Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Eden Hall wasn’t exactly what Charlie Conway had imagined. As he stood in front of the sprawling campus, its pristine lawns stretching into the distance, a cold wind whipping at his face, he couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that settled deep in his gut. This was supposed to be his big moment—the culmination of everything he and the Ducks had fought for. But all he felt was loss.

It should have been a proud day. Being recruited to Eden Hall, a school with a prestigious hockey program, should’ve been every kid’s dream. But Charlie wasn’t like every other kid. He was a Duck. He had a team, a family, and in that family, he had been something more than just another player on the ice.

But here, none of that mattered anymore. The moment they set foot on this campus, everything had changed. His identity as a Duck, the bond he shared with his teammates, the camaraderie that had held them together through thick and thin—it was all slipping through his fingers faster than he could hold on.

The first gut punch came when Coach Bombay told them he wouldn’t be staying. Charlie remembered the moment vividly, standing in the locker room as Bombay announced that he’d be leaving to work for the Goodwill Games. It felt like the ground had been ripped from beneath him. Bombay wasn’t just a coach; he was the coach—the man who had believed in them when no one else would, the man who had shaped Charlie into the player and person he was. And now, just like that, he was leaving.

Charlie tried to be happy for him. He really did. Bombay was moving on to bigger and better things, but that knowledge did little to ease the bitterness bubbling inside Charlie’s chest. Bombay had promised to always be there for them, to guide them. And now, just when Charlie needed him the most, he was gone.

But losing Bombay wasn’t the only thing gnawing at him. If that had been the end of it, maybe Charlie could’ve found a way to deal with the change. Maybe he could’ve coped with Bombay leaving, telling himself they were growing up, that things changed, that he had to move forward. But losing Adam Banks? That was a whole different kind of pain.

Adam had been Charlie’s best friend, his teammate, the one person Charlie had come to rely on, the one person he thought he could always count on. But Adam was different now. He was Varsity.

Charlie couldn’t forget the sting of hearing that Adam had been bumped up to play for the Varsity team. It wasn’t just about losing him as a teammate. It was about the fact that Adam, the one person who was supposed to be with him through all of this, was suddenly living in a different world—one Charlie couldn’t reach. Varsity practices were at different times. Varsity players had different schedules, different priorities. They had different everything.

Worse, Adam was pulling away. Every time Charlie saw him in the halls, walking with the Varsity guys, laughing like he belonged with them, a fresh wave of anger surged through him. They were supposed to be in this together. Adam wasn’t supposed to leave him behind. But here they were, in the same school, yet worlds apart.

And the fighting. That had been the worst part. In the past few weeks, he and Adam had started clashing at every turn. It had started small—snide comments during class, sarcastic jabs in the hallway. But now, it seemed like they couldn’t be in the same room without arguing. They were competing over everything—who was doing better in their classes, who was excelling on the ice. Even when they weren’t supposed to be rivals, they somehow found ways to tear each other down.

Charlie hated it. Hated how much things had changed between them. Hated that every time he saw Adam, all he felt was anger and frustration instead of the deep connection they used to share. He was angry at Adam for pulling away, angry at him for joining Varsity, angry at him for fitting in so easily with his new team. But more than anything, Charlie was angry at himself. Because deep down, he knew the real reason behind all of it—the real reason he was lashing out.

He was still in love with Adam.

Charlie had fallen for Adam years ago, back when Adam had first joined the Ducks on the ice. Back when Adam was still the quiet, blonde boy who always played by the rules and Charlie was the scrappy kid who fought for every inch. But Charlie could never tell him. He’d always known that Adam’s father would never allow it, that Adam himself might not even understand. And now, with Adam drifting further and further away, Charlie knew he’d missed his chance.

The more distance that grew between them, the worse Charlie’s frustration got. He couldn’t talk to Adam about it—couldn’t explain why it hurt so much to see him walking away. So instead, he let his anger take over. Every time they argued, Charlie would push harder, say something crueler, anything to cover up the hurt he was feeling inside. Anything to keep Adam from seeing how much it was killing him.

And now, Charlie wasn’t even captain anymore. The one thing that had always made him feel like he had a purpose, like he had some kind of control over his world, was gone. The title was stripped from him, thrown away without a second thought. That, more than anything, was the final blow. It was as if Eden Hall had taken everything that made Charlie who he was and tossed it aside, leaving him with nothing.

As Charlie stood there after practice, clutching his stick, he felt like he was suffocating. His chest was tight, his head spinning with a thousand thoughts, none of them making sense. He had been off all day, missing passes and skating slower than usual. His game was a mess, but it wasn’t his legs that were failing him—it was his mind. He was thinking too much, caught in his own head, spiraling into a never-ending loop of anger, regret, and heartache.

Fulton Reed, his longtime friend and fellow Duck, skated toward him quietly. Charlie barely noticed until he felt the heavy weight of Fulton’s hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, you alright, man?” Fulton’s voice was steady, but filled with concern.

Charlie swallowed hard, blinking back the frustration and emotion threatening to spill over. He shook his head, but didn’t trust himself to speak right away. Instead, he gripped his stick tighter, knuckles white from the pressure. He had been off all practice. Not on his game. Not focused. Because all he could think about was how everything was falling apart.

“You’ve been off all day, Charlie,” Fulton continued, his grip on Charlie’s shoulder tightening, grounding him. “You’re in your head too much. Whatever’s going on… we’re here for you. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Charlie let out a shaky breath but didn’t answer right away. He knew Fulton was right. The rest of the Ducks—Fulton, Goldberg, Connie, everyone—they were all still here, still with him. But it didn’t feel the same. Without Bombay, without Adam, without the captaincy, it felt like everything was slipping away, piece by piece.

Charlie finally looked up at Fulton, giving him a small, weak smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” Charlie said softly, even though he didn’t believe it. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

But as Fulton’s hand dropped from his shoulder and he skated off toward the locker room, Charlie stayed behind, still clutching his stick, still trying to hold himself together.

Because deep down, Charlie knew he wasn’t alright.

Not even close.

Chapter Text

Charlie slumped into his seat in English Lit, barely paying attention as Mrs. Haverford went over the day’s lesson. His mind was on the ice, on the way everything had been going downhill in practice. His stick had felt heavier, his movements sluggish. He couldn’t seem to get his head in the game—not when everything outside of it felt like it was falling apart. He glanced around the room, eyes scanning the other students with the same disinterest he’d brought to the entire day. His body was here, sure, but his mind was miles away.

It didn’t help that Adam was sitting just a few seats over.

Charlie could see him out of the corner of his eye—his perfect posture, the way he diligently wrote down every note Mrs. Haverford dictated. Of course, Adam would never miss a single thing, right? He was Varsity now. Perfect in everything. Perfect in hockey, in school, in everything that seemed to come so damn easily to him.

And Charlie was stuck here, fighting to keep from slipping through the cracks.

“Alright, class,” Mrs. Haverford’s voice cut through Charlie’s thoughts, and he sat up slightly, dragging his attention back to her as she continued. “For your next assignment, we’ll be doing partner work. You’ll analyze character dynamics in Shakespeare’s Othello and present your findings at the end of the week.”

A project. Great. Just what Charlie needed—more forced interaction. He couldn’t even be bothered to hope for a decent partner. The way things were going, it’d probably be someone who didn’t care or, worse, cared too much. He let his mind wander again, not particularly caring who Mrs. Haverford assigned him to.

“And finally,” she said, eyes scanning the classroom, “Charlie and Adam, you’ll be working together.”

Charlie blinked, his body stiffening before he could stop himself. Of all the people. Of course. He glanced over at Adam, who was already looking at him with the same kind of barely hidden annoyance that Charlie felt bubbling up in his chest. Adam’s lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed just slightly. Charlie could tell Adam was just as thrilled with his arrangement as he was.

But for Charlie, there was a certain kind of satisfaction in knowing this wasn’t what Adam wanted.

Adam leaned over, his voice barely above a whisper as Mrs. Haverford began to outline the project details. “Let’s just split the work, get it over with,” he said, his tone slipped, like he was already done with this whole thing. He didn’t even look at Charlie when he said it, his focus still on his notebook as he jotted down something on the assignment sheet.

Charlie smirked, leaning back in his chair, watching the tension play across Adam’s face. He could feel the anger simmering in his gut, the familiar bitterness clawing at his chest. Everything had come so easy for Adam, hadn’t it? Charlie wanted to laugh. Varsity. Top of his class. He didn’t even have to try. And now, here he was, sitting next to Charlie, acting like this was just another inconvenience in his perfect little life.

“Yeah?” Charlie said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Sounds real convenient for you, Banks. I do all the work and you take the credit—just like on the ice, huh?”

Adam’s grip on his pen tightened. Charlie saw the muscle in his jaw clench, saw his fingers twitch. But Adam didn’t look at him. Not yet. “That’s not what I said,” Adam muttered, his voice low and controlled, like he was trying hard not to let Charlie get under his skin.

Charlie tilted his head, grin widening. He could feel the tension rolling off Adam, could see how much Adam wanted to keep his cool. But Charlie wasn’t in the mood to let things go that easily. He leaned in a little, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Isn’t it, though?”

Adam finally turned to him, his eyes flashing. “What’s your problem, Charlie?”

“My problem?” Charlie chuckled softly. “My problem is that you seem to be doing just fine up there with your new team, while the rest of us are left in the dust. But hey, you’ve got everything you need now, right?”

Adam’s expression hardened, and for a moment, Charlie saw a flicker of something else behind the frustration. Something deeper. But it was gone just as quickly, buried beneath the familiar mask of controlled anger that Adam always wore when they fought.

“I didn’t ask for this, Charlie,” Adam said, his voice sharper now. “You think I wanted to be separated from the team? You think I don’t miss—”

Charlie cut him off, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Oh, you miss us, huh? Is that why you barely even acknowledge us anymore? Because you’re just so heartbroken about being Varsity?”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, Charlie thought he might snap. But instead, Adam took a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “This isn’t about Varsity or JV. We’re talking about an assignment. Can we just focus on that?”

Charlie leaned back again, his smirk widening. “Sure. Whatever you say, preppy.”

“Let’s just split the parts,” Adam said through gritted teeth, his voice tense and barely controlled. “You take Act III, I’ll take Act IV. We’ll meet later to—”

“Actually,” Charlie interrupted, his voice taunting, “I think I’ll take Act IV.”

Adam blinked, his brows drawing together. “What? Why?”

Charlie shrugged, leaning back casually. “I’m just better with the whole betrayal and rage thing. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Adam’s eyes flashed again, his fists clenching harder. “Fine,” he snapped, his voice tight. “Whatever. You take Act IV.”

But Charlie wasn’t finished. “Then again,” he said, dragging out the words, “maybe Act III’s more my speed. I can relate to watching everything fall apart, y’know?”

Adam’s breathing grew heavier, his eyes narrowing into slits. “Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious.” Charlie grinned, enjoying the way Adam’s control was unraveling in front of him. Maybe if Adam snapped, he’d stop acting like he was too good for this, for them. Maybe Charlie could drag him down from that Varsity pedestal he was perched on.

Adam slammed his pen down, hard enough that it clattered off the desk and onto the floor. Several heads turned in their direction, but neither of them cared. Adam leaned in, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. “You’re impossible.”

Charlie tilted his head, eyes dancing with amusement. “And yet, here we are. Stuck together. Funny how that works, huh?”

Adam’s breathing was shallow now, his chest rising and falling as he tried to hold it together. For a moment, Charlie thought he might actually blow up, that he’d finally snap and say something he couldn’t take back. But instead, Adam closed his eyes, his lips tightening as he took a long, shaky breath.

“Forget it,” Adam muttered, his voice strained. “I can’t do this.”

And before Charlie could say anything else, Adam was packing up his stuff, shoving his notebook into his bag with jerky, frustrated movements. Charlie could see the tightness in his shoulders, the way his hands shook slightly as he zipped up his bag. He wasn’t just mad. He was hurt. And for some reason, that made Charlie pause.

Why was Adam so upset?

He had everything now. He was Vastisy. He had a future. He wasn’t stuck down here with the rest of them, barely holding it together. So why did he look like he was on the verge of breaking?

“Adam,” Charlie said, his voice softer than he meant it to be. But Adam didn’t stop. He threw his bag over his shoulder, his face pale, lips set in a hard line as he turned to leave.

“I’ll do it myself,” Adam bit out, his voice low and cold. “Forget about the partnership.”

Charlie watched as Adam walked out of the classroom, his heart pounding in his chest. He should’ve felt satisfaction, but all he felt was confusion. And something else. Guilt, maybe. He wasn’t sure.

But he knew he had pushed Adam too far.

And now, for the first time, Charlie wondered if maybe he’d misjudged everything. Maybe Adam didn’t have it as easy as the thought.

Maybe Charlie had been wrong all along.

Chapter Text

The courtyard was a blanket of white, the snow falling steadily as Adam trudged across it. His footsteps crunched in the soft powder, and his breath formed pale clouds in the frigid air. The path from the Science wing to the boys’ dormitory wasn’t long, but today it felt endless. The swirling snow made it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, and ahead Adam kept his gaze low, hood pulled up against the wind, as he tried to avoid any attention.

He was just trying to make it back to the dorm, to avoid him.

But of course, the universe had other plans.

Out of the swirling snow, Charlie’s figure appeared. He was walking in Adam’s direction, cutting across the courtyard with the same easy, familiar stride. His dark hair was flecked with snowflakes, his face half-hidden beneath the shadow of his jacket’s hood. Even from a distance, Adam could feel the tension crackling between them like a live wire.

His stomach twisted. The Varsity locker room flashed in his mind. The harsh words, the cruel threats, all of it echoing in his head. “No association, Banks. Got it?”

Adam swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his sides. He could still feel the way they’d crowded him, the icy stares from the older players as they made it clear: if he stepped out of line, if he so much as talked to Charlie or any of the JV players, they’d do something unforgivable. Something that would get every single one of them kicked off scholarship, out of Eden Hall, and onto the street.

He had no choice. No room to maneuver. And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen. Not to Charlie. Not to the others.

But now Charlie was right there, heading straight for him through the snow, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Adam. Adam’s heart raced, his pulse pounding in his ears. He wanted to avoid him, to turn around and act like he hadn’t seen him—but he was out of time.

Charlie stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he pulled back his hood. He shook the snow off his hair, his breath heavy in the cold air, eyes locking onto Adam like he’d been waiting for this moment all day. Hell, maybe he had. They hadn’t spoken since their disaster in English Lit, but Charlie’s frustration had been simmering for a long time. And Adam could see it now, brewing just beneath the surface.

But what Charlie didn’t know—what he couldn’t know—was that none of this was simple. None of it was Adam’s choice.

“Adam,” Charlie said, voice sharp despite the snowfall softening everything around them. He took a step closer, and his expression hardened. “We gonna talk about what happened, or are you just gonna keep running away?”

Adam clenched his jaw, keeping his head low, snow gathering on his shoulders. He didn’t answer, just kept walking, hoping to slip past Charlie before the conversation got any worse. His heart pounded in his chest, his throat tight with all the words he couldn’t say.

But Charlie wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“Hey!” Charlie’s voice was louder now, cutting through the silence. “Are you seriously gonna just ignore me? After everything?”

Adam stopped, the snow falling heavier around them now, softening the edges of the world, but not the sharpness of Charlie’s words.

“Answer me, Adam,” Charlie demanded, his voice filled with a bitterness that Adam recognized too well. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. Hell, probably longer than that. What’s going on with you?”

Adam’s fists clenched tighter. He kept his back to Charlie, refusing to meet his gaze. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t.

Charlie stepped closer, the space between them closing in. “I know you’re pissed, alright? I get that. But this silent treatment bullshit? I don’t deserve that. After everything—”

“Just stop,” Adam muttered, his voice barely audible over the snow crunching beneath Charlie’s boots as he walked closer. “Just… leave it alone, Charlie.”

“No.” Charlie’s voice was laced with frustration, and Adam felt his chest tighten. “I’m not leaving it alone, not when you’re acting like this. Like we don’t even exist anymore.”

Adam closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe, to keep his voice calm, to not let the overwhelming pressure crush him.

“You don’t get it, Charlie,” Adam said finally, his voice low, strained.

Charlie let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I don’t get it? That’s rich. You’re the one who walked away from us. You’re the one who decided Varsity was more important than anything else. You left me. You left all of us. So no, Adam, I don’t get it. And you’re not even giving me the chance to.”

Adam swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn’t tell Charlie the truth. He couldn’t explain why he’d been avoiding them, why he’d been so distant. It wasn’t just about Varsity. It wasn’t just about the game.

It was about survival.

“If I could tell you, I would,” Adam said quietly, his voice so low that Charlie almost didn’t hear him.

Charlie frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stepped even closer. “What the hell does that mean?”

Adam’s hands tightened into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white. “It means… it means that there’s more going on than you know. And I can’t—” He broke off, shaking his head. He couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t tell Charlie the truth, because if he did, it would ruin everything. Not just for him, but for Charlie, for Julie, for everyone still hanging by a thread in JV. The Varsity team wouldn’t just let him walk away from them. They’d take their revenge out on the only real friends Adam ever had.

“I can’t explain,” Adam said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “But you need to trust me of this.”

Charlie’s frustration flared, his face tightening with anger. “Trust you? You’re not giving me anything to trust. You’ve been avoiding us, ditching us for them.” He spat the last word like it was poison. “You’re not even fighting for us anymore. It’s like you’ve just… given up.”

The words hit Adam harder than expected. His throat tightened, the frustration bubbling up inside him, twisting into something darker. Charlie didn’t know. He couldn’t know. But still, Adam hated the way Charlie looked at him, hated the way his words made it sound like Adam had a choice.

He didn’t.

“Believe me,” Adam said, his voice barely holding steady, “if it were up to me—”

“But it’s not, is it?” Charlie cut him off, his voice cold and angry. “You’ve made your choice, Adam. You’ve made it pretty damn clear who matters to you now.”

Adam flinched at the harshness in Charlie’s tone, his stomach twisting into knots. He could see the hurt buried beneath Charlie’s anger, and it made everything worse.

Charlie didn’t get it. And how could he?

Adam took a deep breath, the cold air burning in his lungs as he stared down at the snow beneath his feet. His voice was barely more than a whisper when he finally spoke.

“They made me choose, Charlie.”

Charlie blinked, frowning. “What?”

“The Varsity team.” Adam’s throat tightened, his voice trembling. “They told me… I couldn’t—I couldn’t talk to you guys anymore. Or they’d take everything from you. From us.”

For a moment, the courtyard was silent except for the soft falling of snow. The wind picked up, swirling the flakes around them, but Charlie didn’t move. He just stared at Adam, processing his words.

“They threatened to get all of you kicked off scholarship,” Adam said quietly, his fists still clenched. “They said if I kept hanging around you guys, they’d make sure you were all thrown out of Eden Hall. No scholarship, no team, nothing.”

Charlie’s face twisted, his jaw tightening. “You’re kidding.”

Adam shook his head, the cold biting at his skin. “I wish I was.”

For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The snow fell heavier around them, and the wind howled softly, but the tension between them hung thick in the air.

Finally, Charlie broke the silence. His voice was softer, but still filled with frustration. “So that’s it? You’re just… giving up? Letting them win?”

Adam met his gaze, his throat aching with the weight of everything unsaid. “What choice do I have?”

Charlie’s eyes flashed, the anger simmering just beneath the surface again. But there was something else in his expression now. Something that Adam couldn’t quite place. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

“I’m not giving up on you, Adam,” Charlie said quietly, his voice steadier than before. “But you have to give me something to fight for. Because right now, all I’m seeing is someone who’s given up on us.”

Adam’s heart twisted, the weight of Charlie’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. He hadn’t wanted this. He hadn’t wanted any of it. But now, here he was, trapped between the team he was supposed to be a part of now, and the friends he was desperately trying to protect.

And it was killing him.

But all he could do was shake his head. “I can’t, Charlie.”

Charlie stared at him, the words hanging heavy between them, but Adam couldn’t bring himself to say anything more. His chest felt tight, like he couldn’t get enough air, and every inch of his body screamed at him to just walk away. To end this, before it went any further. Before Charlie saw just how much of a coward Adam really was.

Charlie didn’t move for what felt like an eternity, his eyes locked on Adam’s with a mix of confusion and something else—something raw. The snow fell around them, a silent witness to the mess they had become. It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for one of them to break.

Charlie exhaled sharply, the sound cutting through the stillness. His face softened, though only slightly, as he stepped back, putting some space between them. Adam felt a wave of guilt crash over him. He had hurt him—hurt Charlie, and it felt like a weight he couldn’t shake off, no matter how hard he tried.

“So you’re giving up?” Charlie asked, his voice quieter now, tinged with disbelief. “You’re just… taking their side?”

Adam opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t explain.

“I didn’t take anyone’s side,” Adam said finally, his voice low and shaking. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Charlie let out a bitter laugh, but it didn’t sound like humor. It was hollow, angry. “I don’t get it, man. I don’t know what happened to you, but you’re not the same. You’re just… turning your back on us.”

Adam didn’t know what to say that. What could he say? Charlie was right, in a way. Adam had turned his back on them—on everything that had mattered to him before. He’d been forced into it, but that didn’t change the fact that he had done it. And it hurt. It hurt more than he could express.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Adam said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wish I could fix this. I really do.”

Charlie looked at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a quiet shake of his head, he turned away.

“Yeah. Me too,” Charlie muttered, before walking off, leaving Adam standing in the snow.

Adam didn’t watch him go. Instead, he stood there, his heart heavy in his chest, feeling the weight of his choices pressing down on him. He knew that the distance between them had only grown wider—that nothing would ever be the same again.

But still, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He didn’t want to face the reality of what he had done, didn’t want to admit that he’d just lost something that had once been so important.

Charlie was right. He had changed. But Adam wasn’t sure who he was anymore, or if he could even remember how to fix this.

And maybe, in the end, that was the hardest part.

As Adam made his way back to the dorms, the snow falling harder now, he couldn’t shake the image of Charlie’s face, the hurt and frustration in his eyes. Every step felt like one more step further away from the friendship they once shared. And no matter how many times Adam told himself it was for the best, that it was the only option, the pain in his chest didn’t ease. If anything, it only grew.

He didn’t know how to make this right. Or if he could. But one thing was certain: it wasn’t over. Not for him, anyway.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

Adam Banks hadn’t planned on running into anyone that morning. He’d just wanted to get away, to escape the pressure that had come with his new life on Varsity. It was still early, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, and the streets were nearly empty—just how he liked it. No one from Varsity would be out this early, and he didn’t have to worry about running into any of his old teammates from JV, either.

Except, of course, for Julie Gaffney.

Adam froze the moment he saw her. She was sitting alone in the corner of the small café, a cup of coffee in front of her and a notebook open on the table. She looked focused, her brow slightly furrowed as she scribbled something down, but even from across the room, Adam could see the familiar determination in her eyes.

Julie was always like that. Even off the ice, she had a drive that matched his own—something that had drawn them together when she first joined the Ducks. They both liked to push themselves, to work harder than anyone else. They were both up before the rest of the world, using the quiet mornings to get a head start. And they’d always gotten along because of it.

But now, things were different. He wasn’t part of the Ducks anymore, not really. And he wasn’t sure if Julie would even want to talk to him, let alone sit with him.

Still, something in him craved the connection. He didn’t know why, but he needed someone to talk to—someone who wasn’t part of the Varsity world he was struggling to fit into. And Julie had always been the one who understood him best.

Taking a deep breath, Adam walked over to her table.

“Hey, Julie,” he said, his voice coming out quieter than he intended. “Mind if I sit with you?”

Julie looked up from her notebook, her blue eyes narrowing slightly. For a moment, Adam had thought she was going to shoo him away, her lips parting as if to tell him off. He wouldn’t have blamed her. They hadn’t talked in weeks, and he knew she had every right to be upset with him.

But then something shifted in her expression. The hard edge in her eyes softened, and she closed her mouth, letting out a small sigh.

“Yeah, sure,” she said, her voice laced with the faintest hint of reluctance. “Go ahead.”

Adam sat down, his hands feeling suddenly awkward as he wrapped them around the cup of coffee he had ordered before spotting her. The silence between them was thick, filled with all the things they hadn’t said to each other over the past few weeks. It wasn’t until he glanced up at her again that he noticed how tired she looked, like she’d been carrying something heavy on her shoulders for a while.

It mirrored how he felt.

“Thanks,” Adam muttered, staring down at his cup. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Be distant?” Julie interrupted, her voice sharper than usual.

Adam flinched at the bluntness of her words, but he couldn’t argue with her. He had been distant. From her, from the team, from everyone. The moment he was bumped up to Varsity, he’d started pulling away, trying to fit into a world that didn’t feel like his own. And in the process, he’d left behind the people who really knew him.

“Julie, I—”

“I get it,” she cut him off again, leaning back in her chair as she folded her arms across her chest. “You’re Varsity now. Big deal, right? But that doesn’t mean you have to act like we don’t exist.”

Adam winced, the guilt pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. He wanted to explain, to tell her how hard it had been, how lost he felt. But the words got stuck in his throat, tangled up in his frustration and confusion.

Julie let out another sigh, this one softer, almost resigned. She looked at him for a long moment, and Adam could see the walls she had put up start to come down. He’d known her long enough to know when she was angry and when she was just… hurt. This was the latter.

“You look like crap, Adam,” she said finally, her tone gentler now. “What’s going on?”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a simple question. And something about the way she said it—like she actually wanted to know, like she still cared—made Adam’s resolve crumble.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought Varsity would be everything I wanted. I thought it would make sense, you know? But it doesn’t. I feel like I don’t belong there.”

Julie didn’t say anything at first, just watched him with that knowing look like she always had. She didn’t need to say much. She never did. Julie was always the kind of person who could read between the lines, who could see the things you were trying to hide even when you didn’t want her to.

“Why didn’t you talk to us?” she asked quietly, her eyes never leaving his. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Adam bit his lip, his stomach twisting. He wanted to say that he hadn’t meant to pull away, that it had just… happened. But that would’ve been a lie. He had pulled away. He’d chosen to isolate himself, to try and handle everything on his own. Because that’s what he did. That’s what they both did—pushed themselves until they broke.

“I thought I could handle it,” Adam said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought if I just worked hard enough, it would get easier. But it’s not. It’s just getting worse.”

Julie nodded slowly, her gaze softening as she looked down at her coffee. “You know, Adam, you and I… we’re kind of the same that way. We think we have to carry everything ourselves. But it doesn’t work like that. Not with this.”

Adam looked up at her, surprised. He’d always known they were similar in a lot of ways—both driven, both determined to be the best. They’d connected over that, back when she first joined the Ducks. They were the ones who woke up before everyone else, who stayed late after practice to perfect their game.

But he hadn’t realized how much he’d been relying on that similarity to keep him afloat. And now, seeing how tired she looked, he realized maybe she was struggling, too.

“I know you don’t like hearing advice,” Julie said after a moment, a small, wry smile tugging at her lips. “But I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

Adam couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Julie had always been like that—direct, to the point, never holding back when it came to saying what needed to be said.

“Go ahead,” he said, his smile fading as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. “I could probably use some.”

Julie looked him in the eye, her expression serious now. “Stop trying to fit into something you’re not. Varsity, yeah, it’s important. But it’s not everything. And you’re losing the person who matters trying to chase something that might not even be what you want.”

Adam swallowed hard, his throat tightening. He knew she was right. He’d been so focused on proving himself that he hadn’t stopped to think about what he was giving up. And the more he tried to force himself into the Varsity mold, the more he felt like he was slipping away from the person he used to be.

“And you need to talk to Charlie,” Julie added, her voice soft but firm. “Before you lose him for good.”

Adam’s heart clenched at the mention of Charlie. He’d been avoiding thinking about his best friend, about the way things had been spiraling between them. The fights, the distance, the unspoken tension that had been building even since he moved up to Varsity.

But Julie saw right through him. She always did.

“You like him, don’t you?” she asked, her voice gentle but knowing.

Adam’s breath hitched, his stomach twisting into knots. He didn’t respond—couldn’t respond. But the look on Julie’s face told him he didn’t need to. She already knew. She’d probably known for a long time, even before Adam had been willing to admit it to himself.

“Adam,” she said softly, her eyes filled with understanding. “You’ve got to stop running from this. From him. Or you’re going to lose everything.”

Adam nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling over him like a heavy blanket. He knew she was right. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine, couldn’t keep pushing Charlie away because he was scared of what it all meant.

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to respond. So instead, he reached for his wallet, pulling out enough cash to cover both their breakfasts before Julie could protest.

“Adam, you don’t have to—”

“I’m paying,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s the least I can do.”

Julie rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, a soft smile playing on her lips as she tucked her notebook away.

When they stood up to leave, Adam hesitated for a moment before pulling Julie into a tight hug. It wasn’t something they usually did, but he needed it. More than he wanted to admit.

“Thanks,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

Julie hugged him back, her hand gently patting his shoulder. “Anytime, Adam. Just… don’t forget who your real friends are.”

Adam pulled away, his throat tight with unsaid words, and nodded. She didn’t need to say anything else. The bond they shared, built over years of early mornings, late-night practices, and being part of the Ducks, didn’t require more. She understood him—maybe more than anyone else ever had.

As Adam stepped out of the café, the cold morning air hit him like a wave, waking him up more than the coffee ever could. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and began walking back toward campus, his mind swirling with everything Julie had said.

