A few days after Adrián asked Lucien that question, it kept spinning in his mind. Over and over. The question refused to leave, twisting itself through his thoughts, tugging at him in ways he couldn't ignore. What did he like about him? Was it just the friendship, the comfort of his company, the ease of having him around? Or was it something more, something that had been hiding under the surface all along?
Lucien found himself replaying the moment constantly. Adrián's steady eyes, the way his hand lingered just a little too long on his wrist, the subtle warmth of his touch, the softness in his voice when he spoke. That tiny hesitation before Adrián leaned in, the careful closeness that said more than words ever could. The memory of that moment was sharp in his chest, a mix of longing and fear and something he didn't yet have a name for. It was a simple question, but it carried weight—weight he hadn't expected, weight that pressed against the walls of his heart.
He tried to convince himself it was nothing. Just curiosity. Just worry. Just a fleeting thought that would pass. But every time he saw Adrián—even in the smallest gestures, the way he adjusted the collar of his shirt, the way he moved around the apartment, the quiet concentration in his eyes—his heart betrayed him. It wasn't just friendship. It was more. And the more he tried to ignore it, the louder it became.
The memory of William lingered faintly, a shadow at the edges of his mind. Lucien forced himself to remember that the feelings he had thought were strong for him had never been real. It had been easy to mistake the comfort of routine, the gifts, the attention, for something deeper, but now he could see clearly. He hadn't liked William, not really. He liked the idea of being noticed, the little thrills of someone trying too hard to make him happy. But nothing compared to Adrián. Nothing had ever compared.
Every day, the thought returned. At breakfast, when the sunlight streamed softly across the table, catching Adrián's messy hair and sleepy expression. Walking across campus, hearing the faint click of Adrián's shoes on the pavement. Sitting in the library, feeling the pull of his gaze from across the rows of books. Lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling and feeling the memory of his hand lingering on his shoulder, his fingers brushing just enough to make Lucien's pulse jump. The thought whispered persistently, unavoidable: I like him. I like him more than I've allowed myself to realize.
The mornings were the worst. Adrián had a way of being calm, almost untouchable in his patience, that made Lucien's chest tighten without warning. The way he sipped coffee slowly, reading over the top of a book, the crease of his brow when he focused, the subtle smirk when Lucien tried to sneak a piece of toast. Those small, everyday details, harmless to anyone else, had become impossible to ignore. Every glance, every movement, felt like it carried intention, and yet the intention was something Lucien wasn't sure he was ready to claim for himself.
And yet, despite the fear, there was a thrill. A quiet electricity in knowing that Adrián had looked at him the same way. That hand lingering. That careful, deliberate closeness. That soft question that had demanded an answer even before words could be spoken. It was terrifying and intoxicating all at once.
He replayed the conversations over and over. Every subtle smile. Every joke that landed differently when Adrián was around. Every time Adrián's hand brushed his, lingered just a second too long, or caught his own in passing. Lucien felt the weight of unspoken possibilities pressing against him, the tension between them both charged with a quiet, almost unbearable anticipation.
And then there were the moments of solitude when it hit him hardest. Alone in the apartment, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the sunlight catching dust motes like tiny fireflies, and he realized he couldn't pretend anymore. He couldn't ignore what he felt. He had tried, for weeks, to bury the truth behind normalcy, to convince himself that the feelings were just a phase, just admiration, just gratitude for someone who had been there all the time. But it wasn't. It had never been just that.
Adrián had always been more than that. More than a friend. More than a presence. More than someone he could easily categorize and dismiss. And finally, Lucien had to admit it: he liked him. He liked him in a way that sent his chest tightening and his stomach fluttering, a way that made even the simplest glance feel like a question and an answer all at once.
And now, knowing that, he was left with a terrifying, exhilarating question of what to do next. Would he tell Adrián? Would he wait? Would he act and risk everything they had built together? Or would he continue letting the feelings simmer quietly, hidden in plain sight, while his heart silently screamed for more?
For the first time in a long time, Lucien didn't know if it was terrifying—or thrilling. And he wasn't sure he wanted to find out.
