Chapter Text
“Don’t get lost, Leo!” one of Leonard’s friends shouted as they packed their bags, preparing to head back to the small inn where they were staying.
“I’ll be fine. I just need a few more shots before the light changes,” Leonard replied with a grin, slinging his camera bag over his shoulder. He waved them off casually before turning toward the narrow dirt path that led deeper into the countryside.
The afternoon sun was warm, but not harsh, casting a soft glow over the fields and trees. Leonard adjusted the strap of his bag, scanning the area for something interesting. He wasn’t just out here for fun—this was part of a group assignment, and today was his turn to collect photos.
A faint sound of running water caught his attention. Curious, he followed it until he reached a small river, its surface glimmering as sunlight danced across it. Leonard crouched slightly, ready to snap the water’s reflection—
—but then he froze.
There, standing waist-deep in the river, was a boy. His back was turned, shoulders slim but graceful, his damp hair sticking to his pale skin. Leonard’s gaze drifted lower—his waist was narrow, his frame almost fragile. What stood out, though, was a fresh wound on his side, long and sharp as if clawed across the skin.
For a moment, Leonard simply stared. The boy looked almost unreal, like he had stepped straight out of a photograph waiting to be taken.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Leonard raised his camera.
Click.
The shutter echoed softly, but the boy didn’t notice.
Leonard let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He glanced at the screen, seeing the image captured in perfect detail—the boy, the water, the blossoms floating past. It was… beautiful.
Too beautiful.
He lowered the camera slowly, eyes still fixed on the stranger in the river, wondering who he was.
Leonard hesitated, then lifted the camera again.
Click.
Another shot.
The boy still didn’t notice. The soft rush of the river and the sound of leaves rustling overhead seemed to drown out everything else.
Leonard adjusted his angle, snapping one more picture. Then another. Each frame felt like it belonged in a gallery, but he couldn’t decide if it was the river, the blossoms, or simply the boy himself that made it perfect.
After a few more shots, Leonard finally lowered the camera. His hands stilled, but his eyes didn’t. Instead, he found himself just watching quietly from behind the cover of the trees.
The boy moved slowly, brushing water over his arms and shoulders. Then, suddenly, he stiffened. His hand had grazed the fresh wound along his side. His face twisted in a small wince, teeth biting down on his lip as he tried not to make a sound.
Leonard froze. He hadn’t expected to witness that small, private reaction, and it stirred something uneasy in him.
But instead of turning away, he kept watching.
Leonard didn’t realize how much time had passed. He only snapped out of it when the boy finally waded out of the river, water dripping down his bare skin. The afternoon light caught on every droplet, making them glisten as they traced along his shoulders, down his chest, and over the lines of his slim frame.
Leonard’s eyes widened, and heat rushed to his face before he could stop it. Shit… He wasn’t supposed to be staring like this, but somehow, he couldn’t tear his gaze away.
The boy picked up a small towel left on the riverbank and began drying himself off. His movements were unhurried, almost absentminded, as if he had no reason to think anyone else was around. Leonard swallowed hard, his camera forgotten at his side, every bit of focus pinned to the sight in front of him.
Even as guilt flickered in the back of his mind, curiosity kept him rooted to the spot. His cheeks burned, but his eyes refused to look away.
As the boy dried himself, his hand slowed when it reached his side. Carefully, he dabbed around the wound, a faint wince breaking across his face as the towel brushed against the raw skin.
Leonard’s body tensed. For a split second, the urge to step out from hiding hit him—his bag had a tube of ointment, something that could at least ease the sting. His hand even twitched toward the strap on his shoulder.
But he stopped himself. If he walked out now, the boy would know he’d been watching all along. The thought alone made Leonard’s stomach knot.
So he stayed put, silent.
He watched as the boy dressed, pulling on a long-sleeved cream shirt and then slipping into black trousers. Leonard’s face heated again when, just before that, a flash of bright yellow caught his eye as the boy tugged on his underwear. He jerked his gaze away, ears burning, and muttered under his breath,
"Seriously, yellow? …Damn, why the hell am I even looking…"
He rubbed the back of his neck, flustered, but a crooked grin tugged at his lips anyway.
