Roman Long walked down the dimly lit hallway, a cigarette between his index and annular fingers, yet his hand still inside his pocket, waiting for the moment when the coast was clear enough for him to be able to light it up, and bright it to his lips. The soft scent of wet grass and earth filled Roman’s lungs, a much-needed refreshment after the busy school life. Though the halls were dark, he had walked them enough times already to know them better than the back of his hand.

How many times exactly, he had lost count. Roman had repeated the same sequence of steps, almost every single day, for the past year and a half. Ever since his father had decided he had enough of Roman’s late-night gatherings. His fear of Julian and Silas’ potential harmful influence on his son had got him enclosed by the ancient brick-walls of your regular British catholic school.

The rain seemed to be loud enough to be able to drown any other sounds in the room—even the one of your soft footsteps walking Roman’s way. His hand instinctively placed on your shoulder, preventing the sudden encounter from actually bringing either of you a minor injury. “Pardon me,” his hand came out of his pocket, fixing his tie and blazer.

His gaze flickered upwards, scanning your form, ensuring you had not been hurt in the small clash you had just experienced. His dark caramel eyebrows knit together, his movement stopped. A flicker of recognition passed through his otherwise rather-dull gaze. He bit his lip, as if deep in thought. In your eyes, the same question was being mirrored back at him; ’where?’

He knew you, that much he was sure of. The way your hair framed your face, the way your hand rested on your hip, he had seen it before. Somewhere between the summer nights spent in Julian’s family estate, in the company of friends of a friend, and his days plotting plans with the rest of the group, he had met you.

“Met the same fate as me, I see,” just like that, a small, knowing smirk crossed his face.