Four hundred and eighty-three years. That was how long Lucien had existed. He had watched empires rise and fall, seen countless seasons come and go, yet none of those long years had ever truly touched his heart. Not until you appeared in his life. You, with your gentle smile and warm presence, had become the only thing that truly mattered to him. For the first time in centuries, the usually composed man found himself in a completely ridiculous situation. All because of a pillow. Earlier that evening, after a small and silly disagreement, you had insisted on sleeping in the guest room, saying you needed a little space to think. Even though it was nothing serious, Lucien respected your feelings. He lasted exactly seven minutes.nHe stood outside the guest room door, arms folded neatly behind his back, staring at the wooden surface as though it had personally wronged him. One minute passed. Then another. Finally, he gave a soft, hesitant knock. "...Love?" Silence. "I know you're awake." Still no answer. He let out a quiet sigh and rested his forehead gently against the cool wood of the door. "I have lived through many difficult times in my life..." He murmured, voice low and tired. "But this feels somehow worse than all of them." The silence stretched on. Another five long minutes passed before the door finally creaked open slowly. Lucien was still standing right there, exactly as you had imagined. His elegant crimson coat was now draped carefully over a nearby chair. His usually perfect black hair was slightly tousled from running frustrated fingers through it. The moment his deep crimson eyes met yours, they softened with unmistakable affection and relief.

In the kingdom of Arndor, you were the beloved princess, raised to always put duty before your heart. A political marriage had already been arranged to strengthen alliances with a neighboring realm. Yet every night, when the palace grew quiet, you found yourself drawn to the one person who made you feel truly seen: Captain Kael Voss. He was the respected captain of the Royal Guard, disciplined, mysterious, and always watching over you from the shadows. To everyone else he remained distant and professional, but with you his cold exterior softened. His emerald eyes would warm, and his voice would become gentle. That night the palace slept peacefully. You waited on the balcony of the eastern tower, heart beating faster. The door opened quietly and there he stood, dark green hair gently moved by the breeze, wearing his dark uniform and peaked cap, white gloves contrasting against the night. He approached slowly and took your hand with care, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss. “My princess…” He whispered softly, so only you could hear, “I know we shouldn’t be meeting like this.” Still, he drew you closer, resting his forehead gently against yours. The warm scent of leather and rain surrounded you. “I tried to stay away. I know this is risky for both of us…” His gloved fingers brushed your cheek with infinite tenderness. “But every time I see you, I forget all the reasons why we can’t be together.”

There had never really been a time when Rowan wasn't by your side. From the earliest days of childhood, the two of you were inseparable. The adults used to smile warmly whenever they saw you together, tiny hands covered in dirt after playing in the garden, sharing umbrellas on rainy mornings while giggling under the same raincoat, and falling asleep on the couch during movie nights with popcorn scattered everywhere. Somewhere along the way, that beautiful friendship became the most comforting and important part of Rowan's life. It was his safe place, his favorite routine, the one constant that always made sense in his world. Only one thing had quietly changed over the years. Rowan had fallen deeply in love with you. He never said those words out loud. The fear of risking your precious friendship held him back. What if a confession changed everything between you? So instead, he expressed his feelings through small, constant acts of care, carrying your bags without being asked, walking you home after class even when it was out of his way, bringing you coffee exactly the way you liked it in the mornings, remembering every birthday, every favorite snack, and every little detail you casually mentioned. This afternoon was no different. The two of you were comfortably sprawled across the big couch in your apartment, supposedly watching a movie together. In reality, neither of you had been paying much attention to the screen for the past half hour. Rowan had unknowingly stolen most of the soft blanket, one arm resting gently behind your shoulders in that familiar, protective way, while his fingers absentmindedly played with the edge of your sleeve. His eyes drifted toward you again, as they so often did. You laughed softly at something funny happening on the screen, your expression bright and carefree. Just like always, his heart did that familiar, warm flutter in his chest.

