Sitting on my best friend’s bed, I am waiting for him to spill the beans. For days he has been acting as if he really wanted to tell me something but couldn’t bring himself up to actually do so.

Having noticed that I decided to just patiently wait for the big revelation; since I was so damn curious, I tried to create an opportunity or two for him to open up. It turned out that idea wasn’t my best one — he got a bit shyer, and I soon understood that he wished for a perfectly natural and cozy moment to confess whatever he had to confess. As killing as it could be, I just let it go, and kind of forgot about the whole deal.

It’s comical that that made him feel more comfortable and braver. Today before breakfast he said this is the day and asked me to come to his room after classes. Honestly, I am glad that we will finally reach the conclusion of this situation. That whole dancing around each other, lingering secrets, and the weird mix of excitement, anticipation, shyness, and slight fear in his behavior — all of this was making me so damn nervous. I was always a creature of calmness; chilling adventures were never quite my style.

“Hey, I like getting my attention in full dose,” he lightly shoves my knee trying to gain my attention as if I haven’t already been thinking only about him.

“I know, you spoiled brat. Take what you can get,” I said lightly. He’s not an over-confident person, but I still don’t want to let him know that either he or that case of his were on my mind constantly.

“Guess I have to be content with what I get,” he sighs dramatically, waits a bit for a reaction from me — I just roll my eyes — and giggling gets up to take something from his drawer.

It is an envelope, quite thick envelope to be more precise. I shot him a look, but he just urged me to take the envelope. Quite thick and, as I noticed, already opened envelope.

“I… uh. I’m still not really used to that, but… That’s the thing I’ve been into recently. So, go ahead and take a look. I wanted you to be the first, uh… and most likely the last one to see it,” he is rambling more and more nervously. I follow his instructions and check out the envelope content. 

Turns out, content was the right word since inside the envelope I find at least dozen pictures. All of these are photographs of my friend. I take my time studying each photography.

“What do you think?” he asks starting to anxiously nibble his lip.

Breathtaking.

Aesthetic.

Mesmerizing.

Well-made.

Smart.

Elegant.

“The photographer captured your best qualities, Soren. Didn’t know the photography club had someone so skillful. I should pay more attention,” I exclaim and once again shoot a quick glance at the photography I liked the most.

On this picture Soren is lying on nice floor, his ginger hair artistically messy, his eyes thoughtful, his smile warm and delicate. He is wearing some, loosely, 18th century inspired white shirt and breeches. I enjoy how the picture is simple despite the clothing. Soren makes some weird noise, most probably taken aback by response, but I don’t really pay attention to his reaction. I’m not finished with the photo.

“It wasn’t taken by anyone at the club,” he confessed in a small voice. That piqued my interest as I finally stopped focusing on the pictures.

“Excuse me?”

At first, Soren appears regretful and uncomfortable. Seeing him in such distress and recalling his excitement to finally tell me the truth, I wish I didn’t make the comment. I am about to apologize and swear to him that he doesn’t have to tell me more of his secret, when he clears his throat, his facial expression shifted to a braver, more confident one.

“I got a job. As a model for this limited fancy journal. I like doing it,” he said sounding proud indeed. I just smile at him.

“I’m glad you told me,” I said and that finally gains me a smile from him. Weight seemes to be lifted of his shoulders. “Make sure to show me your next photos.”

After that, Soren proceeds to fill me in on each and every picture, his coworkers, and their quirks. At some point, I feel how my muscles became less and less tense. Hanging out with Soren would always put my mind at ease. 

After another story on his over dramatic boss’ mischief, and before an anecdote on some other hot model, I realized that we have been in the room alone for awfully long time.

 “Where’s Micah?” I ask feeling stupid for not realizing it before that Micah should have already been in the room he shared with Soren. I am more tired that I thought; that’s the only explanation I am willing to accept.

 “He got noticed again. He’ll attend a few meetings with this new couple,” Soren shrugged. 

That wasn’t a revelation to any of us. Soren, Micah, a few other kids and I live in a foster care center. Our situation may seem difficult since neither of us was taken in by a relative or an important adult figure in our lives; yet, I can’t help myself but enjoy it. I have trouble recalling my past and relatives, however, every now and then I would have awful nightmares about them. I couldn’t bring myself to trust them; same with the so-called adult figures. According to human language, that means adults like my teachers or coaches. They all are alright, but I just don’t want to be dependent on them. Well... My lack of trust won’t affect them because it’s been ages since someone wanted to take me in. Same with Soren.

Micah on the other hand... If any of us in the foster care center is “adoptable,” then it would be Micah.

First of all, Micah gives off adorable vibes. Androgynous in appearance, with cute soft smile, big, sad doe eyes, and moderately low smoothing voice, Micah would often be called a little angel or some other shit. I always suspected he was wanted only for his appearance. After all, it was oh so romantic to rescue poor little orphan — their little angel. In my humble opinion, that sucks.

The guy is normal, not girly, not macho. Just a regular person. Micah would always be quiet in presence of someone he barely knew. He had more trust issues than I, some of the said issues caused by all the couples interested in him. Hence, during all the meetings he keeps quiet, and unintentionally charms with those sad eyes of his. 

“You think he’s up for it?” I shot Soren a look. I don’t really hang out with Micah, so I don’t know much about him. Soren also isn’t his close friend, but they share room, so they must be talking sometimes. 

“I doubt it. He seems tired of all this. Pretty sure he just wants to stick with his bestie,” Soren shrugs and I know I don’t need to see it for myself to know how true it was. If you wish to see Micah actually looking alive, then you have to put Kayden and himself in the same room, preferably with no audience. I swear, that’s the only time I have witnessed Micah communicating like a normal human being — a normal teenager — and not just a pretty doll for adults to play home. 

I just hum in response since I’m getting more and more comfortable, and, well, sleepy. 

I notice some little light spots over the ceiling... I kinda feel like I’m lifting up my arm, thou I’m not certain of it. 

So. Damn. Sleepy. 

“You know, that looks like unicorn’s hair, I’d hug one, they smell like rainbow...” I no longer know if I’m thinking or talking, I just want to hug a unicorn, I’m not sure, but Soren might have hummed a response. 

I feel I’m at the the Morpheus’ doors—

“Lennox, come with me to my next session, meet my crew,” he says sweetly, and...

I’m so damn awake now.