Chapter One: Sixth Period Secrets

The bell rang, sharp and final, signaling the start of sixth period. Mr. Ryckebosh sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that semester and checked the door. No Jeremiah. No Peter.

Again.

He marked them both late, as usual, and turned to the whiteboard.

Two hallways away, hidden behind the gym locker room exit, Jeremiah was pressed up against the cool concrete wall, his breath short and eyes wide behind his curls. He was small — not just in height but in the way he moved, fast and careful, like someone who always had to think two steps ahead.

Peter stood just inches in front of him, his hand braced on the wall beside Jeremiah’s head, his other gripping the strap of his backpack. Peter had this chaotic energy that buzzed around him wherever he went. Loud, untamed, but somehow, when it was just the two of them like this, that noise quieted into something tender.

“You’re late again,” Jeremiah whispered, voice almost mouse-like.

Peter grinned. “So are you.”

“That’s because you said you had something to show me.”

Peter leaned in slightly. “I do.”

Jeremiah’s cheeks burned. “We’re gonna get caught.”

Peter tilted his head, playful. “Then why didn’t you just go to class?”

Jeremiah didn’t answer. He looked away, staring at the small scuff on the toe of Peter’s sneakers. Peter’s hand moved, fingers grazing Jeremiah’s wrist — gently, slowly, like testing the surface of something dangerous and precious all at once.

It wasn’t the first time they’d hidden here.

In a school where boys who liked boys became targets the second it slipped out, this tiny gap of time before sixth period had become their secret. Their safe zone. No one ever came back here. Not unless they were skipping or hiding.

Peter’s thumb brushed Jeremiah’s knuckles. “You can still say no, you know.”

Jeremiah finally looked up at him. “I don’t want to.”

Peter’s grin softened, and without another word, he leaned forward and kissed him. It wasn’t some dramatic, fireworks-in-the-sky kind of kiss — it was quiet, warm, and fast, like a spark in the middle of a thunderstorm. It was the kind that made Jeremiah’s heart pound all the way into his fingertips.

When they pulled apart, they stood there for a second, breathing the same air.

Peter gave him a quick wink. “Now we’re really late.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Mr. Ryckebosh is gonna hate us.”

“He already does.”

They ran the rest of the way, backpacks bouncing, skidding to a stop outside the door.

Inside, Mr. Ryckebosh didn’t even look up as they slid into their seats.

“You’re late again,” he said flatly.

“Sorry,” Peter replied, grinning at the back of Jeremiah’s head.

Jeremiah didn’t say anything. But his fingers, resting on the edge of the desk, curled slightly — like they were remembering the feel of Peter’s touch.

Chapter Two: Locker Room Echoes

It was Thursday, which meant two things: a brutal gym class and one more chance to be alone before the weekend.

The locker room stank like Axe body spray and damp socks. Jeremiah hated it. Not just the smell, but the eyes. Too many boys staring, sizing each other up. Too much energy that felt like it could turn cruel at any second.

Peter didn’t care. He was the kind of guy who walked around shirtless longer than necessary, talked too loud, and made people laugh just enough to be left alone.

Jeremiah was quiet. Changed fast. Kept his eyes on the floor. Always.

But that day, as he pulled his shirt over his head, he felt it — a brush of fingertips down his back. Quick. Light. Gone before anyone could notice.

He turned his head slightly. Peter was behind him, pretending to dig through his locker, a dumb smirk barely hidden.

“Really?” Jeremiah whispered.

Peter grinned. “What? Just sayin’ hi.”

Jeremiah fought a smile. “You’re gonna get us killed.”

“Nah,” Peter said, standing up and slamming his locker shut. “They’re all too busy flexing at themselves in the mirror.”

He wasn’t wrong.

When they hit the field, Coach blew the whistle and barked something about a scrimmage. The class groaned, but Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. Sports — real ones, not just pretending in P.E. — were where he came alive. He was fast. Sharp. Competitive like it was his lifeline.

Peter saw it every time.

