Ridgeview institute

Elio was quiet, but never absent.

He didn't crowd. He didn't joke like Julian, didn't flirt like Luca, but there was something about him that made Kai feel seen. Not watched. Not studied. Seen—as if Elio could read the air around him and pull truths out of it like thread from fabric.

Kai didn't know how to act around that kind of perception.

One evening, while the others were at a group movie night, Kai stayed behind, curled up on his bed, pretending to read. He didn't realize Elio had skipped the movie, too, until he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled beside him.

"You're not really reading that," Elio said, not unkindly.

Kai glanced up. Elio sat cross-legged in the chair, a notebook in his lap, a pencil tucked behind his ear. His hair was messy in that careful way that suggested it was always messy. He wore a sweater with loose threads and a pair of glasses he only pulled out when he was working.

"I am," Kai mumbled.

Elio's head tilted. "You haven't turned a page in twenty minutes."

Kai flushed, staring down. He hated how easily Elio noticed things.

But Elio didn't push. He just opened his notebook and started sketching.

Kai peeked.

It wasn't random doodles. It was him.

Well—parts of him. A hand gripping a blanket too tightly. A pair of tense shoulders. A jaw clenched in silence. All small things. Moments Kai didn't think anyone noticed.

"You draw me?"

"Sometimes," Elio said. "Not to be creepy. Just to... understand."

Kai looked away. "I don't want to be understood."

"That's not true."

The words hit Kai harder than they should have.

Elio didn't raise his voice. He didn't try to prove anything. He just kept sketching.

Kai swallowed. "You think you know me?"

"I think you're used to people guessing wrong. And getting hurt when they do."

That silence after... it wasn't awkward.

It was safe.

Kai didn't mean to say it, but it slipped out in a whisper. "When I was little, I used to count the seconds between footsteps in the hall. If it was three, I had time to hide. If it was five, I was safe. More than five, he was drunk."

Elio's pencil stopped. He didn't look up.

"You still count?"

Kai nodded.

Elio tore out a page, carefully, and held it out. It was a sketch of a pair of hands—Kai's hands—holding the edge of a bedsheet with white knuckles. Underneath, he'd written:

Three seconds. Still standing.

Kai stared at it for a long time before folding it neatly and placing it inside his book.

He didn't say thank you. Elio didn't need him to.

Elio never needed words to see him.