It was the start of another week when Nathiel suddenly said, "Let's go to a bar tonight. It'll be fun."
I hesitated. I'd never been to a bar before. But somehow... I agreed. With him, I always did.
The music was loud, lights flashing in every color. People danced, laughed, shouted—chaos in neon. Nathiel looked like he belonged there. He knew nearly everyone, casually greeting people with side hugs and kisses on the cheek.
Every touch, every smile he gave someone else tugged painfully inside me. I tried to act normal... tried to remind myself he wasn't mine. Still, I stayed close, too afraid of being lost in a crowd of strangers... too afraid of being forgotten.
At the counter, he got me juice, knowing I didn't want to drink. That small gesture warmed me. I held the glass tightly, sipping quietly, pretending not to notice his long stares. He always stared like that—bold, focused. I told myself it didn't mean anything, but part of me ached... wishing it did. Then I saw it. A shift in his eyes. Like something clicked. He blinked, turned away sharply for distraction—and the second he spotted a pretty girl dancing alone, he rushed over to her. Leaving me there. Again.
I bit my lip, trying not to feel it... but it hurt.
That's when a group of girls approached me. "Hey, you're Lucan, right?" one of them asked. I nodded, wary.
"You're close to Nathiel. Are you two dating or something?"
I blinked, startled. "Huh? No, we're not."
"Of course you're not," another said with a smirk. "He wouldn't date someone like you." Their words stung. My grip tightened on my glass.
"He doesn't believe in love," she added, arms crossed. "So if you're stupid enough to be falling for him, stop now. Stay away from him."
"Yeah," another chimed in. "He's with you more than he's with us. Back off."
I swallowed hard. "He's the one who keeps coming to me..." They scoffed before I could finish.
"Are you kidding? He never sticks to one person. Don't act like you're special. You're just chasing his looks and his money."
"I'm not, you got it all wrong—" I tried, but one of them shoved my hand aside.
"Don't call me a liar," she snapped.
The glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. The crash silenced the area around us. Everyone looked. "You can't even hold a glass?" one girl rolled her eyes in disgust.
I clutched my bag tightly, head lowered, embarrassment burning through me like wildfire. And then.. "What's going on here?"
That cold voice. Familiar. Dangerous.
Nathiel walked over slowly, eyes scanning the girls before landing on me. His brows furrowed as he tilted my chin up. I tried to look away, fighting back tears. His gaze darkened. Jaw clenched.
Then he turned to the girls. His voice dropped like ice. "Even I never made him cry—and you did it in minutes. Just by looking at him. By talking to him. And you're still standing here like that won't cost you." They froze.
"Who the hell said you could even look at him? Let alone speak to him like that?" he said, his tone lethal. "Didn't I already tell you to stay the hell away from me? Didn't I?" They trembled visibly.
"Talk about him again," he whispered coldly, "and I swear your tongue won't work the same ever again."
The girls nearly tripped over themselves running away, some of them crying now.
The whole bar was silent.
Nathiel finally breathed, his shoulders relaxing. He reached into his pocket and handed his card to the bartender for the broken glass. Then he turned to me, gently grabbing my wrist.
"Let's go," he said softly—but his tone left no room for argument..And I didn't say a word as he pulled me away.
The night air was cold, and the sky above was a quiet sea of stars. We ended up at a small, empty park nearby. I sat on the bench, hugging my bag tightly to my chest. I wasn't crying... but I was quietly whining inside, still hearing their cruel words echo in my mind.
Nathiel stood beside me, hands in his pockets, his voice calm but firm.
"Stop whining. Don't waste your ears on listening to people who don't matter."
I pouted, refusing to look up, eyes locked on the ground. He sighed, and after a beat of silence... he left. My heart sank.
Did he seriously just leave me here... alone?
But a few minutes later, he returned. In his hands were two ice cream cones—different flavors.
He stood awkwardly in front of me and held them out. "Here. And now stop it."
I blinked, surprised, and took them in both hands, looking up slowly.
"Thank you," I whispered, my lips curving into a small, surprised smile as I took a lick.
The sweetness cooled my throat, warmed my chest. He... got me ice cream. He stood up for me. He came back.
Since when did he care?
He sat beside me, a soft sigh escaping him as he gazed up at the stars. Then, quietly, he looked at me.
"Are you happy now?"
I grinned, eyes squeezed by my smile. "Yes. This tastes so good. Thank you, Nathiel." He seemed to freeze at my smile.
For a moment, he just stared. Then, suddenly—but gently—he reached out and cupped my face. His touch was softer than ever before.
And he kissed me. Not rough. Not rushed. But slow, warm... careful. His lips moved against mine with a tenderness I wasn't used to, like he was tasting every bit of sweetness from the ice cream and from me.
My body relaxed. I kissed him back, heart thudding. His fingers brushed along the back of my neck, sending shivers through me as we stayed lost in the moment. Until—Plop. One of my ice creams had melted too much and dropped onto the ground.
I pulled away quickly, startled. "Ah..." He followed my gaze, then chuckled. "I'll buy you another one."
I looked at him, still catching my breath, heart fluttering so fast I thought it might burst. I knew this kiss probably meant nothing to him. But to me... it meant everything.
The Next day, i smiled to myself, heart light, as I checked the cookies in the microwave.
I'd decided to try baking something sweet—for me, for James... and for Nathiel.
Just a quiet little thank you. I got to class a bit late. The cookies weren't as warm as I hoped, but I packed them neatly into a plain box. James raised a brow when I told him.
