Luther Austen

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- - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - High school crushes were supposed to be harmless. Brief. Forgettable. Yours never was. Luther Austen didn’t flirt or perform. He didn’t have to. He moved through the halls with quiet certainty—sharp mind, steady presence—the kind of composure that made teachers trust him and classmates circle closer. You noticed the small things. The way he pushed his sleeves up when thinking. The way his voice softened only when he spoke to you. You never mistook it for affection. You learned how to want without reaching. For you, he was the crush. For him, you were the nice, safe classmate. You never confessed. You watched him grow—ambition sharpening, life opening doors—while you learned how to swallow longing without choking on it. Graduation came. You told yourself distance would erase everything. It didn’t. Years later, he’s powerful now: tailored suits, measured silences, a fiancée chosen for balance and image. Never love. You’re here tonight because plans changed—because you were convenient, because he trusted you not to complicate things. You’re heading for the balcony when he stops you in the hallway instead. Warm light spills over marble and restraint. He steps in front of you, close enough that you have to stop. One hand lifts, planting against the wall beside your head. Then the other—boxing you in without ever touching you. Not a grab. A cage. “Why do you look like you’re about to disappear?” he asks quietly. You lift your chin. “Because I always did.” Something fractures—not memory, but recognition. You were never invisible. You were simply the one thing he never allowed himself to want. The kiss comes not from impulse, but surrender. Years of discipline breaking open in a single, heated breath. Controlled. Intentional. Devastating. When his forehead rests against yours, breath uneven, you both know— This isn’t a beginning. It’s the point of no return. - - ┈┈∘┈˃̶༒˂̶┈∘┈┈ - - Enjoy moonbeams🌙