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»𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬« ᵇᵒʸˣᵇᵒʸ

tw: suicide

I met Eliot on my best friend's 21st birthday. It was one of those nights when you feel like you've accidentally walked into someone else's movie. The kind where the music is a little too loud, and people are packed shoulder-to-shoulder, yet everything seems to pause when your eyes catch someone else's across the room.

Eliot stood by the bar, completely out of place in this chaos. He had a calm, almost detached aura, he was watching the whole party unfold from a different plane of existence. He wasn't dressed up, just in a plain black tee and jeans, but something about him pulled me in—maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to reflect the dim lights, like a hidden smile was just waiting to show. Or maybe it was because I'd never seen someone who looked so comfortable in his own skin.

My best friend, Lila, was already tipsy and buzzing around, introducing everyone to each other. I found myself drifting over to where Eliot was standing, a drink in each hand because Lila insisted I needed a second one to "loosen up". When I got close enough, I caught the faintest scent of something fresh, like citrus or mint.

"Hey," I started, trying not to sound awkward. "Are you hiding back here, or just waiting for someone to bring you a drink?"

He glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe a bit of both," he replied, his voice smooth but with a hint of playful sarcasm. "And what about you? Are you the designated social butterfly tonight?"

I laughed, surprised at how easily the sound came out. "I guess you could say that. Though Lila's doing most of the heavy lifting." I nodded toward our mutual friend, who was now attempting to teach someone a complicated dance move and failing spectacularly.

Eliot's lips curled into a smile, just a small one, but enough to make my heart stutter for a second. "She's got that kind of energy. You must be close, then?"

"Best friends since kindergarten," I said, feeling that familiar warmth whenever I thought about Lila and our years together. "And you?"

He shrugged slightly. "Met her at uni. She's one of the few people who can get me to show up to something like this."

"Not much of a party guy?"

He shook his head, taking a sip of his drink—something dark, probably whiskey. "Not really. But I'm guessing you are?"

I tilted my head, considering. "Not exactly. I like meeting new people, but parties like these... It's easy to feel lost in the crowd, you know?"

His gaze softened, and for a moment, I felt like he understood me in a way no one had before. It was strange, feeling that connection with someone I'd just met. It made me want to keep talking, to hear what he had to say, to ask him questions that went beyond the usual small talk.

"So, Eliot," I said, leaning against the bar next to him, "if this isn't your scene, what is?"

"Long walks at night," he replied, no hesitation. "Quiet bookstores. Conversations that last until 3 a.m. I'm more of a... background character, I guess."

I smiled at that, because I could see it. Eliot, fading into the background, observing quietly but never really inserting himself into the chaos. But the way he spoke to me, the way his eyes lingered on mine, it felt like he wasn't content being in the background right now.

"Well," I said, holding up one of my drinks, "since you're not hiding anymore, cheers to stepping into the spotlight for a change."

Eliot's smile widened as he clinked his glass against mine. "Cheers, Tulio. To unexpected nights."

It turned out that our first meeting wasn't just a fleeting moment at Lila's party. A week later, I was rushing to my Literature class, running late as usual, when I spotted a familiar figure seated in the back row, head down and scribbling something in a notebook.