"You're really going to give it to him?" he asked, half warning, half concern.
"I'll be fine," I replied, trying to sound confident.
But I was wrong.
So, so wrong.
I walked toward Nathiel, the box in hand. He saw me approaching and immediately sneered—his friends chuckling beside him.
"Seriously?" he scoffed. "Didn't I tell you I don't do love things?" I blinked, confused. A knot formed in my chest. "What does this have to do with love?"
He looked at the box like it was some cursed object.
"People only give this kind of stuff to someone they're in love with. Pathetic little gestures to express fragile feelings." He smirked cruelly.
"I told you not to fall for me."
His words felt like ice poured straight into my veins. My heart clenched, humiliated. He laughed—and his friends joined in.
Something in me snapped.
"Are you kidding me?" I said sharply, voice rising.
"I didn't make this just for you—I made it for myself and my friend. It was a thank-you. For last night. For the ice cream. I thought maybe—just maybe—you were starting to be kind... thoughtful. I was wrong." I held the box tighter, trembling in anger and shame.
"This wasn't out of love. Don't flatter yourself. You've shown me exactly why I should never fall for you."
I took a deep breath, then spat, "Don't worry—I don't love you. I'd never give my heart to someone like you. Go to hell."
I threw the box at his chest. It hit him squarely, and I didn't wait for a reaction. I turned on my heels and walked away, fury in every step.
Behind me, I heard gasps.
"Oh wow, how dare he?" one of his friends muttered.
"No one's ever said that to you. You're not gonna let that slide, right?" another asked.
But Nathiel didn't respond. He stood frozen, the box still in his hands.
His friends exchanged puzzled glances. "Nathiel? You almost look... shocked. And hurt."
He didn't say anything. Couldn't.
Because in that moment, he felt something thudding hard in his chest.
A sound he wasn't used to hearing. His own heartbeat. For the first time it beat loud—for someone.
I ran straight to the locker room, barely breathing, chest tight. My fingers trembled as I wiped my eyes roughly.
James was already behind me, panting from the run.
"Lucan," he said softly, placing a hand on my shoulder. "I told you he wouldn't change."
I sniffled, turning my face away. "I know. I should've listened to you."
"Okay... now stop crying," he said gently, pulling me into a warm hug.
"I'm... I'm not crying," I mumbled, laughing weakly as I pushed him away. He laughed too, and I nodded, chuckling along, trying to forget the sting.
Neither of us noticed the pair of eyes watching us from the hallway. Eyes that were wide with confusion. Burning with something strange—anger, but not just that. Something deeper. Something unfamiliar. Nathiel didn't know why he felt like this. But he did. And it scared him.
That night, I stayed alone in my dorm. James had gone home for the weekend, leaving me with nothing but books and silence. I tried reading—tried forgetting what happened earlier—but it was useless. My mind wandered, and the ache in my chest wouldn't fade.
Out of boredom, I grabbed my phone and texted James lazily, glancing at my book now and then.
"I feel so lonely and bored. All cause of you." I looked away for a moment, then glanced back to check for a reply.
And froze. My eyes widened in horror.
I'd sent it to the wrong person—the worst possible person. Before I could even react, a sharp knock hit the door.
I stiffened. Confused, hesitant, I got up and opened it...My breath hitched. "Nathiel...?"
He stood there, tall and unreadable, but there was something... off. His eyes glinted with something darker. "I was already on my way to you," he said flatly, stepping inside uninvited.
"And then you messaged me." I backed up, the air suddenly heavier.
"But that text wasn't for me... was it?" he asked, holding up his screen, my message glowing brightly.
"Were you missing your so-called roommate that badly?" he sneered, stepping closer, his voice sharp with something too close to jealousy.
He slammed the door shut behind him.
I swallowed hard. "Why the hell do you care? And what are you even doing here?"
His expression shifted—his anger softening, his voice gentler. "To apologize." I blinked.
"I came to say I'm sorry. For earlier. I don't know why I acted like that—I was confused, surprised and feeling things I couldn't explain." His eyes flickered with something raw. "Please forgive me."
He stepped closer, carefully cradling my face like I might disappear if he wasn't careful. I looked away. "No. I won't. Who knows when you'll switch back again."
He was quiet for a moment. Then suddenly—"If I ever talk to you like that again don't hold back. Punch me, yell at me—do whatever you want. I swear I'd deserve it."
I stared at him, stunned.
"That won't fix anything," I said quietly. "You're mean. You hurt me."
"I know," he whispered. "I messed up. I'm sorry, okay? Just yell at me. Scold me on the bed. I'll take it all. Every word." And then he kissed me. Not like before.
This kiss was softer. Warmer. Almost like... he was scared. Scared of losing something.
I melted into it.
His arms wrapped around me as he laid me down gently, lips brushing mine again and again. That night, we did it again—but it wasn't like the other times. Not even close.
His touches had changed.
They were slower... deeper... filled with something I couldn't name. Each kiss lingered. Every caress felt like it was meant to say what he couldn't. He whispered apologies between every breath, every moment, every motion. And when I scolded him—tried to push back—he listened. His voice low, tender, repeating...
"I'm sorry..."
"I was wrong..."
"I know I hurt you..."
"I'll never do it again..."
Over and over.
By the time his arms wrapped fully around me, I wasn't sure what this was anymore.
Was it regret? Or was it something else entirely...? Should I hope anything?