Chapter 5 Five

Okay, so let's just get one thing straight: I was not in love with Adrian.

I mean, sure, he remembered my coffee order like some sort of low-key romantic wizard, and sure, his art looked like it belonged in an expensive gallery and not some crusty campus sketchpad, and yes, okay, his eyes were like this warm brown that made you feel safe and seen and stuff-

But that didn't mean I was in love. Nope. Not even close.

(Shut up, inner voice.)

Anyway, life was actually kind of awesome for once. I wasn't crying in public bathrooms or checking my phone every five seconds like a tragic Victorian ghost haunting the Wi-Fi for Dante's attention. Nope. Dante was old news, like expired yogurt. And instead of wasting my energy stalking his dumb Instagram likes, I was actually living like a human being with interests and hobbies and, dare I say, *hope.*

I was thriving. Mostly. Sort of.

Okay, listen, I was still awkward and chronically incapable of keeping my cool around people I liked (which again, totally not Adrian), but I was making progress.

---

So one Tuesday, I was in the library, surrounded by, like, fifty books about Renaissance portraiture, trying to figure out why everyone in the 1500s looked so dramatically bored in their paintings. Seriously. Did no one smile? Was it illegal? Did they all have chronic resting sad face?

I was chewing on the end of my pen like it owed me money when I heard a familiar voice.

"Stuck in art hell?"

I looked up. Adrian was there. Holding two coffees. *TWO.* Like one of them might be mine. Like he *knew* I would be melting into academic despair and thought, "Let me rescue her with caffeine."

My heart did this weird little flutter thing like it was waving a tiny flag that said "Danger! Feelings ahead!"

"You brought me coffee?" I said, trying not to sound like I was internally screaming.

"Yeah. Extra sugar, right? I figured you might need it." He handed me the cup like it was no big deal and casually sat down across from me like my heart wasn't currently breakdancing.

"You're officially my favorite human," I blurted out, and then immediately regretted it. "I mean, um, thanks. Very cool of you. Extremely normal and chill."

He smiled. Like a *real* smile. Ugh. Why was he like this?

"So," he said, nodding at my mountain of books. "Botticelli or Titian giving you a hard time?"

I sighed dramatically. "They both are. Botticelli's like, 'Here's a goddess with a weirdly long neck and absolutely zero joy in her soul,' and Titian's like, 'Let me paint this noble lady looking mildly annoyed in a velvet chair for the next 15 years.'"

Adrian laughed, and I swear, it was the kind of laugh that made you want to bottle it and use it as a healing potion for your worst days.

He leaned back, sipping his coffee. "You know, I always thought Renaissance portraits were like the original Instagram thirst traps. Just more fabric and less filters."

I choked on my coffee. "Wait. You did *not* just say Botticelli invented the thirst trap."

"Tell me I'm wrong," he said with a smirk. "Look at *Venus*. She's literally standing in a giant seashell with her hair artfully covering the goods. That's peak aesthetic."

I was cackling. Like, actual ugly-laughing in the middle of the library, which earned me a death glare from the librarian. I tried to quiet down, but Adrian looked way too proud of himself.

"Okay, fine, you win," I said, wiping tears from my eyes. "But I swear, if you call Michelangelo's *David* a gym selfie, I'm leaving."

He raised a brow. "I mean... it kind of is, right?"

"ADRIAN."

---

After that, things kind of... changed.

Not in a dramatic, "we kissed under a rainstorm" kind of way. More like, we kept bumping into each other, except it didn't feel like coincidence anymore. It felt like... choosing. Like we were slowly orbiting each other on purpose.

We started studying together. Then grabbing lunch together. Then texting. (Okay, mostly memes and ugly Renaissance baby paintings, but still. Progress.)

It was all so *easy* with Adrian. No guessing games, no mind-reading, no gut-wrenching anxiety every time I sent a text. Just two nerds talking about art and occasionally arguing about whether Titian was overrated.

Spoiler: He was, but Adrian refused to admit it.

And yeah, maybe sometimes I caught myself staring at Adrian's hands while he sketched, or at the way his hair fell over his forehead when he was deep in thought. Maybe sometimes I imagined what it would be like to hold his hand, or-ugh-*kiss* him, but that didn't mean anything.

...Right?

One afternoon, we were at our usual table in the library. I was trying to be productive. I really was. But Adrian had his sketchpad out, and he was drawing again, and my brain was like, "Productivity? Never heard of her."

"What are you working on?" I asked, leaning over just slightly.

He hesitated. "A portrait. For my portfolio. It's... kind of personal."

I blinked. "Can I see?"

He paused, then flipped the page around.

And holy Renaissance. It was me.

Not like a creepy stalker-y portrait. It was just a sketch, soft lines and shading, but it was *me*. Sitting at a library table, coffee cup in hand, looking out the window like I was daydreaming about a better life.

I froze.

"You drew me," I said, stupidly, because obviously he did.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah. Sorry. You looked... peaceful. I didn't want to make it weird."

"It's not weird," I said quickly. "It's-wow. It's really good. You made me look like I have my life together."

He smiled. "Well, you kind of do."

I looked at him, and for one heart-stopping second, I thought he might kiss me. He didn't. Of course not. We were still in that weird in-between space. But something *shifted* in that moment. Like the tension between us had gone from background noise to full-blown symphony.

---

Later that night, I called Theodore.

"I think I like him," I said, flopping onto my bed like the dramatic gremlin I am.

"You *think*?" he said. "Drizzy, you've been doodling hearts around his name in your notes for a week."

"That's artistic research!" I snapped.

"Sure, and my obsession with lemon bars is strictly culinary."

"Shut up," I said, smiling into the phone.

"You deserve this, you know," Theo said, and his voice got serious in that way that made my chest squeeze a little. "Something real. Something good."

I swallowed. "I hope it is."

"It is. And if he breaks your heart, I will replace all his pencils with slightly-too-short ones that can't fit in sharpeners."

"You're terrifying."

"I know. It's why you love me."

So yeah. Maybe I was falling for Adrian. Slowly. Carefully. Not like the Dante-disaster, where I plummeted headfirst into a pit of emotional lava. This time, I was walking. One steady step at a time.

And honestly? It felt better this way.

Safer.

Real.