The witches hour

He turned around and looked at her. He gave her a genuine smile - a hint of recognition on his face.

"No, I dont think I will."

And he started to walk towards the middle of the pitch.

She stared at him incredulously, her eyebrows dropping and darting together, her lips working for a minute before deciding on a frown.

She liked the Matt that got mad when she threw stuff in her hair. Shit, maybe she liked the Matt that called her a pathetic, hand-me-down witch. She needed know how to deal with this Matt. Whoever he was.

But he was quickly retreating, so she did something she never did.

She followed.

"Oi.... Oi! If there's nothing else, I'd like to continue my run."

"Yes. By all means go right ahead." He called back at her. Not turning around but continuing towards the center.

Again, she stopped in her tracks, watching him. Waiting. Truly thrown off guard.

What was he doing?

He reached the centre of the gargantuan field. He did not look back but he knew Jack hadn't followed him. He looked up at the clear sky and bright moon; not quite full but not a half - sort of like him.

He felt a moment of peace and triumph - he could hear it in her voice. He had stunned her. He turned around and looked back at her confirming his assumption. Then, he sat down in the grass.

"I'm not one for running myself!" he called to her.

He was so smug. So goddamn smug. This school was full of them. Smug assholes. Assholes with money and parents who simpered when they didn't piss the bed. And then after a summer of no work and all play, they came back and made her out to be the immature one.

Fine.

She scowled and turned, jogging in place for a moment before running for the edge of the pitch. She began her laps. He could sit there and freeze. She had things to do. She wasn't going to let him stop her.

It truly was a beautiful, sexy night; but it was cold. It was very cold, but Matt came prepared. He pulled out a thermos from the inside pocket of his jacket as Jack began to run her laps. He pulled the top off and poured himself a steaming hot cup of coffee; black, like his soul.

He really didn't intend on reporting her. But, he was absolutely not going to tell her that.

He followed her with his eyes as she was in front of him and then sipped his coffee as she ran behind him. It really was an interesting sight to see. He had no idea Jack was this disciplined.

He simply sat in silence, watching her, sipping his coffee. Enjoying the night. It wasn't exactly the stroll he had previously wanted but it was still pretty solid. The ground of the pitch was surprisingly comfortable. Perhaps that was because of all the bodies that frequently hit it hard.

She didn't even look at him during the first lap.

The second, she glanced over and rolled her eyes, a scoff in her throat.

She ran horizontally across the pitch, in sprints, twice. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.

She took a pause, catching her breath. She refused to look at him. She refused. She turned and began her laps again.

One. Two.

God f*cking damn it.

She turned, not breaking stride, and planted herself above him.

She was panting but her anger was evident, further robbing of her breath. "What do you want, then? It's something. Coy isn't cute."

He looked up at her in silence, smiling. The breath coming out of her mouth combined with her angry face made her look very menacing.

He took a sip of coffee.

"Bold of you to assume I want something from you, Jack." he said. "I'm just enjoying one of the last good nights to enjoy the grounds."

Which wasn't a lie. She had just provided him a cushiony area to sit and drink his coffee.

He reached back into his jacket and pulled out a mug. He poured another cup and held it out for her.

"You look cold."

There it was again.

So smart. So certain. So smug.

He held out the mug and she stared at it for a moment, before giving him a sarcastic smile. "Wow, thanks." She reached out, took the mug, and then threw the liquid out onto the grass. She handed him the mug. "Yum, thanks."

And again, she turned, taking off running. He had to leave. He just had to.