Chapter One: The Day Everything Became Us
The first thing Ethan Cole noticed about Lucas Reed was that he talked too much.
Not in an annoying way—just… constantly. Like silence made him uncomfortable, like every empty space needed to be filled with words, jokes, half-formed thoughts, or observations no one had asked for. Ethan had been sitting alone on the last bench near the school courtyard, earbuds in, eyes on a book he wasn't really reading, when the boy dropped down beside him like they already knew each other.
"You know," the boy said, breathing slightly hard, "this bench is criminally underrated."
Ethan looked up slowly, one eyebrow lifting.
"…What?"
The boy grinned. Wide. Easy. Unapologetic.
"I'm Lucas. And you looked like someone who wouldn't scream if I sat here."
Ethan blinked. Once. Twice.
"You didn't ask."
Lucas shrugged. "You didn't say no."
That should've been the end of it. Ethan wasn't the type to invite people into his space. He liked routines. Predictability. Quiet. He liked knowing where things began and where they ended.
Lucas Reed did not fit into any of those categories.
Yet, somehow, Ethan didn't tell him to leave.
They sat there for a few minutes after that—Lucas talking, Ethan listening. About teachers. About how the cafeteria food tasted like disappointment. About how new schools always felt like walking into a movie halfway through.
Ethan eventually took out one earbud.
That was mistake number one.
They didn't become best friends overnight. It wasn't dramatic or sudden or obvious.
It started small.
Lucas started waving at Ethan in the hallways.
Then sitting next to him in class.
Then waiting for him after school, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Ethan didn't ask why. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.
Lucas was… persistent. In the gentlest way possible. He remembered things—what Ethan liked to read, which subjects he hated, how he took his coffee when they eventually started stopping by the small café near campus. Lucas remembered birthdays. Ethan noticed these things even if he pretended not to.
Somewhere between shared homework sessions and late afternoon walks home, Lucas stopped being "that loud guy from the courtyard" and became something else entirely.
A constant.
"Do you ever talk first?" Lucas asked one afternoon as they walked side by side, backpacks slung low.
Ethan glanced at him. "Do you ever stop talking?"
Lucas laughed. "Fair."
They walked in companionable silence after that, the air warm, the street humming softly around them. Ethan wasn't uncomfortable. He rarely was around Lucas anymore. That realization settled into him quietly, like a truth he didn't examine too closely.
Their friendship solidified the night the power went out.
A storm rolled in fast and angry, cutting electricity across half the neighborhood. Ethan had been home alone, sitting in the dark with his phone flashlight on, trying to ignore the way thunder made his chest feel tight.
A knock came at the door.
He hadn't expected anyone.
Lucas stood there, soaked from the rain, hair plastered to his forehead, eyes bright like the storm had energized him instead of frightening him.
"My place is pitch black and my phone's about to die," Lucas said. "Your lights are off too, but I figured… misery loves company?"
Ethan stared at him for a moment.
Then stepped aside.
That night, they sat on the floor of Ethan's living room, candles lit between them, shadows dancing across the walls. Lucas talked less. Ethan talked more. About his mother working late. About how storms reminded him of things he couldn't explain.
Lucas listened.
Really listened.
At some point, the thunder softened. The rain slowed. Lucas leaned back against the couch, head tipping slightly toward Ethan's shoulder—but not touching.
Not crossing any lines.
Just close enough to feel warm.
"You're… different," Lucas said quietly.
Ethan stiffened. "Different how?"
Lucas shrugged, gaze fixed on the candle flame. "Calm. Like you're standing still while the world's rushing around you."
Ethan swallowed. No one had ever described him like that before.
"You're loud," Ethan replied.
Lucas smiled. "I know."
They laughed, softly, like they were sharing a secret.
That was the night Ethan realized something important—though he didn't name it yet.
Lucas wasn't just someone who filled silence.
He made it comfortable.
From then on, it was them.
Group projects became their projects.
Lunch breaks turned into inside jokes no one else understood.
When Lucas skipped class, Ethan noticed.
When Ethan grew quiet, Lucas noticed.
People started assuming things.
"Are you two related?"
"Roommates?"
"Together?"
Lucas always laughed it off. Ethan always frowned slightly, confused by the question.
They were just friends.
Best friends.
Weren't they?
The moment Ethan knew—really knew—that Lucas mattered more than anyone else came without warning.
It was during a basketball game Ethan hadn't even wanted to attend. Lucas had dragged him there, loud and excited, insisting he needed "school spirit."
Halfway through the game, a player from the opposing team shoved Lucas too hard while fighting for the ball. Lucas stumbled, hit the floor, and stayed there a second longer than necessary.
Ethan stood up before he realized he was moving.
Heart pounding. Hands clenched. Eyes locked on Lucas.
"Lucas," he breathed, barely audible.
Lucas sat up, waved, grinning like nothing had happened.
Ethan didn't sit back down for a long time.
That night, lying in bed, Ethan stared at the ceiling, the image of Lucas on the floor replaying over and over. The fear had been sharp. Immediate. Too intense for something as simple as friendship.
He pushed the thought away.
Friends cared. That was normal.
Weeks later, Lucas tossed an arm around Ethan's shoulders as they walked home, casual and unthinking.
Ethan froze for half a second.
Lucas didn't notice.
He never did—how Ethan always adjusted his pace to match his, how he remembered the sound of Lucas's laugh, how the world seemed… steadier when Lucas was nearby.
Neither of them knew it yet.
They were standing on the edge of something unnamed.
Something quiet.
Something inevitable.
And for now, they were just two boys walking home together, unaware that this friendship—this simple, unbreakable us—was already becoming the most dangerous thing in their lives.