He let out a breath and leaned back slightly.
"Okay. Writing is not my thing."
He tapped the pen lightly against the paper, thinking again.
"Maybe I should draw."
That sounded easier.
Then again—
"What do I even draw?"
He lowered the pen and tried to make a simple line across the page.
It came out uneven.
He frowned.
"I can't even draw a straight line."
For a moment, he just stared at the page, unimpressed.
"I should just leave this."
He pushed the chair back slightly, ready to give up on the entire idea.
Then something shifted in his thoughts.
A reference.
If he had something to look at, maybe it would be easier.
The garden.
He could draw something from there.
A flower, maybe.
That sounded manageable.
He glanced once more at the mirror, then away.
It was evening now. The harsh sunlight was gone.
There was no chance of making his skin worse.
And more importantly—
No one would be there.
Or at least, that's what he assumed.
He picked up the diary and pen, then stepped out.
The garden was quieter now.
The light had softened, shadows stretching longer across the ground, the air cooler than it had been earlier.
Eline stepped in slowly, his eyes moving around the space.
No one.
A small, genuine relief spread through him.
"Finally," he muttered under his breath.
He moved toward one of the benches and sat down, then looked around carefully.
There were flowers everywhere—roses, lilies, carefully arranged clusters that looked almost too perfect.
Too complicated.
Too detailed.
His gaze shifted until it landed on something simpler.
A small flower.
Five petals.
Clean shape.
Easy.
"This one," he decided.
He slid off the bench and crouched down instead, settling into a squat, the diary balanced against his knees. One hand held it steady while the other hovered with the pen, ready to draw.
For a moment, he just observed the flower, trying to take in its shape.
Then he began.
Slowly. Carefully. Like a child trying something new.
He was so focused that he didn't notice the change at first.
The light dimmed slightly.
A shadow fell over him.
It wasn't gradual.
It was sudden. Solid.
Like something had stepped directly between him and the fading light.
Eline's hand paused mid-motion.
The garden had already begun to sink into evening when it happened.
Eline was still crouched near the flower, the diary balanced against his knees, his attention fixed on the uneven lines he was trying to shape into something recognizable. His world had narrowed to that small patch of petals and paper, the rest fading into quiet background.
So when the light shifted—
He noticed it too late.
A shadow fell over him, sudden and complete, cutting off what little light remained. It wasn't the soft kind cast by trees or fading sun. It was solid. Close.
Eline's hand stilled.
A small frown formed between his brows as he looked up—
And before he could react properly, his balance gave in.
From the crouched position, it didn't take much. His weight tipped backward, his footing slipped, and the next moment he was falling.
But he didn't hit the ground.
He hit something firm.
Unmoving.
For a second, everything stilled.
Then he turned his head, his breath catching slightly—
Lucien.
Standing behind him as if nothing had happened, as if the sudden collision had barely registered.
Eline blinked, still half in shock, his mind catching up a second too late.
What the hell is he doing here?
Before he could fully gather himself, Lucien's hands were already on his shoulders, steadying him, lifting him upright in one smooth motion.
Too easily.
Eline barely had time to adjust before he realized how he was being held—his posture awkward, his feet barely grounded.
Like a child.
A flicker of embarrassment crossed his face immediately.
"Can you… put me down first?" he said, trying to keep his voice even.
Lucien didn't argue. Instead, he shifted his hold, lifting him properly this time before setting him down on the nearby bench with controlled ease.
At the same time, he bent slightly, picked up the fallen diary, and handed it back to him.
Only then did his gaze settle fully on Eline.
It lingered.
Not casually. Not briefly.
There was something in it—something quieter, sharper, as if he was noticing something that didn't sit right.
His eyes moved over Eline's face, taking in the redness, the slight swelling, the irritation that hadn't faded.
"What happened to you?" he asked.
The question came out slower than usual, his tone carrying a faint weight behind it.
Eline frowned slightly, caught off guard.
What happened to me?
The thought came instinctively.
I'm standing right in front of you, completely fine.
But Lucien's gaze didn't shift. If anything, it grew more focused, as if waiting for an answer that mattered more than the question itself suggested.
Eline hesitated for a brief moment, then replied, almost casually, "Nothing."
Lucien didn't move.
His eyes remained on his face.
"…Your face," he added after a second. "What happened to it?"
The way he said it made it clearer—not just a question, but a quiet insistence. He already knew something was wrong. He just wasn't saying it directly.
Eline let out a small breath through his nose, finally understanding what he meant.
"Oh," he said, almost dismissively. "It's just a sunburn."
He shifted the diary slightly in his hands. "I stayed out too long earlier. That's it."
Lucien's gaze lingered for another moment,
"What were you doing?" he asked.
Eline followed his gaze and lifted the diary slightly. "Trying to draw," he said.
There was a pause.