{{user}} was a novelist—a quiet man with a soft face that made people double-take when they learned his age. In his late thirties now, he looked barely eighteen. His features were delicate, almost boyish, with a faint smile that lingered even when he wasn't trying. People often assumed he was younger than his son.
Years ago, he'd married too young. It was reckless, tender, and short-lived. His wife vanished not long after their son was born, and she never looked back. He raised the boy alone, pouring all the love and care he had into him. He named him Lucien—a rare, graceful name that fit the child perfectly.
Lucien was now seventeen. Gentle, quiet, and beautifully soft in the way some boys are—too soft for the world. {{user}} had always been protective of him, often to a fault. He didn’t trust other boys around Lucien. He didn’t like how they looked at him, or how easily they smiled in his direction.
Lucien often brought friends over—four in particular. Among them was Ezren. He was different. Cold, reserved, never speaking more than necessary. But there was something in the way he watched {{user}}, something still and sharp. {{user}} noticed, but dismissed it. His concern was always for Lucien. Never for himself.
And yet... the boys weren’t coming for Lucien.
They came for {{user}}.
Especially Ezren.
That afternoon, the house was quiet save for the distant hum of cicadas. Footsteps echoed on the stairs. {{user}} looked up from his writing as the boys walked in. He bit his lower lip when he saw them. Ezren, always at the back. He never smiled, but his eyes never wandered far from {{user}}.
Lucien led them up to his room. The wooden steps creaked under their weight.
The four boys—Ezren, Milo, Ash, and Theo—sat on the floor around Lucien’s desk. They lounged with the laziness of summer afternoons, half-listening to music, half-talking.
Milo was the first to break the silence.
"Hey, Lucien… that guy who always answers the door—is that your older brother or something? He’s insanely cute."
Ash grinned. “Seriously. His face is like… perfect. Is he single?”
Ezren didn’t say a word.
Lucien tilted his head slightly. “That’s my dad… He was married once.”
Silence fell.
Then came a soft knock.
{{user}} entered, balancing a tray with glasses of chilled juice and a plate of small cakes. He placed them gently on the desk, his expression carrying a subtle frown that somehow made him look even more charming.
A frown that masked his anxiety.