Lucien woke slowly, the sunlight stretching its fingers through the curtains, brushing his face in gentle, golden streaks. He felt the weight of the blankets on his body, heavy yet comforting, and for a moment, he pretended he could stay there forever. He hadn't really slept well—the remnants of last night clinging to him in soft, disorganized threads of thought—but the warmth of the sun and the soft hum of the city beyond his window were coaxing him awake.
He opened his eyes, squinting, feeling the faint ache behind them. His hair was tangled in every possible direction, a chaotic halo, and the notebooks, books, and glasses scattered across his bed made the space feel almost alive. His glasses had slid down onto a corner of the pillow, at a precarious angle, and his notebook had a crease across it from where he had fallen asleep reading.
He remembered the dream fading in fragments, too fleeting to make sense: a hallway lined with shelves taller than the sky, voices that sounded like whispers of professors long gone, doors that opened and closed by themselves, and then… a sense of being stuck somewhere, trapped yet not entirely frightened, just… annoyed. The sun and alarm pulled him out of the dream, dragging him slowly back to the real world.
The alarm's calm melody, chosen for its soothing notes, felt suddenly like a personal affront. Five minutes he allowed himself, lying there, staring at the ceiling, letting the sound loop in quiet irritation while his mind wandered. He thought about the messy arrangement of his desk from yesterday, the tiny imperfections in his handwriting, and how the cat he sometimes imagined living in his apartment would have judged the clutter harshly.
Eventually, he sat up, muscles stiff from sleep, and reached for his phone. Notifications, messages, memes—his thumb swiped mechanically, half awake, half still caught in the residue of sleep. He laughed quietly at a short video of a dog falling into a puddle, though he knew he wouldn't remember it later. A reminder: he had notes to prepare for class, but somehow the act of scrolling first made the work seem slightly less urgent.
When he finally swung his legs off the bed, his feet touching the cool floor, he groaned softly. Shower. Change. Notes. Skincare. Each action deliberate. His shower was long, the hot water pouring over him, washing away the sleep, the slight tension in his shoulders, the imaginary dust of yesterday clinging to his skin. He closed his eyes under the spray, imagining the steam as a shield, a tiny fortress against the world outside his bathroom.
Stepping out, towel wrapped around him, he began the careful routine of skincare. Serum pressed into cheeks, moisturizer smoothing over his jawline, lip balm sealing the lips—rituals that took minutes but felt necessary. He admired his reflection for a moment, noting the subtle glow of hydrated skin and the faint shadow under his eyes that no cream could fully erase.
Then, clothes. Shoes. Perfume. Hair adjustments. Glasses placed carefully in their case. Only the notebooks he would need, tucked into his backpack alongside the small box for his glasses. He glanced at the clock. Not too late, but the sun was climbing. He exhaled, grabbing the backpack and heading toward the door.
On the fourth floor, he took the stairs. The elevator was broken. Music filled his ears as he descended, a soft but rhythmic background to his thoughts. Halfway down, distracted by a lyric, he collided lightly with someone at the second-floor landing.
—Oh! Sorry, —he said, stepping back, startled.
The figure looked up, calm, familiar. Lucien blinked.
—Wait… Adrián? —he asked, realization dawning.
—Yeah, —Adrián replied, nodding slightly.
—You live in this building? —Lucien asked, curious.
—Yes.
—And… you go to the university, right? —Lucien teased lightly, remembering the day before. —Because you disappeared after the door opened, and didn't even say goodbye. I thought… we had some sort of… connection during that… locked-in thing.
Adrián chuckled softly. —Ah, well… I didn't actually go yesterday. Didn't want to bother you if you were in a rush. But it's kind of surprising to see you here. I never noticed you lived in this building.
—Same, —Lucien said, adjusting his backpack strap. —I'm on the fourth floor. But the elevator… broken. Otherwise, I wouldn't have seen you.
Adrián only tilted his head, amused. Lucien continued. —So… you live in 1238, huh? If you ever want to visit, my place is 338. Same building, easy.
A pause. Then Lucien added, —Do you… want to go down together? Same university, right? I could accompany you if you're taking the bus? If you're driving… that's different.
Adrián raised an eyebrow. —Sure, —he said simply.
—Honestly, I have my license, a car at home, but… cars scare me. Ever since I was little, I've had… a small trauma. Vehicles just make me nervous. I'm… as you'd probably say, a sensitive, crybaby type. But if you want, we can go down together.
Adrián laughed quietly. —Okay.
