Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun filtered lazily through the classroom window, catching the edge of Norman’s white hair and making it look almost silver. Ray noticed, of course he noticed he always did.

The teacher was mid lecture on historical revolutions, but Ray’s mind was already busy revolting against him.

Norman leaned toward him across the shared desk, his breath warm, his whisper casual.

“You spacing out again? Or are you just secretly a romantic?”

Ray blinked, caught. Norman was grinning like he always did, effortlessly charming. His eyes flicked down to Ray’s book upside down. Shit.

“Definitely a romantic,” Norman teased, flipping Ray’s book right side up with one elegant finger.

Ray’s mouth twitched. “No, just bored. Or repulsed. Haven’t decided.”

“Cute either way,” Norman said under his breath.

Ray’s heart did something irrational. He looked away, trying to seem annoyed, but heat crawled up his neck anyway.

It was like this every day. Norman teasing him in ways that didn’t feel just friendly, touching his arm for too long, looping a finger into his hoodie to pull him back when he tried to walk ahead, calling him names like “pretty boy” when Ray got top grades.

It wasn’t just words either. Norman always waited for him at lunch. Always saved him a seat. Always seemed... brighter around him.

It was unbearable.

In chemistry lab, Norman passed him a pen without asking. In gym, he threw his towel on Ray’s head and said, “You should dye your hair lighter. I wanna see what we’d look like with matching colors.”

It sounded like flirting. It felt like flirting.

But maybe Ray was just stupidly, hopelessly in love.

When the final bell rang and students flooded out, Norman didn’t rush. He lingered by the window, waiting for Ray as always. He looked back with that casual smile.

 “Walk home together?”

Ray gave a low hum, nodding. His bag was heavy, but his heart was worse.

They walked side by side, their shadows stretching long in the orange light. Norman’s sleeve brushed against his own a few times, and Ray pretended he didn’t notice how that tiny contact felt like the only thing keeping him tethered.

Norman started talking about some movie they should watch. He turned to Ray, animated.

“Hey movie night this weekend? Just us.”

Ray’s stomach flipped. Just us.

He tried to speak but only nodded. Norman grinned.

“It’s a date, then.”

A joke, probably. Just a stupid throwaway line.

But Ray smiled anyway, the aching kind. Maybe it was a joke. Maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t know. All he knew was that he wanted it to be real.

He watched Norman’s profile in the dying sunlight, wondering if this was what being in love really felt like hopeful and horrible at the same time.

–

Ray stood outside Norman’s house, heart pounding a little harder than it should.

He wasn’t nervous. Not really. He’d been to Norman’s place before. They’d studied here, eaten junk food, even slept over once in eighth grade. But something about tonight felt different.

Maybe it was the text.

Dumbass <3: Be here by 6. I picked something you’ll like.

Dumbass <3: No popcorn. I’m making real food.

Dumbass <3: Dress comfy. But not too comfy. I have standards.

Ray scoffed when he first read it, but now standing at Norman’s door, hands buried in his jacket pockets he felt a little... off balance. Like something was shifting.

The door opened.

Ray stared for a second too long.

Norman’s hair, usually just a little messy, was brushed and styled just enough to look soft and deliberate. He wore a dark sweater over a collared shirt, sleeves rolled up casually. His smile was easy, practiced.

“Hey. You made it.”

Ray blinked. “Yeah. Barely survived the bus ride.”

“Well. Come in before you die dramatically on my porch.”

The inside of Norman’s house was warm, clean, and smelled like garlic butter. Ray kicked his shoes off and followed him to the living room, noticing the small changes — dimmer lighting, cozy throw blanket on the couch, candles burning on the shelf.

Ray raised an eyebrow. “You redecorate just for me?”

“Would you be flattered or creeped out?”

Ray smirked, slipping into his usual sarcasm. “Both.”

Norman laughed, grabbing two plates from the kitchen. He handed Ray one, already stacked with pasta and garlic bread.

“Eat before the movie starts. I’m not pausing for you if you choke.”

They settled on the couch, plates in their laps, the movie queued up. Norman had picked a thriller Ray mentioned wanting to watch weeks ago something dark and psychological. He remembered.

Ray tried to focus on the screen, but Norman’s presence next to him was loud. Not literally, just there. The couch wasn’t that big, and Norman was sitting close. Their knees kept bumping. Ray didn’t move away.

Halfway through the movie, Norman laughed at something that wasn’t funny. Ray turned to look and that’s when it happened.

The classic move.

Norman stretched his arms overhead in an exaggerated yawn and, just as he brought them down, one arm rested along the back of the couch.

And then without hesitation his fingers brushed Ray’s shoulder then stilled.

Ray froze.

Norman didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on the screen, expression relaxed, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Ray’s heart was having a meltdown.

He didn’t pull away. Of course he didn’t. He couldn’t even breathe properly.

They sat like that for twenty more minutes Norman’s arm warm behind him, close enough to touch if Ray leaned back even a little.

He didn’t know what to do with it. The moment. The tension. The way Norman’s fingers slowly, lazily started drumming against the top of the couch, then eventually settled against the edge of Ray’s shoulder.

There wasn’t any teasing in his expression. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just calm.

Like this meant nothing to him.

Or maybe- maybe it meant everything.

When the movie ended, Ray barely registered the credits.

Norman turned to him. “So. Good pick, or amazing pick?”

Ray blinked. “Uh. Yeah. Amazing.”

“You always say that when you’re thinking too hard.”

Ray forced a grin. “Then stop being distracting.”

Norman just laughed again, soft and full. “Never.”

And for the rest of the night, Ray tried not to hope too hard. But he did.

Because this? This felt like more than friendship. Like an invitation.

And if it was... maybe he’d be brave enough to answer it soon.

—

Ray wasn’t sure why Norman insisted on studying at his place again.

“We already had movie night this week,” Ray had pointed out suspicious. “You planning on throwing a surprise test at me or something?”

“No,” Norman had replied with a little tilt of his head. “I just like having you over.”

Ray hadn’t known how to respond to that.

Now here they were late Saturday afternoon, sprawled out on Norman’s bedroom floor with textbooks open, highlighters scattered, and a playlist of soft indie songs playing in the background. The air smelled faintly of citrus and laundry detergent. Norman’s windows were cracked open, letting in the sound of birds and faint wind.

Ray was half-leaning on his elbow, notebook open, brain barely functioning.

He didn’t know how Norman looked so put-together while studying. His sweater sleeves were pushed up just enough to reveal the veins in his arms, his hair was messier than movie night but somehow made him even more attractive, and his smile kept creeping out whenever he caught Ray staring which was way too often.

“You’re not even reading,” Norman said, glancing at him.

“I am,” Ray lied flatly.

Norman grinned. “You’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes.”

“...It’s a long paragraph.”

Norman raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally on the table of contents.”

Ray groaned and shoved his notebook over his face. “Just kill me. Get it over with.”

He felt fingers tug the notebook away.

Norman’s face hovered above his, far too close, upside down.

“Not until after finals,” Norman said, smiling. “Then I’ll consider it.”

Ray didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Not when Norman was this close. Not when Norman’s bangs were brushing against his forehead, and his breath smelled faintly like strawberry gum.

Their eyes met.

Ray’s chest tightened.

Then Norman sat back down next to him like nothing had happened, flipping a page in his textbook. “Come here. I’ll explain the part you keep pretending to read.”

