By the fourth time Jace sits next to him, Caspian stops pretending to be surprised.
He's still mildly annoyed, sure. There's a small, familiar sigh as Jace flops onto the ledge, legs sprawled, arms too close, voice too loud. But there's no sharp edge to it anymore.
Just an adjustment. Like moving your sketchbook to make room for something you don't really need—but know is coming anyway.
"You ever not wear oversized hoodies?" Jace asks, poking the cuff of Caspian's sleeve.
"You ever not say the first thing that comes into your head?"
"Nope."
Caspian pulls his sleeve away without looking up. "Didn't think so."
But his pencil doesn't stop moving.
Jace watches the linework glide across the page for a few seconds. Caspian's hands are small, neat, but they move with quiet certainty — like they know what the lines want before they do. The sketch is faint and soft, but detailed. A boy with wings curled up on a rooftop, hugging his knees. Lonely, but not broken.
"Is that me?" Jace asks, pretending to squint.
"No," Caspian says immediately, voice dry. "This one shuts up sometimes."
"Oof. Brutal." But he grins anyway. "You're fun when you're mean, you know that?"
Caspian shrugs, erasing a line gently. "Most people don't stick around long enough to find out."
There's a pause. Just long enough to mean something, but not long enough for either of them to say it out loud.
Jace breaks it first, of course. "So what's with the heart necklace?" he asks, leaning in and tapping his finger near the tiny silver pendant around Caspian's neck. "Secret admirer? Star-crossed love story? Goth aesthetic?"
Caspian covers it with his hand instinctively, eyes flicking toward him — and this time, there's a subtle shift in his expression. Not hurt, exactly. Just... closed off.
"It's just mine," he says quietly. "I've had it since I was little."
"Oh." Jace straightens a little. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to—"
"It's fine."
And it is. Or it will be, eventually. Caspian goes back to sketching, and Jace goes quiet for once, chewing on the inside of his cheek like he's replaying that moment on a loop.
Then, softer:
"It's nice. The necklace. It suits you."
Caspian doesn't say anything. But his hand relaxes.
The bell rings again, sharp and final. Caspian starts packing his things.
This time, Jace doesn't ask if he'll see him tomorrow.
He just offers a lazy two-finger salute as he walks off backward, grinning. "Later, Cas."
Caspian watches him go. Frowns to himself.
Then looks down at the page in his sketchbook.
The winged boy is still alone on the rooftop.
But this time, there's someone sitting on the ledge below — legs dangling off the side, facing away, a silver streak in his hair.