Author's Note: Hello, and thanks for taking time to read my story! There are no names mentioned in this story, but just so you know, "she/her" refers to Chane Laforet and "he/him" refers to Claire Stanfield.
He admired the way she was prepared to attack, the way she held the knife poised defensively in front of her heart, the way her golden eyes carried an expression so wild yet so collected. Her short tresses appeared purple in the moonlight, whipping wildly around her face. Her slinky black dress emphasized her slender build and the pale pallor of her skin. She had to be cold in that thin, sleeveless dress up on top of the train as the night air whizzed by. She appeared dangerous, and yet so vulnerable.
She studied him, not removing her knife from its deadly position, ready to strike but not making any move to attack. As she looked into his eyes, she noticed that he had a determined expression, but it was not unkind. He almost seemed slightly worried for her, maybe even defensive of her. She was startled. She had thought that no one cared about her besides her father, to whom she had sworn to protect with her life. It was astonishing to think that someone else might care for her.
He studied her expression. She seemed determined to protect herself. There might have even been someone else she was trying to protect. Yes, he could tell that there was someone important to her, someone she was guarding carefully. Maybe the only person who truly cared for her. His heart went out to her at once. This beautiful, mysterious young girl was all alone in the world. She needed him. He wanted to take care of her. He wanted to protect her. He even wanted to love her.