Once dressed, the boy packed up. A worn brown sling bag hung across his shoulder, and into it he stuffed the towel he had used. In one hand, he lifted a small basket brimming with fruit. Without another glance toward the river, he began walking up the dirt path that wound toward the village.
Almost without thinking, Leonard’s feet moved after him. His camera bounced lightly against his chest as he trailed a few paces back, keeping himself hidden among the trees while his eyes never strayed far from the boy’s figure.
Leonard kept his distance, footsteps light as he trailed behind. Every now and then, he caught himself glancing around, half-afraid someone might see him. The realization hit hard—he was basically stalking a kid fresh out of the river.
His stomach twisted with guilt. Great, Leonard. Real smooth. First you snap photos without permission, now you’re tailing him like some creep.
He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. Yet, no matter how many times he told himself to stop, his legs wouldn’t obey. His eyes stayed locked on the boy’s back, on the way the sun brushed against the dark strands of his damp hair.
It’s not like that, he argued with himself. I’m not… I mean, I just—he’s beautiful, okay? That’s all. Like a subject, like… art. Yeah. Just like the flowers, or the sunsets, or the old rooftops I shoot. Nothing more.
But even as he thought it, Leonard felt the sting of dishonesty. His chest tightened in a way it never did when he looked at landscapes or cityscapes. This was different, and he knew it.
Still, he kept walking.
The narrow dirt path stretched ahead, lined with tall grass and scattered trees. The boy walked at a steady pace, basket swaying lightly at his side. But then, all of a sudden, he slowed down.
Leonard froze mid-step.
The boy’s shoulders stiffened, his head turning slightly as if he’d caught something. His hand tightened around the handle of the basket, and his eyes scanned the edge of the trees.
Leonard’s pulse spiked. Shit—he noticed?
Without thinking, he crouched down low behind a patch of overgrown grass. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to make himself small, barely breathing. But despite his effort, the grass trembled with his sudden movement.
The boy’s gaze snapped toward it instantly.
His eyes widened. A flash of alarm crossed his face, and his grip on the basket turned white-knuckled.
Another wolf…?!
Before Leonard could even process, the boy bolted. He clutched the basket tightly and dashed down the path, his steps quick and desperate, like someone running for their life.
Leonard blinked, still crouched in the grass, watching the boy disappear into the distance.
“…Wait—what just…?” he muttered, completely dumbfounded.
By the time he scrambled to his feet, the boy was already too far ahead. All Leonard could do was stand there, slack-jawed, as the boy vanished down the trail.
___
His breath came in sharp bursts, chest heaving as he sprinted down the narrow dirt path. The basket of fruit rattled against his grip, and sweat mixed with the lingering dampness of river water on his skin. Every rustle behind him, every shadow from the trees made his heart pound faster.
By the time he reached the cluster of wooden houses, his legs felt like jelly. He stumbled up to the front of a modest home, nearly tripping over the step, and pressed his hand against the doorframe to steady himself.
The door creaked open. A girl with long dark hair tied in a loose braid, Melissa, Klein’s younger sister, peeked out, her wide eyes blinking at the sight of him.
“Klein!” she blurted, her voice pitched with surprise. “Why are you running like that? You look like something’s chasing you!”
Klein tried to speak, but only managed a breathless laugh that came out shaky. He shook his head, clutching the basket tighter, and forced a small smile.
“I… thought I saw something,” he admitted, still panting. “Out there, near the river.”
Melissa frowned, stepping closer as if to check him over. “Something? Like… another wolf?”
Klein’s lips pressed together, his silence enough of an answer.
Melissa planted her hands on her hips, glaring up at her brother. “You’re unbelievable, Klein! Going back into the woods alone? After what happened yesterday? Do you have a death wish or something?”
Klein winced, still catching his breath. “I was careful this time!”
