The clock on the wall read 3:45. Semiel was sitting on the edge of his bed, still in his pajamas, his hair slightly disheveled and his fingers interlaced in front of him. He hadn't done much in the last few hours except stare out the window, watch the people, the cars, and the pigeons pecking at the curb.
What if it seems too much? What if all this is too soon?
He took a deep breath and turned his head toward the small box wrapped in light blue paper on his desk. Inside was the book on Japanese animation he had bought the day before. It was a special edition, with sketches, artist comments, studio interviews, and an introduction signed by one of Saval's favorite directors.
I want him to know that I believe in his talent. That I'm betting on him. That I'm betting on both of us.
He stood up slowly. The room was silent, save for the distant murmur of the street and the soft ticking of the clock. He walked to the mirror and looked at himself. He had faint dark circles under his eyes, not from physical fatigue, but from the constant fluttering of thoughts and emotions that wouldn't let him fully sleep.
He ran a hand over his face.
—You'll be fine. Don't worry. It's just a way out, he murmured to himself, although he knew it wasn't just a way out.
He opened the closet and carefully took out his clothes: a simple white shirt and a dark blue jacket. He thought about putting on cologne, but then put it away. I don't want to seem like I'm exaggerating. Or maybe I am. I don't know.
He lay down on the bed with the book in his hands and looked at it for a while. Then he wrapped it again, making sure the bow knot was centered. He looked at the gift, then at the ceiling. He closed his eyes.
Saval... I like it more every day that passes. It calms me down, but at the same time, it makes my heart race. It makes me laugh at simple things, it makes me want to write, to draw, to return to all that stuff that once seemed boring. Could this be love?
The phone buzzed. It was Mia. Are you ready yet? the message read. Semiel smiled.
—Not yet, he replied softly, without writing back.
He sat back down at his desk and opened his sketchbook. He flipped through a few pages filled with quick sketches, caricatures of his friends, scribbles of sticker ideas. He found one of Saval, drawn from memory, his eyes half-closed with laughter. He looked at it for a while longer.
Today I'll give him that book. Today I want him to know that I see him. That I see what he loves, what he dreams of. That I support him, that I'm with him, beyond affection or kisses. That I want to stay by his side.
He put the notebook away and remained silent.
What if it's time to talk? To tell him I see him in my plans? That I want more, even if I'm afraid?
He took out his cell phone and wrote a message, but then deleted it. It wasn't the time yet. He preferred to tell him in person. He wanted to look Saval in the eyes when he did. Because something inside him was screaming for it.
—Step by step, but steady, he said softly, and smiled, more reassured.
He looked at the clock. A quarter past four.
He took the gift, carefully put it in his backpack, and stood, his eyes fixed on the door.
I'm ready for whatever comes. Because this time I'm not running away. This time I want to stay.
—Saval... today I'm going to tell you everything.
And, without further ado, he left his room.