Haru's breaths evened out as sleep finally claimed him, his small frame curled tightly on the edge of the Caldwell mansion's leather sofa. The blanket he clung to was thin—a flimsy barrier against the unbearable weight of a new reality. He hadn't chosen this marriage. He hadn't chosen him. And yet, here he was, in a stranger's mansion, bound to the one person he'd hoped to never see again.
Lucien Caldwell.
Outside, the wind whispered against the windows, and the ancient grandfather clock ticked with unnerving calm. The house was eerily silent, its luxury suffocating. Haru's features relaxed in sleep, but his fingers still gripped the edge of the blanket like a lifeline.
Twenty minutes later, the bedroom door creaked open.
Lucien stepped in, the dim golden glow of hallway lights trailing behind him. He reeked faintly of whiskey, his tie undone, golden hair tousled from running his hands through it in frustration. The exhaustion in his gait betrayed the truth—this night, despite the celebration, had not brought him peace.
He walked toward the bed they were meant to share. The sheets were pristine, undisturbed. A confusion flickered across his face.
"Haru?" he called softly, his voice hoarse.
Then he saw him—a fragile silhouette on the sofa, sleeping like a child after a storm. The moonlight cast soft silver shadows on Haru's pale skin, his dark lashes resting against tear-stained cheeks.
Lucien's chest tightened.
He stepped closer, his shoes muffled by the thick rug. Kneeling beside the sofa, he studied Haru's face—the quiet vulnerability, the faint frown still lingering in sleep, the small rise and fall of his chest. So delicate. So distant. And so achingly familiar.
He hesitated… then slowly lifted his hand to cup Haru's cheek.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
And before he could stop himself, before reason could intervene, Lucien leaned in and kissed him.
It was feather-light at first, just a brush of lips against lips. But something in him trembled, and the kiss deepened, drawn out, lingering in the silence like a confession. Haru shifted slightly but didn't wake.
Lucien pulled back, breathless. His voice shook. "Why are you sleeping here, Haru? It's our wedding night. I know we're not like other couples, but… I would wait forever if that's what you needed. Just… don't keep running."
He whispered it like a vow.
Gently, he lifted Haru into his arms. He weighed nothing. The boy who had once delivered biting remarks and death glares now curled into his chest unconsciously. Lucien carried him to the bed, laying him down with reverent care. He tucked the blanket around him and brushed a kiss against his temple.
"Goodnight," he murmured, before turning away to lie on the other side of the bed, staring at the wall. The space between them might as well have been an ocean.
As his eyes drifted closed, memories tugged him backward—memories he couldn't erase even if he tried.
-----Flashback: Five Years Ago-----
Willowbrook Community College, first semester.
The lecture hall buzzed with energy, students chatting and jostling into seats. Haru, quiet as always, had tried to disappear into the last row.
But his fate, as usual, had other plans.
He'd introduced himself with a whisper and a confession: "Crying in libraries."
The room had exploded with laughter. Not cruel, but loud. Overwhelming.
Lucien, the new math teacher, stood at the front with a smug smile.
"Well, Haru," he'd said, his voice laced with irony, "it's certainly a pleasure to meet you again."
The room had stilled. Murmurs turned into shock. Someone gasped. "Again?"
A week earlier. A bus. A stupid, awkward moment. Haru had called Lucien an old man. That same Lucien was now his teacher.
The world collapsed under Haru's feet. His cheeks went crimson. Panic rose like fire.
But Lucien hadn't stopped.
"Now, back to business. Who can solve this equation?"
He scribbled a math problem on the whiteboard that looked like it had been forged in hell.
Hands went up.
Lucien paused. "Haru?"
Every eye turned. Haru looked at the board. Nothing made sense. His throat dried.
"I... I don't know," he whispered.
Laughter again. This time sharper.
Lucien lifted a hand. "That's enough."
The room settled. But Haru felt hollow. He scribbled nonsense in his notebook, not daring to look up.
When the class ended, he waited until the room emptied. Only then did he escape to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face until the redness faded.
Lucien hadn't laughed. But he hadn't helped, either.
And that had hurt the most.
-----Present-----
Lucien stirred in his sleep, the edges of that memory tugging at him like tides pulling him back. He remembered the moment he realized Haru wasn't just another student. He remembered how Haru's stubbornness, vulnerability, and quiet defiance had gotten under his skin.
He hadn't meant to fall for him. Not then. Not now. But here he was, married to the boy who had once glared at him with fire in his eyes.
Lucien exhaled, turning slightly toward Haru's sleeping form.
He didn't know how to fix this, but he did know one thing:
He wouldn't give up on Haru.
Not again.
Not ever.