The hospital couldn't keep me. No identification. No family. No records. I was nothing more than a blank slate scribbled with pain.
But Lucien—he didn't leave.
He offered me a place to stay.
"It's not much," he said, scratching the back of his neck as we stood outside a modest apartment. "But... I couldn't just leave you."
The inside was small. Lived-in. Books stacked haphazardly. The smell of old coffee and lemon soap. It was warm.
"You can stay here... until you figure things out," he said.
I turned to him. "Why are you helping me?"
Lucien looked away. "I don't know. Maybe because... I felt responsible...? for you..." he answered awkwardly.
"I can't keep calling you 'hey' forever," Lucien muttered, blushing and pouting from embarrassment.
I blinked. Then, I hesitantly: "Eiryn. That... sounds familiar. I think I'm Eiryn."
Lucien smiled, warm and firm. "Eiryn it is, then. I'm Lucien."
And just like that, the gears of fate began to shift.
We fell into a rhythm.
I cleaned. He cooked. I slept on the couch. He left notes on the fridge when he went out early.
The first time I picked him up from school, it was just because he forgot his lunch. But that single moment sparked a wildfire of rumors.