The night after they met, Eli couldn't sleep.
The city outside his window had finally calmed. The storm had passed, leaving the streets glistening under weak orange lamplight. He sat on his bed, staring at the small slip of paper resting beside his pillow—the one with Riven's name and number, handwritten in fast, confident strokes.
He hadn't texted.
Not yet.
He wanted to. Every part of him screamed to. But he was also scared.
What if it meant something only to him?
What if Riven had already forgotten?
The next day passed slowly. Eli drifted through his classes like a ghost, barely hearing the professors as they spoke. His sketchpad remained closed, his pencil untouched.
It wasn't until evening, while sitting at his favorite quiet spot in the university garden, that he finally pulled out his phone.
He typed:
> Hi. It's Eli. From the store.
And stared at it for ten whole minutes.
Then he deleted it.
Typed again:
> I forgot to thank you… for keeping me company last night.
Deleted again.
Finally, he settled on something simple.
> Hey. This is Eli.
He sent it.
His heart leapt, as if he'd just thrown a part of himself into the void.
Seconds passed.
Then minutes.
Nothing.
He sighed, slipping the phone into his pocket. He didn't know what he expected. Riven looked like the type of guy who had a hundred things going on—school, friends, maybe even a boyfriend. What were the odds he was even waiting for a text from someone like Eli?
But then—buzz.
His phone lit up.
> Riven: Hey, artist boy.
I was wondering when you'd finally message me. Took you long enough.
Eli blinked at the screen. A small, involuntary smile pulled at his lips.
> Eli: Sorry. Wasn't sure if you meant it.
Riven: I don't give my number to people I want to forget.
Riven: So what now? You gonna draw me again, or was that a one-night commission?
Eli laughed—quiet, soft. He hadn't realized how much tension he was holding until that moment.
> Eli: I don't charge for people I like drawing.
Riven replied instantly.
> Riven: 😏 So you like drawing me?
Eli: Don't push it.
Riven: Too late.
That was how it began.
One text turned into two. Two turned into late-night conversations. They talked about everything—from weird professors to favorite songs, from childhood memories to things they feared. Riven admitted he was pre-med, exhausted all the time, and slowly burning out from the pressure of being "the pride of the Castillo family." Eli shared stories about his mom leaving when he was ten, about how drawing became the one thing he could control.
Over time, their conversations grew deeper.
Not flirtatious—just real.
Every evening, Eli would check his phone, heart jumping when he saw Riven's name.
It was dangerous. Addictive.
But it felt good.
---
Two weeks later, they met again.
Riven texted him one Saturday:
> Riven: I'm outside your building.
Want to grab coffee?
Eli didn't even think. He grabbed his bag and ran.
They went to a small, quiet café tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop. The place was dimly lit with soft jazz playing in the background. Riven wore a navy button-up, his hair slicked back neatly, but his eyes were tired.
"You okay?" Eli asked as they sat across from each other.
Riven shrugged. "Med school's trying to kill me."
Eli tilted his head. "Why do you even want to be a doctor?"
Riven stirred his drink. "Because I'm expected to. My dad's a surgeon. His dad was too. It's like... tradition. I never had a say."
Eli looked at him for a long time. "And what do you want?"
For once, Riven looked uncertain.
"I don't know," he admitted. "No one's ever really asked me that."
Eli smiled, soft and knowing. "You don't have to have it all figured out."
There was a pause. Then Riven said quietly, "What about you? Why art?"
"Because it's the only thing that makes sense. It's how I survive the silence."
Riven nodded slowly, eyes never leaving his.
Something shifted between them again.
Not loud, not explosive—just a quiet understanding. An invisible thread drawing them closer.
They spent hours there, talking, sketching on napkins, even sharing a slice of cake. When they finally left, the sky had already turned dark.
Outside the café, Eli hugged his arms against the wind. Riven stood beside him, hands in his pockets.
"I'll walk you back," Riven offered.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
They walked in silence. Not the awkward kind—just peaceful. A kind of silence that felt like trust.
When they reached Eli's dorm gate, they stood there for a while, neither moving.
Riven scratched the back of his neck. "So... this was nice."
"It was," Eli agreed.
Neither of them moved. Both waiting. Both afraid to break whatever this was.
Then Riven leaned in—not too close, just enough for Eli to feel his breath.
"I'm still not sure what this is," he whispered. "But I don't want it to end."
Eli looked up at him, eyes wide, heart pounding. "Me neither."
And that was it.
No kiss. No big moment.
Just two boys standing under the city lights, holding onto something they didn't fully understand.
But it was real.
And it was just beginning.
---