---
By now, Scott knew every trick to get through a day without falling apart.
Keep your head down.
Laugh at CJ's dumb jokes even when your chest feels like it's caving in.
Pretend you don't feel Brian's eyes on you from across the hall.
Pretend you don't care.
Because that was the thing about pretending — it only worked if you didn't blink.
---
It was the Monday before prom.
Rumors flitted around the cafeteria like paper planes — who was going with who, who got dumped, who would hook up in the back of someone's borrowed limo.
Scott kept his eyes on the tray in front of him. Greasy fries, a half-melted cup of jello, the wrapper of a sandwich he hadn't touched.
CJ, Zeke, and Dylan flanked him like bodyguards.
Their chatter buzzed in and out of Scott's ears — a buffer against the itch under his skin that always flared up when Brian was near.
And Brian was always near.
---
Across the cafeteria, Brian sat with Marissa nestled up against him like they were a storybook couple.
Her laugh was shrill and sweet, bouncing off the metal tables. She leaned into Brian's side, fingers tracing idle patterns on the hard curve of his bicep — the same arm Scott had once clutched in the dark when they'd kissed behind the gym.
Scott's teeth dug into his straw. He could still feel the taste of Brian's mouth, the rasp of his low voice saying his name when no one could hear.
He told himself it didn't matter.
It was just a show. Brian's perfect lie.
So Scott leaned back, pulled his phone out, pretended to scroll.
But his eyes kept slipping back.
---
And Brian — Brian was so fucking bad at pretending.
From the outside, he looked perfect. Muscles flexed under his varsity jacket, that easy grin that used to make Scott's stomach flip like a carnival ride.
But up close — when you'd traced those lips with your thumb, when you'd felt his heartbeat trip under your palm — you could see it.
The edges.
The way his eyes were never really on Marissa.
They drifted. Always.
Back to Scott.
---
"You good?" CJ asked, nudging him with an elbow. Zeke and Dylan turned too, the air between them heavy.
"Peachy," Scott lied, pushing his tray away.
CJ's eyes narrowed. "You're gonna snap that straw in half."
Scott glanced down — sure enough, the plastic was bent like a spine.
"Let him look," Dylan said, calm but solid. "You don't owe him your pain."
Scott forced out a laugh. "Who said I'm in pain?"
"Your face says it," CJ shot back. "He's an ass, Scott. You know that."
Scott's eyes slid back across the cafeteria.
Brian had his arm draped over Marissa's shoulders, but his knuckles were white. His jaw tight. His eyes flicked up — met Scott's. Held.
It felt like a slap and a kiss all at once.
Scott looked away first.
---
Later, in the hallway, they passed each other near the trophy case.
Scott caught the faint scent of Brian's cologne — the same one he used to breathe in when Brian's chest was pressed to his back, whispering no one else gets to see you like this.
Marissa was there too, giggling, playing with Brian's zipper.
Scott's mouth curled at the edge, some bitter part of him wanting to say good for you, Drake — hope she makes you forget.
But he didn't. He just squared his shoulders, brushed past, and pretended the static on his skin was nothing.
---
That night, alone in his room, Scott sat cross-legged on his bed, phone screen glowing like a secret.
Old texts from Brian — the ones he couldn't bring himself to delete — sat there like tiny ghosts.
I want you.
Stay the night.
You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.
CJ's message buzzed through:
Promise you're not letting him get in your head?
Scott typed back: I don't care.
He tossed the phone aside and lay back, eyes stinging.
He could lie to CJ. He could lie to Zeke and Dylan.
But in the dark, Scott's heart still whispered the truth:
He cared. He cared so much it felt like drowning.
--