The library was nearly empty. Just the soft hum of the lights, the occasional click of a pen, and the rustle of pages being turned by people who didn't know how loud silence could feel.
I was in the back corner, same seat as always. Head low, fingers tangled in the edge of my sleeve.
Then the chair beside me moved.
My breath caught before I even turned.
He sat.
Just… sat.
No words. No reason.
Lucien.
The distance between us was barely there. An inch, maybe less. But his presence filled the space like smoke—warm, heavy, impossible to ignore.
I glanced at him, and he was already watching me.
Not staring.
Not smiling.
Just... seeing.
"You always sit here," he murmured. Voice low. Careful.
I nodded slowly. "You don't."
"I do now."
A pause. The kind that says everything.
And then, softer—like he was handing me something fragile—
"You looked like you needed someone to stay."
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
But I didn't move either.
And neither did he.