She was right, of course. Julie was always right. She had a way of seeing through all the layers of doubt and fear he carried, cutting right to the heart of the matter. And the truth she’d uncovered today—the one he’d been avoiding for what felt like forever—wasn’t something he could keep running from.

Charlie.

Adam’s chest tightened at the thought of him, the same way it always did. They hadn’t been close in weeks, not since Adam had been pulled up to Varsity. And now, with every passing day, they seemed to be drifting further apart. The tension between them had become unbearable. Every interaction, every word exchanged, felt like a battle. It wasn’t just about hockey anymore—it was personal, and Adam didn’t know how to fix it.

But Julie was right. If he didn’t stop running from his feelings, from the truth, he was going to lose Charlie for good. And the thought of that—of Charlie slipping out of his life completely—was almost more than he could bear.

Adam walked slowly, the gravel crunching under his feet as the campus came into view in the distance. His thoughts were a mess, colliding and spiraling, but through it all, one thing stood out.

He liked Charlie.

It wasn’t something he could deny anymore. He had liked Charlie for a long time, but he had buried it, shoved it down because he didn’t know what to do with it. Because Charlie was his best friend. Because Charlie was… Charlie.

And because Adam didn’t know if he could ever tell him. If he could risk everything by admitting the one thing that had been gnawing at him for years. It wasn’t just that he liked him—he was in love with him.

Julie had known. Of course, she had. She always knew, always saw the things that Adam tried to keep hidden. And now, standing on the edge of everything else falling apart, Adam realized that if he didn’t do something—if he didn’t stop hiding—he would lose Charlie.

But how could he fix this? How could he tell Charlie the truth without ruining everything? The fights, the distance, the hurt—it had all built up to the point where Adam didn’t know if there was a way back. Could they even still be friends after all this?

You’ve got to stop running from this. From him.

Julie’s words echoed in his mind, clear and unwavering, and Adam felt a surge of resolve settle in his chest. She was right. He couldn’t run anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine while he was tearing apart inside. He had to face this, had to face Charlie—even if it terrified him.

As he reached the gates of the campus, Adam took a deep breath, the cold air burning his lungs as he steeled himself. He didn’t know what he was going to say. He didn’t even know where to start. But he knew one thing for sure.

He had to talk to Charlie. Before it was too late.

Chapter Text

Charlie Conway slammed the puck into the back of the net again, his arms trembling with exhaustion. His breath came out in thick white clouds, hanging in the frigid air, but it wasn’t enough to cool the heat burning inside him. He was angry—angry at the world, at the situation, at himself—but it all came down to one thing.

Adam.

His heart pounded in his chest, but not from the cold or the effort. No, it was from the resentment that had been building up inside him for weeks, ever since Adam had gotten moved up to Varsity. The resentment only grew each time he saw him, each time he thought about how things had changed.

Another shot, harder this time. The puck hit the back of the net with a crack and bounced off the boards. Charlie didn’t bother to retrieve it. He grabbed another puck from the pile beside him and set up another shot, the repetitive motions grounding him, giving him something to focus on other than the storm in his head.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, practicing this late. It was probably close to eleven now, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered when he was out here, alone, on the ice. The rink was his sanctuary—always had been. It was the one place he could let go of everything, where the world could be tuned out for just a little while.

Until the door to the rink slammed open.

Charlie didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. He could feel it, the same way he always could. There was a shift in the air, a presence that was impossible to ignore.

Adam.

Of course, it was Adam. It was always Adam.

Charlie’s grip on his stick tightened, his knuckles going white as he heard the familiar sound of Adam’s skates cutting across the ice. He could picture it in his head, the way Adam always skated with such precision, such grace—so different from the other players. Adam had always been more than just a teammate to Charlie. He was the boy Charlie had fallen in love with. The boy who used to be his best friend, his confidant.

The boy who had left him behind.

Charlie focused on the puck in front of him, refusing to look up. Adam had always had a thing for late-night practices. It was another one of the many things they had in common—another piece of their friendship that had been shattered when everything changed. Back when they were younger, they’d sneak onto the ice after hours, just the two of them, skating in sync as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

But now? Now they barely spoke without it turning into a fight. Every interaction was strained, filled with tension and unspoken things Charlie didn’t want to acknowledge.

And yet, a part of him still missed it. Missed him.

Another slap shot, but this time Charlie’s aim was off. The puck careened into the boards, bouncing wildly. He swore under his breath, his frustration building as Adam’s skates came closer. He knew why Adam was here. He could feel it in the air, the same way he could feel the cold biting at his skin.

Adam was trying to talk to him.

Charlie’s jaw clenched, and he stared down at the ice, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t want to talk. Not now. Not ever. Not after everything that had happened.

“Nice shot,” Adam said, his voice casual but with an edge of something else. Charlie could feel his eyes on him, waiting for a response.

Charlie scoffed, bitterness dripping from his tone. “Yeah, well, maybe with you gone, I’m finally learning something instead of being treated like second best.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Charlie regretted them. But he couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to stop himself. He wanted to be cruel. He wanted to hurt Adam, to make him feel the same anger, the same betrayal that Charlie felt every time he looked at him.

Adam stopped in his tracks, and for a moment, the rink was deathly quiet. “Is that what this is about?” Adam asked, his voice low. “You’re still pissed I got moved up?”

Charlie didn’t answer. He didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he grabbed another puck and lined up his next shot, focusing on the motion, the cold weight of the stick in his hands.

“Come on, Charlie,” Adam pressed, skating closer, his tone harder now. “If you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

Charlie spun around to face him, the anger that had been simmering inside him finally boiling over. “What do you want me to say, Adam?” he snapped, his voice echoing in the empty rink. “That I’m happy for you? That I don’t care you left? You’re Varsity now. You’ve got everything you wanted, so what do you need me for?”

Adam flinched, his expression tightening. “That’s not fair.”

Charlie let out a bitter laugh. “Fair? You want to talk about fair?” He took a step closer, his eyes blazing. “You’re a cake eater, Adam. You always have been. And now you’re right where you belong, with the rest of the rich, spoiled brats. You used your status, your money, and left the rest of us behind.”

Adam blinked, his face paling at the words. “I didn’t—”

“You did!” Charlie’s voice was rising now, every ounce of his pent-up frustration pouring out. “You think I don’t see it? You’ve always had everything handed to you on a silver platter. You don’t even have to try, and you’re always on top. Meanwhile, the rest of us have to fight for everything we get. But you? You just waltz into Varsity like it’s no big deal because you’re a Banks. Because you’re a big shot.”

Adam took a step back, his face hardening. “That’s not how it happened, and you know it. I didn’t ask to be moved up. I didn’t want this!”

Charlie scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Like you’re not eating this up. The fame, the attention. You love being the star. You love being better than the rest of us. And you’re too much of a coward to admit it.”

Adam’s fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. “That’s not true, Charlie. I didn’t want to leave you guys—”

“Then why did you?” Charlie cut him off, stepping closer until they were almost nose-to-nose. His voice was low, venomous. “Why didn’t you say no? Why didn’t you fight to stay with us?”

Adam’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or regret—but it was gone as quickly as it came. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Charlie hissed. “You just didn’t care enough to make the right one.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Charlie could see the pain in Adam’s eyes, the way his shoulders tensed as if he was bracing for another blow. And for a split second, Charlie felt the weight of what he’d said, the awful realization that he had gone too far.

But it was too late.

Adam’s voice was quiet, almost broken. “Is that what you think? That I don’t care?”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond, to say something—anything—that would fix this. But the anger was still there, burning hot and fierce inside him, and he couldn’t stop himself.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, his voice cold. “That’s exactly what I think.”

Adam stared at him for a long moment, his eyes searching Charlie’s face for something—some kind of explanation, some kind of understanding. But there was nothing left to say.

Without another word, Adam turned on his skates and headed for the door. The sound of the rink door slamming shut echoed through the empty space, leaving Charlie alone once again.

And for once, the silence wasn’t comforting. It was suffocating.

Charlie stood there, staring at the spot where Adam had just been, his breathing ragged. The anger was still there, burning inside him, but this time it wasn’t directed at Adam.

It was directed at himself.

What the hell did he just do?

Charlie let out a breath that came out in a long, shuddering cloud, his shoulders slumping as the reality of everything weighed down on him. His throat felt tight, his chest heavy, as if the words he should have said—the real words—were caught somewhere inside, suffocating him.

Because the truth was, Adam had always been more than just a teammate. More than just a friend.

And that was why it hurt so much.

Every time Adam showed up, every time he tried to talk, it reminded Charlie of what they used to have. The closeness, the bond, the quiet, private moments where Charlie could just… be with him. Back when they’d sneak off for late-night practices, skating together under the dim rink lights, pushing each other, laughing. That was when everything had made sense.

But now? Now it was all broken.

And it was Charlie’s fault.

He kicked at the ice in frustration, his skate slicing through the top layer, sending shards of it scattering in front of him. He hated this feeling—the helplessness, the gnawing emptiness that filled the space where Adam used to be. The anger he kept throwing at Adam was just a way to avoid admitting the truth.

Because the truth was that he was afraid. Afraid of losing Adam, afraid of what it meant to want more than friendship, and afraid of what it would cost if Adam found out.

Because how could Adam ever understand? He had the perfect family, the perfect life, the perfect future lined up for him. Everything about Adam Banks screamed stability, wealth, and control—things that Charlie had never had. Adam would never understand what it felt like to want something you couldn’t have.

Charlie knew that wasn’t fair. Adam wasn’t like the other Varsity guys—he wasn’t some spoiled brat who got everything handed to him. He worked hard. Harder than anyone, including Charlie, sometimes. Adam cared about the team, about him. And Charlie had just thrown it all in his face because it was easier to be cruel than to admit how much he missed him.

God, he was such an idiot.

He knew why Adam had come tonight. He’d wanted to talk. To fix things. Charlie had seen it in his eyes when he skated over, that playful glint that used to make Charlie’s heart race in ways he didn’t understand back then. Adam had wanted to bridge the gap between them. He had come looking for some semblance of the friendship they used to have.

And what had Charlie done? He’d lashed out. He’d thrown every bitter thought, every jealous feeling, every ounce of insecurity he had at Adam, and for what? To hurt him? To push him away for good?

Whatever it was, it had worked.

Adam was gone now, probably for good this time.

Charlie’s hands were trembling as he dropped his stitch to the ice, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of Adam’s face—the look of hurt, of betrayal, when Charlie had hurled those words at him.

Cake eater.

Big shot.

Banks.

Charlie had been awful. He knew it the second the words left his mouth, but it had been too late. Adam had stood there, taking it, as Charlie tore into him. And the worst part? Adam hadn’t fought back, not really. He hadn’t said all the things he could have, all the things Charlie deserved to hear.

Because Adam wasn’t like that.

He wasn’t the person Charlie had tried to paint him as. He wasn’t the enemy. And deep down, Charlie knew that. He had always known that.

So why couldn’t he stop pushing him away?

Charlie ran a hand over his face, wiping away the cold sweat that had formed on his brow. His heart was racing, and he felt sick to his stomach. The rink, once his sanctuary, now felt too big, too empty. The silence was suffocating.

Adam had come here tonight to talk, to try and fix things. To try and fix them. And Charlie had shut him down in the worst possible way.

“Goddamnit,” Charlie muttered under his breath, his voice rough with frustration and regret.

He bent down and picked up his stick, gripping it tightly as he stared at the ice in front of him, his vision blurring. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine, that he didn’t care.

Because the truth was, Charlie cared too much.

And now? Now it was too late to take any of it back.

With a heavy sigh, Charlie turned and skated toward the exit, the weight of his own mistakes dragging him down with every step. He didn’t know what he was going to do, or how he was going to fix this, but one thing was for sure.

He couldn’t lose Adam.

Not again.

Chapter Text

Adam sat hunched over at one of the tables in the library, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee by his side and a scattered pile of papers in front of him. The words on the pages blurred together after staring at them for too long, the concepts of Othello’s jealousy, trust, and the consequences of deceit mixing into a whirlwind of confusion in his mind. He was supposed to to working on the English Lit project, but it felt like he was just going through the motions, trying to bury his thoughts under the weight of literature that didn’t seem to make sense anymore. Nothing made sense anymore.

He tried to focus on the pages in front of him, forcing himself to read and take notes, but his mind kept wandering back to everything that had happened—everything that was still happening—with Charlie. They hadn’t spoken much in days, and when they had, it was nothing like before. Their words were sharp and stilted, never reaching the way they used to. Every attempt at connection felt like they were speaking to each other through a brick wall, one that neither of them could tear down.

But it wasn’t just the project that was distracting Adam; it was the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Charlie, couldn’t stop replaying their fights in his mind. He couldn’t understand how things had gotten this bad, this quickly.

And then there was the mess of his feelings. Adam couldn’t even acknowledge them himself. Not when it felt like everything was slipping away.

With a frustrated sigh, Adam picked up his pencil and tapped it against the desk, trying to shake the unease that had settled in his chest. Get it together, he thought, just finish the project, do your work, and forget about everything else for now. But that wasn’t working. It wasn’t that simple. How could it be?

Before he could spiral into another self-induced anxiety attack, the library door creaked open.

Adam didn’t need to look up to know who it was. He’d already seen Charlie walk past the library earlier in the day, and he could feel it—Charlie. He was here. And that was the last thing Adam had expected to happen.

Charlie moved toward the table slowly, confidently. Adam looked up just as he slid into the chair across from him. There was no greeting. No words. Just the soft rustle of papers as Charlie picked up the script that Adam had been reading from, and started leafing through it. His brow furrowed slightly as he scanned the pages.

Adam had to force himself not to flinch. He had been bracing for this moment, but he wasn’t prepared for how it would feel. How it would look. They hadn’t been in the same room, not really, in days. The quiet weight of Charlie’s presence was almost too much, but Adam couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Charlie didn’t speak at first. He just read. And read.

The silence between them stretched on, and Adam tried to go back to his papers, to pretend like everything was fine. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

He glanced at Charlie again, who was not scribbling something in the margin of the script, his handwriting neat, even though he was hardly looking down at what he was writing. Adam opened his mouth, ready to protest, to ask why Charlie was even here, but something about the way Charlie’s eyes shifted toward him made him stop.

The look Charlie gave him was one of familiarity, of something unspoken that hung between them, and Adam couldn’t escape it. He didn't know why it felt like they were back in that place, the one where they didn’t have to say anything to understand each other. But it did.

“You’re quiet,” Charlie said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was careful, almost as if he was testing the waters. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t anything. Just… neutral. “You’re usually the one talking.”

Adam swallowed hard. He had no idea how to respond to that. “Yeah, well… I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he said softly, not sure if he meant it or if he was just trying to fill the empty space between them.

Charlie didn’t say anything for a moment. He just nodded and kept working, the sound of his pen moving against the paper filling the air.

Adam let the silence hang there, but his mind wouldn’t stop racing. His thoughts were spinning in circles, none of them landing. Why was Charlie here? Was this some kind of a truce? Or was Charlie here to finish the project and then walk away, like everything else between them had already been decided?

They weren’t supposed to be here, doing this. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to be done with the fighting. They were supposed to be okay.

But they weren’t.

“Why are you even here, Charlie?” Adam’s voice came out sharper than he intended. His frustration was evident now, and he couldn’t hide it. He ran a hand through his hair, fighting the nerves that were suddenly crawling up his spine.

Charlie glanced at him briefly, his gaze cool and unreadable. “Because we need to get this done,” he said simply. He didn’t sound mad, but the way he said it made Adam feel like he wasn’t even really there.

For some reason, that stung.

“Yeah, okay,” Adam muttered, staring back down at his notes. He could feel the tension building between them, could feel the weight of everything they had left unsaid pressing on his chest. You need to focus, he told himself, but the words were lost in the rush of thoughts that flooded his mind.

But then Charlie’s voice broke through the noise. “Hey,” he said, his tone soft but insistent. “What’s this note in the margin?”

Adam froze. He hadn’t thought Charlie would notice. The note in the margin was sloppy, half-written, and barely legible. He hadn’t meant for Charlie to see it.

Jealousy destroys everything.

Charlie was looking at it now, his pen hovering over the words. “What’s this about?” he asked, his voice curious. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—concern? Understanding? Adam couldn’t tell.

“Just a thought,” Adam said quickly, trying to brush it off. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. He wasn’t ready for Charlie to know what was on his mind. “It’s just… I don’t know, something I was thinking about.”

Charlie didn’t push, but his gaze lingered on Adam. He was silent for a moment before asking, “So, what do you think? About the play, I mean. Do you think it’s all about jealousy, or is there something else?”

Adam shifted in his seat, the question making him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to talk about it—about Othello or anything else. He wasn’t prepared for this. Not now. Not with Charlie sitting there, watching him like that.

“I think… I think it’s about a lot of things,” Adam said, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about trust. It’s about what we do when we lose it. What we do when we feel betrayed.”

Charlie nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t just talking about the play anymore. It felt like they were talking about them—about what had happened between them, about the betrayal they had both felt.

“I think we’re a lot like Othello and Desdemona,” Adam whispered, barely realizing he was speaking the words until they were out of his mouth. “We’ve been through a lot, but we don’t trust each other anymore. Not really. And it’s messing everything up.”

Charlie didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping lightly against the table. It was as though he was digesting the words Adam had just thrown at him, trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

“We were good, once,” Charlie said quietly, his voice almost soft. “I know we were.”

Adam felt something in his chest tighten. He wanted to say more, wanted to try and explain everything, but the words were stuck in his throat.

Charlie finally looked up, his gaze meeting Adam’s. For a second, the world seemed to pause. That familiar glint returned to Charlie’s eyes—the same playful glint that used to make Adam’s heart skip a beat. It was still there. But it wasn’t enough to fix what had happened between them. Not yet.

“We’ll finish this,” Charlie said, standing up and gathering his papers. His tone was almost final, like he was closing the door on whatever conversation they had just started.

Adam nodded, his heart heavy. He knew it wasn’t over. It couldn’t be. But as Charlie left the library, Adam sat there, lost in thought. For the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe things could get better.

But that didn’t mean it would be easy.

And maybe that was what scared him the most.

Chapter Text

Charlie tapped his pencil against the edge of his paper, the dull thud echoing in his head as he stared at the equation in front of him. Algebra had never been his strong suit, and right now, the concept of slope felt like it was written in a different language. His mind was elsewhere—far from the y-intercepts and rise over run that were supposed to make sense of the numbers in front of him.

He sat at his usual table in Algebra 1 with Connie and Guy, their typical spot near the back of the classroom. It was always easier with them, somehow. Connie and Guy had a way of making everything feel light, even when he felt like his brain was about to short-circuit from trying to figure out how to calculate a simple slope. They were always joking around, always acting like they didn’t have a care in the world.

“Man, this stuff is a killer,” Guy muttered, leaning back in his chair and looking at his paper with a frown.

Connie chuckled, poking him with her pencil. “Come on, it’s just slope. You’ve got this.”

Guy gave her a look, but his frown softened when she smiled at him, and Charlie could almost feel the affection between them. They were always like this—always teasing, always smiling at each other in a way that made it obvious how close they were.

Charlie, though, felt like he was on the outside looking in. He stared down at the equation on his paper, trying to focus, but his mind kept drifting. Drifting back to the rink, back to the last fight with Adam. It felt like every conversation they had these days turned into a shouting match. He didn’t even know how it had gotten this bad, but now it seemed like there was no going back.

“So, Charlie,” Connie said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence as she glanced up from her paper. Her eyes sparkled with that mischievous glint he’d come to recognize over the years. “Is there anyone you like?”

The question caught him off guard, and Charlie could feel his grip tighten on the pencil in his hand. He blinked, looking between her and Guy, who had suddenly perked up with a smirk. “Uh, what?” Charlie asked, his voice coming out a little too sharp.

Connie grinned, leaning forward a bit as she twirled her pencil in her fingers. “You know,” she said, casting a knowing glance at Guy, “anyone catching you eye lately?”

Charlie’s face immediately heated up, and he looked back down at his paper, pretening to be engrossed in the problem in front of him. His heart was thudding in his chest, and he could feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “What? No,” he muttered, his voice unconvincing even to his own ears.

Guy snickered beside him. “Yeah, sure,” he said with a grin. “Because that look on your face doesn’t totally give you away.”

Charlie groaned inwardly, knowing he was in too deep now. His face was probably bright red, and he could feel both Connie and Guy staring at him, waiting for him to crack.

“There’s no one,” Charlie muttered again, his eyes glued to his paper. Maybe if he stared at the slope formula long enough, they’d drop the subject. But Connie wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

“Oh, come on, Charlie,” she teased, nudging his arm. “You can’t hide from us. We’ve known you forever. You’ve gotta give us something.”

Charlie exhaled sharply, his mind racing for an excuse to get out of this. He didn’t want to say it out loud. Not now. Not here. But they weren’t going to let it go, and he wasn’t about to lie to them either.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Charlie sighed. “There’s… someone,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes fixed on the slope equation in front of him as if it would somehow provide an escape.

Connie’s eyes lit up, and her grin widened. “I knew it!”

“Who is it?” Guy asked, his curiosity piqued as he leaned in closer.

Charlie hesitated, his mind working overtime to figure out how to deflect. He didn’t want to tell them outright, but maybe if he gave them just enough, they’d drop it. Just a small, vague hint that wouldn’t give everything away.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, keeping his eyes on the paper. “He’s, uh… someone I’ve known for a long time,” Charlie muttered, hoping that would be enough to satisfy them.

“He?” Connie immediately pounced on that one word, her smile growing wider. “Wait, so it’s a guy?”

Charlie silently cursed himself for slipping up. He hadn’t meant to say that. But it was too late now, and he knew there was no taking it back. He nodded stiffly, his face burning with embarrassment.

Connie exchanged a quick glance with Guy, and before Charlie could even think about covering his tracks, Connie raised an eyebrow. “Oh my God,” she said softly, her voice filled with realization. “It’s Adam, isn’t it?”

Charlie’s heart stopped for a moment. His head shot up, his eyes wide with shock. “What? No!” he blurted out, but even he could hear how weak his protest sounded.

Connie let out a small laugh, not unkind, just amused. “Charlie, come on. We’re not blind. It’s been obvious since, like, forever.”

Guy nodded along, grinning at him. “Yeah, dude. You’ve been into him since elementary school. You two were always, you know… close.”

Charlie could feel his stomach twist into knots. They knew. They’d known all this time, and somehow, it hadn’t been as much of a secret as he thought. The realization left him feeling exposed, like they had seen right through him all along.

His mind raced, and he tried to come up with something to say, some way to deny it, but he couldn’t. Instead, he just stared down at his paper again, his heart pounding in his chest. He was mortified. He couldn’t even look up at them.

“Charlie, it’s not a big deal,” Connie said gently, her voice softening as she saw how embarrassed he looked. “Really. I mean, we’re your friends. It doesn’t change anything.”

Charlie nodded mutely, still not trusting his voice. His face was burning, and his stomach churned with nerves. He didn’t know why he felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but hearing them say it out loud—Adam—felt like it had taken something private and thrown it into the open.

Beside him, Connie sighed lightly. “You’re overthinking this,” she said, sliding his paper toward her and glancing at the equation he hadn’t even come close to solving. “Here, let me help.”

Charlie didn’t say anything, still too shaken to respond. He just watched as Connie pointed to the numbers on his paper, explaining the slope formula to him in a calm, patient voice.

“You just need to plug in the coordinates here,” she said, tapping her pencil against the points on his graph. “Then divide the rise by the run. See?”

Charlie nodded, though he wasn’t really paying attention to the math. His thoughts were still stuck on Adam. On how everything had gone wrong between them, and how they hadn’t been able to fix it. It felt like every time they tried to talk, it ended in disaster. And now, knowing that Connie and Guy had seen through him so easily made him feel even more confused.

“You just have to break it down,” she said, her voice calm and patient now. “It’s not as complicated as you think.”

Charlie wasn’t sure if she was talking about the math or about Adam. Maybe both.

As she continued to explain the steps to him, her voice steady and reassuring, Charlie tried to listen, tried to focus. But in the back of his mind, all he could think about was Adam. About the way everything had changed between them. About the way he had been too stubborn to make things right.

He glanced sideways at Connie and Guy. They were working together now, like always, laughing softly at some inside joke he couldn’t hear. They made it look easy. Comfortable. And maybe that was the thing about them—about any good relationship. It was about working together. Maybe that was the real difference between him and Adam now. They weren’t working together anymore. They were pushing against each other at every turn. Every word, every glance, felt like a challenge instead of the comfortable friendship they’d once shared.

And now? Now it was all complicated, twisted up in the feelings Charlie had buried for so long. Feelings he didn’t even know how to begin to talk about.

He clenched his pencil tighter, staring at the numbers on his paper again, hoping the math might distract him, but it didn’t. His mind kept circling back to Adam, to the fights, to the awful things he’d said. And to the fact that, deep down, Charlie knew that he wasn’t angry at Adam—not really. He was angry at himself. Angry for letting it get this far. Angry for pushing Adam away when all he wanted to do was be closer to him.

“Hey,” Connie’s voice cut through his thoughts again, and Charlie looked up to see her staring at him, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re spacing out.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Charlie muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m just… thinking.”

“About the math, or…?” Connie asked knowingly, her tone light but pointed.

Charlie didn’t answer right away. He just shrugged, glancing down at the paper again. “Both, I guess.”

Connie smiled gently, leaning forward. “Look, Charlie. I know you’re stubborn. You always have been. But sometimes you just have to stop overhtinking everything and go for it. You know what I mean?”

Charlie did know. And that was the problem. He always knew what Connie was talking about. And she was right—he overthought everything, especially when it came to Adam. He had spent so much time trying to figure out how to push those feelings aside, how to keep pretending they didn’t matter, that he had ended up driving a wedge between them.

But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be that way.

Connie watched him carefully, her expression soft. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” she said quietly. “But if you want things to change, you have to take the first step.”

Charlie didn’t say anything, but her words lingered in the back of his mind. He didn’t know if he was ready. He didn’t know if he was ready. He didn’t know if he could fix things with Adam, of if there was even a chance to go back to the way things had been. But he knew one thing for sure—he didn’t want to keep hurting him. He didn’t want to keep hurting himself.

“Thanks,” Charlie said finally, his voice soft and sincere.

Connie smiled, giving him a reassuring nod before returning to her own math problem. Guy shot Charlie a grin from across the table, and Charlie couldn’t help but smile a little in return. They didn’t push him any further. They just let him be, and for that, he was grateful.

As Charlie stared down at the math problem again, trying once more to make sense of the angles and equations, he realized something.

Maybe figuring out algebra wasn’t all that different from figuring out his feelings.

Both were complicated, sure. But if he just stopped overthinking for a second, if he just took it one step at a time, maybe things would start to fall into place.

And maybe, just maybe, he could find a way to fix things with Adam.

But first, he’d have to be brave enough to take that first step.

Chapter Text

Adam’s hands trembled as he stared into the depths of his locker. The textbooks he needed for his next class lay untouched, but he couldn’t focus. His mind was too busy spinning, replaying the conversation he’d had with Charlie in the library, thinking about how everything was unraveling around him. He was trying so hard to keep it together, but between the Varsity team breathing down his neck and his friendships falling apart, he didn’t know how much more he could take.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, just as he heard footsteps behind him. Heavy, deliberate steps. His stomach tightened. He knew who it was without even turning around.

“Hey, Banks,” Riley’s voice dripped with malice, just as it always did lately. “We need to talk.”

Adam clenched his fists at his sides but kept his back to them for just a moment longer. He could handle this. He just needed to stay calm. But when he finally turned to face Riley, the sight of the whole Varsity gang standing behind him, like vultures waiting for a kill, made his heart race.

Cole was smirking. Scooter was there, too, standing a little further back, eyes full of guilt. He didn’t say anything, but Adam could tell Scooter didn’t want to be there. Didn’t want to be a part of this. But it didn’t matter. He was stuck, just like Adam.

“You’ve been talking to your little JV friends again, haven’t you?” Riley spat, stepping closer to Adam. “Don’t act like we don’t know.”

Adam stiffened, his jaw locking. He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on Riley, trying not to let his anger boil over.

“And not just Conway,” Riley added, his voice filled with disgust. “Gaffney too? What the hell are you thinking, Banks? You’re one of us now. Or you were, until you decided to betray us for those JV losers.”

“They’re not—” Adam started, but Riley cut him off.

“They’re trash, Banks,” Riley snarled, stepping right into Adam’s face. “Conway, Gaffney, all of them. JV is nothing but a bunch of freaks and nobodies. You’re wasting your time with them. You belong with us.”

Adam could feel the rage building in his chest, but before he could say anything, he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned slightly and saw someone walking toward them—Charlie.

Charlie looked terrified, his eyes slightly wide as he glanced at Riley and the others. But he kept walking. Kept coming. And for some reason, Adam’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t know why, but seeing Charlie made him feel… something. He couldn’t put a name to it, but it made him breathe just a little bit easier. Made him feel a little less alone.

Charlie didn’t say anything as he stopped beside Adam, but the look he gave him—concerned, protective, even though he was clearly nervous—made Adam feel stronger.

“What do you want, Conway?” Riley sneered, but Charlie didn’t answer. He just stood there, jaw set, looking at Adam like he was waiting for a signal.

And then, before Riley could say another word, Julie walked up. She glanced at Riley and the others, her eyes narrowing in irritation as she moved to stand beside Adam, her presence solid and comforting.