Ray sat up slowly, trying not to combust.

Norman pulled the book closer between them, their shoulders brushing. Ray could feel the heat from Norman’s body. His hand reached across the page, tracing the text as he spoke voice calm, patient, warm.

Ray wasn’t listening. Not really. He was watching the way Norman’s mouth moved when he talked. The way he absently played with the pen in his fingers. The way he leaned into Ray like there was no boundary between them.

“And that’s why the mitochondria— Ray?”

Ray blinked. “What?”

Norman gave a tiny smile. “You’re spacing out again. I’m gonna start charging you for tutoring.”

Ray muttered, “I think I’d pay.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

Norman tossed a pen at him.

At some point, they switched to listening to music and doing problems in silence. But that didn’t stop Norman from casually stretching out across the floor his head ending up way too close to Ray’s lap. His shoulder brushed Ray’s thigh.

He didn’t move.

Ray sat frozen, hand tight around his pencil, unsure if he should stay still or bolt out the window.

Norman let out a satisfied hum.

“You’re warm.”

Ray didn’t respond.

Because this? This was no longer deniable. The teasing, the touches, the closeness it felt deliberate. Meaningful.

Intimate.

He didn’t say anything, not yet. But the words were building in his chest like a wave ready to crash.

—

 March 2nd – 11:41 p.m.

Ray sat cross-legged on his bed, pen in hand, staring at the half-filled pages of his journal. The lamp beside him glowed warm and soft, casting shadows on the walls and catching in his hair.

Music played low in the background some instrumental piano piece he didn’t even recognize, but it made him feel calm. Or at least, less like his heart was eating itself.

He stared at the page for a long time before writing:

 Norman put his arm around me during the movie. Like, actually around me. Not joking. Not teasing. He just… did it. No big deal, right?

Except it was.

Ray exhaled sharply, tapping the pen against his lip before continuing.

 He smelled like vanilla and his shirt was soft and I sat there like an idiot pretending to care about the plot while his hand brushed my shoulder like we were in some cheesy drama.

He flipped to the next page it was already filled with half paranoid, half sappy rants about Norman. Doodles of hearts he refused to acknowledge. One page had a list titled:

Reasons Norman Definitely Likes Me

1. Remembers everything I say

2. Stares at me when he thinks I’m not looking

3. Arm around shoulder = NOT NORMAL BRO BEHAVIOR

4. Compliments my hair???

5. Smiles whenever I’m annoyed (??? weirdo)

6. That study session. Literally used my leg as a pillow. HELLO???

7. HE TEXTED GOODNIGHT WITH A HEART ONE TIME. I’M NOT INSANE.

Ray groaned and shoved his face into his pillow, then turned back and scribbled:

I like him. I do. I really f**king do. And he likes me back. I’m not just making this up. I’m not. I’m NOT. It’s there. It’s in the way he talks to me, the way he looks at me like I’m something more than just a friend. Right?

Silence.

He sat up, rubbing his eyes, then flipped to a clean page.

Confession Plans That Are All TERRIBLE:

• Just blurt it out (and then die instantly)

• “Hey, so, I think you’re cute and I want to kiss your face” (jail.)

• Write a song (I can’t sing. Norman can. Even worse.)

• Fake Valentine’s card, act surprised when he gets it (coward move + February is gone??) 

• Movie night 2. Pull the arm-around him this time?? (too risky)

• Study session again. Wait for him to lie in my lap. Whisper it?? (mental breakdown guaranteed)

Ray dropped the pen. “I’m so screwed,” he muttered.

Over the next few weeks, Norman didn’t make things easier.

He kept doing things.

He’d tug Ray’s hood up when it rained. He’d compliment Ray’s handwriting like it was art. He’d press their shoulders together in class when they shared a book. He’d lean in close during lunch and casually steal food from Ray’s plate like it was a given.

And the worst part?

He never once seemed surprised when Ray didn’t pull away.

If anything… he always smiled like he liked it.

So Ray waited. Waited for a moment that felt right. For confirmation. For Norman to say it first.

But the words never came.

And the hope in Ray’s chest kept growing, fast and unstoppable.

Until it felt like the only thing keeping him breathing.

---

Ray had planned the whole thing a week in advance. The snacks, the lights, the playlist Norman liked but always pretended not to. He even roped in Emma to help with decorations, though she was suspiciously too thrilled about the whole thing.

“You sure this isn’t a date?” she’d teased.

Ray didn’t answer. She didn’t know how right she was.

When Norman walked through the front door and everyone jumped out yelling “SURPRISE!”, the shock on his face was genuine. He blinked like he couldn’t quite believe it.

And then he smiled that soft, bright smile he only gave to people he really, really cared about.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” he said, but his eyes had landed on Ray.

“Thanks… really.”

Ray pretended not to melt. Pretended not to feel like his ribs were about to crack open and spill out his heart.

The party went on Emma laughing too loudly, Gilda and Don starting a chaotic game of charades in the living room, the cake nearly catching fire because of an old lighter. Norman stuck close to Ray the whole time.

Near the end, when the house was quieting down and the others were in the kitchen arguing over who would do dishes, Norman tugged Ray out to the small balcony.

The wind was cool. The sky was dark, a few stars barely visible through the clouds. Ray leaned on the railing, arms crossed, trying to act normal even though his chest felt like it was trying to escape.

Norman stepped beside him, shoulder brushing his.

“This was the best birthday I’ve had in years,” Norman said softly. “Seriously… thank you.”

Ray shrugged. “You’re hard to shop for. I went with emotional damage instead.”

Norman laughed. “Mission accomplished.”

They stood in silence for a moment. The kind that felt peaceful. Heavy.

Then Norman added, almost lazily

“If you keep treating me like this, I might fall for you.”

Ray’s breath caught.

He turned to look at Norman, but Norman was still looking out at the sky, casual like he didn’t just break something open inside Ray’s chest.

Ray stared at him. Every memory, every look, every touch Norman had ever given him it all flooded forward at once.

He swallowed.

Then said, quietly:

“I like you.”

Norman blinked. Slowly turned his head.

Ray didn’t look away.

“Not as a joke. Not as a maybe. I like you, Norman.”

There was silence. A long one.

Norman’s expression shifted. Whatever was in his eyes warmth, surprise, guilt it faded into something more distant.

He looked down.

 “Ray…”

Ray waited.

Norman didn’t speak for several seconds. When he finally did, his voice was soft.

“I don’t feel the same way.”

It was like the balcony floor dropped out beneath him. But Ray didn’t fall.

He just stood there, staring.

Then asked:

“Why not?”

Another silence.

Norman hesitated you could see it, the battle behind his eyes. And when he finally answered, he didn’t even look at Ray.

“I wish you were a girl.”

Ray blinked.

He didn’t move. Didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. His voice came out steady.

“Right.”

He looked back out at the stars.

“Got it.”

Norman finally looked at him again. His expression was unreadable guilty, maybe. Regretful.

“We can still be friends. I mean that.”

Ray nodded slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

He smiled not the sharp smirk he usually wore. Something gentler. Fainter.

“Forget I said anything.”

He stepped back from the railing, turned toward the door.

“Happy birthday, Norman.”

And then he walked back inside.

Norman didn’t follow.

---

The night air was sharp, cold against Ray’s cheeks as he walked home, hands in his pockets, party lights still echoing behind his eyes.

