Chapter Five: Something in the Silence

I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said.

“You don’t look at me like I’m broken.”

It kept echoing in my head, like a song I didn’t know the words to, but still felt in my bones. I thought I was the broken one. The one holding himself together with silence and fear. But maybe we were both just walking scars—shaped differently, but aching the same.

---

Blue wasn’t in school the next two days.

Again.

No texts. No appearances at the art room. No moody drawings left behind.

Nothing.

By the third day, I found myself staring at the empty hallway where his locker sat. My chest felt heavy, like I’d swallowed cement.

Claire caught me mid-stare. “Okay, you’re either in love or haunted.”

“Is there a difference?”

She gave me a look. “Did something happen with you and Blue?”

I hesitated. “Kind of. But also... no.”

“Elias, you’re not making sense.”

I shook my head, biting my lip. “It’s not the kind of thing I can explain.”

She softened. “Then maybe it’s the kind of thing you need to feel through. And you won’t feel anything hiding in your own silence.”

That hit harder than she knew.

---

After school, I went to the roof again.

Not expecting him. Not really.

But part of me hoped he’d be there, cigarette in hand, hoodie pulled up, saying something sarcastic to cover the soft truth he always slipped between his words.

He wasn’t.

But there was something else.

Taped to the inside of the railing was a folded piece of notebook paper.

My heart stuttered as I peeled it off, hands shaking.

There was no name on it.

Just one sentence.

> I disappear sometimes. It’s not about you. I just get tired of existing where I don’t feel real.

I stood there for a long time, wind tugging at my jacket, eyes fixed on the words like they were holding me together.

He was saying he trusted me.

He was saying something without saying everything.

And that was enough.

---

The next day, he showed up again. Just like that.

First period. First row. Headphones around his neck, tired eyes half-lidded, as if nothing had happened.

But when I passed by his desk, he looked up.

No smile.

No nod.

Just a look that said, You saw it. You read it. And now we’re different.

At lunch, he sat across from me in the courtyard.

No words. Just presence.

Until—

“I don’t want to be a mystery to you,” he said quietly, eyes on the sky.

I blinked. “Then stop disappearing.”

He chuckled, dry. “It’s not that easy.”

“Why not?”

“Because sometimes... I’m scared you’ll see what’s really underneath.”

“I already do,” I whispered.

He turned to me, gaze sharp. “Then why are you still here?”

I didn’t hesitate.

“Because I don’t want to leave you alone with the parts of you the world taught you to hate.”

He looked at me like I had just exposed a nerve he didn’t know he had.

“I’m not used to people staying,” he said.

“Then get used to me.”

---

Something shifted then.

His hand brushed mine on the table.

Not by accident.

Not for long.

But long enough.

The silence between us thickened, full of everything we weren’t saying.

And just before the bell rang, he whispered:

“You feel like a beginning I don’t deserve.”