Cal was sixteen when he met Lacy—fifteen, wild-hearted, and full of questions about the world. They were just kids then, boys with dirt on their shoes and stars in their eyes. Every afternoon turned into evening, and evening into midnight talks about the universe, their dreams, the weight of silence, and the things they were too scared to say out loud to anyone else.
To the world, they were just friends. To each other, they were everything.
Lacy would laugh at the dumbest things Cal said, throw rocks at lamp posts, and talk about what kind of person he wanted to be someday. "I just want to be someone who means something," he once said while lying in the grass, the sky a vault of quiet stars.
And Cal listened—God, he listened like Lacy was music.
At first, it was nothing more than friendship. But as the nights got deeper and their talks got softer, something inside Cal shifted. Every word Lacy said nestled inside his ribs. He started noticing the way Lacy's voice cracked when he was tired, or the way he'd rest his head on Cal's shoulder like it belonged there.
And then it hit him.
He was in love with Lacy.
Not puppy love, not a crush—but the kind of love that feels like drowning in silence because you know it can never leave your chest. The kind that makes everything feel both warm and unbearable.
Cal tried to shake it off. He hated himself for it. Lacy was straight. He'd said it casually once, when talking about a girl in class. Cal was openly bisexual—Lacy knew that, accepted that—but Cal never meant for his heart to catch on fire.
It hurt. It hurt because Cal could still be something to Lacy. But he could never be everything.
One night, under the same stars they always looked at, Cal told him. Not to gain anything. Not to be loved back.
But to end it.
"I like you," Cal said. "Not just as a friend. I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. And I know it's wrong. You're straight. I don't expect anything back, I just… I need to step away. I can't be this close anymore. It hurts."
Lacy sat in silence for what felt like forever.
"I don't feel the same way, Cal," he whispered. "I care about you more than anyone. You're my best friend. I thought you knew that. I need you… especially now."
His voice cracked. He didn't explain, but Cal saw it—something heavy behind his eyes, something he hadn't yet put into words. Maybe trauma. Maybe pain. Maybe a secret that wasn't ready to come out.
But for once, Cal had to think for himself.
"You'll be okay," he said, voice trembling. "But I won't, if I stay."
He stood up. Walked away.
That night was the last time they spoke.
Years passed. High school faded into memory, and Cal changed—older, wiser, quieter. Sometimes he'd still look up at the stars and think about that boy who wanted to "mean something." And for a while, it hurt less.
But one evening, in a city far from where they grew up, Cal spotted him.
Lacy.
Older. Taller. Still carrying that same wild spark in his eyes. They locked gazes from across the street. And in that look, Cal realized something.
Some love stories aren't meant to bloom. But they still leave roots under your skin.
And some people don't stay in your life.
But they never really leave.