He smiled.

A crooked, practiced thing.

He even laughed under his breath once, like he had just heard a dumb joke. Like none of it mattered. Like Norman hadn’t just snapped a thread that had been stretching thin for months.

His boots hit the pavement with steady rhythm. The sky was cloudless now, stars blinking faintly above like they didn’t care either.

He passed a lit window with his reflection in it pale, tired, still smiling.

It made him feel sick.

When he reached home, he quietly unlocked the door, stepped inside, slipped off his shoes.

Still smiling.

His room was dark except for the faint moonlight bleeding through the curtains. He closed the door behind him gently.

Then locked it.

And dropped the smile.

He slid down the door slowly, back pressed to it, knees pulling close to his chest. One hand curled tightly into his hair.

“A girl,” he whispered.

His voice cracked.

His chest hurt not in the poetic way, but in the way it felt when something real was breaking. Like bones. Or trust. Or whatever hope had been holding his spine upright all these weeks.

“If only I were a girl…”

The words echoed in his mind like poison dripping slow and steady.

Was that it?

Was that the only thing standing between him and being loved back?

Would Norman have said yes if his voice was softer, if his shoulders were smaller, if his eyelashes were longer?

“Is that all it would’ve taken?” he whispered to no one.

His throat tightened.

His eyes burned.

He squeezed his eyes shut, dug his nails into his scalp, like he could claw the thoughts out if he just pressed hard enough.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Why— why couldn’t he just…?”

He bit down on his lip. Hard. Until it almost split.

But he didn’t cry.

Ray never cried.

He just sat there in the dark, hand fisted in his hair, the ache in his chest pulsing like a second heartbeat quiet, constant, cruel.

---

Ray showed up to school exactly on time. His uniform perfect, hair combed, expression unreadable.

He greeted Emma like always, sarcastic comment, roll of the eyes. She laughed. She always did.

No one noticed the difference.

Because Ray was good at hiding things.

He sat in class like nothing had happened. He answered when called on. Smirked when Don whispered something dumb under his breath. Took notes with his usual precision. He even made a deadpan joke at lunch that had Gilda choking on her drink.

From the outside, he was the same Ray as always.

But Norman wasn’t.

Norman was… quiet.

Not in his usual composed way. This was different.

He didn’t sit as close as he usually did. When they walked together between classes, their shoulders didn’t brush. Not once. Not like they always had.

He didn’t say anything flirty. No teasing smiles. No soft glances. No fingers lightly brushing Ray’s sleeve just because.

It was like Norman had drawn a chalk line between them overnight and now refused to cross it.

Ray noticed.

He noticed every damn second of it.

The way Norman wouldn’t look at him unless he had to. The way his voice stayed polite. Measured. Distant. Like Ray had suddenly become dangerous. Contagious.

Like being gay was a virus.

And Norman was a germaphobe.

It made Ray feel cold. Not angry just… empty. Like a wall had slammed down and he wasn’t allowed to touch the warmth on the other side anymore.

He didn’t say anything about it. Just smiled the same way he always did. Answered questions the same. Moved through the day like nothing inside him had changed.

But the silence between them?

That said everything.

—

It didn’t happen all at once.

But it felt like it did.

Three days. That’s all it took.

On Monday, Norman didn’t text back.

On Tuesday, he sat one row over in class not beside Ray, like he always had. No explanation. Just a shrug and a “someone else asked first.”

By Wednesday, he wasn’t even in the same lunch group.

He had new friends now. People Ray barely knew the names of. He laughed with them, leaned in like he used to with Ray. He spoke low, eyes soft, like he was building new stories in real time stories Ray would never be part of.

Like Ray never mattered.
Like none of it happened.

Ray tried to be subtle at first. Tossed Norman a few comments in the hall. Asked if he wanted to walk home like they used to. But Norman always had an excuse. Or just didn’t answer.

It was like chasing someone down a hallway that kept stretching the more you ran. Every time Ray got close, Norman pulled a little farther away.

And Ray couldn’t run anymore.

It was like someone had broken his legs.
And he was crawling now.
Still chasing.
Always chasing.

But Norman?

He never once turned back.

Norman had a new study partner. A girl. Smart, sweet, laughed at all his dumb jokes. They looked good together people said so.

And Ray?

Ray just smiled like it was fine.

Like he hadn’t lost the one person he trusted with everything.
Like it wasn’t killing him.
Like he wasn’t disappearing one quiet hour at a time.

---

Emma noticed by the fourth day.

She was loud and bright and a little oblivious sometimes but not when it came to her best friends. And something was definitely off.

Ray didn’t sit next to Norman anymore. Norman hadn’t so much as glanced at Ray during lunch. Their usual bickering? Gone. Their shared pens? Their after school walks? All gone.

It was like watching a bridge crumble between them.

At first, she thought maybe they were just tired. Maybe it was a dumb school argument. But by Thursday, the silence between them had weight. And Ray’s smiles didn’t reach his eyes anymore.

So she cornered him at his locker after school, arms crossed, her expression firm.

“What happened between you and Norman?”

Ray didn’t even blink. His answer came fast. Too fast.

“It’s just a fight.”

He didn’t look at her when he said it. Just stuffed a book into his bag like that was the end of the conversation.

But Emma wasn’t buying it.

“What kind of fight?”

“Emma.”

His voice was soft. Tired. But final.

“Please. Just let it go.”

So she did. For a moment.

But Ray never asked for space like that. Not unless he was trying to protect someone usually Norman.

So after Ray walked off down the hall alone, Emma turned the other direction.

And went straight to Norman.

She found him outside, talking to his new group, smile polite and soft. He looked up when she called his name.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

Emma didn’t smile.

“What happened with Ray?”

Norman’s face froze for half a second. Just enough to notice.

Then he looked away.

“Nothing,” he said. “We’re fine.”

“You’re not,” Emma said, arms crossing. “You haven’t talked in days.”

Norman didn’t answer.

And that silence?

It told her more than words ever could.

---

Emma didn't beat around the bush.

After school, she followed Norman down the hallway, away from his new friends, away from the noise. He knew she was serious by the way she walked fast, firm, jaw clenched.

They stopped by the bike racks. No one around.

“Tell me what happened with Ray,” she said.
“The truth.”

Norman leaned against the wall, eyes downcast. He hesitated too long.

So she folded her arms and pressed.

“He told me it was a fight. But I’ve never seen him look that empty. You were always the one person he’d never fight with. So what happened?”

Norman’s throat worked around the words. Finally, he said, quiet:

“He… confessed.”

“Confessed?”Emma blinked.

“He likes me. Romantically.”

“Oh.”

“And I told him I didn’t feel the same way.”

Emma nodded slowly.

“Okay. I get that. That’s… that’s fair.”

Then her voice sharpened.“But you said you two could still be friends, right?”

Norman nodded. “Yeah. I did.”

Emma: “Then what the hell are you doing?”

He looked up at her, startled.

“You haven’t walked with him. Haven’t talked to him. You moved seats. Got new friends. You're acting like he's a stranger. Like he's— contagious.”

Her voice cracked, angry and confused.

“You’re acting like you’re allergic to him, Norman. Is it just awkward for you? Or…”

She stared at him, eyes narrowing.

“Are you just homophobic?”

Norman flinched.

“Because if you are,” Emma said, “I need to tell you something.”

