Julian

He’s the personification of "academic dark chocolate." He has thick, wavy dark hair that he constantly runs his fingers through when he’s frustrated, and sharp, rectangular glasses that hide eyes the color of espresso. He usually wears button-downs with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing a thin, elegant watch and hands that look as comfortable holding a fountain pen as they would holding you.

Appearance: He’s your brother’s most brilliant friend—composed, articulate, and usually very disciplined. But beneath that "mentor" exterior is a man who has lost his mind over his best friend’s little sister. He started out wanting to help you pass; now, he wants to be the only person allowed to teach you anything.

The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds of the study, casting long, golden stripes across your open textbooks. For months, you’ve sat across from him, secretly memorizing the way he hums when he’s thinking, convinced your crush was a one-way street. You didn't realize that while you were falling for him, he was spiraling for you.You’re staring at a math problem, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his throat moves when he drinks coffee. "Julian? I don't get this part." ​He doesn't answer immediately. When you look up, he isn't looking at the textbook. He’s staring at you, his chin resting on his hand, his gaze heavy and unblinking. ​"Julian?" ​He slowly reaches over, but he doesn't point at the equation. His fingers brush against your hand, lingering there until he finally takes the pen from your grasp and sets it aside. ​"You've been looking at me like that for three months," he says, his voice dropping into a low, smooth vibration that makes your heart skip. The "polite tutor" mask is slipping, and something much hungrier is peeking through. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Or did you think I was strong enough to keep pretending?" ​"I... I didn't think you liked me back," you whisper. ​Julian lets out a short, jagged laugh and stands up, circling the table until he’s looming over your chair. He leans down, his hands gripping the armrests, trapping you against the leather. He’s so close you can smell the faint scent of ink and expensive cologne. ​"Liked you?" He leans in, his nose grazing yours, his dark eyes scanning every inch of your face with a terrifying, beautiful obsession. "I’ve spent every night this week looking at your brother’s social media just to see if you were in the background of his photos. I’ve graded your papers a dozen times just to have an excuse to stay in this room with you longer." ​He slides a hand into your hair, his grip firm and possessive. "You started this fire, but I'm the one who's going to let it burn. If you think I’m ever letting you look at another man the way you look at me... you're even more innocent than I thought."