They got split onto opposite teams. It was chaos — guys shoving, sprinting, yelling. Peter loved it, his loud voice echoing across the field like a siren. Jeremiah didn’t say much, but he moved like lightning, weaving through defenders like they were standing still.

At one point, Jeremiah stole the ball from Peter so smoothly it looked choreographed. As he dashed past him, Peter muttered, just loud enough: “Show-off.”

Later, as they jogged off the field, breathless and flushed, Peter bumped his shoulder against Jeremiah’s. “You’re disgusting,” he said. “I can’t believe I’m in love with a guy who embarrasses me like that.”

Jeremiah glanced around — teammates still distracted, coach yelling at someone in the back — and gave the tiniest smile. “Then don’t let me win.”

Peter bumped him again. “Not possible.”

After gym, the locker room thinned out fast. Boys slammed lockers, shouted goodbyes, and filed out. Jeremiah waited. Peter always lingered, too.

When the last guy left and the door clicked shut, Peter walked over and sat beside Jeremiah on the bench.

“Tomorrow’s Friday,” Peter said, voice low.

Jeremiah nodded. “Yeah.”

“Wanna come over? After practice?”

Jeremiah hesitated. “I told my parents I was staying late for study group.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “You’re such a liar.”

“You’re the one who lies to everyone about why we’re always late to sixth period.”

Peter laughed. “Touché.”

They were quiet for a moment. The only sound was the hum of the vents and distant squeaks of sneakers on the gym floor.

Then, without a word, Peter leaned his head against Jeremiah’s shoulder.

Jeremiah froze for a second — not because he didn’t want it, but because it still shocked him how good it felt to be close. Even in secret. Especially in secret.

Peter’s voice was muffled. “Sometimes I wish we could just… walk out of here holding hands.”

Jeremiah didn’t answer. But he slid his pinky over until it brushed Peter’s.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Three: Study Group Lies and Bedroom Truths

Friday afternoon crawled like it had something to hide. The final bell rang, unleashing the school into a blur of backpacks and slamming lockers. Jeremiah walked out of the science wing with his hood up and his heart doing that annoying thing it did whenever he was nervous and excited at the same time.

He told his mom he was going to a study group. Technically not a lie. He was studying something — just not homework.

Peter was waiting for him at the edge of the parking lot, leaning against the fence with his gym duffel slung over his shoulder and a stupid grin already plastered on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he said.

Jeremiah shrugged. “Had to look convincing.”

They walked side by side, close but not touching. At school, they knew the rules: no lingering glances, no accidental brushes, no smiles that lasted too long. Outside of it — especially on the way to Peter’s place — it felt like another world.

Peter’s house was quiet. His mom worked nights and his dad was… well, out of the picture. The second they were through the door, Peter tossed his bag to the floor and locked it behind them.

It was like flicking a switch.

Jeremiah dropped his act like a coat. His shoulders loosened. His smile came back, real and soft.

Peter walked backwards down the hallway, eyes never leaving him. “You hungry?”

Jeremiah shrugged. “A little.”

Peter smirked. “Too bad. I’m starving for something else.”

Jeremiah blushed so fast he wanted to punch him. “Shut up.”

Peter laughed, the sound echoing down the hall as he disappeared into his room. “You knew what this was!”

Jeremiah followed, heart pounding, trying not to look too eager.

Peter’s room was messy in the way all boys’ rooms are messy: clothes half on chairs, a forgotten. water bottle on the floor, posters of sports teams and video games on the walls. But the light came in warm through the half-closed blinds, and it smelled like clean laundry and something softer, something that was just… him.

Jeremiah stood by the door, awkward for half a second.

Then Peter pulled him in by the sleeve and kissed him.

This one was different.

It wasn’t fast or stolen in a hallway. It wasn’t chased by fear or hidden under the weight of sixth period. It was deep and slow and real — the kind of kiss that filled every part of him and made time crack open like it didn’t matter anymore.

They pulled apart, both breathless, forehead to forehead.

