Friendly Fire

Alex

I’m not avoiding Seth.

Okay, I totally am, but it’s not because of what he said. Or what he did. Or how his thigh brushed mine and turned my whole body into static.

I’m just… busy. With actual important things like passing my classes, keeping my girlfriend happy and not losing my mind.

Except, of course, I’m doing a terrible job of all three.

Tracey’s been quiet since the party. Not the cold-shoulder kind of quiet, it’s the dangerous, thoughtful kind. The kind where she’s watching me too closely, smiling too politely. It’s unnerving. Every time I touch her now, she flinches like she’s bracing for disappointment.

Which makes sense, I guess. I haven’t exactly been the world’s most attentive boyfriend lately. And it’s not because of Seth. It really is not.

I’m not thinking about how he looked when he leaned in too close neither am I remembering the heat of his breath or the smug little grin that curled on his lips when he whispered into my ear.

I’m not.

What I am thinking about or supposed to be is my media assignment. I’ve been paired up with Jordan Rowe, the loud, unapologetically gay guy from my class, who talks like he’s in a reality show confessional 90% of the time.

And somehow, this week, he’s decided we’re friends.

“Your place again?” Jordan asks, waving his iced coffee like it’s a magic wand. “I like the lighting in your kitchen.”

I almost say no, but I’m too tired to argue. Tracey hasn’t answered my texts. Seth’s been out all day, probably at practice. Maybe I could use the noise.

“Fine,” I mutter.

By the time we get back to the apartment, Jordan’s already pulled out his tablet and started organizing our presentation slides like he’s directing a feature film.

He talks while he works, about professors, his roommate drama and this guy he’s been seeing who has a “mouth like sin and a brain like Wikipedia.”

It’s too much, but it’s easier to listen to Jordan rant about his love life than listen to my own thoughts.

“You good?” he asks, pausing mid-scroll. “You’ve been quiet.”

I shrug. “Just tired.”

He squints at me like he doesn’t buy it. “Right. And I’m a virgin.”

I snort and he grins.

And that’s when the door swings open and Seth walks in, sweaty from practice, gym bag slung over one shoulder, T-shirt sticking to his chest.

He freezes.

Jordan perks up instantly. “Oh! You must be Seth.”

Seth nods, scanning the room, gaze flicking to me, then to Jordan. “Hey.”

“Alex’s partner,” Jordan says, grinning. “Media project. Not the romantic kind. Unless that’s what he’s into, of course.”

My heart stops.

“Jordan—”

“I’m just saying,” he hums. “Just incase you two have something going on.”

Seth raises a brow. “Do we?”

“No,” I say quickly, my voice higher than it should be. “We don’t. Jesus, Jordan.”

Seth chuckles and heads into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, Jordan. I’m way out of his league.”

I want the floor to open and swallow me.

Jordan giggles like he just won a prize. “Oh, he likes you,” he sings, nudging me with his elbow.

“He’s joking,” I snap. “He jokes like that all the time.”

“Mmhmm.”

I glare at Jordan until he drops it.

We work in relative peace for another hour, Jordan occasionally side-eyeing me with that knowing look I want to erase from his face.

Seth stays out of the way, mostly. He puts on music low and makes himself a sandwich. But I feel him like a gravitational pull across the room. Every movement, every breath.

And I hate it.

When Jordan finally leaves, he pulls me into a quick side-hug and whispers, “You’re not as straight as you think you are.”

I stiffen.

He smirks, then lets go and waltzes out like he just dropped the mic on his way out of a talk show.

I close the door a little too hard behind him.

When I turn, Seth’s leaning against the kitchen counter, chewing on the crust of his sandwich, watching me.

“Interesting guy,” he says.

“Don’t,” I warn.

“Don’t what?”

“Start.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t say anything.”

I grab my water bottle and take a long gulp, hoping he’ll leave it alone.

But this is Seth of course he won’t.

“Did he get under your skin, or just say something that hit a little too close to home?”

I slam the bottle down on the counter. “Can you not?”

There’s a beat of silence. Then,

“You know,” Seth says slowly, “I don’t care if you are or you aren’t.”

“Good,” I snap. “Because I’m not.”

He nods like he hears me, but he’s still looking at me like he sees something else.

“You’re allowed to figure things out, Alex. No one gets to decide that for you.”

“I’m not figuring anything out.” My voice cracks on the last word.

Seth doesn’t push. He just nods, his expression unreadable.

And somehow, that’s worse.

I retreat to our shared room and slam the door behind me, sinking onto the bed like the air’s been punched out of my lungs.

I lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, guilt and confusion swirling in my gut.

I wish Tracey would call. I wish she’d yell or cry or do something so I’d know how to respond.

I wish Jordan hadn’t said what he did.

I wish Seth didn’t look at me the way he does. Like he knows and he’s waiting.

I don’t want to be known. I want to go back to how things were; simple, clean. Just a guy, with a girlfriend, trying to get through college.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe.

It doesn’t help.

Eventually, I hear movement outside the room. Seth’s voice, low, on the phone. Probably talking to his sister again.

There’s something about that voice quiet, sincere that chips away at the armor I keep building back up. I hate that it gets to me.

I hate that I want to listen.

But most of all, I hate that when I picture kissing someone — really kissing someone — it’s not Tracey’s face I see anymore.

It’s Seth’s.

I roll over and pull the covers over my head.

I need to get out of my own head before I drown in it.