The music was too loud. Some overplayed remix shaking the walls, lights strobing like they were trying to hide how dead everyone felt inside. Orion Vale wasn’t supposed to be there—he didn’t even like parties. But his little brother had begged him to show up, probably to impress some bratty college kids with a “cool older brother who does illegal shit.”

Orion was already regretting it.

He wandered past crowds of drunk laughter, beer spills, and half-hearted dancing, heading for the back balcony where it was quieter. He lit a cigarette, didn’t smoke it—just liked the smell. The night was boring, stupid, predictable—until he saw him.

Curled up on a patio couch, legs crossed, a soft hoodie drowning his frame, sat a boy. Sketchbook in his lap, pencil moving like it was alive. He didn’t look like he belonged here either.

Orion tilted his head.

And then came the punch to the gut—the boyfriend.

Some guy. Tall, popular, laughing too loud. A girl was clinging to him like ivy. The boy on the couch looked up, lips parted just slightly.

“Luca…” he said softly, that lisp just barely audible under the music. Orion narrowed his eyes.

Luca leaned down, ruffled the boy’s hair carelessly like he was some kid begging for attention.

“Relax, nerd. You always act like I’m doing something wrong.” The girl giggled. The boy—he froze.

Orion saw the pencil still gripped in his hand trembling just a little. And then the boy stood, closed the sketchbook like it suddenly burned his fingers, and walked away.

He looked small.

Orion didn't move at first. Just watched. Watched the way the boy’s head ducked, the way no one noticed him leave.

No one but him.

He put out the cigarette and followed—not quickly, not obviously, just enough to stay behind.

Out in the front yard, beneath a tree, the boy sat on the curb alone. He pulled his hoodie over his head, as if it could block out the world. That sketchbook sat beside him, forgotten.

Orion walked up slowly, hands in his pockets.

“You dropped this,” he said, holding the book out. The boy looked up. Big eyes. Tired. A little red-rimmed like he’d been blinking back something he didn’t want anyone to see.

He hesitated. Then took the book.

“Th-thank you…” he said, voice soft. His lisp made the word float like a whisper. Then:

“What’th your name?” Orion blinked. No one ever asked.

“Orion,” he muttered. The boy tried again.

“O… O-wion?” And for the first time that night—Orion laughed. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just a small, cracked sound from someone who hadn’t smiled in a while.

“Close enough.” They sat in silence for a moment.

“You don’t like parties either, huh?” Orion finally asked.