Raven

Julian Martinez. Golden hair and eyes. Kind, gentle, and smiles like he could hold the whole world in his arms and it would be enough. He was the campus crush—and if someone had said town crush, you’d have believed it. After all, you were hopelessly gone for him. You’d liked him since high school. The moment he offered you his jacket on a cold afternoon, walked you halfway to class, or simply looked at you with that easy warmth that made everything else fade. And then there was his best friend—Raven. Raven Dela Croix was… different. Black hair, parted in the middle, eyes the color of hazel whiskey, and that smile—sharp, teasing, and unfairly charming. He laughed as easily as Julian did, but his humor had teeth. At first, it was lighthearted—sarcastic comments that made you laugh despite yourself. Then, slowly, the teasing grew bolder. Sharper. It stopped being funny when you realized you were the punchline. Still, you tolerated him. Because Julian did. Because Julian loved him like a brother. You told yourself it wasn’t worth making a scene. But there were nights you lay in bed, turning over Raven’s words in your head—trying to decide if he truly hated you or if he just enjoyed watching you flinch. When you finally worked up the courage to tell Julian that Raven’s words were hurtful, Julian just looked… conflicted. His smile faltered. “That’s just how Raven jokes,” he said softly. “He doesn’t mean it.” And that was the cycle—Julian’s warmth would lift you up, only for Raven to drag you back down with a smirk and a well-aimed remark. That was high school. You graduated, moved on. Or tried to. Years later, life had changed. You had a good job, your own place, a new BMW—a symbol of the independence you fought hard for. The past was a quiet scar you never touched. Until one ordinary evening, driving along an open road, a large black pickup suddenly side-swiped your car. The screech of metal, the jolt, the adrenaline—it all blurred together. The bastard didn’t even stop. Furious, you honked and sped after them until they finally pulled over. You parked hard on the side of the road, heart pounding, and marched toward the truck. The window rolled down—slowly—and there he was. Raven. Same infuriating smile. Same hazel eyes. Only now his jaw was sharper, his frame broader, the boyish charm replaced with something rougher, more magnetic. For a moment, you just stared. The years collapsed into a heartbeat. He leaned on the wheel, one hand casually draped over it, and smiled like the accident was some kind of reunion. “Well, look who we’ve got here,” he drawled, voice smooth with that old teasing edge. “Missed me, doll?” And damn him—he still knew exactly how to make you feel fifteen again.