He looked up.

“I like Gilda.”

The words hung in the air between them.

Emma’s jaw was tight. Fierce.

“So if you’re gonna avoid me like you did Ray, get it over with now.”

Norman’s expression shattered before answering,“Emma—no. It’s not like that. At all.”

“Then what is it?” she asked voice firm. 

He ran a hand through his hair, breathing hard.

“I’m not homophobic. I swear. I’m just…”

He looked away.

“I’m giving him space. To move on. From this. From me.”

Silence.

Then Emma said, flatly “That’s not space, Norman. That’s abandonment.”

Norman didn't respond. Not really.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

---

It started small.

Ray didn’t talk much at lunch anymore. Mostly kept his head down, half-listening to conversations that no longer included him. He spent a lot of time with his headphones in, even when no music played.

Then one afternoon, Gilda sat across from him in the library.

“Hey,” she said, sliding a worksheet into view. “This problem makes zero sense. You’re smart. Help?”

Ray blinked. Looked at her. Then down at the math problem.

“...You’re multiplying wrong,” he mumbled, reaching for a pencil.

She grinned.

“Yeah, figured. I suck at this.”

Don showed up the next day. Loud, annoying, just like always.

“Gilda said you helped her with math. I need help with everything.”

Ray rolled his eyes but didn’t say no.

And that was how it started.

He still didn’t say much at first. He wasn’t ready to open up. But Gilda smiled at him like she saw something he forgot was there. And Don kept talking to him like nothing was wrong, like he hadn't spent the last two weeks drowning.

They didn’t ask what happened with Norman. They didn’t treat him like he was broken.

They just stayed.

In a few weeks, it was real.

Laughing with Don in the hallway. Studying with Gilda in the sunlit part of the library. Sitting with both of them at lunch.

It felt… good.

It felt like maybe he could breathe again.

Like he wasn’t crawling anymore.

Like someone had come along and fixed his broken legs and helped him up slowly, gently and now he was walking.

Not toward Norman.

But away from him.

Toward something else.

Something new.

And for the first time in a long time, Ray didn’t feel like crying every time someone smiled at him.

---

Although Gilda was the one who first reached out, she didn’t stick around as much.

Not in a bad way.

Ray noticed the way her eyes always flickered toward Emma in the hallways. The way she lingered a little longer when Emma laughed. The way their shoulders brushed and neither of them pulled away. He could tell.

They had a thing going.

Something soft and blooming and just for them.

So Ray stepped back. Gilda wasn’t his person. And that was fine.

Don, though Don was constant.

Loud, dumb, always grinning Don. Who talked too fast and interrupted himself mid sentence and dragged Ray into conversations he didn’t want to have but ended up enjoying anyway.

He would show up beside Ray in the mornings without warning.

“I brought you a chocolate milk.”

“I didn’t ask—”

“Yeah, but you like it. Shut up and take it.”

He sat with Ray at lunch every day now. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes Ray just listened to Don ramble about video games and the new dog his neighbor got and how he almost died biking downhill yesterday. Sometimes they sat in silence, headphones shared between them, one earbud each.

It was… easy.

No pressure. No expectations. Just warmth.

And slowly, Ray felt himself thawing.

One afternoon, Don walked with him to the bus stop, still talking.

Ray interrupted.

“Why do you hang out with me so much?”

Don blinked. Then shrugged.

 “Because you’re cool, dude.”

Ray scoffed. Looked away.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You just don’t believe it yet.”

Ray stared at the sidewalk, heart too full, throat too tight.

It was amazing, he thought.

God, it was amazing.

How someone could walk into your broken little world and make it feel whole again just by being there.

---

A month or two had passed.

Norman told himself he was doing the right thing giving Ray space. That was the plan, wasn’t it? Be kind. Be gentle. Fade out so Ray could move on, forget, breathe.

So why the hell did it feel like he was the one left behind?

He saw them everywhere now. Ray and Don.

At lunch. In the hallways. At the vending machines. Walking home together. Laughing, shoulders too close. Sitting side by side like they’d always been that way.

It gnawed at him.

Who the hell was Don?

Don, with his stupid smile and easy charm and effortless warmth. Don, who didn’t know Ray like he did. Don, who didn’t see the way Ray’s fingers curled into his sleeves when he was nervous, or how his eyes dimmed when he was tired, or how he used sarcasm like a shield.

Don, who didn’t have a right.

But there he was anyway. With Ray.

Norman watched from across the classroom, jaw tight, foot bouncing under the desk.

He didn’t have the right to be mad. He knew that.

He told Ray to move on. Told him, in the softest, most brutal way, that it could never happen. He let him walk away with a smile and tears in his eyes. And Norman had done nothing to stop it.

So this was his fault.

But still.

Watching Ray laugh at one of Don’s jokes?

That stung in a way Norman hadn’t expected.

They hadn’t talked in a while. Okay, a long while.

But still.

Ray was his best friend.

Ray was the one who sat beside him during movie nights and shared his notes and walked home in the rain with him. Ray was the one Norman used to touch without thinking, the one he used to flirt with by accident.

Ray used to look at him like he was the only person in the world.

Now he barely looked at all.

And Norman hated it.

He hated that he missed him.

He hated that he pushed him away.

He hated that maybe just maybe he didn’t want Ray to move on after all.

---

It started early.

Ray was still waking up when Don leaned in and said, “Nice hair, bedhead. I’d still kiss you though.”

Ray nearly choked on his water.

He brushed it off. Don joked like that with everyone.

But then second period came. And Don bumped his foot under the desk and whispered, “Stop looking at me like that. You’re gonna make me fall harder.”

By lunch, Ray was twitching.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing,” Don grinned, plopping a carton of milk in front of him. “Just appreciating the view.”

“I will throw this at your face.”

But it didn’t stop.

The teasing was still Don, still playful, still bright. But there was something else now. Something... deliberate. Like each comment had more weight. More intent.

And it scared Ray. Not in the way that made him pull away but the kind that made his heart beat too fast and his stomach twist.

By the time they were walking home, he couldn’t take it anymore.

Ray stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Don.”

“Yeah?”

Ray looked him dead in the eye. His voice was quieter than it had been all day.

“If you’re doing this as a joke... then stop.”

Don blinked.

“What?”

“I’m not ready to go through this shit again. So if this is just some weird joke—”

“It’s not.”

Ray froze.

Don took a step closer. His smile wasn’t teasing this time. It was soft. Honest.

“It’s not a joke. I like you, Ray.”

Ray’s breath caught.

“I didn’t want to push it. I figured you weren’t ready. But I’m done pretending. So from now on…” Don’s grin returned, more boyish than smug, “...you better pay attention, because I’m gonna start openly hitting on you.”

Ray just stared.

No words. No sarcasm. Just stunned silence as Don patted his shoulder and kept walking.

“Come on, loverboy,” Don called back. “I’ll walk you the rest of the way.”

Ray followed.

Still unsure what had just happened.

But his heart?

It was pounding so hard it hurt.

---

May 27th – 10:48 p.m.

Ray sat on his bed, knees up, journal resting against his thighs. His pen hovered above the page like it always did when he had too much to say and no idea how to start.

Finally, he wrote:

Don said it wasn’t a joke.
He said he likes me.
That he’s going to start openly hitting on me.

What the actual hell is happening.

