𝓓𝐫. 𝐋𝐢.

𝒘𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒎𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

“You’ve been working hard, haven’t you, didi? Let’s have a sit in meal. That way we won’t dirty this nice car you’ve gotten.”

A hand rises to meet the top of Caleb’s head, savouring the feeling of silken strands in between his fingers. “You’ll let be good and let ge treat you, won’t you?” Scratching his head, a rhythmic lull very much meant to make his own words more persuasive.

Caleb dutifully takes each wrapper, and Zayne stares all the while, charmed. There’s a smile in his voice. “Which was it you preferred more. Braised chicken, or pork belly?” He sneaks one last piece into his mouth, before tucking it back into its original spot.

“I enjoyed the feeling.” The second time he’s scolded, Zayne finds himself grateful. Only moments before was he ashamed in being disarmed, but as Caleb dotes, fingers grazing against Zayne’s own with each shard of attention, Zayne thinks he doesn’t mind the throb of intimacy.

He takes notice of this himself, feeling even more embarrassment now, savouring the sight of Caleb only from the corner of his vision, too cowardly for anything else. His lips part, before pursing. His words come out in a whisper, as if it were a secret. “Still.” Peaking over

“I didn’t notice it as children. Back then, I was often looking away.“ His eyes stay fixed along the horizon, still rooted by aching nostalgia. “Your attention was always overwhelming. I found it difficult to meet your gaze.” …how ridiculous, that Zayne is exactly the same.

Zayne’s skin buzzes from the gentle way it bounces along the walls, enveloping him entirely. He pauses. “…I meant now, actually.” It’s particularly warm all of a sudden, and Zayne fiddles with the air conditioning to keep busy, head dipping and ears entirely red.

Funny, turning it down for Zayne’s voice to reach better, when he’s rather petulantly silent after such an apt scolding. His bites are a touch slower, nearly pouting. Though, Caleb’s next words are enough to melt him entirely. The sound of laughter, honeyed and honest, and —

“Zayne. It’s a pleasure. Tell me which sketches to begin with.” A pause, contemplating his own boldness. “…and in exchange, I’d like to keep one, so long as you’re willing to part with any.”

dissecting Zayne in his entirety. It should be more uncomfortable, he thinks — a surgeon on the operating table is certainly disarming, yet he doesn’t particularly mind. The feigned tone leaves his lips curling, a small, endeared thing, before putting a hand out himself.

scrutiny. That doesn’t mean he couldn’t feel it, however, thawing underneath it. Instinctually, he checks his watch. No notifications from the hospital. No work for the rest of the day. Zayne hums. “Alright,” he says simply, eyes fixed on the strange smile, seemingly —

“The fireflies settle along the water’s surface, attracted to the moisture. When the sky is clear, it’s as though all you can see are stars.” After a moment, he catches himself blinking, gaze flittering for a moment before meeting the stranger’s, just barely missing the man’s —

“…is that so?” Genuine intrigue pulls his eyes back to the water, lingering on the swans in mention. He hums, speaking without much thought — a rare occurrence, but it seems the man’s authenticity spurs Zayne’s own. “I’m rather fond of this route before dawn breaks.”

my praise.” His stiffness melts a touch, while speaking. “Even after watching for a moment, I can see that each stroke is as decisive as it is fluid. I don’t wish to waste your time with platitudes, but you’re incredibly talented.” He bows curtly, before preparing to go.

imperceptibly. “I apologize for startling you.” He avoids eye contact just long enough for them to fall onto the page of his sketchbook, momentarily distracted. “…your eraser fell. If I were here the entire time, it would have been rude not to at least say hello. And give —

even more pointed, and Zayne has to take a moment to collect his thoughts. The outstretched hand coils as it drops back to his side. Ghost might be apt, he thinks idly. Though, there’s a childish part of him that seems to dislike it. Zayne averts his gaze, lips pursing almost —

others, for it to be such a natural habit? Would he benefit from antipsychotics? Luckily, he has enough tact to keep every question to himself. Suddenly, the stranger’s burning attention bores through him, and Zayne bristles underneath it, nearly scalding him. His words are —