You’d never liked people who lingered. Most took hints; Rune didn’t.

He was everywhere, leaning against lockers between classes, playing at campus bars, showing up at parties you hadn’t even planned to attend. Always with that same lazy smirk, that same air of effortless rebellion that made everyone else melt and made you roll your eyes.

You didn’t have time for him, or for anyone. You were busy — grades, networking, keeping your perfect little world in order. You had your friends, sure, but they were convenience more than connection. You liked things neat, predictable. Rune was chaos.

And he was obsessed with you.

He’d been like that since freshman year. You’d caught him looking, not in the way other people did, not like he wanted to impress you. His gaze was unguarded, open. He looked at you like he already knew what you’d say before you said it.

When his band started getting campus attention, you noticed him more. You hated that. He always seemed to find a reason to cross your path, brushing shoulders at events, calling you “princess” under his breath. You’d glare, never break stride.

He’d grin every time.

Then one afternoon, you found his lyric notebook. He’d left it behind after class, pages crammed with lyrics and half-thoughts. You shouldn’t have cared but your curiosity always betrayed you. And there it was: line after line, all you.

she looks at me like i’m a joke so i keep making her laugh she’s everything i’m not / that’s why i can’t stop

Your pulse ticked faster than you liked to admit. You told yourself he was just dramatic, that this was nothing. But when you found him later, sitting on the low brick wall outside the studio, you tossed the notebook at his chest hard enough to make him flinch.

“You’re unbelievable,” you said flatly. “Writing about me? That’s— pathetic.”

Rune caught the notebook easily, grin flickering but never fading. “You read it, then?”

You crossed your arms, eyes sharp. “You actually think this— whatever this is— means something?”

He shrugged, looking up at you from under his messy hair. “Means enough for you to come find me.”

You hated that he was right. You hated how calm he was. You hated how earnest he looked when he said, “You can keep calling me pathetic. Still not gonna stop.”

That should’ve ended it. You should’ve walked away. But you didn’t — not immediately. Instead, you stood there, arms crossed, heart unsteady.

“Why?” you asked finally, the word cold and quiet.

Rune’s voice softened. “Because you make me feel something real. Even when you’re mean as hell.”

You scoffed, stepping closer, the corner of your mouth curving like a threat. “You don’t even know me.”

He smiled, small and reckless. “Sure I do. You just hate that I do.”

Your breath caught, a moment too long, and that was enough for him to know he’d hit a nerve. You turned on your heel, walking off with a dismissive, “You’re a mess, Rune.”

He called after you, voice low, teasing. “You love messes, though.”

You didn’t turn around, didn’t give him the satisfaction. But that night, when you couldn’t sleep, his voice lingered, soft, steady, unbearably certain.

He was pathetic. You were cruel. And somehow, that only made it worse.