---
He sat in the corner.
Always quiet. Always reading.
I didn't care.
I wanted him.
And when I want something—I take it.
It was that simple.
Lucien Gray. New boy. Tall. Pale. Always in black. Always hiding behind some thick, hardback book like the world wasn't interesting enough to look at.
Everyone said he was weird. Some whispered he was brilliant. A few even said he used to be sick, or maybe just broken. I didn't care about either. I liked his silence. The mystery. The way he looked like a painting in a gallery—meant to be observed, never touched.
But I wanted to touch him anyway.
No one else dared.
They gave him a wide berth, like he carried something infectious. But not the viral kind. The dangerous kind. The "don't go near that one" kind. And maybe that's why I liked him more.
I saw him on his first day. The seat beside me was empty, but he walked straight to the back of the class and took the desk nearest the window. Not the window that had sunlight. No. The one that faced the alley between buildings. The one that let in cold air and shadows.
That's the kind of boy he was.
Dark. Distant. Damned, maybe.
But I've always had a thing for broken things.
The first time I walked into the library and saw him alone at the farthest desk, legs stretched long under the table, hoodie up like he wanted to vanish—something inside me clicked.
He was reading. Of course. Some thick, ancient book with gold-edged pages and a spine like a weapon. His fingers were long, pale, elegant in a way most guys didn't know how to be.
And I knew. Right then.
He was mine.
He just didn't know it yet.
I walked right up. Didn't hesitate. Leaned across the table, gum between my teeth, smile sharp.
"Got a thing for shadows, Gray?"
He didn't glance up.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't breathe, as far as I could tell.
He just turned the page.
So I sat.
Not across. Beside.
Close enough that our knees almost touched. Close enough for him to smell the cinnamon gum I popped obnoxiously and the faint vanilla of my perfume.
Still no reaction.
I could hear the clock ticking above the check-out desk. The muffled whispers of a few other students buried between the aisles. But at our table, the air was heavy. Dense with something I didn't yet know how to name.
"You don't talk much," I said after a beat.
"Neither do you," he replied, not looking up.
I smiled. Slow. Dangerous.
"I talk when I want. I flirt when I feel like it. And right now…" I leaned in, voice dropping like a promise. "I feel like it."
He turned a page.
Then another.
Like I wasn't even worth the breath it would take to ignore me.
I leaned further. My elbow brushed his arm. I saw his jaw tense.
"Your eyes twitch when you're trying not to look at me."
That made him pause.
Barely.
But it was a win.
I stood, circling his chair with slow, deliberate steps, until I was standing in front of him. I tilted my head. Studied him the way he studied his books.
Up close, he was something else. Eyes the color of storm clouds before rain. Hair black and a little too long, curling at the ends like he didn't care. Lips tight. Jaw sharp. Cheekbones that could cut glass.
A boy like this wasn't meant to be left alone.
"You don't scare me," I whispered.
He finally looked at me. His voice was smooth, deep. Sharper than I expected.
"I'm not trying to."
"Good," I said, holding his gaze. "Because I've already decided. I want you."
Lucien blinked.
Once.
No emotion. No change. Just… silence.
I stepped closer.
"So I'm going to kiss you now."
His voice dropped. "Don't."
But it was too late.
I tilted his chin with two fingers and kissed him.
Not soft. Not sweet.
Not the kind of kiss you give a boy like him.
The kind that claimed. That took. That said you're mine whether he wanted to be or not.
His breath caught—just for a second. Enough for me to feel it. Then he froze.
Completely.
I pulled back. Smiling like sin.
"I always get what I want."
He stared at me.
Blank. Unreadable.
Then he stood.
And walked out.
Just like that.
No words. No look back.
He left me there between library aisles, blinking at the empty doorway like a fool.
That wasn't how it was supposed to go.
Guys didn't walk away from me.
I watched the door a full minute before I moved. My gum had gone bitter in my mouth. My hands itched with the urge to go after him. But I didn't.
I never chase.
Not even when I want to.
---
It's been six months since that day.
Six months since the kiss.
Six months since Lucien Gray walked out like I was nothing but a mistake he regretted.
He didn't come back the next day. Or the day after. Rumor said he transferred schools. Another said he was suspended. One dramatic girl in my chem class whispered that he went to a private hospital for his mind.
I ignored them all.
I didn't ask questions.
Didn't look for him.
Didn't chase.
But I never forgot.
The stillness in his body. The quiet rage beneath his skin. The way he didn't react like any normal guy would've. I'd kissed boys before. I'd broken hearts, toyed with them, laughed while they begged for more.
But Lucien?
He wasn't made of soft things.
He was ice and silence and shadows and I wanted him more than anything.
And now he's back.
Just like that.
One day, the back door of the classroom opens and in walks Lucien Gray—taller, colder, dressed like the ghost of the boy I thought I knew.
The hoodie is gone.
Now it's starched button-downs and slim black pants. Silver rings on his fingers. A watch that looks antique. His hair is shorter, messier. His jaw sharper. His eyes harder.
He doesn't sit in the corner anymore.
He walks straight down the aisle, slow, deliberate, and takes the empty seat two rows ahead of mine.
Not beside me.
Not near the windows.
Right in the center.
Everyone watches him.
No one talks.
And me?
I sit frozen.
Because when he passed by, his shoulder brushed mine.
And he didn't flinch.
Didn't even look.
Like I didn't exist.
Like he didn't remember.
But I do.
I always remember what's mine.
And Lucien Gray?
He was mine from the moment I saw him.
He just didn't know it yet.
Not then.
Not yet.
But he will.
Because I don't take no.
And I don't forget.
---
He doesn't look at me once all day.
Not in class. Not in the hall. Not in the cafeteria where he sits alone with nothing but black coffee and a new book—same kind of hardback, thick and worn. Not even in the library where I find him again, reading in a new corner by the tall window that leaks rain.
I lean against the bookshelf and stare.
He must feel it. People always feel when I'm watching.
But Lucien doesn't lift his head.
Doesn't acknowledge me.
And that burns more than it should.
So I move closer.
Careful.
Quiet.
But not hidden.
He turns a page. Pauses. His voice comes low, quiet.
"Still following people, I see."
I freeze.
Then grin.
"You remembered."
His eyes finally flick up. Not cold. Not angry. Not warm either.
Just… watching.
"I remember things that matter."
"That kiss mattered," I whisper.
He blinks. Once. Slowly. "To you."
I shrug. "It mattered to you too. You just didn't know how to show it."
He doesn't respond.
I move closer, leaning on his table like I did before. His scent is different now—sharper. Cleaner. More adult.
"You changed," I say softly.
Lucien closes his book.
Locks eyes with me.
"You didn't."
And just like that, he stands.
Again.
But this time, I step in his way.
"You're not walking away again."
He doesn't smile. Doesn't threaten. Just looks at me like I'm a puzzle with too many pieces missing.
"I never ran," he says. "You just weren't worth the pause."
Ouch.
But I like pain when it comes from someone who means it.
So I grin wider.
"Then pause now."
Lucien tilts his head slightly. "You really don't know when to stop, do you?"
"Never," I say. "Especially when it comes to things that belong to me."
"I don't belong to you."
I lean in, slow and sure, lips close to his ear.
"Not yet."
And then, before he can stop me, I brush a kiss to his cheek—soft, barely there.
Not claiming this time.
Promising.
Then I walk away.
Leave him standing in the aisle.
Exactly where he left me.
Six months ago.
---