The last bell on Friday rang.
Brian shoved his books into his bag and kept his head down as he slipped out of the classroom. All week Alex had said nothing. All week he'd sat behind him like a shadow, never speaking, never looking. And Brian had told himself it was better this way. Safer.
But if it was really safer, why did his chest feel so hollow?
He pushed through the crowd of students pouring out the doors, tugging his backpack higher on his shoulders. The late-afternoon sun cut sharp lines across the sidewalk, warm on his skin but doing nothing to ease the weight in his chest. He walked faster, wanting to put distance between himself and the building, between himself and everyone inside it.
Home wasn't much of a refuge, but at least it was familiar. Predictable.
His sneakers scuffed the cracked pavement as he turned down his usual route — side streets, quieter, fewer people. That's how he liked it. Invisible.
Except he wasn't.
A set of footsteps echoed behind him. Steady.
Brian's stomach flipped and he quickened his pace. So did the footsteps.
"Brian."
The sound of his name, spoken low and certain, sent a shiver down his spine.
He kept walking.
"Brian, stop."
His pulse hammered. "Go home, Alex," he muttered, not turning around.
But Alex didn't go home. His footsteps grew closer until Brian's path was blocked — Alex cutting in front of him, tall and broad, forcing him back. Brian stumbled, glancing around. They were in the narrow cut between two buildings, an alleyway most people ignored. Empty. No escape.
His back hit the brick wall before he realized he'd been moving.
Alex planted a hand against the wall beside him, caging him in. His other hand curled into a fist at his side. His green eyes locked on Brian's, sharp and unrelenting.
Brian's breath caught. His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
"Why are you running from me?" Alex asked, voice low.
"I'm not," Brian whispered, though it was a lie and they both knew it.
Alex leaned in, just enough to close the distance, his arm braced against the wall. "You won't even look at me. You won't listen."
"Because there's nothing to say," Brian snapped, his voice trembling. His hands curled tight around his backpack straps. "We had a project, you helped me once, that's it. That's all it was."
Alex shook his head, jaw tight. "That's not all it was."
Brian's chest burned. "Yes, it is! You don't get it. You can walk away. You can forget me tomorrow and no one would care. But me? If people see me with you—" His voice cracked. He bit it back, turning his face toward the wall. "I can't afford this."
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air felt too thick, Brian's pulse too loud.
Finally, Alex's voice broke the silence, quieter than before. "You think I don't care?"
Brian forced himself to meet his eyes then — and what he saw there made his breath hitch. No grin. No easy charm. Just something unguarded.
His throat tightened. He wanted to ask what Alex meant. He wanted to believe it. But fear clamped the words down.
"Please," Brian whispered, barely audible. "Just let me go."
Alex's jaw clenched. He pushed off the wall slowly, stepping back, giving Brian room to move. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more. But he didn't.
Brian slipped past him, heart hammering, legs shaky. He walked fast, almost running, refusing to look back.
But he felt Alex's eyes on him until he turned the corner.Brian didn't slow down until he was blocks away, his chest burning, legs shaky. By the time he reached his street, his pulse was still hammering, his palms damp against the straps of his backpack.
The whole walk home, Alex's voice echoed in his head. You think I don't care?
Brian hated how it stuck, hated how the look in Alex's eyes kept replaying. He wanted to shake it off, shove it into the same locked box where he kept all the other dangerous thoughts. But it clung to him.
When he stepped through the front door, the house was quiet. His mother was still at work. His father was asleep on the couch, an empty beer bottle tipped on its side near his hand. The TV flickered low with some rerun .
Brian moved quietly, careful not to wake him. He went upstairs, shut his bedroom door, and dropped his backpack on the floor. His knees gave out the moment he sat on the edge of the bed, his body finally catching up to the panic that had been coursing through him since the alley.
He buried his face in his hands. His skin still buzzing. He'd been terrified… but not just of Alex.
Of himself. Of what he wanted.
Brian shoved the thought away with a rough exhale. Dangerous. Stupid. He couldn't afford it. He knew what happened when people found out. Tyler had proved that. His father proved it every day without even knowing.
And yet, the words slipped back in. You think I don't care?Brian stood abruptly, pacing the small stretch of floor between his desk and his bed. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. He wanted to scream, to punch the wall, to cry — anything to quiet the storm in his chest. But he didn't. He never did.
Instead, he grabbed his notebook, flipped it open, and stared at the notes from the project. Alex's handwriting scrawled across the margins. Messy, crooked.
Brian slammed the notebook shut and shoved it back into his bag.
He lay down on his bed fully dressed, staring at the ceiling, trying to will the tears not to come.He told himself he was fine. He told himself it didn't matter. He told himself Alex's words meant nothing.
But when his eyes finally closed, the only thing he heard was Alex's voice, steady and quiet: I'm not pretending.