“Careful?” Melissa’s eyes narrowed. “The last time you said that, you came home with a wolf bite on your side!”
Klein groaned, shifting the basket to his other hand. “Okay, okay, but listen—yesterday, before it attacked me, I saw a whole patch of wild berries. Ripe ones. Just waiting to be picked. Can you imagine how good they’d taste in a pie?”
Melissa stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “So you risked your life… for pie?”
Klein straightened up, defensive. “Not just pie! Muffins, jam, maybe even tarts if Benson helps with the dough—”
Melissa cut him off with a loud groan. “You’re hopeless.”
“And I wasn’t completely reckless!” Klein raised a finger, then dug into his sling bag. With a triumphant look, he pulled out a sturdy wooden hammer. “See? I brought protection this time.”
Melissa blinked, then burst out laughing. “A hammer? What are you planning to do, fix the wolf’s house?”
Klein’s face flushed pink. “Hey! A solid hit to the nose and it would run away!”
Melissa doubled over, holding her stomach as she laughed harder. “Right, sure. Our brave wolf-slayer Klein, armed with… a toolbox!”
Klein scowled, shoving the hammer back into his bag with a huff. “…You’ll be thanking me when I bring back pies.”
Klein finally pushed the door open wider and stepped inside, setting the basket of fruit down on the wooden table. The familiar scent of firewood and old books filled the small living room, instantly grounding him after his frantic dash home.
He glanced around, then frowned. “Where’s Benson? I thought he’d be back by now.”
Melissa followed him in, still snickering every few seconds as she remembered the hammer. She plopped down onto a chair and swung her legs. “He went to see Mr. Azik.”
Klein raised an eyebrow. “The history teacher?”
“Mm-hm,” Melissa nodded. “He and Benson were talking about you. Since you’re about to graduate, Benson wants to make sure you’ll have a proper place to live when you go to the city. You’ve got that scholarship now, right? So he’s checking if your university has a dorm or if you’ll have to rent a room by yourself.”
Klein blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “He’s… already checking that far ahead?”
“Of course he is,” Melissa said matter-of-factly, propping her chin on her palm. “Benson can’t go with you, remember? He still has me to look after, and he has to deal with work and all the moving stuff. So he’s trying to plan everything before you leave.”
Klein sank into the chair across from her, a small warmth tugging at his chest despite his lingering embarrassment. “That sounds… like him.”
Melissa smirked. “Yep. Overprotective big brother, full package. You’re lucky.”
Klein rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged faintly at his lips.
Klein leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting toward the window where the afternoon light painted the sky in warm shades of orange. Melissa’s words echoed in his head, stirring thoughts he’d been avoiding for weeks.
Only five more months. Just five months until graduation.
His chest tightened at the thought. Five months, and then he’d leave this quiet little village—the creaking floorboards of their home, Melissa’s constant nagging, Benson’s protective watchfulness. The idea of being alone in a sprawling city, surrounded by strangers and towering buildings, made his stomach twist with nerves.
But alongside the fear, there was a spark of something else. Excitement. Determination.
He clenched his fists lightly on his knees. University wasn’t just about him. It was about lifting their family up, about making sure Benson didn’t have to work himself to the bone forever, and about giving Melissa a future where she could chase her own dreams. If he studied hard, if he used that scholarship well, maybe—just maybe—the three of them could build a better life together.
And it wasn’t forever. Once Melissa finished middle school and got into a high school in the city, she and Benson would follow. They’d be reunited again, just in a different place.
The thought eased some of the heaviness in his chest. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he whispered under his breath, “I can do this…”
___
Leonard sprawled across the creaky bed, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily flipping through the screen of his camera. The soft glow lit up his face in the dimly lit room, casting little reflections in his emerald eyes. He scrolled past shots of old barns, rolling fields, and crooked fences, but his finger slowed when familiar images appeared—the boy by the river.
Click.
Another photo of him, half-submerged in the water, sunlight breaking across his shoulders. Leonard’s lips pressed into a thin line, a strange mixture of guilt and fascination creeping up his chest.
