His To Hear, His To Hold

The world is full of noise I can't turn off.Not sound. Not chatter or honking or footsteps. I mean noise. Real noise—the kind that rattles around inside your skull and makes it hard to breathe if you don't learn how to ignore it.Voices in my head. Not mine. Theirs.Especially on this bus.'My feet hurt. Why don't these young people give up a seat? Brats!'The old man didn't say it out loud. He just thought it, clear as a bell, aimed at the back of my skull like I owed him something."You can have my seat, sir," I said, standing up and slipping my bag over my shoulder.He blinked at me for a second, surprised, and then smiled as he lowered himself into the seat with a relieved sigh. "Thank you. You young people are getting to be so nice."Right. Faker.What he actually thought about me and what he said didn't line up at all. But that just makes him like everyone else I've ever met. Say one thing, think another. Smile while they're thinking something rotten. That's what passes for nor

The worst part of detention wasn't the punishment. It wasn't even the mopping. It was the fact that I had to share the room with him. Victor Blackwood, golden boy of the school, was actually here for once. Properly punished. Maybe the universe did have a shred of justice left. He sloshed his mop across the floor without focus, like he was scrubbing thoughts instead of dirt. 'How did this even happen? I was just watching her from behind and made a momentary immature mistake. Is Anne going to jump at me like that since I made the worst possible first impression?' Damn right I would. 'She looks so sexy even when she's pissed off. We are alone though. If I could I'd—' "What the hell are you looking at?" I snapped, snapping him straight out of his perv-loop. He jumped like I'd thrown the mop at his head. "Wh-what? A-am I not allowed to use my eyes now?" he stammered, holding his mop out like it could save him. Idiot. "Hurry up and clean so I can get the hell out of here," I said,

I sat on the couch in my room, cereal bowl balanced on my lap, spoon clinking with every bite as Power Rangers played on the TV in front of me. My eyes didn't move from the screen—locked on Jason, the Red Ranger, moving like he owned every scene. Strong. Confident. In control. So what if this was still my favorite show? I don't care that Anne laughed when she caught me watching it once. Honestly, I liked that she saw it. She looked at me that day. Really looked. That was rare. My notebook lay open beside me, worn and full of scribbles—page after page of notes I'd taken across countless rewatch sessions. Phrases repeated like mantras: Stand tall. Speak first. Smile like you already won. Most guys my age had moved past this stuff years ago. Turned eighteen, and suddenly they thought they were too cool to enjoy anything unless it involved fake drinking games or standing in the corners of parties looking dead inside. Idiots. They just didn't get it like I did. Red Ranger Jas

I was smaller than the other kids. Less motivated too. Which made gym class basically hell. Today, our teacher decided basketball was the safer option compared to dodgeball. "Less dangerous," he said, like chucking a heavy ball at people's heads was somehow more civilized just because there was a hoop involved. But for me? It wasn't going to be a pleasant game either way. I was always the one pushed around when the teacher wasn't looking. Someone would conveniently "trip" near me. A shove here. A foot stuck out there. Always the same trio of jocks trailing behind Victor like lost dogs—Walter, Aaron, and Craig. Sometimes other students joined in for the fun. Today had gone okay so far. No bruises. No verbal abuse. The guys hadn't managed to pull any of their usual stunts. But near the end of class, the teacher gave us free time. That was when it started. I drifted to the corner of the gym, pretending to tie my shoelaces, doing anything to avoid attention. 'There's the loser Lara

I crouched in the tree outside Lara's big house, my breath shallow, my limbs stiff from holding still for so long. It had been three hours since I stopped watching over Anne's place—just long enough to make sure she was asleep. I couldn't risk her seeing me out tonight. Not during this. Maybe it was pride, but if I let Lara keep spitting on Anne's name and dragging my reputation through the dirt, I'd be no kind of man. She needed to be taken down—just enough to remind her she wasn't untouchable. Just enough to protect Anne. My Anne. From here I had a clear view of Lara's bedroom window. I'd been watching her mundane activity for the last hour—straightening her hair, layering on makeup she didn't need, and wouldn't benefit from. All that effort, and she still looked like the same smug, washed-out whore. Ugly on the inside, worse on the outside. Inside the house, everyone was already gone for the night. Her parents hadn't even checked in on their three kids before disappearing into