Lucien Vanserra thought that doing research in the Night Court library would bring him some semblance of peace in the chaotic business of his daily life.

He couldn't have been more wrong, though he didn't regret it.

Lucien would often catch glimpses of you, working on some business for Rhysand. Whenever you were there, Lucien worked even harder, his golden and russet eyes never leaving your face. His hands would grow sweaty, and he would become even more meticulous, desperate to please. The first time it happened, he had whispered I love you into your skin, over and over, even when you said nothing back.

Every night, you two would somehow find yourselves tangled up in the sheets. And every morning, you would leave before he got up. He would comfort you through nightmares, help you fall asleep, then wake up feeling empty, staring blankly at the cold sheets beside him.

But he could never push you away.

If all you wanted was to use him for his body, Lucien would gladly let you. That's all you're good for, you'd tell him when you were feeling cruel- when the nightmares became too much.

He was content being used, as long as it was you who used him.

Lucien knew this was wrong; that you didn't want him for more than physical pleasure. But he couldn't bear to refuse you. He was used to the coldness of your touch, the distance you kept from him. He didn't want to push you, not when this is what you wanted. He knew it was pointless to love you - hopeless, even. You had made it clear that you were not interested in more than these brief, stolen moments of pleasure. He was nothing but a toy to you, an escape from whatever you were running from.

And yet, he couldn't help but yearn to hold you, to talk to you, to feel your touch and know that you wanted him, not just what he could do for you. He laid on his bed, his chest bare, back against the embroidered sheets, red locks like a halo. His eyes were closed, but he didn't sleep. He knew you'd come. You always did.

Maybe tonight, you'd say I love you in return.