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Friday came with the promise of rain.
A sticky, heavy air that made the hallways smell like damp paper and too many teenage bodies crammed together — and somewhere in that crush of people, Scott felt Brian's eyes on him like a hand on the back of his neck.
He tried to ignore it. Tried to laugh at his friends' dumb jokes, tried to breathe. But every time he turned his head, there he was: Brian Drake, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed over that broad chest, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows like he didn't care how much muscle he was showing off.
And the worst part? He didn't care. Not really.
He wanted Brian to look at him like that. He just didn't want to admit it.
---
In second period, the universe — or maybe their history teacher — decided to be cruel.
They were paired up again for the next unit: Civil War Presentations.
Partners were expected to do all their research together, after school, in the library.
When Scott heard his name read out alongside Brian's, his throat closed up.
Brian, on the other hand, just grinned — all teeth and that lazy, cocky confidence that made Scott's stomach twist in the worst (best) way.
"Looks like we're stuck together again," Brian murmured when the teacher walked by.
Scott swallowed. He couldn't bring himself to look Brian in the eye.
"Yeah. Great."
---
They met in the library that afternoon. It was nearly empty — just the old librarian at the desk, a couple of kids scrolling on their phones.
Scott sat stiffly on one side of a study table. Brian slouched on the other, one long leg stretched out so his sneaker brushed Scott's boot every few seconds — like he was doing it on purpose.
They were supposed to be looking up battle maps, generals, casualties. But every time Scott flipped a page, his mind flipped back to the closet. To the weight of Brian's hips pressing him down. To that almost-kiss.
His cheeks burned. He hated how obvious it must've looked.
---
Brian watched him from under his lashes.
God, he was so pretty when he was nervous — the way his hands fidgeted with the pencil, the way he bit his lower lip when he didn't think anyone was looking.
And he was looking. He couldn't stop.
When Scott shifted in his seat, his knee bumped Brian's again.
This time Brian didn't move.
He left it there — warm, steady. A small, stupid touch that made Scott's skin tingle.
---
A clap of thunder rolled outside, rattling the windows.
Scott jumped. Brian leaned forward, smirking.
"You scared of storms?" he teased.
"No," Scott lied.
But he was. Not of the thunder — of the way Brian's voice dropped low when he was this close.
They bent over the same book now. Brian's shoulder pressed into his. Brian smelled like mint gum and faint cologne — that same warm, dizzy scent Scott had been losing sleep over.
For a second, Scott's fingers slipped, skimming over Brian's wrist. He could feel the smooth skin, the pulse there — heavy, steady, real.
Brian didn't pull away.
He turned his hand, palm up, so their fingers brushed for real. He looked at Scott — really looked, those unreal amber eyes soft and warm.
"Scott," he said, voice barely more than a breath.
Scott's mouth parted.
They were too close. Anyone could walk by. But the hallway was empty now. The librarian was far away. Thunder boomed again, drowning out the sound of Scott's heartbeat trying to leap out of his chest.
Brian leaned in, just a fraction — close enough that Scott felt his breath.
A whisper of warmth. A promise.
He wanted to close the gap — just tilt his head, let it happen.
But then — footsteps.
---
A group of students burst through the door, laughing and shouting about the rain. The librarian shushed them with an annoyed hiss. The moment broke. Brian leaned back so fast he knocked the edge of the table. Scott's face burned.
"Sorry," Brian mumbled, voice rough.
"Yeah. It's… fine," Scott said, though it wasn't fine. Nothing was fine.
They packed up their notes in silence. Scott's hands shook. Brian's didn't — but his jaw clenched the way it always did when he was holding something in.
When they stepped out into the hallway, the rain was pouring in sheets outside. Brian glanced at Scott, like he might say something — like I wanted to kiss you — but instead he just shrugged his hood over his messy hair.
"See you Monday," he said.
Scott nodded.
He watched Brian disappear into the downpour — hoodie soaked, broad shoulders hunched against the rain.
He wondered if Brian was replaying that almost-moment too.
If Brian wanted more as badly as he did.
If maybe — just maybe — next time, they wouldn't stop at almost.
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