The morning had a muted, silvery light to it, as though the clouds were filtering the world into something softer. It was the kind of light that made edges blur, turning everything hushed and dreamlike. The air carried that heavy stillness that comes just before a storm breaks—anticipation threaded through the quiet.
Aaron padded down the hallway, his bare feet brushing against the cool wood floor, hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. The house felt different in this early hour—emptier, but not lonely. More like it was holding its breath.
At the far end of the hall, he caught sight of Lily. She was tucked into the wide window seat, legs folded under the blanket draped around her shoulders, sketchpad balanced carefully across her lap. Her crutch leaned against the wall within arm's reach, like a quiet companion standing guard.
She was focused—head bent slightly, hair falling over her cheek, pencil moving in slow, deliberate strokes. Every so often, her thumb smudged a line into shadow, her expression tightening with concentration. There was a crease between her brows that Aaron had already started to recognize—not frustration, but absorption, the look of someone lost in the world they were making.
"You're up early," Aaron said softly, leaning against the doorframe.
Her eyes lifted at the sound of his voice. They were still tinged with the softness of sleep, but warm, as if she'd been expecting him. "Couldn't stay in bed," she said. Her voice was quiet, almost conspiratorial, like speaking too loudly might wake the whole house. "Thought I'd draw a bit before everyone's up."
Aaron stepped closer, the floor creaking lightly beneath his weight. "What are you working on?"
Lily hesitated, then tilted the sketchpad toward him. A familiar corner of the kitchen had taken shape on the page—the counter bathed in morning light, the faint outline of the breadbox, and a steaming mug sitting nearby.
"It's from yesterday morning," she said, almost shy now that it was out in the open. "When you made coffee and pretended not to see Dave stealing half the pastries."
Aaron smirked, the memory tugging at his mouth. "That wasn't pretending. That was strategic misdirection. If he thought I wasn't paying attention, he wouldn't swipe mine."
Her laugh was quiet, but it reached her eyes, softening them. She turned toward the window as a fat drop of rain slid down the glass, chased by another, then another. Within moments the sky loosened, and the soft patter built into a steady rhythm, the sound of rain filling the silence around them.
"Guess we're stuck inside today," she murmured, watching the world blur into watercolor beyond the window.
"Could be worse," Aaron said.
"Mm," she agreed, then bit her lip as though weighing something. After a pause, she extended the sketchpad and pencil toward him. "Your turn."
Aaron raised a brow. "I don't really—"
"Come on." Her tone was light but firm, her eyes glinting with challenge. A small, playful grin curved her mouth. "No rules. Just draw anything. I won't judge."
He lingered for a beat, then sighed in mock defeat and crossed the last few steps toward her. The cushion dipped slightly as he lowered himself beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating through her blanket. Without a word, she tugged it wider, draping half across his legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Aaron glanced at her, a little caught off guard by the gesture, but she was already watching him expectantly, pencil still held out.
He took it, twirling it once between his fingers, and bent over the page. His hand moved with surprising ease, the lines flowing out of him like water finding its course. The curve of a streetlamp emerged first, then the scattered petals of flowers weighed down by rain. Houses blurred behind the mist, their edges softened, their reflections streaked across a wet street. He shaded depth into the scene with practiced ease, building layers until the drawing seemed to breathe with quiet life.
Lily's playful expression faded. She leaned closer without realizing, her blanket brushing against his arm, her breath caught in the stillness between the patter of rain. She didn't interrupt. Didn't tease. Just watched, transfixed, as though she was seeing a part of him she hadn't known existed.
Finally, Aaron leaned back and set the pencil down. He let out a slow breath, like he hadn't realized he'd been holding it.
The page showed a quiet, rain-slick street—melancholy and beautiful, rendered in such detail that you could almost smell the damp air, hear the drip of water pooling at the curb.
Lily blinked at it, then at him. Her voice came soft, a little stunned. "Okay… you lied."
He looked at her, brow knitting. "About what?"
"You can draw." Her mouth twitched into a half-smile, but her eyes betrayed something deeper—surprise, admiration. "And not just a little. That's—wow."
Aaron shrugged, suddenly self-conscious, tugging the blanket a little tighter around his legs. "It's just… something I used to do a lot. Didn't think it mattered."
"Of course it matters." Her voice carried more weight now, a kind of gentle insistence. She studied him, tilting her head as though she could see the hidden years behind his words. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"
He hesitated, his eyes tracing the lines of his own drawing instead of meeting hers. "Guess it just never came up. Wasn't really something I shared."
There was a pause. Lily shifted slightly, the blanket rustling. "Well," she said at last, a smile tugging at her lips again, lighter now, teasing to cover the sincerity in her tone. "It came up now. And you're definitely not getting away without showing me more."
Aaron snorted softly, shaking his head. "You're pushy, you know that?"