_________________________________________
The apartment smelled faintly of coffee and toasted bread, a comforting routine that had always grounded them. Adrián leaned back on the couch, messy hair sticking in every direction, eyes half-lidded from just waking, a book balanced loosely in his hands. Lucien had brought breakfast earlier, stacking plates and mugs carefully on the small table between them, but now he leaned against the armrest, arms crossed, watching Adrián with something unreadable in his expression.
Adrián finally looked up, noticing the way Lucien's gaze lingered. He set the book down, fingers brushing against the soft cover as if it were fragile, and said,
—Do you feel a little better today? I mean… I can tell what you've been thinking these past weeks. I was worried earlier when I remembered seeing those old photos from William. I just wanted to know if you were okay.
Lucien shifted slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear, his eyes still avoiding Adrián's but softening.
—Yeah… I already let him go. I realized I never liked him. I just liked his company… and his gifts.
Adrián's chest tightened in relief and something else he didn't want to name yet. He leaned forward just slightly, keeping his distance but closing enough that Lucien could feel the warmth radiating from him.
—Just… his company? Nothing else?
Lucien finally looked up, meeting Adrián's eyes, faint vulnerability in his own.
—I… I realized I never really cared about William. It didn't matter. What hurt wasn't him, it was seeing him with someone else… and not me. I felt… jealous. Angry. Like I should have been the one there. That's what really hurt.
Adrián's lips twitched, holding back a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. Lucien caught it, a mix of embarrassment and relief curling through him.
—You're ridiculous—Adrián said softly, shaking his head, still smiling. But it wasn't mocking. It was warm, affectionate, the way he always looked at Lucien when he caught him off-guard.
Lucien rolled his eyes, leaning back just slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. —You're the ridiculous one. Haven't you ever felt it? That moment when you see someone with someone else and you just… want to rip your eyes out from jealousy? Don't tell me it's never happened to you. Multiple times, even. With girls you've thought were cute, or guys… So don't call me ridiculous..
Adrián chuckled, scratching the back of his neck, pretending to think it over. —Okay, okay… maybe I have. But… I don't know. Maybe I don't get jealous like that.
Lucien's smirk deepened, playful and a little sharp. —Sure. Because you're always so perfect and calm, huh? Always so… untouchable. You wouldn't know jealousy if it hit you in the face.
Adrián laughed lightly, shaking his head. —Maybe. But you… you're a lot messier than I expected. You care more than you let on.
Lucien froze a little, caught off-guard by the observation, then rolled his eyes again, but the hint of a blush was impossible to hide. —Messy? I'm not messy. I'm just… human.
—Right, human. Full of unreasonable jealousy and ridiculous thoughts. —Adrián grinned, leaning back, eyes soft but teasing.
Lucien groaned quietly, looking away, pretending to be annoyed but secretly enjoying the attention. —You're impossible.
—And you like it, admit it. —Adrián nudged him slightly with his shoulder, just enough to make him flinch.
Lucien huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. —No way. I hate it.
After breakfast, Adrián stretched lazily, arms reaching over his head, letting the sunlight spill across the apartment and highlight his messy hair. Lucien got up to clear the plates, trying not to linger too long staring at him, but Adrián caught him with a mischievous grin.
—Hey, wait a second —he said—. Today's cleaning day, you know? You can't disappear while I do all the work.
Lucien raised an eyebrow, sighing dramatically. —Cleaning? But… we just had breakfast… and… —
—No excuses —Adrián interrupted, crossing his arms—. You said you'd stay here, so you're helping. Deal.
Lucien groaned, walking to the kitchen to start organizing the dishes. —You're always the boss —he muttered, though a small smile tugged at his lips.
As they cleared the plates, Adrián sometimes got a little too close, their hands brushing accidentally, lingering for just a second longer than necessary before moving apart like nothing happened. Lucien felt an odd flutter each time, mixed with the embarrassment of being caught thinking too much about him.
—You're ridiculous, you know that, right? —Lucien said, trying to sound stern while bending down to sweep up some crumbs.
—I… me ridiculous? Never —Adrián replied, tone teasing—. You, on the other hand, always get tangled up in your own thoughts.
Lucien rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a quiet laugh. —That's not fair.
Adrián smiled, leaning closer to help him with a heavy plate. Their hands brushed again, and Lucien felt a tiny jolt. —Careful —he said, though he didn't pull away—. You almost made me spill this.
