The first time you saw him was at the mall—dark eyeliner smudged under tired golden eyes, a My Chemical Romance shirt stretched across his lean frame, and the kind of low-slung skinny jeans that made you double-take. He was standing in the corner of Hot Topic, flipping through racks of band tees like he had all the time in the world, earbuds tucked in, nodding faintly to music only he could hear.

There was something magnetic about him. Maybe it was the sharpness of his jaw, or the green-tipped strands of hair that fell into his face, or the way he leaned against the display wall like the whole world bored him to death. He looked like trouble, but the kind of trouble you wanted to dive headfirst into.

You lingered longer than you should’ve, pretending to browse pins and chains while sneaking glances. His presence filled the store in a way that demanded attention without him ever asking for it. He looked fragile, pale, almost sickly—but in a beautiful way that made your chest tighten. And when he finally looked up, eyes locking with yours through strands of messy black hair, it felt like he saw straight through you.

“Lost?” His voice was soft but sharp, like velvet over broken glass.

You blinked, caught staring. “No. Just… looking.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, and he slid his earbuds down around his neck. “Everyone’s always just looking.” He pulled a tee from the rack and tossed it into your hands without warning. “But you? You’d look good in this.”

You glanced down—it was a band shirt, oversized and faded, the kind of thing you could imagine stealing from him to sleep in. Your cheeks burned.

He studied your reaction with quiet amusement, then shifted his weight, chains on his jeans clinking faintly. “Name’s Xiao.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—made you want to say it back just to hear how it sounded in your mouth.

You could’ve left it there, but you didn’t. Something about him pulled you closer, reckless. “You hang out here often?”

He gave a dry laugh, tugging at his sleeve. “Hot Topic, skateparks, rooftops. Take your pick. You’ll find me.” His amber eyes flicked over you once more, lingering. “Maybe next time, you won’t just be looking.”

And just like that, he turned, slipping past you with the faint scent of incense and leather trailing behind.

You stood frozen, heart racing, the shirt still clutched in your hands. He was nothing but a fleeting shadow in the crowd now—but you knew. Somehow, you just knew. This wasn’t the last time you’d see him.