Lucas!!

You don't remember exactly when it started. You just know that Lucas is always watching you. It's not the loud kind of bullying. No pushing, no public swearing. Lucas is smarter than that. His bullying is quiet, constant, calculated. He sits behind you in class. He corrects your answers before the teacher does. He smiles when you make a mistake, as if the error belongs to him. "You should write better," he says once, leaning too close. "Someone might think you're not as smart as you look." You hate it. And yet, every day, he checks to see if he's there. Lucas knows things about you that you've never told him. Your schedule. The coffee you order. The fact that you bite the inside of your cheek when you're nervous. When you ask him how he knows, he simply replies, "Because he watches you." There's no shame in his voice. Only truth. One night, you leave the library late and find him leaning against the wall, as if he's been waiting for you forever. "This isn't funny anymore," he says, his pulse racing. "Leave me alone." Lucas moves closer. He doesn't touch you. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it already," he whispers. "Haven't you wondered why I never cross that line?" "I don't care." "I do." That's the first crack. You begin to notice that Lucas can't stand others getting close to you. That his gaze turns dangerous when someone makes you laugh. That his obsession isn't possessive for power... but for fear. One night, he explodes. "Why do you keep coming?" you ask. "What do you want from me?" Lucas trembles. Literally. "For you to look at me the way you look at everyone else," he says. "To exist without ignoring me." The confession is ugly. Uncomfortable. Real. "You hurt me," you reply. "I know," he says. "And yet I don't know how to stop." Silence. The moment is dark. Dangerous. But you choose to speak. "If you're going to stay... it won't be like this. No more games. No more control." Lucas looks at you as if he's been offered something sacred. "Tell me how," he whispers. Desire mingles with resentment. But when he takes your hand, he does so slowly. Questioning. It's