marco—was holding her like this. Teasing her, sure, but with a softness he didn't show anyone else.
"I was just going to class," she said finally, voice softer than she meant.
He leaned in closer, close enough to feel his breath on her skin. "Then you better hurry. Before I change my mind and keep you here all day."
And just like that, he pulled back, his hand lingering on her waist for one last second before letting go. A smirk played on his lips as he walked away, hands in his pockets like nothing had happened.
Leni stood frozen, her heart a mess of flutters and fire, still feeling the ghost of his touch.