They started down the stairs, the hum of the building quiet around them. Lucien noticed the creak of each step, the sunlight shifting, the faint smell of cleaning products, the tiny cracks in the plaster along the stairwell. He felt the familiar mixture of anxiety and anticipation: small gestures, small observations, but each one layering into the rhythm of the morning, making it feel somehow… long and intricate
—So… —Lucien began, adjusting the straps of his backpack and squinting slightly at the morning sunlight reflecting off the windows —what classes do you have first?
—Statistics, —Adrián replied evenly, almost too calmly, as if the question barely registered.
—Statistics? —Lucien echoed, pacing slightly on the stairwell landing, careful not to trip over the uneven edges of the steps. —Wow… I mean, same here. Figures, numbers, and formulas before my brain has even had coffee. It's… brutal.
Adrián glanced at him briefly, one eyebrow raised. —You make it sound dramatic.
—Expressive, —Lucien corrected immediately, tossing his hands in the air. —Dramatic implies weakness. Expressive implies… artistry. Precision. Careful suffering.
—Careful suffering? —Adrián tilted his head slightly, lips twitching in what could have been a smile.
—Exactly! —Lucien said, nearly tripping over the edge of a step but catching himself. —Every little inconvenience, every minor obstacle, I… endure with… finesse!
—Finesse, —Adrián repeated, voice even. —Yes. I can see that.
Lucien exhaled loudly, shaking his head. —You're too calm. Unbelievably calm. I've been trapped in a storage room with you before, and you… you just… exist. Observing. Not panicking. Not even sweating!
—I've already survived worse than a locked room, —Adrián replied, shifting his backpack slightly on one shoulder, looking entirely unconcerned.
—Worse? —Lucien gasped, his hands flying to his chest. —You sound… terrifying.
—Depends on your perspective, —Adrián said, tilting his head again, watching Lucien carefully.
—Of course, —Lucien muttered, adjusting his messy hair and brushing dust off his shoulder. —You always have a perfectly calm answer for everything. Even the weather could strike me down and you'd say…?
—I'd probably say it's mild for the season, —Adrián replied simply, eyes forward.
—Exactly! —Lucien flopped dramatically onto the handrail for a second, catching himself. —Unbelievable. I, on the other hand, react like a hurricane of emotions. Just minor inconveniences… and I'm spiraling.
They reached the second-floor landing. The faint smell of cleaning products lingered in the stairwell, mixed with the faint aroma of morning coffee drifting from the lobby below. Lucien noticed tiny cracks in the plaster along the walls and mentally catalogued them, thinking about how he could "accidentally" trip someone into noticing them later.
—So… bus? —Lucien asked, adjusting his backpack again, feeling the straps dig lightly into his shoulders. —You go by bus too, right?
—Yes, —Adrián replied evenly. —It's easier than walking all the way to the campus.
Lucien nodded slowly, taking a step to let a faint breeze ruffle his hair. —I mean… I have my license, technically. Car at home. But… cars scare me. Ever since I was little. I don't trust them. Not even a little. Everything about vehicles makes me nervous.
Adrián glanced at him briefly. —Interesting.
—Not interesting! —Lucien protested. —It's traumatic. Horrific. Life-altering in the way only minor childhood accidents can be. But… if we walk together, I'll survive the stairs, the morning, the bus, everything!
—I see, —Adrián said evenly, hands slipping into his pockets as they descended the final flight toward the lobby.
—Exactly! —Lucien exclaimed, noticing the morning sun highlighting specks of dust in the air, the tiny irregularities in the stairwell's paint, the way a stray newspaper fluttered near the doors. —Every little detail matters. Every little gesture… adds to the art of surviving mornings.
Adrián simply nodded, almost patiently. —And you've catalogued all this before 8 AM. Impressive.
Lucien groaned dramatically, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. —I'm preparing my life, okay? Observing. Calculating. Slightly panicking. But gracefully.
They reached the lobby. Lucien felt the familiar hum of the city beginning to seep in: distant engines, the scrape of tires, footsteps echoing on concrete. He noticed the reflection of their shadows stretching along the polished tiles.
—So… bus stop's just ahead, —he said, pointing vaguely. —Same route, I presume?
—Yes, —Adrián replied, voice calm, tone neutral. —We'll get there together.
—Excellent. —Lucien breathed a little easier. —Because I cannot handle being late again, and… honestly, a calm companion makes walking down the stairs far less terrifying than counting every single step.
Adrián glanced at him, faintly amused. —You count steps?
—Every flight, —Lucien admitted. —It's a survival technique. Anxiety management. Optional artistry.
Adrián said nothing, simply walking alongside him as the concrete changed beneath their shoes, the morning shifting subtly, and the sunlight catching in the small cracks and textures of the lobby walls.
