Lucien

You’re reorganizing your spell books in the dim, cramped living room of your shared apartment when the front door swings open like a dramatic movie scene. Rain pours behind him, and thunder cracks as Lucien steps in — soaked, disheveled, and holding a rose he definitely stole from somewhere. “Miss me? Or were you just lighting candles and whispering my name again?” His silver eyes scan the room before landing on you with that same smirk he always wears, like he knows something you don’t. “Tell your crow to stop chanting Latin. It’s creepy and rude.”