"Persistent," she corrected, grinning. "There's a difference."
They sat there for a while longer, listening to the rain. The house was still, the world outside blurred into gray, but inside that little window seat it felt like the air was charged—soft and fragile, yet alive.
Aaron glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was still studying the sketch, her thumb brushing the edge of the page as though it were something precious. And when she finally looked back at him, there was a warmth there that made his chest tighten, though not unpleasantly.
For the first time, it wasn't just about being seen.
It was about being seen by her.
The rain drummed steadily against the windows, a soft percussion that made the house feel wrapped in its own cocoon. The air smelled faintly of damp earth drifting in from the garden, and the gray light spilling through the window seat wrapped the room in a gentle hush.
Lily flipped back a few pages in her sketchbook, pencil tapping idly against the paper. Her eyes lit with an idea, and when she glanced sideways at Aaron, there was a spark of mischief waiting in her gaze.
"You know what we should do?" she asked, voice deliberately casual.
Aaron gave her a wary look, one brow raised. "Why do I already feel like I'm about to regret this?"
"Portraits." She tapped her pencil against the page for emphasis, leaning closer as though revealing a grand scheme. "We each draw each other. No excuses."
He blinked at her, skeptical. "Portraits. Of each other."
"Exactly." Her grin widened, full of playful challenge. "You're not allowed to chicken out. You just proved you're good, so now I want to see how you'd draw me."
Aaron leaned back, arms folding across his chest in mock deliberation. "And what do I get out of this, exactly?"
"You get a masterpiece of yourself, obviously." She puffed up with mock pride. "Though I make no promises about accuracy. My art style tends to… improvise."
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Improvise? That doesn't exactly inspire confidence."
"Oh, ye of little faith," she shot back, sliding a spare sketchpad toward him across the blanket. "You'll see."
Aaron sighed dramatically but accepted it, settling the pad across his knees. "Fine. But don't say I didn't warn you if this turns into a disaster."
They shifted closer on the window seat, sketchpads propped, shoulders brushing now and then. For a moment, silence stretched between them, filled only by the scratch of pencils and the muted roll of thunder in the distance.
Lily tried to keep her gaze steady on him, but her eyes betrayed her, darting between his face and the page. Every time she glanced up, he was already watching her, his focus unwavering, and it sent a little flush creeping up her cheeks.
"Stop staring like that," she muttered, adjusting the way her blanket draped over her lap.
"I'm supposed to be staring," Aaron said evenly, as though the logic was undeniable. "That's how this works."
"Well, it's unnerving." Her tone was sharp, but the laughter hiding in it softened the words.
"You're the one who suggested portraits," he reminded her, mouth twitching at the edges.
"Still. You don't have to look like you're scanning my soul," she said, sticking her tongue out before quickly ducking her head back down.
Aaron smirked but didn't relent. His pencil moved in smooth, certain lines, capturing her features with a kind of deliberate gentleness, like he was afraid to press too hard and lose the softness of her expression.
Lily, meanwhile, was leaning into exaggeration, her pencil strokes bold and a little messy. She focused on the strong angle of his jaw, the way his hoodie seemed to swallow him whole, and the stubborn concentration that always furrowed his brow. At one point, she paused, eyed her page critically, then groaned.
"Oh no. This is turning into a wanted poster."
Aaron snorted without looking up. "Well, at least it'll be easier to identify me if I go missing."
She rolled her eyes and muttered, "You're impossible," though the corners of her mouth tugged upward.
The minutes stretched in companionable quiet, the rain whispering against the glass. Every so often, one of them would sigh when a line went wrong or smudge a shadow too heavily, but neither complained. The world outside blurred into gray softness, while in their little corner, pencil lines slowly gave shape to something more than just faces.
At last, Lily leaned back with a dramatic sigh, dropping her pencil onto the blanket. "Okay. Moment of truth."
Aaron finished shading a final curve before setting his down as well. "Ready?"
"Ready."
They turned their sketchpads at the same time.
Lily's breath caught. His drawing was careful and precise, but more than that—it carried warmth. The loose fall of her hair, the faint crease of thought between her brows, even the small softness at the corners of her eyes when she wasn't trying to guard herself—he had caught them all. It wasn't just a likeness; it was her, laid bare on paper in a way she hadn't expected.
"That's…" she blinked, throat tightening. "That's way too good."
Aaron tilted his pad toward her with a grin, then caught sight of her own drawing. He froze, then burst out laughing. Her sketch of him was a curious mix of earnest effort and cartoonish exaggeration. His jawline was too sharp, his hoodie drooped ridiculously, and his eyes were just a fraction too big. But the smile she'd drawn—wide, unguarded—stopped him short.
"Wow," he managed between laughs. "Guess I do look like I belong on a 'Have You Seen This Man?' poster."