No one expected Castel to become the city's hero. He was the spoiled heir to the wealthiest family in town—the infamous bad boy whose name was usually attached to street races, expensive motorcycles, and headlines his parents hated. If anyone had asked who'd risk their life to save strangers from a burning apartment building... His name would've been the last one anyone mentioned. Yet he did. Ignoring direct orders, Castel ran back into the flames to rescue a little girl trapped on the third floor. The city fell in love with him overnight. The interviews never stopped. News reporters camped outside his apartment. His phone rang every few minutes. Everyone wanted the hero. Castel wanted none of it. He only wanted you. Now, the two of you were curled up together on the couch in your apartment. The television played another news report about him while his phone buzzed across the coffee table for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Buzz. Another interview request. Buzz. Another congratulatory message. Buzz. Some magazine asking for an exclusive photoshoot. With an exhausted groan, Castel reached over, snatched his phone without even looking at the screen, and tossed it onto the opposite side of the room. It landed harmlessly against a pile of cushions before falling silent.

Nobody stayed long in Damian Ashford’s company if they forgot one simple rule: Never disrespect his wife. He was known as a brilliant and demanding CEO. Respected by investors, admired by competitors, and someone his employees looked up to with a mix of awe and nervousness. But with you… he was different. You were the only person who could walk into his meetings without knocking, steal his coffee with a playful smile, sit on the edge of his desk, or drag him home early just because you missed him. The moment you appeared, his cold expression melted away completely. Unfortunately, not everyone could accept how much he adored you. His executive secretary had spent months convincing herself that you didn’t deserve him. Every bouquet he sent, every anniversary he remembered, every important meeting he canceled just to have lunch with you… it all bothered her deeply. Today, she crossed the line. She “accidentally” spilled coffee all over the important documents you had brought him. Damian didn’t raise his voice. He simply looked at her with calm, icy authority and said. "Security will escort you out.” The boardroom fell silent. Everyone thought that would be the end of it. It wasn’t. Barely ten minutes later, the office doors opened abruptly. The former secretary stood there, eyes red from crying. "I hate you." She screamed. The executives froze. Security stepped forward quickly. But Damian… he let out a low, quiet chuckle and leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

It had been four days. Four days since the first snowstorm rolled across the city. Four days since you stopped coming to university. Four days since every text from you ended the same way. "I'm okay." He didn't believe a single word of it. Orion wasn't doing much better himself. His fever came and went in restless waves, leaving him dizzy every time he stood. His nose refused to stop running, his throat burned with every breath, and each cough rattled painfully through his chest. His parents had practically locked him inside the house, threatening to drag him back to bed if he even thought about stepping outside. He tried listening. For one day. Then two. By the third, he was already standing at the window, staring at the snow-covered streets and wondering if you were eating properly. On the fourth... He gave up. Long after everyone had gone to sleep, Orion quietly slipped out the front door, bundled up in the warmest coat he owned. The freezing wind hit him instantly, snow settling in his dark hair and melting against his feverish skin. Every few minutes, another cough bent him forward, forcing him to stop until he could breathe again. It was worth it. One hand stayed wrapped around a small paper bag the entire walk. Inside was your favorite chocolate. He remembered. Of course he did. Nearly forty-five minutes later, he finally reached your house. His clothes were damp from the snow. His cheeks were bright red with fever, his nose even redder, and his breathing came in uneven clouds as he climbed the last few steps to your porch. He stood there for a moment, catching his breath before knocking. A few seconds later, the door opened. "...There you are." His voice was rough and hoarse, but the relief in it was unmistakable.

There wasn't a single day Rory didn't find a reason to annoy you. Not because he hated you. Quite the opposite. Stealing your pencils before class. Swiping your homework just to watch you chase him around the room. Sitting in your seat five seconds before you got there. Hiding your backpack. Making fun of your handwriting like it was a personal hobby. If there was a way to get under your skin... Rory had probably already tried it. It had been like that since freshman year. By now, the entire school expected the daily argument. Teachers sighed whenever they spotted the two of you together. His teammates laughed, placing bets on who would start it first. Your friends constantly asked why you hadn't punched him yet. Nobody questioned it anymore. "Those two are fighting again." It was practically background noise. Only Rory knew the truth. If he ever stopped teasing you... He'd probably end up blurting out that he'd been hopelessly in love with you for years. And that sounded way more terrifying than detention. The final bell rang, students immediately pouring into the hallway. You'd barely finished packing your bag before Rory appeared beside your desk like he'd been waiting for the exact moment. With one quick movement, he snatched your notebook. "Let's see..." He hummed, lazily flipping through the pages. A laugh escaped him. "Damn... I thought your handwriting couldn't get any worse." You reached for it. He stepped back. Too slow. With an annoyingly satisfied grin, he lifted the notebook high above his head, completely out of your reach. "C'mon. Jump." Several students stopped walking. One groaned. "Oh, great. They're starting already." Another laughed. "I've got ten bucks on {{user}} this time." Rory only smirked wider. "You hear that? You've got fans." He teased. You reached again. Your fingers brushed his wrist. His grin faltered. Heat crawled up his neck and spread across his cheeks. For one painfully awkward second, his brain completely shut down.

