Caspian's room was small, but soft.
Everything in it looked like it had been chosen deliberately — the pale lavender curtains, the neatly arranged plushies, the sticker-covered tablet stand on his desk. A candle flickered on the corner shelf, filling the air with vanilla and something warmer, gentler. His headphones were hooked neatly on the lamp. His blanket was folded with care.
The only real chaos lived inside his sketchbook.
He was curled up in bed now, knees pulled to his chest, pencil smudges on his fingertips and graphite dusting the sheets. The latest page was cluttered with half-finished expressions: wistful eyes, crooked smiles, hands reaching and never quite touching.
One of the boys he'd drawn looked suspiciously familiar.
Ugh. He didn't mean to draw Jace again. It just… happened. That stupid silver streak was weirdly fun to shade. And his hands — all rings and fidgety motion — were kind of satisfying to sketch. He always moved like he was barely holding back a laugh. Like the world was one big inside joke only he was in on.
Caspian chewed the end of his pencil.
It wasn't like he liked him.
Jace was just… persistent. The kind of person who showed up even when you didn't ask. Who noticed things no one else bothered to see — like your necklace, or the way you sat on the same stone ledge every day. Who said too much, but somehow never made it feel cruel.
Most people didn't stay long enough to learn the difference.
Caspian flipped the page and tried not to think about it.
Instead, he reached for his tablet and curled deeper under the blanket. Logged into his art account.
The internet was quieter than school. Softer. Here, he was just @ghosthour, a faceless username who posted dreamy sketches and glowing-eyed boys and haunting backgrounds soaked in moonlight.
A new message blinked in the inbox.
> hey!! i saw your latest piece and the lighting?? is actually insane. also did you model that winged boy after someone you know?? 👀
Caspian smiled faintly. He didn't reply right away — just stared at the digital canvas glowing back at him.
The winged boy had looked familiar, hadn't he?
He pulled the blanket up over his mouth and let out a soft, muffled groan.
This was stupid.
He wasn't even sure if Jace remembered half the things he said. The compliments, the jokes, the way he'd say "Miss me?" like Caspian had ever admitted to noticing he was gone.
He was probably just doing this with everyone.
Caspian stared at the last sketch he'd made before bed. It was a new one — barely a silhouette — of two figures sitting back to back under a streetlamp. One had a heart pendant around his neck. The other had a laugh drawn into the curve of his shoulders.
Caspian added a moon overhead.
Then he turned out the light.