Fault Lines

Caesar never thought of himself as someone who belonged in the center of things. He had always been comfortable in the background, where the world moved around him but never toward him. But lately, that had been changing. It wasn't something he had asked for, nor something he had intentionally worked toward. It was simply happening. His name was being spoken more. His presence was being noticed. And with that, his quiet, stable existence had started to feel… unsteady.

It wasn't just the fleeting glances or the hushed whispers. It was the way people approached him now with purpose, like they had decided he was someone worth knowing. Some were drawn to his intelligence, asking for help with assignments or advice on classes. Others seemed to see something else in him—something they found interesting, maybe even intimidating. And then there were the ones who only spoke to him because they had already made up an idea of who he was, an idea he didn't necessarily recognize.

None of it changed who he was. He still walked the same hallways, still carried the same books, still sat in the same spots during class. But the way people reacted to him was different. And it was in those reactions that he felt the ground shifting beneath his feet.

Blythe noticed, of course. She always noticed.

"You're getting popular," she said one afternoon, her voice light, but her gaze steady.

Caesar adjusted his glasses. "So I've heard."

She smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Do you like it?"

The question caught him off guard. He considered it for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't dislike it. But I don't really care."

Blythe hummed thoughtfully, watching him in that way she did when she was trying to figure out if he was telling the truth. She didn't press the issue, though. Instead, she simply walked beside him, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm.

That should have been the end of it. But the weight of her question lingered, settling somewhere deep in his mind.

---

The weight of Blythe's question followed him through the next few days, even as he tried to ignore it. He had told the truth—he didn't care about the attention. Or at least, he didn't think he did. But if that was true, then why did it feel like something had shifted?

The change wasn't just external. It was in the way people spoke to him, the way they looked at him, the way conversations seemed to adjust around him, like he was no longer just an observer but an active participant in whatever unspoken hierarchy dictated their school. He had never been part of that structure before. He had existed outside of it, neither admired nor ignored, simply there. Now, he wasn't sure where he stood.

It was small things at first. A classmate asking for his opinion on an essay, even though they had never spoken before. A passing greeting from someone he had barely interacted with. A girl from another class who lingered by his desk before asking, too casually, if he had plans that weekend.

And then there were the moments that made his stomach tighten in a way he didn't understand.

He had never thought of himself as possessive. That kind of emotion didn't seem to fit him—it was too loud, too irrational. But when he saw Blythe talking to someone else, when he saw the way other people looked at her, it made something in him go still.

It wasn't jealousy, he told himself. It wasn't even annoyance. It was just… awareness. A sharp, pointed awareness that Blythe was someone people gravitated toward, and that he was no longer the only one standing beside her.

It was a strange feeling. Unfamiliar, uncomfortable. He didn't like it.

And yet, it stayed with him.

---

Caesar hadn't planned on staying late after school, but Zach had dragged him into it.

"Come on, just one game," Zach had insisted, practically shoving a basketball into his hands. "You don't have to be good, just stand there and look intimidating."

Caesar had rolled his eyes but went along with it, standing at the edge of the court as Zach and a few others played. He wasn't sure why he agreed—maybe because he had nothing better to do, or maybe because a small part of him wanted a distraction from the thoughts that had been circling his mind all week.

The game was casual, just a few guys messing around, but Caesar could still feel the weight of eyes on him. He was used to being unnoticed, but lately, it felt like he was always being watched.

"Didn't think you were the type to play sports," someone commented as he passed.

Caesar glanced at them. "I'm not."

The guy just laughed, jogging back into the game.

Zach, on the other hand, seemed to find the whole thing amusing. "See? You've got a reputation now."

Caesar sighed. "For what?"

Zach grinned. "For being cool without trying."

"That's dumb."

"Maybe, but it's working for you."

Caesar didn't reply. He just tossed the basketball back to Zach and stepped off the court, ready to leave. But as he did, his gaze landed on something—or rather, someone—across the schoolyard.

Blythe.

She was standing near the front gate, talking to a boy Caesar didn't recognize. The conversation looked casual, but something about it made his chest tighten. The way the guy leaned slightly toward her, the way she tilted her head as she listened, the way she smiled—it was all normal. But it still made something twist inside him.

He shouldn't care.

He knew that.

But as he watched, he realized something that made his throat feel tight.

For the first time since meeting Blythe, he felt like he wasn't standing beside her.

He was standing apart.

---

Caesar wasn't sure why he lingered. He could have just left, ignored whatever unfamiliar feeling twisted in his chest and gone home like usual. But instead, he stood there, watching as Blythe laughed at something the other guy said, her expression light, easy.

