Two

CHAPTER TWO: Drew's POV

“Hi, Little Blue.” 

Man, I loved the way that sounded. His reaction was better than I expected.

The way he just froze, eyes wide, and that little puff of air leaving his lips—it was almost too good. He looked absolutely petrified, and the shade of blue on his cheeks intensified just for a second before he snapped out of it.

He didn't stick around. He just jerked back and bolted, a total flight response. 

I watched him tear around the corner of the administration building, a blur of nervous energy. 

He was definitely one of the new transfers; they always looked lost and stressed. But this one? This one was something else.

I felt a hard and satisfying grin stretch across my face. It wasn't mean; it was just… delightful. 

That kind of instant, purely physical mortification was fascinating to watch.

“You still staring at that wall, man?” Travis, my best friend since fifth grade, clapped a hand hard on my shoulder, breaking my little moment of fascination. 

He didn’t even glance at the direction the small guy had gone. Travis only focused on three things: the football field, his next meal, and the quickest route to both.

“Nah, just ran into the most adorable nerd I’ve ever seen,” I said, starting to walk again, heading toward the field. The leather of my practice bag felt rough against my bare arm.

“Adorable? You’re getting soft, King. Was he an offensive lineman? We could use one.” I chuckled, shaking my head. 

“No, Travis. He was tiny. And he blushes blue. Like, actual Smurf blue, but paler. It was wild.”

“A blue blush. Right. You hit your head, dude? Let’s just focus on practice. Coach is going to have us running until our lungs collapse.”

“Yeah, yeah, practice,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop replaying his cute face. 

The blue blush. The tiny gasp. But mostly, the brief second when my hands were on his waist. He was so slight, fitting perfectly inside the curve of my palms.

It was the kind of momentary contact you forget about immediately, but for some reason, the memory of that narrow waist was sticking with me.

 It was weird. I usually didn't get hung up on people I bumped into.

Practice was brutal, exactly what I needed to sweat the weird energy out of my system. For two hours, it was nothing but drills, yelling, and the satisfying ache of pushing my body to the limit. 

I tried to focus on the playbook, but every time I got a spare second, I pictured that scared, wide-eyed face. Little Blue. I liked it. It suited him.

We wrapped up, and I met up with Drake, my twin brother, in the locker room. 

We looked exactly alike, which was annoying, but our personalities were miles apart. I was the loud, outgoing athlete; he was the quiet, intense engineering major who spent all his time studying or lifting. 

He had this underlying seriousness that I respected, but sometimes it just felt heavy.

“Evening gym?” he asked, already stripped down and reaching for his towel. 

“Yeah, I need to push some weight. My legs are dead.”

We were heading out toward the university gym, which was located in a separate sports complex, when I felt that sudden, urgent pressure in my bladder.

 “Hold up, man. I gotta use the can. Practice did a number on me. Give me two minutes.”

“Hurry up. I want to hit the squat rack before it gets crowded,” Drake replied, not slowing down, his voice completely level.

I veered off toward the restrooms near the entrance of the complex. I pushed the door open, ready to get this over with, but stopped dead in my tracks. The place was empty, except for a stall door that was slightly ajar.

And right there, squatting against the far wall by the sink, was a figure curled into himself, shaking uncontrollably. 

It was…… Little Blue? I recognized the slightly oversized hoodie and the shock of brown hair immediately.

He wasn’t just sad; he was sobbing. His shoulders hitched with every silent, desperate gasp, the kind of crying that made your chest hurt just watching it. 

It was completely wrecked, raw grief. One look at him, and I could tell that this wasn't just a bad day or some minor college stress; this felt huge.

My first thought was, Get out. This is too personal. This is not your problem. But my feet didn’t move. 

The sight of someone—especially someone I just took a liking to—in that much pain just hit me wrong. I couldn't walk away. It felt too cruel.

I took a slow, quiet step closer. "Hey," I murmured, my voice automatically dropping to a low register, completely devoid of the usual cockiness. "You alright?" 

Stupid question, I know. But what else do you say?