—Sure, sure —Adrián murmured, holding the plate steady—. As if your hand isn't clumsy too.
They worked like that for a while, laughter spilling quietly between sarcastic comments, subtle touches, and accidental closeness. Lucien felt every brush of Adrián's hand, every glance, every deliberate movement in the small apartment, but neither of them spoke about what it really meant.
Once the dishes were done, Adrián dropped a towel on the counter and leaned back, taking a deep breath. —All done… what about you? Ready to tackle the rest of this mess we made?
Lucien sighed, crossing his arms, but a small smile slipped through. —Yeah, yeah, I'm ready… though you might not believe me, I can be surprisingly efficient when I want.
—Uh-huh —Adrián replied, a playful tone in his voice—. Let's see if you actually live up to that.
As they wiped tables, swept the floor, and wiped down counters, the teasing continued, hands brushed occasionally, and the closeness never broke. No words were spoken about their feelings, but the tension was there, electric and unavoidable. Neither needed to voice it; shared routines, small laughs, and gentle touches said enough.
Finally, as Lucien placed the last towel in its spot, he paused and looked at Adrián, muttering with a shy smile: —Cleaning with you isn't… so bad.
Adrián raised an eyebrow, leaning against the wall nearby. —Wow… that's a big compliment coming from you. I don't hear that every day.
Lucien rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but his heartbeat betrayed him. —Shut up. It's not a compliment.
—Sure it is —Adrián replied, stepping just a little closer, hands still busy with the towel, eyes fixed on Lucien—. And you can't deny it.
Lucien felt heat creep into his cheeks and looked away, but a small smile escaped anyway. —Maybe… just a little.
Adrián laughed softly, shaking his head, enjoying the moment without pushing further. Both knew what they felt was still under the surface. For now, teasing, accidental touches, and their daily closeness were enough.
If you want, I can continue with the rest of their day, having them do other things in the apartment or go out together, keeping the friendship and subtle tension, so it becomes more intimate without turning romantic yet.
Do you want me to do that?tally hate it.
Adrián only smirked, eyes glinting with amusement, letting the silence stretch just enough to feel the playful tension between them. Neither had to say anything more. The closeness, the teasing, the small touches—they spoke louder than words.
A few days later, on a Saturday night, they decided to go out together. It wasn't planned too much—just a casual suggestion that turned into something more the moment they stepped into the bar.
The place was loud, warm, filled with music that pulsed through the floor and up their legs. Lights flickered in shifting colors, painting everything in reds, blues, and golds. At first, they sat at the bar, talking, laughing, clinking glasses. One drink turned into two. Two turned into something they stopped counting.
They drank.
And drank.
And drank.
Somewhere between laughter and music, they ended up on the dance floor. Not really dancing in any coordinated way—just moving, bumping into each other, laughing louder than necessary. Lucien nearly lost his balance more than once, grabbing onto Adrián's arm each time, both of them dissolving into laughter like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Time blurred. The music became background noise. The world narrowed down to just the two of them in that chaotic, glowing space.
By the time they left, they were completely drunk.
The taxi ride back was a mess of half-finished sentences, quiet laughter, and heavy eyelids. Lucien rested his head against the window at some point, mumbling something Adrián didn't quite catch, while Adrián leaned back, eyes half-closed, trying to keep himself awake long enough to get them home.
When they finally reached Adrián's apartment, it took them longer than it should have to get inside. Keys dropped once. Then twice. Both of them laughing like it was the most complicated task in existence.
Once inside, the silence hit differently. No music. No crowd. Just the faint hum of the city outside and their uneven breathing.
Adrián let himself fall onto the couch, groaning softly, one arm thrown over his eyes. —I think I'm dying— he muttered.
Lucien let out a quiet laugh, leaning against the wall for support. —You say that every time—
—And every time I mean it—
They stayed like that for a moment, suspended in that hazy, spinning state where everything felt slower, heavier.
Lucien pushed himself off the wall, unsteady, his steps uneven as he tried to walk across the room. His vision blurred slightly, the edges of everything soft and unfocused.
—I need… water— he murmured, more to himself than to Adrián.
He reached out, aiming for the table, or maybe the counter—he wasn't entirely sure anymore. His fingers brushed against nothing. His balance shifted.
And then—
Everything tilted.
