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Some days, Scott felt like he was living two lives.
On the outside, he was the same: quiet, smart, dependable. Inside, he was cracked wide open, trying to name a truth that made him feel like an alien in his own skin.
Nothing had really changed since his birthday — except him.
He still sat with his friends at lunch, joked about homework, walked the same halls. But every hallway, every stray glance in the locker room, every slip of a magazine page left open to a shirtless model — it all made his heart stutter.
Was this normal?
Was he normal?
---
It was Wednesday morning. First period had dragged on forever, and now Scott was headed to History. He clutched his textbook to his chest, trying to calm his brain for the pop quiz Mr. Ben always loved to spring on them.
Brian Drake wasn't in his usual seat when Scott slipped into class. Not that Scott stared — not really. It was just impossible not to notice when Brian wasn't there. He filled a room even when he was silent.
Brian was a legend in the hallways — that broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed guy whose hoodie sleeves always rode up to show strong, hairy forearms. A single curl of dark hair sometimes drifted across his forehead, making him look so unfairly perfect Scott wanted to scream into his pillow at night.
Not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. Ever.
---
Scott didn't think much of it until after class, when he spotted Brian lingering near the far end of the hallway. He was half-hidden behind a trophy case, backpack slung low, fingers tapping anxiously at his phone screen.
Scott slowed his steps automatically, his eyes glued to Brian's restless hands. That's when he saw Mr. Ben, their History teacher, stepping out of the staff room up ahead — coffee mug in one hand, papers tucked under his arm.
No yelling. Just Mr. Ben doing his usual slow, suspicious walk down the hall.
But Brian's eyes went wide when he saw him.
Scott saw that flicker of panic — the one Brian never let anyone see on the court.
Scott kept walking, almost at Brian's side now, passing the janitor's closet. It was one of those little rooms they stored old ladders, ropes, buckets — the kind of place nobody cared about unless you needed a mop. The door latch was old and loose. Everyone knew it had a way of swinging open if you leaned on it wrong.
Mr. Ben's footsteps echoed closer. Brian turned sharply, eyes flicking between the hallway and Scott like he was looking for a shield.
Scott opened his mouth to say Don't worry, he won't see you — but he didn't get the chance.
Brian stepped closer. Too close. In a flash, he pressed himself sideways behind Scott, trying to hide. His broad chest brushed Scott's back, sending a jolt of heat down his spine.
But then —
Brian lost his balance, shoulder bumping the door. The latch clicked. The next thing Scott knew, the door swung open under their combined weight — and they tumbled inside.
---
Scott's back hit the cold concrete floor. His breath whooshed out — but he didn't have time to panic because Brian was right there.
Tall, solid, his palms planted either side of Scott's head. His face was so close Scott could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the way a single curl of dark hair fell across his forehead.
Their chests pressed together — Brian's broad, warm, steady even though Scott's heart was doing somersaults. He could feel Brian's heartbeat too — heavy, fast, almost matching his own.
---
It should have been awkward. Maybe it was. But Scott couldn't look away.
For one second — one breathless second — it felt like they were frozen in some movie scene.
Brian's eyes — those unreal amber eyes — searched his face like he was trying to find something buried deep inside him.
Scott's lips parted. He felt Brian's breath ghost across his mouth — warm, soft, so close he swore they were about to —
Clank!
A screwdriver fell off a rickety shelf and hit the floor, snapping the spell like a slap.
---
Brian jolted back, eyes wide. He scrambled up, offering Scott a hand, which Scott took — though his palm felt too small in Brian's strong grip.
They stood there, inches apart, each of them tripping over the same words.
"Sorry—"
"Shit, I didn't mean to—"
"I just—"
"I was trying to hide—"
Scott's face burned. Brian's did too — or maybe that was just the dim light playing tricks.
When they finally peeked through the door, Mr. Ben had moved on. The hallway was clear. Brian ran a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling just enough for Scott to notice.
"Uh… thanks, man," Brian muttered, his voice lower than usual. "For, um… covering."
"Yeah. Sure." Scott's voice cracked, so he cleared it, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him.
They stepped out together. Their shoulders brushed — just for a second. It sent another spark racing down Scott's spine. Brian didn't pull away this time.
---
Behind them, the janitor's closet door swung closed again, like it had never held a secret at all.
---
Brian didn't know what it meant yet — the way his chest had clenched when he'd felt Scott's heartbeat under his own. Or the way he'd almost leaned down — almost kissed him — like his body had decided for him.
But that spark didn't lie.
And for the first time, Brian Drake wondered if the side of him he'd kept hidden so carefully might be impossible to hide forever.