—You know, —Lucien added after a moment, —maybe this isn't so bad. Having a calm person next to me. Helps me… focus. Or at least… observe fewer catastrophes.
—You're still going to comment on everything, —Adrián said evenly, —but… I can live with it.
Lucien smirked faintly, stepping onto the curb, glancing at the approaching bus. —Good. Because the morning has only just begun, and I plan to narrate the entire adventure to its inevitable conclusion.
—Adventure? —Adrián asked, tilting his head slightly. —It's just a bus ride.
—It is now, —Lucien said, pointing dramatically at the bus —because any minor inconvenience becomes an epic tale when I'm present.
Adrián didn't reply, just stepped onto the curb, hands relaxed in his pockets, posture calm. Lucien followed, feeling the strange but familiar warmth of anticipation in the air, as the city hummed, the sun shifted, and the morning stretched slowly, intricately, into something… memorable.
After the bus ride, they finally arrived at the university. Lucien thought the morning would be normal—lectures, notes, maybe a quick coffee—but it wasn't. Instead, the campus was buzzing with an unexpected announcement: recreational activities.
—Why? —Lucien muttered under his breath, glancing at Adrian.
Apparently, after the exam period, everyone was exhausted, bored, drained. The university decided that mixing students from different departments for games and group activities would "revive morale." Of course, that meant that Lucien and Adrian, from different departments, were now lumped together.
The games weren't mandatory, technically. Students could choose whether to join or simply rest. But still, the pressure was everywhere—cheers, laughter, people running around in organized chaos. It was exactly the kind of chaos Lucien had always avoided.
So, as always, Lucien made his choice.
He escaped. Literally. He slinked away from the crowd and made his way to the library, a safe corner waiting for him in its quiet shadow. There, tucked between a stack of books and a radiator that barely hummed, he settled down. He pulled out his notebook, flipped open the pages, and placed his glasses carefully on his nose. Music filled his ears again, a calm bubble shielding him from the world.
From this corner, he observed. Occasionally, he peeked at the students passing by, their laughter spilling through the library's half-open doors. Some looked like they were enjoying the games. Others were hurrying off to escape the noise, just like him.
Lucien sighed softly, adjusting his posture on the chair. He didn't care for these activities—not now, not ever. They demanded socializing, energy he didn't want to spend, attention he didn't wish to give. Here, in his little corner, he could read, think, breathe. He could focus on his own rhythm, his own little world.
—Perfect, —he murmured, letting his eyes wander across the page of his notebook. —Exactly where i belong
Lucien had barely settled into his little corner of the library, his notebook open, glasses perched carefully on his nose, headphones humming softly, when he felt a presence across the aisle. He glanced up just in time to see Adrian sliding into a chair a few feet ahead, angled so that he was close enough to see Lucien, far enough to keep his own space.
Adrian hadn't followed him. He wasn't hovering or intruding. He had simply… escaped, like Lucien, from the chaos outside—the loud, forced activities, the mingling, the games. And now he sat there, calm, quiet, a small island of composure amid the faint murmur of pages and shuffled chairs.
—Also escaping this nonsense? —Adrian asked, tilting his head slightly, not looking directly at Lucien yet, just enough to acknowledge his presence.
Lucien blinked, momentarily thrown off. He hadn't expected Adrian to just… sit there, not join the activities, not even glance over too much. He tried to look indifferent, fiddling with the corner of his notebook, tapping his pen softly against the page.
—Yeah, —he said finally, shrugging subtly, keeping his tone casual though his thoughts raced. —Too loud. Too social.
Adrian gave a faint nod, turning his gaze back to the small patch of sunlight spilling onto the floor through the tall library windows. He didn't need to explain himself. Just being there, present without pressing, was… oddly reassuring.
Lucien stole a quick glance at him, catching the light brushing over his sharp features, the relaxed posture, the faint tilt of his head. There was no judgment, no need to pretend anything. Adrian was simply… there. And for once, Lucien didn't feel the need to perform his usual vigilance, his constant awareness of being watched or evaluated.
—Some of us prefer books to games, —Lucien muttered, tapping his pen lightly against the notebook again, trying to sound casual. —Some of us like corners over crowds.
Adrian's lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly. He didn't comment, didn't ask why. The silence between them was easy, layered with the soft rustle of pages, the distant echo of footsteps, the sunlight drifting across the desks.
Lucien sank deeper into his chair, letting the bubble of solitude wrap around him. Music hummed faintly in his ears, and for the first time that morning, he felt the strange comfort of shared quiet—not forced, not social, just two people existing in the same space, unspoken but acknowledged.