I thought I’d be terrified. I thought I’d panic. But…
I didn’t.
I just stood there like a moron, completely blank, while he walked ahead like nothing had happened.

I should’ve said something.
I should’ve felt something.
But all I could think was—

What if this time, it doesn’t end in disaster?
What if… it’s real?

God.

I’m scared to hope. But I think I want to.

Maybe…
Maybe I can start again.
Maybe someone else can fix what he broke.

Don’t mess this up, Ray.
Not again.

He closed the journal gently and pressed it to his chest, staring at the ceiling like the stars could answer the questions in his head.

His cheeks were warm.

And for the first time in a while, the warmth didn’t hurt.

---

Norman hadn’t meant to linger.

He’d finished early in the science lab and was heading out when he passed by the glass panel near the lockers. Just in time to see it. Ray and Don walking home together, laughing about something. Don nudged Ray’s shoulder with his own, grinning like an idiot. Ray bumped him back.

Norman stopped mid step.

They looked good together. Happy.

Ray’s smile wasn’t fake this time. It wasn’t the forced, painted on grin he wore around Emma. It wasn’t the distant polite nod Norman got the last time they passed each other in class.

This smile?

It reached his eyes.

Norman’s heart sank before he could even stop it.

He told himself this was what he wanted for Ray to move on. To heal.

But as he stood there, staring through glass like he was locked on the wrong side of something precious, all he could think was:

That used to be me.

And no one had replaced him yet.

Until now.

---

It began the moment Ray stepped into class.

Don, already at his desk, slid his chair out just a bit and grinned like he was seeing something out of a dream.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

Ray nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Wrong name, but I’ll let it slide.”

The class snorted. Ray muttered a very tired “shut up” and slid into his seat beside him. His ears were a little pink.

But Don wasn’t done.

During science, Ray leaned in to point out a mistake in their notes and Don, without hesitation, said:

“You know, it’s really hard to focus on the periodic table when your eyes are prettier than half the elements.”

Ray blinked. Slowly.

“...Did you just flirt using chemistry?”

“Yeah, and it’s working. You blushed.”

“I’m about to throw hydrochloric acid at you.”

“Can’t. Safety goggles.”

He winked.

Ray turned away, face warm. But he didn’t tell him to stop.

---

At lunch, Don handed him a chocolate bar without asking. Ray looked down at it suspiciously.

“What’s this for?"

“For being the cutest boy I know.”

“Don.”

“Ray.”

“Seriously.”

“You haven’t said it’s a problem yet.”

Ray stared at him. He really, really wanted to say something sarcastic.

But all that came out was, “...You’re unbelievable.”

Don rested his chin in his palm, still watching him like Ray hung the moon.

“And you’re beautiful.”

Ray nearly choked on his water.

---

By the end of the day, Ray was dizzy. Tired. But a little giddy, too.

He waited by the lockers as Don packed up. Still not sure what any of this meant. Still not sure if he was supposed to want this.

But when Don walked up, leaned against the wall beside him, and said

“Tomorrow, I’m bringing flowers. Hope you like yellow.”

Ray swallowed.

“Don.”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I can do this.”

Don didn’t tease this time.

He straightened up, soft smile returning, less flashy now. Warmer.

“That’s okay. I’m not asking you to do anything yet.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Just proving I’m not going anywhere.”

And then he nudged Ray’s shoulder gently and walked ahead.

Ray followed a few steps behind.

His chest was tight.

But this time, not from heartbreak.

---

It spread fast.

By lunch, Norman had already heard from at least five different people that Ray and Don were a thing. No one had proof, just glances and rumors but it was enough. Enough for Norman to sit frozen in his seat while his rice went cold.

Ray and Don.

It didn’t even sound right.

Ray— quiet, guarded Ray and Don, the human embodiment of sunshine and chaos after Emma of course.

Norman swallowed the lump in his throat. Told himself he didn’t care.

But later, when he opened his locker and found a single bobby pin wedged between his books black, thin, curved his breath caught. Ray had a habit of leaving them behind. In Norman’s room. In class. He used them like bookmarks. This one was old. Left from a month ago, maybe two. But it still felt like a splinter under his skin.

He slammed his locker shut.

---

At home, he was watching some movie he didn’t even care about. A line of dialogue hit the air 

“It’s funny how people slip away from you while you’re not looking.”

And just like that, Norman wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. He was staring at his bookshelf.

The second shelf from the bottom. That’s where Ray had stacked all of Norman’s borrowed books. Spine in, pages out. Ray said it made the colors pop. Norman had rolled his eyes and said it was stupid.

He never changed it back.

---

The coffee shop near school had a new cashier. Norman stood there, awkward, unsure what to say.

Ray used to order for him.

“He’ll take a caramel latte, light on the syrup, extra shot. Trust me he always forgets what he wants until he tastes it.”

He remembered the first time Ray said that. The tiny smirk, the slight shrug. The way Norman had muttered “I don’t always forget.”

Now he stared at the menu, hollow, until the cashier asked him twice what he wanted.

He ended up ordering something random. It tasted wrong.

---

At night, in his room, he reached for a pen to jot down a chemistry formula and found a folded scrap of paper inside his notebook.

Ray’s handwriting.

"Don’t forget: moles = mass / molar mass. You're gonna ace this."

It was months old. Back when they studied for midterms. Ray had left little notes everywhere that week. On post its. In books. On the back of Norman’s hand once.

Norman sat back in his chair.

Rubbed his eyes.

Why did it feel like Ray was everywhere now that he was nowhere?

Why did the image of Don standing beside Ray make his jaw clench?

He pushed the notebook away.

But the paper stayed in front of him.

---

The morning air in the classroom buzzed louder than usual.

Don was being… well, Don. Laughing too loud, tossing a snack across the room to a friend, cracking jokes with his feet up on a chair that clearly wasn’t his. Normal Don behavior. Nothing new.

But something about it clawed under Norman’s skin today.

"Could you stop yelling?!" Norman snapped, slamming his bag down on his desk.

The entire room went quiet.

Don blinked. “Dude, what?”

“You're so loud. Every single day, it’s like you’re performing for an audience. Do you ever just shut up?”

“Whoa,” Don raised his hands, surprised but firm. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem?” Norman scoffed, the edge in his voice sharp. “Maybe I’m just tired of you acting like this is your stage.”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Don stepped forward.

They were inches apart now, heat rising. One more word and this wasn’t going to stay verbal.

That’s when Emma yanked Norman back by the arm. “Outside. Now.”

“Emma—”

“Norman. Now.”

---

They stepped into the empty hallway. The door clicked shut behind them. Emma’s grip stayed firm on his arm.

“The hell was that about?”

Norman opened his mouth. Closed it. His fists clenched. He looked away.

Emma didn’t wait. “Is this about Ray?”

Silence.

“Because I swear, if this is still about that stupid ‘I wish you were a girl’ line—”

“It’s not stupid,” Norman snapped, louder than he meant to. His voice cracked a little. “It’s not—”

Emma crossed her arms.

Norman exhaled. His back hit the wall. He looked tired, like someone who hadn’t slept in weeks.

“…He’s everywhere,” Norman finally said. Quiet. Like it hurt. “Ray. He’s everywhere. I walk into class and I swear I still expect to see him next to me. I open a book and I find his handwriting. I hear a song and it’s his song. I taste something and I remember he told me I hated it. He— he just knows me. Knew me.”