“Back off, Riley,” she said, voice calm but firm.

“You’re sticking up for him?” Cole laughed, but it was bitter. “You’re just proving our point.”

Julie ignored him, standing her ground.

More footsteps echoed in the hall, and Fulton and Kenny appeared next, both walking with purpose toward the small group. They stopped behind Adam, flanking him, and while they didn’t say anything, their presence was enough. Adam’s friends were there. They had his back, no matter what Riley and the rest of the Varsity jerks said.

Riley’s sneer deepened. “Look at this. The JV freak show is in full effect. You’re really gonna choose them, Banks? Over us?”

Adam felt something snap. He’d had enough. The insults, the threats, the way Riley and his gang had treated his friends—it was all too much.

Riley smirked. “What, that your friends are trash? Because that’s what they are. And you know it.”

Adam’s fist connected with Riley’s jaw before he even realized what he was doing. The crack of bone against skin echoed through the hallway, and suddenly, everything was chaos. Riley staggered back, clutching his face, but Adam didn’t stop. His vision blurred with rage as he threw another punch, this time aiming for Riley’s stomach.

“Call them that again!” Adam shouted, his voice hoarse with fury. “I dare you!”

Riley tried to fight back, but Adam was too fast. His fists kept landing hit after hit, and all Riley could do was try to block, try to push Adam off, but it wasn’t working.

“Adam!” Scooter shouted, trying to move forward, but Cole held him back, shaking his head. “Stop! You’re gonna—”

But Adam didn’t care. He couldn’t stop. The anger had taken over completely, and all he could think about was making Riley pay for every insult, every cruel word, every time he had made Adam feel small.

Riley managed to throw a punch, hitting Adam in the side of the face, but it barely registered. He threw another punch, and this time, Riley went down, groaning as he hit the floor.

“You think you’re so tough?” Adam snarled, glaring down at Riley. “You think you can treat people like that and get away with it? Call them names again, I dare you. See what happens.”

Riley was gasping for breath, blood tricking from his split lip, but the look in his eyes was pure hatred.

“Enough!” Fulton shouted, finally stepping forward to grab Adam’s arm and pull him back. “That’s enough!”

For a moment, Adam thought about pushing him off, about going after Riley again, but then he saw Charlie standing there, looking at him with wide, worried eyes, and something in him deflated.

It was over.

Adam stood there, breathing heavily, his hands still clenched into fists. Riley groaned from the floor, Cole helping him up while shooting Adam a look of pure disgust.

“You’re dead, Banks,” Riley spat, wiping the blood from his lip. “This isn’t over.”

Adam didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at the mess he had made, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

“Let’s go,” Riley growled, and the Varsity team left, dragging Scooter with them.

Adam barely noticed when Charlie, Julie, Kenny, and Fulton moved closer to him, their concerned eyes scanning his face.

“Adam…” Julie started, but before she could finish, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.

It was the dean.

Adam didn’t have time to react before the man’s voice boomed through the hallway. “Banks! My office. Now.”

Adam closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Of course this would happen. Of course he’d end up in trouble. He glanced back at his friends, at Charlie, whose face was tight with worry, before nodding slightly. He didn’t have a choice now.

Without a word, Adam turned and followed the dean down the hallway, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders.

The hallway felt longer than it should’ve as Adam followed the dean. His heart still pounded in his chest, the adrenaline from the fight slowly fading, leaving behind a dull ache in hus hands and a growing pit in his stomach. He wasn’t sure it if was guilt or the fear of whatever was about to happen next. Maybe both.

As they reached the door to the dean’s office, Adam forced himself to take a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in trouble, but it felt a little different this time. Worse. Maybe because it wasn’t just him on the line anymore—his friends had been dragged into this, too. Riley and his gang had been the ones to start it, but Adam knew punching the Varsity captain was bound to have consequences.

The dean opened the door and gestured for Adam to walk in. Adam’s legs felt like lead as he stepped inside. The office smelled faintly of wood polish and coffee, the faint hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence.

“Sit down, Banks,” the dean said, his voice stern but calm, like he’d seen it all before. He probably had.

Adam didn’t say anything as he lowered himself into the chair in front of the desk. His hands rested on his lap, the blood on his hands now drying, and he could feel each bruise forming under his skin. He stared down at them, avoiding the dean’s eyes as the man sat down across from him.

“So,” the dean started, folding his hands on the desk, “do you want to tell me what happened?”

Adam didn’t answer at first. His mind was racing, trying to come up with some kind of explanation that didn’t sound like an excuse. But every version of the story sounded the same: he lost control. He let Riley get to him, and now he was sitting here because of it.

“I don’t know,” Adam muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “He said some things, and I… I just snapped.”

The dean raised an eyebrow. “What kind of things?”

Adam hesitated. Did he really want to go into detail about what Riley had said? The insults toward his friends? He knew it wouldn’t justify his actions, not in the dean’s eyes.

“He called my friends names,” Adam finally said, his jaw tight. “Things I couldn’t let slide.”

The dean sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I see. And you thought violence was the answer to that?”

“No,” Adam replied quickly, his hands tightening into fists again. “It wasn’t. I know that now. But… it just happened.”

The dean studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Adam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, feeling the weight of the silence between them. He wasn’t sure what the man was thinking, but he could guess where this was heading.

“You’re a talented player, Banks,” the dean finally said, his tone firm. “And you’ve been given opportunities here that most students don’t get. But that doesn’t mean you’re above the rules. You can’t just go around attacking other students because you’re angry.”

Adam swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it,” the dean said, his voice hardening. “You’re going to face consequences for this, But before we talk about that, I need you to understand something. This isn’t just about you. This fight, this rivalry between JV and Varsity—it’s escalating, and it’s getting out of hand. You’re not helping matters by throwing punches in the hallways during passing period.”

Adam looked up, meeting the dean’s gaze for the first time. He felt a pang of guilt. The man was right. The tension between JV and Varsity had been growing worse every day, and he hadn’t done anything to make it better. If anything, he’d just made it worse.

“I get it,” Adam said quietly. “But Riley… he’s not going to stop. He’s been after me since day one.”

The dean’s expression softened slightly, but only for a moment. “That may be, but you’re responsible for how you respond. Fighting him isn’t going to solve anything. In fact, it’s only going to make things worse—for you, for your teammates, for everyone.”

Adam slumped back in his chair, feeling the weight of the dean’s words pressing down on him. He knew the man was right, but it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. He hadn’t wanted things to get this bad. He hadn’t wanted to be the guy who lost control. But now he was sitting here, bruised and bloodied, and he couldn’t change what had happened.

“You’re suspended from the next two games,” the dean said, breaking the silence. “And you;ll be spending the next week in detention. I’ll be notifying Coach Wilson about the situation, and I expect you to apologize to Riley for what you did.”

Adam’s heart sank. Suspended from two games? The thought of sitting out, of not being on the ice, was a punch to the gut. But he knew better than to argue. He had brought this on himself.

“Yes, sir,” Adam said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And one more thing,” the dean added, his gaze piercing. “You need to stay away from Riley and his friends. I don’t care what they say or what they do—do not engage. Understood?”

Adam nodded, even though he wasn’t sure he could promise that. If Riley came after him or his friends again, he didn’t know if he’d be able to walk away. But he had to try. He couldn’t afford to keep making things worse.

“Understood,” Adam mutteredm staring down at his bruised knuckles again.

The dean stood up, signaling that the conversation was over. “Go back to your dorm. I’ll call your parents and explain the situation. And we’ll discuss this further when your suspension is over.”

Adam stood up as well, his legs feeling shaky as he turned to leave. But before he reached the door, the dean’s voice stopped him.

“Adam,” he said, his tone softer this time. “You’re a good kid. Don’t let this define you.”

Adam swallowed hard, nodding slightly before he left the office.

As he walked down the empty hallway, the weight of everything that had just happened pressed down on him like a ton of bricks. He had messed up. Badly. And now, there was no going back.

When he stepped outside, the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his mind racing ad he headed back toward his dorm. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Charlie, to Julie, or to anyone else.

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

The pizza shop was warm, its yellow lighting casting a cozy glow over the worn red booths and checkered tile floor. It was a familiar place—one that the Ducks had come to countless times over the years—but tonight, Charlie couldn’t help but feel a sense of discomfort sitting there across from Adam. The half-finished pizza between them was growing cold, but neither of them seemed to notice.

Adam’s jaw was bruised—purple and swollen from the fight with Riley. Charlie hadn’t said anything about it. He didn’t want to. Every time he looked at that bruise, a knot tightened in his stomach. He could still hear the crack of fists landing on his skin, see the way Adam had flown at Riley in a blur of rage.

And he had just stood there.

Frozen. Useless.

Charlie took a sip of his soda, trying to push the memory away, but it lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind. He hated himself for it. Hated that he hadn’t done anything. He had seen Adam standing there, surrounded by Varsity players, and for a brief moment, he had wanted to step in. He’d wanted to help. But then the fear had crept in—what if they turned on him? What if he got caught in the crossfire? And before he knew it, Adam was throwing punches, and it was all too late.

He hadn’t moved an inch.

“Uh, we should finish this,” Adam said, snapping Charlie out of his thoughts. He gestured to the pile of notes and papers scattered across the table, their English Lit project staring back at them like an unwelcome guest.

“I’m thinking we should do a slide about how Iago manipulated Othello throught his insecurities,” Adam said. He was looking at his laptop, scrolling through their notes. “Maybe we can add a bit about how jealousy plays a huge part in Othello’s downfall.”

Charlie nodded slowly, still lost in his own thoughts. He wasn’t really thinking about Othello anymore, though. He wasn’t even sure why they were sitting here working on the project at all. It was like they’d both agreed it was the one thing to do to avoid confronting what had actually happened.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about Iago, actually,” Charlie said finally, his voice quieter than usual. “I mean, he’s got this weird hold on Othello. It’s like he knows exactly how to twist the knife, you know?”

Adam paused for a moment, then lifted his head to look at Charlie. “Yeah. He knows Othello’s weaknesses and uses them against him. That’s the scary part. I mean, he’s smart, but it’s not just about intelligence. It’s about knowing exactly what will hurt.”

Charlie took a sip of his soda, glancing up at Adam’s face. There was a seriousness in his expression, but his eyes were tired—like he was holding onto something too tight. He didn’t seem angry anymore, but Charlie wasn’t sure how to approach it.

“So,” Charlie began, trying to keep things light. “you ever think about how things could have gone if Othello had just… trusted people more?”

Adam grinned slightly, looking back at his laptop. “I don’t know. I feel like that would’ve just made the play way shorter. Probably a lot less interesting, too.”

Charlie chuckled, the sound a little too loud for the quiet pizza shop. But for the first time since they sat down, it felt like the air between them was lighter. Like they were just two friends, talking about nothing in particular.

It was easy. It was like old times, before everything got messy.

“You remember when we used to spend hours talking about dumb stuff like that? Like what would happen if Othello didn’t have his jealous streak?” Charlie asked, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Adam’s grin widened, and Charlie couldn’t help but feel a little more at ease. “Oh, yeah. Like, what if Iago had just been an okay guy for once? That would have been boring, but I bet they would have been best friends. Othello probably would’ve turned out to be a pro at poker.”

Charlie laughed again, a little quieter this time. The weight in his chest seemed to ease with every word they exchanged. It was like they were starting to find their rhythm again. Things were starting to feel just like they used to when everything was simpler, when they weren’t at odds with each other.

It felt nice to talk about nothing. To just be there.

“I still can’t believe we have to present this in front of the whole class,” Adam said, rolling his eyes. “I mean, can’t we just turn in the slides and call it a day?”

Charlie shrugged. “We could, but then we’d look like complete slackers. And I don’t think I can handle the shame of that. Plus, you know, I’m pretty sure you don’t want to risk getting stuck in detention again.”

Adam groaned dramatically, looking back at Charlie. “Oh, don’t remind me. I swear, I’ll never escape it. Every time I think I’m in the clear, someone manages to find a way to get me in trouble.”

Charlie wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but before he knew it, their project was done. The slides were ready, and they’d even added a few extra points for good measure. They’d been working for a couple of hours now, but as they looked over the final produce, Charlie felt a sense of relief.

“We actually did it,” Adam said with a sigh, looking up at Charlie. “It’s over. At least until the presentation.”

Charlie nodded, still glancing at the slides. “Yeah. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough.”

They both sat there for a moment, not saying anything, just looking at their finished slides on the screen. It felt good to have it out of the way. But Charlie still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

He wanted to stay.

It was a stupid thought. After all, they’d finished the project. He didn’t have any reason to stay. But Charlie didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

He wanted to keep talking, keep laughing like they used to, without the weight of everything hanging between them.

But before he could say anything, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glancing at the screen.

“It’s my mom,” he said quietly, his voice laced with sadness.

Adam caught the look on his face, raising an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”

Charlie hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… she wants me home early tonight. I forgot.”

Adam gave a small, understanding nod. “You should go then. You don’t want to keep her waiting.”

Charlie stared at the phone for a moment, then sighed, grabbing his jacket from beside him in the booth. He stood up, reluctantly, feeling the shift in the air between them. It wasn’t a bad thing, but it still felt like something had been left unsaid.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Charlie asked, glancing back at Adam.

Adam looked up at him, his expression neutral, although there was a hint of something there, something like understanding. “Yeah, I’ll see you.”

Charlie gave him a small wave, then turned toward the door. He’d almost made it outside when his phone buzzed again, his mom’s name flashing across the screen.

“Hey, Mom,” Charlie said, pressing the phone up to his ear as he stepped out into the cool evening air, the door swinging shut behind him.

As he walked away from the pizza shop, his mind wandered back to their booth. Back to Adam, and the way things had felt just a little easier tonight. A little more like they were getting back towards being something real.

And maybe they weren’t quite there yet. But for once, Charlie felt like it might be possible to get there.

Chapter Text

Adam dragged his feet as he walked back from the pizza parlor, exhaustion seeping into every muscle in his body. After a long day of classes, fighting with Riley, practice, and then finally managing to just get through finishing the English Lit project with Charlie, he just wanted to collapse in his bed and forget about everything else for a while.

The night air was cold against his skin, but it wasn’t the kind of cold that woke him up. Instead, it made him feel heavier, more sluggish, as if his body was weighed down by the day. He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lowered his head against the wind as he made his way across campus.

His thoughts drifted to Charlie again, as they always seemed to these days. He and Charlie had spent hours together at the pizza parlor, working on their project in between bites of pizza and sips of soda. It felt almost like old times. Almost. Except for the gnawing anger in the back of Adam’s mind. Anger because Charlie had been there during the fight earlier in the day, and he hadn’t done anything.

But then again, why should Charlie have done anything? Adam had picked the fight, after all. He’d thrown the first punch. And honestly, he wasn’t sure he regretted it. Not when Riley had been throwing hurling insults at hils old friends. Not when Riley had been calling them trash, calling them names, calling them—

Adam’s fists clenched in his pockets at the memory, the fury rising in his chest all over again. He shook his head, trying to push it away. He just needed to sleep.

The dorms weren’t far now, and all Adam wanted to do was collapse. But as he rounded the sidewalk near the English building, he saw a figure moving quickly in his direction.

“Adam!”

The voice was familiar, but it took Adam a moment to register who it was. Scooter. He was waving him down, jogging toward him like he had something urgent to say. Adam frowned, stopping in his tracks.

“Scooter?” Adam called, his voice thick with fatigue. “What are you doing out here?”

Before Adam could even process what was happening, Scooter grabbed his arm, pulling his off the main path and around the side of the English building. Adam blinked in confusion, his tired mind struggling to keep up.

“What—what are you doing?” Adam asked, his voice bewildered. “What’s going on?”

Scooter didn’t answer at first, his grip firm on Adam’s arm as he hurriedly dragged him behind the building. Adam was too tired to resist, but confusion swirled around in his head as they rounded the corner, out of view from the rest of the campus.

Once they were hidden behind the brick wall of the English building, Scooter finally let go of Adam’s arm and turned to face him, his chest heaving with breath.

“Listen—Adam—there’s something you need to know,” Scooter said quickly, his words spilling out in a rush. “I didn’t have a lot of time. I didn’t want to wait. But I heard something, and… and you’re in trouble, man.”

Adam’s head was spinning. He couldn’t keep up with the rapid-fire pace of Scooters’s words, his mind still stuck on the exhaustion of the day.

“What?” Adam asked, blinking at him. “Slow down. What are you talking about?”

Scooter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Okay, okay. Let me backtrack. I overheard Riley and the other guys talking. They’re pissed, Adam. About the fight. About… about you talking to Charlie, and Julie, and all of them.”

Adam’s blood ran cold. “Wait—what do you mean?”

“They think you’ve been siding with them,” Scooter explained, his words coming out slower now, more measured. “They think you’ve been going against Varsity, that you’re still hanging out with the JV guys. And they’re not happy about it.”

Adam felt the weight of the situation sink in, his puls quickening. He could barely think straight, but one thing was clear—this was bad. He’d tried to keep his head down, tried to survive on Varsity without causing any more trouble than necessary. But now, it seemed like trouble had found him anyway.

“Riley and the others… they’re planning something,” Scooter continued, lowering his voice as if someone might be listening. “I don’t know exactly what, but they’re not going to let what happened earlier go. Riley’s pissed that you embarrassed him in front of everyone. He’s looking for payback.”

Adam stared at Scooter, his mind racing. He thought back to the fight—the way Riley had sneered at him, insulted his friends, pushed him too far. He hadn’t regretted punching Riley then, and he didn’t regret it now, but he hadn’t thought about what would come next. He hadn’t realized how much worse things could get.

“What—what are they going to do?” Adam asked, his voice rough with worry.

Scooter hesitated, glancing around again before answering. “I don’t know the full plan. I just know they’re planning something after practice later this week. It’s… it’s not going to be pretty. You need to be careful, Adam.”

The words hit Adam like a punch to the gut. The exhaustion he’d been feeling was now tinged with fear, with anger.

He’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t back down. He wasn’t going to let Varsity get the better of him. But now, knowing that Riley had something planned, knowing that things were about to get even worse…

His thoughts were a blur, and he realized he was shaking, his body tense with adrenaline and anger.

Scooter must have noticed because he reached out his hand and grabbed Adam’s shoulder, his grip firm but reassuring. “Hey—hey, look, I get it. I’m pissed off, too. But you’ve gotta be smart aboutt this, okay? You can’t just so charging into another fight with Riley. He’d not going to stop until he gets what he wants.”

Adam looked down at the ground, his jaw clenched. “And what does he want, exactly? To make me look like an idiot? To make sure I regret ever fighting back?”

Scooter’s face softened. “He wants to make sure you don’t forget your place. That’s what he cares about. Keeping you in line.”

Adam’s chest tightened, a fresh wave of anger flooding through him. This wasn’t just about the fight. This wasn’t just about Riley being pissed off that he’d gotten humiliated in front of everyone. This was about control. It was about making sure Adam stayed where he belonged—in Riley’s shadow, on Varsity, part of a team that Adam wanted nothing to do with.

He couldn’t stand it.

“I’m not running away,” Adam said, his voice firm, even though his mind was racing with a thousand different thoughts. “If Riley wants a fight, I’ll give him one. I’m not scared of him.”

Scooter’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. But instead, he just sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. I do. But just promise me you’ll be smart about this, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt, man. Not again.”

Adam hesitated, his thoughts still a jumble, but eventually, he nodded. “I’ll be careful. But I’m not backing down.”

Scooter gave him a brief nod, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. “Alright. Just… keep your head up, okay? And let me know if you need anything.”

Adam managed a small smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks, Scooter. I appreciate it.”

With that, Scooter patted him on the shoulder one last time and walked off, disappearing into the shadows of the campus. Adam stood there for a moment, staring after him, his thoughts swirling.

Riley wasn’t going to stop. Varsity wasn’t going to stop. And Adam didn’t know what to do about it.

But one thing was for sure—he wasn’t going to let them win. Not without a fight.

As Adam finally made his way back to his dorm, his mind still buzzing with everything Scooter had told him, one thought kept repeating itself in his head, over and over again.

He wasn’t going to run. Not this time.

Chapter Text

Charlie didn’t mean to end up here.

He had left his dorm with no clear plan—just a hoodie pulled over his head, the cold night air hitting his face like a slap, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He told himself it was just a walk. Just some time to clear his head, to shake off the suffocating pressure of everything. School, the drama with the Varsity team, all the endless expectations. He had to breathe. Think. Get away from the noise.

But even as he turned down the street that would lead him toward the Welton House, even as he walked past the library and up the familiar path toward the lower campus, he knew. He wasn’t just out for a walk. He was heading toward Adam. The very person he had hurt more than anyone else in recent memory.

God, who did he think he was?

His heart was pounding in his chest, each step feeling heavier than the last. Every so often, he’d slow down, his feet dragging, and he’d think—just for a second—that maybe he should turn around. Go back to his dorm, pretend this didn’t happen. Pretend he wasn’t even considering going to Adam’s dorm.

But no matter how hard he tried to stop, his feet kept moving forward, as if they already knew what needed to happen before his mind had a chance to catch up.

The night air was frigid, the chill biting through the fabric of his hoodie. It felt like the winter had settled in overnight. The trees were bare, the grasses slick with frost. He wrapped his arms around himself, before shoving his hands back into his pockets, but it didn’t help. His thoughts were louder than the wind howling through the empty campus.

Charlie’s breath puffed out in front of him, visible and shaky. The cold made his stomach turn uneasily, but it wasn’t just the cold.

What was he even doing? Why had he said what he said to Adam? Why had he been so cruel? He wasn’t that person. Or, at least, he didn’t think he was. He used to be better than that. He knew it. But lately, it felt like he couldn’t even recognize who he was anymore.

There had been countless times lately when Charlie had looked in the mirror and genuinely not known who, or what, was staring back at him. It wasn’t just the dark circles under his eyes from sleepless nights, or the mess of brown curls that never seemed to sit right anymore—it was something deeper, something in his expression. He didn’t recognize the anger that simmered behind his eyes, the sharp edge to his jaw, the way his mouth never seemed to rest in anything but a scowl. He used to laugh more. Smile without thinking. Now, even his reflection felt like a stranger. He hadn’t looked like that before. Not before Eden Hall. Not before the Varsity list. Not before Adam—his Adam—had made the team and started slipping away.

Back in middle school, before the Varsity divide, it had been different. It had been easy. Sleepovers at each other's houses, late-night practices, and bus rides to games. God, he could still remember those bus rides like they were yesterday. The smell of stale pretzels and energy drinks in the air, the sound of their music blaring through the shared earbuds as Adam leaned close, pumping themselves up for the next big game.

Charlie had always loved those moments. The quiet camaraderie between the two of them, the shared memories that had woven them together. He could still hear Adam’s voice in his ear as they changed songs, continuing to play their favorite tracks.

“Can you believe this is our last season together?” Adam had said once during one of those rides. “Feels like we’ve been doing this forever.”

Charlie had smiled and nodded, not knowing then how much that conversation would come back to haunt him. How much he’d wish he could go back to those simple, happy times, when they weren’t divided by what team they were on, by how popular they were, and by… everything else. When Adam wasn’t just a Varsity player to Charlie, but a friend.

Maybe more than that.

But no, Charlie hadn’t appreciated that back then. He had been too busy being insecure about his own place in the world, too distracted by the growing divide between them. He had watched Adam slip away, gradually, until there were no more shared moments. Until Adam was a part of something Charlie couldn’t touch.

And now here he was, walking to Adam’s dorm, trying to fix things—even though he wasn’t sure how.

With every step, his nerves had only grown more palpable. He could feel the weight of every misstep from the past few weeks—the arguments, the silence, the way he’d shut Adam out when he should have been the one reaching in.

As he reached the entrance of Adam’s dormitory, Charlie paused for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. The heavy door loomed in front of him, and he realized how small and insignificant he felt standing in front of it. The cold was sharper now, but his palms were sweaty inside his pockets. His heart was thumping loudly, his throat tight. He could hear his own breath in his ears, the silence of the night surrounding him.

Maybe he should turn around. Maybe it was too late to fix anything. After everything he’d done—or really, hadn’t done, Adam couldn’t possibly want anything to do with him. But deep down, Charlie knew that wasn’t the truth. It wasn’t about fixing things perfectly—it was about showing up.

He pushed the door open, the metal groaning slightly as it swung inward. The lobby was dimly lit, the low hum of a vending machine in the corner barely audible over the silence. The air inside was warmer, but it felt stifling in comparison to the brisk night outside.

Charlie’s footsteps were muffled by the carpet as he walked up the stairs and down the hall towards Adam’s dorm. He passed a few students, but they were too absorbed in their own conversations to notice him. His hands were shaking now, his heart thumping in his chest like a drum.

He could still turn back, but he knew he had to push forward.

He’d been a coward for so long, hiding behind his anger and fear. But now? He couldn’t afford to back down.

Not anymore.

When he reached Adam’s door, he stood there, staring at the numbers on the front. 215. They looked crooked, like they’d been ripped off a few times. There were photos on the doorframe—a puck holding a faded postcard of California, from when they’d played in the Junior Goodwill Games. But what made Charlie freeze was the old Ducks team photo just below it. His favorite one. The one where he and Adam had their arms slung around each other, grinning like there wasn’t another care in the world. Charlie’s curls were a mess, and Adam’s smile had been so wide it nearly split his face. They’d been standing right next to Coach. Charlie remembered that day like it was yesterday. He remembered the sun, the laughter, the way Coach had clapped him on the back and called him his Captain. The “C” was visible on the front of his jersey in the photo—bold, bright, impossible to ignore. He could almost feel it again, that weight of purpose and pride. Now, though, all he felt was a lump rising in his throat.

Charlie’s gaze flicked back to him and Adam, his thoughts racing so fast his head started to hurt. His mind flashed back to a hundred quiet, unremarkable moments that now felt sacred—sneaking out after curfew to get milkshakes from the 24-hour diner, Adam daring him to eat three burgers in one sitting while they sat in a booth with ketchup-stained menus and flickering lights. He remembered winter mornings when they’d walked to practice in half-asleep silence, the world still dark, their breath puffing in the air as they passed a thermos of hot chocolate back and forth. He remembered the time they’d accidentally set off the fire alarm trying to microwave a frozen burrito in the locker room. He remembered the night they lay on the frozen duck pond, staring up at the stars, talking about everything and nothing until their hands were numb from the cold. That was the Adam he missed. That was the Adam he wanted back.

But what had he done to him?

He closed his eyes, the weight of guilt crashing down on him all at once.

And then, against every instinct telling him to stop, he raised his hand to knock.

Paused.

Lowered it.

This was stupid. So, so stupid.

And yet—

He knocked.

Once. Twice. Three times.

It was loud, in the silence.

He stepped back quickly, his pulse racing. A thousand thoughts flooded him—what if Adam hated him? What if he had already decided Charlie was nothing more than a reminder of the past he didn’t want to look back on? What if he didn’t even want to hear what Charlie had to say?

But then the door clicked, and there he was.

Adam. Standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of confusion and guarded caution. His eyes flickered down to the floor before returning to Charlie’s face. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy between them. And for a second—just a second—Charlie couldn’t breathe. He was struck, almost stupidly, by how beautiful Adam really was. The curve of his jaw, the way his blonde hair fell into his eyes, just slightly, the sharp green of his irises catching in the dim light of the hallway. There was a quiet strength in the way he held himself, even now, even after everything. Charlie’s heart thudded, traitorous and loud, but he blinked and looked away, forcing the thoughts out of his mind. Focus, Conway. You didn't come here to admire him. You came here to fix what you broke.

Charlie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The words were stuck in his throat, tangled in the mess of everything he had been feeling as of late.

But Adam didn’t step back. He didn’t slam the door. He just stood there, looking at Charlie with an unreadable expression, waiting.

And for the first time in a long time, Charlie realized that maybe he wasn’t alone in this anymore. Maybe they were both lost, but there was a chance to find something again.

Something real. Something that didn’t involve Varsity or the mistakes they’d both made.

Charlie shifted on his feet, feeling awkward, unsure of how to begin.

“I…” He started, but his throat was still too tight. He swallowed hard, looking up at Adam, trying to find the words.

“Can I come in?” he finally asked.

The door opened wider. Adam didn’t speak, but his gesture said it all.

And Charlie stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Adam had always been good at hiding things. Hiding bruises. Hiding anger. Hiding how much he cared. But nothing—not even all his finely-honed defenses—could have prepared him for Charlie Conway standing in the middle of his dorm room, eyes downcast, mouth twitching like there were a thousand words just under the surface, none of which he was ready to say.

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the two of them inside with a silence that pressed down harder than any puck Adam had ever taken to the ribs.

He watched. Waited.

Charlie didn’t speak. He hovered near the center of the room, like stepping too far in any direction might set something off. And maybe it would. Maybe this entire thing—whatever it was—was just one tiny spark away from falling apart all over again.

As Adam looked at Charlie, his eyes flicked down, catching on the hoodie he was wearing—and his heart stuttered. He recognized it instantly. Old North Stars merch, vintage even by his standards, the logo cracked and faded from too many washes. It was from a spring tournament his parents had taken them both to when they were thirteen, maybe fourteen. Charlie had bought it from the merch stand with the last of his allowance, proudly pulling it over his head like it was armor. It barely fit him now—tight across the chest and short at the wrists, the sleeves bunched awkwardly at his forearms—but Adam knew Charlie. Knew the way he clung to things that mattered, that meant something. He’d wear that damn hoodie until the threads gave out, until the color bled into nothing. And standing there now, with that frayed North Stars emblem stretched across his chest, it was like watching a ghost of a version of them Adam hadn’t let himself think about in months.