It shouldn't have mattered.

It didn't matter.

Except that it did.

The thought annoyed him. He wasn't the type to get caught up in things like this—he wasn't supposed to care about who Blythe talked to or how easily she fit into conversations with other people. But as he stood there, gripping the strap of his bag a little too tightly, he felt something he couldn't quite name settle in the back of his mind.

"Dude."

Zach's voice snapped him out of it. He turned to find his friend watching him with a knowing look, one eyebrow raised.

"What?" Caesar asked, voice flat.

Zach smirked. "Nothing. Just enjoying the rare sight of you looking like a normal, emotionally invested human being."

Caesar shot him a glare. "Shut up."

Zach chuckled, shaking his head. "Whatever you say, man."

But as much as Caesar wanted to pretend none of this was getting to him, the uneasy feeling didn't fade. It followed him as he left the court, as he walked home, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling that night.

And by the time morning came, he still hadn't shaken it off.

---

The next morning, Caesar arrived at school early, hoping for a quiet moment before the day officially started. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, nor did he want to think about the lingering unease from yesterday.

But of course, things weren't that simple anymore.

As soon as he stepped into the classroom, he felt the shift in the air. A few students glanced his way before quickly looking back at their conversations, as if they had been talking about him. He ignored it and made his way to his seat, pulling out a book and flipping it open without actually reading.

"Caesar."

He looked up to find Blythe standing in front of him, her hands folded neatly behind her back. She looked the same as always—bright, effortlessly put together—but there was something unreadable in her expression.

He adjusted his glasses. "Yeah?"

She tilted her head slightly. "You okay?"

The question caught him off guard. He frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Blythe didn't answer right away. Instead, she just studied him, as if trying to decide something.

Then, finally, she smiled. "No reason. You just seemed a little… off yesterday."

Caesar held her gaze, debating whether or not to brush it off. He could lie, say he was fine, pretend like nothing had changed. But for some reason, he found himself asking, "Who was that guy you were talking to?"

Blythe blinked, clearly not expecting the question. Then, after a beat, she laughed. "Oh. You mean Felix?"

Felix. The name meant nothing to him, but the way she said it—so casual, so familiar—made his stomach tighten.

"Yeah," he said, keeping his voice even. "Him."

Blythe tilted her head. "He's just a friend."

"Just a friend?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why? Does it matter?"

Caesar hesitated. He didn't know how to answer that. Did it matter?

No.

Yes.

He exhaled sharply, glancing away. "No. Forget it."

Blythe watched him for a moment longer before smiling softly. "Alright."

And just like that, she dropped it.

But the uneasy feeling in Caesar's chest didn't go away.

---

Caesar told himself he wouldn't think about it. He told himself it didn't matter, that Blythe's life was her own, that Felix—or anyone else—was none of his concern. But that logic didn't erase the tightness in his chest every time he thought about the way she had smiled yesterday, the way she had dismissed his question so easily.

For the rest of the day, he did what he always did—kept to himself, avoided unnecessary conversations, and stayed in his own world. It should have been easy. But Blythe wasn't making it easy.

She was still there, still walking beside him after class, still throwing casual remarks his way as if nothing had changed. And maybe nothing had changed. Maybe this was all in his head.

But it didn't feel that way.

"You're being quiet," Blythe said as they walked toward the front gates after school.

Caesar kept his gaze forward. "I'm always quiet."

"Not like this."

He didn't answer.

She sighed, stopping in her tracks, forcing him to stop, too. When he finally looked at her, she was watching him carefully, blue eyes searching for something he wasn't sure he wanted to give.

"Caesar." Her voice was softer now. "Are you mad at me?"

The question hit him in a way he wasn't expecting. "No," he said quickly. Too quickly.

Blythe didn't look convinced. "Then what is it?"

He wanted to say nothing. He wanted to brush it off, move past it, go back to how things were before this strange, unfamiliar tension settled between them. But instead, he found himself asking, "Why do you care?"

Blythe blinked. "What?"

Caesar swallowed. "Why do you care so much if something's wrong with me?"

Blythe's expression softened, as if the answer was obvious. "Because it's you."

His throat felt tight. He wasn't sure what to do with those words, wasn't sure what they meant or why they made his heart beat just a little too fast.

So he looked away. "You worry too much."

She smiled. "Maybe."

And just like that, she let it go.

But as they walked side by side, Caesar couldn't shake the feeling that something between them had shifted—something unspoken, something fragile. And for the first time, he wasn't sure what would happen next.