"Hey!" She swatted at his arm with the pencil, cheeks pink. "It's not that bad!"
"It's… something," he teased, still grinning. But then his gaze softened, lingering. "You made me look… happy."
Her grin faltered for just a moment before returning, gentler this time. "Because you are. At least right now."
The air between them shifted. For a beat, neither spoke, their sketches balanced between them like mirrors of something unspoken. The rain filled the silence, steady and endless.
Aaron's voice was quieter when he finally spoke. "Not bad for an improviser."
"And not bad for someone who pretended he couldn't draw," she shot back, though her tone was softer than before.
They sat like that for a long moment, the faint warmth of her shoulder against his, the quiet hum of rain outside.
Lily cleared her throat at last, breaking the spell with a crooked smile. "So… rematch tomorrow?"
Aaron smirked, leaning back. "Sure. But I expect improvement. Maybe next time I won't look like a criminal."
Her laugh rang out, bright and unguarded, and he couldn't help but join in. The sound filled the little cocoon of the room, mingling with the rain's rhythm.
And though neither said it aloud, both of them felt it—the quiet closeness threading between them, as fragile and steady as pencil lines on paper.
The portraits sat between them for a while, neither rushing to put them away. Rain still whispered against the windowpane, the storm outside easing into a steady drizzle. The house felt hushed, wrapped in a cocoon of lamplight and the faint smell of coffee that drifted from the living room.
Aaron's page lay on top of his knee, her likeness staring back at him in stillness, shadows and light caught in pencil strokes he hadn't even thought through—just felt. Lily's sketch was balanced carefully on her lap, lines a little crooked, but alive in their own way, like she'd drawn not just his face but the version of him she wanted to see.
"You know," she said eventually, her voice soft and hesitant, "we could show them to Dave and Carla."
Aaron looked up sharply, eyes narrowing with mock suspicion. "What, so they can laugh at my face twice in one night?"
"Oh, come on." She nudged him with her elbow, a grin tugging at her lips. "It'll be fun. They'll love it."
"'Love it' is one way of saying 'frame it above the fireplace as a warning to intruders.'"
She snorted, shaking her head. "You're ridiculous."
He gave her a look, but she was already shifting forward, sliding carefully off the window seat. She tucked her sketchpad under her arm, balancing it as she reached for her crutches. The small click of the rubber tips on the wood floor echoed in the quiet.
Aaron sighed, scooping his own pad off his knee. "You're going to get me roasted alive."
"That's the spirit," she tossed back, not even turning.
Reluctantly, he followed her into the living room.
Dave and Carla were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket that looked like it had been stolen from some ski lodge brochure. The remains of their coffee mugs sat cooling on the table, half-forgotten in the warm glow of the lamp beside them. Carla was tucked against Dave's shoulder, a book resting open on her lap, though she clearly hadn't read a word in a while.
Carla looked up first, her face lighting with an easy smile as Lily appeared. "What've you two been plotting in there?"
"Plotting?" Aaron muttered. "That's an ominous word."
Lily grinned, holding her sketchpad out dramatically like a magician revealing a trick. "Portraits."
"Oh, no," Dave groaned, dragging a hand down his face with mock dread. "Not portraits. Victims of the Art Game. Show me, show me."
Carla reached first, sliding Lily's sketch carefully from her hand. She studied it, lips pressing together as though she were holding something back. "Well," she said diplomatically, "I love the expression you gave him. He looks so… cheerful."
Aaron groaned. "Cheerful? That's even worse."
Dave leaned over, peering at the page. Then he barked out a laugh loud enough to make Lily jump. "That's fantastic! It's like Aaron if he were cast in a Saturday morning cartoon."
Aaron rubbed the back of his neck, face heating. "Thanks. Exactly the vibe I was going for in life—'animated criminal.'"
Lily muffled a laugh behind her hand, trying not to meet his glare.
Carla gave him a sympathetic smile before gesturing toward his sketchpad. "And yours?"
He froze. "Ah… mine's not—"
But Lily was already a step ahead. With a mischievous grin, she tugged it from his grip before he could object and flipped it toward them like a dramatic reveal.
The room went still.
Carla blinked, her breath catching just a fraction. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the rain against the windows. "Oh, Aaron," she murmured, voice softening with something warm, something almost reverent. "That's… beautiful."
Dave leaned closer, eyebrows climbing. "Whoa. That's not doodling. That's… like, actual art. Like, frame-this-and-sell-it art."
Aaron shifted under their attention, uncomfortable in the sudden spotlight. He muttered, "It's just a drawing."
But Carla shook her head gently, her eyes flicking between him and the paper with a kind of knowing softness. "It's not just anything. You see people closely, don't you? Not just how they look—but who they are."
Aaron's ears burned, and for once he couldn't find a quick retort.
