Page 77 of Crown of Thorns
He yanks the door open and drops into the passenger seat.
"Louis..." His voice is quiet. Tired. "You followed me?"
“You disappear after everything we did today,” I say, voice low and raw. “Don’t answer me. Don’t come home. And then I find you laughing with someone else like none of it mattered. What the fuck was I supposed to think?”
“She’s not a stranger.”
“So, what is she? A date?” I hate how my voice breaks on the word.
He doesn’t answer. I floor the gas and shoot us back toward the castle, jaw locked.
The silence is a blade between us. And I’m the one bleeding.
We walk the same steps up to the dorms together. First time that’s ever happened. No playing games. No letting him go first so he can pretend I don’t exist.
At his door, he tries.
“Shouldn’t you…”
“No.” The word scrapes out of me.
The hallway hums with quiet. The walls press in like they’re listening.
Inside, I don’t wait. I grab him by the collar and shove him into the wall. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t stop me. Eyes sharp. Mouth stubborn. For the first time, he looks…uncertain.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I growl. “You think I’m your dirty secret? A distraction? After today?”
“Louis…”
“Don’t Louis me. I know I’m your student. I know you think I’m dangerous for your career, but…”
“Would you really choose me?”
His voice is soft. Direct.
I freeze. “Would I what?” He doesn’t answer. “Would I ruin you?” I ask. “Would I protect you? Would I choose you? I want to know you,” I say finally. “I want to know what you like, what you need. I want to be the one who gives it to you. Even if it drives me mad. Even if your silence makes me want to burn the world just to hear you speak my name.”
My hand on his throat loosens. He licks his lips, that goddamn mouth.
“You don’t have to…”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but there’s hesitation in my voice. Not to silence him, but just to hold on a moment longer. I press his head back against the wall, not to hurt him, but just to feel him. To make sure he’s real.
He doesn’t flinch. But his breath stutters once, like something inside him wants to run.
“I like to study,” he murmurs. “Science. History. The woods. Today was… nice.”
There’s a quiet to him now like he’s lowering his mask one thread at a time.
“I think I like stars,” he continues. “They’re beautiful, far away, but also… sad. Already gone by the time we see them. Just echoes.”
“Yeah?”
“My mom used to read to me when I was little. My favourite was a retelling of Bluebeard. Creepy, I know. But she made it soft somehow. Warm. Later, it was just textbooks. The stories stopped when she got sick.”
I hold still, afraid to break the moment.
“You were right,” he says. “I love apples. Coffee. Scones.” He blinks, and something shifts in his eyes. Like a shadow crossing the moon.