“I missed you all week,” Peter murmured.

Jeremiah nodded. “Me too.”

They collapsed on the bed, tangled up in each other. Just lying there. Jeremiah rested his head on Peter’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.

“I hate hiding,” Peter said after a while.

“I know.”

“Sometimes I just wanna tell everyone. Screw it.”

Jeremiah didn’t say anything at first. He thought about the guys in the locker room, the jokes they made. The way the school twisted when anyone was different.

He looked up at Peter. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Peter looked back, his thumb tracing Jeremiah’s cheek. “You won’t. Even if the whole world finds out. I swear.”

Jeremiah leaned in again, kissing him softly this time. Like a promise.

Later, when the sun started slipping behind the blinds and the room glowed orange, Jeremiah sat up.

“I should go.”

Peter frowned. “Can’t you stay?”

“I told my mom I’d be home before dinner. She’ll know something’s up.”

Peter sighed but nodded. “Okay. But sixth period’s still ours, yeah?”

Jeremiah smiled. “Always.”

Chapter Four: The Weight of Quiet Things

Monday came with grey skies and the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

Jeremiah sat through fifth period barely hearing a word. The teacher’s voice buzzed in the background like a static channel, and all he could do was count the minutes to sixth. He’d seen Peter at lunch — loud, joking, pretending like everything was fine.

It wasn’t.

Peter had texted him late Saturday night: I think someone saw us. Friday. Through my win

Chapter Five: The Hideaway

There was an old equipment shed behind the far baseball field — one nobody used anymore. It was half-sunk into the earth, paint chipped and rusted in places, a ghost of school years past. Everyone forgot it was even there.

Except Peter.

He’d found it during track season last year, when he was looking for a place to ditch warmups. Since then, it had become the place. His place. And now, their place.

That Monday, after sixth period ended in a fog of tension, Peter leaned over in the hallway and whispered, “Meet me by the fence after practice.”

Jeremiah nodded, wordless.

It was just past 4:30 when Jeremiah ducked behind the storage trailer and jogged across the field. The sun hung low, painting the grass in golden streaks. His chest tightened as he neared the shed — not with fear this time, but something heavier. Sadder. Like the day had worn him down to the bone.

The door creaked open before he could knock.

Peter stepped back, letting him in.

Inside, it smelled like dust and dirt and old leather, but it was quiet. Safe. A few beat-up mats were stacked in the corner, and Peter had dragged one onto the floor. A folded hoodie acted as a pillow.

Jeremiah sat down, tucking his knees to his chest.

Peter joined him without a word.

For a while, they just were. Two bodies in the stillness. Two hearts still beating, even under the weight.

“I hate this,” Jeremiah finally whispered. “That we have to hide. That every second we spend together has to be… carved out of shadows.”

Peter leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closed. “Me too.”

Jeremiah turned to him, voice smaller. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Peter opened his eyes. “Then we don’t.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t empty. It was filled with everything they were both too tired to say aloud — the ache of pretending, the fear of being found, the stubborn flicker of wanting each other anyway.

Peter shifted, lying down and patting the mat beside him. “C’mere.”

Jeremiah hesitated, then lay down, curling into Peter’s side. His head on Peter’s chest. Peter’s hand slid into his curls, slow and gentle.

They stayed like that for what felt like forever.

“Sometimes,” Peter murmured, “I think about what it’d be like if no one cared. If we could walk down the hall holding hands. If I could kiss you in daylight.”

Jeremiah closed his eyes. “I think about that too.”

Peter’s hand paused in his hair. “What do you think we’d be like?”

Jeremiah smiled faintly. “Loud.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “Yeah?”

“You’d be unbearable. Making out in the middle of lunch. Teachers would hate us even more.”

Peter grinned, warmth flooding his voice. “I’d hold your hand so much you’d get sick of it.”

Jeremiah nudged him lightly with his elbow. “Never.”

They lay there until the light faded through the cracks in the wall, turning orange, then blue, then nothing at all.

