WANTED A FLING BUT IT'S A NIGHT

CHAPTER 17 (MURMURS)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

Asher didn’t expect to hear his name whispered like smoke.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even obvious. But it curled around him, like a breeze that carried weight. A hallway full of murmurs, and somehow, his name slipped through them like a knife.

“Asher? The one Rhett was with at the party?”

“That freshman?”

“I heard he spent the night.”

Asher froze in place. Just by the Literature wing, where the posters for poetry night peeled slightly from the walls, students leaned against lockers like they had nothing better to do than dissect his life.

He swallowed.

Zayn caught up behind him. "Ignore it. Seriously. People talk because they’re bored."

“But they know.” Asher said quietly.

“They don’t *know*. They assume. There’s a difference.”

Asher tried to move, but each step felt heavier than the last. Like every glance that hit him in the hallway was laced with judgment or curiosity. He hated how it made him shrink.

He didn’t owe them anything. But part of him still felt exposed.

---

In the cafeteria, Jude slid into the seat opposite Zayn like he’d been doing it for years.

“People talkin’?” Jude asked, popping open a can of Coke.

Zayn nodded, pushing his phone aside. “Yeah. And Asher’s feeling it.”

Jude tilted his head, thoughtful. “Rhett might want to clear things up then. Or not. Depends on how serious this is.”

Zayn studied him. “How do you know Rhett so well?”

Jude gave a half-smile. “Because I used to be the one everyone warned about.”

---

That evening, Rhett sat in the back of the music room, his fingers tapping against the neck of his guitar. He hadn’t played in weeks, but something in him itched for release. For clarity.

He could feel the shift. The stares. The silence that buzzed louder than applause ever could.

When Asher had looked at him earlier that day—just briefly across the quad—there was hesitation. Not hate. Not confusion. Just… distance.

And that scared him.

---

Back in their shared room, Asher paced.

“Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it’s nothing,” he mumbled.

Zayn flopped on his bed. “You didn’t imagine it. But that doesn’t mean you let it ruin you. Do you like him?”

Asher paused. “I don’t know yet. But I want to.”

Zayn looked at him. “Then that’s enough. Let it be messy. Let it be real. But don’t let people who don’t know your story write it for you.”

And in that moment, Asher breathed. Fully.

Because maybe love—whatever it was, whatever it turned out to be—didn’t have to be perfect.

Just real.