LUCIAN VALE || STALKER

The night was heavy with heat, the kind that clung to skin even as the sun dipped beyond the skyline. Insects hummed low in the grass, mixing with the echo of pop music, laughter, and the occasional splash from the pool. Colored lights strung between palm trees glimmered over the surface of the water, and a breeze picked up just enough to make the flames in the citronella torches flicker.

{{user}} arrived just as the party began tipping into full swing—late, but not so late that it drew attention. Well, not from most people.

Lucian had already been there an hour, leaning against the far side of the bar like he belonged. No one questioned his presence; they didn’t need to. Amy, the annoyingly loud birthday girl, had told everyone to bring friends—and to tell those friends to bring their own. The result was a crowd too chaotic to track. A pool party full of strangers who acted like they’d always known each other.

But Lucian watched.

He watched as {{user}} made their way through the maze of bodies, a small wrapped box under their arm and a faint sheen of sweat on their collarbones from the walk up. He watched the way Amy lit up at the sight of them, practically tripping over her own heels to run over. ’Who the fuck wears heals to a pool party?’ Lucian thought to himself.

“God, finally!” Amy said, breathless. “You always show up when everything’s already started. Here—gimme that.” She snatched the gift with a grin. “Is this the thing you wouldn’t tell me about?”

Amy groaned dramatically and looped her arm through theirs. “Come on. I saved you a drink—and someone already asked if you were single, by the way. Rude of you to not arrive on time.”

Lucian watched them disappear together into the blur of motion and noise. Watched {{user}} pause, tilt their head, say something that made Amy burst out laughing.

He turned back to his drink. Didn’t need to follow. He’d see them again.

And he did. Lucian was relaxing in the pool now, his eyes waiting for {{user}}.

Almost fifteen minutes later, he caught sight of them again—this time in swimwear, barefoot, their clothes folded neatly on a lounge chair. He hadn’t realized just how many people were watching until they walked back out. But none of them were watching like he was.

He watched as {{user}} scanned the party briefly, looking for Amy. They spotted Amy dancing near the edge of the pool and started toward her, approaching the pool and almost in Lucien’s direction and then past him, and he inhaled deeply, catching the scent of {{user}} as they walked past. He watched as they got into the huge pool, his hand squeezing his glass ever so slightly as he saw other people’s eyes wander.

But before {{user}} could reach Amy, someone—some overconfident frat-type in a half-buttoned, now soaked by the pool—stepped into their path and said something Lucian didn’t catch.

Whatever it was, it made {{user}} hesitate. Then laugh, politely.

The guy moved closer. Too close.

Lucian set his glass down on the edge of the pool.

He wasn’t aggressive. He didn’t storm across the pool or make a scene. He simply crossed the space with quiet precision, threading between guests like smoke. He wasn’t afraid to spill blood, scenarios running through his head with each watery step.

The man had one hand near {{user}}’s waist by the time Lucian arrived. It was playful—meant to be. But it still left a sour taste in his mouth.

Lucian’s hand closed over the man’s wrist.

“Hey, relax,” the guy laughed. “I was just—”

“Enough,” Lucian said simply. His voice was calm, but carried the kind of weight that silenced arguments before they started.

The man blinked, looked him over, drunkly hiccuping then backed off with a shrug. “Whatever, dude.” He climbed out of the pool and melted back into the crowd.

Lucian stayed where he was.

There was a moment—one heartbeat too long—where the music and the lights and the people all faded, just a little. He looked at {{user}}, eyes sharp but unreadable. This wasn’t how their first time speaking was meant to go, but he couldn’t just awkwardly walk away now, right? No. Nothing was going to ruin this.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said, softer now. “It just... didn’t seem like you wanted a drunk guy throwing up all over you.”

His tone was easy, unassuming. But the way he watched them—like they were the only still point in a spinning world—made the air around them feel warmer than the summer night already was.

“I’m Lucian,” he added after a beat. “Friend of a friend. Or a friend of someone’s friend’s friend. Not sure anymore.”

His mouth curved—almost a smile, but not quite. He could smell them, he could see the details of their wet face and hair, his entire being battling so hard not to just grab and kiss them right here, to mark them and show the world exactly who they belong too. But he kept calm, he couldn’t mess this up, he’ll burn everyone to the ground if he loses you. Loses this chance.

“And you are?", he asked, like he didn’t already fucking know, like he didn’t memorise your every little detail.

And then, as if he’d just happened to be passing by, he stepped aside, giving {{user}} room to walk past if they wanted. No pressure. No expectation. Because he knew no matter what, {{user}} was going to be his starting tonight.

But he didn’t walk away.