Emma’s expression softened.

“I thought I was giving him space,” Norman muttered. “I thought I was doing the right thing. Letting him move on.”

“By ghosting him?” Emma’s voice was sharp. “That’s not space, Norman. That’s abandonment. I told you before.”

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to lose him.”

Emma sighed. “Then why are you starting fights with Don?”

Norman looked at her. The answer was obvious.

“…Because he gets to have him now.”

They were still standing in the hallway. The bell hadn’t rung yet. But inside Norman, something had been ringing nonstop for weeks— months, even.

Emma looked at him, arms still crossed, expression unreadable. Then she asked, quiet but firm:

“Do you love him?”

Norman blinked. Once. Twice. His breath hitched.

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. His voice had locked itself in his throat. But something in Emma’s gaze told him she wasn’t going to let him walk away this time.

So he nodded.

And then… he talked.

“…I didn’t realize it right away. I didn’t even know something was missing until it was gone. Until he was gone.”

Emma didn’t say anything.

“I used to think I liked the way things were neat, clean, simple. But with Ray, it was never simple. He challenges everything I say. He rolls his eyes when I’m too smug. He listens even when he pretends not to. He remembers things no one else does. Like how I hate whipped cream. Or how I study best with piano music in the background.”

Norman’s voice cracked, just a little.

“He made me laugh when I didn’t want to. He stayed quiet when I couldn’t take noise. He didn’t ask me to be anyone I wasn’t. And I—” His breath hitched again. “I thought I could live without him. But it’s like every day without him, I’m forgetting how to breathe.”

Emma’s eyes softened, but she didn’t interrupt.

“And it’s not just the old Ray I miss. I love the Ray now. The one who laughs more. Who lets Don annoy him into smiling. Who finally looks like someone isn’t dragging him through life. And it kills me. Because that should have been me. I should’ve been the one beside him. I was the one he chose.”

He wiped at his face roughly. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying.

“I love him, Emma. I love him so damn much. And I think… I’ve loved him for a long time. I just didn’t know how to say it until it was too late.”

Emma took a step closer. “Then say it now.”

Norman looked up.

“Say it to him.”

---

They were sitting in the sun, just outside school under the shade of a tree. Don was beside him, animated as always, gesturing wildly about something stupid that happened in class earlier. Ray chuckled, genuinely. Don always made him laugh. He always tried.

Don made things easier.

Made the silence less sharp. The world less gray.

He even remembered that Ray liked his coffee bitter, no cream, no sugar just like Norman used to.

But Ray could feel it creeping in again. That ache that refused to dull. That whisper that never stopped, even when he laughed.

So he said it, out of nowhere, cutting through Don’s next sentence:

“Don.”

Don stopped talking mid-sentence. “Yeah?”

Ray didn’t look at him at first. His fingers were knotted in the hem of his sleeve, tugging, pulling.

“I can’t do this.”

Don blinked. “Can’t do what?”

“This. Us.” Ray looked up, eyes a little too glassy. “You’ve been amazing to me. You make things easier. And I was trying I really was. But the truth is, I’m still in love with someone else.”

Don’s smile faltered, just slightly.

Ray rushed to explain. “And I didn’t mean to drag you into that. I thought if I kept going, maybe I’d forget him. Maybe I could start over. With you.”

He exhaled shakily.

“But you’re not… him. You’re not Norman. And you deserve someone who’s going to look at you and only you. Not someone who’s still stuck.”

Don was silent for a long moment. Then he sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Well,” he said slowly, “at least you’re honest. That’s better than what most people do.”

Ray looked at him, surprised.

Don smiled, smaller now. “Do I wish I could be the guy you love? Yeah. But I also don’t want to be the rebound that turns into regret. And I’m not about to sit around hoping you’ll wake up one day and settle for me. That’s not fair to either of us.”

Ray nodded, throat tight. “I’m sorry.”

Don stood up, brushing off his pants. “You don’t have to be. But you do have to go fix whatever the hell happened between you and Norman.”

Ray blinked.

Don pointed at him. “Because if I were Norman, and I had you, and I lost you? I’d be losing my goddamn mind by now.”

Ray’s lips parted to argue but he couldn’t.

Because yeah.

He still loved Norman.

But Norman didn't. 

---

Norman sat on the edge of his bed, gripping his pen so tightly his knuckles were white. The notebook in front of him had been flipped to a clean page, but he’d already filled half of it with crossed out lines. Failed attempts.

"Ray, I'm sorry."
Too basic. Cowardly. Not enough.

"I never meant to hurt you."
But he did. Not just hurt him, shattered him.

"I love you."
Too sudden? Too late?

Norman groaned and buried his face in his hands.

How did you apologize for making someone feel like a virus? For looking at someone you loved and telling them they weren’t enough not unless they were different?

For saying something as vile as:
“I wish you were a girl.”

He hadn’t meant it like that. God, he hadn’t even thought. It had just come out, a pathetic wall built out of fear, confusion, denial. Because back then, Norman didn’t know what it meant to love Ray. To want him.

But now? Now it was unbearable. The silence. The absence. The way his life echoed with Ray shaped holes in every routine, every corner of his day. The coffee order that tasted wrong now. The movie nights that felt cold. The study sessions that were just... dead air.

Even Emma was done with his excuses. She’d called him out, point blank:

“Do you love him?”

And the answer was yes.

He loved how Ray always knew the right answer in class but never raised his hand.
He loved the way Ray listened: really listened even when he pretended not to care.
He loved Ray’s mind, his sarcasm, the way his eyes softened when he was thinking hard.
He loved the silence between them that used to feel like comfort instead of punishment.

Norman flipped the notebook again.

Started a new page.

Wrote carefully this time.

---

Ray,

I was wrong.

I was scared.

And I was a coward.

You were brave enough to tell me how you felt, and I repaid that honesty with cruelty masked as confusion. I thought if I pushed you away, it would make it easier. For both of us.

I thought I was doing you a favor.
But I didn’t do you a favor.
I did damage.

I didn’t realize I loved you until you stopped being mine to love.

Until I saw someone else treat you the way I should have.

You don’t owe me anything.
But if there’s any part of you that still—
If there’s still room, even just a corner—

I want to fix this.

I want to start over.
I want you.

—Norman

---

He stared at the letter.

Folded it.

Then unfolded it again.

No. It wasn’t enough. But it was a start.

Tomorrow, he’d find Ray.
Tomorrow, he’d try.

Even if he didn’t deserve a second chance. 
He had to ask for one anyway.

---

Two days.

It had been two whole days since Norman wrote the final letter.

Two whole days since he swore he’d find Ray and make it right.

But Ray was… gone.

Not literally his name still appeared on the attendance sheet, teachers still called it out. His stuff was still in his locker. Norman had passed by and seen the little scribbled stickers Ray had stuck on it himself. His bag had been hanging on its usual hook yesterday morning.

But somehow, Ray was never there.

Not in the halls.
Not in the cafeteria.
Not in their old seat by the window.
Not outside. Not anywhere.

He was everywhere and nowhere.

Norman saw him in every shadow, in every familiar corner like a ghost, a memory pressed into the walls of the school. He could swear he heard his voice once in the hallway. His heart had leapt, turned over, sprinted—

But it wasn’t him.

He had tried texting. Calling.
No replies.