His foot slipped slightly against the floor, and before he could react, his body gave in to gravity.
He fell forward.
Right onto Adrián.
The impact was clumsy, uncoordinated—hands instinctively reaching out, bodies colliding in a tangle of limbs. Adrián barely had time to react before Lucien landed against him, the air knocked out of both of them for a brief second.
And then—
Their faces were too close.
Too close.
Lucien's breath hitched, warm and uneven, mixing with Adrián's. The world seemed to pause, the dizziness fading just enough for awareness to creep in.
Their lips brushed.
Not intentional.
Not planned.
Just… there.
For a second that stretched longer than it should have.
Neither of them moved.
Lucien froze, eyes widening slightly, his mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. Adrián's hand had instinctively come up to steady him, gripping lightly at his arm, but now it stayed there, unmoving.
The air between them shifted.
Something quiet. Something fragile.
Then Lucien pulled back—just a little, just enough to create space, his breathing still uneven, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and something he couldn't quite name.
—…I—
He didn't finish.
Adrián didn't say anything either.
They just looked at each other, the moment hanging there, unfinished, unspoken, heavier than anything that had come before it.
And neither of them knew what to do with it.
Time folded in on itself, quiet and heavy, like the world had decided to hold its breath just for them.
Lucien stayed there for a second too long, his hands braced against Adrián's chest, their faces too close, their breaths uneven. His eyes—wide, uncertain—searched Adrián's, as if waiting for something, anything, to make sense of what had just happened.
Adrián didn't move at first.
He wasn't drunk anymore. Not really. The haze had slipped away, leaving behind something sharper, something that made every detail painfully clear—the warmth of Lucien's body against his, the slight tremble in his arms, the way his lips had been just a breath away moments ago.
Lucien swallowed, already starting to pull back.
—Sorry… I didn't mean to—
But Adrián didn't let him finish.
His hand tightened slightly on Lucien's arm—not rough, not forceful, just enough to stop him from slipping away.
Lucien blinked, caught off guard.
—Adrián…?
There was a pause. A small one. But it stretched.
Adrián looked at him—really looked at him—and something in his expression shifted. The teasing warmth from earlier was gone, replaced by something quieter, more certain. Like he had just made a decision he didn't want to overthink.
And before Lucien could say anything else—
Adrián leaned in.
The kiss wasn't hesitant.
It wasn't rushed either.
It was deliberate.
Soft, but sure. Like he knew exactly what he was doing, even if he didn't fully understand why.
Lucien froze.
Completely.
His breath caught, his hands instinctively tightening against Adrián's shirt, like he needed something solid to hold onto.
For a second, he didn't respond.
And then—
Slowly—
He did.
Careful at first, like he was stepping into something unfamiliar, something fragile. His hand shifted from Adrián's chest to his shoulder, grounding himself, while his heart pounded so loud he was sure Adrián could feel it.
The world outside disappeared.
No noise. No thoughts. Just that moment—warm, close, impossible to ignore.
When they finally pulled apart, it wasn't sudden. It was slow, like neither of them was fully ready to let go.
Their foreheads nearly brushed.
Lucien's eyes were still wide, but no longer just confused—there was something else now, something deeper, something that made his chest feel too tight.
Lucien's breath was still uneven, his hand gripping lightly onto Adrián's shirt like he needed something to anchor himself. His mind was racing, trying to catch up with what had just happened, trying to put it into words that didn't exist yet.
—…Why did you do that?—he asked, voice low, almost fragile.
Adrián blinked, like the question pulled him back a step. For a moment, he looked… unsure. Not distant, not cold—just caught.
—…I'm sorry,—he said quietly, his hand loosening on Lucien's arm—It wasn't my intention.
That landed strangely.
Lucien frowned slightly, confusion flickering across his face, his chest tightening again—but this time for a different reason.
—That's not something friends do.
The words came out softer than he expected, but they stayed there, hanging between them.
Adrián looked at him.
Really looked at him.
And this time, he didn't hesitate.
—Yeah.
A small pause.
—…I know.
And before Lucien could process it—before he could step back, or question it, or protect himself—
Adrián leaned in again.
This time, there was no accident to hide behind.
No excuse.
The kiss was firmer, more certain, like a quiet confession he wasn't ready to say out loud. His hand came up again, steady at Lucien's arm, not holding him in place—but asking him to stay.