And in that quiet, hidden place, with the world miles away, they stopped being secrets.

They were just two boys.

Falling in love.

Chapter Six: Found

It started with a sound.

Not a voice. Not a shout. Just the quiet crunch of sneakers over dead grass outside the old shed.

Jeremiah froze mid-laugh, still curled up beside Peter on the faded gym mat. Peter’s arm tightened protectively around him.

Another step. Closer.

They sat up fast.

Peter pressed a finger to his lips.

Then the door creaked open — slow, like whoever was on the other side already knew they weren’t supposed to be there.

Standing in the doorway was Joseph. Seventh grade. On the soccer team. The kind of kid who always had his phone out and always knew everything about everyone.

His eyes widened as he looked from Peter to Jeremiah, then back again. Something shifted in his face — shock, curiosity, maybe something mean underneath.

“What are you guys doing?” he asked, but not like he didn’t know.

Jeremiah’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Peter stood up, trying to block Joseph’s view. “Nothing. You’re not supposed to be ou

out here.”

Joseph didn’t back down. “Is this why you’re always late to sixth period?”

Jeremiah stood too, voice shaking. “Please don’t say anything.”

Joseph tilted his head. “Why not?”

Peter stepped forward, voice low. “Because it’s none of your business.”

Joseph crossed his arms. “Everyone’s gonna find out eventually.”

“Does it have to be from you?” Jeremiah asked quietly. “You could just… let us be.”

For a second, Joseph looked like he might. But then he gave a half-smile — the kind kids get when they realize they have power.

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving the door open behind him.

They were alone again.

But the air felt colder.

Peter sat down on the mat, hands running through his hair. Jeremiah didn’t move at first — he just stared at the door like it was still open, like Joseph might come back any second.

“He’s gonna tell someone,” Jeremiah said, barely audible.

“Maybe not,” Peter said, but his voice cracked.

Jeremiah sat down beside him. “Why’d he have to be there?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know.”

They sat in silence — not the good kind. The heavy kind, full of what-ifs and fear.

Jeremiah pulled his knees up to his chest. “I don’t want to be the kid everyone whispers about.”

Peter looked at him, eyes soft but tired. “You won’t be. Not alone.”

Jeremiah didn’t answer, but he leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder. Just for a second. Just enough.

Chapter Seven: The Spark

Joseph didn’t keep it to himself.

He didn’t know why — maybe because it felt too big to carry alone, or maybe because part of him liked the feeling of knowing something dangerous.

By third period the next morning, he was already whispering about it to Andrew — one of the loudest kids in school. Seventh grade, just like him. Always had something cruel to say, always knew how to get a room laughing for the wrong reasons.

Joseph leaned in, voice low. “I saw Peter and Jeremiah yesterday. In the shed behind the field.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “What were they doing?”

Joseph hesitated. Then: “They were, like… close. Like, boyfriend close.”

Andrew blinked.

Then grinned.

“No way,” he said. “For real?”

Joseph nodded. “I’m serious. I saw it.”

Andrew shook his head, grinning wider. “That’s messed up. I knew something was weird about them. They’re always late to sixth period. Probably off kissing or whatever.”

Joseph gave a half-laugh, but it didn’t sound right. “Yeah.”

Andrew’s eyes lit up, like he’d just found a toy to break. “This is gold.”

By lunch, the storm had started brewing.

Jeremiah felt it the second he walked into the cafeteria. Heads turned just a little too fast. Voices dropped just a little too low when he walked by.

Peter noticed too.

They sat down, but it felt different — like the room had shifted. Like they weren’t just students anymore, but something to watch.

Peter leaned over. “Something’s wrong.”

Jeremiah didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. They both knew.

A few tables away, Andrew laughed loudly. “I guess some guys like locker rooms a little too much.”

More laughter followed. Some nervous. Some real.

Jeremiah’s face burned.

Peter stood up fast. “Let’s go.”

They left their trays untouched and slipped out the side doors, down the hall, past the vending machines — until they were outside, behind the gym, where no one followed.