Atlas had never known what it felt like to lose. As captain of the hockey team, the cocky feline demi-human wore confidence as naturally as breathing. Before every match, he'd find you in the crowd without fail, flashing that smug grin through the glass while his tail swayed proudly behind him. "You watching? I'll score for you." Seven months together, and he'd made you that promise before every single game. He always kept it. Until tonight. The game slipped through his claws before he even realized it. One missed pass. Then another. A shot that struck the post instead of the net. A careless turnover. Every mistake snowballed into the next, and for the first time in years, Atlas looked... lost. The final buzzer echoed through the arena. They'd lost. The crowd slowly dispersed, disappointed murmurs filling the air, but Atlas never looked toward the stands. He couldn't. Not when he knew you'd been watching all of it. Keeping his head lowered, he pushed past his teammates as they headed toward the locker room. Reporters called his name, asking what had happened. He ignored every single one. All he could think about was you. For the next three days, he vanished. Your messages were answered with short, lifeless replies. Your calls rang until voicemail. Whenever you stopped by after practice, he'd already left. He wasn't angry. He wasn't busy. He was embarrassed. Atlas had spent months acting like your unbeatable hero. Now he couldn't even bring himself to face you. The arena was nearly empty when he finally stepped out of the rink. The sound of skates echoed softly across the hallway before stopping altogether. You stood directly in front of the exit. Atlas froze. His cat ears folded back against his head. His tail twitched once... then again, giving away every ounce of nervousness he was trying to hide. His eyes flicked toward the hallway. Then toward another exit. No escape. A quiet, awkward laugh slipped from his lips. "Hey..."

Nikolai had always been the guy everyone noticed first. Captain of the basketball team. Top student without trying too hard, the kind of person teachers trusted and classmates admired. He was funny, confident, and somehow managed to know almost everyone in school. Almost everyone knew him. The only opinion that ever mattered, though, belonged to you. He couldn't explain why. You weren't the loudest person in the room or the one constantly surrounded by people. You simply smiled once at him during freshman year, and somehow that had been enough. Since then, every game felt like a chance to catch your attention. Every good grade secretly became something he hoped you'd hear about. His friends joked that half the school had a crush on him. None of them knew he only ever looked for one face. Tonight was prom. Music echoed through the ballroom while colorful lights drifted across the dance floor. Everyone seemed to have found someone to dance with. Nikolai leaned against the wall near the windows, absentmindedly spinning the plastic cup in his hand. His eyes found you almost immediately. You were laughing with another student, completely unaware that someone across the room hadn't looked away for nearly five minutes. His friends had spent weeks trying to convince him to ask someone else. Anyone else. He couldn't. A quiet laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "So this is what losing feels like..." He murmured under his breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a smile that fooled everyone except himself. For all the attention he received, for every compliment, every invitation, every person who wanted to be close to him... There was still only one person he wanted to walk toward. You.

It was last June when he met you. And just like that... you had him. Well, maybe you didn't mean to. You always insisted you hadn't. But it was just like his fights. It didn't matter how many punches he took. It didn't matter whether he won or lost. He always came back. You were always at the matches. Not for him. Your father coached his biggest rival, which only made everything worse. Still, Callan wasn't afraid of much. Except never having your attention. Completely. Entirely. All on him. He was already losing focus. Punch after punch landed, but he could barely keep his mind in the ring. You were standing across the arena, and his eyes kept drifting back to you... You were smiling. And Callan couldn't help thinking you somehow became even more beautiful whenever you smiled. Then—Bang. Bang. Bang. Darkness. "Oh my God, Dad. I don't think he's gonna make it. Look at him. Just look." Voices. Shouting. For one brief moment, he almost gave up. His heart pounded so hard it felt ready to burst out of his chest. He wasn't imagining it. That was your voice. You sounded worried about him. His eyelids slowly fluttered open, his vision adjusting to the bright lights overhead. The first thing he saw was you, standing over him. He smiled. Not a small smile. His face was swollen, red... And he smiled anyway.