Lily's cheeks flushed pink at that, and she quickly tried to steer the conversation back into lighter waters. "Told you he was hiding talent," she said brightly, bumping his arm with her elbow.
Dave smirked, leaning back with all the smug authority of a judge on a reality show. "So, let me get this straight—you both spent the evening staring at each other's faces, and then unveiled your masterpieces for us like some kind of art duel?"
Aaron opened his mouth, ready to defend himself, but Lily jumped in first, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Exactly. And I won."
"You did not." Aaron shot her a disbelieving look.
"Excuse me?" She held up her sketch like evidence in court. "Clearly superior."
Dave clasped his hands together, as though presiding over a trial. "Judges will now deliberate."
Carla laughed, shaking her head. "I think it's a tie."
"Nope. Judges agree—it's Lily," Dave declared with mock solemnity.
Aaron let out a long, suffering sigh, throwing his head back against the couch. "This house is rigged."
Their laughter filled the room, light and unrestrained, chasing away the last traces of the storm outside. The air felt warmer somehow, threaded through with that easy teasing that made the walls feel less like walls and more like shelter.
Later, when the conversation drifted into small stories—Dave retelling some half-disastrous cooking experiment, Carla chiming in with corrections, Lily giggling into her sleeve—the sketches sat stacked neatly on the coffee table, like fragile little secrets waiting to be remembered.
Aaron caught Lily looking at him. Just a small glance, quick and quiet, but enough. Her eyes darted away the instant they met his, cheeks blooming pink.
He offered her a faint smile. Not the guarded, polite one he'd worn so often, but something unguarded, fragile, real. She returned it before looking down at her hands, her blush still lingering.
And for the first time in years, Aaron thought maybe it wasn't such a bad thing to be seen.
The house settled into stillness as the night wore on, like it had exhaled after holding its breath all day. Upstairs, a door closed with a soft click, muffling Dave and Carla's fading laughter. The echo of it lingered for a heartbeat before dissolving into the quiet. Lily had excused herself not long after, her crutches clicking rhythmically against the hardwood, the sound light but distinct, like punctuation in the silence. She'd carried her sketchpad with her, tucked close to her chest as if it were a secret she wasn't ready to share again.
Aaron stayed behind. He wasn't tired yet—or maybe he was, but not in the way sleep could fix. His body felt heavy, but his mind was restless, buzzing with threads he couldn't quite untangle.
So he busied himself.
The mugs went first, collected carefully from the table, rinsed in the sink, their ceramic clinking softly. He straightened the blanket draped over the couch, smoothing it out until it lay flat. He adjusted the cushions even though they didn't need adjusting, shifted the stack of books on the coffee table so they sat in a neat pile. His hands moved, but his thoughts… his thoughts never left the drawings.
When he finally sat back down, the coffee table looked almost too neat, except for the two sketchpads stacked at the edge. His sketch sat on top, Lily's face staring up at him from the page. The lamplight caught on the graphite, pulling out every careful line, every shadow he'd shaded just a little too long.
Aaron picked it up slowly, like the paper might crumble if he wasn't gentle enough. He turned it in his hands, studying it again, though he already knew every line by heart. He remembered how cautious he'd been while drawing it—how his pencil hovered before committing, how each stroke felt like it mattered more than it should. He'd wanted it to be right. Not perfect, but true.
And staring at it now, in the hush of the empty living room, he realized he hadn't just drawn her face. Somehow, he'd drawn the way she looked at the world—open, curious, with that quiet strength behind her eyes. It unsettled him, just a little, that his hands had betrayed him like that, putting onto paper things he wasn't ready to say aloud.
He set the drawing down again, carefully, like it was fragile in ways no one else could see, and finally pushed himself toward his room.
The house hummed around him as he lay in bed, the quiet almost loud after the evening's laughter. The rain outside had softened to a gentle patter, tapping against the glass like fingertips. Somewhere in the distance, a floorboard creaked—settling, breathing.
But his thoughts wouldn't settle.
They circled back again and again: to Lily's laughter when Dave had teased him, to the way she scrunched her nose while concentrating on her sketch, to the pink flush that had spread across her cheeks when Carla praised his drawing. He replayed the way her eyes had lingered on him—brief, but steady, like she was searching for something and wasn't afraid to find it.
Aaron turned onto his side, curling slightly, as though that could shield him from the intensity of it. He'd spent so long ducking under the weight of other people's gazes, shrinking into shadows where it was safe, where no one asked too much of him. Being seen had always felt dangerous. Exposure. Vulnerability.
But tonight…
Tonight Lily had looked straight at him. Past the surface, past the practiced shields. And instead of that old fear clamping down, there'd been something else—something startlingly gentle.
It didn't feel like a weight pressing on his chest.
It felt like light.
And in that quiet, with rain whispering against the window, Aaron realized it had been a very long time since he'd let himself want to stand in the light at all.