Across the room, Frye sat hunched over a laptop, his fingers making small, precise movements on the mouse. The soft click, click, click of editing was the only steady sound filling the silence. Frye didn’t speak, didn’t even glance at Leonard, fully immersed in trimming edges and adjusting tones.
Kenley had gone out to pick up their dinner an hour ago, leaving the two of them in an atmosphere that felt both quiet and heavy. Leonard shifted, turning onto his side as he zoomed in on one of the photos.
The boy’s expression was peaceful, almost fragile. The sight made Leonard’s ears burn, and he quickly flicked to the next image, muttering under his breath, “Damn it, Leo… what are you even doing?”
But his thumb betrayed him, circling back to the same photo again.
The faint hum of Frye’s laptop fan filled the pause, while Leonard lay there, staring at the screen like it held something he couldn’t put down.
Leonard was still fixated on the glow of his camera screen when Frye’s low voice cut through the silence.
“…Strange.”
Leonard blinked and looked up. “What is?”
Frye didn’t lift his eyes from the laptop, his mouse clicking steadily. “You. Quiet. Usually when Kenley’s not here, you fill the room with noise. Jokes. Dumb stories. Now it’s like sitting with a ghost.”
Leonard smirked faintly, rolling onto his back. “Maybe I’ve been possessed by inspiration. Maybe silence itself is my love letter to beauty.”
That made Frye pause. Slowly, he turned his head, one eyebrow arched high in disbelief.
Leonard, still half-buried in the sheets, lifted his camera like it was some kind of sacred relic. “This afternoon, I witnessed something worth more than a thousand sunsets, Frye. Even words feel like an insult compared to what I’ve captured.”
There was a beat of quiet. Frye’s gaze lingered, unreadable, then he turned back to the laptop. “...You sound like you’re drunk. And we don’t even have alcohol.”
Leonard burst into a low laugh, covering his face with his free hand. “You just don’t get it.”
“Don’t want to,” Frye muttered, clicking the mouse again.
The corner of Leonard’s lips tugged upward as his eyes returned to the boy’s image on his screen. He was so caught up staring that he didn’t notice Frye’s glance flickering sideways.
“...Photo’s good,” Frye said casually, as if commenting on the weather.
Leonard’s head snapped up. “Huh?”
Frye still didn’t look at him. His tone was flat, but there was the faintest trace of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The one you keep scrolling back to. Send it here. I’ll slot it into our set—could pass as a perfect candidate for the project.”
Leonard sat up so fast the bed creaked. “What? No way.”
Now Frye did glance over, eyes narrowing slightly in mock suspicion. “Why not? If it’s that good, it deserves to be seen.”
Leonard hugged his camera to his chest like a shield. “This one’s… personal. Off-limits. Find your own masterpiece, Frye.”
For the first time that evening, Frye’s lips curved into the faintest smirk. “Personal, huh? Now I’m curious.”
Leonard groaned, throwing a pillow over his face. “You’re impossible.”
“Not my fault you’re acting like a guilty man,” Frye replied, clicking his mouse again as though the conversation meant nothing to him. But the tiny lift of his eyebrow lingered, like he’d caught more than Leonard wanted to admit.
Leonard shifted uneasily, fingers tightening around his camera. Frye’s smirk still lingered in the corner of his mind, and his gaze flicked down at the screen again. The boy’s bare shoulders glistened under the sunlight, half his body submerged in the water, but the rest unmistakably unclothed.
A nervous heat crept up Leonard’s neck. To anyone else, it wasn’t just a “good shot”—it was evidence he’d been spying where he shouldn’t.
“Tch…” he muttered under his breath, fumbling with the buttons as he hurried to tuck the camera back into its case.
The door banged open.
“Dinner’s hereee!” Kenley’s voice exploded into the room, cheerful and loud.
Leonard jumped, nearly dropping his camera onto the floor. “Shit—!” He scrambled to cover it with the blanket like it was some sort of contraband.
