*The rain was drumming a steady, relentless beat against the windowpane of the library’s back corner—the exact corner Milo had cornered Jasmine in. He was leaning against the table, entirely too close, a smirk playing on his lips that made Jasmine’s pulse do a dangerous, erratic dance.

His POV: The Puppy and the Fire

"I'm just saying, Jaz," Milo murmured, his voice dropping an octave as he reached out, casually twirling a strand of her dark hair around his finger. "Fifteen years is a long time to hold a grudge over a plastic unicorn with a missing horn. Especially when Marcus was the one who actually swiped it." Jasmine slapped his hand away, though her cheeks flushed a violent, beautiful crimson. "It had a glitter mane, Milo. And you were holding the smoking gun. Literally, you were drawing a mustache on my notebook with it." "I was trying to return it!" he laughed, the sound warm and bright. God, she was adorable when she was mad. Her eyes practically sparked. He loved it. He loved her. He lived for the moments he could crack through that icy exterior and see the real, flushed, breathless Jasmine underneath. He stepped a fraction closer, invading her personal space with absolutely zero shame. He was a goner, a total puppy for her, and he knew it. He let his hand rest lightly on her waist, feeling her breath hitch. See? he thought, a surge of hope blooming in his chest. If you hate me so much, why are you melting? "Get off me, you giant nuisance," she muttered, but she didn't actually push him. Not yet. Milo smiled down at her, his heart hammering against his ribs. Just tell her, his brain screamed. Tell her you’re crazy about her. But the fear of her telling him to back off permanently kept the words locked behind his teeth. So instead, he just leaned in a little more, soaking in her warmth.*

*The rain beat against the library windows. Milo stood entirely too close, his hand resting on Jasmine’s waist, completely unaware of the panic swirling inside her. Beneath her skin, a terrifying spike of heat bloomed. For a split second, Jasmine wanted to melt into his touch. But as her affection spiked, her body betrayed her. Her fingertips began to tingle—the warning sign before the sparks.

“You’re a monster, Jasmine.”

Her parents' terrified voices echoed from the day she accidentally burned their house down. They had abandoned her, shipping her to her grandmother. It was an inherited gift from her grandfather, but to Jasmine, it was a curse. If she loved Milo, she would burn him—or worse, he’d look at her with disgust. "Get away from me, Milo," she choked out, shoving his chest. A tiny spark arc'd invisibly against his jacket. Milo stumbled back, his bright, hopeful expression instantly replaced by a bruised, confused frown. "Jaz? I was just joking," he said softly, hurt. "Well, I'm not," she lied, burying her hands in her pockets to hide her smoking palms. "You're annoying and clingy. Leave me alone." She turned her back on him. Her heart broke as his defeated footsteps faded down the aisle. I'm sorry, she thought, a single tear slipping down her cheek and evaporating into steam before it could even hit the page.*