Chapter 13 Noah #2
I don’t ask what that means. Adrian’s the kind of person you don’t press unless you’re ready for silence as the answer. He’s quieter than the others in the Sin Bin. Not withdrawn, exactly, but watchful. He sees more than he says, and that’s by design.
“You?”
“Photography project,” I say. “Nature and emotion. I’m supposed to capture something that feels ‘alive,’ whatever the hell that means.”
Adrian nods, and for a second, I think he might keep walking. But then he sighs. “Mind if I stay here a bit?”
I don’t, so I shake my head. “You’re good.”
He sits down on a low boulder near the edge of the path, one knee drawn up, arm draped loosely over it.
The silence between us isn’t uncomfortable.
It’s not full of the kind of tension I’ve gotten used to lately.
He doesn’t fill the air with chatter or demand anything from me.
Just breathes and lets the space be what it is.
I take a few more shots. A close-up of moss, the shimmer of a leaf with water droplets still clinging to the edges. Then I aim the lens in his direction. “Can I?” I ask.
Adrian glances at me, then at the camera. He lifts a shoulder slightly and says, “Sure.”
The moment I look through the lens, something changes.
He’s still, as if he knows how to be framed. The curls falling over his forehead aren’t neat. His hoodie is a little stretched at the sleeves, and the way he sits—bent but grounded—makes him look like part of the forest instead of a visitor.
I click the shutter, and one photo turns into three.
He doesn’t move.
“Thanks,” I say, lowering the camera.
He nods. “You’re good at that.”
I smile faintly. “You’ve seen my stuff?”
“Ryan showed me some.”
I blink, and there’s a twist in my chest I wasn’t expecting. “Really?”
“He said you’re better than most of the art majors he knows.”
Not many people talk about my photography in that way. Most glance, skim, then move on. Ryan’s always been supportive, but hearing that he showed someone else my work without me asking makes me feel incredibly warm and fuzzy.
I exhale slowly and sit on the edge of a nearby tree stump.
“How’s it feel being on your own?” he suddenly asks.
I think about the empty rooms, the stillness, the candle I lit for no reason at all. I think about standing in front of the mirror in lace and not flinching. I think about waking up alone and not hating it.
“Good,” I say, and I actually mean it. “Strange… but good.”
Adrian hums. “Living alone’s not easy.”
“Yeah, but pretending I liked living with ten people wasn’t either.”
His mouth quirks—it’s not a full smile, but a flicker of it. “I don’t mind the chaos,” he says. “But sometimes, I wish they’d knock.”
I laugh under my breath. “Killian walks into rooms like he—”
“Owns the place?” Adrian’s eyes warm a bit, and he chuckles. “He kinda does.”
The quiet that follows isn’t loaded. My breathing evens out, and the weight that’s been pressing against my ribs since I moved out—since I told them I was moving out—eases just a little.
Adrian sighs, and I notice the way his hands are curled tightly into the sleeves of his hoodie.
“You okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice gentle.
He glances at me, then away. “Just… rough day.”
Right. He said that before. I wait and give him time. If he wants to talk, he will.
“I let in four goals at practice,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “I didn’t sleep last night. My mind was too loud.”
I nod. “Yeah. I get that. Not the goals thing, I can barely throw a ball, let alone stop one with my face,” I say and Adrian huffs something that might be a laugh. “But the loud mind part I get.”
After a while, I stand and brush off my jeans.
I slip my camera bag higher on my shoulder, watching him for a second longer than I probably should.
The angle of his jaw, the slope of his shoulders, the way he stares off into the trees like he’s listening to something I can’t hear—it’s grounding.
So is the silence. The way neither of us needs to explain why we’re here.
I clear my throat. “Hey,” I say, suddenly unsure, “do you wanna grab coffee or something?”
Adrian’s eyes cut to mine, startled for a second before the soft veil of neutrality settles back in.
He doesn’t answer right away, and I brace myself for the awkward rejection.
Not that it’s a date or anything. It’s just coffee, a hot beverage between two people who happened to run into each other in a forest like some kind of cliché indie film. Nothing major.
“Sure,” he says after a while. “I could use a coffee.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying not to sound as relieved as I feel.
“Yeah,” Adrian nods and stands up, brushing pine needles off the back of his jeans. “There’s that place on Ashcroft. It’s quiet. No line.”
I know the one. It’s tucked just outside of campus, mostly frequented by grad students and professors who need a quiet place to pretend their lives aren’t falling apart.
“Alright,” I say with a smile. “Let’s go then.”
As we walk toward the café, I can’t help but feel excited because I realized I just made a friend all by myself.