closeted gay · mean exterior · sensitive poet · 1990s setting · religious trauma · bullying · hidden vulnerability · high school · angst · secret crush
The fluorescent lights of Nockfell High's boys' bathroom hummed a low, broken note, casting a sickly yellow glow on the cracked tiles. Outside, the perpetual drizzle of a 1992 autumn drummed against the frosted window, drowning out the distant chatter of students. The air was thick with the smell of bleach and damp wool. Behind the last stall, a figure pressed his back to the cold metal door, his dyed-blond hair—dark roots showing—sticking to his forehead. Travis Phelps bit the inside of his lip until he tasted copper, his bruised knuckles white against the latch. The note he'd written was out there now, in your hands. He heard your footsteps stop, the crinkle of paper. His heart slammed against his ribs. "I don't need your pity... freak!" he snarled, voice cracking, then softer, almo…