🪷
---
Some secrets are so loud you can hear them even when no one says a word.
Scott felt that secret pounding in his chest every time Brian was near.
It echoed in his head during class, in the cafeteria, in the showers after gym — anywhere that Brian Drake's strong, stupidly perfect body could get close enough to make his heart stutter.
After the closet incident, Scott had thought: I can just forget it.
Push it down. Pretend that spark wasn't real.
But the truth was, pretending hurt worse than admitting it.
---
The morning after the closet moment, Scott woke up with his lips still tingling.
He'd dreamed about Brian's breath ghosting over his mouth — the way Brian's hips pressed him down into that cold concrete floor, his muscles caging him in like a secret only they knew.
When he stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom, he caught sight of himself in the mirror: flushed cheeks, bitten lips, wide eyes.
God. He looked like someone who'd been kissed stupid. Except he hadn't even been kissed yet. That was the worst part.
---
At school, Scott became a master at pretending.
He laughed when his friends teased each other about stupid hookups and weekend crushes.
He said "no thanks" when the girls in his homeroom asked who he liked.
He even forced himself to sit through gym class, eyes fixed on the wall instead of the curve of Brian's broad shoulders flexing under his sweaty jersey.
But inside, every brush of skin felt like fire.
---
Brian, on the other hand, was getting reckless.
He'd never had to think about what he wanted before. Wanting was dangerous. It gave him away. But now — after that closet?
He couldn't stop wanting.
In the hallways, his eyes flicked toward Scott like a reflex.
In the cafeteria, he'd let his knee bump Scott's under the table, just to see if he'd flinch.
He did. Every single time.
---
Thursday afternoon, the heat in the air felt sticky, the lockers buzzing with chatter.
Scott was late for class, but he didn't care. He just wanted to get away from Brian — away from the way Brian had cornered him outside the science lab, voice low, saying, "Hey, wait up —"
Scott had stammered an excuse, cheeks on fire. "I— I gotta go, sorry."
Brian watched him disappear down the hall, hands shoved deep in his pockets, frustration burning in his chest.
---
By the time English rolled around, they were stuck next to each other again — of course.
Scott buried his face in Macbeth, pretending the smell of Brian's cologne wasn't driving him insane.
But he couldn't block it out: Brian's voice reading lines in that low, rough tone, the rasp that made Scott's stomach knot.
When Brian leaned in, pointing at a passage, Scott's eyes darted to the line of veins on Brian's forearm — the soft hair, the way muscle curved under skin. He imagined what it would feel like to run his lips along that arm, to feel Brian's strength under his palms.
He hated himself for thinking it — and he wanted it more than anything.
---
Brian was no better.
He watched Scott's fingers tap nervously on the desk, the flush climbing up his neck.
He wanted to touch him. He wanted to reach over and slide his thumb along Scott's jaw, tilt his chin, close that whisper of a gap.
But he didn't. Not yet.
---
That night, Scott lay awake, staring at the crack in his ceiling.
He replayed it over and over: Brian's hand brushing his when they reached for the same pencil, Brian's voice whispering, "You okay?" — so soft, so close.
He pressed his pillow over his face, muffling the groan that bubbled up in his chest.
He was not okay. He was falling, and he didn't know how to stop.
---
Brian found himself behind the gym again, kicking at pebbles near the old storage shed. Nicky leaned against the wall, sipping her soda like she'd been waiting for him all day.
"You look like shit," she said.
Brian shrugged, dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "I feel like it."
"You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?"
He hesitated. Then he did what he always did with Nicky — told the truth he could tell no one else.
"I want him," he murmured. "It's like I can't… not want him."
Nicky's smile was small and real. "So do something about it."
Brian's laugh was bitter. "Like what? Hold his hand in the hallway? Kiss him in the cafeteria? I can't even keep him from running when I get too close."
She reached out, squeezing his wrist. "Maybe he's scared for the same reasons you are."
Brian's eyes fell to the grass. He thought of Scott's wide eyes in the closet — the way he hadn't pulled away until he absolutely had to.
He felt that spark again, burning in his chest like a promise.
---
The next morning, Scott stepped into the hallway, books clutched to his chest, heart thudding.
He knew — before he even looked up — that Brian was there.
Leaning against the lockers, hair tousled, hoodie pulled tight over his stupidly broad shoulders.
Watching him.
Scott's breath caught. For one second, he thought about turning around — about running.
But then Brian's lips curved, just slightly, like he was about to say, Don't run. Just stay.
And Scott did.
---