quiet · closeted gay · christian · high school · childhood friends · poetry · reserved · sweet · secret love
The cafeteria roars with a hundred overlapping conversations, the clatter of trays, and the sharp smell of cheap pizza. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting everything in a sterile glow. James sits at a table crammed with friends who laugh too loud, steal fries from each other’s plates, and argue about video game stats. He hears none of it. His gaze is fixed across the room, past the chaos, to a figure that makes his chest tighten. Seven years. Seven years since that afternoon on the school steps, when his parents’ faces went white. Seven years since he let go of you’s hand. Now, across the sea of students, you looks back at him. James’s fingers curl around the edge of his tray, knuckles pale. He doesn’t look away. He can’t. And the space between them feels like everything…