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I look up, confused. “What?”

“You’re dissociating,” he says.

I let out a weak laugh. “Happens a lot apparently.”

He smiles, cigarette resting between his fingers, then takes a drag. “How breakable are you, Miss Vitelli?”

I look at him through the smoke, and thought about laughing it off. Instead I tilt my head, stealing the cigarette again. “Very.”

His mouth curves again before he replies, “I’ve never been particularly good at leaving damaged things alone.”

“You should probably work on that, Mister Caldwell.”

He shrugs like everything he says is completely normal. “Bad habit,” he spits out. “I tend to make them worse before I make them better.”

His fingers brush mine before the cigarette is back between his lips as he takes another drag.

And I watch him, trying to understand what kind of man would look at someone with the need to know how easily they could break. “Isn’t that incredibly unprofessional?”

“I don’t care,” he says bluntly.

A laugh escapes me as I shake my head. “You’re a terrible professor.”

The corners of his mouth lifts again as he leans back on one of his arms. “I’ve been told,” he sighs. “Never been interested in being a good one.”

I raise an eyebrow, staring at him as his gaze fixes on me, “Then what interests you?”

“Anything that makes my job difficult,” he replies.

I laugh softly, looking away from him. “Then that’s your problem to fix.”

He takes another drag, still watching me. “I’m starting to think it might be yours too.”

For a second, we just look at each other. Then his eyes drop, tracing the faint line under mine. “You’ve got a scar there.”

“Oh.” I touch it without thinking. “That one’s old.”

He studies it, almost like he recognizes it. “Looks like mine.”

He does have the same. Under his eye, a long mark that is similar to the one on his nose. I touch it with the tip of my finger and ask, “How did you get yours?”

He closes his eyes for a second and takes a long breath before answering, “It was a long time ago, I was just trying to be a good kid.”

“I’m sure you were,” I replied, crushing the cigarette on the ground.

He laughs and shakes his head, “I’m sure you were too.”

I was, and it led me to be a sad one.

“Are you going back to your house tomorrow?” He asks, like he knows my routine already.

“Nope, staying here all weekend, I’m trying to make sure my little brother gets used to this rhythm.”

He laughs before tilting his head toward me. “Aren’t you a little overprotective?”

“Better to be overprotective than non-existent in his life.”

“You’re right,” he replies, looking back at the shore.