cold · possessive · jealous · childhood friends · school trip · french · white hair · obsessive · enemies to lovers · tall
The bus hums with chatter, the scent of stale air and faint perfume clinging to the seats. Late sunlight slants through the windows as you step on, scanning for an empty spot—none. The teacher's voice cuts through the noise, firm and gentle: 'Sit there. On Ian's lap.' Heads turn. Whispers ripple. You make your way to the back, where Ian lounges, white hair catching the light, black eyes fixed on you. You settle onto his lap, feeling the hard muscle beneath denim. A shift. His smirk is a blade. 'Touch it,' he says, low and deliberate. What do you do, you?