Chapter Four: What Are You Hiding?

Blue wasn’t at school the next day.

I pretended it didn’t bother me.

I pretended I wasn’t scanning every hallway, every desk, every shadow looking for his hoodie, his eyes, his silence.

But I was.

I didn’t even realize how loud the world was until he wasn’t in it. The clatter of lockers, the chatter of classmates, the same tired jokes from teachers—it all sounded sharper, harsher. Like everything was too bright, too much.

Claire noticed.

“You’ve been staring at that clock for ten minutes,” she said during lunch.

“I’m just tired,” I lied.

“Right. Tired.” She leaned in. “Or thinking about the mysterious transfer boy who looks like he bleeds poetry.”

I didn’t respond.

Claire dropped her voice. “You know, you’re allowed to like someone, Elias. You’re allowed to want something.”

I pushed my tray away. “You ever want something so badly, it scares you?”

Claire gave me a sad smile. “Every day.”

---

By seventh period, I’d given up hope of seeing him. But then, just as the bell rang, just as the sky outside turned the color of cold ash, he appeared.

Blue.

His hoodie was gone again, replaced with a black denim jacket. His hair was still damp, curls clinging to his forehead like he’d run through the rain on purpose. And his eyes—those sharp, stormy eyes—found mine across the hallway like he’d been looking for me too.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t wave.

He just jerked his chin, once, like a silent question.

You coming?

I followed him.

---

He led me through the back stairwell, the one students rarely used. The walls were cracked, and the light above us flickered like it wasn’t sure if it still wanted to exist.

When we reached the roof access door, he pulled out a key.

I raised a brow. “You have a key to the roof?”

“I know how to make things open,” he said, pushing the door. It creaked like a secret.

Cold wind hit us instantly, lifting my hair and pushing the weight of the day off my chest. The roof was flat, surrounded by a rusted metal fence and silence.

“Why here?” I asked.

“No one comes here. It’s quiet.”

“You don’t seem like someone who likes quiet.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like noise I can’t control.”

That sat in my chest like a stone.

Blue walked to the edge, leaned against the railing, and lit a cigarette.

I blinked. “You smoke?”

“Only when I remember how much I hate people.”

“And today’s one of those days?”

He exhaled slowly. “Always is.”

I walked over, stood beside him. “Want to talk about it?”

He didn’t answer.

For a while, all I heard was wind and breath.

Then he said, “You ever feel like you’re pretending to be someone just so the world doesn’t chew you up?”

My throat tightened. “Every day.”

Blue glanced at me. “You’re good at pretending.”

“So are you.”

He laughed, low and humorless. “I’m not pretending, Elias. I’m hiding.”

I looked at him, really looked. His jaw was clenched. His knuckles white around the cigarette. And his eyes—so tired, like he hadn’t slept in months.

“What are you hiding from?”

He turned away. “From the person I used to be. From the boy who let someone break him and said nothing.”

Silence.

I didn’t ask for more.

He didn’t offer it.

But when he flicked the cigarette away, he whispered, “You don’t scare me, you know.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re quiet. But you feel... loud. You feel like you’re one question away from falling apart.”

I swallowed. “And you’re not?”

Blue didn’t answer. He stepped closer instead.

And now we were too close. Close enough to hear the rain starting again in the distance. Close enough to feel the tension shift between us—like gravity was choosing sides.

“Why do you keep showing up?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

His reply was almost immediate.

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

That shattered something inside me.

And maybe in him too.

---

We didn’t kiss.

We didn’t even touch.

But something passed between us on that rooftop—something louder than lips and heavier than hands.

Something like hope.

Something like danger.

Something like the beginning of everything.