On that Friday, the first of March, the dawn in that sky marked the golden hour, an intense heat in the early morning. He continued to be haunted by senseless dreams, the kind you barely remember when you wake up, but which perpetuate with the feeling of still being in them throughout the day.

  He had arrived at school not long ago, which wasn't reason enough to spare him from the whispered barbarities of others; they commented fallaciously about him. They called him brazen and shameless, and another term he didn't know, probably slang, something like "tal-" something.

  As he advanced a little further, he recognized who his commentators were this time: both of Miguel's groups were talking among themselves. Quite honestly, he wasn't in the headspace to deal with this; he walked straight past them, past everyone around him, in silence, without diverting his gaze from his path.

  Throughout the classes, he noticed Kael's gaze upon him, weighing something, however, without the same pain that the others' glances caused. Perhaps he didn't know the reason for the rumors; when he managed to catch him in this game of aim and turn, the Plate smiled with the calmest expression he had ever seen.

  However, this peace between them didn't mean much; facing him in dialogue wasn't in his plans. When the last break, the one preceding the MEDs, resounded, he ran—not literally, but swiftly—to the refuge. The school's library remained intact; Silvia, despite being a volunteer, wasn't there, which was a reason for mental thanks on Lucian's part.

  The book that awaited him, finally able to continue, in that rain scene, the confession, could wait, because right after reaching the comfort at the back of the room, he was found. As if by conspiratorial irony of the universe, his personal sun was there, with a charming, cynical smile, talking to the librarian.

  She was laughing a lot at something he was steering the conversation towards until that lady pointed at him, in the back of that place. There were no secret places for people in constant flight, because there were also no hidden locations for his greatest reader, almost a fan.

  He followed the route as if he knew his prey wouldn't flee, bordering on being a handsome know-it-all. Because it was true, he didn't intend to flee; he had agreed with himself not to flee, he just needed to follow the rest: not engage in the devil's temptations.

  "My dear Lucian, fleeing into fiction again?" he sat in front of him, on another cushioned seat, observing the book. "A romance, the same one still, huh," mumbling with that intonation of someone provoking for pure fun. "Are you hunting in literature for what you avoid having in real life?"

  For a brief instant, he choked on the various words he thought of exclaiming; however, if he continued like this, he'd end up in silence, and his quietude was read as confirmation in that context. He needed to respond appropriately, without engaging in the traps that were beginning to be his weak point indeed.

  "Don't start with your strange conversations. I noticed you want to tell me something, just say it."

  He was met with a furrowed brow accompanied by a breath that seemed to cease; he didn't know if Miguel was serious or about to shout at him; it wasn't a common expression of his. He didn't respond quickly; he searched in Lucian for something he himself didn't know; both observed each other in search of an unspoken something.

  "You don't like our conversations?"

  "I didn't say that."

  He replied quickly, too quickly; he didn't think his answer would cause that reaction nor even that kind of question; the weight of that state was his fault. Perhaps he had been rude without realizing it, which needed to be corrected, for he still believed one does not dim a sun.

  "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean that."

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  The moment of observation ceased; the Plate averted his gaze with weakened brightness; he was beginning to feel bad about what he had done. He could swear by all that this wasn't his intention; however, it wasn't necessary; the expression persisted, but he continued.

  "Alright, of course you didn't mean it," he began, laden with that weight. "Do you remember when you chose the Mandatory Elective Disciplines and one of the project's volunteer monitors to teach you at home?" His question was rhetorical; before Lucian could respond, he cut him off.

  "So, I was informed that I was chosen. Your father has already been notified; after school I'll be with you, to teach you."

  He certainly shouldn't have responded to him that way; his seriousness and frankness were something arduous to deal with. Even believing he had said little, perhaps his intonation sounded harsh.

  His apology might not have sounded true, because something still marked that; his own expression, perhaps, was marked by something other than sincerity.

  "I chose you because I trusted you from that day on; forgive me if I caused you any harm."

  The gaze upon him returned, that stone of Sisyphus still hovering, accompanied by a weak smile, not sufficient. He should demonstrate his genuine and pure sincerity in the previous statement; perhaps, if he engaged a little, it wouldn't do so much harm.

  "What do you mean by 'avoid'?" he began, slowly approaching his colleague in front. "I don't think it's fleeing, Kael," he leaned in a little, leaving the book on the shelf beside him. "But what about you? Why are you in the library with me; watching me read?"

  The scene was slow for both of them; Miguel's gaze followed each gesture of his colleague, who seemed to trap him in something greater. He watched his hand come down from the shelf and rest on his own knee. Neither understood Lucian's intentions at that moment, not even during the silence that followed between them.

  "I, I didn't mean anything, nothing much, it's—" he began, looking away from Lucian's gaze. "Avoiding isn't always fleeing, because, it's, well, it's possible to be in the same setting as, as a monster and not run away."

  He said this, observing the shelves around and briefly Lucian's posture. "But, being in the same environment and doing nothing about it, can be seen as avoiding."

  Lucian, equally nervous, smiled and with a weak laugh, removed his hand and turned, leaning against the shelf, still observing him. He felt he had hypnotized him. Because that look was of a different weight, accompanying him as if he could feel his soul through the lenses that mirror the mental world.

  "So, if I'm avoiding and not fleeing, would you be the monster, Kael? What should I do about you?"

  His breath seemed to catch again; Miguel was in an intimate silence, different from himself; he wasn't conducting nor longing for this. And Lucian knew that he was allowing him to conduct that moment on his own.

  "If I'm the monster, Lucian, it means you're avoiding me. And worse, it's not out of fear, so there's something that makes you not want to face me that's bigger than that. If you haven't run and still remain in the same space, sometimes looking at me, perhaps," the brightness returned, and he turned too, sitting beside Lucian, "you feel attracted to the monster."

  It was already too late when he realized where his engagement was leading them; his classmate was playing at flirting again. But he couldn't accept that he was joking with him like this, especially him; he couldn't keep silent about what could happen.

  "If it were attraction, he would have said so already. Don't you think, Miguel?"

  "Who knows, maybe something prevents him from saying it."

  "And why doesn't the monster say it? He's the one surrounding the one who avoids him."

  The silence of sharp, close gazes between them was fervent. Miguel laughed because his provocation was working as always, and Lucian smiled because he was being burned by the sun, knowing that a little would do good for his health, but that this was already too much.

  "Well, Lucian, the monster might have his reasons for being close; it could well be that it's not attraction, but just curiosity."

  "If it were just curiosity, shouldn't he have left already? He's been close for a long time."

  "My dear Lucian," he began, "perhaps the curiosity about humanity has been satisfied on a theoretical level, because he only observed."

  "How would a monster satisfy his hunger in a practical way?"

  "Well, if there's attraction on the human's part, he could let himself be devoured by the monster."

  The break had passed too quickly; that resounding bell, however, promised more than just that; that conversation would continue. In his room. And for the first time, he longed to be able to continue one of Miguel's strange conversations, for no evident reason, but he felt they would be good friends, if he allowed it.