The next day, it wasn't any different. Or at least, that's what Brian told himself.
The same insults tossed at him in the hallways. The same snickers when he passed. His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum, his books hugged close to his chest like a shield. He'd learned to just… take it.
At least, he told himself, it was only words most of the time. A shove here, a shoulder-check there, maybe a notebook slapped out of his hands. Never anything that left bruises.
Still, it was enough.
He kept his head down, avoided eye contact, and made sure no one ever caught him looking at Alex Reed outside of the project. If they knew… if they knew about the crush he'd been nursing since sophomore year… well, it would make things worse. Much worse.
They already mocked him for his thin frame, his delicate features, the way he dressed, the way he carried himself. And for being gay. No way was he going to hand them more ammunition.
He was halfway to his next class when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Brian flinched, almost stumbling.
Tyler. Of course. Tyler, with his smirk and his crew of shadows—Ryan and Cole—snickering at his side.
Before Brian could react, Tyler yanked him hard toward the side hall. "C'mon, pretty boy. We've got unfinished business."
"W—what are you doing—?" Brian's voice cracked as panic rose in his chest. He tried to twist away, but Ryan and Cole boxed him in, laughing.
Tyler shoved open the door to the men's locker room and dragged Brian inside. The echo of the door slamming shut made the empty space feel like a trap.
"Let me go," Brian said, though his voice was barely above a whisper.
Tyler's answer was a slap. Hard, stinging, across his cheek. The sound bounced off the tiled walls, louder than it should have been. Tears pricked Brian's eyes, but he forced them back, forced himself to stand still.
"Shut up," Tyler hissed.
Ryan and Cole grabbed Brian's arms, pinning him in place. His heart pounded so fast it made him dizzy.
Tyler leaned in, his grin wide and cruel. "So… French Revolution, huh? Bet you thought you scored big, getting paired with Alex. Sitting with him, talking to him, pretending you're equals." He chuckled darkly. "What's it like, Brian? Sitting next to the golden boy? You think he notices you? Think he actually wants to be around you?"
Brian's throat went dry. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Tyler sneered. "Pathetic."
He dug around in his duffel bag, humming to himself, like this was all just a game. When he straightened, there was something white in his hands.
Brian's stomach dropped.
It was a costume. A skimpy nurse outfit, the kind meant for a cheap Halloween joke. The fabric was thin, the skirt short enough to make his face burn just looking at it.
"No," Brian whispered, shaking his head. "Don't—"
Tyler's grin widened. "Oh, we're doing this. Our little class nurse. You'll look adorable."
Minutes later, the hallway outside filled with gasps and laughter. Phones clicked into record mode, screens glowing like a sea of judgment.
Tyler and his crew dragged Brian out of the locker room, their laughter ringing out. Brian stumbled, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights, his legs bare, the nurse costume clinging awkwardly to his body. His face was hot, wet, his eyes wide and glassy. He tried to tug the skirt down, to cover himself, but there was nothing to cover.
The crowd roared with laughter. Fingers pointed. Someone whistled.
"Aw, what's the matter?" Tyler jeered, shoving him forward. "Gonna cry, baby? You look perfect. Just what Westlake High needed—our very own boynurse."
The crowd howled.
Tyler stepped closer, sneering into Brian's face. "Why don't you do your job, huh? Fetch me some pills—blue ones. I'll need them later… for you." He grabbed Brian's aas, squeezing hard. Brian flinched, the shame burning deeper than the sting of Tyler's hand.
And then the noise changed.
It was subtle at first—the laughter dying off, replaced by whispers. The crowd parted like someone important was coming through.
Brian didn't dare look up. His face was burning too hot, his hands trembling too much as he hugged himself, trying to disappear.
Tyler, oblivious, kept grinning. "Yo, dude, you joining? This little fagg—"
He didn't get to finish.
A hand grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into a locker with a metallic clang that rattled down the hallway. Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Alexander Reed stood there. Quarterback. Captain of the football team. Untouchable king of the school. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning, his hand still gripping Tyler's hair.
Phones lifted higher, capturing every second.
Alex didn't look at Tyler again. He let him go, let him crumple against the lockers, groaning. The hallway buzzed with whispers.
Instead, Alex turned. To Brian.
Without a word, he shrugged off his football jacket and wrapped it around Brian's shoulders, tugging it closed so the costume disappeared beneath its folds. His touch was firm, grounding. Protective.
Brian couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His heart was slamming against his ribs, his body trembling under the weight of dozens of eyes and phones still pointed at them.
Alex didn't care. He slid his hand gently around Brian's arm and steered him back toward the locker room, away from the cameras, away from the jeers, away from all of it.
The door shut behind them with a heavy thud, cutting off the whispers.
Brian stood frozen, the jacket hanging off his narrow shoulders, his chest heaving, the fabric of the costume itching against his skin. His cheeks burned as he stared at the floor tiles, unable to look at Alex.
For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel invisible. But he wished, more than anything, that he was.