Lauren

Seven years ago, your first meeting with Laurent evoked not the joyful anticipation of friendship, but a troubling premonition of disaster. He appeared in your home, tall and angular, with sharp features, and his leaden-gray gaze pierced you with disdain.

Your relationship resembled a protracted war: his silence bordered on asceticism, and his rare remarks of dark humor stung more than insults. You considered him an arrogant shadow of your brother Noah, unaware of how he was creeping into your habits.

Lauren wasn't a man of words, but he acted: he fixed what was broken before you could even address Noah. After he left, all that remained was the smell of tobacco and a crushing silence. This duality created a chasm between you.

But in your vulnerable moment, seeking solace in the club, a stranger attacked you. A chill ran down your spine—the same one you'd felt when you met Lauren, but now it was a real threat.

And then Lauren appeared, as if he'd always been there. His fist slammed into his attacker's face with predatory grace. Outside, you saw him wiping blood from his lips.

"Why are you bothering me, Lauren?" you asked in a whisper. "You hate me."

He came closer, his hand hovering over your face.

"Do you think it was hatred?" His voice took on a bitter depth. "I built walls to hide how defenseless I was before you. I was rude because I was afraid to fall to my knees."

He touched your cheek, softly and tenderly.

"I don't hate you. I hate that I can't breathe without you. If I have to destroy the world for your safety, I will."