Lucien inhaled sharply against his lips, surprise flickering through him—but he didn't pull away.
Didn't want to.
His fingers tightened again in Adrián's shirt, this time not out of confusion—but choice.
And slowly—
he kissed him back.
The kiss was slow, delicate—nothing like the chaos that usually followed them.
Adrián moved carefully, as if he were afraid the moment might break if he rushed it. His hand slid, almost hesitantly, to Lucien's waist, resting there like a question rather than a claim.
It didn't match him.
Not the Adrián who teased too much, who laughed at the wrong moments, who always had something sharp and clever ready to say. This version of him was quieter, softer… stripped of all that привычный edge.
Lucien noticed.
Of course he did.
His lips moved gently against Adrián's, slower now, more aware. One of his hands came up, gripping lightly at Adrián's sleeve, as if testing whether this was real—or if it would disappear the second he pulled away.
Adrián didn't joke.
Didn't smirk.
Didn't ruin it.
For once, he just stayed there, close, steady, letting the silence speak for him.
And somehow… that said more than anything he could have teased him with.
He gently guided Lucien back until his lower back met the edge of the counter, every movement careful, almost hesitant—as if he were giving him time to pull away.
But Lucien didn't.
Adrián's hand tightened just slightly at his waist, no longer a question, not quite a demand either… something in between, something steady. Grounding.
Their faces were still close—too close to pretend this was nothing.
Adrián leaned in just enough that his breath brushed against Lucien's lips, warm, uneven now. He murmured something under his breath, low and rough, the words barely forming—more feeling than sound.
Lucien frowned faintly.
—What…?
But he didn't get an answer.
Not a real one.
Because Adrián hesitated—just for a second—his eyes flickering between Lucien's, searching, like he was standing right at the edge of something he couldn't take back.
Then, quieter this time, almost like a confession he wasn't ready to fully say out loud—
—I shouldn't…
His grip softened for a heartbeat.
And then—
He kissed him again.
Still gentle.
Still careful.
But this time… there was less doubt in it.
_________________________________________
He moved before he could think better of it.
One second he was still, trapped under the weight of everything he remembered—Lucien, the kiss, the way his own hands had lingered longer than they should have—and the next, he was out of bed.
Too fast.
The room tilted slightly, his headache flaring as his feet hit the floor, but he didn't stop. He dragged a hand through his hair, pacing once… twice… back and forth across the small space like the walls were closing in on him.
What the hell was that?
What was I thinking?
His breathing was uneven now, not from the hangover anymore, but from something sharper. Something that sat right under his ribs and refused to settle.
He glanced at the bed—just for a second.
Lucien was still there, half tangled in the sheets, one arm stretched where Adrián had been moments ago. His face was relaxed, unaware, like the world hadn't shifted overnight.
Adrián looked away immediately.
Nope. No. Not doing that.
He paced again, faster this time, muttering under his breath, trying to piece together something that made sense—something that could turn last night into a mistake, a blur, something easy to brush off.
But it didn't feel like a mistake.
That was the problem.
The memory wasn't messy or unclear. It wasn't just alcohol and bad decisions.
It had been deliberate.
His chest tightened.
Behind him, the sheets rustled softly.
A quiet shift. A breath. Then—
—…Adrián…?"
Lucien's voice was thick with sleep, low and confused, like he hadn't fully surfaced yet.
Adrián stopped mid-step.
For a second, he didn't turn around.
Didn't answer.
Because suddenly, whatever he said next felt like it mattered more than anything.
He swallowed.
—…You're awake.
Not the best choice. Not even close. But it was the only thing that came out.
Adrián finally turned around, slower this time, like facing him head-on might make everything too real, too immediate.
Lucien blinked up at him, still half-lost between sleep and awareness, his hair a mess, his expression soft… until it wasn't.
Because then it hit.
Not all at once, but enough.
His brows pulled together slightly. His lips parted like he was about to say something… then stopped. Thinking. Replaying.
Adrián saw the exact moment it clicked.
And shit.
He looked away again, exhaling sharply through his nose as he ran a hand over the back of his neck.
—About last night—
—About last night—
They both spoke at the same time.
Silence followed.
Thick. Awkward. Heavy in a completely different way than before.
