---
He was there again.
Same seat. Same posture. Same stormy stillness that made the air near him heavier than anywhere else in the room. But today… something was different.
He looked at me.
Just once.
A slow, dragging glance from behind his glasses, half-hidden by a lock of inky hair, before dropping his gaze back to the book in his hand like I was the most unremarkable thing in the universe.
I wasn't.
And he knew it.
Lucien Gray wasn't careless. He was deliberate. Calculated. The kind of boy who noticed everything, even when he pretended he didn't. So that one glance? It meant something.
He looked at me.
He saw me.
And he chose to look away.
It stung in a way I didn't admit. Not even to myself.
But I smiled.
Smiles were my armor.
I walked past him with an extra swing in my hips, every step louder than it needed to be on purpose, eyes locked on the side of his face. He hadn't shaved. A faint shadow traced his jaw, rough and darker than usual.
That detail made something flutter in my chest.
Rough Lucien was dangerous. And I wanted all his sharp edges pointed at me.
I stopped beside him, pretending to rummage through my bag as I spoke his name like it was a spell.
"Lucien Gray," I murmured, soft and slow. "Your name tastes nice."
No response.
Of course not.
But I felt it—the faintest change in air behind me. He'd moved.
My pulse jumped.
I turned, caught his eyes—those cold, thundercloud eyes—and for a moment, he let me stay there. In his gaze.
"Are you planning to flirt with me every morning?" he asked, his voice calm and steady, low like it was built from shadows.
God.
He sounded like a warning.
I tilted my head, not breaking the stare. "Only if it's working."
"It's not."
He looked back down at his book like my presence was a footnote in a story he'd already read too many times.
I smiled wider.
He was lying.
I pulled out the chair beside him and dropped into it with all the confidence in the world.
He raised a brow—just one—and I swear my stomach flipped.
"You're in my seat," he said.
"It's a free country," I replied. "And I'm feeling clingy."
Lucien didn't smile. He didn't sigh. He didn't twitch.
He just looked.
That silence he wore like armor stretched between us.
Lucien Gray's silence wasn't empty. It was full.
Full of restraint. Full of weight. Full of words he refused to say and emotions he wouldn't name. It pressed against my skin like a bruise that hadn't yet formed.
"I liked you better when you were mute," he muttered, flipping a page with surgical precision.
"You'll like me more once I'm done with you," I said sweetly.
That made him pause.
His eyes didn't lift, but the movement in his jaw told me I'd struck something.
I leaned in, voice barely above a breath. "You used to be quieter. Now you're making eye contact. That's growth, baby."
He shifted slightly, enough for me to feel it—but not enough to break the game.
"You're exhausting," he muttered.
"You're exciting."
Silence again.
But he didn't move away.
He didn't leave.
And that was a win.
The bell rang, sharp and loud. Students started to trickle in. Chairs scraped across the floor. Backpacks hit the ground. But I stayed.
So did he.
We didn't speak.
Didn't look.
But I could feel the tension stretching thin between us like wire pulled too tight. One more word and it might snap.
"So," I whispered, lips near his ear, "do you dream about me yet?"
Lucien turned.
Slowly.
No rush. No fire.
Just that same deliberate focus that made me feel stripped bare under his gaze.
"I dream," he said softly, "about silence."
And then, just like that, he stood.
The bell had just rung.
Class hadn't even started.
He picked up his bag and walked out, calm as ever.
No look back.
No words.
No reaction to the dozens of eyes that watched him go.
And he left me there.
Again.
Alone in a room that felt suddenly too loud, too bright, too full of people I didn't care about.
What the hell was that?
What kind of person walked out in the middle of class just to avoid sitting next to a girl?
What kind of guy planned his exits so well?
Lucien Gray.
That's who.
---
I found him again during lunch. Not because I was looking.
Okay, maybe I was.
But I didn't chase. I simply wandered. Casually. Confidently. Like I always did. I told myself it didn't mean anything when my eyes skimmed every corner of the school, lingering on shadows and windows until I found a flash of pale skin, black sleeves, and that telltale storm-cloud stare.
Second-floor balcony. Where no one went because the railing was loose and the wind was mean.
Perfect.
I stepped outside and the cold air hit my skin like a dare. He was leaning against the rail, book in one hand, hair tousled by the breeze. His tie was undone. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar. He didn't look like a student.
He looked like a ghost waiting to jump.
"You skipped," I said, walking toward him.
He didn't look up.
"I walked out," he replied. "There's a difference."
I joined him at the rail, arms folded. "People might think you're rude."
"Only people who think they matter."
"And what about me?" I asked, turning to face him fully. "Do I matter?"
Lucien finally looked at me.
There was something cold in his gaze.
But also something curious.
"I haven't decided yet," he said.
I laughed, short and soft. "You're arrogant."
He shrugged.
"You're obsessed," he said.
That made me pause.
I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out.
Because maybe… he was right.
Not obsessed.
But… interested.
Fascinated.
Drawn.
He had a gravity to him I couldn't resist. Like falling into a black hole and loving the burn.
"Fine," I said after a beat. "Maybe I am a little obsessed. But you're not exactly easy to ignore."
"You've done worse things than flirt," he said, tone unreadable.
"You've done worse things than kiss," I shot back.
He turned back to his book, but I saw the tension in his neck. His fingers tightened around the edge of the page like he was trying not to remember.
I pressed closer, resting my hand beside his.
"I want you," I said simply. "Still."
"I don't belong to anyone."
"That's what people say before they do."
His jaw clenched. I could see the war in his body. The need to stay cold. To stay in control.
But I was getting to him.
Slowly.
Beautifully.
He turned slightly, eyes dragging over me like a sin he didn't want to confess.
"Why me?" he asked.
Simple question.
Not so simple answer.
I could've said anything.
You're beautiful. Mysterious. Fun to break.
But none of those were true enough.
So I told him the truth.
"Because you're quiet, but you're never empty. Because when you look at me, it feels like a scream no one else can hear. And because…" I swallowed, voice low, "you didn't kiss me back. And that still pisses me off."
Lucien blinked.
Once.
Then, unbelievably, his lips twitched.
The ghost of a smile.
But not kindness.
Victory.
"You want what you can't have," he said.
"No," I whispered. "I want what I will have."
That smile disappeared.
His eyes turned hard again.
He stepped away from the railing and brushed past me.
"I'm not a prize," he murmured. "Don't make the mistake of treating me like one."
I turned as he walked away.
"I don't chase trophies," I said. "I claim fire."
He paused at the door.
Didn't turn. Didn't speak.
But I knew he heard me.
I knew he felt it.
The pull.
The tension.
The war.
He wasn't ready yet.
But he was close.
And I?
I was patient when it mattered.
But I was persistent when it burned.
Lucien Gray thought he could out-silence me.
Out-distance me.
Out-wait me.
But the thing about storms?
You don't walk away from them.
You get swallowed whole.
And when he finally lets go?
I'll be there.
Waiting.
Still smiling.
Still wanting.
Still ready to ruin him.
---
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