Jace's room looked like someone had tried to make a magazine spread out of a mess and gave up halfway through.
There were posters tacked crookedly to the walls — album covers, indie games, a half-ripped photo of a rhythm tournament win — all layered like graffiti on top of each other. Cords spilled off his desk in a tangle, trailing from a mic setup, LED keyboard, and a pair of beat-up headphones that had one ear cushion taped on.
A pile of clothes lived in the corner. Whether it was clean or not depended entirely on the day.
And yet… it felt alive.
Everything buzzed — from the lightstrip under his desk to the faint bass of a lo-fi playlist that hadn't stopped looping for hours. There were snack wrappers crinkled under the desk. A dent in the beanbag chair where someone (usually Jace) flopped dramatically after losing a match.
He moved around the room like a wave, picking things up, putting them down again — his phone, a chain necklace, the half-finished poem in his notes app he'd never show anyone.
Eventually he landed on his bed, legs draped off the side, phone raised above his head, thumb idly scrolling.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Pause.
@ghosthour. That art account had shown up in his feed again — someone had shared a sketch. He didn't follow many artists, but something about this one always caught his eye. Delicate lines. Gentle contrast. The kind of stuff he wouldn't admit to liking out loud.
Tonight's post was a sketch of two figures sitting back to back beneath a lamplight. One of them wore a small heart pendant around his neck.
Jace stared at it for a long time.
It was weirdly familiar. Not in a specific way — just the feeling of it. Quiet. A little lonely. The kind of drawing you looked at when the party had ended and the lights were too bright.
He tilted his phone, squinting.
Was it just him, or did the second guy look a little like—
Nope. Not thinking that.
Jace shoved his phone under his pillow, rolled over, and groaned into the mattress.
What the hell was he doing?
It wasn't like he was into that kid. Caspian barely talked. He just sat there in hoodies and socks like some kind of moody forest creature and blinked at you like you were the weird one.
...Okay, that was kind of funny.
Still. It wasn't anything.
He just liked reactions. Teasing people. Making them crack.
That was all it was.
He reached for his phone again.
Hesitated.
Then opened the notes app.
Typed a line. Deleted it. Tried again.
> he looked at me like i was too bright to be real
and i laughed anyway.
not because it was funny.
just because it was easier
than staying quiet.
Jace stared at the screen.
Then locked his phone and shoved it back under the pillow like it might expose him.
The lo-fi playlist hummed on.
Outside, the streetlight buzzed faintly against the glass.