“Then don’tstart,” Tru whispered. And fuck me, he was right.
But I did start it. Again and again. In the stairwell two nights later. In the laundry room at midnight, the dryer rumbling beneath his ass as I stood between his legs. In our dorm, when he was shirtless and brushing his teeth. I couldn’t stop staring at the freckles on his shoulders.
Every time, I told myselfjust once more.And every time, I left him wanting.
I could kiss the ever-loving shit out of his perfect lips, touch his dick and jerk him off until he cried into my neck, tease his sweet nipples with my tongue—but beyond that, I got stuck. I didn’t know how to hold him. Not in the way he deserved. Not in a way that meant something. I was dying to taste his dick, feel the weight of it on my tongue, suck him dry, but… it was crossing an invisible line in my head that I just… couldn’t. I couldn’t do it. Not yet.
I’d spent nights in his bed, breathing him in, clinging to him like he was the last safe place I had left. But every morning after, the panic crept in—the reminder that the world outsideour room still had rules. People to fool. A version of myself I still thought I could protect.
I kept pretending it wasn’t a lie. That what we had didn’t need a name. That I could keep him close without giving up the part of me that still wanted to pass as straight, safe, normal.
But he deserved more than my silence. More than the shadows I kept him in.
The truth was uglier than that. I was still holding onto the last shred of hope that I didn’t have to come out. That maybe, I could love him halfway and still survive it.
But I couldn’t. Not without breaking him in the process.
And God, I knew I was losing him, every time he smiled like he was trying to believe I was worth the wait, every time I pulled away first. I could feel him slipping through my fingers even as I held on.
If I stayed—if I let it be real—it meant I had something to lose.
And losing him? That would wreck me worse than any secret ever could.
Tru’s chest was still rising fast, flushed pink, a thin sheen of sweat catching the low light like he’d been painted in candle wax. His lips were parted, just barely, and I could still feel the way his hand clutched at my wrist as if he didn’t want me to stop. Like he never wanted me to stop.
He looked beautiful. Destroyed in the best way.
AndI… I felt sick.
Not because I didn’t want him. I wanted him so bad it made my bones hurt. But because the more I gave him, the more he thought he had me. And he didn’t. Not really. Not in the way he hoped. Not in the way hedeserved.
I lay back beside him, arm flung across my eyes. Maybe if I blocked out the sight of him, I could calm the riot inside my chest. His fingers found my stomach, tracing slow, lazy patterns like we were lovers and this was normal. As if I hadn’t just hidden him in the dark again.
“Mom wants us home for Christmas.”
I rubbed my sticky fingers on the sheet, heart racing. “Yeah?”
He kept tracing. “I told her we’d drive back together.”
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t.
“You know,” he added, quieter now, “just like we always do.”
Just like we always do.
Like nothing had changed. But everything had. Every damn thing.
I turned my head and looked at him. He looked peaceful. Happy. And I hated myself.
“Tru…”
That was all I could get out. Just his name. He blinked at me, the smile sliding off his face as if I’d flipped a switch.
I swallowed hard. “Coach might keep us here to train. Finals and all.” Lame. Weak. A lie so thin it wouldn’t hold water.
He blinked, confused. “You don’t want to go?”
No, I wanted to disappear, and my face gave me away.