Adam felt himself tense, his hands flexing at his sides. “You want to sit down?” he asked softly, already moving toward his desk chair and gesturing vaguely toward the edge of his bed.

Charlie nodded, barely. Then sat like the mattress might crumble beneath him.

Still, he didn’t speak.

Adam’s pulse thudded so loudly in his ears it felt like an alarm. His eyes kept darting over Charlie’s face, trying to stay composed, trying not to linger too long—but he kept getting caught by yet another feature. The slope of Charlie’s cheek, the slight curve of his bottom lip, the wild, untamable strands of brown hair that had always refused to stay in place. In the soft light of the lamp that glowed beside Adam’s bed, Charlie looked almost ethereal—like a half-formed dream Adam had tried to forget and never could. His skin was warm in tone, gold-lit at the edges, and his eyes—God, those eyes. They looked too soft for how exhausted they were. It wasn’t fair how someone could look like that after the months they’d had. How Charlie could still take Adam’s breath away without even trying.

But then there were the freckles.

Damn it, the freckles.

He counted three beneath Charlie’s left eye, one on his temple, another above the arch of his eyebrow—little specks of gold dust scattered across skin that still looked so achingly familiar, but before he could find more, before he could let his eyes linger the way they wanted to, he forced himself to stop, yanking his gaze toward the ceiling. Anything but that. “So… what’re doing here?” He asked, the words leaving his mouth before he even had a moment to think.

Adam mentally kicked himself the second the words left his mouth. What the hell, Adam? he thought, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbling up inside him. What the fuck is wrong with you? Of course, Charlie didn’t need to answer his question. He’d walked into Adam’s room, of all places, after everything that had happened. After months of silence, of not knowing where they stood, and this was what Adam came up with? “What’re doing here?” As if Charlie wasn’t sitting there, visibly breaking under the weight of it all, like he wasn’t sitting in front of him, fighting to breathe through the tension between them. Adam felt heat rush to his cheeks, mortification washing over him. God, I’m so stupid. His heart beat wildly in his chest, pumping anger and regret through his veins. He forced himself to look back at Charlie, trying to suppress the wave of shame rising in his throat.

Charlie finally looked up at him, meeting his gaze, his eyes glassy and guarded. “I don’t know.”

Adam laughed once, bitterly. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

“I just… I didn’t know where else to go,” Charlie said, and something inside Adam cracked. That voice. That vulnerability.

That quiet confession nearly broke Adam in two.

They’d been each other’s everything once. Skating partners. Co-captains. Confidants. Best friends. And then somewhere along the way, they’d lost the maps back to each other.

Adam moved his head to stare down at the floor. “You could’ve come to me a hundred times before this.”

“I know,” Charlie said quickly. “I—I thought about it. So many times.”

“And now?” Adam asked, looking up to meet his eyes again. “Why now?”

Charlie didn’t answer him.

Adam remembered a summer night in seventh grade, when Charlie had shown up on his porch barefoot, his bike lying on its side in the front yard like he’d skidded to a stop without thinking. There’d been no warning, no explanation—just the raw, wild look in Charlie’s eyes and the telltale tracks of tears on his dirt-smudged cheeks. At first Adam had thought it was a scraped knee, some crash or tumble on the way over. But when he’d looked closer, he saw the swelling already starting beneath Charlie’s eye, the angry red bloom that would turn purple by morning.

Adam hadn’t asked questions. He didn’t need to. Instead, he’d wordlessly pulled Charlie inside, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer, and ignored his parents’ confused glances and half-formed protests. He’d led Charlie up to his room and thrown a pillow at his stomach like it was just another sleepover. Just another night. Then he turned on a movie—something stupid and loud, full of explosions and zero emotional weight—and crawled into his bed, right beside Charlie. They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t have to. Charlie stayed the night, curled up under Adam’s extra blanket, the hum of the TV filling the space between them.

It felt a lot like that now.

Adam frowned softly, eyes flicking to his desk and the half-finished geometry assignment he was definitely not going to finish tonight. “You always used to come to me when things got bad.”

Charlie flinched. “I know.”

“You stopped.”

“I know.”

Another stretch of silence.

Adam swallowed hard, then leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I missed you, you know?” he said quietly. “Even when you hated me.” He paused for a moment. “Especially then.”

Charlie’s eyes snapped up to meet his. “I never hated you.”

Adam huffed a laugh. “Sure felt like it.”

“I was angry,” Charlie said. “At you, at… everything. And I took it out on you because it was easier than admitting I was scared.”

Adam turned that over in his mind. It made sense. Too much sense. “What were you scared of?”

Charlie looked away again. “Of losing you.”

Adam’s chest tightened. “You never lost me, Charlie. I was right here.”

“Not really,” Charlie said, and for the first time, his voice cracked. “You made Varsity, and everything changed. You changed.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Charlie whispered again.

Adam rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, nerves buzzing under his skin like static. The silence between them had grown thick again, stretched taut like a wire, ready to snap. He tried to fill it, fumbling with words that felt too small to carry the weight of everything between them.

“I didn’t mean for things to get so bad,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to Charlie, then away again. “It just… it all got out of hand. With Varsity, with everything.”

He saw the way Charlie’s jaw tensed, but he pushed on, trying to explain, to reach across the gap even as his words faltered.

“I wanted to fix it,” Adam added. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know what to say. And when I did know, it felt like it was too late.”

Charlie let out a breath that didn’t sound like relief. It sounded bitter.

Adam’s chest tightened. “I thought maybe you didn’t want to talk to me.”

That was the wrong thing to say. He knew it the second Charlie’s eyes lifted—sharp and hurt, a storm gathering behind them.

Charlie laughed, humorless. “Are you serious?”

Adam opened his mouth, then closed it. He could see it in Charlie’s expression: the frustration, the heartbreak, the disbelief all at once.

“I mean…” Adam started again, but Charlie was already shaking his head.

“No, don’t do that,” Charlie said, his voice trembling but firm. “Don’t act like I didn’t care. Like I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“I’m not saying that,” Adam said quickly. “I didn’t mean—”

“But you did,” Charlie snapped. “You said it.”

Adam’s throat felt tight, and suddenly he was scrambling for words to fix this. To fix them. “I was just trying to say it felt like… like I didn’t know how to fix what happened. I didn’t know how to be around you anymore. After everything with Varsity and—”

“There it is,” Charlie muttered, arms crossing tightly over his chest.

Adam blinked. “What?”

Charlie shifted a little, his mouth twisting. “You always blame Eden Hall. Varsity. Everything else. But never yourself.”

“That’s not fair,” Adam said, stunned.

“Isn’t it?” Charlie’s voice rose, sharp now. “You were the one who made Varsity, Adam. You were the one who left the rest of us behind and didn’t look back.”

Adam flinched. “You know it wasn’t like that.”

“Do I?” Charlie said. “Because from where I was standing, it looked exactly like that.”

They stared at each other, the air between them humming with all the things they hadn’t said for months.

And there it was. The truth neither of them had wanted to say out loud. That the divide between them had started with Eden Hall, with the lines drawn in the locker room and enforced on the ice. But it hadn’t just been the team. It had been the pressure, the expectations, the roles they’d both been shoved into and didn’t know how to escape from.

“You think this is easy for me?” Charlie said suddenly, his voice breaking through the tension like a crack of thunder. “Walking in here like nothing happened? After the way we left things? You think I haven’t been torturing myself over it for months?”

Adam stood up abruptly, his heart racing. “No, Charlie, I think you walked away and let me take the fall for everything! You made me feel like I didn’t matter to you anymore. Like the team mattered more than I did. Like—like Varsity was some kind of betrayal.”

“You don’t get it!” Charlie snapped, standing up just after Adam had. “You were supposed to have my back, Adam! But the second you made Varsity, it was like you switched teams. And not just literally, either! It was like you didn’t even care about the Ducks anymore. Like you didn’t care about me. God. And maybe, just maybe, I was tired of always having to choose between doing the right thing and keeping your approval.”

“My approval?” Adam laughed hollowly. “This wasn’t about approval. This was about us. You and me, and how everything fell apart the second people started paying attention to me instead of you.”

Charlie blinked, stunned into silence.

Adam realized what he’d said a moment too late. He shut his eyes, swore under his breath, and sat down heavily on his bed.

“I didn’t mean that,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

But Charlie had already heard it. And it stung more than they both wanted to admit.

They sat in that silence for a long moment, both breathing hard, both unsure of what to say next. The weight of everything unsaid pressed between them like a wall.

Adam ran a hand through his hair, staring at the floor. “You know what hurts the most, though?” he asked finally, voice thick. “It’s not that you were angry. It’s not even what you said to me. It’s that I looked at you for weeks, and you wouldn’t even look back.”

Charlie’s head came up slowly.

“I needed you, Charlie,” Adam said, choking back the lump rising in his throat. “I needed my best friend, and you weren’t there.”

Something shifted in Charlie’s expression then. His anger faded, replaced with something softer—something terrified.

Adam saw it in his eyes. The same fear he’d been carrying all this time.

“I was scared,” Charlie whispered. “You—when you made Varsity, when everything started changing—I felt like I was losing you. And I didn’t know how to stop it, so I took the easy way out. I pushed you away before you could ever leave me for real.”

Adam stared at him. “Why would I ever leave you?”

Charlie’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I was never going anywhere,” Adam said. His voice was quiet now, thick with emotion. “Even when you hated me. Even when you said all those things. I still stayed. I still—”

He cut himself off, the words catching.

I still loved you.

But he didn’t say it. Not yet.

Charlie’s eyes were glassy now, brimming with tears he hadn’t let fall.

“You remember that night we slept out on your back porch?” Adam asked suddenly, his voice rough. “After we lost in the finals. We laid out there in our sleeping bags and listened to your stupid cassette player until the sun came up. You wouldn’t stop playing that Nirvana tape on repeat.”

Charlie huffed out a laugh, watery and small. “You said if you had to hear ‘Come As You Are’ one more time, you were gonna set my player on fire.”

“You made me promise I’d never leave,” Adam said, his voice broken. “And I meant it.”

Charlie was staring at him now, really staring, and Adam’s chest felt like it might split open.

“I’m sorry,” Charlie whispered. “I’m sorry for all of it. For pushing you away. For what I said at the rink, for not being there. I hated who I was becoming, but it just felt easier to blame you.”

Adam took a shallow breath. “I hated myself too,” he admitted. “For not fighting harder. For letting you walk away. For not saying how I felt when it mattered.”

Charlie swallowed. “How did you feel?”

Adam’s heart pounded. He was close now—only a foot away. Too close to pretend, too far to feel it fully. The space between them buzzed with electricity.

“I missed you so much it hurt,” Adam said. “And I never stopped caring. Not even when I wanted to.”

Charlie stared at him like he was trying to memorize every word, like this moment might vanish if he blinked.

Then Adam reached out, slow and hesitant, fingers brushing against Charlie’s wrist. The touch was feather-light, but it grounded him. Steadied him.

Charlie’s eyes dropped to their hands. “What now?”

“Stay,” Adam said. “Just for tonight. Please.”

Charlie hesitated for only a second before nodding. He slowly sat down on Adam’s bed, the fight drained from his limbs.

Adam sat beside him, their knees brushing. The silence between them still buzzed with tension, but it wasn’t the same kind of weight anymore. It was charged, bracing—like the air before a storm breaks.

Adam turned his head. Charlie was already looking at him.

He leaned in—slow, uncertain—but Charlie didn’t pull away. The space between them narrowed, charged with something electric and unspoken. Adam could hear his very own heartbeat pounding in his ears, could see every flicker of hesitation in Charlie’s eyes. There was a weight in the silence, in the breath they shared—like everything they hadn’t said was pressing in around them, waiting for one of them to break. It wasn’t just the nearness that made Adam dizzy—it was the gravity of it all. The years. The distance. The pain. And the way that, despite everything, they still kept finding their way back to each other.

Without thinking, his fingers curled into Charlie’s hoodie—holding him there, anchoring them both.

And just like that, the distance between them was gone.

Chapter Text

For a split second, Charlie thought maybe he’d fallen asleep sitting up. That he’d dozed off in Adam’s dorm, lulled by quiet and memory, and now he was dreaming—some aching, impossible dream conjured from years of wanting too much and saying too little. A dream where Adam Banks kissed him like he meant it. Like he’d always meant it. But then Charlie shifted. Just slightly. His fingers twitched, and he pinched the inside of his wrist, right beneath the threadbare cuff of that same old North Stars hoodie. The one he’d worn so often it had molded to him like a second skin. The pain bloomed, sharp and real, and the chill of the room hit him all at once. This wasn’t sleep. This wasn’t a dream. Adam was kissing him. Really kissing him. And Charlie was wide awake.

Adam’s mouth was warm and trembling against his, the kind of kiss that felt like it had been waiting for years to happen—buried underneath every brush of fingers during practice, every sidelong glance in the locker room, every time one of them had laughed just a little too hard at something the other had said. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t delicate. But it wasn’t desperate, either. It was something else entirely—something that lived in the space between memory and desire, pain and healing. A kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission, because it already knew the answer. It was laced with every unsaid word they’d ever swallowed, every moment they’d chosen silence over truth, fear over vulnerability. Charlie felt it in every part of him—in the way Adam’s fingers curled softly into the fabric of his hoodie, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to hold on. He felt it in the tension of Adam’s jaw, in the way his breath hitched against his own lips like he was teetering on the edge of unraveling. There was so much ache behind it. So much weight. It felt like mourning and hope all tangled together, like something they were both still afraid of breaking.

Charlie didn’t think—he couldn’t. His brain had gone static, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears and the taste of Adam on his lips. His hand found Adam’s shoulder, the familiar curve of muscle beneath his shirt anchoring him to the moment like it was the only solid thing in the world. His other hand was on Adam’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his tee and gripping tighter than he meant to, as if he were afraid that if he didn’t hold on hard enough, this whole thing might vanish, like so many other things had. Like Adam had. He remembered what it had felt like to lose him—the ache of absence during games, the empty space at lunch tables, the quiet that settled in the spots Adam used to fill with his crooked grin and stupid jokes. Holding him now, Charlie felt every one of those losses like bruises blooming beneath his skin.

The taste of him was soft and something sweet, like chapstick and fear and something unnamable that Charlie had only ever associated with Adam. It was stupid, probably—pathetic, even—how much he’d memorized over the years. How much he’d catalogued without meaning to, like muscle memory. The way Adam’s hands always ran a little cold in the winter, and how he’d stuff them into his pockets with that quiet, embarrassed shrug. The way his eyelashes cast soft half-moon shadows across his cheeks when he was tired, when they used to fall asleep side by side during movie marathons that always bled into the early hours of the morning. The way he chewed on the inside of his cheek when he was nervous, like he was doing everything in his power not to say what he was thinking. Charlie had known every version of him—the cocky show-off who lit up the ice, the quiet kid who used to fall asleep with his head on his shoulder during long bus rides, the boy who broke his heart by doing absolutely nothing when everything fell apart. All of it was still there—every fractured, familiar piece, stitched together in this kiss like some impossible answer to a question Charlie hadn’t dared to ask in years.

Then, Charlie squeezed his eyes shut.

He remembered the first time they shared a bed.

It had been a sleepover, just before middle school started. They were eleven, maybe twelve, still small enough to squeeze into the same blanket fort Adam had insisted on building, lying side by side in the dim glow of the basement after a long, sweaty day of practice. Their gear had been dumped in a pile by the stairs, half-forgotten in the haze of popcorn and Gatorade and the movie they’d picked but barely paid attention to. The film had ended hours ago, the DVD menu looping on the screen, casting a soft blue haze across the room. Adam had fallen asleep with his arm half draped over Charlie’s stomach, his breath warm against Charlie’s shoulder. And Charlie had stayed perfectly still, frozen—not from fear, but from something he didn’t yet have the words for. His heart had pounded so loudly he was sure it would wake Adam up, that he’d pull away, look at Charlie differently, that it would ruin everything. So he didn’t move. Not all night. He watched the light shift across the walls, counted the breaths Adam took, memorized the way his hair curled up just slightly at the nape of his neck. And somewhere in that stillness, Charlie realized that he was completely, helplessly lost. He hadn’t slept at all. Not because he wasn’t tired, but because he was afraid that if he closed his eyes, he’d miss it—the feeling of being so close, and yet not close enough. A feeling that would follow him for years.

He never told Adam.

And he never told him about that night last spring, right after they’d clinched the regional tournament. The Ducks had poured out of the rink high on adrenaline, Coach Bombay yelling congratulations as players shouted over one another, somehow still hungry for the next win. Someone—probably Guy—had wrangled everyone to his older brother’s apartment building for a celebration. It wasn’t wild, not really. No red solo cups stacked to the ceiling or strobe lights bouncing off the walls like they did in the movies. Just a team on a rooftop under a too-quiet sky, the hum of a speaker playing the team playlist off someone’s phone, laughter echoing from the street below. Charlie had leaned against the railing, bottle of root beer sweating in his hand, the city lights flickering like they were breathing. Adam had found him there, shoulders brushing lightly as he leaned beside him, cheeks still pink from the cold and the wind and whatever they weren’t saying out loud. He’d looked over and grinned—one of those bright, unfiltered smiles that Charlie had always thought should be illegal, the kind that made it impossible to breathe. And just for a second, Charlie had felt the moment bend. Tilt. Like maybe, if he turned his head just a little more, if he let himself move, it wouldn’t be a mistake. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. So he just stood there, the fizz of his drink going flat in his hand, and he pretended he wasn’t completely unraveling.

And now Adam was here. Kissing him. And every moment Charlie had ever swallowed, every word he’d ever bitten down hard on, every aching secret he’d hidden beneath that damn captain’s letter—it was all breaking loose.

His hands were in Adam’s hair now, fingers threading through blonde strands he’d wanted to touch for years. It was softer than he thought it’d be. Of course it was. He let out a shaky breath into Adam’s mouth, and Adam kissed him harder in response, like the feeling had struck something inside him.

Charlie shifted closer, his leg brushing against Adam’s as he leaned in without thinking. The mattress creaked beneath them, every inch of space between them shrinking until there was none left at all. Adam’s breath hitched, but he didn’t move away. Knees knocked together, hands searching blindly for something to hold on to—balance, reason, maybe just each other.

He didn’t care what the hell it was.

Adam’s hands slid up his sides, ghosting over his ribs like he was afraid of breaking something. Charlie felt raw under the touch. Split open. Every nerve exposed and begging. He thought, maybe he should say something. "Stop." Or, "are you sure?" But he didn’t trust himself to speak.

This wasn’t just want.

This was grief, and memory, and all the ways they’d turned their backs in hotel rooms, pretending not to notice just how close the other had come. Every time Charlie had said something cruel, pushed him away—this was what had been underneath it. This unbearable pull. This ache that never went away.

He broke the kiss for air, his forehead resting against Adam’s.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Adam let out a laugh—wet, quiet, almost broken—and then kissed him again, like he was scared he’d vanish if he didn’t.

Time bent around them. Charlie didn’t know how long it went on. Minutes? Hours? It could have been the whole damn year. He didn’t care. The way Adam touched him was like he remembered everything, too. Like his hands were tracing old maps—scars, muscles, the slope of his back—all things he used to know and had never stopped knowing.

After a while, though, something changed.

Charlie felt it.

It was like a light flickering. A shift in the air.

Adam pulled back, just slightly, but his breathing was fast, uneven. He turned his head to the side, his hands falling away from Charlie’s chest like he’d just now realized they were on fire.

Charlie blinked, still catching up. “Adam?”

Adam stood up. Too quickly. He was backing away already, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenching and unclenching at his side.

“Adam?” Charlie said again.

“I—I need a second,” he said, his voice hoarse, cracking on the words. “Shit.”

Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, lips still tingling, his pulse still a hammer in his chest. He barely knew how to breathe.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be. He didn’t want to spook him. But something was happening—something bad.

Adam didn’t answer. He was moving—pacing tight circles in the cramped dorm room, his hands tugging at his hair, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow bursts. His eyes kept bouncing to the door, to the window, anywhere but Charlie. Panic clung to him like a second skin.

“I just—” Adam’s voice cracked. “It’s not you. It’s not. I just—I didn’t think we’d—I didn’t think I’d actually do it.”

Charlie stood slowly, brows pulling together. “Do what?”

Adam stopped. His back was half-turned, but his shoulders stiffened like they were bracing for a hit. When he spoke, it wasn’t even a whisper—it was an exhale. “Kiss you.”

Charlie’s heart twisted.

But before he could say anything—before he could take a single breath—Adam turned around, and the look on his face stopped Charlie cold.

It was fear. Real, suffocating fear.

Like kissing Charlie had triggered something deep and ugly. Something bigger than the two of them.

“I can’t do this,” Adam said, suddenly louder. Sharper. “I can’t—I shouldn’t have.”

Charlie flinched. “Adam—”

“No,” Adam snapped, stepping back like Charlie had raised a fist. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”

The air between them splintered. Charlie had seen Adam angry before. He’d seen him exhausted, broken, bleeding on the ice, bruised behind closed doors. But this wasn’t that. This was something else entirely. This was Adam crumbling.

And Charlie had no idea how to stop it.

Adam shoved a hand against the wall like he needed something to hold him up. “I can’t be gay,” he muttered, more to himself than to Charlie. “I can’t—I’m not.”

Charlie’s throat tightened. “Adam, it’s okay. It doesn’t—”

“No, it’s not,” Adam snapped, eyes flashing. “It’s not okay. It’s a sin.”

The words hit him like a slap. Charlie blinked, stunned. “What?”

Adam’s voice cracked, like something was splitting open inside him. “I can’t—Charlie, I can’t do this.” His hands were fists now, pressed tight to his sides. “It’s a sin. I’d go to hell.” He laughed, bitter and breathless, like the words tasted wrong even as they left him. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard it? How many times I've read it?” His eyes flicked to the floor, but they weren’t really seeing it anymore. “‘If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both have committed an abomination…’” He trailed off, voice hollow. “Leviticus 20:13. I didn’t even mean to memorize it—it’s just… there. Like a bruise I can’t stop pressing.” He took a shaky breath. “My dad would rather I be dead than gay, Charlie. You just don’t get it.”

Charlie took a cautious step forward. “Your dad doesn’t get to—”

“Yes, he does,” Adam bit out, each word sharpened by something he didn’t have the strength to dull anymore. “He gets to decide everything. He always has. Where I go, what I do, who I am.” His voice rose, cracked, like it was breaking under the weight of every year spent trying to measure up. “It’s all mapped out. I’m supposed to make it. Supposed to go to the NHL. I’m supposed to be someone. Bigger than this. Bigger than the Ducks. Bigger than Edina. Bigger than us.” He laughed then, hollow and cold. “Do you know what he’d call this? You and me?” His eyes flicked up, red rimmed, glassy. “A phase. A weakness. A distraction. Just something to shake off before I get serious. Because that’s what this is, right? That’s all it can be. A bump in the road on the way to something better. Something cleaner. Something that doesn’t make him ashamed.”

Charlie’s breath caught. “Is that what I am to you?”

Adam’s face contorted like someone had just ripped out everything he thought he could control, and for a split second, Charlie saw it—the cracks in the armor, the weight of it all. “No,” Adam whispered, his voice breaking like it was all too raw to keep inside. It was the kind of whisper that made Charlie’s heart clench, like a moment of truth slipping through the cracks, but it didn’t last. Adam’s expression hardened again, fast. Too fast, like he was trying to shove everything back down before it could spill over. His jaw clenched so tight Charlie could see the muscle flex under his skin. “Yes. I don’t know,” he continued, his words lashing out, stilted, like he was choking on something he couldn’t swallow. “I can’t—I can’t think straight when you’re around. I can’t think at all.” He paused, his gaze briefly meeting Charlie’s, but only for a second, before it darted away again, like it couldn’t bear to stay. “It’s like everything I’ve ever known is just… messed up, and I can’t… I can’t focus on anything that’s not you. And I hate it, because I know I can’t afford to get distracted. I know I can’t—” His voice faltered, and Charlie could feel the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air, pressing down on them both.

“Adam—”

“I have to focus,” Adam repeated, his voice strained, like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. His eyes were fixed on something far away, like he could already see everything slipping out of his reach. “I have to train. I don’t have a choice. I’ve got scouts watching me, Charlie. People with money. Expectations. They’re all waiting for me to make it. To be someone. To be what everyone thinks I’m supposed to be.” His hand shook slightly as he ran it through his hair, frustration seeping through in every moment. “And if I let this—if I let you in, if I let myself feel anything for you, if I start feeling like this all the time—” his words caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, like the weight of the truth was too much to handle. “I’ll lose everything. Everything I’ve worked for. All the shit I’ve sacrificed… just for a shot at something. It’s like… I can’t let myself want this. Want you. Because I know what it’ll cost me.” He looked away then, eyes distant, as if he could already see the life he was supposed to have slipping away, all because of the mess of feelings and desires he couldn’t control.

Charlie’s stomach twisted. “So that’s it? You’d rather lose me than risk losing your career?”

Adam didn’t answer.

The silence between them buzzed. The words they didn’t say screamed louder than anything else.

Charlie tried again. Softer this time. “You don’t have to be scared. Not with me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Adam said. “I’m scared of me.”

He was shaking now. Visibly. His knuckles were white against the wall.

“I need you to go.”

Charlie’s heart sank. “What?”

“Leave.”

“No,” Charlie said, voice cracking. “We can talk—”

“I said leave!” Adam shouted, looking at him. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy and wild. “Please. Just go.” He let out a shaky breath, looking down. “I can’t do this right now. I can’t look at you.”

Charlie stood frozen, his body refusing to move.

Adam strode over and yanked the door open. The hallway light flooded in, too bright, too sterile.

“Charlie.”

It wasn’t a question.

Charlie looked at him for a long moment. And Adam wouldn’t meet his eyes. Not even once.

So Charlie stepped out.

The door slammed behind him.

He stood in the hallway, frozen for a moment, the sudden light cutting through his thoughts like a harsh reminder of where he was. His heart was still pounding, thudding in his ears as though it might burst from his chest at any moment. His skin felt too tight, his lungs struggling to find the rhythm they had lost somewhere between Adam’s words and the weight of everything that had just happened. His chest ached in a way he couldn’t place, like something important was breaking apart inside of him.

He turned his head slowly, almost mechanically, unable to stop himself. His eyes locked on that same picture hung on Adam’s door. That damn picture. The one from the Goodwill Games. The one with him and Adam, arms around each other, sweaty from the game against Iceland, their faces flushed with the kind of joy that only came from something shared, something earned. The way they’d looked then—so sure, so invincible. Like nothing could ever break them, not the game, not the world. It was supposed to be a symbol of their friendship, something simple, something real. But now, with everything that had happened, it felt like a reminder of everything they couldn’t be.

Charlie’s eyes stayed locked on it, staring at the two of them as if he could make it change. Maybe, if he stared long enough, it would shift somehow. Maybe it would tell him what to do, give him some kind of answer he could hold onto. Something to fix the mess of emotions running through him, something to ease the suffocating weight of guilt and longing twisting inside his chest.

But it didn’t change. It stayed exactly the same.

Frozen.

Unyielding.

It mocked him, in a way. Reminded him of what had been and what would probably never be again. The moment they’d shared, the moments they’d shared. It all felt like a dream now, like some distant memory that had started to fade even before it had fully formed. A picture of something so simple, something so effortless—and now, it was just a memory of something that might never come back.

Charlie’s chest tightened, and he took a shaky breath, but even that didn’t help. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He couldn't make himself leave, not yet, not with that picture staring at him like it knew something he didn’t.

And, God, maybe it did.

Chapter Text

The door slammed shut, and Adam stood still, staring at it like maybe Charlie would knock again. Like maybe he’d beg him to take it back. Like maybe Adam hadn’t just shoved the only people who’d ever really seen him out into the hallway like he meant nothing.

But the silence held.

No footsteps. No protests. Just the sound of his own breathing, sharp and uneven.

Then he moved—jerking back like he’d been struck, the room around him suddenly too small, too bright, too loud. He started pacing, one hand raking through his hair, the other clenched so tightly at his side that his knuckles ached.

He couldn’t breathe.

He was going to be sick.

The panic surged through him like a wave, crashing against every corner of his chest, swallowing breath and thought and reason. It was a cold, suffocating thing, tightening around his ribs until he felt like he might break in half. His hands trembled where they hung uselessly at his sides, and his heart slammed against his sternum like it was trying to claw its way out. His father’s voice echoed through his skull—not just words, but tone, weight, expectation. It was always there, looming, threaded through every decision, every mistake. Clipped and certain and impossible to unhear. “You don’t get to throw your life away, Adam. You don’t get to make selfish choices.”

And wasn’t this selfish? Wanting Charlie. Kissing him.

Letting him in.

Adam stumbled backward, bumping into the dresser, the corner jabbing into the curve of his spine. He barely felt it. Just stood there, rooted in place, while shame bloomed beneath his skin like wildfire.

“You think the world’s going to hand you a spot in the NHL if you act like that?” his father had said once, the memory clawing its way back into Adam’s chest like broken glass. His voice hadn’t even been raised. That was the worst part. It had been low. Controlled. Like a blade drawn slowly across skin. “You think scouts are going to look at you and see a man? Or are they going to see a faggot?”

