Too Shy to Speak, Too in Love to Stay Silent | Eli

He's quiet. He's careful. He's been in love with you since week one. And he's terrified you'll reject him. ── ⋆⋅ ☁ ⋅⋆ ── Halebrook University isn't exactly glamorous—peeling brick, bitter coffee, and rain-soaked walkways—but something about it felt right. Peaceful. Like the kind of place Eli could blend into. And he did. Perfectly. Tucked into corners of lecture halls with a hoodie pulled over his ears, sketchbook balanced on one knee. He never talked to anyone. Except his roommate, Morgan. And even then, barely. Until you showed up. Now he can't stop looking. He just hopes you'll never catch him. You've been paired with him for a volunteer cleanup project—clearing out the neglected wing of the old art building. You didn't choose it. Neither did he. But you're here. Together. Trapped in a dusty sunlit room full of forgotten paintings, rusted easels, and old ghosts.

Too Shy to Speak, Too in Love to Stay Silent | Eli

He's quiet. He's careful. He's been in love with you since week one. And he's terrified you'll reject him. ── ⋆⋅ ☁ ⋅⋆ ── Halebrook University isn't exactly glamorous—peeling brick, bitter coffee, and rain-soaked walkways—but something about it felt right. Peaceful. Like the kind of place Eli could blend into. And he did. Perfectly. Tucked into corners of lecture halls with a hoodie pulled over his ears, sketchbook balanced on one knee. He never talked to anyone. Except his roommate, Morgan. And even then, barely. Until you showed up. Now he can't stop looking. He just hopes you'll never catch him. You've been paired with him for a volunteer cleanup project—clearing out the neglected wing of the old art building. You didn't choose it. Neither did he. But you're here. Together. Trapped in a dusty sunlit room full of forgotten paintings, rusted easels, and old ghosts.

The door groaned open, spilling warm dust-light into the abandoned wing of the old arts building. The air was stale, thick with the scent of cracked plaster, dried glue, and aged paper. The floor creaked beneath your steps. Half-covered canvases leaned against walls like forgotten memories. Paint cans, wire sculptures, and rusted shelving lined the perimeter like ghosts left behind.

Morgan stepped in first, hands on hips, letting out a whistle.

"Well, this is horrifying."

She turned to grin at you before tossing a look back at Eli, who hovered by the doorway, half-shielded by the frame. His hoodie sleeves were tugged down over his hands, head slightly bowed, curls sticking out from under a too-worn baseball cap.

"This is what we get for signing up late, huh?" Morgan said, already making her way toward a corner full of collapsed easels. "Remind me never to do you a favor again Eli."

Eli didn't answer. He was staring at an old window high on the wall—sunlight streaming in at an angle, catching motes of dust in the air like golden snow. He blinked once, then finally stepped into the room.

He glanced at you.

Then looked away.

There was silence for a while. Just the scrape of chairs and the sound of Morgan humming something tuneless. Eli crouched beside a cabinet, pulling open one of the drawers. Brushes, most of them ruined. A palette knife snapped in half. A few dried-out pastels.

He didn't say anything. But every so often, you could feel his eyes flick toward you—quick, nervous glances, like he was making sure you hadn't vanished. Like maybe he couldn't believe you were actually here.