Adrián let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh, more nerves than amusement, shaking his head.
—Go ahead—murmured, gesturing vaguely toward Lucien—. I don't trust myself to go first.
Lucien pushed himself up slowly, the sheets slipping down to his waist, but he didn't seem to notice. His attention was locked entirely on Adrián now.
—…Do you remember it?
Straight to it.
Of course he would.
Adrián huffed quietly, a humorless smile tugging at his lips.
—Yeah. I do.
No hesitation this time. No escape.
Another pause.
Lucien searched his face, like he was trying to read between every tiny shift in his expression.
—And?—he pressed softly.
Adrián's jaw tightened.
—It…—he stopped, exhaled, then tried again—. It shouldn't have happened.
There it was.
Safe. Simple. Wrong.
Lucien didn't look away.
Didn't nod.
Didn't agree.
If anything, something in his expression shifted—just slightly.
—…Because we were drunk?
Adrián hesitated.
That would've been the easy answer.
The convenient one.
But instead, quieter—
—No.
The room stilled again.
Adrián dragged a hand down his face, frustrated now, pacing once more like standing still was impossible.
—It's just… that's not… something we do.
Lucien tilted his head slightly.
—Something friends do.
Adrián didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
The silence did it for him.
Lucien watched him for a long second. Then another.
—…But you did it again.
That made Adrián stop.
Completely.
His back still turned.
—Yeah—he admitted quietly.
No excuse.
No denial.
Just the truth, sitting there between them like something fragile and dangerous at the same time.
Adrián stayed still for a moment, like the words were lining up in his throat, waiting for permission to exist.
Then he let out a slow breath and finally turned, walking back toward the bed.
He sat down at the edge, shoulders slightly slumped, hands resting on his thighs before loosely clasping together.
—…I wasn't drunk.
The words landed quietly, but they carried weight.
Lucien didn't move.
Adrián stared down at his hands for a second, then forced himself to keep going.
—And I'm not sorry I kissed you.
There it was. No taking it back now.
He let out a small, almost awkward huff of air, like even he couldn't believe he was saying this out loud.
—Because… I don't even remember since when, but—you've always… gotten to me.
He shook his head lightly, a faint, self-conscious smile tugging at his lips.
—To the point I couldn't even think straight when you were with William.
That one came out softer. More honest than he probably intended.
Silence stretched, but Adrián didn't stop this time.
—But…—he added quickly, glancing up at Lucien now—if that makes you uncomfortable… or what happened last night—
His fingers tightened together for a second.
—You don't have to talk to me anymore.
And then, almost unconsciously, his expression betrayed him.
A slight pout. Eyes a little softer than usual. Vulnerable in a way that didn't match his usual teasing, sharp-edged self.
—Not that I planned to kiss you or anything—he muttered, a bit defensive now, looking away—. That just… happened.
A pause.
Then, quieter—
—But I did mean it.
Lucien stared at the paper a little longer than necessary, like if he blinked it might disappear… or become too real.
His fingers tightened slightly around it.
Then he looked up at Adrián.
There was something softer in his eyes now. Not confusion. Not rejection.
Something careful.
He exhaled quietly.
—…Adrián.
His voice was gentle, but steady.
He glanced down at the paper again, thumb brushing over one of the photos.
—This… isn't something small.
A pause.
—And I don't want to answer you like it is.
Adrián's shoulders tensed just a little, like he was bracing himself.
Lucien noticed.
Of course he did.
So he shifted slightly on the bed, leaning forward just a bit.
—Hey… look at me.
Adrián did.
Lucien held his gaze, serious but warm.
—It's not a no.
A small, almost shy breath left him.
—It's… I want to think about it.
Before Adrián could spiral into overthinking, Lucien added quickly:
—But not like… disappear-for-three-days kind of thinking.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
—Just… don't rush me, okay?
He lowered the paper to his lap, still holding it carefully.
—Because I'm not walking away.
That part came out quieter.
More honest.
—So… don't push me away either.
The room settled again, but this time it wasn't tense.
It felt… like standing on the edge of something new, waiting for the next step.
During the next few days, Adrián stayed mostly in his apartment.
Not sad. Not exactly.
Just… suspended.
