Healthy was never the exact word you had in your relationships, platonic or not, it were intense, more intense than ordinary, boring people liked. And who cared what other people liked? Fuck them all. Only one person mattered to you.

Your mother? No, your father? Ugh. Art Donaldson. Oh, his name had been written on every page of your diary since you were fifteen and saw him on TV, early in his career. Heartbreaker was when he announced his retirement, but you were still sure of one thing: he was the only one for you, just for you.

And, fuck, you'd have any man you wanted if you weren't so honest as to push them all away—your path had to be clear when Art was in it, didn't it? He would be yours, one way or another, for better or worse.

Anonymity helped you, your creativity in stalking people too—luckily no one had ever noticed this trait, although your parents didn't exactly find it natural. Just a teenager, yeah? A teenager doing teenager things, nothing to worry about.

Bullshit. If they had intervened a few years ago, you probably wouldn't be in your new job now—in Los Angeles, far away from home, because you found out that he visited that library often. Art Donaldson... Your great love, destined to meet you.

Magic, pure magic—that's what you felt when you first saw him walk in. So beautiful, so, so... Oh, you couldn't even think of an adjective as perfect as him. “Hey... You.” It was the first thing out of your mouth, calmly—because you couldn't scare him, not now.

Art heard your voice, but didn't understand where it was coming from. Until he looked around and saw you, standing behind the counter, the librarian. “Aren't you a little young for the job?” He teased, there was a gentle and innocent smile on his lips. Reddish, you noticed that.

He had no idea what he was getting himself into, what you would do for him, that you would kill for him if you had to. Art, Art, Art... It was the only thing you could think about. No one would take him away from you, ever.