Warnings and Walls

The dorm was quiet the next morning, a gray Saturday light filtering through the blinds, casting faint shadows across the cluttered space. Elliot woke early, the party still a dull throb in his chest—Bryce's reluctant grin, Tara's kiss, Jace's hazel eyes lingering too long. He'd slipped back late with Lila, her "Eli" ringing in the cool air, and crashed hard, but sleep hadn't dulled it. He sat on his bed now, knees drawn up, staring at the wall, ocean-blue eyes glassy with unease. He let her, he thought, the memory cutting sharp, but Bryce's warm "Good to see you out" clashed with it, muddling him further.

Bryce stirred across the room, a low grunt breaking the stillness as he rolled out of bed, buzz cut mussed, gray T-shirt clinging to his broad frame. He yawned, loud and unapologetic, scratching his neck as he shuffled toward his desk. Elliot kept his head down, fussing with his hoodie strings, but Bryce's green eyes landed on him anyway, sharp and steady.

"Morning, Eli," Bryce said, voice rough from sleep, the nickname slipping out like he'd claimed it from Lila. "You survive that party alright?"

Elliot's stomach twisted, ocean-blue eyes flicking up briefly—wary, guarded—then down fast. "Yeah," he mumbled, voice thin. "It was… fine." He's good with me, he thought, clinging to that warmth, but Tara's kiss burned hotter, and he didn't know what to make of it.

Bryce nodded, leaning back in his chair, green eyes tracing Elliot's hunched form. "Good. Looked like you were drowning out there, though." He paused, then his tone shifted—lower, edged with something harder. "Hey, that guy—Jace. You talk to him much?"

Elliot froze, fingers tightening on his hoodie strings. "Not… really," he said, barely audible, mind flashing to Jace's flirty grin, those hazel eyes pinning him. "Just… a little. Why?"

Bryce's jaw twitched, green eyes narrowing. "Watch out for him, Eli," he said, voice gruff, a warning laced in it. "He's… you know, bi. Likes boys too. Fucking weird, right? Guy's a creep—always scoping people out. Don't let him get too close."

The words hit like a slap, cold and sharp, and Elliot's breath caught, ocean-blue eyes widening as they locked on the floor. He hates it, he thought, panic clawing up his throat. He hates people like that—like me. The fear sank deep, heavy and familiar, a shadow from years of hiding—foster homes, hissed slurs, the crash that left him alone with secrets he couldn't speak. Bryce's tone wasn't just unease—it was disgust, and it shattered the fragile warmth Elliot had leaned on.

"Yeah," Elliot whispered, forcing the word out, hands trembling as he tugged his hoodie tighter. "Thanks." Distance, he thought, the mantra roaring back. More distance. He can't know. He stood, grabbing his bag with shaky fingers, mumbling something about needing air even though it was Saturday. He had to get out, had to breathe, before Bryce saw too much.

Bryce watched him bolt, brow furrowing. "You okay, Eli?" he called, voice rough but softer, catching the flinch. But Elliot was already at the door, head down, dark hair hiding those ocean-blue eyes.

"Fine," Elliot muttered, slipping out, the door clicking shut behind him. Bryce stared after him, green eyes narrowing, that jolt from the party flaring again—sharp, uninvited. What's with him? he thought, rubbing his jaw. Jace's smirk flashed in his mind, and he scowled, shoving it down.

Elliot hit the quad, the crisp air stinging his cheeks, and kept moving—fast, aimless, bag slung over his shoulder. His heart thudded too loud, Bryce's words looping in his head: Likes boys too. Fucking weird. It wasn't just Jace—Bryce meant anyone like that, anyone like him. He'd hate me, he thought, chest tight, the fear coiling tighter. If he knew, he'd hate me. He'd spent years shrinking, staying silent, burying that part of himself—since the crash took his parents, since the foster homes taught him quiet was safer. Bryce's warmth had cracked that shell, but now it slammed shut, harder than ever.

He found a bench under a bare tree, sinking onto it, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The party replayed—Jace's flirty "blue eyes," Tara's kiss, Bryce's grin—but now it was poisoned, shadowed by that warning. More distance, he scolded himself, staring at the ground. Don't look at him. Don't let him see. The ache from Tara's kiss twisted into something darker—fear, not just jealousy—and he hated how it clung.

Later that afternoon, the dorm was empty when Elliot crept back, Bryce gone to practice or somewhere else. He dropped his bag, curling onto his bed, the silence a small mercy. His ocean-blue eyes traced the ceiling, restless, and his mind churned—Bryce's voice, Jace's wink, the walls he'd build higher now. He doesn't know, he thought, holding tight to that. He can't.

The door banged open hours later, Bryce storming in, gear bag thudding to the floor, sweat still clinging to his neck from practice. His green eyes landed on Elliot—curled on his bed, head down, a book open in his lap he wasn't reading. "Yo, Eli," Bryce said, voice rough but light, trying to cut the quiet. "You been hiding all day?"

Elliot's shoulders tensed, ocean-blue eyes staying fixed on the page. "Just… tired," he mumbled, voice barely there, the lie thin but firm. Then he paused, fingers digging into the book, and looked up—just a flicker, sharp and steady. "Don't call me Eli," he said, voice low, edged with something raw. "Only… closer people call me that."

Bryce blinked, caught off guard, green eyes widening for a heartbeat before narrowing. "What?" he said, voice gruff, a laugh dying in his throat. "Lila calls you that. Thought it was cool."

"Lila's different," Elliot said, eyes dropping fast, the words clipped and quiet. "She's… nearer. Just—don't." Distance, he thought, the ache flaring as he said it, but he needed it—needed Bryce out of that space.

The room went still, Bryce's jaw tightening, green eyes locked on Elliot's bowed head. That stung—sharp, unexpected, a quiet ache blooming in his chest. Nearer people, he thought, brow twitching. What am I, then? He'd liked "Eli," liked how it fit, how it bridged something between them, but now it was gone, yanked away. "Fine," he said, voice rougher than he meant, turning to his desk. "Elliot it is. Whatever."

Elliot didn't move, didn't look up, the silence thickening around them. Bryce's flinch—the hurt in that "Fine"—cut deeper than he'd expected, but he shoved it down, burying it with the fear. He hates people like me, he thought, mantra steady. He can't get closer. The book stayed unturned in his lap, a shield he didn't need but held anyway.

Bryce rummaged through his bag, louder than necessary, green eyes flicking back once—Elliot's hunched shoulders, that dark hair hiding everything—and the ache lingered, sharp and restless. He's pulling away, he thought, jaw tight, and he didn't know why it pissed him off so much. Jace's smirk flashed again, that warning he'd given, and it felt heavier now, like it'd broken something he couldn't fix.

The night settled in, the radiator humming as the room sank into a thick, uneasy truce. Bryce flopped onto his bed, snoring loud and steady within minutes, oblivious to the storm across the space. Elliot stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, ocean-blue eyes tracing cracks he couldn't mend. Bryce's warning, his own snapped "Don't," the walls rising higher—it all pressed down, heavy and cold. Distance, he thought, curling tighter into himself. More distance. And the ache stayed, quiet and unyielding, long into the dark