Something Unspoken

The uneasy feeling from the past few days hadn't gone away. If anything, it had settled deeper into Caesar's chest, making itself at home like an unwanted guest. It was ridiculous, really—this slow-burning, quiet frustration that sat heavy in his thoughts, refusing to leave no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Nothing had changed, not really. Blythe still showed up beside him in the mornings, still talked to him between classes, still laughed at things he said. She was still Blythe. But something about the way she moved through the world, the way people gravitated toward her so easily, was starting to get under his skin in a way he didn't understand.

Or maybe the change wasn't in her at all.

Maybe it was in him.

He found himself watching her more often now, noticing things he hadn't before—how she never hesitated before joining a conversation, how effortlessly she got along with others, how her laugh always seemed to come so easily. She had always been that way, but he had never really thought about it until now. And maybe he was overanalyzing things, maybe this tension sitting in the back of his mind was just a passing phase. But then he'd catch glimpses of her—talking to someone else, smiling at someone else—and something in his chest would tighten, sharp and unfamiliar.

And he hated that it did.

"You've been weird lately," Blythe said one afternoon as they walked down the hall together.

Caesar adjusted his glasses, keeping his expression neutral. "I'm always weird."

"You know what I mean."

He did. He just didn't know how to explain it.

Instead of answering, he let the silence stretch between them. He expected her to push, to demand some kind of explanation, but she didn't. She just sighed, brushing a strand of platinum blonde hair behind her ear before changing the subject.

And for some reason, that made him even more frustrated.

The next few days passed in a blur of routine—classes, quiet moments, fleeting conversations. Caesar buried himself in schoolwork, in books, in anything that kept his mind busy. If he ignored the feeling, maybe it would go away. If he stopped thinking about it, maybe things would go back to normal.

But the feeling never fully disappeared.

And then, one afternoon, everything cracked.

It was after school, and Caesar had stayed behind to finish an assignment. He had taken his time, stretching out the minutes, hoping that by the time he left, the halls would be mostly empty. He wasn't in the mood for conversation, wasn't in the mood to think. But as he stepped out of the building, adjusting his bag over his shoulder, his gaze landed on something that made his feet slow.

Blythe.

Standing near the front doors.

Talking to Felix. Again.

Caesar didn't stop walking, didn't slow his pace, but something inside him went still. He told himself it didn't matter. Blythe could talk to whoever she wanted. It wasn't his problem. It had never been his problem.

And yet—

She was laughing at something Felix said, her voice light, easy. And Felix was looking at her the way people always did—like she was something bright, something warm, something worth being close to.

Caesar's grip tightened around the strap of his bag.

They weren't standing close. They weren't even touching. But the way she tilted her head toward Felix, the way he smiled back at her—it made something twist inside him.

Felix noticed him first. "Oh, hey—"

But Caesar walked right past them, not sparing either of them a glance.

He didn't wait to see if Blythe would follow.

He didn't want to know if she didn't.

---

That night, he expected Blythe to text him like usual.

She didn't.

For the past few months, their messages had become a routine. She would send something first, always something casual, something playful—hey nerd, did you finish that history homework? or I bet you're overthinking something again. And then he would respond, and they'd talk about nothing and everything, until eventually one of them fell asleep.

But tonight, his phone stayed silent.

He could have texted her first.

He almost did.

But then he stopped himself.

Because for the first time, Caesar realized that maybe something really had changed.

Maybe it had been changing for a while.

And maybe—just maybe—it was already too late to fix it.