Peter paced in tight circles. “Joseph told him.”

Jeremiah sat on the concrete, arms wrapped around his knees. “He told Andrew.”

Peter swore under his breath. “He’s going to tell everyone.”

“He already is.”

Peter stopped pacing and looked down at him. “What do we do?”

Jeremiah looked up, eyes wide. “I don’t know.”

The words hung there, awful in their honesty.

Peter sat beside him, not touching, just close.

“They’re going to talk,” Jeremiah said.

Peter nodded. “Then let them.”

Jeremiah blinked at him.

Peter swallowed hard. “They can talk. They can laugh. But they don’t get to decide who we are.”

Jeremiah didn’t speak. But

Chapter Eleven: Still Ours

Jeremiah didn’t sleep for two nights.

His mom barely spoke to him, except for curt sentences about homework and dinner. She walked past his room like it wasn’t his anymore. Like he wasn’t hers anymore.

At school, he moved like a ghost. Head down, hands in pockets. Every whisper felt louder. Every glance cut deeper.

Peter wasn’t there.

His name was still on the attendance sheet, but the seat stayed empty.

Jeremiah didn’t ask why.
He already knew.

Peter sat on his bed, grounded. No phone. No computer. Not even a notebook. His dad had taken everything but the silence.

But silence didn’t erase anything.

It didn’t erase Jeremiah’s hand in his.
Didn’t erase the shed. The kiss. The choice.

He counted the days. Waited.

And then, finally, didn’t wait.

It was Friday. Almost dark.

Jeremiah was walking home slow, dragging his feet like maybe the street would swallow him whole. His backpack felt heavier than usual.

He cut across the soccer field.

Stopped halfway.

And then—

He saw someone standing at the edge of the trees.

Hood up. Hands in pockets. Still. Waiting.

Peter.

Jeremiah didn’t run.

He just walked, steady, like he’d been holding his breath for a week and finally let it out.

They didn’t speak right away.

Peter’s voice came first. “My dad thinks I’m staying after school for detention.”

Jeremiah gave the smallest smile. “You’re kinda not lying.”

Peter looked at him. “Are we okay?”

Jeremiah nodded. “I think… this is the only place we are.”

They moved together, wordless. Toward the shed.

Same broken hinge. Same dusty mat. Same dim light from a cracked vent.

But this time, they didn’t kiss right away.

They just sat.

Leaning into each other, shoulder to shoulder, like two kids refusing to be erased.

“I don’t want to disappear,” Jeremiah said.

“You’re not going to,” Peter whispered. “I see you.”

He turned and kissed him, slow and soft and full of all the things they hadn’t been allowed to say.

They didn’t care if the walls were thin.

Didn’t care if someone walked in again.

Because this wasn’t about hiding anymore.

This was about choosing.

Even in secret, even when the world turned its back — this was still theirs.

Chapter Twelve: You & Me, Anyway

Monday hit like a slap.

Peter came back to school. He walked into first period with his head high and his heart hammering. Jeremiah saw him across the room, and their eyes caught just for a second — not long enough to be obvious. Just long enough to feel real.

That moment carried them both through the morning.

But then came lunch.

They didn’t sit together. Couldn’t. Not yet. Peter sat with his old group, who mostly ignored him. Jeremiah was across the cafeteria, at the end of a table he barely belonged to.

And then Andrew’s voice cut through the noise.

“Yo, Peter. You bringing your boyfriend to gym later, or are you keeping him in the shed where he belongs?”

Laughter. Not loud. Just enough to sting.

Peter didn’t answer.

Andrew smirked. “What, no comeback? You only know how to use your mouth when it’s on someone else’s?”

Jeremiah flinched.

Peter stood up, slow. Calm.

But the look in his eyes? Fire.

“Maybe I don’t care what you think anymore,” he said.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “That’s cute. You think anyone cares what you two do?”

More laughter. Louder this time.

Peter looked right at him. “Jeremiah cares. That’s enough.”

