The first time I met Lucien, he fell.
Not in a poetic way.
He tripped over a root and slammed face-first into the ground right in front of me.
"…Ow," he groaned, lifting his head slowly, a leaf stuck to his cheek like it belonged there.
I stared at him.
"…Are you stupid?"
He blinked.
"…Probably."
Then he smiled.
Like that was enough.
Like that answered everything.
"You look sad," he said.
I didn't respond.
The wind moved through the camphor tree above us, soft and quiet, like it was whispering something I couldn't hear.
"You shouldn't talk to strangers," I muttered.
"Then don't be one," he said. "I'm Lucien."
I didn't tell him my name.
He stayed anyway.
After that, he kept showing up.
Even when I didn't.
Especially when I didn't.
Summer meant chasing him.
Or more like—watching him run in circles until he tripped.
"Catch me if you can!"
"You're literally running nowhere!"
"That's the strategy!"
He fell.
Flat on his back.
"…You're hopeless."
"Yeah," he said, staring at the sky. "But you still chased me."
I rolled my eyes.
…but I didn't leave.
Rain meant one umbrella.
A broken one.
"Why is it bent?"
"It has character."
"That's not character, it's broken."
He tilted it toward me anyway.
His shoulder got soaked.
"…Idiot."
"You're welcome."
Winter meant a snowman that kept collapsing.
"It looks like it's dying."
"It has personality."
"It doesn't even have a head."
"It fell off."
"…Fix it."
"I'm trying."
It fell again.
We stared at it.
Then I laughed.
I didn't remember when I started laughing again.
But I knew it was because of him.
At night, we lay under the camphor tree.
The stars looked endless.
Too far away.
"Hey," Lucien said once. "If I disappear one day, what would you do?"
"I'll wait."
I didn't think about it.
I just said it.
He turned slightly.
"…Really?"
"You always come back anyway."
He smiled.
"…Yeah."
Sometimes…
things didn't make sense.
"Lucien?" my mom asked one night.
"Yeah," I said. "The boy I always meet."
She looked at me strangely.
"…At the tree?"
"…What do you mean?"
But she didn't answer.
I stopped talking about him after that.
Time passed.
Or at least—
it felt like it did.
Everything got louder.
People changed.
But Lucien stayed the same.
Still clumsy.
Still an idiot.
Still—
"Watch this."
"…Don't."
Too late.
He jumped over a bench.
Missed.
Slid across the floor.
The class laughed.
He raised a hand.
"…Worth it."
There was a girl.
Lucy.
Bright. Easy. Real.
"You're funny," she told him.
"I try."
"You fail."
"…I try harder."
He laughed.
So did she.
I watched.
And it felt like I was watching something that didn't belong to me.
Under the camphor tree—
everything felt normal again.
"You're pretty," he said once, tossing candy at me.
I caught it.
"…You always say that."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
He grinned.
"Because you're pretty to throw away."
I frowned.
"…That doesn't make sense."
"It does to me."
"…You're the worst."
"And you're still here."
"Be at the tree at 3:00."
"…Why?"
"Just come."
"You're always late."
"Not this time."
He hesitated.
"…Even if I am… just wait."
So I did.
3:00 PM.
I was there.
Of course I was.
3:20.
3:40.
The air felt wrong.
Too quiet.
4:00.
Rain started.
"He's late…"
I hugged my knees.
"…He always comes back."
But something felt—
broken.
"Did he ever come?"
I pressed my hands to my head.
"No."
"He always does."
The world flickered.
Just for a second.
The tree looked older.
The ground felt unfamiliar.
"…What's happening…?"
Thunder cracked.
And everything shattered.
I ran.
Into the woods.
Through rain and branches and something I couldn't understand.
"…Lucien?!"
A voice answered.
"You shouldn't be here."
I stopped.
That voice—
"…Lucien…?"
I kept walking.
Deeper.
And then—
I saw it.
A tombstone.
Old.
Worn.
My hands shook.
Lucien
Beloved Son
— Died at age 10
Cause of death: Drunk driving incident
"…No."
Everything broke.
No school.
No Lucy.
No 3:00 PM.
No waiting.
Just—
A boy.
Under a tree.
Who never grew up.
"You weren't supposed to find that."
I turned.
He was there.
"…You died."
"…Yeah."
My voice trembled.
"…At ten…?"
He nodded slowly.
"…Then what were all those years…?"
"…I stayed."
Silence.
"I didn't want you to be alone."
"…So you kept me here?"
"I thought…" his voice cracked, "…if I stayed… you wouldn't have to feel it again."
"…That wasn't living."
He flinched.
"I didn't want to lose you too."
Thunder roared.
"You have to go back," he said. "If you go deeper, you won't be able to leave."
I looked at him.
Really looked at him.
"…If I go back…"
My voice shook.
"…you'll disappear, right?"
He didn't answer.
That was enough.
"…Then I'll stay."
I walked past him.
"Wait—!"
He reached—
But couldn't touch me.
"Please—!"
I didn't stop.
Because if I went back—
I would lose him.
And I already did that once.
Light.
Warm.
Soft.
I opened my eyes.
The camphor tree.
Just like before.
The air felt… peaceful.
Quiet.
"…Lucien?"
No answer.
I stood there.
Alone.
"…You're late again."
Silence.
And then—
I understood.
This place…
wasn't waiting anymore.
It was letting go.
Far away—
Lucien stood beneath the same tree.
But it wasn't the same place.
No light.
No warmth.
No sky.
Just stillness.
"…This is enough," he whispered.
He looked up at nothing.
"…If she gets to stay there…"
A faint smile.
"…then I don't mind staying here."
Because this time—
She wasn't waiting anymore.
And that was the only thing he ever wanted.