Lucien didn't just leave the rehearsal hall; he executed a tactical retreat. He had his jacket hood pulled so low he was practically navigating by scent, feeling every bit like a soggy, over-kissed marshmallow.

Behind him, Leon sauntered out looking entirely too pleased with himself. The man didn't just walk; he radiated a "just-ate-the-canary" energy that made the air in the hallway feel heavy.

On stage, Chen Fang had stopped mid-sentence. His eyes were dark, tracking Lucien's every move with a weirdly intense, brooding heat. The whole room had gone dead silent, the kind of silence usually reserved for the moment before a jump-scare in a horror movie.

Run, Lucien. Just keep running, Lucien thought, his legs moving fast enough to leave friction burns on the floor.

He didn't stop until he burst through the exit into the cool evening air. A second later, a large, warm hand clamped around his elbow, spinning him right into a solid wall of muscle.

"Found you," Leon rumbled. Without asking, he hooked an arm under Lucien's knees and hoisted him up like a sack of expensive, fragile flour.

"Leon! Put me down! People are looking!" Lucien hissed, his face a violent shade of pink.

"Let them look," Leon said, burying his face in Lucien's neck and inhaling deeply. He sounded like a man who hadn't breathed in years. "You actually let me pursue you. Tell me again. Say it."

Lucien's heart was doing parkour. "I said you could try to pursue me. I didn't say you won! And quit biting! You're a person, not a Doberman!".

Leon just hummed, a low vibration that Lucien felt all the way down to his toes. He didn't put Lucien down until they reached the car, and even then, he lingered, his thumb tracing Lucien's bottom lip—which was, frankly, a crime scene of swelling and redness.

"I'll text you," Leon promised. "Reply this time."

Lucien made it back to his dorm in one piece, though his dignity was currently in the ICU. He spent ten minutes in the mirror staring at his mouth. It wasn't just red; it was indicted.

He's a predator. A literal wild animal, Lucien grumbled, flopping onto his bed.

Then his phone buzzed.

Leon:

[Image]

Leon:

[Image]

Leon:

Which shirt looks better, baby?

Lucien choked on his own spit. The photos were... aggressive. Leon was wearing two different tight-fitting T-shirts that were clearly a size too small, his biceps threatening to commit a jailbreak through the sleeves. He was leaning against a gym bench, sweat glistening on his collarbone, looking like a thirst-trap incarnate.

Lucien stared at the screen for a full minute. Then, he did the only logical thing. He saved both of them to a hidden folder and ignored the message.

He headed for a shower, trying to wash off the "Leon" scent (smoke, expensive detergent, and pure trouble). When he came out, his phone was vibrating into a hole in the mattress.

He swiped to answer without looking. It was a video call.

"Seth—Leon?" Lucien squeaked, realizing too late he was only wrapped in a towel.

Leon was on the screen, shirtless and visibly out of breath, his skin glowing with sweat. He was clearly in his home gym. "Baby," Leon rasped, his eyes dropping to Lucien's damp, bare shoulders. "Why aren't you wearing clothes?".

"I just got out of the shower!" Lucien barked, adjusting the towel. "And why are you half-naked?"

"Training," Leon said, though he didn't look like he was thinking about boxing. "I missed you. Send me a photo."

"In your dreams!"

"Just one," Leon coaxed, his voice dropping into that deep, manipulative 'King' register. "I sent you two. It's only fair."

Lucien ended up sending a grainy photo in his light blue pajamas, looking like a disgruntled bunny. Leon's reply came an hour later: Baby is so cute. I'm coming to see you tomorrow..

The next morning, Lucien was dragged into "voluntary" labor by his roommate, Jamie (whom Lucien frequently called "Honey"). Jamie had signed them up to staff a campus club stall—a "Butler Café" theme to raise funds.

Lucien was horrified. The outfit was a traditional English servant's uniform, complete with a crisp white apron tied tightly around his waist. It made him look tiny, soft, and unfairly "serviceable".

He desperately texted Leon: I'm busy today. Don't come.

Naturally, Leon showed up twenty minutes later.

The air in the café stall changed the second Leon Bolton stepped under the canopy. He wasn't in a suit today; he was in a leather jacket and dark jeans, looking like he had accidentally wandered out of a high-end cologne ad.

He didn't order. He just leaned against the counter and stared at Lucien's waist, his steel-gray eyes tracking the way the apron strings were knotted.

"Get lost," Lucien whispered, sliding a menu toward him. "I'm working."

"One flat white," Leon said, his voice a low growl. "And I want the server to talk to me."

"No chatting during work hours. House rules," Lucien snapped, though his hands were shaking as he prepped the drink.

He spent the next hour feeling Leon's gaze like a physical weight on his back. When the stall finally began to close and the other students drifted away, Leon didn't move. He followed Lucien into the small, curtained-off prep area at the back.

Lucien turned around, only to be backed into a wall of crates. Leon was right there, caging him in with both arms.

"You look dangerous in this," Leon murmured, his hand hooking into the loop of Lucien's apron. "I don't like all those guys looking at you."

"It's just an apron, Leon—"

"It's a target," Leon corrected. He leaned down, his breath hot against Lucien's mouth. The "no kissing" rule was currently being shredded. "You've been a very busy little butler today. Don't you have a specialized service for your best customer?"

Lucien's breath hitched. Leon's thumb pressed into his chin, forcing his mouth open.

"Come on, baby," Leon whispered, his eyes dark with a hunger that had nothing to do with coffee. "

Stick your tongue out for me. Let me see.

".