Adam had been thirteen. Sitting stiff-backed at the kitchen table, hands curled into fists beneath the surface. He remembered the way the overhead light flickered, how the TV buzzed faintly in the other room—something stupid playing, something laugh-tracked and far away. His mother hadn’t said anything. She never did. She just kept folding laundry in the corner, face blank.

“You strut around like some goddamn pansy, hair in your eyes, jeans so tight you look like you belong on a magazine cover instead of on the ice,” his dad had snapped, eyes full of something mean and gleaming. “You think I don’t see the way you look at some of those boys on the team? That brown-haired one—Connelly? Conway? Whatever the hell his name is. And the other one—Hall. Always grinning at you like he knows something you don’t. You think that’s normal? You think anyone’s going to respect a boy who spends more time mooning over his teammates than keeping his head in the game?”

Adam had wanted to sink into the floor. To vanish. But he’d just sat there, still and silent, letting the words land. Because arguing would’ve made it worse. Arguing meant more slurs, more yelling, more threats to pull him out of hockey, to kick him out, to send him somewhere to “straighten him out.” He’d heard that threat, too. Twice. “Don’t think I won’t do it,” his dad had said, calm as ever. “There are camps for this kind of thing. Places that fix kids like you.”

“Kids like you.”

Those words had haunted Adam for years. Like there was something wrong with him. Something broken. Something that needed fixing.

And he’d believed it.

He’d believed it every time he flinched when a teammate’s shoulder brushed his. Every time he made himself laugh at the homophobic jokes in the locker room. Every time he shut the bathroom door and turned on the shower so no one could hear him cry.

His dad didn’t just hate who Adam might be.

He hated who he already was.

And Adam had spent years trying to erase it—scrub it out with hockey drills and cold showers and brutal, unforgiving discipline. He’d convinced himself that if he just worked hard enough, just shut it all down long enough, he could make himself into someone worth loving. Someone his father wouldn’t look at with disgust. Someone who didn’t feel anything when Charlie smiled at him like he hung the stars.

But it was never enough.

It never would be enough.

Because no matter how hard he tried to erase the soft parts of himself, his father would always find them. Sniff them out like blood in the water.

Because to his father, softness was unacceptable.

Adam choked on the memories, bile burning at the back of his throat.

He wasn’t gay.

He wasn’t anything.

He was supposed to be an athlete. A prodigy. A legend. He was supposed to keep his head down and work hard and make his father proud and never, ever feel things like this.

He sank down onto the floor, knees buckling beneath him like his body had finally decided it couldn’t hold the weight of everything anymore. His hands trembled as he pressed them to his eyes. He told himself he wasn’t crying. He couldn’t be.

Boys like him didn’t cry.

He fell back against the base of his bed, breath catching in his chest, his whole body tense with the effort it took not to shatter. His knuckles dug into the carpet, white with strain, as if pain might anchor him to the moment—might keep him from spiraling. But it didn’t help. Nothing helped. The words came anyway, curling in the back of his mind like smoke, dark and choking. “Leviticus 18:22,” his father’s voice echoed, sharp as a whip crack. “Thou shalt not lie with mankind as with womankind; it is abomination.”

Adam had never even meant to memorize it. It had just sunk in—repeated enough times over dinners, sermons, whispered rebukes when he lingered too long near the wrong friend, wore the wrong thing, let his voice get too soft. And now it played on a loop, louder than his own thoughts, louder than Charlie’s voice in his memory, louder than the way Charlie had looked at him tonight like he was something worth loving. He wanted to claw it out of his head, wanted to scream it out of existence. But it was carved into him like a brand. A warning. A curse.

He wasn’t one of them.

He couldn’t be.

“Please,” he whispered, voice hoarse and barely audible, like he was afraid someone might actually hear him. Like there was anyone left who would care. God, maybe. Or whatever part of himself hadn’t already cracked open and started to rot. His hands trembled in his lap, clenched so tight they went numb. His eyes burned again, but he didn’t dare cry—not yet. Not again. He didn’t deserve to. “Please,” he said again, quieter this time. A prayer, a plea, a last-ditch attempt to hold himself together with nothing but hope and fear. “Just let me be normal. I’ll stop. I swear. Just let me fix it.”

He didn’t know what “fixing it” looked like anymore.

Charlie’s face flashed behind his eyes. That soft look he’d given him just before the kiss. Like he was letting himself hope. Like he still trusted him.

Adam doubled over, forehead pressed to his knees.

That trust was gone now.

This was for the best. It had to be.

Charlie was a distraction. He always had been. Too soft. Too bright. Too much. He laughed with his whole chest, eyes scrunching and freckles lighting up like stars across his cheeks. His voice had that low, lazy drawl that got stuck in Adam’s head like a song, and sometimes—God, sometimes—he looked at Adam like he already knew every secret he’d buried. Like he wasn’t scared of any of it. And Adam, idiot that he was, had let himself stare back. At the slope of Charlie’s jaw. The way his hair curled even more when it was slick with sweat. The small scar on his chin that he’d never explained. He memorized those things like they mattered. Like they were his.

He made Adam forget things. Like what he wanted. Like who he was supposed to be.

He was supposed to go to the NHL.

He was supposed to be better than Edina. Better than the Ducks. Better than Charlie.

That was what his father had always told him. What every coach had expected. Adam had the talent. Everyone said so. From the moment he could lace his own skates, people had been watching—pointing at him like he was something special. A prodigy. A promise waiting to be fulfilled. He was the golden boy, the one who could go all the way, the one who never flinched under pressure and always pulled through in the clutch. Scouts followed his games like shadows. Teachers gave him leeway because “hockey comes first.” His whole life had been paved in expectations, in sacrifices he hadn’t even realized he was making. He’d be drafted early. He’d play for a real team. He’d wear a jersey with his name on it, one that people would recognize. He’d make his family proud. He’d make all the sacrifices mean something. Otherwise, what had it all been for?

He forced himself to move. Every muscle resisted, aching like he’d just come off a double shift on the ice, but he moved anyway—because staying still meant thinking, and thinking meant remembering. Teeth gritted. Jaw clenched. He stood and stumbled into the bathroom, towards the sink, flicking the light on with a trembling hand. The fluorescent glare was harsh, unforgiving. He didn’t look at the mirror. Not yet. Just reached for his toothbrush with mechanical precision, like if he moved quickly enough, he wouldn’t have time to feel. He brushed like he could erase it—like the taste of Charlie might vanish if he scrubbed hard enough. Like he hadn’t wanted it. Like he hadn’t leaned in, hadn’t kissed him back.

Then the shower. He turned the knob until it was too hot, the steam flooding the tiny bathroom in seconds, curling into the corners like a ghost—like memory itself had turned physical. His skin went pink under the spray of water, shoulders hunched, eyes squeezed shut the whole time. The heat didn’t soothe. It scalded. He stood there until the water started to cool, until his legs began to shake, until he felt more raw than clean. When he stepped out, the mirror was fogged over, but he still didn’t look at it. Didn’t dare wipe it clear. He wrapped a towel around his waist and kept his gaze low, as if his own reflection might damn him further.

He didn’t need to see his face to know what he’d find.

By the time he was back in his room, half-dressed and still shaking, his phone started to ring.

The sound sliced through the quiet like a blade.
He didn’t realize it at first.

Then he did.

Thursday.

Shit.

His hand hovered over his phone for a second too long. His stomach flipped.

He picked up anyway.

“Hey, Dad.”

His voice sounded hollow—like it belonged to someone else. Something scraped raw and false behind his teeth.

“Adam,” came the response, brisk and clipped. “Took you long enough.”

“I was in the shower,” Adam said, already curling into himself.”

“Hope you weren’t wasting time. You’ve got that showcase next weekend. Are you skating clean? Fast?”

Adam squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”

“You better be. There are scouts flying in for this, Adam. Big names. Real opportunities. You screw it up—” His father’s voice turned sharper, meaner. “—you’re done. There won’t be another shot. You think they give out second chances in the league?”

Adam swallowed hard. “I know.”

“Do you? Because I watched footage from your last Warriors game. You let three guys pass you in the first period. What the hell was that?”

Adam’s throat closed. “Wasn’t my fault,” he muttered. “We weren’t playing as a team.”

His father scoffed, loud and humorless. “There is no team, Adam. You think they’re going to carry you to the draft? Wake up. It’s just you. Your performance. Your name on the board. Your stats. You want to make it? Then start acting like it.”

Adam bit down on the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

“And how are your grades?” his father pressed. “Are you keeping your GPA up? I don’t want to hear about any of this academic probation crap.”

“Yeah. They’re fine.”

“Fine’s not good enough. What are you averaging?”

“Mostly A’s,” Adam said.

There was a pause. “Good. Don’t let anything drop. I don’t want that transcript of yours giving anyone a reason to look past you. You hear me?”

“I hear you.”

His father kept going, as if the weight of expectations didn’t already have Adam sinking. “Your grandma’s been asking about you. She’s still getting over whatever that flu was last week. Thought you might’ve called her.”

Adam blinked. “I didn’t know she was sick.”

“You would have if you picked up the phone once in a while.”

Shame flared in his chest—bright and burning. “I’ll call her.”

“You better. She still thinks you’re going to make the league, you know. Don’t disappoint her.”

There was a long pause.

Adam didn’t know what to say.

His jaw ached from how hard he was clenching it.

“Is there anything else?” he asked, too quietly.

Another pause. Then: “No. That’s it. Just keep your head in the game. Stay focused. Don’t let anything mess with your routine. You’ve worked too hard to screw this up. And don’t waste your time on distractions, either. Friends, school, girls—whatever. All of that’s just noise. You hear me?”

Adam stayed quiet.

Because he knew what “whatever” meant.

He knew exactly what his dad was warning him about.

“Yes, sir,” he said finally, voice dull and mechanical.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

The line went dead a second later.

His father didn’t say goodbye.

His father didn’t even say “I love you.”

He never did.

Adam dropped the phone onto the bed like it had burned him. His hands were trembling again—faintly, like aftershock tremors. He sank down beside his bed again, heart hammering in his ribs like it was trying to burst out of his chest. He leaned forward, elbows pressed to his knees, breath coming too fast.

He hadn’t even realized he was crying until he felt the tears roll down his cheeks.

He wiped them away fast, angry, like they betrayed something.

He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t supposed to want anything except the league.

Adam let out a shaky breath, lifting his head, his gaze slowly drifting to his nightstand.

The photo was still there.

Framed in oak, slightly askew like he hadn’t bothered to straighten it the last time he’d knocked it sideways reaching for his alarm. The glass was smudged. He hadn’t touched it in weeks.

But now he couldn’t look away.

It was from sixth grade year—after the championship game. Adam could still remember the way it had felt that night, even now, as he stared at it, the picture that somehow looked too old for the memory it captured. They were still in their gear, jerseys damp with sweat from the game, the smell of ice and adrenaline hanging in the air, their hair a mess from being under their helmets for what had been at least the last hour. But their faces—God, their faces. Red from the cold, frozen in time with grins wide enough to split their cheeks. It was the kind of grin that only happened when something so amazing had taken place, something so pure, that you couldn’t contain it. They hadn’t known it yet, but they’d been happy then. Really happy.

Charlie had slung his arm around Adam’s shoulder, pulling him in close like it was instinct. Like they didn’t know any other way to be. The picture froze that exact moment, with Charlie’s arm pulling him tight, the way he always did, like Adam belonged there. Like it was normal for them to be together, side by side. Adam was leaning into him without hesitation, his helmet crooked under his other arm, mouth open like he’d just laughed at something Charlie had said. It was probably something ridiculous. A joke that had been made for no one but the two of them. The two of them—best friends, right from the start. It had happened so quickly. He remembered meeting Charlie, switching from the Hawks to the Ducks, much to his father’s dismay and bitter protest. It had caused a lot of arguments at home, his dad ranting about how “you never change teams midseason,” how it wasn’t “done,” as if it was his fault. But Adam hadn’t cared. All he cared about was the game, the rush, the cold wind against his face as he skated across the ice. That, and Charlie.

Charlie had been the reason he didn’t hesitate. Charlie had been the reason he didn’t care what his dad said. The Hawks had always been a team of cliques, but the Ducks were different. The Ducks were a family. And somehow, in the strange way kids did, Charlie and Adam had just clicked. It didn’t matter that they’d only known each other for a handful of days. They had fallen into a rhythm together, seamlessly, like they’d been doing it for years.

And here they were, grinning like they had the world at their feet. Everything felt easy back then—like they could have played hockey forever, could have stayed on the ice in that frozen moment without any real worries. Adam had just wanted to play, to be part of the team, and being around Charlie had made it even better. Back then, there were no thoughts of expectations, of scouts, of what was waiting for them down the road. There was just the game, and there was Charlie. That was all he needed, wasn’t it? Just hockey.

As he continued to stare at the photo, Casey’s voice echoed in his mind, faint but still clear. Charlie’s mom, standing a few feet back on the ice, her camera raised in front of her, calling out to them as they stood there, grinning like idiots in the cold. “Closer, boys! Come on, you’ll want to remember this someday.”

But they hadn’t needed the instruction. They hadn’t needed to be told to get closer. They just had.

Adam’s throat tightened as he looked at the photo, wishing he could reach into it and pull that moment back out. A time when everything felt just right. When it was just them, just the game, and the future hadn’t loomed so heavy over him. Before all of the decisions had to be made. Before everything had gotten so… complicated. The photo was just a frozen memory now, the kind that you had to cherish because it was the last time anything felt truly simple.

That was the way it had always been with Charlie—simple, easy, natural. It never needed words. Not like it did now.

Now, Adam wasn’t sure what was left of that simplicity.

But the photo? That memory? It was all he had left.

Adam stared at the photo until his vision blurred, but not from tiredness. His chest ached like something had broken loose, something buried that refused to stay quiet.

That night, they’d won everything.

And somehow, it still hadn’t been enough.

Because here he was, alone.

He was alone, and Charlie was gone.

The photo stared back at him, frozen in time.

Mocking.

Accusing.

He turned away, like that would save him from what he felt.

God, this was all his fault.

He tried to tell himself it was for the best. That his pain was part of the price. That he’d chosen the right path.

But the words didn’t feel true anymore.

That night, sleep didn’t come.

Just silence and regret.

Chapter Text

It was too quiet.

The air clung to Charlie’s skin like wet cotton, heavy and damp with the early February chill. The night was windless, but not still. Not really. Not in the way that let him breathe easily. Every sound was magnified: the rubbery scuff of his sneakers on the pavement, the low hum of a distant generator, the faint rustle of leaves on the trees overhead. There was no music from the dorms, no laughter spilling out of open windows, no faint trail of voices carried across the campus. Just silence, and his thoughts.

He hadn’t even made it halfway back from Adam’s dorm before the spiraling started. Replay. Rewind. Pick it apart. What did I say? What did I do? Where did it all go wrong?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t supposed to hurt this much.

Charlie shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie—the old North Stars one with the fraying cuffs and the faded logo that he’d practically lived in since his seventh-grade year. It wasn’t Adam’s, though he knew it probably looked like it was. Everyone always assumed that, just like they assumed other things. But this one was his. He’d bought it himself at a game, back when things still felt simple—before the playoffs, before everything had started unraveling piece by piece. The sleeves had grown too short over the years, early riding up to his elbows, and the inside had lost that soft lining that used to feel like a hug. Now it was just fabric. Just something to cling to. Something that still smelled like stale ice rinks and late practices and cold nights spent dreaming about things he never should have wanted. He curled into it anyway. Walked faster. Tried to breathe past the ache in his ribs and the knot in his chest and the sting in his eyes that threatened to spill over and undo him completely. He kept moving just like that—tired and quiet and afraid—like if he just kept walking, maybe none of it would catch up to him.

God, he hadn’t said anything wrong, had he?

Adam had kissed him. And then Adam had pulled away. Just like that—like it hadn’t happened at all. Like it hadn’t meant everything. Like it hadn’t lit Charlie up from the inside out, and then hollowed him out in the same breath. Adam’s eyes had darted over his face like he was memorizing him—or trying to forget him. Like he wanted to stay. Like he wanted to run. Like he wanted to scream and apologize and disappear all at once. And then he said it. Flat. Final. Like a slap across the mouth, like a gunshot through the center of Charlie’s chest. “I can’t let myself want this. Want you. Because I know what it’ll cost me.” No room left to argue. No crack left to slip through. It wasn’t even cruel. Not really. That’s what made it worse. It was quiet. Almost gentle. The kind of sentence people used to explain why they left. Why they didn’t love you back. Why you were never worth the risk. The same kind of words his dad had spoken to his mom, before he’d walked out on them both.

Charlie let out a breath he didn’t remember holding, shaky and wet around the edges. He tilted his head back and blinked up at the sky, trying to keep the tears from falling. It didn’t work. One slipped free anyway, cutting a hot line down his cheek before the cold air could dry it. He kept walking. He didn’t know what else to do. His feet moved on autopilot, dragging him through the dim emptiness of campus. He was passing the back end of the student union now, the part that always felt too quiet, too exposed. The shadows stretched wide across the pavement, long and sharp beneath the flickering glow of the high-up streetlamps. The motion sensor lights stayed dark as he passed underneath them. He must’ve missed their window by seconds. Funny, he thought. Of course he did. He’d just missed the light. Just like he missed everything else.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first.

They came in slow—measured. Deliberate. Not running, not shuffling. A kind of sound that lets your body know before your brain that something’s not right.

Then came the laughter. Low. Mocking.

Finally, a voice.

“Hey, Conway.”

Charlie froze.

He didn’t even have to turn around. He knew that voice. Had heard it too many times before, wrapped around slurs and fake smiles and Varsity jackets that smelled like beer, blood, and old sweat.

“Going somewhere?” Another voice now. Cole, maybe. Or Mullin. Didn’t matter.

He turned slowly, already bracing.

Riley was there, flanked by three other guys from Varsity. All of them in their matching lettermans. All of them grinning like they’d just found a wounded animal on the side of the road.

And Charlie was alone.

Shit.

He glanced behind him. Empty sidewalk. No one was coming.

“You look like you saw a ghost,” Riley drawled, stepping closer, his boots crunching against the gravel as he closed the distance between them. His eyes flicked over Charlie, landing on the hoodie he was wearing. The fraying cuffs. The worn-out fabric that looked like it had been dragged through a thousand battles. It was old, and covered in creases from the countless times it had been stuffed into the bottom of a gym bag or the back of a locker. Riley’s smirk spread, as if he’d just found a treasure buried under all that pathetic scrap. “Nice hoodie, Conway. I didn’t realize you were going for the ‘hobo chic’ look. Is that the fashion at the bottom of the food chain?”

Charlie didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The smirk on Riley’s face said it all.

Riley stepped even closer, tilting his head like he was inspecting a new piece of trash. “I mean, damn. That thing’s so old, it’s probably seen more action than you ever have. Are you trying to make a statement? Or are you just too broke to afford a new one?” He grinned even wider, looking over at the other guys.

Mullin let out a low chuckle, stepping forward with a sneer tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, maybe he’s hoping one of us will be impressed,” he said, eyes flicking over Charlie like he was sizing up prey. “You parade around in that ratty old thing like it means something. Like you’re worth lookin’ at.” He tilted his head mockingly. “You trying to get our attention, Conway? ‘Cause hell, you’ve got it now.”

Riley stepped closer and put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, the contact cold and heavy. “Maybe we should just take that hoodie off. Get a good look at what’s underneath. See if you’re hiding anymore… secrets.” His smirk deepened, eyes flickering with a twisted sort of amusement. “Maybe you’ll strip for us, Conway. Bet we could make a fun little show out of it.”

The words hung in the air like smoke. Charlie felt his stomach twist, bile rising in his throat. His skin burned. They could already see the cracks, the pieces he kept hidden beneath the surface. They could smell his fear—his inability to defend himself, even now, when everything in him screamed for it.

The group laughed, their voices raw with the kind of humor that didn’t care who it hurt. They knew exactly how to break him.

Charlie backed up a step. His pulse was hammering now, fast and high in his throat.

“Relax, princess,” Riley said, hands up like he was offering peace. “We just wanna talk.”

“Yeah,” said the fourth guy—Hart, he thought—his voice oily. “We just wanna hear about your little date night with Adam. C’mon, man, give us the rundown. Did he hold your hand? Whisper sweet nothings into your ear? Let you suck his—”

“Shut up,” Charlie snapped before he could stop himself.

Wrong move.

Riley’s expression darkened in an instant.

“You’re gonna tell us what to do now, fag?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “You think just ‘cause Banks looked at you twice, that makes you special?”

Charlie didn’t respond. His fists curled in his pockets. He was calculating. Fast. Distance to the next dorm. Likelihood of outrunning them. Probability of someone hearing him if he screamed.

None of the numbers looked good.

“You’ve always been a cocky little shit,” Riley muttered, stepping forward again. “Skating around like you belong on JV. Talking back like you’re one of us.”

He was close now. Too close.

“But you’re not,” he whispered. “You never were.”

The first punch came so fast Charlie didn’t even register the movement. Just a dull, blooming pain that exploded across his cheekbone, staggering him sideways into the rough brick wall behind him.

He tasted copper immediately. The inside of his cheek scraped against his teeth. His knees buckled, and his shoulder scraped hard against the wall as he fought to stay upright.

“Fuck. Look at that,” one of the boys sneered. Probably Cole, though it was hard to tell with the blood rushing in his ears. “Little pansy’s still standing.”

“Not for long,” another voice added. That one was unmistakably Riley.

Charlie’s vision blurred, eyes watering from the impact, but he could still make out Riley stepping forward, his Varsity jacket seeming to flare out behind him like a cape. His grin was feral. Wolfish. The kind that made your stomach twist before the pain even hit.

“You had a fun night, Conway?” Riley asked. He tilted his head, mock-friendly. “You’re sneaking back from Adam’s place, aren’t you? Jesus. You’re not even trying to hide it anymore.”

Charlie didn’t say anything. What could he say? Why would it matter?

“You think you’re special or something?” another boy spat. “Think that just ‘cause you suck our offense’s dick, you get a free pass?”

Riley laughed like that was the funniest thing in the world. “He’s not even good enough to be a real fuckin’ bottom,” he said. “Adam’s just using him. Just like everyone else. No one wants to keep a broken toy.”

The second punch caught Charlie in the stomach. All the air in his lungs whooshed out of him in one useless gasp, and he dropped to his knees, the pavement digging through the thin fabric of his jeans.

They didn’t stop.

They never do.

A boot connected with his ribs. Then again. He tried to curl inward, tried to shield his face, but someone grabbed a fistful of hoodie and hauled him half-up again just to drive a knee into his chest.

His head hit the wall on the way down, a sickening crack echoing faintly in the alleyway.

Riley crouched down beside Charlie now, his face suddenly close, too close, and Charlie could feel his breath on his skin, cold and sharp. Riley’s eyes were cruel, studying him with a twisted curiosity. He leaned in a little more, just enough to make Charlie’s pulse race, his heart slamming against his ribs.

“You think he loves you?” Riley’s voice was low, almost like they were sharing a secret. It was a mockery of intimacy, a perversion of something that should’ve been tender. “You really think Adam’s gonna throw away the NHL for some little fairy boy with pretty eyes and a history of getting passed around like a fuckin’ team towel?” He chuckled under his breath, the sound more guttural than funny. It made Charlie’s stomach twist.

Charlie could barely keep his eyes open, blood and sweat mixing together as he tried to focus on Riley’s face, but his vision was fading, the world growing distant as each word felt like a strike to the chest. He managed a half-conscious spit, blood dribbling into the pavement in front of him—his last attempt to do something, anything. It was weak. Pathetic. But it was all he had left.

Riley’s lips twisted into a smile, an expression that would’ve made anyone with half a conscience shudder. “I think,” he said, standing up again, his shadow growing longer over Charlie’s beaten form, “you need to be reminded of your place.” He spoke slowly, drawing out the words like he was savoring the moment.

And then it came. A kick to his lower back, hard enough to send a burst of white-hot pain shooting up his spine, turning everything into a jagged blur. Something spasmed in his muscles, a sharp twist that made him gasp—no, not gasp—choke. His breath hitched in his throat, his body writhing as he tried to hold on to any shred of consciousness, to any shred of himself.

But it didn’t matter. It never did.

Charlie didn’t cry out. Not really. His throat was raw, and he couldn’t find the strength to scream, couldn’t summon the power to do anything but let out a low, ragged noise that sounded like something dying. The ground felt so cold under him now, his face pressed against the pavement, the concrete scraping against his skin as his vision swirled, bleeding into the nothingness of darkness. The cold wetness of the ground seeped into his bones, dragging him deeper into a place where pain and numbness mixed together, until he couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

Laughter broke through the haze, rough and mocking. Voices rang in his ears like a distant echo, slurring, getting louder. They were talking about him, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. All he could focus on was the feeling of their kicks, their hands, their words. It was like they were spreading the torment out, dragging it out just long enough to ruin him.

Someone laughed again. “Bet he likes this.”

Riley didn’t miss a beat. He crouched down lower, just enough for Charlie to see the glint in his eyes—something gleeful and vile and so smug it made Charlie’s stomach do a backflip.

“Oh, he’s loving every second,” Riley drawled. “Bet if we stripped him down right here, he’d start moaning like a whore. Probably get off on it, too. All of us watching. Kicking him around. Fulfilling his nasty little fantasies.”

He leaned in, breath hot and sour against Charlie’s cheek. “That what you want, Conway? Want us to help you out of these clothes? Give you a show you’ll never forget?”

The others hooted, laughing louder, meaner. One of them mimed unzipping Charlie’s hoodie, grabbing the air like he was yanking it open.

“Come on, let the little princess model for us,” Cole jeered.

Charlie couldn’t move. He could barely breathe. His fingers twitched at his sides, but everything else was too heavy, too broken. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block it out—but the laughter only got louder.

And then another kick came, sharp and sudden, driving into his side. He choked on a sound, curling instinctively, even as more boots scraped on the pavement nearby.

“Yeah,” Riley said, standing over him again. “Naked and bleeding. That’s how you queers like it, right?”

That was when the tears started. Not because of the pain. Not because of anything physical. But because of the way their words seemed to wrap around him, suffocating him slowly. He wasn’t just beaten. He wasn’t just hurt. He was nothing to them. A thing to be kicked, mocked, and discarded.

And yet, he couldn’t fight back. Not anymore. He’d stopped fighting years ago. He was nothing but a punching back to these assholes, a plaything for them to destroy.

Another kick landed. This one to his ribs. Something cracked—maybe his rib, maybe his spirit—it didn’t matter, but it felt like it might’ve been both. The pain shot through his chest like lightning, sharp and searing. His breath caught, his lungs spasming, but he couldn’t even summon the energy to scream. Instead, he gasped—ragged, wheezing—barely able to hold onto his consciousness as the world started to fade, pulling him away from them one jagged edge at a time.

But it wasn’t enough. They weren’t done yet. They never were.

A broken sob slipped out before he could stop it. Just one, but it cracked something loose. Then another. And another. Until tears streaked down his cheeks, mixing with the blood, stinging the cuts on his face. He wasn’t even sure what he was crying for anymore—Adam, the pain, himself, the awful truth that maybe this was all he’d even been worth.

“Aww,” Cole sneered. “Look at him. Cryin’ already?”

“Didn’t take much, huh?” Hart added with a snort, nudging Riley with his elbow. “What’d I tell you? Soft.”

“You want your boyfriend to come hold your hand, sweetheart?” Riley mocked, crouching down beside him again. “Should we call Adam? Tell him his little boy toy’s broken? Might not be as pretty now.”

Charlie’s fingers curled weakly against the concrete, but he couldn’t lift himself. Couldn’t stop shaking.

Riley’s voice turned slow and cruel. “You know what? I still think we should take that hoodie off. Hell, maybe even all of it. Might as well see what the kid’s hiding under there.”

“Strip him,” Cole muttered, low and amused. “Bet he’d thank us for it.”

“You think he’s crying now?” Mullin said with a grin. “Wait ‘til he’d got nothing on but those bruises.”

The laughter that followed was loud and ugly. It rang in Charlie’s ears like static, like poison. Every comment was a nail in his chest, hammered deeper with every second.

Riley’s hand reached out again—this time toward the zipper of Charlie’s hoodie, fingers curling like claws.

And then—

They stopped.

Someone held their breath. The laughter cut off, sharp and sudden. One of the turned, stiffening. Riley froze mid-motion.

Footsteps.

Heavy ones.

And fast.

Coming straight for them.

And Charlie, barely conscious, barely breathing, felt the shift in the air like thunder before the storm.

They were here.

Dean and Fulton were here.

Charlie barely had time to register it before chaos erupted.

Dean was a blur of rage. One second, the air was thick with laughter and slurs—and the next, he was flying.

He didn’t shout. Didn’t warn them. He just lowered his shoulder and barreled forward like a freight train, slamming into Cole with enough force to send both of them crashing into the pavement in a violent tangle of limbs. The impact echoed in the alley, a sickening thud of body against concrete followed by a raw, guttural grunt as the wind left Cole’s lungs.

Then came the fists.

Dean’s knuckles cracked against bone, sharp and relentless, fueled by something that had been building for too long—rage, guilt, fury, helplessness. Cole managed to get one weak punch in, but it barely glanced off Dean’s cheek before Dean caught his wrist, twisted it back, and drove his elbow into Cole’s temple with a sound like splitting wood. Cole cried out, scrambling, blood starting to pour from above his eyebrow.

