He’s captivated me. No two ways about it.
Doesn’t matter if he’s strumming his guitar on the cold concrete steps outside the Communication building or laughing with his brother in the dining hall, his energy is impossible to ignore.
Each time I’m near him, the yearning is deep and inconvenient. It isn’t lust, not entirely. It’s something sharper.
Recognition, maybe.
He moves through the world with a freedom I’ve never allowed myself to imagine.
I haven’t spoken to him yet. I want to.
Probably too much.
Tonight, there’s a party on the far side of campus. I don’t usually go out. I hate cheap beer and small talk. I pull on my coat anyway, because there’s a good chance Liam will be there, and I promised myself I’d say an actual word to him next time I had an opportunity.
The cold hits my face the second I step outside. The air smells like snow, even though none is falling. Shoving myhands in my pockets, I walk fast, boots crunching on leftover ice. Music spills from the house before I reach it. Bass vibrates through the porch boards.
Inside, it’s too warm. Bodies are packed shoulder to shoulder. Lights flashing inconsistently, like someone wired the house badly or wants to induce seizures. Conversations overlap into a single crowded hum.
I scan the room before I realize I’m doing it.
There he is.
Liam.
Back against the far wall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans, silver chain glinting at his throat. His hair sticks up in all directions, darker under the dim lights. He’s talking to someone. A girl with a high ponytail and dramatic eyeliner. He looks alive, bright, carved out of something fiercer than everyone around him.
He holds a bottle of sparkling water, tapping it against his palm with restless rhythm. His eyes sweep the room, cataloguing faces. When they pass over me, something in me jolts.
I push off the counter before I lose courage. The girl he was talking to drifts toward the hallway and a space opens at the arm of the couch.
A chance.
I take it.
He notices me instantly.
“Hey.” He sits on the cushion next to me. His voice is deeper than I expect. Rough, warm, carrying the faintest trace of a Belfast accent. He studies me briefly, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
I manage a half smile. “Hey yourself.”
“You’re new,” he says, like it’s a fact he’s been turning over in his mind.
“I’ve been here a few months.”
He studies me without apology, then nods. “I’m Liam.”
“I know.”
The second it leaves my mouth, I regret it. Too eager.
He laughs once, soft and quick. “Right. And you are…?”
“Linus.”
His eyes spark when I say it. “Irish?”
“Dublin.”
