(Adrian & Lucien)
The old greenhouse behind the science building had long been abandoned. The vines had claimed the walls, the glass roof was cracked, and dust clung to every surface like a memory that refused to fade. No one came here anymore—except Adrian.
He liked the silence.
He liked the way the sunlight filtered through the broken glass and landed softly on the floor, like a gentle spotlight on forgotten things.
And today, like the past few Fridays, Lucien had followed.
"Still hiding here, huh?" Lucien said as he stepped inside, his voice echoing just a little.
Adrian didn't look up from the sketchpad in his lap. "Still following?"
Lucien smirked, the dimple on his left cheek barely visible beneath the light. "Maybe I like the quiet too."
There was a beat of silence. A peaceful one.
Lucien walked over and leaned against the rusted table beside Adrian, careful not to knock over a cracked pot. "What are you drawing?"
Adrian hesitated, then flipped the pad toward him.
Lucien's breath caught.
It was a sketch of the greenhouse—but different. Alive. Reimagined. The glass panes whole, the plants lush, the sky above a soft gold. Two figures stood in the corner: one sitting cross-legged, the other leaning over him, smiling.
Lucien stared at it for a long moment. "Is that… us?"
Adrian closed the pad. "It's nothing. Just a stupid idea."
"No." Lucien stepped closer. "It's not stupid."
Adrian finally looked up, and in his dark eyes was a question he didn't know how to ask. Or maybe he'd asked it already, again and again, in silence, every time he let Lucien near.
"Why do you come here?" he asked quietly. "Why do you keep finding me?"
Lucien swallowed. His usual confidence faltered, and something softer, something more vulnerable, crept into his expression.
"Because when I'm with you… it feels like I don't have to be anyone else."
Adrian blinked. "You're always someone else, Lucien."
Lucien sat beside him now, closer than before. "Maybe I'm tired of pretending."
There was a pause.
"You're not like the others," Adrian said. "You're loud. Popular. Charming. The kind of person who doesn't end up in dusty greenhouses with quiet boys who don't talk much."
Lucien gave a small laugh, but it wasn't mocking. It was wistful. "Maybe that's the version of me the world sees. But you… you look at me like I'm something else."
Adrian didn't know what to say. So he said the only thing he could.
"I don't want to lose this," he whispered.
Lucien looked at him, and his voice was barely a breath. "You won't."
Slowly, hesitantly, Lucien reached out. His fingers brushed against Adrian's hand, resting on the sketchpad. He didn't grab it, didn't force it—just waited.
Adrian didn't pull away.
The sunlight shifted, casting a golden hue around them. Dust floated in the air like tiny stars.
"I don't know what this is," Adrian murmured.
Lucien smiled, the dimple showing again. "It doesn't have to be anything yet."
"But it feels like something," Adrian said.
Lucien nodded. "Yeah. It does."
And for a moment, there was no need to define it. No need to say the words neither of them were ready for.
There was just this: the greenhouse, the dust, the light—and two boys sitting close, holding something fragile between them.
A secret.
A beginning.
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