Page 10 of Evergreen

“I’m just being practical,” I corrected, though even as I said it, I knew there was more to it than that. “Besides, he seemed genuinely remorseful this morning. And he’s not a bad person, just... reckless. Young. Still figuring out who he is.”

“Sound like anyone you know?” Nerion asked with a knowing smirk.

I shot him a look. “Yeah. Like you.”

“What?!” he gasped, feigning surprise. “I’ve never been difficult or willful or reckless at all. Not even once.”

“Uh-huh.” I glanced over his shoulder. “Where’s Teddy so we can ask him what he thinks?”

“He’s at swim practice,” Nerion grinned. “And since he’s my boyfriend, let’s just say he agrees with me.”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” I smiled back. But we both knew, in nearly every situation, Teddy agreed with me. “So why aren’t you in class then?”

“My entire last semester is just painting.” He crouched down, running his fingers through the wet ash that had collected on the ground. The snow had melted thanks to Cass’s barrier and turned the ash to sludge. “I’m out searching for the muse this morning.”

“Teddy not doing it for you anymore?”

“He’s still my favorite thing to paint,” Nerion smiled. “Mostly with my cum.”

I rolled my eyes as loudly as I could.

“But I’m not feeling quite so… moody now.” He looked up at me, brows knitted together. “And it turns out, my inner turmoil was fueling my artwork. Now that I’m happy, I don’t know what to paint.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that. Nerion had always been dramatic, but there was something endearing about how earnestly he approached his own emotional states. “So you’re telling me that happiness is killing your art?”

“Not killing it,” he said, standing up and brushing ash from his jeans. “Just... redirecting it. I spent so long painting storms and chaos because that’s what I felt inside. Now that I’m actually content, I don’t know how to channel that into something meaningful.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” I suggested, moving back to the section of planter I’d been examining. “Maybe you need to learn how to paint joy. Contentment. Love.”

“That sounds insufferably boring,” Nerion said, but I could hear the smile in his voice. He was already thinking about it, I could tell. That was how his mind worked. He’d dismiss an idea and then spend the next three days obsessing over it.

“So what, you’re just going to wander around campus looking for inspiration?” I asked.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He stepped closer to me, peering down at the charred planter I was working with. “What are you doing?”

“Checking what survived,” I explained, letting my magic flow gently into the soil. “This one’s got a pulse. Not strong, but it’s there. I think with some time and care, it’ll make it.”

“And the others?”

I gestured toward the various sections of the greenhouse. “Several of the larger species will recover without issue. They’ve got enough of a root ball to survive almost anything. But the smaller things… the really delicate rare species… they’re dead.” I let out a small sigh. “The best we can hope is that Professor Paulson and Professor Willow have seeds or cuttings stored away somewhere.”

“They might,” Nerion said thoughtfully. “Professor Paulson’s been here forever. She probably has backups of everything.”

“I hope so,” I replied, straightening up. “But even if she does, it’s going to take years to get them back to where they were. And those heartwood cuttings of mine were three years in the making. I won’t be continuing that project here.”

Nerion was quiet for a moment, and I could see him processing that information. He knew how much work I’d put into those plants. He’d been there for most of it, listening to my complaints and celebrating my small victories. He also knew that the trees they came from back in the grove held much sentimental value for me.

“Well,” he said finally, “at least you’ve got the rest of the semester to work on it. And you’ve got help now, right? The Dean’s making the kid work it off?”

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Cass Reed. He’s the one who did this.”

“Is he at least competent?” Nerion asked, raising an eyebrow.

I thought about this morning, about how it had taken Cass three tries to get the barrier spell right. About how he’d moved through the greenhouse with the kind of careful precision that suggested he was actually trying, despite his obvious frustration.

“He’s learning,” I said carefully. “He doesn’t know much magic beyond weather work, but he’s willing to put in the effort. That counts for something, I guess.”

“So he’s an idiot,” Nerion confirmed, seeing through my carefully chosen words. “Is he at least good to look at? Nice cock?”