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Brian hadn't slept in three nights.
It wasn't the usual pre-game nerves or the hum of adrenaline before a championship.
It was that hollow, crawling ache under his ribs — the echo of Scott's voice when he'd said, "I can't be your dirty secret anymore."
He stared at the ceiling in his dark room, the posters of all his favorite players nothing but shadows now.
His phone buzzed every few hours — Nicky asking where he was, his teammates wondering why he'd skipped out on practice early.
He ignored them all.
When he did sleep, he dreamed of Scott's eyes — those big, warm eyes that always looked back like they saw him.
Now they looked at him like he was a coward.
---
At school, Brian kept his hood up between classes.
He walked past Scott in the hallway once — a stupid, torturous two-second blur — but Scott didn't even flinch.
He just kept walking, head high, with CJ and Dylan flanking him like bodyguards.
Brian's chest twisted up so tight he almost doubled over.
---
After practice, he found himself on the bleachers, staring at the empty gym long after the team had gone home.
Nicky's voice snapped him out of it. She dropped her bag on the bench beside him, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Don't look at me like that," Brian muttered, voice hoarse.
Nicky sat down anyway.
"Like what?" she asked.
"Like you're about to say, 'I told you so.'"
She didn't. She just sighed and nudged his shoulder.
"You're falling apart, B. You look like shit."
He huffed a laugh, but it didn't sound like a laugh at all.
"Yeah, well. I feel worse."
---
Nicky leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
"You're gonna lose him for good if you keep this up. You know that, right?"
Brian's jaw clenched. His hands trembled where they rested on his thighs.
"I know," he whispered.
"Then fix it. You're not the only one hurting here, Brian."
He turned to her, eyes rimmed red from no sleep and too many almost-tears.
"I don't know how," he rasped. "If I tell everyone — my dad, the team — they'll hate me."
"They won't," Nicky said. Her voice was soft but sharp, like a knife wrapped in velvet. "And if they do? You still have me. You'd still have Scott — if you'd just fight for him."
---
Silence swallowed them for a minute.
Brian could feel the tears pressing against the back of his eyes, but he blinked them back.
"You don't get it, Nick. He looked at me like I was everything. And now — he won't even look at me at all."
Nicky slid her hand over his. She squeezed, firm and warm.
"You can't keep living in this closet you built for yourself. You're miserable. He's miserable. You love him, Brian — so do something about it."
---
Brian didn't answer. He just sat there, staring at the scuffed gym floor like it held every answer he'd been too afraid to say out loud.
The sound of the clock ticking on the wall was louder than the heartbeat thudding in his chest.
Finally, his voice came out rough and raw, almost too soft to hear.
"I do love him."
"Then prove it."
---
They sat together in the echo of the empty gym, two best friends and one truth that had been buried too long.
Brian knew he was breaking. But maybe, just maybe, breaking was what he needed to finally be free.
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