“You sick little fucks,” Dean growled, his voice ragged and low. “You think this is funny? You think this is a game?”

Fulton was two steps behind him, not as loud, not as reckless—but just as dangerous. He moved with grim purpose, eyes locked on Hart, who’d just straightened up from kicking Charlie.

Fulton’s hand snapped out, grabbing Hart by the front of his shirt, yanking him forward with effortless strength before slamming a fist into his face. The crack was loud—knuckle against cheekbone—and Hart stumbled back, dazed, eyes rolling as he slid down against the wall behind him.

“Fucking freaks,” Hart mumbled, before Fulton stepped in again, grabbing his collat and slamming him back into the wall so hard his head thudded against the bricks.

“Say that again,” Fulton said, voice quiet, dangerous.

“Get off me, man!” Hart backed, trying to shove him off.

Fulton didn’t flinch. He leaned in, teeth bared. “You touch Charlie again, and I swear to God, I’ll make you choke on your own fucking teeth.”

Riley spun around then, realizing what was happening, fury twisting his face as he stepped toward Fulton, readying a fist. “You think you can just roll in here like some God damn heroes—?”

He didn’t get to finish.

Fulton ducked the punch Riley had thrown before it was halfway to his jaw, then drove his knee up into Riley’s gut with brutal precision. Riley folded with a gagging sound, dropping to his knees, one hand clutching his stomach as the other slapped the pavement for balance. He coughed, spitting blood and bile, wheezing.

“Fucking faggot lovers,” Riley choked out.

Dean didn’t hesitate. He was off Mullin—it looked like Cole had run, Charlie didn’t see him anywhere—and was storming across the lot before Riley could blink, his boot slamming into Riley’s ribs. Riley collapsed completely, curling in on himself with a broken wheeze.

“Say that again,” Dean snapped, crouching beside him. “Go on. Say it again.”

Riley groaned, eyes fluttering as he rolled onto his side. “You’re both dead. You don’t know what you just—”

Dean grabbed him by the collar and shook him once. “No. You don’t know what you just did. This? This doesn’t go away. You crossed a line, Riley.”

Meanwhile, Charlie lay motionless a few feet away, the world spinning around him in dizzy streaks of shadow and concrete. His body was aching, every part of him pulsing like it had its own heartbeat. But through the haze, he could see them—Dean and Fulton, shoulder-to-shoulder, fists clenched, bodies heaving with adrenaline as they stood between him and the others like human shields.

Like protectors.

The air was thick with the aftermath of violence: blood-stained knuckles, labored breathing, spit and curses soaking the pavement. Hart was groaning against the wall. Mullin hadn’t moved since Dean’s last punch. Riley was still curled in a ball, mumbling threats through a mouthful of blood.

Dean stepped away, chest heaving, turning to Fulton. “You good?”

Fulton shook out his hand, flexing his fingers with a wince. “I think I broke my knuckle on that prick’s jaw.”

“Worth it,” Dean muttered, turning toward Charlie.

He dropped to his knees beside him.

“Hey—hey, Charlie?” Dean’s voice softened fast, the fury giving way to concern. “You with us, bud?”

Fulton crouched beside him, eyes wide, scanning Charlie’s bruised and bloodied face. “Shit,” he breathed. “He’s really bad.”

“I’m fine,” Charlie murmured, though it was barely more than a whisper. “Just… give me a second.”

“You don’t look fine,” Dean said, brushing the blood from Charlie’s cheek with shaking fingers. “Jesus, they really messed you up.”

Fulton leaned in. “Can you sit up? We gotta get you out of here before someone else shows up.”

Charlie tried to move, but a white-hot bolt of pain shot up his back, stealing his breath. He hissed and flinched, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. “Fuck,” he tried to breathe. “My ribs.”

Dean’s hand was instantly on his shoulder, steadying him. “Okay, okay. Don’t move. We’ll figure it out.”

“Is it bad?” Charlie asked, voice trembling.

Fulton exchanged a glance with Dean, then forced a weak smile. “You’ve looked better.”

Charlie let out a wet, broken laugh. “That’s not hard.”

Fulton smiled, but it was tight, his eyes glassy. “You’re gonna be alright, Conway. We’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

“Could’ve used you ten minutes earlier,” Charlie muttered.

Dean groaned, half-laughing. “Yeah, well. I had to finish my burger.”

Charlie managed a breath of a chuckle. “Asshole.”

Then he moved a little—just enough to lift his hand to his face. He blinked at the red that came away on his fingers.

Blood. A lot of it.

The laugh died in his throat, his vision tilting.

“I—I think I—” he started, voice slurring.

And then everything went dark, his body going limp in Dean’s arms.

Fulton’s voice cracked. “Shit—Charlie?!”

“Charlie, hey—hey, come on,” Dean said, voice panicked now, full of something raw. “Don’t do that, don’t fucking do that. Stay with us, okay?”

But Charlie didn’t answer.

Not this time.

Chapter Text

Adam had just drifted off into a fitful sleep when his phone blared to life, cutting right through the fog of exhaustion. His heart lurched in his chest, a primal panic seizing him. His eyes snapped open, and he fumbled around in the darkness, the sound of his ringtone echoing in his skull. He thought for a second that it was his dad—it had to be—as his fingers shook when they finally found the phone on his nightstand. The screen lit up with Julie’s name, and for a moment, Adam froze.

Julie.

Julie Gaffney.

At this time of night?

Adam blinked at the screen, disoriented. His clock read 2:13 a.m. The kind of hour where nothing good ever happened—where the world was quiet and heavy and every call felt like it came with bad news. He sat up slowly, heart pounding, still trying to shake the fog of sleep from his brain. Julie wasn’t the type to call for no reason, and definitely not in the middle of the night. Not unless something was wrong. Very wrong. His thumb hovered over the screen for a second too long, every possible scenario playing out in his head. Then, pulse thrumming in his ears, he answered. “Julie?”

Her voice came at him like a whirlwind—sharp, breathless, and raw around the edges, like she’d been running, or crying, or both. “Adam, you need to come to the hospital. Now.”

He bolted upright; all the air sucked from his lungs in one gasp. His mouth opened, but no words came at first. His thoughts were too loud. His heart was pounding hard enough to hurt. “Julie? What’s—what’s going on?” he managed, his voice hoarse with sleep and sudden dread. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

There was a pause. A shaky breath on the other end of the line. And then, so softly he almost didn’t hear her—"It’s Charlie."

Adam’s chest constricted. His whole body went cold.

Julie kept talking, too fast, trying to get it all out before she broke completely. “I don’t have time to explain. Just come to the hospital. Now. I’ll meet you outside, okay? Please, Adam. Please—just hurry.”

Her voice cracked hard on the last word, and that was all it took to split something inside him.

“Julie, wait—” he tried, his panic blooming, but it was too late. The call ended, the silence afterward somehow louder than her voice had been. His phone screen went dark in his hand.

He stared at it for one stunned, stuttering second, then shot to his feet, heart in his throat.

Charlie.

Something was wrong with Charlie.

He didn’t remember grabbing his coat. Didn’t remember throwing on shoes. God, he didn’t even know if they matched. All he knew was that he ran. He tore through campus like a man possessed, his lungs screaming, his legs burning, each step thudding with the weight of dread sinking deeper and deeper into his bones. It took fifteen minutes to walk to the hospital from his dorm. He got there in eight.

His heart was jackhammering in his chest by the time the emergency room came into view, the building stark against the night sky, windows glowing with harsh fluorescent light. It didn’t feel real. The whole world seemed far away and too close all at once, like he was watching it through a smeared lens. Cold air bit at his skin, sliced down his throat with every gasp of breath, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

The name echoed like a heartbeat in his skull, louder than the pounding of his feet on the pavement, louder than the memory of his own voice from earlier, saying things he hadn’t meant—things he could never take back.

He hadn’t meant to say it like that. He hadn’t meant to say it at all.

Just a distraction.

He could still see the look on Charlie’s face. The way his expression had crumpled—not all at once, but slowly, like something inside him was folding in on itself. Adam had turned away, too much of a coward to face what he’d done, what he’d broken. And now…

Now he was terrified it might’ve been the last time.

When he spotted Julie outside, standing just beyond the sliding glass doors that were beneath the flickering overhead light, it hit him all over again. Harder this time, like a fist to the chest. She looked impossibly small against the looming hospital entrance, her body curled in on itself as she paced in tight, anxious circles. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her torso, like she was trying to hold herself together, and in one trembling hand, she still clutched her phone. She was wearing pajamas—soft flannel pants and an oversized sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder, the fabric wrinkled and thin from too many washes. She hadn’t even put on real shoes, just a pair of old, worn-out slippers, the toes scuffed from years of use. Her hair was a mess, pulled into a lopsided ponytail that looked like it had been thrown up in a rush, strands falling loose around her face. And her face—God. Her face looked wrecked. Red-rimmed, puffy eyes that shimmered under the glow of the streetlamp, skin blotchy from crying. She looked like she hadn’t stopped since she called him. Like she’d been falling apart, moment by moment, waiting for him to get there.

“Julie!” he called out, his voice cracking as it left his throat.

She turned toward him the second he came through the doors, her head snapping up like she’d been listening for his footsteps all along. The moment her eyes landed on him, her whole face crumpled, the fragile composure she’d been holding onto buckling under the weight of everything she hadn’t said yet. But she didn’t yell. Didn’t ask him why he hadn’t come sooner—because he had, running the whole way, arriving in record time. But none of that mattered now. She didn’t waste a breath on words. Instead, she surged forward and threw her arms around him, clutching him tight, like she needed something real to hold onto or she might shatter altogether. Her body shook against his, wracked with silent sobs, her face buried against his shoulder. Adam froze for a moment, caught off guard, and then wrapped his arms around her just as tightly, trying to will some kind of strength into his limbs.

She pulled back just slightly, her hand finding his wrist and locking around it with desperate strength. “Come on,” she rasped, her voice raw and barely steady. “He’s on the fifth floor.”

And without waiting for his reply, she turned and pulled him with her, dragging him into the fluorescent-lit lobby with a kind of urgency that made Adam’s stomach twist tighter with every step.

Adam followed blindly, stumbling through the sliding doors as the hospital swallowed him whole. The lobby was quiet in a way that made the lights feel too bright, too sterile. The walls smelled like bleach and cold air and something else—something metallic that made his stomach turn. Every footstep echoed. Every hallway felt too long.

He tried to speak—tried to ask her what had happened, how bad it was, if Charlie was still awake—but the words never made it out. They caught somewhere in his throat and stuck there like glass.

He felt sick. Not the kind of sick that made you throw up, but the kind that made your bones ache. The kind that made it hard to breathe without wanting to scream.

Julie didn’t say a word. She didn’t look at him, either. Her hand was still wrapped around his wrist like she didn’t trust him to follow unless she kept him tethered.

And maybe she was right.

Because if she let go, Adam wasn’t sure he wouldn’t fall apart. Not here. Not now.

He had no idea what waited for him upstairs. But it was Charlie. And that was enough to make him want to run and never stop, and also enough to make him want to keep going, no matter what.

Because Charlie was hurt. And it was his fault.

“Julie—” Adam’s voice finally scraped its way out of his throat, raw and unsteady. “Julie, what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer at first. Her grip on his wrist tightened instead, and her pace quickened like she could outrun the truth if she moved fast enough. Her ponytail swung with every step, the lights in the hallway catching her hair, and for a moment, Adam thought she might’ve forgotten he was even there—like she was moving on instinct alone.

But then, just as they reached the elevator tucked near the end of the hallway, she stopped. Her hand hovered over the call button. She turned to him slowly, and the moment her eyes met his, Adam felt the floor drop out from beneath him.

Her expression had crumpled in the way a person’s does when they’ve run out of strength to hold it together. Her voice, when it came, was hoarse. Barely audible. “He’s in the ICU.”

The words punched the air from his lungs. “What?”

Julie looked away. Swallowed hard. “He’s hurt, Adam. Bad.”

For a second, he couldn’t breathe. His ears were ringing. ICU. That wasn’t a regular hospital room. That wasn’t ice packs and gauze and some fucking stitches. That was—critical. That was ventilators. Monitors. Wires. Machines keeping people alive.

Julie pressed the elevator button, and Adam stood there frozen, his hands curling into fists at his sides. It felt like he was vibrating—buzzing with panic and helplessness and guilt so loud he couldn’t think over it. The elevator dinged. The doors opened with a mechanical whoosh, and still, no part of this felt real.

He stepped inside beside her, his legs barely working, his limbs moving on autopilot. The doors shut behind them with a soft metallic click, and then it was just them—alone, boxed in with fluorescent lighting and a rising sense of suffocation.

Julie stood beside him, arms crossed over her chest like she was holding herself together. She didn’t look at him again. The silence between them was thick, bloated with everything that hadn’t been said.

Adam stared straight ahead at his reflection in the brushed metal doors. He didn’t recognize himself. His face was pale, mouth slightly open like he couldn’t catch his breath. His eyes looked haunted—like he was already mourning something he hadn’t even seen yet.

The elevator climbed slowly. Too slowly.

Each ding of a passing floor made his stomach twist tighter.

Second floor.

Third floor.

Fourth floor.

Fifth floor.

The doors opened.

Adam’s legs nearly gave out as the wave of antiseptic smell rolled over him. It was sharp and sterile, clinging to the back of his throat and coating his tongue. The hallway beyond was too bright, the floors too clean, the walls too white.

He followed Julie in a daze, walking past rooms he didn’t register, past nurses in scrubs, past low voices murmuring behind drawn curtains. Every detail blurred. His heart slammed against his ribs, and his fingers tingled like they’d gone numb.

Julie kept walking. Not fast. Not slow. Like she was counting each step.

Finally, she stopped in front of a closed door. Room 521. Her hand reached out, hovering over the doorknob.

Adam froze. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Julie looked back at him, just once. Her face was pale and streaked with dried tears. Her voice was quiet, trembling. “He’s inside.”

And then she pushed the door open.

Dean and Fulton were standing near the foot of Charlie’s hospital bed, their broad frames stiff with tension, arms folded across their chests in postures that looked defensive—guarded. From the hallway, Adam could see their silhouettes bathed in the bluish hospital light, and for a second, he couldn’t bring himself to move.

They had been speaking in low tones, voices thick and muffled by the closed door, but as Julie stepped into the room, the sound cut off like a switch had been flipped. The atmosphere snapped taut.

Dean turned first. His head jerked toward the door, expression hardening the instant his eyes landed on Adam. The way his jaw clenched, the tension rippling down his shoulders—it was enough to make Adam’s stomach twist violently. Dean looked like he was barely holding something back, like his anger was a dam straining against the pressure of everything he’d seen tonight.

Fulton's turn was slower, but no less deliberate. There was something colder in his expression—sharper. His face was rigid, lips pressed into a line, eyes dark with something that almost looked like betrayal. The controlled fury simmering beneath his skin was palpable, and Adam felt it hit him like a physical force. Fulton didn’t need to say anything. His silence screamed.

Adam froze in the doorway, his pulse hammering in his ears. His eyes darted past them—toward the bed—toward Charlie.

He wished he hadn’t.

There, under the harsh fluorescent glow, Charlie looked like someone else entirely. His face was bruised and bloodied, the skin around his right eye already swollen to an angry purple. His lip was split, dried blood crusted along the edges. His curls were matted and damp, clinging to his forehead, and there were tubes—IVs—wires that disappeared under the thin white sheet pulled up to his waist. A monitor beeped steadily behind him, the rhythm the only thing keeping Adam grounded in the moment.

The room spun.

His feet felt rooted to the floor. His lungs burned, like they’d forgotten how to work. The guilt surged so violently in his chest that he swore it would crack his ribs open. This was his fault. Every inch of it. Charlie wouldn’t be here—wouldn’t be broken like this—if Adam had just done something. Said something. If he hadn’t walked away. If he hadn’t—

Then Dean stepped forward.

The movement jolted Adam out of his paralysis.

Julie turned toward him quickly, her hand rising instinctively like she could hold back the explosion about to happen. “Dean, please,” she said, her voice breaking. “This isn’t the time.”

But Dean wasn’t listening. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his shoulders squaring as he took another step closer to Adam.

“Not the time?” he echoed, low and venomous. “He’s lying in that bed because of him.”

Adam flinched like he’d been struck.

Dean kept going, his voice rising now, trembling with rage and grief. “You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to fucking care about him! Instead, you threw him away like he didn’t mean anything. And now look at him.”

“I—” Adam opened his mouth, but no sound came out. There was nothing to say. No defense to give.

Fulton finally spoke, and when he did, it was ice-cold. “You think this is hard for you?” His voice cut through the room like a scalpel. He took one slow, deliberate step toward Adam, eyes locked. “Try being the one who had to find him.”

Adam’s throat closed up.

“I had to peel Riley off of him,” Fulton hissed, every word measured and sharp. “Had to watch Charlie try to stand up, try to fight back, while those bastards laughed and called him every goddamn slur they could think of. You know what he said, Adam? The last thing he said before he blacked out?” Fulton’s voice cracked, just barely. “He said your name.”

Julie looked down, her fingers twitching around the hem of her sweatshirt. Dean looked away, his nostrils flaring, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might shatter.

“You left him,” Fulton said, quieter now, but no less brutal. “You said he was a distraction. And then you just let him walk back alone—straight into them.”

Adam’s vision swam.

He took a step back, instinctively. The walls were closing in. The beeping of Charlie’s monitor was too loud. The lights were too bright. Everything hurt.

“I didn’t know,” he choked out. “I didn’t think they’d—”

“You didn’t think at all,” Dean snapped, rounding on him again. “You thought about yourself. About what your dad would say. About your career. About what it would mean if people knew you were—” He stopped himself, his voice shaking. “And now he’s here. Broken. Because you were a coward.”

Fulton crossed his arms, but his anger was more controlled, quieter. “You had him, man,” he said, his voice calm but laced with fury. “You had him, and you fucked it up. You could’ve been the one to make it right, but you didn’t. Now look at him.”

Adam felt his breath catch in his throat. He wanted to scream. He wanted to justify himself, to explain why he had pushed Charlie away. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not with Charlie’s broken body lying there. His mind raced, and his heart pounded, but every word felt like it was trapped behind a wall of guilt and fear.

“I don’t—” Adam started, but his voice faltered. He couldn’t even look at them anymore. He had failed Charlie, and now he was paying the price. “I don’t know what happened. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was—”

“Doing the right thing?” Dean cut him off, his voice rising. “By what? Pushing him away? By pretending it didn’t matter? By making him feel like he wasn’t worth fighting for?”

Fulton stepped forward now, his voice low but deadly serious. “You broke him, Adam. You broke him. You did this. So don’t stand there like you have no idea why we’re pissed.”

“Please,” Julie said again, reaching out to Dean, while she looked at Fulton. “Not right now.”

Dean let out a shaky breath, the rage in his face cracking into something raw and hollow. His hands fell to his sides, limp now. Defeated.

Fulton didn’t look away from Adam. “You don’t deserve to be in this room.”

Adam felt the words like a blade. He dropped his gaze, shoulders curling inward.

“I know,” he whispered.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Dean walked past him without another word, his eyes red and glassy, shoulders hunched like they carried the weight of the world. Fulton followed a beat later, slower, but just as heavy with rage. As they reached the door, Fulton paused. His eyes lingered on Charlie—softening for a second—before they snapped back to Adam with a glare that made him flinch again.

And then they were gone.

Adam didn’t sit right away. He hovered for a second, unsure where to put himself, how to exist in a room where Charlie Conway looked like that. Tubes snaked out of his arms, oxygen lines curled at the edges of his mouth. His face was bruised, cut open in places, stitched closed in others. His hands were still, too still, resting like glass on top of the scratchy white blanket. Even from across the room, Adam could see how pale he was—how small he looked, how breakable.

The worst part was that he knew.

He knew this was his fault.

He moved to the chair beside the bed eventually, his legs too shaky to hold him up anymore. It creaked as he dropped into it, and for a second, he just stared. At Charlie. At the bruises. The gash over his eyebrow. The swollen lip. The faint IV beep felt too loud in the silence. Everything inside Adam felt like it was coming apart.

He bent forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands.

His fingers trembled. His chest burned. He clenched his jaw to keep the sob in his throat from escaping.

This was his fault.

He had known—somewhere deep down, he had known—that Riley and his crew wouldn’t let it go. The way Riley looked at Charlie that day after practice wasn’t just a look. It was a promise. A warning. And Adam, coward that he was, had turned away from it. Had chosen silence. Had told himself Charlie could handle it, that maybe it wouldn’t happen, that maybe Riley was just a mouthy asshole and nothing more.

But now Charlie was here. In the ICU. Hooked up to machines.

Because of him.

Adam squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to remember. Not to see it all in his mind again—the way Charlie had looked at him before leaving the dorm, wide-eyed and hurting, still hopeful somehow, even after the things Adam had said. The way he’d let the words “just a distraction” fall from his mouth like they didn’t mean anything. Like Charlie didn’t mean anything.

God. What the hell had he done?

He pressed his palms harder against his eyes until stars burst across the darkness.

He’d told himself he was protecting Charlie. That if he pushed him away, kept a distance, it would shield him from the Varsity crew, from the judgment, from the wrath of the Ducks and the press and Adam’s father. But what a joke that was. What a coward’s lie.

The truth—the real truth—was that Adam had been afraid. Not just afraid of being found out, of the gossip, of what Coach would say or how the other players would look at him. No. He’d been afraid because Charlie mattered. Because Charlie made him feel things—real things, terrifying things. He wasn’t just some hookup. He wasn’t a phase. He wasn’t just a boy in a hoodie. He was… everything. And Adam had known that. Deep down. And still, he’d let him walk away. Alone. In the dark.

“Fuck,” he whispered, barely audible, like the word might make it all unravel. “I’m so sorry, Charlie…”

He didn’t expect to be answered.

But then the sheets shifted.

It was small—barely a noise—but Adam heard it. Felt it, even. The slight rustle of fabric. The rasp of a dry inhale. His head snapped up, eyes wide.

Charlie was stirring.

Adam stood so fast the chair scraped loudly against the floor, but he didn’t care. His heart was in his throat, his limbs frozen somewhere between hope and horror. Charlie’s eyelids fluttered, slow, like he was wading through wet cement. His lips parted slightly, a whisper of a breath escaping.

Then, his eyes opened.

Not all the way. But enough.

Enough to see.

And somehow—somehow—those eyes found Adam.

Adam stepped closer, one foot after the other, like the ground was unstable beneath him. He reached the side of the bed and crouched slightly, just to be level. Just to see him. Just to breathe in the sight of those familiar eyes, dulled now by pain and whatever cocktail of drugs they’d pumped into his system—but still Charlie.

Still Charlie.

“Charlie?” Adam whispered, his voice wrecked.

Charlie blinked, slow and heavy, and a ghost of a sound escaped his throat. Adam leaned closer, holding his breath. He thought maybe he imagined it until he heard it again, barely there:

“Adam…?”

That was it.

That was the moment everything inside Adam broke open.

His breath hitched, and he reached out—but his hand stalled halfway to Charlie’s. He didn’t touch him. He couldn’t. He didn’t deserve to. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

“I’m here,” Adam whispered, voice hoarse. “I’m right here.”

Charlie’s brow pinched ever so slightly, like even that small effort hurt.

“Stay,” he breathed.

Adam nodded furiously, even though he knew Charlie might not see it. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

There was a silence between them then, fragile and full.

Charlie’s eyes stayed open for a few seconds longer. Enough for Adam to see the flicker of something familiar behind them—trust, maybe. Or hope. Or maybe just exhaustion. And then, slowly, gently, they closed again.

But he didn’t pass out.

He just rested.

Still there.

Still breathing.

And Adam let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He sat back down slowly, the chair creaking again beneath him, and let his elbows rest on his knees once more. He didn’t bury his face this time. He kept his eyes locked on Charlie.

He was still crying, though.

Quiet tears.

Shame. Regret. Relief.

Love.

He didn’t say anything else.

Didn’t need to.

Not yet.

But he would sit here. He would stay. And when Charlie opened his eyes again, he’d be there.

No matter what came next.

Chapter Text

The first thing Charlie became aware of was the sound.

A slow, methodical beeping—steady and quiet but insistent, like it had been going on forever. It pulled at him from somewhere deep inside, not loud enough to startle, but enough to anchor him to something real. Something living. Something that still existed outside the darkness that had wrapped around him like a second skin.

Then came the light.

It was bright. Too bright. He squinted against it instinctively, his lashes fluttering as a dull, aching throb pulsed behind his eyes. The sterile white glow stabbed into his skull like tiny shards of glass, making it impossible to keep his eyes open for more than a second at a time.

But the room wasn’t silent, not entirely.

He heard breathing. Not just his own—though his own felt shallow and wrong, like each inhale came with resistance—but others. Soft exhales. The shifting of fabric. A stifled cough. The creak of an old chair under shifting weight.

He forced his eyes open again.

And this time, he didn’t close them.

At first, it was all just a blur—colors bleeding into shapes, shapes into outlines—but then everything slowly sharpened. The ceiling above him. White. Smooth. The corners were lined with some kind of crown molding. To the side, thin beige curtains were pulled mostly shut against the morning light beyond the window. Monitors to his left. An IV stand. A tray table.

And people.

He saw them before he could even make sense of it—clustered together on the far side of the room like they’d collapsed into each other from exhaustion. Dean was slumped in one of the visitor’s chairs, head tipped back, mouth slightly open. Julie was curled into his side, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face buried in Dean’s hoodie. Fulton was half-sprawled on top of both of them, one arm slung over Dean’s legs, his massive frame draped like a weighted blanket across the little makeshift pile of friends who had clearly refused to leave.

Something knotted in Charlie’s chest at the sight of them. He didn’t know what he’d expected—but it hadn’t been that. It hadn’t been them. Still here. Still waiting.

Still fighting for him.

Then, his gaze drifted closer.

Just to his left, by the edge of the bed, a figure stirred in the low light. Light hair. Slouched posture. Adam.

Charlie’s heart gave a faint jolt, even through the fog.

Adam was sitting in a chair that looked like it had been dragged closer than it should’ve been, his elbows resting on the mattress like he couldn’t stand the distance between them. His head was down, buried in his arms, and he looked like he might’ve cried himself to sleep. There were dried tear tracks on his cheeks. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles pale where they pressed against the hospital blanket.

And then—opposite him—his mother.

She was asleep, too, one hand still clutching Charlie’s own like she hadn’t let go all night. Her face was drawn with exhaustion, but there was something fiercely protective in the way she’d positioned herself—body angled between him and the world, like she’d throw herself in front of a train before she let anything touch him again.

Charlie swallowed. Or tried to. His throat was raw, dry, and aching, and the simple motion sent a wave of pain through his ribs. He let out a small, broken sound before he could stop it—a weak, raspy exhale that was closer to a whimper than anything else.

Casey stirred immediately.

Her head jerked up, eyes flying open, wide with panic—but the second she saw him, really saw him, awake and aware and looking back at her, she softened. Her whole face transformed—relief washing through her features in a rush that made her lips tremble and her eyes shine.

“Charlie,” she breathed, voice thick with emotion. “Oh, baby—thank God.”

She reached for the call button, pressing it quickly before turning her attention back to him, cupping his cheek with a hand that trembled.

Charlie blinked at her, slow and sluggish, trying to piece the world together.

“Mom…?” he rasped. His voice didn’t even sound like his own.

“I’m here,” she said immediately, brushing hair from his forehead. “I’m right here, sweetie. Just breathe. You’re safe, okay? You’re safe now.”

He tried. Really, he did. But it hurt—everything hurt. His ribs, his back, his head. His face felt swollen, his lips split. His whole body ached like he’d been ground into the pavement and then stitched back together by trembling hands.

“What… happened?” he asked, voice hoarse.

Casey’s mouth wobbled. “You were hurt. At school. It was bad.” She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Adam briefly before she looked back at Charlie. “Adam called me. He told me what happened. Or… what he could. I came as fast as I could.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked toward Adam again. The boy still hadn’t moved. Still asleep—if it could even be called sleep. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his back, like he was still curled in on himself to keep from falling apart.

“I don’t… remember all of it,” Charlie murmured, blinking slowly. “Just… walking. Then… Riley.”

Casey stiffened, her jaw tightening.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “You don’t have to remember right now. You just have to rest.”

Charlie nodded, or tried to. His eyelids were already starting to get heavy again, the pain and the meds tugging at him like gravity. But he didn’t want to close them. Not yet. Not when Adam was right there, so close he could reach out and touch him, if only he had the strength.

“Adam,” he whispered.

Casey glanced over, then reached out and gently touched Adam’s shoulder.

“Adam, honey,” she said quietly. “He’s awake.”

And then—

Adam stirred slowly, like waking was something that physically hurt. His body shifted stiffly, and his shoulders hunched tighter before he finally lifted his head, blinking blearily through sleep. The moment his eyes focused on Casey, and then on Charlie, something shifted in him. Something cracked open.

He froze.

His whole body seemed to seize as his eyes locked with Charlie’s. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared, breath caught somewhere in his throat, like he wasn’t sure if he was really awake or still trapped in the half-dreamed nightmare he’d been living since the phone rang the night before.

Then: “You’re awake,” Adam whispered. Like it wasn’t possible. Like it was a prayer answered too soon. His voice was ragged, scratchy with disuse and emotion. “You’re—”

He cut himself off, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart in front of everyone. He stood slowly from the chair, gripping the bed’s railing like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Charlie could barely look at him.

