The café buzzed around him, warm with chatter and the smell of espresso. Ethan leaned back into the worn couch, letting the noise fill in the space where his thoughts had been dangerously close to drifting back to the studio. His leg stretched out awkwardly in front of him, and someone had pulled up an extra chair just to prop it on. Everyone knew about the injury by now, and no one made a big deal out of it anymore.
Mia leaned into his side, fingers laced casually with his as she scrolled through her phone. She laughed at a meme and showed it to him, her head resting briefly on his shoulder. Ethan smiled. She'd always been easy to be around; pretty, quick-witted, and effortlessly cool in the way that turned heads without even trying. They'd been together since last spring, before the injury, before everything shifted just slightly out of focus.
"You looked like a statue today," one of his teammates, Josh called across the table, grinning over the rim of his iced coffee. "I walked past the art hall. You modeling now, bro?"
Ethan rolled his eyes but chuckled. "Coach's idea. Said I needed to keep moving, keep my body active."
"Yeah, right. You just wanted to be surrounded by art girls," another guy added, snorting.
Ethan smirked. "Sure. That's exactly why I did it."
Mia didn't say much about it. She seemed mildly amused, but not threatened. Why would she be? Posing for a quiet class of sketching students wasn't exactly scandalous. Still, she nudged him playfully and said, "Just don't let them draw you naked. I'll charge them extra for that."
"Noted," Ethan said with a grin, though for a split second, his mind flicked back… Daniel's voice, quiet and calm, telling him to "trust the lines."
He shook it off.
They hung around for a while longer, sharing fries, joking about professors, groaning about assignments. Ethan stayed mostly quiet, listening more than he talked, but it didn't seem out of place. His friends just chalked it up to a long day. No one asked questions, and he didn't offer anything extra.
Later, back at his apartment, the noise faded. The quiet settled in.
He limped to the bathroom, stripped off his hoodie and jeans, and stepped into the hot shower. The steam hit his sore muscles, loosening them inch by inch, the tension rolling off in waves. The water helped, but it couldn't quite erase the lingering impression of the day.
He hadn't expected it to stick with him, the silence of the art room, the way time had slowed. Daniel's voice again came to mind, low and controlled, giving direction not like a coach barking drills but like someone who already saw what you could be before you did.
Ethan scrubbed a hand through his hair and leaned against the cool tiles. It was just a class. He repeated it like a mantra.
He didn't feel anything. He wasn't confused. He wasn't anything.
But the image of Daniel's eyes, focused and unreadable, stayed with him longer than he wanted to admit.
He stepped out, dried off, and collapsed into bed without bothering to check his phone.
Sleep didn't come quickly.
He couldn't blame the mattress, it was the same one he'd crashed on after a dozen games, bruised and high on adrenaline. But last night, his body had felt foreign. Still. Too still. And when he finally drifted off, it was a light, fractured sleep filled with images he couldn't quite piece together, charcoal fingers, a steady voice, and those eyes watching him like they were seeing more than what was there.
By morning, he chalked it up to nerves. Or boredom. Or pain. Something explainable.
He limped through breakfast, toast in one hand, crutch under the other, and barely heard a word Mia said over FaceTime while she did her makeup. She was prepping for her psychology presentation and running through flashcards, and Ethan nodded at all the right times without really registering anything.
"You good?" she asked suddenly, narrowing her eyes.
"Yeah. Just tired," he said, forcing a small smile. "Didn't sleep much."
She pouted. "You should've called. I would've bored you to sleep with Freud."
"Tempting."
She grinned and blew a kiss. "Good luck being a human mannequin."
He ended the call and grabbed his bag. Just another day, he told himself.
....
The studio was already warm when he arrived. Low light filtered through the high windows, and the faint smell of turpentine clung to the air like memory. Students were settling into their usual places, some stretching their wrists, others sipping from travel mugs.
Daniel was there too…. standing by his easel, back turned, adjusting a large canvas. His long hair was loosely tied today, a few strands slipping free to graze his collar. That same quiet control radiated from him, the kind that didn't need to speak to fill the room.
Ethan set down his bag and eased onto the stool, adjusting the position carefully to avoid pressure on his leg. The moment he sat, Daniel turned.
Their eyes met.
It wasn't dramatic. It wasn't charged. It was just... still.
Daniel walked over, gaze flicking to Ethan's posture. "Comfortable?"
"As I'll ever be."
Daniel nodded once. "Try to keep your shoulders relaxed this time. You looked like you were holding your breath last week."
"I probably was."
That earned him a small smirk. "Then don't."
The session began, and with it came silence. Not oppressive, focused. Only the soft scratch of charcoal and the occasional murmur as Daniel moved from student to student. Ethan stared ahead, keeping his body steady, trying not to think about the angle of Daniel's gaze every time it landed on him.
