The Ghost in the Hallway

~ALAN POV~

I didn't think about the weight on the bar because thinking only led me to feel empty and obsessed.

Clang.

The noise of the plates clashing was like a loud bang in the wet air of the Briarwood gym. I was on my fiftieth bench press, my muscles hurting, and my vision narrowing until all I could see was the blurry gray of the ceiling.

"Voss! Ease up! You’re going to tear a pec before Friday’s game," John’s voice barked from somewhere above me.

I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.

Because every time I closed my eyes, I didn't see the puck or the net. I saw a pair of forest-green eyes drowned in fear. I felt the ghost of smooth soft skin under my thumb.

The mood around me felt weighty, filled with the smell of metal and my own sweat.

"Alan! Drop the bar!"

I ignored him.

I pushed. One more. One more.

My heart wasn't just beating; It was pounding against my ribs like a scared animal. It was an endless, hard thump that matched my heartbeat in my throat.

Finally, John stepped in, his huge hands grabbing the bar and pulling it before I could finish the next lift.

I sat up, gasping for air, my skin feeling like it was on fire.

"What the hell is wrong with you today?" John asked, tossing me a towel. "You’ve been a goddamn statue since practice yesterday. You’re here, but your head is somewhere else."

"I'm fine," I snapped, my voice wrecked.

I got up, feeling the extra weight of my frustration making my movements slow and careful.

"You're not fine. You're vibrating," John said, his eyes narrowing.

He leaned against the squat rack, his expression shifting from annoyed to suspicious.

"It’s about that janitor, isn't it? The kid from the locker room."

The mention of him made something in me snap.

It wasn't a clean break; it was a complete breakdown of the walls I had built for years to stay focused on the ice.

"His name is Toby," I growled.

John’s eyebrows shot up. "Toby? You even got his name? Alan, listen to me. That kid’s weird. He’s a ghost. He stays alone for a reason. Don’t get involved."

"He was being cornered by Miller," I said, my hands fisting at my sides. "What was I supposed to do? Let them break him?"

"I'm not saying let them bully him, but you’re doing that thing again," John replied, stepping into my space.

"That 'Protective King' thing. You don't even know him. He’s maintenance, Alan. He’s not part of our world. People are already talking about how you stood there naked, practically claiming the kid in front of the whole team."

"Let them talk," I spat. "I don't give a fuck."

"You should," John replied, his voice getting deeper.

“The NHL scouts don't just look at your stats. They look at your head. And right now? Your head is chasing a boy who looks like he would break if you breathed on him too hard. Stay away from him. He’s off. There’s something... wrong with that one."

I didn't let him finish. I stepped forward, my chest hit his with a loud thud of muscle against muscle.

I grabbed the collar of his Briarwood hoodie, the fabric wrinkling in my hand.

"Say that again," I whispered, the words stripped of all their usual arrogance and replaced with something much more dangerous.

"Call him 'wrong' again. I dare you."

John froze.

For a heartbeat, he was a statue, his hands stopping near my waist as if he were about to shove me back.

I expected a punch. I expected him to tackle me.

Instead, I saw the shock in his eyes. "Alan... you’re shaking."

I let go of his neck, my hands shaking so violently I had to hide them by my sides. I turned away, my vision blurred and my skin feeling like it was on fire.

"He’s not 'wrong,'" I said, my back to him. "He’s just... quiet."

"He’s a freak, Alan," John called out as I headed for the exit. "Don't let him pull you under!"

I didn't look back. I hit the double doors of the gym and shoved them open so hard they bounced off the rubber stoppers with a loud crash.

The cold air on campus hit me like a surprise punch to the stomach.

It was a shock to the system, the kind that usually cleared my head, but today it just felt like it was freezing the obsession into my bones.

I started walking.

I didn't have a destination, but my feet knew where they were going. I wasn't looking for the library. I wasn't looking for the cafeteria.

I was looking for a ghost.

I spent the next two hours stalking the gothic hallways of the Arts and Sciences building. I checked the basement. I checked the service closets.

Every time I saw a flash of gray fabric or a mop bucket, my heart tried to kick its way out of my ribs.

Where is he?

I stood in the center of the courtyard, my lungs burning, watching the students file past. None of them were him.

They were all too loud. Too bright. Too... not Toby.

I checked my watch. His shift shouldn't have started yet, but maybe he was in the library? He looked like the type to hide among the books.

I headed for the library, my steps so snobbish and focused that people moved out of my way before I even reached them. I pushed through the revolving doors, the quiet of the building feels fake.

I scanned the rows of desks. I looked past the stacks.

"Looking for something, Voss?"

I turned.

It was a girl from my English lit class. She was smiling, her eyes scanning my body in a way that made me feel nothing but irritation.

"Maintenance," I said shortly. "I lost something in the locker room. I need to find the janitor."

"Which one?" she giggled. "There are like, twenty."

"The new one. Blond. Pale."

"Oh, the creepy one?" she asked, tilting her head. "I think I saw him heading toward the old chapel wing earlier. But he’s weird, Alan. He doesn't even look up when you talk to him."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

I just turned on my heel and headed for the chapel wing, my heart beating hard and fast in my chest.

I was using the search as a protection against my own confusion, and the terrifying part was that I was letting it consume me. I didn't care about the scouts.

I didn't care about John’s warnings.

I just needed to see those green eyes again.

I needed to know if the safety I had promised him was something he actually wanted—or if I was just another monster he was trying to hide from.

I cleared the hallway leading to the chapel, the only sound was the nonstop thud and scrape of my boots.

The hallway was empty.

"Toby?" I whispered, the name feeling strange and heavy on my tongue.

No answer. Only the shadows.