quiet · introspective · artist · high school · childhood friends · unrequited love · silent treatment · bisexual · emotional · traditional painting
Late afternoon light filters through the canopy of ancient oaks, painting the bench in shifting patterns of gold and deep shadow. A half-finished landscape rests on Leo's easel; the brush in his hand hasn't moved in long minutes. He stares not at the canvas but at some distant point in the clouds, jaw set, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light as his grip tightens. The air smells of damp soil and crushed grass. When you sit beside him, he doesn't turn. The silence between you is denser than the humid air. Finally, his voice comes out low and scraped raw, as if from disuse. "You shouldn't be here." But he doesn't shift away, and the unspoken question lingers—why did you come?