---
Monday at Northview feels like someone pressed play on Scott's worst nightmare — on repeat.
His locker slams shut but the echo bounces in his chest like a heartbeat. He catches glimpses of Brian down the hall — broad shoulders, that messy hair, those stupid amber eyes.
But the Brian who pinned him down on the gym mat and said "Mine" might as well be a ghost.
This Brian? He's surrounded by his basketball guys, throwing his head back in laughter, punching Zeke's shoulder like they're brothers.
He doesn't even look Scott's way.
---
By third period, Scott can't focus. His brain is noise: the memory of Brian's rough palms under his shirt, that growl in his ear, the way Scott's whole body had arched up like it belonged there.
And now? He's just another kid in the hallway. Invisible.
He wants to scream. Or cry. Or both.
---
Lunch is the final straw.
Scott tries to vanish at the edge of the cafeteria — hoodie up, earphones in, tray untouched. But CJ, Zeke, and Dylan? They're not having it.
CJ drops down opposite him, slamming his soda on the table. "Dude. Seriously."
Scott doesn't look up. "What."
"Don't 'what' me," CJ snaps. He nods to Zeke and Dylan, who flop down on either side of Scott like human barricades.
Zeke tilts his head, studying Scott's blank stare. "You've been a walking corpse since Friday. Who messed with you?"
Scott shifts, but Dylan's already snagging his fries. "Talk. Now."
---
Scott's jaw twitches. He tries to push the words down — but they taste like poison. He opens his mouth, closes it again. His eyes dart to Brian at the far end of the cafeteria, laughing like nothing's ever touched him.
CJ follows his gaze, snorts. "Brian Drake. Figures."
Scott's head snaps back. "What? I didn't—"
"Come on, man," Zeke says, voice softer now. "You think we didn't see you two last week? Sneaking out of practice, you showing up with your shirt half tucked, looking like you got hit by a tornado."
Dylan wags a fry. "You think we don't notice? We notice everything."
---
Scott's throat aches. "It's not— I don't—"
CJ leans in, eyes deadly serious. "Scott."
Scott breaks. The truth tumbles out like water from a cracked dam. "I'm gay."
His voice isn't loud, but the word feels like a bomb between them — heavy, final.
A million cafeteria voices fade to static. Scott's pulse thunders in his ears. For a second, he can't breathe. He doesn't want to look up.
Zeke's hand lands on his shoulder. "Okay."
Scott's head jerks up. "Okay?"
Dylan snorts, mouth full. "You're still you. So, yeah — okay."
CJ smirks, but his eyes are warm. "You really thought you were that slick? You practically had heart eyes for him during warm-ups."
---
Scott huffs a small, shaky laugh — but then the knot comes back. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, voice raw.
"He says he wants me. When it's dark, when no one's looking — it's like I'm the only thing he wants. But when we're here? I'm nothing. He doesn't even see me."
Zeke's mouth twists. "Fuck that."
Scott's eyes well up. "He… I don't know how to turn it off. I hate him for it, but I'd still run to him if he called."
CJ nods slowly, chewing his lip. "You think he cares? Like, really cares?"
Scott shakes his head, frustrated. "I don't know. I think he does. But he cares about himself more. His image. His bullshit golden-boy thing."
---
The boys fall silent for a moment.
Then Dylan bangs his soda down. "You're not some secret he can lock in a closet, dude. You're Scott fucking Miller. You've had our backs since you knocked out that senior for dunking my head in the toilet in eighth grade."
Zeke elbows Scott's ribs. "We've seen you at your worst, bro. We've seen you eat an entire pizza by yourself, and cry over that dumb dog movie. You really think this changes shit?"
CJ's voice is quiet but cuts through everything. "One of us. Always."
Scott's throat closes up. He scrubs at his eyes but a tear breaks free anyway. CJ just flicks it away, like he did when they were kids and Scott would cry about scraped knees.
---
For a heartbeat, Scott lets himself lean on them — feels the way CJ's arm hooks around his shoulders, how Zeke ruffles his hair, how Dylan fake-punches his arm so he'll laugh instead of cry.
---
It still hurts — all the parts of him that ache for Brian.
But now, for the first time, he doesn't feel like he's drowning alone.
---