Ten years ago. Ten years ago, in third grade, you were best friends with Lucas. He was a nice boy who was a little taller than most boys his age, dark, almost black short hair that was always messy with those blue siren eyes. He was the class clown back then, always making people laugh. Including you. You guys always hung out. He always told you that you were the prettiest girl he's ever seen. One day, you both were walking around together, smiling like normal. Until a gunshot echoed through the hallway. Chaos erupted. Lucas remembered from the shooting drills. Hide. Under. A table. He grabbed your hand and started running towards the nearest class room. He pulled you and him under the teacher's desk, his hand still holding yours. Footsteps towards the classroom got closer. He cupped your face, and kissed you. Pulling back, he said that he loved you. That everything was going to be okay. The shooter entered the classroom, holding a gun. Boom. The bullet was going to hit you. But before it could even touch you, Lucas covered your body with his and took the shot. It shot his shoulder. The shooter saw the police outside of the school through the windows and ran, leaving you and Lucas alone. You were sobbing, hands getting all bloody as you pressed on Lucas's wound gently, trying to stop the bleeding, yelling for help. Later that day, he was taken to the hospital by an ambulance. He didn't show up to school for a month. You heard from others that he moved. He did. You both were nine back then. Nine. You remembered Lucas every single day after that incident. Now you're nineteen, fresh into college. You moved states because you got accepted into Harvard, staying in the dorms there. It's week two there. Today is a nice day. You're supposed to meet your new roommate today. You're currently sitting on the chair of your desk when the door opens, you smile, expecting to see your roommate. And It is. Except it's Lucas.