Boys Like Him

You

He looked at the coffee mug on the table, the open notebook beside it, my highlighters scattered in imperfect rows.

He exhaled and dragged a hand over the back of his neck.

"I meant what I said out there," he murmured. "About not knowing how to handle... this."

"This," I repeated. "That's still all this is?"

His gaze came back to me immediately.

"No."

The answer was quiet.

"No," he said again, stepping closer. "It stopped being just that a while ago."

I stared at him, saying nothing.

He took that as permission to continue.

"My family..." He hesitated, his expression tightening as he rubbed his thumb against the stubble on his jaw, a nervous habit that seemed to surface every time the conversation turned serious. "It's not simple. My dad being in town changes everything. It always does."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet slightly apprehensive.

"What does that mean?" I prompted, leaning in, hoping to catch a glimpse into this complicated world he was hinting at.

His gaze shifted, probing mine.

"It means that when he's around, the atmosphere grows heavy," he explained, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "It means my mother starts to put on a show, acting as if everything is perfect. And suddenly, people start appearing, friends, acquaintances, all of them drawn in by the magnetic drama of our family. Brianna is one of them occasionally. It's... complicated, rooted in old family dynamics that never fully went away. It's annoying, to say the least. I never thought I'd have to explain this to someone I cared about, because honestly, I never believed someone I cared about would ever have to witness it."

As he spoke, I felt a chill run through me, my body going very still as the weight of his words settled over us.

"You cared enough to let me find out the ugly way," I retorted.

He winced.

"I know."

"I know, cherry."

My chest tightened painfully at that. I looked away.

"You're the first girl who made me keep coming back to your apartment," he remarked, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Like a fool, really. I'd find myself hoping the light would be glowing warmly from within, wishing I could hear you moving around inside. But it was always silent." He let out a dry, humorless laugh, the sound echoing with a hint of regret. "Mariah would've probably taken a knife to me if she'd seen me lurking about like that."

The thought almost tugged a smile from me.

Almost.

"She would have," I agreed.

A faint smile touched his mouth.

"She hates me."

"She believes you're toxic for me."

His previously carefree smile vanished.

He regarded me intently, his gaze piercing through the tension in the room, "Do you feel the same way?"

Yes, perhaps there was some truth to it, and no, perhaps not entirely. And, if I were being honest, I didn't care as deeply as I ought to.

I found my eyes fixated on the floor, unable to meet his gaze.

"That's not fair."

"I know." His voice was barely above a whisper. "But answer anyway."

I hated him for asking.

I hated myself more for not being able to answer quickly.

"I think you have a way of making me lose sight of who I am," I finally murmured.

"I don't want you to shrink away," he murmured, his voice almost a whisper. "I can't bear the thought of your grades slipping, or your life spiraling into chaos because of me."

His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion.

"You should've considered that before you made your choices," I retorted, my tone edged with bitterness.

"I did think about it," he replied, his voice suddenly sharp, like the snap of a twig underfoot. "That's why I kept my distance, even though I knew you were with Mariah."

I met his gaze, feeling a spark of surprise.

His eyes, usually so warm, were now filled with a mix of longing and pain as they locked onto mine.

"That was me trying not to be selfish," he continued, the vulnerability in his voice palpable. "You think it was easy for me to avoid you? To silence the ache of your absence? Every corner of this city seemed haunted by memories of you." He swallowed hard, the tension in his throat visible. "That was me attempting, for once, to do the right thing."

Caught off guard, I realized he had missed me deeply. He had endured his own heartache. It wasn't a choice between Brianna and me; I had merely glimpsed a heartbreaking moment from a skewed perspective, at the worst possible time.

It was almost elegant, the way he handed me a version of events I could survive.

I sat down. I pressed my hands between my knees and stared at the floor.

He lowered himself into the chair across from me.

"I'm not asking you to pretend none of this happened," he sighed, rubbing his face.

"Nyelle."

He reached into the pocket of his hoodie and pulled something out.

My breath caught.

My hairpin.

The black one I had lost weeks ago in his apartment.

He placed it gently on the coffee table between us.

"I kept finding pieces of you after," he added softly. "A pin, a lip gloss cap under my bed. One of your stupid highlighters in my kitchen drawer." His gaze lifted to mine. "You don't know what that did to me."

"You always know what to say," I whispered.

He held my eyes and answered in the quietest voice yet, "Only with you."

I rubbed at my forehead, eyes burning.

"I don't know what you want from me," I admitted.

His gaze was laser-focused. "You."

An oppressive silence enveloped us.

"I just want you," He added.

"I can't do this version of us if it means I keep disappearing from myself," I continued, a tremor of fear threading through my tone.

A flicker of understanding passed over his features.

"Then don't," he snapped back, the fierce edge in his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

As I reflected on those moments now, the truth washed over me with a clarity so piercing it nearly made my head spin. I realized that everything didn't culminate in one cataclysmic upheaval; instead, it unraveled slowly, like fine thread slipping through fingers, leaving us both empty in its wake.