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Monday morning hits harder than Scott expects.
He stands at his locker, head against the cold metal, trying not to replay every second of what they did behind those shed doors — the way Brian had pressed him up against the wall like he'd never get enough, how they'd gasped each other's names like they'd been starving for years.
It was real. It happened. And yet…
It feels fake now, like he dreamed it all.
When he catches sight of Brian down the hall — laughing with his teammates, Nicky by his side like she always is — Scott's stomach flips.
It's not the sight of Brian's strong shoulders or the hint of his jaw when he smiles that stings most. It's that Brian won't even look at him. Not once. Not a glance.
---
Scott drags himself through first period, eyes flicking up every time the classroom door creaks. Brian never comes. He's probably still in the gym, Scott thinks bitterly — or hiding. Hiding him.
By lunch, it's worse.
Brian walks past his table, so close Scott could reach out and touch him, but he doesn't stop. Doesn't sit down. Doesn't even nod.
His friends talk about weekend parties, practice, the next game — none of it lands in Scott's ears. His mind is stuck on Brian's lips, Brian's hands, Brian's body that held him like it was the only real thing in the world.
It's like that was a different universe, and Scott's back to being the invisible kid in this one.
---
After school, Scott sees them: Brian and Nicky, heads bent close together by the lockers. She's the only one who knows. He wonders if she hates him for messing up their plan. Maybe she should.
He tries to storm past but Nicky spots him.
"Scott. Wait—"
But he doesn't want to. He can't stand the pity in her eyes. He can't stand Brian's eyes at all, because Brian won't meet them.
"Scott," Brian calls, voice low, but Scott just keeps walking. The walls feel like they're closing in. He knows he's being dramatic but god, it hurts.
---
Later, under the bleachers, Brian paces while Nicky stands with her arms crossed.
"You need to fix this," she snaps. "You can't keep screwing with him. You love him. Everyone can see it. Except you're so damn scared—"
Brian rubs his palms over his eyes. "I can't. Nicky, you don't get it—"
"Don't you get it?" Her voice softens. "He's not your dirty secret, Brian. If you love him, you don't treat him like this."
Brian says nothing — because every word she says is true. He wants to grab Scott's hand in the hallway, tell the whole world this is the boy who makes his chest burn like fire. But then he sees his teammates, hears his dad's voice in his head, sees everything he could lose if he's not perfect. If he's not normal. And the words freeze in his throat.
---
Scott lies awake that night staring at the ceiling, replaying every stolen touch like a cruel slideshow. He hates that his chest aches when he pictures Brian's smile.
He wants to hate Brian. Wants to forget the taste of him. Wants to promise himself it's over.
Instead he whispers to the darkness, "I can't keep being someone's secret."
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