Advice/Help/Goth?

Okay so I haven't been on Mibba in a while due to a horrendous case of writer's block.
I recently had an amazing idea for a story, and just wrote a scene from it. Should I make this into a story?

I followed the Goth boy into the depths of the park. I know, I know, it isn’t safe to follow strangers into forests, especially at night, but I couldn’t help it. The way he looked at me earlier, like he actually was not afraid of me (or maybe he was just curious as to why I was stalking him) his eyes pierced my heart; I had to know who he was. Gorgeous gothic boys don’t show up in Sapphire very often, I knew I would regret it if I didn’t go after him.
I followed him at a safe distance, ducking behind trees whenever he turned around. I kept following, inching closer to him with each step I took. The further we went into the forest, the more he turned around, the more apprehensive he became. It was in his eyes, the way they darted from tree to tree, he suspected someone following him. I felt the need to turn around and run away, but at the same time I almost wanted to be caught. My wish was granted.
“Who is there?” he said. He had a slight accent I couldn’t place, it sounded as sexy as he looked. My heartbeat quickened and became louder with every second. I heard the crunching of leaves beneath his feet as he came closer.
Suddenly a cold hand touched my shoulder, sending shivers down my spine. I leaped up.
“Who are you?” I shouted. I expected him to become scared and back away, but instead a knowing smile crept upon his flawless face. Did I mention yet how sexy this guy was?
“I believe the question is,” he said, “who are you and why are you still following me?” if the moon could speak it would have his voice, deep and almost mystical. Everything he said sounded poetic.
“Umm…” I couldn’t think of a witty response, his smile had gotten to me. I felt weightless, like I was floating, just standing in his presence. I had to pull myself back to resist from hugging him. He looked fun to hug. But I wouldn’t know, having never hugged a boy before, let alone a gothic one.
Suddenly he placed his hand on my cheek, stroking it softly, “Beautiful American woman,” oh my god, his accent was so dreamy; “you do not want to know me. You are so fair and innocent and I am darker than the sky above. I cannot allow you to put yourself in such danger. As much as I would like to, I cannot know you, I am sorry.” With that, the gothic guy let me go, and walked away.
I stood frozen in place for a long time. I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. I touched my cheek where he had, it felt different, oddly better than the rest of my face.
Did he give me some sort of disease or something?