Everything about Adam—his face, his posture, the bruises beneath his eyes, the tear stains dried on his cheeks—looked like someone who’d been through war. Who’d lost and crawled his way back. And it was all because of him.

Adam swallowed hard. “I didn’t think you’d—” He broke off again, his voice trembling. He tried to say something else, but it was like the words got stuck behind everything he hadn’t said before. Everything he’d kept buried.

Charlie didn’t answer right away. It hurt too much to move, to think, to speak. But his gaze stayed fixed on Adam, searching his face for something familiar. Something safe.

“You called her?” he croaked, voice just barely audible. His gaze slid toward his mom, who was still watching the two of them closely, her fingers laced with his. “You called my mom?”

Adam nodded slowly. “I—I didn’t know what else to do,” he said. “I didn’t know if she… if you’d want her here. But I thought you would. I didn’t want you to—” He exhaled sharply. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Charlie’s eyes stung suddenly, like something inside him had shifted with those words. There’d been too many times where he had woken up alone—after games, after fights, after days when he’d smiled through pain so no one would see. And maybe this time, for once, he hadn’t.

His mom’s hand tightened on his, like she’d heard every thought that had just run through his head. Her voice was quiet. “He was the one who made the nurses let me back here. Said you needed to see someone you knew. Someone who could hold your hand.”

Charlie blinked slowly. “You stayed?”

“I didn’t leave,” Adam said. “I couldn’t.”

There was a silence that stretched out between them like a long, thin wire. It felt fragile. Loaded. And yet neither of them let it break.

Behind them, the quiet breathing of the others continued—Julie, Dean, and Fulton still tangled together in the cluster of chairs, still deeply asleep. The sky outside the window was beginning to brighten into a dull gray morning. It made everything feel more real, somehow. More raw.

Charlie tried to shift in the bed and winced instantly. The pain was sharp, ripping down his ribs like a hot blade. He let out a small, strangled sound that immediately brought Casey’s attention snapping back.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” she said gently, pressing a hand to his shoulder. “Just breathe. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Charlie nodded weakly, his chest heaving from the effort. His eyes flicked back to Adam. “What… happened?”

Adam hesitated. And in that pause, Charlie saw it. The guilt. The wreckage. The way Adam’s whole body seemed to sink under the weight of that question.

“I wasn’t there,” Adam said. His voice was quiet, hoarse. “You were walking back to your dorm. They—Riley, and a couple of the other varsity guys—they were waiting for you. I think they followed you. It was premeditated, Charlie. They did it on purpose. They…” He broke off, jaw locking, and turned his head away. His eyes were red again.

“I should’ve known,” he said. “I should’ve walked you back. I should’ve stopped him before it got this far. I should’ve—”

“Adam,” Casey interrupted, her voice firm but kind. “This isn’t the time to—”

“No, it is,” Adam said, not looking at her. “It is, because it’s my fault. I didn’t do anything. I let Riley talk about him like he was nothing. I stood there. I stood there while they joked about him, about what they’d do if they found out. I knew something was coming, I knew Riley, and I still…”

He trailed off, then looked back down at Charlie. His expression was shattered. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

Charlie’s throat burned. “You didn’t hit me,” he whispered. “You didn’t do this.”

Adam didn’t move. “But I let it happen.”

A long silence followed. And in that silence, Charlie felt something loosen inside his chest. Not forgiveness—not yet. That was too big. Too tangled. But maybe something close to understanding. Maybe something that could grow into something else.

Charlie looked away first. He let his gaze drift toward the sleeping forms of his friends—Julie’s hand clutched in Dean’s hoodie, Fulton curled around them protectively. A flicker of something warm, painful and grateful all at once, passed through him.

“They stayed?” Charlie asked quietly.

Adam nodded. “They showed up right after. Fulton and Dean… they were the ones who found you. They pulled Riley off you.” His jaw flexed. “They beat the shit out of him.”

Charlie blinked, the memory flickering at the edges of his mind like a broken film reel. He remembered hands. Voices. Yelling. Then nothing but pavement and blood and cold.

“Dean was a mess,” Adam added, voice low. “He thought he’d gotten there too late. He almost…” His throat worked. “They almost killed him, Charlie.”

Charlie’s mouth went dry. Not from the physical pain this time, but something deeper. Something heavier.

“I don’t remember most of it,” he admitted. “Just… flashes. And pain.”

“That’s probably for the best,” his mom said softly, brushing his hair back. “The doctor said there’s no sign of permanent damage, but you’re going to be sore for a long time. Bruised ribs, fractured wrist, and a concussion. It’s a miracle you woke up this soon.”

Charlie let his eyes flutter closed for a second, exhaustion beginning to curl its way back into his bones. But before he could drift, he opened them again and looked at Adam.

“You’re still here,” he said.

Adam nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A low creak sounded from one of the chairs in the corner. The kind of sound cheap plastic makes under the weight of restless sleep.

Charlie turned his head slightly—just enough to see Julie shift first, her shoulder sliding off of Dean’s as she blinked blearily against the dim morning light. Her ponytail was half-fallen, strands of her dark hair hanging loose around her face, and there were sleep lines pressed into her cheek from where she’d been curled against Dean’s chest. Her eyes, rimmed red and exhausted, took a moment to focus.

Then they landed on him.

She froze.

Her body went completely still for a heartbeat—and then, like something inside her snapped loose, she lurched to her feet with a choked sound.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Charlie—oh my God, you’re awake.”

The chair clattered loudly behind her as she rushed toward the bed, one hand flying up to her mouth as tears welled instantly in her eyes. It was like watching a dam break. Like everything she’d held back for hours—fear, heartbreak, sheer desperate worry—came pouring out all at once.

Charlie managed a soft, pained smile. “Hey, Jules.”

She practically collapsed onto the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him, her hand hovering helplessly like she wanted to wrap him in a hug but was terrified she’d hurt him.

“You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered. Her voice broke. “Do you even know how bad it was? I thought we’d lost you. We thought—Dean had blood on his hands, and you weren’t moving and—” She bit down on the sob threatening to rise and shook her head, blinking furiously. “Don’t you ever do that to us again.”

“I’ll try not to get jumped next time,” Charlie croaked, a weak attempt at a joke.

Julie gave him a look that would’ve been a punch if it had weight behind it, but then her expression crumpled again and she leaned her head against the mattress near his arm. “You’re such an idiot,” she mumbled. “God, I love you.”

Fulton stirred next. He let out a groggy grunt as he sat up halfway from where he’d been practically sprawled over Dean’s lap, one arm slung behind the chair like he’d tried to keep them all anchored together through sheer proximity. He blinked once. Twice.

Then he saw Charlie.

His reaction was quieter. Slower. He rubbed his face with both hands like he didn’t trust his own vision and then leaned forward, blinking hard as if to clear the blur.

“You’re kidding me,” he muttered. “Jesus—Charlie.”

His voice cracked, just a little.

He stood up, moving toward the bed, his broad shoulders tense and unsure. His eyes searched Charlie’s face like he needed confirmation it wasn’t some kind of illusion, that this wasn’t just hope playing a cruel trick.

Charlie nodded at him weakly. “Hey, man.”

Fulton didn’t smile. His brows knit tightly together, and he ran a hand through his curls, breathing out through his nose. “You scared the shit out of us,” he said, voice low. “You scared the actual shit out of us.”

“I know,” Charlie whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Fulton shook his head, swallowing whatever emotion tried to rise. “Don’t apologize to me. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And then there was Dean.

He hadn’t moved yet. Still slumped in the chair, his head back against the wall, eyes closed like he was afraid to open them. But when Fulton stood up and walked away, Dean’s hand twitched slightly, and Charlie watched as his eyes cracked open.

Dean stared at the ceiling for a second, unmoving. Then his gaze slowly shifted.

When he saw Charlie—actually saw him, conscious and awake and breathing—he didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He just stared, like he didn’t believe it. Like maybe if he moved too fast, it would disappear.

Charlie didn’t say anything either. He waited.

Dean finally blinked. His jaw clenched. His arms unfolded from his chest as he slowly, quietly stood. He crossed the room in three heavy steps, coming to stand at the side of the bed, just beside Fulton.

Charlie could see the way his hands trembled.

“You’re awake,” Dean said. His voice was rough around the edges, like he hadn’t used it in hours. Maybe he hadn’t.

Charlie nodded.

Dean’s throat bobbed with the force of the swallow he tried to suppress. “You were gone,” he said. “You weren’t… you weren’t breathing right. And there was blood, and Riley was still—”

He stopped abruptly, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked wrecked. Not the calm, solid Dean Charlie had always known—the quiet rock in their group. This was someone else. Someone hollowed out.

“I thought you were dead,” he said softly.

Charlie’s breath hitched. “You saved me.”

Dean shook his head, and for the first time, Charlie saw the shimmer in his eyes.

“I got there too late.”

“No,” Charlie said, firmer than he’d meant to. “You didn’t.”

Dean’s jaw twitched. He dropped his gaze to the bed. “I let it happen. I was supposed to be the one who made sure it didn’t get that far. I knew they hated you. I saw it. I heard it. I should’ve shut it down weeks ago.”

He exhaled sharply, then added, quieter, “I—I should've found you.” He choked out. “I should’ve walked you home.”

Charlie’s voice cracked. “You were with Julie.”

“That’s not an excuse.”

Fulton laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, grounding him. It was the only thing that kept Dean from unraveling completely.

Julie let out a shaky breath from the other side of the bed. “Okay. Well… we’re never letting you walk anywhere alone again. That’s it. I don’t care if it’s to the damn vending machine.”

Charlie smiled faintly. “Deal.”

And for a long, quiet moment, no one moved. They just stood there, a tangle of friends, broken and whole all at once, holding the pieces together however they could.

Charlie shifted slightly against the pillows, every nerve ending in his body flaring in protest, but he didn’t complain. Not when he looked around the room and saw Julie wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, Fulton pacing in that quiet way he did when he didn’t know what else to do with himself, and Dean standing stiffly, like his body didn’t know how to relax even now. Adam was still seated beside the bed, head down, silent, looking like he was holding the entire world on his shoulders. His mother hadn’t moved from her spot either—her fingers still lightly touching his arm, like she needed to feel the pulse beneath his skin to believe he was really there.

They all looked exhausted. Haunted. Like the night had taken something from them, too.

Charlie let his gaze settle on each of them one by one. It was overwhelming, the weight of everything unsaid, but for once, he didn’t feel like he had to rush to make sense of it all. There was time for questions later. For anger, for fear, for grief. Right now, in this quiet sliver of morning, in this too-white hospital room with its machines and plastic chairs and too many heartbeats in too small a space, there was only this.

He wasn’t okay. None of them were.

But he was still here.

And so were they.

Chapter Text

The wind had teeth that morning.

It bit at their cheeks, their ears, their fingers, even through gloves—the kind of cold that clung to your skin long after you’d gone inside, that made your lungs ache with every breath. The wind moved like it had a mind of its own, hissing through the trees that lined the walkways and swirling up little cyclones of powdery snow around their feet. Adam kept his head down, but the Eden Hall crest embroidered on the front of his parka still caught the edge of his vision—sharp and accusing, like it knew exactly what he’d let happen. It felt like a symbol he didn’t deserve to wear anymore.

Julie walked just a few paces ahead, her long navy coat whipping around her knees as she pushed forward, her stride clipped and determined. Her ponytail bounced with each step, but there was no lightness to her movement. She didn’t speak. None of them did.

Dean and Fulton were farther ahead, close enough to overhear but not close enough to join. Their shoulders were hunched, their boots crunching against the uneven snow that hadn’t been shoveled off the sidewalks yet—just like every other part of this school, no one had bothered. Not really. Adam could hear the occasional murmur of their voices, low and grim, but the wind stole most of the words. Just enough drifted back to make his stomach churn.

It was still early—too early for many students to be up, especially on a weekend—but the world didn’t feel peaceful. It felt suspended, like even the trees were holding their breath. Frost clung to every surface, casting the campus in a brittle, crystalline stillness. It coated the metal benches, the iron railings, and the windows of the academic building where they were headed. Even the glass doors looked frozen shut, like the school itself knew something had gone terribly wrong and was locking them out.

And Adam couldn’t help but feel like they were walking toward a reckoning—one long overdue, and already a little too late.

Adam shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept his head low, his breath fogging out in short bursts. He didn’t belong in this group. Not after what happened. Not after the damage he helped cause, even if he hadn’t lifted a hand.

He heard Fulton’s voice carry ahead—low, steady, but threaded with tightly-coiled tension. The kind of calm that came before a detonation.

“—I don’t care what Buckley says,” he was muttering. “If he tries to sweep it under the rug again—if he pretends it didn’t happen, or tries to chalk it up to some ‘misunderstanding’—I swear to God, Dean, I’ll lose it.”

Dean’s voice came sharp and fast. “He won’t. Not this time.”

Fulton let out a breath, a bitter huff that steamed in the cold air. “You have more faith in him than I do.”

Dean didn’t answer right away. His jaw was clenched so tightly that Adam could see the muscle ticking from a few steps behind. His fists were jammed into his coat pockets, but his posture was rigid, practically vibrating with restrained rage.

“Charlie could’ve died,” Fulton said, quieter now, but not softer. His words were clipped. Controlled. “If we’d gotten there a minute later… we might’ve found a body instead of a pulse. And for what? Some backwards, jock-brained pissing contest Riley couldn’t let go of?”

“He was alone,” Dean said, voice rough. “He was leaving Adam’s room, and he was alone.”

Fulton shot him a glance. “Don’t start that.”

“I’m not,” Dean snapped, too fast to be convincing. “I’m not. I’m just—”

“Pissed,” Fulton finished for him. “So am I. But focus it.”

There was silence between them for a beat, just the sound of their boots scraping over old ice. Adam stayed back, letting the words hit like punches he didn’t try to dodge. He had no defense. None that mattered.

Dean spoke again, softer this time, but laced with fury all the same. “If Buckley doesn’t do something—if he shrugs it off, or tries to talk circles around it—I don’t care if it gets me kicked off the team. I’ll lose it, Fulton. I mean it. I’ll fucking lose it.”

Fulton didn’t say anything for a moment. Then: “Good. Just save it for the right person.”

Julie glanced back at Adam, her brows knit together in something between worry and guilt. She hadn’t said much since they left the hospital. None of them had, really. But her eyes searched his face now, scanning for something. Maybe she was making sure he didn’t fall apart before they even got to Buckley’s office.

He didn’t plan on it. But his legs felt like cinderblocks all the same.

When they reached the administrative building, the cold outside seemed to cling to them, even as the doors shut behind them. The sudden stillness inside felt jarring—too quiet, too sterile, like the building itself was holding its breath. Their boots echoed against the polished linoleum, a hollow, rhythmic sound that only emphasized the emptiness around them. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, flickering every few seconds as if reluctant to stay lit. The air smelled faintly of floor wax and something metallic.

Down one hallway, a janitor was slowly pushing a mop bucket, its wheels squeaking as he turned a corner. He didn’t glance in their direction. He just kept moving, like he saw nothing, like he’d learned to ignore anything that didn’t directly concern him. Adam didn’t blame him.

The silence made his skin crawl.

They climbed the stairs slowly, their footsteps dull against the worn carpet on the steps. The second floor was even quieter, lined with administrative offices and old glass cases displaying decades of Eden Hall’s legacy. Framed photographs hung in stiff, even rows—sepia-toned black-and-white team portraits from the fifties and sixties giving way to the more colorful, posed shots of more recent decades. Row after row of boys in matching blazers and forced smiles.

Near the end of the hallway, Adam’s eyes caught on one of the older color photos: a teenage Coach Bombay, probably around the same age they were now, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was slicked back, his arms thrown around his teammates like he hadn’t yet known what it meant to lose everything. His varsity blazer hung slightly crooked, but his confidence beamed off the glass like a spotlight.

It should’ve been inspiring. It wasn’t. Not today.

They kept walking. Past the trophies, past the plaques. Toward the door at the very end of the hall. The one with the brass nameplate that read:

Joseph R. Buckley, Dean.

Julie hesitated only for a second before reaching out to knock. The sound of her knuckles against the heavy wood echoed like a gunshot in the silent hall. Then, she opened the door without waiting.

“Dean Buckley?” Her voice was tight. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. “We need to talk. It’s urgent.”

Dean Buckley looked up from behind his sprawling mahogany desk, his pen pausing mid-signature over a stack of documents. He blinked once, then adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses perched low on his nose. The office was warm, almost too warm, with sunlight filtering in through the tall windows behind him, catching the faint dust in the air. The room smelled faintly of leather and old books, a strange contrast to the raw nerves the group carried in with them.

“Well,” he said slowly, his voice smooth but tinged with confusion. “This is unexpected.”

He rose slightly from his chair, but didn’t come around the desk.

“Miss Gaffney. Mr. Reed. Mr. Portman.” His eyes drifted toward the last person in the doorway. “And Mr. Banks.”

He said Adam’s name without malice, but without warmth, either. Just a flat acknowledgment, as though reading it from a roll sheet.

“I wasn’t informed of a meeting this morning. Something wrong?”

Julie didn’t respond right away. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, fingers digging into the fabric of her coat. She took one step to the side, her eyes never leaving Buckley’s, and let Fulton walk forward without a word.

Fulton didn’t hesitate. He strode into the room with hard, deliberate steps, each one echoing off the paneled walls. His broad shoulders were squared, and his jaw was tight, clenched so hard a muscle twitched near his temple. He stopped just short of the desk and crossed his arms, his presence filling the space like a thundercloud.

Dean followed a few paces behind him, quieter, but no less severe. His face was unreadable—calm on the surface, but his eyes were flint, and the tightness around his mouth gave away the pressure he was holding in. He didn’t sit. Neither of them did.

Adam hovered in the doorway, his body stiff, unsure. The floor beneath his feet suddenly felt like it might give out. He hated this building, hated the way it smelled like polished wood and silent judgment. He hesitated—just long enough for Julie to turn her head and nudge him gently with her elbow.

“You should come in,” she murmured, voice low. “You’re part of this.”

Adam stepped inside. Every movement felt forced, like wading through heavy snow. He didn’t meet Buckley’s eyes.

The shame in his chest was a dull, persistent burn.

Buckley looked from face to face, frowning now. “Well? Would someone like to explain what this is about?”

Fulton was the first to speak. His voice was low and steady, but cold—like metal left outside in winter.

“We’re here about Charlie Conway.”

The name landed in the room like a stone. For a moment, Buckley didn’t respond. His expression remained unreadable, carefully composed.

“I’ve heard he’s… been injured,” Buckley said, folding his hands together atop his desk. “That he was admitted to the hospital.”

“Injured,” Dean echoed, his voice sharp and bitter. “Is that the word going around? That he tripped and bumped his head or something?”

Fulton let out a slow breath, clearly fighting to stay composed.

“He didn’t fall,” he said. “He was attacked. Brutally. By Rick Riley and three of his varsity teammates. It happened last night, just outside the student union.”

Adam’s stomach twisted at the words. He’d heard them before, of course—Julie had said them, so had Charlie’s mom—but hearing them from Fulton made it feel like the walls were closing in.

Buckley blinked. “Rick Riley?” he repeated, as if unsure he’d heard correctly.

Dean stepped forward now, fists clenching at his sides. “Yeah. Riley. You know—your golden boy? Captain of varsity, straight-A student, good little Eden Hall legacy.”

“Dean,” Julie said softly behind him, but it didn’t stop him.

“He and his buddies cornered Charlie on the way back from Adam's dorm,” Dean continued, each word harder than the last. “They didn’t just beat him up. They beat him until he couldn’t walk. Until he passed out on the ice.”

Buckley’s expression didn’t change much. If he was shocked, he didn’t show it.

“I see,” he said slowly, glancing back down at his desk for a moment. “These are serious accusations. You understand that.”

Dean's voice sharpened. “They’re not accusations. They’re facts. We found him. Me and Fulton. Charlie was barely conscious. If we hadn’t gotten there when we did—”

“He might’ve died,” Julie cut in, her voice trembling. “Do you understand that, sir?”

That finally made Buckley look up. He removed his glasses, setting them gently on the desk in front of him.

“I had no idea it was that severe,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Has this been reported to the police?”

“No,” Fulton snapped. “Not yet. We came here first.”

“Because we wanted to give the school a chance to do the right thing,” Julie added.

Dean’s jaw twitched. “Assuming that’s even possible.”

Buckley exhaled, folding his hands again. “I appreciate that. I truly do. But I need to be clear: without an official report or statement from Charlie himself, I can’t just—”

“Charlie can barely speak,” Dean cut him off, voice rising. “You want him to get out of a hospital bed and file a report just for you to take it seriously?”

Adam flinched. He felt Julie’s eyes flick toward him again, checking—she kept doing that, like she was afraid he might collapse too.

Buckley’s expression grew taut. “You’re emotional right now. Understandably. But I have procedures to follow. I can’t expel students or pursue disciplinary action based solely on hearsay—”

“Hearsay?” Fulton repeated, his voice low and dangerous.

Dean took a step forward, and for a moment, Adam thought he was going to punch Buckley straight in the face.

“You think we'd lie about this?” Dean said, trembling with restrained rage. “You think we’d all come here—on a Saturday morning, in the snow, after spending the night at the hospital with our friend, who looks like he got hit by a fucking truck—”

“Dean,” Julie said again, more firmly.

Dean closed his eyes. Breathed hard through his nose. He was shaking.

Buckley finally sighed. “Look. I’m not saying I don’t believe you. But if this is as serious as you claim, the police will need to be involved. If you can get a statement from Charlie—something written, or even recorded—I can begin a formal investigation. In the meantime, I’ll have Riley and his teammates suspended, pending review.”

“It’s not enough,” Fulton muttered. “You don’t get it. They didn’t just throw punches. They humiliated him. They stripped him, left him bleeding in the snow. They used slurs. They knew exactly what they were doing.”

Buckley’s face darkened for the first time. “Are you saying this was a hate crime?”

Fulton nodded once. “We’re not just saying it. We’re telling you.”

The room went quiet.

“I’ll need to speak with legal,” Buckley said after a long pause. “And campus security. We’ll look at footage from the dorm entrances, any public spaces. If you have names of the others involved—”

“We do,” Julie said. “All of them.”

Buckley nodded slowly. “Then I’ll do what I can.”

Adam finally spoke, his voice quiet. “If there’s anything I can do to help—”

Dean turned sharply, eyes narrowing.

Julie touched his arm before he could say something sharp.

But this time, it was Fulton who stepped in.

He turned around in the hallway just outside Dean Buckley’s office, his boots squeaking slightly against the polished floor. He looked at Adam—really looked at him—for the first time in days. His expression was hard and unreadable, eyes narrowed not with fury, but with something colder: disappointment. Exhaustion. A deep, quiet resentment that sat beneath his skin like frostbite.

“No thanks, cake-eater,” he said, voice low but slicing. “I think you’ve done enough.”

Adam stopped in his tracks, the words hitting him harder than a punch. He opened his mouth to respond—he didn’t even know what he would’ve said—but nothing came out. His throat locked around the air like it was too thick to breathe.

Dean didn’t keep walking this time. He spun around too, steps quick and purposeful, shoulders tight.

“You know what really pisses me off?” Dean said, his voice louder, sharper. “You pretending you care now. You look at Charlie like he’s some delicate thing you’re trying to keep alive, like you’re gonna fall apart if he blinks the wrong way—but where the hell was all that before?”

Adam’s lips parted, but Dean didn’t let him answer.

“No, really,” he snapped, taking a step forward. “Where were you, Adam? When Riley was coming after him in the locker room, when Charlie was walking around trying to pretend he was okay while you iced him out like he meant nothing to you—where the fuck were you?”

Adam winced like the words had hit him physically. “I didn’t know it was this bad—”

“Bullshit,” Dean barked. “You knew enough. You just didn’t want to see it. That’s worse.”

Fulton didn’t interrupt. He stood back just a little, but his silence wasn’t a retreat. It was weight. Pressure. The kind that made it hard to stand.

“I—I messed up,” Adam tried, the words barely above a whisper. “I know that. I know I should’ve—”

“You should’ve been there,” Dean said flatly. “You should’ve picked him. You should’ve made Riley afraid to look at him wrong, not leave him alone to bleed out in the goddamn snow.”

Julie winced visibly behind them. She had been trying to keep ahead of them, trying not to get dragged into the tension she knew was brewing like a storm. But now it was unavoidable. She turned, hands trembling at her sides.

“Guys, come on,” she said, voice shaking. “This isn’t helping.”

“No, you don’t get to stop it now,” Dean shot back, but not to her—he was still looking at Adam. “Because Charlie was never just hurt. He was broken, and you watched it happen. You let it happen.”

Fulton finally spoke again, quieter but more cutting. “He thought you were worth something. You, of all people. And you let him think that right up until the second it became inconvenient.”

Adam’s breath stuttered in his chest. His fists clenched, not in anger but in something like self-defense—like he was trying to hold himself together with his own hands.

“I’m trying,” he said, voice raw. “I’m trying to fix it.”

Dean laughed, bitter and joyless. “Fix it? You don’t fix this. You don’t get to wave some apology around like a magic wand and pretend he didn’t almost die.”

Fulton’s mouth tightened. “It’s not just about what happened last night. It’s everything you didn’t do before that.”

And that’s when Julie had enough.

She stepped in between them, eyes blazing now, voice trembling with something fiercer than anger—grief.

“Enough,” she said, loud enough to make all three of them freeze.

Dean’s mouth closed. Fulton blinked. Adam went still.

“You’re angry. I get it. I am, too,” Julie said, her voice cracking like something deep inside her had finally split. “But Charlie wouldn’t want this. He wouldn’t want us tearing into each other like this. Especially not now. Especially not about him.”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose, turning away like he couldn’t even look at Adam. Fulton’s arms crossed over his chest, jaw clenched tight.

Julie took a step closer to both of them. Her voice softened, but it didn’t lose its edge. “You don’t have to guess what Charlie would want. He’s already said it.”

That made Dean glance at her, just slightly.

Julie kept going. “He told me. Last night. After you two fell asleep in those terrible waiting room chairs and his mom went to talk to the nurses. He was awake. Not for long, and he was barely coherent, but he knew what had happened. And he said—” her throat caught. “He said he didn’t blame Adam. That it wasn’t his fault.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “He… what?”

Julie nodded, her arms wrapping tighter around her middle. “He said—his exact words—‘Don’t be mad at him. He didn’t know. He’s scared, too.’” Her eyes glistened again, but she didn’t let herself fall apart. “He made me promise. Said it would just make things worse if we all started fighting over it.”

Fulton looked away, lips thinning into a grim line. Dean’s expression cracked for a second—not completely, but something shifted behind his eyes. Something like grief, but knotted up with guilt.

But Adam—

Adam just stood there like the floor had vanished beneath him.

“He… he said that?” he asked, his voice barely audible. Like the words themselves didn’t make sense.

Julie turned to him slowly. Her eyes locked with his, and this time, there was no anger left—only a quiet ache. “He said it, Adam. You can hate yourself all you want, but Charlie? He doesn’t. Not even a little.”

Adam’s breath caught, hard and sharp in his chest.

Because how could that be true? After everything? After he had looked the other way, stayed quiet, kept his distance because it was easier, because it meant he didn’t have to admit what Charlie meant to him? After he’d left him walking back alone in the dark—how could Charlie still defend him?

The shame churned in his gut like acid, twisting tighter and tighter. He thought about Charlie lying in that hospital bed, bruised and barely conscious, and still trying to protect him. Still making excuses for him. Still holding on to something that Adam didn’t even think he deserved.

He swayed slightly on his feet, like the weight of it all had finally knocked the wind out of him.

Julie saw it. She softened.

“I’m not saying what you did—or didn’t do—didn’t matter,” she said gently. “But Charlie made his choice. He forgave you before you even asked for it.”

Adam turned away for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He didn’t want to cry—not again. Not here, not now. But his hands were trembling and his eyes stung and suddenly the world felt too loud, too bright, too heavy.

He didn’t know what to say.

Dean looked away first, jaw clenched, shoulders still heaving with the remnants of his fury. His knuckles were white at his sides.

Fulton ran a hand down his face like he was trying to scrub away the ache behind his eyes. He didn’t speak again.

Adam stayed silent, breathing hard, eyes locked on the ground like it might offer him some kind of answer. But there was none.

Julie turned to face them both. “We’re all hurting. We all failed him in some way, not just Adam. But if you keep going like this, you’re not helping. You’re just making it worse.”

There was silence again, thick and awful. The kind that wrapped around your lungs and pressed.

Then, slowly, Dean nodded. Just once. But he didn’t look at Adam again.

Fulton turned away. “Let’s go,” he muttered to Dean.

Julie hesitated, her eyes flicking back to Adam, who looked like he might splinter into pieces at any second. She wanted to say something else—to soften the edges maybe—but nothing felt right. So she followed the others down the hallway, her footsteps echoing in the empty silence they left behind.

And Adam, alone in that echo, stayed frozen in place—wondering if any part of what he’d broken could ever be put back together.

The walk back was quieter than the one there. Julie stayed close to Dean, her arm looped through his. Fulton walked just behind them, arms crossed, jaw tight. Adam stayed a step behind, the cold biting harder than before. But it wasn’t just the wind anymore. It was the knowledge that nothing would be the same after this.

But maybe, he thought, that was the point.

