Puck Me Hard
It was *aching*.
A skinny boy with soft brown curls narrated the story, sitting beside a swimming pool made of light, as the summer of his seventeenth year unraveled around him. He fell in love with his best friend, a golden-haired 18 years old swimmer who pretended not to love him back, even when they kissed in the dark and touched each other like they were starving.
There were moments of cruel teasing, brief tenderness, then biting silence that lasted entire scenes. One monologue wrecked me: the boy described lying awake at night, wishing he could unzip his own skin and climb out of the shame like a costume.