Guns and Roses

Trouble

Genevieve

He started ignoring me too.

And I mean really ignoring me.

He was leaving flowers in my locker when I wasn’t speaking to him. Leaving cheesy notes and sweets. But I still ignore him. It was easier that way because my Dad had warned me when he heard that I was speaking to Leo. I didn’t want to disobey my Dad so I just thought ignoring him would make him stop. Well he crashed out and was acting like a damn child. That was why I said what I said. I didn’t expect him to act this—Like I didn’t exist. Like the girl he punched someone over two weeks ago didn’t matter anymore.

I wasn’t expecting that.

After I’d gone off on him, I thought he’d lash out again. Thought he’d curse me out, throw one of his usual fits, or maybe slam another kid into a locker just to prove he still had power over me.

But he didn’t.

He just… vanished.

Not from school. He was there, of course. Still the same Saint-Laurent Leo with cold stares and that heavy presence that made people move out of his way. But now, he wasn’t looking at me. He passed me in the hall like we’d never spoken, never locked eyes across a lunchroom, never shared that weird, electric silence that used to make my hands shake.

At first, I was proud of myself.

I told him off. Told him the truth. Called him childish, immature. And maybe he was those things—but maybe I was also too proud to admit that my words had cut deeper than I meant them to.

I kept telling myself he deserved it. That he was bad news. Dangerous.

But it still hurt.

Because he used to make me feel seen. Even when he was intense. Even when he was too much. I missed being seen.

Now he wouldn’t even stay in the same room as me. If I walked into the library, he walked out. If we crossed paths at the vending machines, he turned his back and stared at the wall like it was more interesting than my face.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I started talking to someone else.

His name was Micah. He played the guitar. Said he wanted to be a musician and “move to L.A. to chase vibes.” He wore mismatched socks and wrote lyrics in his notebook like he was composing the next revolution.

He was nice. Safe. Gentle.

But not Leo.

I caught myself stealing glances in Leo’s direction during lunch. Watching the way his jaw clenched when someone laughed too loud. How he sat with his head bowed like he was praying or plotting—maybe both.

I didn’t want to care. But I did.

And then it happened.

I was walking out of the auditorium, laughing too loud at something Micah said. I didn’t see the kid ahead of me—this scrawny freshman who looked terrified, like he’d just seen a ghost.

Because he had.

He’d seen Leo.

I don’t know what Leo had done to him before. I didn’t ask. But the kid panicked and stumbled backward… right into me.

My ankle twisted, and my body tilted like a falling tree. Time slowed.

But right before I hit the ground, someone caught me.

Big hands. Steady grip. That scent-peppermint, musk and danger.

It was Saint-Laurent. I wonder why he had 3 names anyway. Was Saint, Leo or Laurent?

He caught me like it was nothing. One arm around my waist, the other steadying my shoulder. His face was close. So close I could see the faint bruise on his knuckles from the last time we spoke.

“You good?” he asked, voice low and unreadable.

I nodded slowly, breath caught in my throat. “Yeah. I… thanks.”

He let me go. No words. No smile.

Just turned around and walked away.

And just like that, I wasn’t proud anymore.

I was hurting.

Because maybe I’d let my ego speak too loud. Maybe I hadn’t seen the boy beneath the bruises. Maybe I’d assumed too much, pushed too hard.

He’d changed.

And I was too stubborn to admit I missed him.

Micah asked me what was wrong after that.

I told him it was nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing. I’m missing this guy.

It was Saint-Laurent. He was wrong.

And the way he looked right through me like I was already a memory.

———————————————————

Micah noticed.

Of course, he did.

He might’ve played it off cool, strumming his guitar in that mellow way he always did, singing about stars and rain and metaphors that never really made sense—but he knew.

He saw the way my eyes wandered across the cafeteria. Saw how my laugh dipped a little lower when Leo walked past. Saw the way I stiffened every time I heard his name in passing. Willhound’s walls were paper-thin when it came to gossip, and Leo Saint-Laurent was always on someone’s tongue.

“Is there something between y’all?” Micah asked one afternoon while we sat on the hill behind the school. “You and him?”

I blinked slowly, heart thudding. “Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know who. The boy with the storm cloud face and the heavy fists.”

I looked away. “No. There’s nothing.”

But there was.

In the silence between my breaths, in the way my stomach twisted when I heard his voice echo down the hall. In the way I hated that he was still the only one who could make me feel anything real.

Two days later, I got a headache. Not the annoying kind. The nervous kind, the kind that comes when your body is trying to warn you something big is about to happen.

I was in my room, half-asleep, scrolling through my texts when I heard it.

A tap. Then another.

Soft. Repetitive. My window.

I sat up slowly and crossed the room. Pulled back the curtain, and there he was.

Saint-Laurent Leo.

All black hoodie, gold chain glinting in the moonlight, a smirk tugging the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for this moment longer than I’d been breathing.

I opened the window, squinting. “What the hell are you doing?”

He climbed through effortlessly, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Like this was his room.

“You know there’s a door, right?” I snapped, arms crossed.

“Your dad don’t like me,” he said. He was right about that one. He brushed past me like he belonged. “Didn’t wanna get shot.”

I rolled my eyes. “Maybe you should’ve taken the hint, then.”

He turned around slowly, and his gaze caught mine. That heat. That electricity. My stomach flipped, and just like that-hiccup.

He grinned. “Still get hiccups when I’m around?”

“No,” I lied. Whenever I saw him, my chest would smash and I’d start hiccuping. Must have happened so often that he noticed.

Leo stepped closer. Not rushed. Just enough to make my knees lock and my heart tap dance against my ribs.

“You missed me,” he said, low.

“I didn’t,” I whispered.

Another step.

“You’re lying”. Yes I was. I’ve been wanting to run and hug him since his 3rd note

“You’re the kind of poem I wish I wrote”

“Back off, Leo.”

“You act like I ain’t your owner.”

“What?” I blinked, the hiccup betraying me again. “Boy, if you don’t get outta here with that—” he was about to make me regret I miss I him

He smirked, but there was something softer in his eyes this time. No edge. No threat. Just the vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

“I ain’t know how to feel before you,” he said, voice quieter now. “I thought I had to be cold to be strong. Thought love was some fake fairy tale thing y’all read about and forget. But you…”

He looked down, breathing hard like this was costing him something.

“You changin’ me. I ain’t wanna say it. I ain’t even wanna feel it. But now? I’m here ‘cause if I don’t, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

Silence swallowed us whole. Then he stepped closer. Close enough to feel his breath. His fingers brushed a loose strap off my shoulder, and he bent down, pressing his lips to my skin—warm, lingering—right where the light met flesh.

My heart somersaulted. My stomach clenched. Hiccup.

“I can’t—” I started.

He pulled back slowly. “I know. You don’t gotta say it.”

He walked to the window, one foot already out.

“But I’ll wait,” he said, glancing back one last time. “Even if I gotta climb a hundred damn windows. You hear me?”

I didn’t answer. I just stood there—frozen, shoulder tingling, pride cracking down the middle.

He was gone.

But the feeling stayed.

My heart was still leaping in my chest and I shivered as the cold air coming from the open window he had stepped out of blew wind into my room.

I felt hot in contrast to the coldness in my skin.

I’m in trouble.