Chapter Text

Charlie woke to a world that felt simultaneously alien and familiar, a dull thudding pain anchoring him to his body. The steady beep of the monitor was the first thing he noticed, a rhythmic pulse that cut through the haze fogging his mind. It wasn’t the sharp, urgent alarms from the ICU, but a gentler, persistent sound—like a heartbeat, steady and reassuring. For a moment, he wasn’t sure where he was. The air smelled sterile but soft, nothing like the antiseptic blast of the intensive care unit.

His eyelids felt leaden, weighed down by exhaustion and pain, but he forced them open a fraction at a time. Blinking, the muted light of dreary Minnesota winter filtered through the half-closed blinds, casting faint stripes across the pale yellow walls. The world was blurry around the edges, like a watercolor painting left out in the rain, but he could make out shapes.

Adam sat near his bed, slumped in a chair with his head tilted back against the wall. His face was pale, shadows of dark circles underneath his eyes betraying how little sleep he’d gotten. His hair was mussed, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Even in sleep, Adam’s brow was furrowed, as if his mind refused rest.

Charlie’s throat felt parched, raw, as if swallowing was an act too cruel to ask of his bruised body. He tried to speak, but the sound that emerged was barely more than a rasp—a fragile, cracked whisper that startled him with its weakness.

“Hey,” he croaked.

Adam’s eyes snapped open, slow and heavy like someone waking from a nightmare. For a heartbeat, they lingered on Charlie’s face, taking in the pale skin stretched taut over his cheekbones, the faint bruises blooming beneath his eyes. Relief softened the tight lines around Adam’s mouth, but there was also something unreadable in his gaze, a mixture of guilt, worry, and something fragile, unspoken.

“Hey,” Adam said, his voice low, careful. He brushed a loose strand of hair away from his own forehead, as if that simple movement could anchor him in the moment. He shifted forward in his chair, the creak of the vinyl breaking the silence, eyes never leaving Charlie’s face.

The movement sent a sharp jolt of pain through Charlie’s ribs. He sucked in a shallow breath and grimaced but swallowed down the sting. His body was a map of aches and tenderness—every limb a reminder of the night before—but the uncertainty gnawing at him was worse. Where was he? How long had he been out? And most urgently… why was Adam still here?

“What time is it?” Charlie’s voice was hesitant, brittle, like he was testing the sound of it. The words felt foreign, like he’d forgotten how to ask simple questions.

Adam’s gaze flicked to the clock hanging on the wall across the room—the plain, utilitarian clock that ticked relentlessly forward, indifferent to pain or fear. “Almost ten in the morning,” he said quietly, the normalcy of his words clashing with the surreal atmosphere.

Charlie’s brow furrowed, confusion clouding his already fogged mind. “Monday? How long have I been out?”

Adam’s mouth tightened just slightly, and his voice softened. “Since last night. They moved you out of the ICU early this morning.” His eyes scanned Charlie’s face, searching. “You’re in a regular room now.”

The words hit Charlie like waves, the edges of memory crashing and breaking inside his head. He could grasp at fragments—flashes of sounds, shouts, pain—but it all felt like trying to hold onto water slipping through his fingers.

He let out a weak breath and tried to smile, though it felt like an effort. His eyes settled on Adam, a mixture of uncertainty and something quietly hopeful. “Why aren’t you at class?” he asked, voice low, curious. “It’s… a school day, right?”

Adam’s lips twitched—a fleeting, imperfect smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. His gaze dropped to his hands folded in his lap before lifting again, steady and serious. “I’m skipping,” he said simply. “You’re my priority right now.”

There was weight in those words. Unspoken things that neither of them dared say yet. The distance between them—wide and raw from everything that had happened—felt both impossible and fragile, like a thread stretched taut, ready to snap or hold depending on the next breath.

“Besides, I figured you could use a distraction.” Adam reached into his backpack and pulled out a small deck of Uno cards, the colorful plastic bright and oddly out of place in the sterile hospital room. He set them on the overbed table with a bit of flourish, trying to inject some lightness, some semblance of normalcy into the quiet.

Charlie’s lips curled into a faint smile—weak but genuine—as he let the idea settle in. “Uno? Really?” he said, voice hoarse but carrying a trace of humor. “You think I’m… up for a game?”

Adam’s eyes flickered with relief, and he grinned, though it was tinged with nervousness. “I’m not expecting much. Just something to keep us busy. Something to… bridge the silence.” His fingers tapped lightly against the cards, a small, tentative gesture of reaching out.

Charlie’s smile faltered for a moment, the reality of their fractured relationship hovering between them. They were both walking on thin ice, trying not to fall through, both scared and uncertain. But in that small gesture—the simple act of playing a game—there was hope. A chance to start mending what had broken, even if the cracks were still visible.

He looked at Adam, then back at the cards, and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, voice steadying. “Let’s play.”

Adam’s fingers were deft as he shuffled the cards, the soft snap and slide of the deck a strangely comforting sound in the quiet hospital room. He set the cards on the overbed table, bright reds, blues, yellows, and greens standing out against the pale backdrop.

Casey, Charlie’s mom, sat in a chair angled just enough so she could watch him without being too obvious about it. She hadn’t moved much since the nurse had wheeled Charlie into the regular room that morning—only shifted now and then to stretch her legs or adjust the blanket folded over her lap. Her coat was draped over the back of the chair, and her hair, still slightly damp from the shower she’d taken in the bathroom attached to Charlie's room in the ICU, hung loose around her shoulders. In her hands was a paperback she hadn’t turned the page of in nearly half an hour.

When Charlie stirred again, her eyes lifted immediately, quick to search his face for any flicker of discomfort or confusion. She’d been doing that for hours—watching him, reading him like only a mother could. Her expression, always soft around him, brightened at the sight of his eyes open again.

“You look better today, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle but full of restrained emotion. She didn’t move to stand, just leaned forward, book closing silently in her lap.

Charlie tried to return her smile. It came, but weakly, tugged down by the fatigue pulling at every inch of him. “It hurts,” he admitted, his voice rough and raw.

Casey nodded, her eyes misting even though she didn’t let them spill. “I know,” she said, reaching over to wrap her hand around his. Her fingers were warm, steady. “But you’re getting better. Bit by bit. I can see it.”

Charlie glanced down at their hands, hers slender and strong, wrapped around his like she had when he was little and waking up from nightmares. The steadiness of her grip grounded him more than the IV drip or the monitor’s beep.

“I don’t remember everything,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across the back of her hand. “Not yet. But it comes back in flashes.”

Her face tensed, but she didn’t flinch. “You don’t have to remember it all right now. There’s no rush. Just focus on healing.”

He nodded slowly, then glanced around the room, as if just realizing how small and sterile it felt. “Did you sleep?”

“A little,” she lied with a small smile. “Enough.”

Charlie’s brows lifted, skeptical.

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “Okay, not really. But I’ll crash later, after I know you’re comfortable. That’s what moms do.”

Charlie chuckled under his breath. “You’ve always said that. Even when I broke my arm in third grade.”

“You were climbing the bookshelf pretending to be Spider-Man. Not exactly my best parenting moment.”

He smiled, the memory lightening the tension in his chest. “I still got the cast signed by half the class.”

“You milked it for all it was worth.”

“But it worked, didn't it?”

She laughed—really laughed—and Charlie’s heart warmed. “Absolutely. I know you remember the milkshakes I brought you. Every day for a week.”

He shifted slightly in the bed, and his stomach made a faint, embarrassing noise beneath the sheets. Casey tilted her head.

“Are you hungry?”

Charlie hesitated. “A little. Something small would be nice.”

She was already standing before he finished the sentence, smoothing down the wrinkles in her sweatshirt. “I’ll go see what I can scavenge from the cafeteria. Maybe something soft—applesauce? Or pudding? Or… Jell-O? I think hospitals are legally required to serve Jell-O.”

Charlie smiled, his eyelids drooping slightly again. “Surprise me.”

She leaned over and kissed his temple, her lips lingering there a moment longer than usual. “Be back in a few, baby.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Mom.”

As she gathered her coat and slipped quietly out of the room, Charlie let himself relax back into the pillows. The ache in his body hadn’t dulled, but it felt more manageable now. Like maybe he didn’t have to carry all of it alone.

Adam sat in the chair across from him, watching the door Casey had exited through, before his eyes shifted back to Charlie.

“Your mom’s kind of a superhero,” Adam said softly.

Charlie blinked at him, a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “She always has been.”

There was a brief silence between them, not uncomfortable, but full—of what had happened, what hadn’t been said, and what might still come.

Then Adam cleared his throat and shifted in his seat as he began to shuffle the deck.

They started the game slowly. Adam shuffled the cards in his hands with practiced ease, his fingers moving a little too carefully, like he was afraid of disturbing something fragile—like Charlie might break again if he moved too fast. The faint swish of the cards brushing against each other filled the quiet room, a small but familiar sound. He split the deck, cut it, then shuffled again.

Charlie watched the motions with half-lidded eyes, his body sinking into the pillow. He felt like he’d been hollowed out and stitched back together with thread barely holding, but something about the way Adam handled the cards—casually confident, a little showy—tugged at a long-forgotten thread of comfort.

“You know,” Adam said, finally dealing the cards. “I’m pretty much undefeated at this.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow weakly, accepting the seven cards Adam passed him. “Is that so?” His voice was hoarse, but the corners of his mouth lifted, and Adam nearly sagged with visible relief at the sight of it.

“Oh, yeah,” Adam said, placing the draw pile in the center of the rolling tray table they’d dragged over the bed. “They call me the Uno King. I'm undefeated.”

Charlie let out a short breath of laughter—not a full laugh, not yet, but enough to make Adam’s chest feel lighter. “I find that hard to believe. You used to lose to me all the time.”

Adam gave a mock-offended gasp. “Lies. Defamation. I should sue.”

“You cried once,” Charlie added, lips twitching with mischief. “Over a Draw Four.”

“I was eight,” Adam said with a dramatic eye roll, though a faint blush bloomed on his cheeks. “And it was a particularly brutal Draw Four, if I remember correctly.”

“You flipped the table.”

“Details.”

They started playing in silence after that, laying down cards one at a time. Charlie’s movements were slow and deliberate, his fingers still stiff and sore. His arms ached when he lifted them, and his ribs protested every time he shifted. Adam noticed, of course. He kept his pace steady, never rushed, giving Charlie space to breathe, to settle. The first few minutes passed with simple moves—a red six, a red reverse, a green two.

The game grew into its own rhythm. Not rushed, not competitive, just quiet and grounding. The colors, the numbers—they gave Charlie something simple to focus on. The pain, though still present and humming at the edges of his consciousness, faded slightly. The fog that had clogged his thoughts earlier began to lift, revealing memories with more clarity. He remembered Dean’s voice, angry and scared. Julie’s hand squeezing his. Fulton’s face above him. And Adam—always Adam—beside him through it all.

Charlie stole a glance at him now. Adam was chewing his bottom lip, narrowing his eyes at his hand of cards. His brow was furrowed in concentration, like this game actually mattered. Like it wasn’t just a lifeline disguised as a card game between two boys who had been through too much.

“Wild card,” Adam muttered, placing it down with a triumphant flick of his wrist. “Blue.”

Charlie groaned. “Seriously?”

“Don’t question the Uno King.”

Charlie smirked, coughing lightly into his arm. “My apologies, Your Highness.”

They continued. Charlie dropped a blue skip. Adam countered with a blue draw two. Charlie’s eyes widened dramatically. “You are actually the worst.”

“Can’t help it. The cards respect me.”

“Oh my God, shut up!”

Adam chuckled, the sound filling the room like warm light. For a moment, it felt like they weren’t in a hospital at all. Like they were just two friends playing a card game on a lazy afternoon, not two boys desperately trying to rebuild something cracked and bleeding between them.

Charlie’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something—something real. Something about how he remembered flashes of that night. The boots. The fists. The way it felt to be so small, so helpless. But the words got caught somewhere deep in his throat. He didn’t want to ruin the moment.

So instead, he played a red reverse.

Adam blinked. “Really?”

Charlie shrugged. “Fair’s fair.”

They were quiet again for a few turns. The game had grown more competitive without either of them meaning to let it. Adam kept glancing over at Charlie’s pile with exaggerated suspicion, and Charlie, in turn, narrowed his eyes every time Adam played a suspiciously convenient card.

“You’ve been stacking those,” Charlie accused playfully.

Adam placed a yellow three. “I would never.”

“You have three wild cards in your hand. You’re a monster.”

“No,” Adam offered. I’m just talented.”

Charlie rolled his eyes and tried not to let the smile fade. His body still ached with every movement—his side ached fiercely whenever he shifted, and his legs throbbed beneath the blankets. But for the first time since waking up, he didn’t feel like a ghost inside his own skin. Adam was here. Adam was staying. And even if things between them weren’t what they once were, Charlie could feel something tentative beginning to regrow.

Maybe it wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was something.

A silence settled between them after that, not awkward, just thoughtful. Charlie watched Adam out of the corner of his eye as he took his turn. He noticed the dark circles under Adam’s eyes, the way his cuticles were torn like he’d been picking at them for days. His hair was a little messy, and his hoodie was creased like he’d slept in it more than once.

“You okay?” Charlie asked, voice softer now.

Adam looked up, caught off guard. “What?”

“You’ve been here all night. And you’re… not really acting like yourself.”

Adam hesitated, then gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah. I mean… no. But I’m okay enough.”

Charlie stared at him. “You didn’t have to stay.”

Adam dropped his gaze back to his cards. “Yeah, I did.”

Charlie didn’t know how to respond to that, so he looked down at his own hand. One card left.

“Uno,” he said.

Adam groaned softly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I was just about to win.”

“You were not.”

“You don’t know that.”

Charlie grinned and placed a blue five. “Done. I win.”

Adam let his cards fall dramatically into his lap. “Rigged. This whole thing was rigged.”

“Or maybe I’m just better at this than you are.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

Charlie leaned back against his pillows, letting out a quiet sigh. The win didn’t matter. The jokes didn’t matter. What mattered was the shift—small, but there—in the space between them.

“I’m glad you stayed,” Charlie said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Adam looked at him, and for once, there wasn’t guilt or pain or hesitation in his eyes. Just warmth.

“Me, too.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Charlie didn’t feel like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. He just felt… here. In the moment. With someone who cared. Someone who wasn’t running.

The cards were scattered between them like confetti, the colors bright against the dull white of the hospital linens. A silly game. A lifeline.

And in that small, quiet victory, Charlie let himself believe—just a little—that he might be okay.

As Adam collected the cards for another round, Charlie’s eyes grew heavy again, the fatigue creeping back.

But this time, he felt something different under the exhaustion—a fragile sense of peace.

He wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by people who loved him, who fought for him. And even if the road ahead was long, there was hope.

Charlie closed his eyes, the soft sound of Adam shuffling the cards and Casey’s quiet presence lulling him toward sleep.

And then, he let himself rest.

Chapter Text

The hospital room felt a little less quiet that morning. Not brighter—there was nothing bright about the way the sunlight hit the white walls, too cold, too washed out—but less hollow, less abandoned. The blinds were cracked open just enough to let the early winter light in, casting long, pale rectangles across the floor and the foot of Charlie’s bed. The radiator beneath the window rattled softly every now and then, never quite pushing enough warmth into the space.

It was already Tuesday. Adam should’ve been halfway through his third class by now—maybe zoning out during chemistry, doodling nonsense in the margins of his notebook, checking the time on his phone every two minutes and wondering how much longer there was until practice. That version of the day—the normal one—felt impossibly far away. Like another life.

Instead, he was here. Still in this room. Still in the same clothes he’d worn yesterday, though he’d changed into a clean hoodie at some point after showering in the tiny bathroom on the hospital floor. He hadn’t gone back to Eden Hall. Hadn’t dared.

Charlie was asleep again, turned slightly on his left side, his right shoulder still too bruised and swollen to lie on. His breath moved shallowly beneath the thin hospital blanket, lips parted, hair a mess of flattened curls and sweaty tangles. A small oxygen cannula rested just inside his nose, the tubes trailing back toward the wall. His skin had more color than it had the day before, but he still looked so fragile, like something brittle that might crack under the weight of the wrong word.

The IV line in his arm dripped steadily. A bag of clear fluids hung above him like a silent metronome. The heart monitor beside the bed beeped in soft, methodical rhythm. Adam had started counting the spaces between those beeps during the night when he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t know why. Maybe it gave him something to hold onto.

He sat curled in the corner chair, knees tucked against his chest, sneakers kicked off, and legs folded beneath him like he might disappear into himself. His fingers were wrapped around a paper coffee cup that had long since gone cold. He hadn’t taken a sip in over an hour. Maybe longer. It had burned his tongue when he first got it, but he didn’t remember the taste now. Didn’t even remember if it had sugar.

The ache in his lower back was constant from sleeping half-sitting up, half-slumped, never quite finding a comfortable position. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t. Every time he tried to close his eyes, his brain replayed the same jagged images: the phone call from Julie, the hospital hallway, Charlie’s face when they first wheeled him out of the ICU, the bruises blooming across his ribs like ink on paper.

What if Dean and Fulton hadn’t found him in time?

What if they’d been even five minutes later?

What if Riley and his goons had—

Adam’s grip on the cup tightened until the lid crinkled. His jaw clenched so hard it ached. He wasn’t letting himself go there. Not again.

He leaned forward and placed the cup on the side table beside him with too much care, like any sudden movement might wake Charlie or shatter the fragile stillness in the room. Then he sat back, pressing his fist to his mouth. He watched the rise and fall of Charlie’s chest, slow but steady. That rhythm had become something sacred. Something he was anchoring himself to.

He hadn’t left the room except to use the bathroom. Not once.

The nurses had told him he could go get something to eat, that they’d call if Charlie woke up, but he hadn’t trusted that. He didn’t want Charlie waking up alone again. Not after everything. So he’d stayed. Through the gray dawn, through the shuffle of nurses and clipboarded check-ins and vitals being recorded. Through his own gnawing hunger and headache and the hurt in his chest that wouldn't go away.

Charlie shifted slightly in his sleep, a faint wince passing over his face. Adam was up before he could think about it, out of the chair in an instant, standing beside the bed with a hand braced on the guardrail.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice still scratchy with disuse. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Charlie didn’t wake. Just sighed, one hand twitching beneath the blanket like he was reaching for something. Adam reached out, hesitated, then gently brushed the back of Charlie’s hand with his fingers. The bruises were still dark on his knuckles.

“I’m here,” Adam whispered. “I’m still here.”

He sat back down. The chair creaked. The coffee cup stayed where he left it. And Adam kept watching, counting the seconds between the heart monitor beeps, reminding himself that this—this moment, this breath—meant that Charlie was still alive.

And for now, that was enough.

Just then, there was a knock on the door, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Adam startled, his head jerking up. Then he heard voices—soft, familiar ones—and the door pushed open a moment later.

The door creaked open just past ten, and the quiet hush of the hospital hallway spilled softly into the room. Adam looked up from where he was still curled in the corner chair, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder, and saw the first familiar silhouette step inside.

Julie entered first, her curls tucked up into a black knit beanie flecked with melting snow, cheeks pink from the cold. Her scarf was wound twice around her neck, and her boots squeaked slightly on the linoleum as she crossed the threshold. Her eyes found Charlie immediately—still pale, still sleeping—and Adam saw the breath she’d been holding escape from her in a rush. There were shadows under her eyes, and her mouth was tight in a way it hadn’t been before all this, but there was warmth there too. She gave Adam the smallest smile as she took another step in, letting the door drift open behind her.

Dean followed just behind. His hood was up even inside, sleeves pulled down over his fists like armor. He didn’t say anything, just nodded once in Adam’s direction—stiff, not unkind, but guarded. His expression was unreadable, jaw clenched and gaze flicking from Charlie to the machines beside the bed and back again. He stood near the foot of the bed for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to get any closer.

Then came Fulton. Taller than all of them, shoulders squared like he was expecting a fight and didn’t particularly care who started it. His long coat flared slightly as he moved, his boots landing heavy against the floor with every step. His eyes scanned the room in a single, sweeping glance—checking Charlie, the wires and tubes still in place, the slow rise and fall of his chest. His brow furrowed just slightly, and then his gaze locked on Adam. He didn’t say anything, but he gave a short, deliberate nod—less a greeting, more an acknowledgment.

And then, trailing behind, came two more.

Connie poked her head in first, her curls pulled back in a low bun and her jacket half-unzipped like she’d rushed over between classes. Guy was at her side, looking as unsure as Adam felt, his backpack still slung over one shoulder, the Eden Hall crest patch crooked and fraying slightly at the edges. Both of them wore team jackets—maroon and gold—and both looked like they’d debated coming all morning and only just decided to show up.

Connie offered a quiet smile, and Guy lifted his hand in a little wave that he immediately seemed to regret. They hovered near the back at first, unsure where to stand or what to say.

But they were there.

All of them.

The room filled in slow degrees—not with noise, but with presence. With the familiar sounds of zipped jackets being shrugged off, backpacks set down near the wall, the scrape of a chair being pulled out from the corner. The air shifted, just slightly. The sterile hush of the hospital didn’t disappear, but it didn’t feel as heavy now. The silence wasn’t lonely anymore. It was filled with shared tension, and worry, and all the things none of them had quite figured out how to say.

Adam looked around at the people who’d walked in—some of whom had barely spoken to him in days—and felt, for the first time since that night, like maybe he wasn’t completely alone in this.

Julie came to stand beside him and touched his shoulder gently, offering him a small smile. “Hey,” she said softly. “How’s he doing?”

Adam exhaled slowly and looked back at Charlie. “Better,” he said. “Still out, but better.”

Julie’s eyes softened even more as she looked at Charlie, and for a few seconds, no one spoke. Dean stayed near the foot of the bed, silent but rooted in place. Fulton took up a spot near the window, arms folded, watching the snow fall beyond the pane as if it were something he needed to study.

Connie eventually made her way toward the opposite side of the bed and pulled the visitor chair closer. Guy lingered awkwardly near the door until Julie gestured for him to come in properly, and he gave in, stepping farther into the room.

Fulton was the first to cross the room. He didn’t say anything at first—just looked at Charlie, really looked, his lips pressed into a firm line. His fists stayed clenched at his sides.

Dean stepped up beside him. His eyes didn’t leave Charlie, either.

“He looks better,” Connie said softly. “He’s… it’s not as bad as before.”

“Still bad,” Guy said, voice quiet. “But… yeah.”

Charlie stirred then, a soft, half-formed sound, and Adam instinctively reached for the bedrail. But he didn’t fully wake. Just shifted slightly, then settled again.

The others watched him for another minute, and then slowly, one by one, they settled into chairs and corners around the room. Julie sat on the foot of the bed, careful not to disturb anything. Connie and Guy took the chairs by the window. Dean leaned against the wall near the sink. Fulton sat on the edge of a plastic chair but didn’t relax into it.

It was quiet again for a while. Just the hum of machines and the sound of everyone trying to breathe.

Adam finally broke the silence. “Thanks… for coming.”

Fulton looked over at him slowly. “We didn't come for you.” He said, his voice gruff. “We came for Charlie.”

Adam flinched at the bite in his voice, but he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Julie shot Fulton a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m just saying,” Fulton said, more to the room than to anyone specific.

Dean didn’t add anything. Not yet. He just kept looking at Charlie, jaw set like stone.

Adam swallowed hard. He didn’t expect them to be warm with him. He didn’t expect anything, really. But there was still something sharp in his chest when Fulton’s words landed.

He turned back toward the bed. Watched the lines on Charlie’s face, the slow rise and fall of his chest. “I didn’t know they were going to do that. I swear, I didn’t.”

Dean finally moved. Not toward Adam, not away from him either—just shifted his weight, arms crossing over his chest.

“They hated him,” he said. “Because of you.”

“I know.” Adam’s voice cracked. “I know. And I didn’t say anything. I should have. I was a coward. I—”

Fulton let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but not the funny kind. “Yeah. You were.”

Julie looked between them, clearly bracing herself to step in again. But before she could, Adam leaned forward, both elbows on his knees.

“I can’t go back and undo it,” he said. “But I’m not going to leave him now. I won’t.”

The words hung there, heavy.

Dean finally looked at Adam directly.

“You let them talk about him like he was nothing.”

“I know.”

“You let them—”

“I know,” Adam cut in, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You can hate me. I’m not asking for anything else. Just—he needs us now. All of us.”

Fulton didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted back to Charlie.

“He’s still got us,” he said. “Whether you’re in that circle or not…”

“I want to be,” Adam said.

There was a long pause.

Julie stood up slowly. “Maybe we should get lunch,” she said quietly. “Give Charlie some quiet. We can eat in the cafeteria. We’ll bring something back for you, Adam.”

“I’ll go too,” Adam said, standing before he realized what he was doing.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Adam nodded. “Yeah. I could use the air.”

They all filed out slowly. Connie and Guy went ahead, chatting quietly. Julie waited at the door, holding it for the boys. Dean lingered just a second longer.

Adam looked at him. “You don’t have to forgive me.”

Dean met his eyes for a long moment. “I don’t,” he said. “But I’m starting to believe you actually mean it.”

He stepped out into the hallway. Fulton gave Adam a curt nod and followed. Julie touched Adam’s arm as she passed.

And Adam stood there for just a second longer, letting it all sink in.

Then he followed them down the hallway, toward something like forgiveness.

The cafeteria looked the same as it always did—overlit and too sterile, all hard plastic chairs and checkered tile floor—but somehow different too, like the air inside had changed since the last time Adam had been here. The low murmur of voices, the clatter of trays, the tinny hum of a radio playing a song no one was listening to—it was all familiar, but none of it felt real.

He followed the others through the food line, letting them go ahead while he trailed behind. His stomach twisted at the smell of burnt eggs and lukewarm coffee. Still, he took a tray. Habit, maybe.

Connie and Guy were already at a corner table by the window, their trays set between them, heads close together in hushed conversation. Julie slid into the seat beside them, setting down her bottle of orange juice and granola bar. Fulton and Dean sat across from her. That left Adam standing with his tray, awkward and unsure.

Dean didn’t look up right away. But then he did. And he jerked his chin slightly—barely a motion, but enough.

Adam sat down.

For a moment, no one spoke. He peeled the wrapper off his muffin slowly, like the paper might give him something to focus on besides the knot in his throat.

“So,” Julie said eventually, too casually to be entirely natural, “Connie almost got into it with some sophomore this morning.”

Connie looked up, wide-eyed. “I didn’t almost get into it. I just said he should shut his mouth unless he had the guts to say that crap to Charlie’s face.”

Guy grinned. “Which he definitely didn’t.”

“What’d he say?” Dean asked.

Connie rolled her eyes. “Just… nonsense. Like how it was probably ‘an accident’ or some garbage. How Riley’s not a bad guy.”

Fulton snorted into his carton of milk. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

Julie’s laugh was soft but real. “I’d pay money to see you in a crown, actually.”

Fulton deadpanned, “I’d rock it.”

Everyone chuckled, even Adam—quietly, barely.

Dean took a sip of his juice and glanced across the table. “You skipping again after lunch?”

Adam blinked, surprised that the question wasn’t a dig.

“Yeah,” he said. “I told Coach. Said I wasn’t leaving Charlie alone today.”

Dean nodded. “Fair.”

Another silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable this time. It just… was.

Fulton looked over at him then, eyes unreadable. “He awake when you left?”

Adam nodded. “Drifted off again. He’s still hurting, but he’s… better.”

Fulton hummed, picking at the crust of his sandwich. “Tell him we’re coming back.”

“I will.”

Guy leaned forward a little. “Did you… tell him what happened? Like, who did it?”

Adam hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah. Last night. He… already knew. He remembered some of it. Enough.”

No one said anything for a second.

Then Julie said, “He’s stronger than he looks.”

Dean scoffed. “We’ve all seen him on skates. Guy’s like a stick that learned how to balance.”

They laughed again—louder this time—and for a moment, it almost felt like the old days. Not exactly the same, but close. Like the bridge between them wasn’t quite broken.

Adam looked down at his tray, heart tightening at the quiet rhythm of their banter.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said suddenly, voice just above a whisper. “I don’t expect anything from you. I just… I want to be better. I want to earn it back.”

Fulton didn’t look at him, but he didn’t shut him down, either.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re still pissed,” he said. “It’s not like that goes away overnight.”

“I know,” Adam said.

“But,” Dean added, eyes flicking up to meet his, “you stayed. You didn’t bail.”

Fulton gave a quiet grunt. “First decent choice you’ve made in a while, cake-eater.”

The jab was light, but it landed differently this time. Not like a dagger—more like a tease. Adam felt a corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“I’m getting better at those,” he said.

Julie smiled at him, warm and relieved. “You are.”

Connie raised her juice bottle in mock-toast. “To not being the worst.”

“Cheers,” Guy added, grinning.

And for a few seconds, they all tapped their cups or bottles against the center of the table. Even Adam joined in, clinking the edge of his coffee lid against Fulton’s milk carton.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

But as they finished eating, trading jabs and inside jokes between bites, Adam felt something settle in his chest. Not relief, exactly—he didn’t think he’d feel that for a while—but maybe a little less like he was drowning.

Maybe, just maybe, he could make it right.

They stayed in the cafeteria a little longer, talking about classes and Coach Orion’s weird obsession with their team exercises. Julie groaned about a test she’d bombed; Guy offered to help her study. Dean said something dry about how Julie never studied anyway, and Julie threw a fry at him.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it was something.

And when they finally gathered their trays and headed back toward the elevator, Adam didn’t walk behind them this time.

He walked with them.