The cafeteria was buzzing with midday chaos—metal trays clattering, the scent of stir-fried noodles mixing with sizzling pork, and clusters of students laughing over shared plates. Light filtered through the wide glass windows, painting golden stripes across the floor like warm reminders of a world still turning.
Zac sat in his usual spot, nestled in a quiet corner where the noise blurred into background static. He wasn't eating. He wasn't even really present.
His lunch—miso soup and rice balls—remained mostly untouched. His chopsticks rested loosely between his fingers, forgotten. His gaze drifted somewhere past the glass, toward a sky that didn't have answers, just stars.
Januz.
That name pulsed softly in his mind, like a whispered melody.
Zac couldn't forget the rooftop last night—the silence, the closeness, the almost... something. The soft press of Januz's voice when he said, "You make it easier to breathe."
He didn't notice the two trays that landed loudly in front of him.
"Earth to Zac!" Tristan's voice rang out, playful and annoyed. "Dude, don't tell me you're writing sad poems about your astronomy crush again."
Zac jumped slightly, blinking out of his thoughts. "What the—Tristan?! Tim?"
"Surprise," Timothy said, sliding into the seat across from him with a knowing smile. "You looked like you were deep in another galaxy."
"I was just... thinking," Zac muttered, finally lowering his chopsticks. "You scared me."
"You should be more scared of letting that food go cold," Tristan quipped, already attacking a chicken skewer. "And also of looking like a lovesick astronaut in public."
"I do not look lovesick," Zac protested.
"Oh, you do," Tristan said. "You've got that dazed 'he touched my soul' face. Who is he, huh? Is it Januz again?"
Zac let out a frustrated sigh, cheeks warming. "I'm not talking about this."
"That means it's definitely Januz," Tristan declared.
Timothy chuckled quietly as he unwrapped a rice sandwich. "So, what's it like having Mr. Mystery in your group?"
Zac leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely. "He's... different. Quiet. But when he does speak, it's like he chooses every word carefully. He notices things. He listens."
"Sounds like you really notice him too," Tristan teased.
Zac rolled his eyes, but a smile betrayed him. "Shut up."
They laughed, the sound grounding Zac for a moment. For the first time in days, he wasn't tangled in questions or tension. Just two friends. Familiar, honest, safe.
But then Timothy leaned forward, his tone shifting.
"Zac," he said softly, "how's your dad?"
The laughter died instantly.
Zac looked down at his tray. The food blurred. His throat tightened.
"He's..." he began, then stopped. "Still the same. Still calling. Still pretending like I'm going to change."
Tristan didn't make a joke this time.
Timothy nodded slowly. "Does he... know?"
Zac shook his head. "No. And I don't think I'll ever tell him."
There was silence again—but this one carried weight.
"He still wants me to come home," Zac continued quietly. "Still thinks I'm wasting time studying astrology. That I'll get over this 'phase' and take over his business like he always planned."
His phone vibrated on the table.
He glanced at the screen.
Xavier:
"Tomorrow is Dad's birthday. Can you come home?"
Zac's fingers froze mid-reach.
His brother. His father. The house he hadn't returned to in months. The silence at the dinner table. The expectations. The eyes that looked through him.
Zac didn't answer the message. He just turned the phone face down and exhaled slowly.
"He still doesn't know about me," Zac murmured. "Not really. Not the version of me that likes looking at stars... or that sometimes looks at Januz too long."
Timothy's gaze was steady. "He doesn't need to know everything right now. But he doesn't get to define you either."
Zac blinked.
Timothy continued, gently but firmly, "Your life isn't his blueprint to fill out. You deserve to live under your own constellation."
Zac's chest ached—but this time, it wasn't just from guilt. It was from being understood.
"I just wish it were that simple," he whispered.
"It never is," Tristan chimed in, leaning forward. "But that's why you've got us. Even when you're a moody, lovestruck nerd."
"Gee, thanks," Zac said dryly, but a smile tugged at his lips.
Tristan grinned and shoved a mochi in his direction. "Eat something sweet, lover boy. You look like you've been kissed by a ghost."
Zac laughed—really laughed—and took the mochi without hesitation.
The taste of cream and sugar was light on his tongue.
But the weight of Xavier's message still lingered in the back of his mind like a shadow.