Like time had slowed down only for him, stretching each hour into something heavier, quieter. His thoughts kept looping, replaying moments in fragments. The kitchen. The kiss. Lucien's face. The way everything had shifted without warning, like stepping on a stair that wasn't there.
He moved through his routine like muscle memory was doing all the work.
Wake up.
Get dressed.
Meet Lucien downstairs.
They still left at the same time every morning, like always. Same bus. Same seats when they were lucky. Same rhythm they had built over weeks.
But something had changed.
Adrián wasn't leaning into him as much. Wasn't nudging his shoulder just to annoy him. Wasn't making those dumb comments that usually got an eye roll out of Lucien.
He held himself back.
Careful. Controlled.
Like he was walking on thin glass and didn't want to hear it crack.
And Lucien noticed.
Of course he did.
There were moments when their eyes met for just a second too long. Moments where one of them almost said something, but didn't. Words hovered in the air like unfinished sentences, then dissolved before they could exist.
Still… they stayed close.
Not drifting apart.
Just… orbiting differently.
After classes, Adrián would go back home.
The apartment felt bigger now. Quieter.
He'd toss his bag somewhere careless, run a hand through his hair, and head straight to the shower. Let the water run longer than necessary, like it could wash away the tension stuck under his skin.
Then he'd collapse into bed.
Six hours.
Sometimes more.
Not because he was tired.
Because being asleep was easier than thinking.
Days passed like that.
One.
Two.
Three.
Until the fourth day felt… unbearable.
Adrián opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, sunlight barely filtering through the curtains. His chest felt tight, like something inside him was done waiting.
—…No.
He sat up abruptly, running both hands over his face.
—I'm not doing this anymore.
Silence answered him.
Good.
He got out of bed, grabbed his laptop, and dropped onto the couch. The screen lit up his face as he hesitated for exactly two seconds before typing:
"How to confess to someone you really like."
He immediately grimaced.
—God, that sounds pathetic.
Still… he clicked.
One article.
Then another.
Then five more.
Some were ridiculous.
"Write a song."
"Flash mob confession."
"Grand public gesture."
—Yeah, no. Absolutely not.
He closed tabs with increasing judgment.
—Lucien would literally leave.
But then… smaller ideas.
Quieter ones.
"Make it personal."
"Create a safe space."
"Show effort without overwhelming."
That made him pause.
—…Okay. That… sounds more like it.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling again, but this time his thoughts weren't looping.
They were building.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like putting together something fragile with hands that didn't want to mess it up.
—
That afternoon, Adrián left the apartment.
And when he came back… he wasn't empty-handed.
Flowers. Not too many. Just enough.
A pack of balloons he almost didn't buy, but did anyway.
Colored paper. Tape. Scissors.
By evening, his living room looked like a quiet explosion of intention.
He worked slowly.
Not rushing.
Each detail placed like it mattered… because it did.
The flowers were arranged in small clusters, not overwhelming the space. The balloons floated lazily, tied in corners so they wouldn't get in the way.
Then came the window.
The biggest part.
He stood in front of it with the cut-out letters in his hands, staring at the glass like it was judging him.
—This is so stupid.
He stuck the first letter anyway.
Then the next.
And the next.
Until, slightly uneven but undeniably sincere, it read:
"Can I be your boyfriend?"
He stepped back, tilting his head.
—…Could be worse.
Below it, he added a small drawn smiley face.
Then, after a second of hesitation, a heart.
—Yeah. That stays.
—
The bedroom came last.
Adrián walked in, holding a small box.
He opened it slowly.
Inside were printed photos.
Lucien laughing with his head thrown back.
Lucien looking annoyed.
Lucien distracted, staring out a window.
Lucien… being Lucien.
Moments stolen quietly.
Moments that meant more than they probably should.
He spread them across the bed, not perfectly aligned, just… natural. Like memories scattered without order.
At the center, he placed two necklaces.
Simple chains.
One with an "A".
The other with an "L".
His fingers lingered on them for a second.
—You're really doing this, huh…
—
When everything was done, Adrián sat on the edge of the bed.
Elbows on his knees.
Hands clasped loosely.
And he just… looked.
At everything.
At what he had made.
At what it meant.
Thirty minutes passed like that.
Maybe more.
His leg bounced slightly, nerves finally catching up to him.
—Okay.
He exhaled sharply, standing up.