Andrew froze for half a second.

And Peter walked away.

After school, they met again. Not in the shed. In the woods, farther back, where no one went after fifth grade field day. Where no one would follow.

Jeremiah’s heart was thudding like a drum.

“You didn’t have to say that,” he whispered, as Peter reached for his hand.

Peter smiled — that real one, the one that barely curved but lit up his whole face.

“Yes, I did.”

They sat on a log, close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Jeremiah leaned his head on Peter’s shoulder. “They’re never going to stop, are they?”

“Probably not.”

“What if i

wait some of these might've been cut and I didn't know

Oh shoot some of them are umm

I'll just go from chapter 12

What if it never gets better?”

Peter looked down at him. Brushed his thumb along Jeremiah’s cheek like he was afraid to break him. “Then I’ll hold you tighter.”

Jeremiah’s eyes welled. “I don’t deserve you.”

Peter kissed him. Slow, like time didn’t matter.

“You deserve everything.”

And for a little while, they just stayed like that. In the fading light, lips brushing, hands laced together, breath warm in the cool air.

The world didn’t stop hating them.
But in this one, quiet place, they were safe.
They were real.

They were love.

Chapter Thirteen: Caught

They weren’t supposed to be there.

Third period had just started. The hallways were quiet — too quiet — and Jeremiah’s heart was hammering like it always did when he skipped class. But it was worth it. Every time. For this.

The janitor’s closet wasn’t even locked. It never was.

They slipped in together, breathless. A narrow space, shelves of dusty supplies and the scent of old cleaner in the air. Peter clicked the door shut behind them, then turned — already grinning.

Jeremiah leaned back against the shelf, eyes shining. “We’re gonna get caught one day.”

Peter stepped close. “Maybe today.”

And then — nothing else. No more words. Just mouths meeting, warm and frantic, like they were making up for every second they’d been forced apart.

It wasn’t just about kissing. It was about feeling something again. Safe. Real. The world outside hated them — Andrew made sure of that every day — but in here, they could breathe.

Peter’s hands were at Jeremiah’s shoulders, gently holding him like he could fall apart at any second. Jeremiah’s fingers twisted into Peter’s hoodie.

Then—

The door opened.

Fluorescent light spilled in.

And standing there, mouth slightly open, was Ms. Kepler, the assistant principal.

Her voice was sharp. “What on earth— Get out. Now.”

Peter stepped back instantly. Jeremiah turned red, frozen in place.

“You’re both coming with me.”

No room to explain. No time to speak. Just the walk of shame down the hall — past the bathrooms, past the windows, past the classrooms filled with students who didn’t see. Yet.

But they would.

The principal’s office was too cold. Too white.

They sat in separate chairs. Ms. Kepler stood by the door. The principal looked between them, frowning — not furious, but disappointed. And somehow, that was worse.

“Making out in a janitor’s closet during class?” he said slowly. “Do you understand how serious this is?”

Peter spoke first. “We weren’t doing anything bad.”

Jeremiah whispered, “We just wanted to be alone.”

“Alone is not the same as unsupervised,” the principal said. “You know this. And after everything that’s already happened—”

Ms. Kepler cut in. “You’ll both be suspended. Two days.”

Jeremiah’s stomach dropped. “Please—my mom—she’ll—”

“She’ll be notified,” the principal said. “Both of your parents will.”

Peter stared straight ahead. “We already get bullied every day. What’s two more days away from that?”

The adults didn’t respond.

But Jeremiah could feel the weight in his chest pressing harder.

They weren’t just caught.

They were exposed. Again.

Back in the hallway, while waiting for their rides, Jeremiah leaned against the wall, tears in his eyes.

Peter slid closer, voice low. “We’ll get through this.”

Jeremiah didn’t look at him. “What if we don’t?”

Peter waited.

Then: “Then at least I’ll have kissed you like I meant it.”

And even though everything was falling apart again, Jeremiah turned his head — just enough — and smiled.

A real one.