He jumped, his head snapping up. His eyes were red, puffy, and completely glazed over with tears. He looked utterly desolate. 

Before he could react fully, I took the final step, squatting down next to him, placing a cautious, comforting hand on his bony shoulder. I meant it to be reassuring. You know, some kinda silent promise that I wasn't going to laugh or judge.

“Just breathe. Come on, take a breath,” I encouraged softly, rubbing his shoulder lightly.

That’s when the restroom door swung open with a decisive thump.

“Drew, what is taking you so damn long? I said two minutes, man. Are you….” Drake stopped midsentence. His voice, usually so measured, cut off sharply, replaced by a sudden, heavy silence.

Little Blue who was already on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, looked up at the sound of the new voice. 

His face, already tear-stained and miserable, instantly bloomed into that familiar, terrifying shade of blue. It was so intense this time it looked almost metallic. He was obviously terrified, caught in such a vulnerable moment by two huge….. identical strangers.

Then, Drake spoke, and the tone of his voice made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. It wasn't annoyed, or impatient, or even confused. It was cold. Possessive, almost. “Move away from him, Drew.”

My jaw actually dropped. I had never heard Drake snap like that. Not at me, not at anyone. He didn't do aggression. He did quiet disapproval, maybe, but never this sudden, visceral hostility, especially not over a total stranger— who in this case, was a sobbing nerd I’d just been comforting.

Little Blue, caught between us, went pale-blue, like the fear was literally draining the oxygen from his skin. 

Drake seemed to realize what he’d just done. His face, an exact replica of mine, mirrored my own shock. He actually stumbled back a step, looking completely bewildered by his own reaction.

I was the one who had to de-escalate. I wasn't sure what the hell just happened, but the last thing I needed was to watch Little Blue completely shut down.

I sighed, pulling my hand away from Little Blue’s shoulder and standing up slowly, keeping my eyes fixed on Drake for a beat. I didn't want to poke the strange, angry beast that had just appeared in my twin.

I looked down at Little Blue, who was still huddled and shaking. “Can you… get out? Please?” I muttered, knowing that the only way to stop this bizarre, tense situation was to let him escape.

He flinched hard, nodded fast, scrambled to his feet, and was gone. The door slammed shut behind him.

Drake immediately looked like he wanted to die. He leaned against the sink, running a hand over the back of his neck, his shoulders slumped. “I don’t know why I reacted like that, okay? I just saw you holding him and I—I snapped. It was weird. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare him like that,” he whispered.

The intensity was gone, replaced by genuine self-reproach. I clapped a hand on his shoulder, choosing not to poke the wound or ask the ten thousand questions swirling in my head. I wondered why my emotionally repressed twin just had a possessive outburst over a kid he didn’t know.

“Forget it, Drake. Let’s just go lift. You need to burn off that aggression.” He nodded, looking relieved I wasn’t going to press him. 

We headed out and down the hall toward the weight room. The tension was still thick, but at least we weren’t actively scaring people.

We were halfway through our first set of heavy lifts when the door to the weight room flew open. An anxious-looking staff member, Professor Hemming, rushed in.

“King! Drew King!” he called out over the clanking of weights. I dropped the barbell onto the rack, wiping the sweat from my eyes. “Yeah, Professor?”

“I know you’re the most reliable student athlete, so I’m pulling you off your shift tonight. You’re in charge of the new transfer student. We need to get him settled, quickly. You’ll be his guide and academic tutor. He’s going to need a lot of support, and you’re the only one I trust to handle this delicate situation.”

I froze, confused. A tutor? Me? Sure, I was smart and all that, but I was terrible at tutoring. I didn't get a chance to protest.

The Professor walked right up to me, pressing a file folder into my sweaty hand. "Read this over. Meet him tomorrow morning. Everything you need is inside."

I stared at the thick, manila folder, my heart starting a weird, syncopated rhythm against my ribs. I slowly opened the file and pulled out the top sheet, a transfer student intake form. The name on the file was staring back at me in block letters.

MILES DONOVAN.