—Either this works… or I move to another country.
He grabbed his phone.
Dialed.
The ringing felt louder than usual.
Then—
—Hey?
Lucien's voice.
Sleepy. Calm. Familiar.
Adrián swallowed.
—Hey… I think I'm sick.
A small pause.
Then he added, softer:
—Like… I have a fever. I feel horrible.
He even let out a quiet cough.
Commitment.
—Can you come?
There was no hesitation on the other end.
—Yeah. I'm coming.
The call ended.
And suddenly, the apartment felt too quiet again.
Adrián moved quickly now.
He turned off all the lights.
Checked everything one more time.
The window.
The bed.
The necklaces.
Then he stood there.
In the dim silence.
Waiting.
—
The knock came sooner than expected.
Sharp. Immediate.
Concerned.
Adrián's heart jumped.
He walked to the door, hand hovering over the handle for half a second.
Then he opened it.
Lucien stepped in quickly.
—Adrián?
His voice carried that edge of worry that made something twist in Adrián's chest.
—Why is it so dark? Are you—
He was already reaching for the switch.
Click.
Light flooded the apartment.
Everything came into view at once.
The flowers.
The balloons.
The window.
The message.
The room.
All of it.
Lucien froze.
Completely.
Like his body forgot how to move.
His eyes moved slowly, taking everything in piece by piece. Processing. Reprocessing.
Trying to understand.
Trying to believe.
The silence stretched.
Heavy. Full.
And then—
His gaze landed on Adrián.
Standing there.
A few steps away.
Not smirking.
Not joking.
Not hiding behind sarcasm or teasing.
Just… there.
Open.
Exposed.
Waiting.
Like whatever came next would either build something… or break it.
Lucien's eyes were already glassy the second the lights came on.
Not just from what he was seeing.
From before.
From the rush of worry that hadn't even had time to settle yet.
His chest was still rising too fast, breath uneven, like he had run all the way there without stopping. His hands were slightly trembling, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides as if they didn't know what to do with all that leftover panic.
He had really believed it.
That Adrián was sick.
That something was wrong.
And now—
Now this.
His gaze moved again, slower this time.
The flowers.
The balloons.
The letters on the window.
The photos.
Everything felt too intentional. Too… soft.
Too much.
His throat tightened.
—…You—
His voice came out thinner than he expected, almost breaking halfway through.
He swallowed, blinking fast, trying to steady himself, but the tears were already there, clinging stubbornly to his lashes.
—You idiot…
It wasn't sharp.
It wasn't angry.
It trembled.
He let out a shaky breath, running a hand over his face like he was trying to pull himself together and failing miserably.
—You scared me.
A small, helpless laugh slipped out, completely out of place.
—You said you were sick… I thought—
He stopped.
Didn't finish.
Didn't need to.
His eyes lifted again, locking onto Adrián like he was trying to make sense of him, of all of this, of everything that had changed in just a few days.
Then, almost in disbelief, he gestured weakly around them.
—What… what is all this?
His voice cracked at the end.
Not loud.
Just… fragile.
Like if Adrián didn't answer carefully, it might shatter completely..Adrián didn't move right away.
For once, he wasn't leaning casually or hiding behind that usual teasing confidence he wore like armor.
He just stood there.
His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, fingers twitching slightly like he didn't know what to do with them. He swallowed, his eyes fixed on Lucien as if looking away might ruin everything.
When he finally spoke, his voice came out softer than usual. A little unsteady.
—I… look, I—
He let out a quiet breath, the words catching in his throat before he could fully say them.
—I'm not really good at this…
A small, nervous laugh slipped out, quick and unsure.
His hand came up to rub the back of his neck before dropping again.
—But… I mean…
His gaze flickered for just a second, taking in everything he had set up, then returned to Lucien. This time, there was no hiding it.
—All of this… it's because…
He hesitated again.
Then, more quietly—
—Because you matter to me. A lot.
The silence between them stretched, thin and fragile.
Adrián took a small breath, like he was steadying himself before the final step.
—So… um…
A faint, almost shy smile appeared, so unlike his usual one it almost didn't look like him at all.
—Would you… be my boyfriend…?
He said it slowly.
Carefully.
But his eyes never left Lucien's.
Open.
Honest.
And unmistakably nervously.