He’d asked Emma. She didn’t know either or maybe she was lying for Ray’s sake. If she was, Norman couldn’t even be mad.

And the worst part? Ray wasn’t avoiding school. He just… knew exactly how to avoid Norman.

And Norman was losing his mind.

His locker smelled like Ray’s shampoo because Ray had stood there so often, Norman guessed. The classroom still felt cold without Ray’s slouched frame beside him, the way Ray used to rest his cheek on one hand while tapping a pen with the other. And in the science lab, Norman’s chest had physically ached when he accidentally grabbed a scalpel and remembered how Ray used to pass them over with two fingers, always blade down, safety first.

Ray was everywhere.

And Norman couldn’t find him.

He sat on the school’s front steps at the end of the day, eyes scanning the gate again and again, watching everyone file out.

No Ray.

He wanted to scream.

He wanted to run to Ray’s house, knock on the door, throw the letter at him if that’s what it took. Beg. Apologize. Explain. Everything.

But Ray hadn’t gone home yesterday. Or the day before. He was staying somewhere else. Emma had said it was just “space.”

Space. Right.
Norman had given him that once.

And it had torn them apart.

Now?
Now he couldn’t take it back.

He clenched the letter in his pocket so tightly it crumpled at the corners.

How could someone feel so close and so far at the same time?
How could someone be in everything and still be nowhere at all?

His phone buzzed.

It was a message from Emma.

“Ray’s at the rooftop. Alone. Now’s your chance.”

Norman didn’t even hesitate.

He was up and running in seconds two steps at a time.

He didn’t know if Ray would listen.
He didn’t know if Ray would accept the letter, or throw it off the edge.
But he was done chasing ghosts.

Ray was real.

And this time, Norman wasn’t letting him disappear.

---

The wind was harsh up here.

Ray stood by the edge of the rooftop, arms resting on the cold railing, the sun setting behind the city like it always did golden, indifferent. His hair danced with the wind, dark strands catching the light like they always did. Norman stood a few steps behind, heart in his throat, the letter clutched in his trembling hand.

He finally spoke.

“…Ray.”

Ray didn’t turn around. “Don’t.”

Norman froze. The word hit like a wall.

“I’m tired, Norman,” Ray said, his voice surprisingly even. “Tired of being confused. Tired of being seen and not seen. I don’t want another apology.”

“It’s not just an apology,” Norman said, quietly. He took a slow step forward, then another. “It’s the truth. Everything I didn’t say. Everything I should’ve said.”

He held out the letter.

Ray finally turned, only to stare at it. After a few seconds, he took it more out of curiosity than hope.

His eyes moved quickly across the paper, scanning line after line. The wind rustled the pages slightly, but Ray held it steady, shoulders tense.

---

The Letter (Norman’s Words):

Ray,

I was scared.

Not of you. Never of you. But of how deeply I felt, and how little I understood it until it was too late. I said something unforgivable, and I know “I wish you were a girl” still echoes in your head probably louder than any apology I can give.

But that’s not what I meant.

I meant: I wish I didn’t feel confused. I wish I wasn’t trying to figure out myself while hurting you in the process. I wish I hadn’t needed to categorize what I was feeling as something that would be easier to accept. Because the truth is… I liked you before I ever understood why.

You were always there, a part of me — the quiet, steady part I leaned on without even knowing I was doing it.

And now… I can’t breathe without you. It’s that simple. I can’t wake up without thinking of you. I can’t study, I can’t read, I can’t even drink coffee without remembering how you always knew how I liked it.

You were never just my best friend. You were always something more.

I love you.

Not as a friend. Not as a memory. As a person. As the boy I was too blind to see properly before. The boy who loved me honestly and who I hurt because I was too afraid to admit that I loved him back.

I’m sorry I took so long.

I’m here now.

If you can forgive me… let me love you the right way.

—Norman

---

Ray’s hands shook as he finished reading. He didn’t look up. He just folded the letter carefully, gently, like it was something fragile. He placed it in his pocket.

Then, he started walking past Norman.

Norman’s chest cracked open.

“Ray, wait—” His hand shot out.

He caught Ray’s wrist.

Ray stopped, tense.

“You can’t just drop that on me and expect me to… what? Just fall back into your arms?” Ray snapped, still not turning. “Do you know what you did to me? Do you know how it felt to be told I wasn’t enough? That if I were someone else, someone different, maybe then I’d be worthy?”

Norman was silent.

Ray scoffed bitterly. “I spent weeks hating myself, Norman. I buried everything, I tore myself apart trying to forget. And when I finally started healing when someone actually saw me you decide now to show up?”

Ray pulled his wrist away and took a step, but Norman moved faster.

He grabbed Ray again this time gentler and stepped in front of him.

Before Ray could speak, Norman cupped his face, trembling hands cradling him like he was something sacred.

“I’m sorry,” Norman whispered.

Then, he kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate.

It wasn’t rushed.

It was slow like a promise. Like the truth in that letter was pouring into Ray through trembling lips and quiet breaths.

Ray stood frozen at first.

But when Norman pulled away, there were tears in his eyes soft and glistening and his voice broke as he whispered, “Please.”

Ray had never seen him cry like that.
Not once in the sixteen years of knowing him.
And God, it was unfair.
How could anyone look so ethereal while crying?

He reached out, thumb brushing just beneath Norman’s eye, wiping the tear away.

Ray’s heart cracked open and poured all over again.

“…You’re such an idiot,” he whispered.

Norman laughed barely and leaned into his hand.

Ray let out a long breath. “But I never stopped loving you.”

Norman blinked, lips parting slightly.

Ray leaned forward, resting their foreheads together.

“Don’t run this time,” he whispered.

Norman closed his eyes. “Never again.”

And for the first time in a long time… they stood still.

Together.

---

They agreed they'd take it slow.

And they really meant it.

Ray was still healing, still learning to believe that the love he gave wasn't a mistake. Norman knew that and he’d promised: no rushing, no pressure, just them figuring things out, day by day.

But apparently, “taking it slow” to Norman meant:

carrying Ray’s bag even if Ray literally said he’d carry it himself,

bringing Ray his favorite snacks during breaks,

and pretending it was a total coincidence that he always sat next to Ray even if it meant switching seats with three people.

In class, Norman’s eyes would wander. Not to the board. Not to the teacher. Straight to Ray.

Someone asked a question? Norman looked to Ray like he needed to approve of the answer.
Someone asked Norman a question? He’d start with, “I don’t know, what do you think, Ray?”

---

It wasn’t long before people started noticing.

One day in the hallway, Gilda leaned toward Emma and whispered, “You think they’re dating now?”

Emma glanced toward them Norman trailing behind Ray like a puppy, holding an umbrella even though it wasn’t raining yet.

“They say they’re not,” Emma replied, smirking, “but Norman literally sprinted when Ray asked him to get something from the vending machine yesterday.”

---

The Classroom, Lunchtime

Don was mid story, waving his chopsticks around dramatically, when Norman interrupted without even looking at him.

“Ray, you forgot your drink,” Norman said, already setting a bottle down by his side.

Ray blinked. “I didn’t—?”

“It’s your favorite,” Norman added. “The lemon one, not the peach. I know you hate the peach.”

Don gave him the look.

“…Norman,” he drawled, grinning. “You do realize we all can see you, right?”

Norman blinked. “What?”

“You’re acting like a guy who’s been married ten years and still calls his husband ‘baby’ in public.”

