Adrian sighed and looked down at the sketchbook in his hands, his fingers tracing the edges of the cover. He hesitated for a moment, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension, before finally flipping it open to the first page.
The image staring back at him was unmistakable—it was him, drawn with an eye for detail that took his breath away, how could he have mistaken him for Leo. The sketch captured his first day in the office, his expression a mix of determination and nervous energy. Adrian remembered that day vividly—the crisp white shirt, the newness of everything around him, and the weight of expectations. But seeing it now, rendered in Trent's precise, artistic strokes, was like seeing it through someone else's eyes for the first time. Trent had caught the intensity in his gaze, the way his shoulders were squared as if bracing himself for whatever challenges lay ahead.
Adrian turned the page slowly, almost reluctantly, and was greeted by another sketch—this time of him laughing. He could see himself mid-laughter, his head slightly tilted back, eyes crinkled at the corners. The lines were softer here, more relaxed, capturing a rare moment of joy in the midst of a busy day. He remembered the moment—the joke Trent had made, something unexpectedly silly—and how it had caught him off guard. He could almost hear the sound of his own laughter again, light and unrestrained.
He continued flipping through the pages, and the sketches seemed to multiply, each one capturing a different side of him, a different emotion. There was one of him deep in thought, his brows furrowed, lips pursed as he studied something on his computer screen. Another showed him at his desk late at night, his chin resting on his hand, the light from his monitor casting shadows across his face. Trent had even drawn him asleep, head down on his arms, as if he'd caught Adrian during one of those long nights when exhaustion had finally taken over. He remembered this was when they were both working overtime and he fell asleep, Trent woke him up later rudely, he smiled sadly at the memory.
As he turned each page, Adrian began to understand just how closely Trent had been watching him. There were sketches of him frustrated, his hands raking through his hair; of him lost in concentration, a pen twirling absently in his fingers; of him looking out the large windows, a distant expression on his face, of him playing with his earring. The drawings weren’t just images—they were windows into his most private moments, moments Adrian hadn’t even realized Trent had noticed.
He felt a flutter in his chest as he reached a page where Trent had written something in the corner. It was a small note, barely visible in the margin: Capturing him is like capturing the light in a storm—ever-changing, impossible, and yet… I try.
Adrian’s breath caught in his throat. He flipped back to the earlier pages, looking at the sketches again with a new understanding. He saw the care in each line, the attention to detail, the way Trent had captured every subtle change in his expression, every shift in his mood.
Now he knew why Trent had always kept him close in the office, why he seemed to always find a reason to linger around him, to ask him one more question, or to stand just a little too close. This wasn’t just about admiration or even friendship—it was something deeper, something more personal. Trent had been studying him, understanding him, trying to capture every facet of who Adrian was, as if he were a puzzle Trent was determined to solve.
The realization hit Adrian like a wave. Trent had been sketching him all this time, drawing out every emotion, every unguarded moment, with a care and an intensity that felt like a confession without words. Adrian's heart beat faster as he closed the sketchbook, his fingers lingering over the cover. He suddenly felt exposed, like Trent had seen more of him than he had ever intended to show.
Adrian’s eyes flickered up to the street, half expecting Trent to be standing there, watching him with that familiar, unreadable expression. The air felt heavy with a realization that settled deep in his bones—this was more than just a hobby for Trent. This was a silent declaration, a declaration of love and he had been too stuck up and stupid to notice. How could he believe people he barely knew over Trent. He felt stupid.