Kenley glanced up, blinking at him with a grin. “What’s with you? Did I scare you that bad?”
On the other side of the room, Frye didn’t even turn around. He just gave a short nod toward the bags in Kenley’s hands. “Finally.” Then, in his usual flat tone, he added, “Leonard’s been acting weird. Try not to make it worse.”
Kenley burst out laughing as he set the food down on the desk. “Weird? Him? That’s just his natural state.”
Leonard groaned, dragging the blanket over his head. “Both of you—shut up.”
Under the blanket, Leonard sulked in silence, but the aroma of fried chicken and steaming rice slowly crept through the air. His stomach betrayed him with a low growl.
“Leonard,” Kenley sing-songed, tearing open a paper bag. “You sure you don’t want any? More for us.”
From the desk, Frye added without looking up, “He’ll cave in three… two…”
The blanket flipped back with a groan. Leonard sat up, hair mussed, his expression sour. “Fine. But only because I’m starving.”
Kenley grinned, sliding a box toward him. “Knew it.”
Leonard grabbed a fork and dug in, trying to keep his cool. But halfway through chewing he made the mistake of glancing at the glossy surface of his soda. The reflection tugged his memory back to the river, to the boy’s lips—soft, pink, almost too perfect. His fork stalled midair.
Heat shot straight to his ears. He ducked his head quickly, shoveling more rice and chicken into his mouth to cover the sudden blush.
Across the room, Kenley noticed first. He blinked, then glanced at Frye, eyebrows raised. Frye, stoic as ever, simply arched one brow in return, but his eyes lingered on Leonard a beat too long.
Kenley leaned closer to Frye, whispering just loud enough for Leonard to hear, “Think he picked up a forest spirit out there? Looks like he’s haunted.”
Frye didn’t miss a beat. “More like possessed.”
Leonard slammed his fork down, face red for more reasons than one. “I’m fine. Eat your damn food.”
Kenley nearly choked laughing, while Frye calmly returned to his meal, though the faintest smirk ghosted across his lips.
That night, Leonard lay awake long after Frye and Kenley had fallen asleep. The countryside was quiet—too quiet compared to the city—and yet his thoughts were louder than ever. No matter how much he tossed and turned, his mind kept circling back to him. The boy at the river. The fleeting glimpse of beauty that had lodged itself stubbornly in Leonard’s chest.
He pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, groaning. Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
By the time morning came, his decision was already made.
When Frye asked where he was going, Leonard slung his camera over his shoulder and gave a careless shrug. “Just want to take a few more shots before we leave. Last chance, right?”
Kenley, half-busy stuffing snacks into his backpack, waved him off. “Don’t get lost again. We’re leaving by noon.”
Leonard forced a grin, but once he stepped outside, the lightness drained from his face. His pace quickened as he made his way back to the river, the camera bouncing softly against his chest.
The same place. The same glimmering water. But no one there. Only the soft ripple of the current and the rustling leaves. Leonard lingered on the riverbank, scanning the trees, half-expecting to see a familiar silhouette emerging from the shade. Nothing.
With a frustrated sigh, he tried retracing the path where the boy had bolted the day before. Through the grass, along the uneven dirt, past a cluster of rocks—until the trail dissolved into nothing. No footprints. No broken branches. Just silence.
He stood there for a long while, camera dangling uselessly at his side. Then, reluctantly, he turned back.
By noon, the three of them were packed and ready. As the car rolled out of the countryside and toward the long road back to the city, Leonard looked out the window, the fields stretching endlessly under the bright sky.
His chest ached with a strange mix of longing and resignation. He had come here for photos, for landscapes, for assignments… and yet the only image burned into his memory was something he couldn’t explain, couldn’t share.
Would he ever see that boy again?
Leonard’s lips pressed into a thin line. Doubt gnawed at him, whispering “no”. But still, his hand drifted instinctively toward his camera, where the memory remained—proof that, at least once, he hadn’t imagined it.
___
To Be Continue