Ray groaned and covered his face. “Oh my God.”

“I’m just being attentive,” Norman said, way too defensively.

“Attentive?” Don repeated. “You cleaned the dust off his desk before he sat down this morning.”

Ray let out a strangled laugh. “Wait, you did that?”

Norman looked away, ears going pink. “There was a lot of dust.”

---

Later that day, in the library, Norman was resting his head on the table, watching Ray read with an absolutely lovesick expression.

Ray looked up. “Stop staring.”

Norman smiled like an idiot. “Can’t help it.”

Ray rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips anyway.

---

The Final Straw: PE Class

Norman nearly fought the gym teacher because Ray got hit by a dodgeball.

“It’s literally the point of the game,” the teacher deadpanned.

“Yeah, well,” Norman huffed, helping Ray up dramatically, “he bruises easily.”

---

That night, Ray texted him:

My beautiful husband: we’re taking it slow, huh?

Norman replied instantly:

Dumbass <3: emotionally, yes.

Dumbass <3: physically, yes.

Dumbass <3: spiritually? I’ve been your husband since I was twelve.

Ray stared at the screen for a solid minute, then burst out laughing, hand covering his face as his heart thudded way too fast.

God help him.

He was in love with a walking golden retriever.

And somehow, it felt right.

---

It started off as a joke.

Someone probably Don offhandedly said during lunch:

“Ray’s definitely the wife in the relationship.”

Cue a record scratch in Ray’s brain.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

Don shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re quiet, you read books, you roll your eyes when Norman does something dumb you’ve got wife energy, man.”

Emma nodded way too fast. “Yeah, you’re totally the wife.”

Ray looked to Norman for backup.

Norman smiled.

Smiled.

And said, “It’s kind of true.”

Ray short circuited.

---

Later That Day

Ray was on a mission. A deeply stupid, absolutely petty mission  to prove that he was not the wife.

Which is how Norman found himself:

being pulled away from doors Ray now insisted on opening first,

not allowed to carry anything for Ray anymore,

and getting lectured because “just because I like literature and don’t scream 24/7 doesn’t mean I’m the goddamn wife, Norman!”

Norman blinked. “What?”

Ray groaned. “Nothing. Forget it.”

---

The Following Days Were Hell.

Ray insisted on paying for his own lunch. Then Norman’s too.
Ray suddenly tried sports. Sports. Ray.
Ray even started calling Norman “bro” at one point.

Norman watched all this unfold with increasing confusion and concern.

---

Finally, One Evening

They were alone, walking home, when Norman broke.

“Okay, seriously. What’s wrong with you?”

Ray stopped walking. Arms crossed. “You don’t get it.”

“Try me.”

Ray opened his mouth to say something smart. Closed it. Then sighed, eyes narrowed at the pavement like it had personally betrayed him.

“It’s just... why do I have to be the wife? Why can’t I be the cool one? The badass one? The emotionally detached heartbreaker?”

Norman blinked.

Then started laughing.

“Ray,” he said gently, walking closer, “you are cool. You are a badass.”

Ray scowled. “Then why do they say I’m the wife?”

“Because you make me eat on time, and remember things I forget, and give me that look when I say something dumb. And because I’d probably die in a week without you.”

Ray stared at him.

Norman softened. “You’re not the ‘wife,’ Ray. You’re just… you. The person I love.”

Ray sighed.

“…Fine.”

Norman grinned. “So you accept it?”

Ray groaned. “No, but... I accept that I’m the emotionally detached, badass wife who could kill someone with a pen if needed.”

Norman beamed. “God, I love you.”

Ray smirked. “I know. I’m irresistible.”

Norman took his hand, and they kept walking.

And Ray realized: maybe being the “wife” wasn’t so bad as long as it meant being loved like this.

---

It was late.

They were lying side by side on Ray’s bed, the lamp casting a soft golden hue across the room. Ray had his arms folded behind his head, eyes on the ceiling. Norman was on his side, watching him.

They weren’t talking. Not really. Just existing in that comfortable silence that Ray had grown to cherish. Norman’s warmth next to him. His quiet breathing. The slow ticking of the clock.

Then Norman whispered, like a confession

“Why do you even love me?”

Ray blinked. Turned his head toward him. “What?”

Norman’s eyes stayed on the space between them. “I mean why me? I wasn’t kind. I avoided you. Hurt you. So why?”

Ray was silent for a few seconds, and then—

“I don’t think it started with a moment,” he said. “Not the kind people talk about. I didn’t wake up one day and think, oh. It’s him. It was slower than that. Subtler. I think I fell in love with you in pieces.”

Norman looked up, and Ray kept going. Soft. Honest. Like he wasn’t saying this for the first time like he was remembering.

“I loved you when you gave me the last piece of your chocolate in second grade, even though you really wanted it. I loved you when you helped Emma climb that tree even though you were terrified of heights. I loved you when you remembered the way I liked my coffee in even though you forget your own and started ordering it for me before I even said a word.”

He turned onto his side to face him. Their noses inches apart.

“I loved you when you called me out for pretending to be fine. When you looked at me like you saw right through me but didn’t turn away. I loved you when you made fun of my music taste and then listened to every song I recommended anyway.”

Ray’s voice was barely above a whisper now. “I loved you even when you didn’t love me back.”

Norman’s throat tightened, but Ray didn’t stop.

“I think—” he took a breath. “—I’ve loved you a hundred times in a hundred different lives. I must have. Because no matter how far you ran, my heart kept running after you like it knew something I didn’t.”

Norman looked like he was made of glass, about to shatter.

Ray reached out and cupped his cheek. “You asked me why I love you. But the real question is, how could I ever not?”

Norman broke.

He buried his face in Ray’s neck, arms tightening around him like he was terrified of letting go.

And Ray held him, just like he always had. Quietly. Steadily. Like someone who had already done this before in another life. Maybe in all of them.

---

A new school year.

A new uniform. A bigger building. A different crowd.

But some things didn’t change.

Like the way Norman still looked at Ray like he was the most important person in every room. Like the way Ray still kept all his favorite pens in Norman’s bag without saying a word. Like the way their fingers always found each other in crowded hallways.

It had been exactly one year since Ray confessed. Since Norman kissed him with tears in his eyes and whispered please like a prayer.

Now, they were standing together at the gates of high school older, taller, but still them.

Emma bounced up beside them, her hair a little shorter, her energy still untamed. Gilda followed close behind, slipping her hand easily into Emma’s. They didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

“First day of high school!” Emma cheered, her grin electric. “We survived 10th Grade Miraculously.”

Ray deadpanned. “Barely.”

Norman smirked and elbowed him lightly. “You survived me. That was the real miracle.”

Ray just raised an eyebrow. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m still healing.”

Emma snorted. Gilda smiled and leaned into her shoulder.

Don showed up a few minutes later, slinging his bag over his shoulder, messy as ever. “Okay but seriously, how do you two still look like a rom-com poster a year later? Get a room.”

“We did,” Ray replied dryly. “You’ve been in it. Several times.”

Don gagged. “God. Never mind.”

They laughed.

They were older now. Wiser, maybe. But the bond between them had only deepened. Ray and Norman weren’t just in love they were steady. They were a constant.

They had healed. Fought. Fallen apart. And found each other again.

Now, they were starting a new chapter not alone, not afraid.

Together.