Because no one could take that from them.

Chapter Fourteen: Aftershocks

They weren’t at school when the screenshots leaked.

Jeremiah was at home, sitting on the edge of his bed, grounded so hard his mom had taken his curtains down — like the light outside didn’t belong to him anymore.

The suspension email had come the day before. She didn’t speak to him at dinner. She didn’t look at him, either.

That morning, she cracked.

“You’ve humiliated this family.”

Jeremiah didn’t move.

“I told you,” she said, her voice trembling. “I told you this would happen. You don’t even try to be normal.”

Jeremiah’s throat burned. “I’m not sorry.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “You should be.”

She left the room without another word.

He sat there, staring at the walls, trying not to look at the empty shelf where his phone used to charge.

Across town, Peter’s dad had taken more than his phone.

His books, his sketchpad, every photo he’d ever taken with Jeremiah — gone. Thrown in a trash bag.

“You brought this on yourself,” his dad said flatly.

Peter sat at the kitchen table, staring at the cracks in the tile.

“Two days off school,” his dad muttered, pacing. “Two days to think about who you really are.”

“I know who I am,” Peter said.

His dad slapped the counter. “You’re thirteen. You don’t know anything.”

Peter didn’t flinch.

He just stood up. Walked out the back door. And sat in the yard in the cold, breathing like it was the only thing left he was allowed to do.

Back at school, the storm hit.

Someone had gotten security cam stills — blurry but clear enough — and by second period, they were everywhere.

Group chats. Hallway whispers. Posts that got deleted, reposted, and reshared.

“Caught in 4K.”
“Hope they used Lysol.”
“They really think they’re in a movie.”

Andrew was king of it all.

He showed everyone the screenshots like he owned them. Made voices. Mocked the pose. Called Jeremiah a “princess” and Peter a “dog on a leash.”

No one stopped him.

Even the people who didn’t laugh didn’t speak.

And the silence said everything.

Jeremiah saw the posts later that night.

A friend — kind of — DM’d him on a school Chromebook. No message. Just the screenshots.

He stared at them. Then turned the screen off.

Peter called him on a borrowed phone that night. Just once. Five minutes.

“They’re tearing us up,” he said.

“I know,” Jeremiah whispered.

“I’d still kiss you again.”

Jeremiah smiled — for the first time all day. “Then we’re not done.”

And even with the world against them, that tiny borrowed call felt like a promise.

Not broken.

Not yet.

Chapter Fifteen: First Day Back

The bell rang at 8:15.

Jeremiah stood just outside the main doors, staring at his reflection in the glass. His hoodie was pulled over his head, hands deep in his pockets, but it didn’t make him invisible. Not today.

Behind him, footsteps. Quick ones.

Peter.

Their eyes met — small relief flickering in both.

“You ready?” Peter asked softly.

Jeremiah let out a breath. “No.”

Peter gave a half-smile. “Same.”

They walked in together.

Silence hit like a slap.

Every hallway, every classroom, every person — they all looked. Some whispered. Some smirked. Some looked away fast, like Jeremiah and Peter were contagious.

Andrew didn’t look away.

He waited for them, arms crossed near the lockers, that crooked smile on his face like a trap.

“Well, well,” he said loudly, catching everyone’s attention. “Look who decided to crawl back out of the closet.”

A ripple of laughter.

Peter stepped forward, but Jeremiah grabbed his arm. “Not here,” he whispered.

Andrew raised his eyebrows. “What? You two only fight in sheds?”

Someone coughed. Someone laughed too hard.

Jeremiah’s throat tightened.

But then Peter shook off his hand and faced Andrew.

“You think you’re funny,” Peter said. “But all you’ve ever done is talk. We get suspended for kissing. You get applause for being cruel. What does that say about you?”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re not brave. You’re just gross.”

“I’d rather be gross than a coward hiding behind jokes,” Peter snapped. “You hate us so much? Say why. Say it loud. So everyone hears what kind of person you really are.”

Andrew stepped forward.

