Same day — night
Dinner passed, but it didn't really reach him.
Chris sat at the table, fork moving slowly, food growing cold on his plate. He stared down at it, chewing when he remembered to, stopping when he forgot.
"Chris," his mom said gently. "You okay?"
"Huh?" He looked up. "Yeah. Just tired."
"You barely touched your food," his dad added.
"I'll eat later," Chris replied quickly, standing up before more questions could come. "I'm gonna lie down."
"Don't stay up too late," his mom called after him.
"Yeah," he said, already halfway up the stairs.
---
The door to his room closed with a soft click.
Chris dropped onto his bed without even turning on the light.
He stared at the ceiling.
Then rolled onto his side.
Then onto his stomach.
Then back again.
"…Why can't I sleep?" he muttered.
The room felt too quiet — or maybe his head was just too loud.
Without warning, the day replayed itself.
Zack standing there with that annoyed look.
The way Chris had grabbed his arm without thinking.
The warmth of it — brief, sudden.
His face warmed slightly at the memory.
"…Idiot," he whispered to himself.
Then another image followed.
The soccer ball flying back under the moonlight.
Zack kicking it so easily.
That small, rare smile.
Chris's chest tightened — and then burst into something bright.
He grabbed his pillow and hugged it tightly, burying his face into it.
A laugh slipped out, quiet and breathless.
He rolled onto his back, then onto his side again, hugging the pillow like it was the only thing keeping his thoughts in place.
Then he rolled too far.
Thump.
"Ow—!"
Chris sat up on the floor, rubbing his head, blinking in the dark.
"…Oh boy," he sighed. "What is wrong with me?"
He climbed back onto the bed, this time sitting still.
For a moment.
Then he lay back down slowly.
---
The window was half open.
Cool night air drifted in, brushing against his skin, carrying the quiet sounds of the neighborhood settling down. The curtains moved gently, back and forth, back and forth.
Moonlight spilled across the floor, pale and calm.
Chris turned his head and watched it.
His breathing slowed.
The strange excitement faded into something softer — quieter.
He pulled the blanket closer, then pushed it away again, warmth lingering in his chest for reasons he couldn't explain.
"I don't get it," he whispered.
The breeze answered by rustling the curtains.
Chris closed his eyes and took a long breath.
In.
Out.
The feeling didn't disappear — but it stopped overwhelming him.
It just… stayed.
Gentle.
Safe.
His thoughts drifted, slower now, less tangled.
He again hugged his pillow so tightly.
A faint blush spread across his face.
As sleep finally found him, a small smile curved on his lips.
"…Thanks for today, Zack," he murmured softly.
"It was a really good day."
The room stayed quiet.
The moon watched.
And Chris slept.