It wasn't until halfway through the session that Daniel spoke again, not to the class, but directly to him, low enough that only Ethan heard.
"You hold tension in your jaw. Do you always do that, or is it just me?"
Ethan blinked. "I—what?"
Daniel tilted his head, eyes not leaving Ethan's face. "Your expression is too tight. You're not a sculpture. You're a person. Let it be human."
Ethan didn't know what to say to that. He wasn't used to being seen so precisely. On the field, everything was physical, performance-based. But here? Daniel wasn't just sketching outlines he was reading things Ethan hadn't even realized he was showing.
.....
After class, Ethan was slower gathering his things. He caught Daniel watching him again nothing obvious, no lingering stares, just quiet observation. Like a teacher. Like someone who noticed.
"You didn't lock up so much today," Daniel said as Ethan slung his bag over his shoulder.
Ethan gave a small shrug. "Guess I'm getting used to being on display."
Daniel's brow lifted. "It's not about display. It's about presence."
Ethan let out a dry chuckle. "You say that like it's easy."
Daniel stepped closer, just enough to drop his voice, but not enough to cross a line. "You've lived your life being watched, haven't you? Cheered for. Measured. Judged."
Ethan tensed.
Daniel didn't press further. He just offered a final nod. "Let me know if the pose ever gets too much for your leg."
"I will."
He didn't.
....
That night, Ethan went out with the guys again.
It was Luca's birthday, which meant cheap beer, louder-than-it-needed-to-be music, and a half-crowded bar that smelled like old wood and spilled tequila. The place wasn't impressive, but it was tradition a little run-down, dimly lit, pulsing with the kind of energy that made everyone feel 21 and reckless, even if they had early lectures the next day.
Ethan took his spot at the usual corner table with Mia beside him and the boys packed in around. Someone ordered too many shots. Someone else spilled half a beer trying to toast. There were rounds of ribbing, arm punches, trash talk about old football games.
He laughed at all the right times, forced ease into his body even when it still felt unfamiliar. His crutch was leaned up against the table leg, and for the first time that week, he didn't feel eyes on him for using it. The guys didn't care. They still saw him as Ethan… their striker, their idiot friend, their center of chaos.
Mia curled close, her arm hooked around his. She smelled like warm perfume and coconut lotion. She kissed his cheek between conversations, fingers grazing the inside of his knee like she used to do when they were new and inseparable.
He smiled. It was easy. Normal.
So why did it still feel like something was off?
By the third round of shots, the bar had blurred into a haze of laughter and overlapping conversations. Ethan felt the edges of his patience fray, not angry, just... overstimulated. Too much noise. Too many voices. Too much pretending like nothing had changed.
He slipped away under the guise of needing fresh air.
Outside, the night was cool and biting. He stepped around the corner, pulling his hoodie tighter and fishing for a cigarette from the half-used pack in his coat pocket. He wasn't a regular smoker, but tonight, he needed something to do with his hands. Something to cut through the static in his head.
He lit it with a shaky thumb and took a long drag.
He glanced across the narrow street, toward the entrance of another bar. Upscale. The kind of place that served craft cocktails and charged for sparkling water.
Then he noticed them two figures standing under the overhang across the narrow street, near the entrance of an upscale bar. One had his hand resting casually on the other's hip, their bodies leaning in close intimate and assured.
Ethan's eyes locked on the taller figure.
Daniel.
His breath caught in his throat. The smoke he'd been drawing suddenly turned harsh and bitter.
It was unmistakable. Daniel stood beneath the dim streetlamp outside the upscale bar, dressed in a sleek, dark coat that cut a sharp silhouette against the night. His posture was relaxed but self-assured shoulders square, chin slightly tilted down as he listened to the man in front of him.
The other guy leaned in, clearly flirting, but Daniel didn't flinch or retreat. Instead, he shifted his stance just slightly solid, grounded and let the man come closer. Then, casually, with no hesitation, Daniel reached up and took the guy by the jaw. Not roughly, not gently either just… deliberately.
And then he kissed him.
A brief kiss. Firm. Controlled.
Not sloppy or drunk.
It was the kind of kiss that said, I know what I want, and I take it when I do.
Ethan stood frozen across the street, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. The glow from the ember burned close to his fingers, but he didn't notice.
What the hell…?
His stomach twisted in a way he couldn't explain. Not revulsion. Not interest. Just something sharp and jarring, like being shoved into cold water with no warning. The image was burned into his mind, Daniel, so composed, so unapologetically physical. It wasn't the kiss itself that shocked him. It was how natural it had looked. How completely unbothered Daniel seemed.