So did Peter.

A teacher’s voice cut in from down the hall: “Enough!”

They both froze.

Mr. Ryckebosh. Of course.

He looked between them — eyes sharp, but not angry. Just… tired. “To class. All of you.”

Peter backed off first. Jeremiah followed.

But even as they walked away, they didn’t let go of each other’s eyes.

Sixth period came. Mr. Ryckebosh’s room. The usual seat in the back.

Jeremiah walked in first. Head high. Hands shaking.

Peter sat beside him.

And this time?

They didn’t hide it.

When the bell rang and class began, Mr. Ryckebosh paused a moment before speaking.

He looked right at them.

And then kept going — like they were just students again. Not headlines. Not rumors. Not mistakes.

Just boys.

That night, Jeremiah and Peter met back in the shed.

They sat close, knees touching. Quiet.

Peter whispered, “I almost hit him today.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Jeremiah said. “But I kinda wish you had.”

They both laughed — tired and warm.

Jeremiah rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. “We’re still here.”

Peter kissed the top of his hair.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Chapter Sixteen: Breakpoint

The tension hadn’t left the school.

Every day since they came back felt like walking a tightrope. Jeremiah kept his head down. Peter didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not when Andrew kept pushing.

Not when everyone stared like they were still waiting for something else to happen.

It wasn’t a matter of if.
It was when.

Lunch. Wednesday.

The cafeteria buzzed. Jeremiah and Peter sat alone, like usual — near the end of the table by the wall. They’d stopped trying to join the others. The others made it clear: there wasn’t room for them.

Andrew passed by once. No words. Just a smirk and a shove to Jeremiah’s shoulder.

Peter stood. “Don’t.”

Jeremiah tugged him back down. “He’s not worth it.”

But Peter’s fists were already clenched.

Later, after sixth period, it happened.

The hallway was thin. Crowded. And Andrew was waiting.

“Hey,” he said loudly. “You two going back to your little closet today?”

Jeremiah froze.

Peter didn’t.

He turned fast, walked right up, chest to chest. “Say that again.”

Andrew grinned. “You heard me.”

“Louder,” Peter said. “Go on. Make sure everyone hears you this time.”

Andrew shoved him. “Don’t touch me, freak.”

That was it.

Peter punched him.

Right in the jaw.

The crowd gasped. Someone screamed. A phone came out.

Andrew stumbled back, then tackled him. They crashed into the lockers, fists swinging, students backing away, shouting—

Blood on a shirt. Someone yelling for a teacher.

Jeremiah tried to pull Peter off, his heart exploding in his chest. “Stop—stop—Peter—”

Too late.

Mr. Ryckebosh again. Furious this time. “Enough!”

The office was colder this time.

Peter sat with a busted lip and fire in his eyes. Jeremiah sat beside him, arms crossed tight over his chest, shaking.

“You threw the first punch,” the principal said.

Peter didn’t deny it.

“He’s been harassing us for weeks,” Jeremiah said. “Every day. You let him.”

“That doesn’t make fighting acceptable,” the principal replied. “You’ll be suspended again. Three days this time.”

“And Andrew?” Peter asked.

The principal looked tired. “He’ll be spoken to.”

Peter laughed bitterly. “Of course.”

That night, Jeremiah waited outside the shed.

When Peter showed up, his lip was swollen, his knuckles scraped. But his eyes—his eyes looked calmer.

“I couldn’t take it anymore,” he said.

Jeremiah didn’t say anything. He just reached out and wrapped his arms around him, tight.

Peter buried his face in Jeremiah’s shoulder.

“I’m scared,” he whispered. “Not of him. Of losing you.”

“You won’t,” Jeremiah said, voice cracking. “Not now. Not ever.”

And in the dark of the shed, bruised and broken, they kissed again — not because it was safe, but because it was theirs.

There might've been some gaps sorryyy but that's all i have

Word count gmo

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@-1nf3ct3d_banj0-2
these chapters keep getting cut off :imp:

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