Haru lay on the sofa in the dimly lit room, the blanket pulled tight around him like a cocoon. His eyes were closed, but sleep was a distant stranger. Instead, his mind spiraled backward, dragged into the undertow of a memory he'd tried to bury. Five years ago, Willowbrook Community College, first semester. The day he first met Lucien Caldwell—a day that carved a wound so deep it still bled.
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The morning sun spilled through the college's streaked windows, painting the linoleum floors with a warmth that felt like a lie. Haru Nakamura shuffled into the lecture hall, his backpack slung low, his dark hair falling into his eyes. At eighteen, he was a creature of habit—quiet, invisible, always claiming the back row like it was his personal fortress. Behind a towering potted plant, he could blend into the chipped paint and chipped dreams of Willowbrook's community college. His goal was simple: survive the day without being noticed.
The bell screamed like a banshee, signaling the start of the semester. The room buzzed with chatter—students swapping summer stories, their voices a chaotic hum that made Haru shrink lower in his seat. He wanted to fuse with the desk, to become one with the graffiti-scarred wood. Just get through this, he told himself, doodling aimlessly in his notebook. No eye contact. No small talk. A modest dream for an introvert.
Whispers floated through the air like dandelion seeds. "New teacher this semester," someone said. "Heard he's strict as hell." Another voice chimed in, "Nah, my friend said he's hot. Like, K-drama hot." Haru didn't care. Teachers were just obstacles to navigate, like pop quizzes or group projects. He kept his head down, praying to remain unseen.
Then it happened.
A voice sliced through the noise, sharp and commanding. "Good morning, future mathematicians!"
Haru's heart stopped. His pencil froze mid-scribble. That voice—it was too familiar, too smooth, like honey laced with venom. He peeked through the curtain of his bangs, his breath catching in his throat. There, at the front of the classroom, stood Lucien Caldwell.
Tall, broad-shouldered, with golden hair that caught the light like a halo he didn't deserve. His black shirt clung to him, accentuating a frame that belonged on a billboard, not in a community college classroom. But it wasn't just his looks that made Haru's blood run cold. It was the memory of the week before—a humiliating encounter on a crowded bus, rain-soaked and chaotic.
-----A WEEK BEFORE------
The bus had been a nightmare, packed with the stench of wet clothes and unspoken grudges. Haru, late and flustered, had squeezed through the crowd, his umbrella dripping onto his sneakers. He'd spotted an empty seat and lunged for it, only to trip over a bag and nearly crash into someone's lap. Strong hands steadied him, and he'd looked up to meet piercing green eyes and a smirk that felt like a challenge.
"Careful there," the stranger had said, his voice smooth as sin. "Is this seat taken?"
Haru's brain had short-circuited. "Y-Yes!" he'd blurted, then corrected himself, cheeks flaming. "I mean, no! You can sit!"
He'd wanted to die right there. The stranger—Lucien—had sat down, too close, his presence overwhelming. Haru had frozen, his heart hammering. "Are you a student?" Lucien had asked, casual but curious, like he was studying a puzzle.
"Y-Yes," Haru had stammered, suspicious. "Why?"
"May I know your name?" Lucien's tone was light, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting.
Haru had squinted, his shyness giving way to defiance. "Why do you want my name? You trying to scam me or something?"
Lucien had grinned, unfazed. "Just curious."
Haru's eyes had narrowed further. "Curious? You sound like you're hitting on me." He'd paused, then thrown out a line he'd instantly regretted. "Sorry, I don't date old men."
The bus had gone silent, the air crackling with secondhand embarrassment. Lucien's jaw had dropped, his smirk replaced by stunned disbelief. Before he could respond, the bus had lurched to a stop. "My stop," Haru had declared, grabbing his bag and strutting off like he'd just won a duel. But as he'd stepped onto the pavement, his heart had screamed, Why is he so hot? Why did I say that? Why am I like this?
----IN CLASSROOM----
Now, in the classroom, that same man stood at the front, his presence filling the room like a storm cloud. Lucien scanned the class, his gaze landing on Haru. A tiny smirk tugged at his lips—not loud, not obvious, but enough to make Haru's stomach twist. It was the kind of smile that said, I remember you, and I'm enjoying this far too much.
"I'm your new math teacher," Lucien said, his voice carrying a charm that made half the class sit up straighter. "You can call me Mr. Caldwell. Or just Lucien. Now, let's get to know each other. Introductions, starting from the front."
A collective groan rippled through the room. "Ugh, not introductions," someone muttered. "My only hobby is napping," another complained. Haru didn't join in. He was too busy spiraling into a full-blown panic, his mind a chaotic reel of This is not happening. This is cosmic punishment. I called him an old man, and now he's my teacher?
One by one, his classmates stood, spilling their names and quirks. "I'm Jake, I build model trains." "I'm Mia, I'm obsessed with true crime podcasts." "I'm Carlos, I'm here to survive and eat tacos." Haru's turn crept closer, each introduction a step toward his doom.
"And you, in the back," Lucien said, his voice casual but his eyes locked on Haru like a predator spotting prey.
Haru stood slowly, his legs wobbling like a newborn fawn. His face burned, his throat tight. He was 70% embarrassment, 20% dread, and 10% desperate hope that the floor would swallow him whole.
"U-uh… I'm Haru," he croaked, his voice barely audible. He could feel every eye in the room on him, but Lucien's gaze was the heaviest, pinning him in place.
"Any hobbies, Haru?" Lucien asked, his tone light but laced with something teasing, something that knew too much.
Haru's mind blanked. Don't say it. Don't say the truth. But the words slipped out, traitors to his dignity. "Crying in libraries."
The room went silent for a heartbeat, then erupted in laughter. Someone snorted. Another whispered, "Relatable." Haru's face flamed brighter, his hands clenching at his sides. He wanted to vanish, to melt into the linoleum and never resurface.
Lucien chuckled, raising his hands in mock sympathy. "That's valid. Honestly, same." His eyes sparkled with amusement, and Haru hated how that spark made his heart stutter, even through the mortification.
He sank back into his seat, vowing to never speak again. But Lucien's gaze lingered, and Haru knew this was only the beginning. Lucien Caldwell wasn't just a teacher. He was a storm, and Haru was already caught in its eye.
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Back in the present, Haru's eyes snapped open, the memory fading like a bad dream. The sofa creaked beneath him, the mansion's silence pressing against his skin. Lucien's voice echoed in his mind—not the teacher from five years ago, but the man who'd just become his husband. "Haru, we're married now. I'm happy."
Happy. The word was a knife, twisting in Haru's chest. He didn't know what Lucien's game was, but he knew one thing for certain: he couldn't trust him. Not then, not now. The past had taught him that much. As the clock ticked toward dawn, Haru curled tighter into his blanket, his heart heavy with the weight of a fate he couldn't escape.