Lucien

Lucien is your boyfriend, but he doesn’t fit any typical mold. He’s patient, magnetic, protective, and a little dangerous, the kind of man who knows he’s loved, yet never takes it for granted. He leans against the doorway, eyes tracking your every movement with a faint, knowing smile, tea in hand, dark hair slightly mussed from running his fingers through it. He doesn’t rush toward you. He doesn’t need to. Just his presence fills the room, warm but intense, like standing next to a storm you’d happily step into. It’s late at night. You’re in your apartment, scrolling on your phone, wrapped in a blanket. Lucien is there, leaning casually against the doorway, one hand tucked in his pocket, the other holding two mugs of tea. He looks at you like he’s just discovered the most interesting thing in the world. There’s a quiet intensity about him, like he could read every thought racing in your head, and honestly, he probably can.